Istanbul: memories of a feeling

At the end of the summer of 2006, my partner and I planned to spend a week away from Barcelona. In fact, I had no previous intentions of flying to Istanbul. I only knew that everybody who had been there told me it was a wonderful city. The simple truth was it was an affordable destination, but in the back of my mind, I thought it would be crowded and full of Spanish tourists!

But from the very beginning something proved to be different this time. The flight was due to take off at 7 a.m. On our way to the airport, my partner realised he had left his passport at home and he lived in a small village about an hour and a half from the airport! You can imagine how I felt. Something seemed preventing me from getting to know Istanbul.

We went to Alitalia's customer service desk office and we explained the situation. The clerk looked at us with a smile and said: "You're lucky! The flight has been delayed until noon and it has been transferred to Iberia so you do not need to change planes in Milan. Hurry up and fetch your passport!". Magic? Destiny? From that moment on I felt that journey would be more than special to me.

The flight was pleasant. The weather was incredible, you could see immense, imposing Istanbul, Constantinople.... whatever its name is, its magic remains immutable. The Bosphorus embraces both sides of the city and reflects the shimmering golden sunlight of the dawn.

Istanbul changes constantly, as the breeze from the Bosphorus meets the Marmare sea. Its light turns into a pink veil reflected in the marble domes of its mosques.

Istanbul is intense, noisy, chaotic, sweet-scented, sensual... Apple tea and smoke from a hookah make you drift into the thickness of an atmosphere full of conversations in a completely unknown language, as dense as the air you are breathing. And from the Blue Mosque the minrab summons the faithful to prayer and his singing penetrates your brain, soothes your eyes and makes your throat sore...

Istanbul overwhelmed me. It was more than I expected and much more than I could stand without being moved. I am sure I will come back one day, to spend as many evenings as possible sitting on the roof of a run down building, on the shore of the Bosphorus strait, watching as ships go by.

Leaving Istanbul was strangely easy. But the city had already inoculated its poison in me. It has only been as time has passed that I have recognised the symptons of the disease. Its spell remains in my memory and I can feel the same emotion just by closing my eyes and breathing deeply... yes, it is still there.