A Mindful Journey to Istanbul, Turkey
November 2017 · Mindful Elegance Travel Journal
To travel is to connect — not just with places, but with the souls and stories that define them.
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A City That Insists on Being Felt
There are cities that simply exist, and then there are cities that insist, cities that reach out and take hold of you the moment you arrive, refusing to let you pass through as a mere observer. Istanbul is the second kind.
I arrived on November 2, 2017, during a long weekend, as part of a group trip to what I can only describe as one of the most layered, luminous, and quietly overwhelming places I have ever set foot in. Three days. Two continents. Fourteen centuries of history pressed against every stone I touched.
Istanbul does not reveal itself gradually; it pours over you all at once and leaves you wondering how any single city contains so much of the human story within its borders.
This is my journal of those three days.
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Day 1 — Between Two Empires
Arriving at the Bosphorus
We arrived at the Bosphorus Hotel in the late morning, a name that felt immediately fitting, given that the Bosphorus Strait itself was visible from the waterfront, that narrow seaway that has divided and united Asia and Europe for millennia. We refreshed, gathered ourselves, and stepped back out into the city.
Istanbul was not going to wait.
The Hagia Sophia: A Building That Outlived Its Gods
Nothing quite prepares you for the Hagia Sophia.
I had seen photographs, of course. I had read the history. But standing before those vast doors on a bright November morning, the golden light falling at a low winter angle across the stone facade, I understood immediately that this was a place where knowledge and experience part company entirely. You simply cannot read your way into understanding what it feels like to stand inside a building that has been, in turn, a Christian cathedral, an Islamic mosque, and a secular museum, all within the span of fifteen centuries, and has survived every one of those transformations not merely intact but magnificent.
It was constructed in 537 AD under the Byzantine Emperor Justinian, who reportedly declared upon its completion: ‘Solomon, I have surpassed thee.’ For nearly a thousand years, it was the largest cathedral in the world. When the Ottomans took Constantinople in 1453, Sultan Mehmed II did not destroy it; he converted it. Minarets rose around it. The Christian mosaics were plastered over rather than smashed, preserved beneath the surface like a civilisation held in amber. When Atatürk secularised it in 1934, those mosaics began to reappear. The building itself seemed to insist on remembering everything.
Walking through its grand doors, I felt the weight of all of that. My hand found the cold, textured surface of the ancient stone almost involuntarily, as if touch could confirm what the eyes could not quite accept. Above me, the great dome soared to 55 metres, flooding the interior with light through its ring of forty windows. The effect is extraordinary even now; in the sixth century, contemporaries wrote that the dome appeared to hang suspended from heaven by a golden chain.
The interior holds two worlds simultaneously and makes no apology for it. Byzantine mosaics, golden, solemn, deeply human, gaze down from the upper galleries. Enormous Ottoman medallions bearing the names of Allah and the Prophet Muhammad hang beside them. The mihrab pointing toward Mecca sits within an apse that once held a Christian altar. Rather than cancelling each other out, these layers seem to amplify one another.
The building is a living argument that civilisations are not walls but conversations, and this particular conversation has been running for fifteen hundred years.
I stayed longer than I had planned. I always do, in places that have something real to say.
The Blue Mosque: Where Heaven Meets Stone
A short walk across Sultanahmet Square brings you to the Sultan Ahmet Mosque, known to the world as the Blue Mosque, though that name only hints at what awaits inside.
Built between 1609 and 1616 under Sultan Ahmed I, who was only nineteen years old when construction began, the mosque was a deliberate act of architectural ambition. It is the only mosque in Turkey with six minarets, a detail that caused considerable controversy at the time, as six minarets were associated exclusively with the mosque in Mecca. A seventh was promptly added to Mecca to resolve the dispute. Even in its origins, this building refused to be ordinary.
The outer courtyard alone is a study in proportion and peace. The marble underfoot catches the light. The six minarets rise with such elegant authority that the eye travels upward almost involuntarily. Inside, the walls, pillars, and vaulted ceilings are covered in more than twenty thousand hand-painted Iznik tiles in shades of blue, from the palest powder to the deepest cobalt. The light that filters through the 260 windows shifts the colours constantly, so that the interior seems almost to breathe.
The ambience inside is one of the most profound I have encountered in any sacred space anywhere in the world. Countless thousands of people have come to this place carrying grief, gratitude, supplication, and wonder. You can feel the accumulation of all that human reaching. It settles over you like something almost tangible.
I want to be transparent about something, because it is part of my honest experience of these places. As an Israelite, I tend not to enter active places of worship, mosques, churches, and other sacred spaces where services are held or active devotion is taking place. It is not disrespect; There is an unsettled feeling that comes over me when I stand at the threshold of a space dedicated to another form of worship, and I have learned over time to honour that feeling rather than override it. In practice, this means I often admire these buildings from the outside, their facades, their courtyards, and their exteriors, and find that the architecture speaks to me just as powerfully from that vantage point. The Blue Mosque’s courtyard alone, with its marble and its minarets against the sky, was enough to hold me for a long time. Not every sacred space needs to be entered to be felt.
I left the Blue Mosque carrying that stillness with me into the afternoon.
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Day 2 — An Island Out of Time
Buyukada: The Largest of the Princes’ Islands
The second morning brought a change of pace so complete it felt like stepping into a different century altogether.
Buyukada, the largest of the nine Princes’ Islands in the Sea of Marmara, is reached by ferry from the European shore of Istanbul, and the crossing itself is part of the experience: the city receding behind you, the water widening, the noise and density of fifteen million people gradually giving way to open air and the sound of gulls.
The islands have a history as layered as Istanbul itself. During the Byzantine era, they served as places of exile; inconveniently alive princes, inconvenient wives, and inconvenient patriarchs were sent here to be forgotten. The Ottomans continued the tradition. Today, Buyukada is a weekend escape for Istanbul’s wealthy, and the moment you step off the ferry, you understand why.
There are no motor vehicles on the island. None. The silence that greets you on the quayside is almost disorienting after Istanbul. In place of traffic, horse-drawn carriages clatter along the main roads, and bicycles weave between them. The streets are lined with grand Victorian villas, painted in faded blues and yellows and creams, adorned with climbing flowers and overhanging trees, that give the island the atmosphere of a lost summer even in November.
Roast Fish, Shisha, and Seagulls
We gathered at one of the large seafood restaurants along the waterfront for roast fish, the island’s celebrated speciality, served with cold mezze, strong Turkish coffee, and shisha drifting in fragrant clouds across the terrace.
A word to those who, like me, travel on a Levitical diet: Turkish cuisine is more navigable than much of Southeast Asia, but it still requires careful attention. Lamb and beef are the dominant meats; pork is less prevalent in a predominantly Muslim country, but mixed broths, shared cooking oils, and dishes prepared without clear ingredient lists are common. The mezze tradition, while beautiful, presents particular challenges: many small dishes arrive unmarked, and the language barrier makes detailed questioning difficult. I found that grilled fish, simply prepared and clearly identifiable, was consistently the safest choice, and Istanbul’s proximity to the sea means the quality is reliably excellent. When in doubt, I asked, and when the answer was unclear, I went without. Travelling on a Levitical diet is entirely possible in Turkey; it simply requires the same attentiveness that we bring to everything else on a mindful journey.
The seagulls circled with undisguised interest. The Bosphorus glittered in the distance. I understood, sitting there, why people with the means to choose anywhere choose to come here.
The Egyptian Spice Bazaar: A Marketplace of the Senses
Back in Istanbul that afternoon, our guide led us to the Misir Carsisi, the Egyptian Spice Bazaar, and I was entirely unprepared for it.
Built in 1664 as part of the Yeni Mosque complex, the bazaar takes its name from the Egyptian customs duties that originally funded its construction. For more than three and a half centuries, it has been Istanbul’s centre of the spice trade, and the moment you pass through its arched entrance, every one of your senses receives the information simultaneously and at full volume.
The smell reaches you first, a dense, layered, extraordinary mixture of cinnamon and cumin, dried rose petals and sumac, saffron and cardamom and something indefinably sweet underneath all of it, like the olfactory memory of every trade route that has ever passed through this city. Then the colour: mounds of spices in every shade of red and gold and amber and ochre, piled high in open sacks; towers of lokum in rose and pistachio and pomegranate; strings of dried figs and apricots hanging from the vaulted ceiling.
Sampling lokum, Turkish delight in its genuine form, nothing like the pale imitations sold elsewhere, felt like tasting the city itself: dense, sweet, layered, unexpectedly complex. The saffron was vivid enough to colour your fingertips golden on contact. The merchants were generous with their samples and their stories, switching between Turkish, English, and several other languages without visible effort, weaving the history of each product into the conversation as naturally as breathing.
I left carrying small paper bags of spices I could not name but would not forget.
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Day 3 — The City From Above
Camlica Hill: Istanbul at Your Feet
On the final morning, we crossed to the Asian side of Istanbul, itself a strange and quietly thrilling thing to do, to step off a ferry and find yourself on a different continent, and made our way to Camlica Hill in the Uskudar district.
At 268 metres above sea level, Camlica is Istanbul’s highest point, and the view from its summit is one of the most astonishing urban panoramas I have ever seen. The Bosphorus Strait stretches below in both directions, north toward the Black Sea, south toward the Marmara, and on either shore, the city spreads itself in every direction, a vast, dense, beautiful human accumulation of domes and minarets and modern towers and old stone bridges and waterways, all of it shimmering in the low November light. The Golden Horn curves into the European shore like a brushstroke. Two continents hold the water between them.
There are Ottoman-style teahouses and cafes along the hilltop, run by the municipality, and the hill is a beloved venue for weddings. That afternoon, I watched two separate wedding processions wind their way along the hilltop paths, celebrations full of colour and music and the particular joy that belongs to occasions when an entire community gathers to mark something that matters.
A Small Exchange That Said Everything
Near one of the teahouses, a woman offered me flowers, a small posy of something bright. I accepted. We exchanged a few words across the barrier of language, less than a full conversation but more than a transaction. She smiled. I smiled. Istanbul smiled back at us through the afternoon light.
It is moments like that one, unremarkable in themselves, impossible to plan, that I carry home from every journey.
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Reflections: What Istanbul Does to You
Three days are not enough for Istanbul. I knew that before I arrived, and I know it more certainly now that I have left. There are entire neighbourhoods I did not walk, mosques I did not enter, waters I did not cross.
But what these three days can do, what these three days did, is give you the shape of a city. Its character. The particular quality of its light and its noise and its silences. The weight of its history held lightly in the hands of the people who live inside it, who eat fish on a ferry and drink tea on a hilltop and build their present lives on top of fifteen centuries of someone else’s stones.
Istanbul is not simply old. It is layered, Byzantine under Ottoman under modern, sacred under secular under sacred again, East pressed against West so long that the boundary between them has become something richer than either side alone. It is a city that has outlasted every attempt to define it as one thing and one thing only, and that containment of multitude, that refusal to be simple, is, I think, the source of its extraordinary energy.
To travel is to connect, not just with places, but with the souls and stories that define them. Istanbul has more souls and more stories than most cities ten times its age.
I left carrying more questions than I arrived with. That, for me, is always the mark of somewhere worth going.
One last thing I want to say about Turkey, and I say it here as a promise rather than a conclusion. Turkey carries an Israelite history that runs deeper and older than most people realise. The lands of Anatolia, the ancient trade routes, the communities that lived and moved through this region across centuries, there is a thread here that I have been following quietly for a long time, and that one day deserves its own dedicated piece. Istanbul was my first step onto this soil. It will not be my last. When I return, and I will return, it will be with that history more fully in hand, and I look forward to sharing that journey with you when the time comes.
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Practical Notes for Visitors
For those planning a trip to Istanbul, here is what I would want to know before going:
Best time to visit: April to June and September to November offer the most pleasant weather, warm but not oppressive, with fewer crowds than peak summer. November, when I visited, was cool and clear with beautiful low light. Avoid July and August if you are sensitive to heat and crowds.
Getting there: Istanbul Ataturk Airport has been replaced by the new Istanbul Airport (IST) as the city’s main international hub. It is one of the busiest airports in Europe and is well-connected to most major cities worldwide.
Getting around: The historic Sultanahmet district, where the Hagia Sophia, Blue Mosque, and Grand Bazaar are located, is entirely walkable. The ferry network is the most beautiful way to cross between the European and Asian sides. The Metro and tram system covers the rest efficiently.
Buyukada: Ferries depart from Eminonu or Kabatas on the European side. The journey takes approximately 90 minutes and is beautiful in itself. Arrive early on weekends as the island becomes busy with Istanbul day-trippers.
Dress code: Modest dress is required inside mosques, with shoulders and knees covered for both men and women. Women will be asked to cover their hair inside mosque interiors; scarves are usually provided at the entrance if you do not have one.
Food and Levitical diet: Turkish cuisine is more navigable than much of Southeast Asia for those following a Levitical diet, pork is less common in this predominantly Muslim country, and fish is abundant and excellent. However, mixed broths, shared oils, and unlabelled mezze dishes require careful attention. Grilled fish, clearly prepared and simply presented, is consistently the safest choice. Ask specifically and directly, and when the answer is unclear, err on the side of caution. The language barrier, while manageable in tourist areas, can make detailed dietary questions challenging.
Language: Turkish is the language of daily life, and while English is widely spoken in Sultanahmet and the main tourist areas, it drops off quickly outside those zones. A few words of Turkish go a long way: tessekur ederim (thank you), lutfen (please), and merhaba (hello) are received with genuine warmth. Most shopkeepers and restaurant staff in the bazaars speak sufficient English for basic transactions, but for anything more specific, patience and gestures become your allies.
Currency: The Turkish Lira (TRY). Card payments are widely accepted in tourist areas, but carry some cash for smaller vendors, market stalls, and ferry tickets.
Guided tours: The historical depth of Istanbul rewards a knowledgeable guide enormously. The stories behind the Hagia Sophia alone, its construction, its conversions, its mosaics hidden and revealed, take the experience from impressive to genuinely moving.
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Watch the Video
This journal entry is the companion piece to our Istanbul YouTube video. Watch the full visual journey at youtube.com/@mindfulelegance and check out our curated finds
Filed under: Journal · Travel · Istanbul · Turkey · History · Byzantine · Ottoman · Mindful Travel · Levitical Diet · Israelite Travel
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