A thirteen-year-old fisherman, who I ran into by the pier, talked about Istanbul. "You are probably living the real Istanbul, getting its real taste," I told him. "No," he said, "Istanbul has lost its taste." How can a little kid know what Istanbul tastes like...
Sometimes the only thing I want from Istanbul is a cup of tea. A warm cup of tea that I can enjoy while sitting back and relaxing. Then you can forget everything else... Everything, everyone looks beautiful then. People are beautiful for just that second, but oh beautiful people,why have you become so unsightly? You were so beautiful when you were babies... You were born, you've grown up and now you're adults, a grown up man, or a woman, let's say, a grown woman with a thin waist. (According to my translator, this image doubles as a reference to thin-waisted Turkish tea cups, like the one illustrated on the map.)
It is easier to imagine Istanbul that way. Let Istanbul be elegant, let Istanbul be a loving mother... A soft wind that sways your hair on the ferry. Let Istanbul be history, a museum, an old painting from centuries ago. Let it be all those beautiful things, making people happy. Let it be a fishing boat in Çengelköy or a workshop in Kuzguncuk. Let it be a tree, a forest, a school. Let it be the book in a student's hand. Let it be a heart, big enough though for everyone. Or else people will be jealous...