11

Tarlabasi

intro T

 

Last week we wandered down one side of the hill from Taksim to hip and happening Cihangir. This week I thought we’d head down the other side of the hill, to Tarlabasi (Tar-luh-BAH-shuh).

A mere ten minute walk separates these two neighbourhoods, but they may as well be on different planets. While Cihangir is Istanbul’s boho darling, Tarlabasi is the black sheep. No hotel concierge is about to recommend you take a stroll through the place. Quite the opposite – he’d give you a funny look if you asked about it and tell you to steer clear. Drugs, crime, you name it, it was all there.

But I was curious to explore it, intrigued by its history and current circumstances. So I decided, one quick glance – and if it seemed really dodgy, retreat.

Ready?

 

Part 1: From Greek to grotty

Tarlabasi is within spitting distance of glamourous Istiklal street, upmarket hotels and some of Istanbul’s major cultural institutions. So it’s definitely a shock when you step off the main road and descend into the neighbourhood.

Like Balat and Fener it was once happily Greek with charming row houses but is now poor and struggling, a mixed community of Kurds, Roma and Africans. However, Tarlabasi is much closer to ruin than its friends across the Golden Horn. The government has started to demolish large chunks in a so called ‘renovation’ plan that will see old replaced by faux old. Yuck in other words.

Only they seem to have got half way through that process and downed tools. They’ve gutted entire streets of buildings then just left them completely exposed, a windfall for desperate scavengers who have ripped out everything they can to burn or sell. Floorboards, windows, doors, security bars, all gone. What were once lovely bay fronted homes are now devoured, rubbish filled, stinky wrecks.

In the midst of the mess, however, is the neighbourhood’s original Greek Orthodox Church that still stands tall and proud.

So that’s the first impression you get. Pristine Greek church in the middle of an area that wouldn’t look out of place in a war zone. A war zone with lots of clothes hanging out to dry that is.

 

next door neighbours

next door neighbours

 

 

 

death row

death row

 

 

 

oh dear

oh dear

 

 

 

not quite what Ataturk had pictured

not quite what Ataturk had pictured

 

 

 

we will say a prayer for you little ones

we will say a prayer for you little ones

 

 

 

Apparently 400,000 people arrive in Istanbul each year in search of work. Kurds from eastern Turkey, Armenians as well as those from further afield, Africa. We met Abdul from Nigeria catching his breath on the side of a road in Tarlabasi. His impressions of Istanbul are a million miles from any tourist’s. While they are busy marvelling at the views and the mosques, he’s scratching around desperately trying to make a living. A uni graduate, he’s now in the recycling trade, collecting valuable trash to sell. I call it garbage and he says, no, go take a look in his cart. I open it to see a muddle of used plastic bags – gold not garbage.

 

Abdul from Nigeria, graduate turned garbage scavanger

Abdul from Nigeria, graduate turned garbage scavenger

 

 

 

Part 2: Next impressions

Holding Coco’s hand more tightly than usual, we continued to explore the streets of Tarlabasi. And slowly, things seemed to improve. There are large areas of the neighbourhood where the houses are still intact and occupied, where life seems pretty normal. Women putting out the washing (I finally discovered how they get their clothes across those lines, using a pulley system), men playing cards and kids playing on the streets.

 

the washing line explained

the washing line explained

 

 

 

the rug seller

the rug seller

 

 

 

grandeur amongst the rubble

grandeur amongst the rubble

 

 

 

a little lace goes a long way

a little lace goes a long way

 

 

 

home comforts, no matter what state your home is in

home comforts, no matter what state your home is in

 

 

 

they're fed, clothed, loved - what more?

they're fed, clothed, loved - what more?

 

 

 

In fact, Tarlabasi, the much maligned neighbourhood of Istanbul, is where Coco had her first play with local kids. The delightful soccer mad Sait, his little sister Semanur and a couple of mates.

 

they all speak soccer

they all speak soccer

 

 

 

Serhat and Sait, soccer stars of tomorrow?

Serhat and Sait, soccer stars of tomorrow?

 

 

 

Sait's sister, Semanur - did her future just walk right by her?

Sait's sister, Semanur - did her future just walk right by her?

 

 

 

happiness is his No 53

happiness is his No 53

 

 

 

taking Semanur for a spin

taking Semanur for a spin

 

 

 

Part 3: Men at work, not

Many of the men in Tarlabasi are very busy sitting inside the local cafes playing cards or a game called ‘Okey’. Unusually they were welcoming when they saw us with noses pressed up on the window, trying to peer in. Come, sit, have some cay (tea). Perhaps they miss female company as the women seem to hang out at home, where I assume they do their socialising as well as domestic chores.

 

poker face

poker face

 

 

 

a couple of hearts

a couple of hearts

 

 

 

cay and cards

cay and cards

 

 

 

a good day at the card table?

a good day at the card table?

 

 

 

the men play, the boy works

the men play, the boy works

 

 

 

welcome, come play our game, 'Okey'

welcome, come play our game, 'Okey'

 

 

 

men's and women's business

men's and women's business

 

 

 

Part 3: But then…

After the uplifting soccer game and cafe hopping the day grew colder and more grey, both literally and metaphorically.

We passed by Sait again who was now busy doing chores with his older sister, Bahar. I don’t know, it was something about the way they were clumsily wielding axes and other tools around, trying desperately to break up the floorboards that lay scattered on the road that disturbed me.

 

Bahar, chopping up floorboards

Bahar, chopping up floorboards

 

 

 

around the corner from struggle street, opulent furniture is being made

around the corner from struggle street, opulent furniture is being made

 

 

 

Sait, in particular, seems like such a good kid. But weighed down by a long list of responsibilities I imagine.

 

Sait has many crosses to bear

Sait has many crosses to bear

 

 

 

Saying goodbye to them, we made our way back up the steep street, passing by other locals doing the same thing –  it was floorboard chopping time in Tarlabasi.

 

the kebab seller and the wood collectors

the kebab seller and the wood choppers

 

 

 

'recycling'

'recycling'

 

 

 

just trying to keep warm

just trying to keep warm

 

 

 

Part 4: Kid’s playground

The next day we visited the sun had finally decided to make an appearance – and all the energy the kids of Tarlabasi had stored for the last few days stuck inside their tiny homes seemed to explode onto the streets. They ran wild, darting in and out of all the gutted houses, kicking, throwing, screaming. Sure, there are no swings or brightly coloured plastic play equipment in this kid’s playground but I suspect it’s more fun. Especially when there doesn’t seem to be a single parent around to rein you in.

 

it's a child's playground now

it's a kid's playground now

 

 

 

kids rule

kids rule

 

 

 

play equipment

play equipment

 

 

 

until that grandma comes down with her stick

until that grandma comes down with her stick

 

 

 

is that a Pythagorean triangle?

is that a Pythagorean triangle?

 

 

 

learning life lessons - but not Greek

learning life lessons - but not Greek

 

 

But of course the crumbling environment also poses many hazards, especially for the younger kids. If the thick smoke from the coal burning doesn’t get them, the half demolished buildings with exposed staircases and windows just might.

 

child proofing required

child proofing required

 

 

There’s so much that’s wrong about the government’s ‘renovation’ plans in Tarlabasi.

They’re not just getting rid of the old buildings – they’re getting rid of a community, one that seems to function well despite the challenges they face. How do you rebuild that?

It felt as if Tarlabasi was disappearing as we walked, that if I looked back there’d be nothing – or worse, fake ‘old’ buildings filled with new shiny people. I know it’s more expensive to restore old buildings than build new ones, but at what cost? The loss of a city’s history, its communities, the things that make it ‘it’.

Getting late, I decided it was time to leave so we said goodbye to Sait and his sisters and made our way out. Of all the kids I’ve met so far on this project, I warmed to them the most. Almost zero conversation but such a strong connection. So it felt wrong to just up and go, leaving them to such an uncertain future.

 

 

goodbye Sait and Semanur

goodbye Sait and Semanur

 

 

 

goodbye Bahar, another bright spark amongst the grey

goodbye Bahar, another bright spark amongst the grey

 

 

 

The Wrap

It would be naive to think that nothing bad happens in Tarlabasi. And in its current state, much of the neighbourhood looks as desperate as some of its people. But once you get over the initial shock, the place grows on you – largely thanks to the kids. Years into the future I may not remember the stench of rotting garbage or coal burning. Or the gutted wood and plaster carcases. But I will remember the mad energy of those boys chasing their shadows down the hills. And I doubt I’ll forget Sait and his sisters. I’m not religious but I pray they grow into happy, healthy adults. With maybe a soccer star between them for good measure.

 

what hand will they be dealt next?

what hand will they be dealt next?

 

 

It’s taken me a while to get a bigger picture of what’s happening in Istanbul but at week three, I’ve got some idea. While all the tourists are oohing and ahhing over the Top Ten sights, the rest of old Istanbul is crumbling – especially if an earthquake strikes. The fear of that happening combined with the current real estate boom is proving disastrous for neighbourhoods such as Tarlabasi – the government is gloves off with the whole heritage thing and is demolishing large chunks of historic areas all under the guise of ‘renovation’ and building ‘new old’. Now that is what I call scary – dodgy – dangerous.

 

 

smoke and rubble but at least the washing's done

smoke and rubble but at least the washing's done

 

 

 

seeing Tarlabasi in a good light

seeing Tarlabasi in a good light

 

 

On the ‘home front

Coco’s not a huge fan of exploring and photographing, something she calls ‘blogging’. She puts up with it at the best of times. But this week was a doozy. Sure, the soccer bit was fun but then it all got a little hairy. To be fair, the mood in Tarlabasi was at times pretty dark. But it was the jerk who kept finding us and honing in on Coco that was the real deal breaker. He was harmless enough but on the last visit he freaked Coco out and we had to leave. And yet today I asked her:

‘Coco, did you enjoy Tarlabasi?’

‘Well, I liked the soccer boys. But the buildings and that guy, they were not good.’

But when I asked Coco if she thought it would be a good place to live she said absolutely, yes. Why? Because there was lots of kids to play with and lots of things to do.

So the poorest, most desperate neighbourhood we’ve explored so far is apparently the best, even with that evil jerk guy thrown in. Sometimes I think kids really should rule the world.

 —

This suburb was brought to you by Fiona Ryan-Clark

 —

We’re leaving for Paris on Saturday so the next and last post from Istanbul will be on Friday. See you then – hopefully…

 

10

Cihangir

C intro

 

For week two in Istanbul we’re ducking over the Golden Horn to a distinctly different world than the one we last visited. Cihangir (pronounced Gee-hang-ish), located in the Beyoğlu district, is the home of happy hipsters, intellectuals, Turkish celebrities and artists – well-off artists that is, who can afford the not inconsiderable rents.

Ten years ago the place was cheap. Then suddenly everyone realised that this was the perfect place to live – at one end, the entertainment district of Taksim, at the other, a ridiculously impressive view, stretching over the Bosphorus, across to Sultanahmet and down to the Sea of Mamara and beyond.

When the Istanbul Modern Art Museum sprouted at the bottom of the hill in 2004, it was a done deal. Cihangir was pronounced the ‘it’ suburb, rents sky-rocketed and the hipsters moved in.

A few facts before we roam. Named after a mosque that looks out over the incredible view which was in turn named after the son of Suleiman the Magnificent. It also means place of much stencil graffiti and cats, lots and lots of cats.

 

Part 1: ‘It’s where everyone wants to live’

So said someone we met on one of ours walk around the neighbourhood. While I can’t vouch for the accuracy of the statement, I suspect it’s quite true. Take Seval, for example, a woman we met while walking her English Setter at the local park last Sunday afternoon. While waiting to pick up doggie do, this is what she looks at…

 

Seval walkin the dog :: 1

just walking the dog :: 1

 

 

She lives just around the corner too. With a musician boyfriend. What more does a girl need?

 

 

Seval walkin the dog :: 2

just walking the dog :: 2

 

 

 

the Turkish mosque and the English Setter

the Turkish mosque and the English Setter

 

 

In Sydney terms, Cihangir is Potts Point glam mixed with Newtown grunge. While some of the European style apartment blocks are quite lovely, some are plain Janes. But all have nice steel framed doors. Who, I wondered, lives behind them?

 

 

definitely on the European side

definitely on the European side

 

 

 

she would probably live here

she would probably live here

 

 

 

surely he would live here

surely he would live here

 

 

 

he definitley lives here

he definitely lives here

 

 

 

before I made it big and moved to Nisantasi

before I made it big and moved to Nisantasi

 

 

Aside from great views and charming apartment blocks, the neighbourhood is blessed with some interesting second-hand shops, looking their best in the recent sunshine.

 

 

sun's out

sun's out

 

 

 

girlie

girlie

 

 

 

written by Goethe

written by Goethe

 

 

As with most of Istanbul, the women in Cihangir are a combination of bare-headed and scarfed. Aside from the lovely Tuba (pink scarf, second image below), those that cover their heads have been completely unwilling to be photographed. A reminder that as modern and western as Istanbul can feel, Turkey is still a thoroughly Muslim country.

 

 

living side by side

living side by side

 

 

 

you're scaring me

you're scaring me

 

 

 

Part 2: Cats

I’m a cat lover but the street cats of Cihangir are out of control. They are everywhere. But far from being treated as a nuisance, the local community looks after them, leaving bowls of water and food all around the place.

Still, I was really taken aback when I met Gulsum, a woman who runs a great local cafe called Kaktus. Not only can any cat wander into Kaktus and curl up wherever they wish, she has 60 of them living at her home. Sixty.

What’s also unusual about Gulsum are her facial tattoos. I keep my eye out for interesting tattoos but I’ve never seen any like these.

 

cat crazy Cihangir

cat crazy Cihangir

 

 

 

open door policy for any cat

open door policy for any cat

 

 

 

Gulsum lives with 60 cats - yes, sixty

Gulsum lives with 60 cats - yes, sixty

 

 

 

all the other blasted cats in this hood would disappear and I get all the fish

all the other blasted cats in this hood would disappear and I get all the fish

 

 

 

the winds of change in Cihangir

the winds of change are in Cihangir

 

 

 

Part 3: And yet

For all its alternative-ness and modern hipster ways, Cihangir hasn’t changed entirely. The call to prayer still bellows down the streets, summoning young and old to the local mosques five times a day. And the old fellas still hang out together, drinking strong tea out of tulip shaped glasses and chugging on endless cigarettes.

 

you must only wear socks when visiting a mosque

you must only wear socks when visiting a mosque

 

 

 

even hipsters have to pray

neighbours - the hip apartments and the mosques

 

 

There’s even an ancient Ottoman graveyard nestled between apartment blocks with the most interesting tombstones: you can tell the gender and rank of the deceased by the headdress. For example, men of high standing have turbans, lesser mortals, the fez. There weren’t any female tombstones but apparently you can tell how many children women had by the number of flowers decorating their graves.

 

 

tombstone hats

tombstone hats

 

 

 

nice turban

nice turban

 

 

 

280 year old flowers at Tophane Fountain vs day old

280 year old flowers at Tophane Fountain vs day old

 

 

 

We met Mr Handsome in the image below one morning and then ran into him again later that day. I call him that because I think he is handsome – but also because I have no idea of his name. I keep meaning to write a translation down, asking people for their name.

 

 

 

I'm sure he has, many times

I'm sure he has, many times

 

 

 

hanging out :: 1

hanging out :: 1

 

 

 

hanging out :: 2

hanging out :: 2

 

 

 

the old man and the ballerina

the old man and the ballerina

 

 

 

Part 4: Down to the water

I have two rules with this project. Stick to one suburb a week and avoid anything remotely touristy or iconic.

This week I broke both. Couldn’t help it. I started out as usual, documenting ordinary life in Cihangir. Then before I knew it I was drawn down the hill to the water’s edge, ending up at the Galata Bridge in Karakoy, a ten minute walk away.

I knew I was in dangerous territory when every second person seemed to be wearing a camera around their neck. Tourists. Eew.

I blame those views from the dog park in Cihangir – they made me hungry for more – as well as famous Turkish photographer, Ara Guler. I’ve been pouring over Guler’s images ever since we arrived in Istanbul and I particularly like his black and whites of life around the Golden Horn in the 1950s and 60s.

So to start with, three black and white images of my own…

 

the fisherman in the pinstripe suit

the fisherman in the pinstripe suit

 

 

 

and his mate, throwing a line

and his mate, throwing a line

 

 

 

catching a taxi home

catching a taxi home

 

 

 

fishing on Galata Bridge

fishing on Galata Bridge

 

 

 

kiss me you fool

kiss me you fool

 

 

 

three men

three men

 

 

 

one man

soaking up the sun

 

 

 

Salmon or Sea Bass?

Salmon or Sea Bass?

 

 

 

nuts for the ferry ride home

nuts for the ferry ride home

 

 

 

sky alive

sky alive

 

 

 

eyes the colour of the Turkish sky

eyes the colour of the heavens

 

 

 

the sacred and the suburban - minarets and street lights

the sacred and the suburban - minarets and street lights

 

 

 

saying prayers to get closer to God - or just not miss the ferry

saying prayers to get closer to God - or just not miss the ferry

 

 

 

The Wrap

It was so interesting to see a neighbourhood like Cihangir after last week’s living museum. Yet as modern-western and alternative as it is, the place is still so old Istanbul. I hope it continues to retain the old, especially those amazing tombstones.

And look, I apologise for sneaking in a little of the famous stuff. This project is all about capturing the ‘unphotographed’ but that view over the Golden Horn must have been snapped a zillion times. Hopefully I’ve got it out of my system and I’ll be back to my usual suburban self next week.

 

Coco's fifth hug for the day

Coco's fifth hug for the day

 

 

On the ‘home front’

It’s been an intense few weeks, the first time on the journey that it’s just been Coco and I; in Hong Kong we had friends and a ‘babysitter’, in India, family and a slew of home help.

Now it’s just us.

But it’s not the 24/7 glued-at-the-hip part that’s challenging. It’s the fact that I have no option but to take Coco with me every time I go out photographing.

It’s tough for both of us. I vacillate between thinking, what a great experience for Coco and, poor Coco, being dragged around for hours on end (and constantly hugged and cheek-pinched by well-meaning Turkish men!).

And for me, it can be very frustrating. I can’t move around so quickly. And I can’t stand still for too long either; sometimes photography is all about waiting, hanging on a street corner for an hour because the light is good or you like a particular background. You can’t do that when you’re with someone, especially a child.

It’s something I thought long and hard about of course when I was planning the trip. But until now I haven’t had to deal with it. All credit to Coco, she’s incredibly flexible and patient, but it’s definitely an issue that I need to find a solution for sooner rather than later.

Of course the upside is that yes, we are sharing a wonderful adventure. I just hope Coco remembers it like that.

This suburb has been brought to you by Karla Headon

See you next week.

 

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