My Istanbul Experience

ISTANBUL

Before I came here, I heard so many things.

“Is it safe?”

“Turkish people are like this… like that…”

I didn’t know what to believe. But now that I’ve lived here, just for a month, as a complete newcomer, I think I’ve seen enough to say this:

Istanbul is not what people told me it would be.

It’s calmer. Warmer. Stranger. Kinder.

And somehow… more alive.

I still remember my first few days here. Everything felt unfamiliar, the language, the streets, even the way people looked at you. I was trying to understand the city, while the city was quietly observing me back.

But what surprised me most was the people.

They don’t always smile. Not in the way we do.

Back home, a small smile is almost automatic, especially to elders, as a sign of respect. So naturally, I did the same here. I smiled at a few uncles who were cleaning the street on my first day.

They just looked at me… confused.

That was my first lesson: friendliness here doesn’t always come with a smile.

But it comes in other ways.

In the way someone says “Hoş geldiniz” when you walk in.

In the quiet “Afiyet olsun” as your food arrives.

In the effort people make to help you even when they don’t understand a single word you’re saying.

I’ve had people open Google Translate just for me. I’ve seen them call their friends just to bridge the gap between two languages. It’s not loud kindness, but it’s real.

At the same time, this is also a city of strong emotions.

People argue. Loudly. Publicly. On the road, in buses, sometimes out of nowhere. The first time I saw it, I was shocked. But then… it ends just as quickly. And sometimes, with words that sound like prayers. It’s intense, but also strangely human.

One of my earliest “lost in Istanbul” moments still makes me smile.

I had no idea where I was. Google Maps wasn’t helping, my sense of direction had completely failed me, and panic was slowly creeping in.

I saw an uncle nearby and decided to ask for help.

He wanted to help, I could see it. I wanted to understand, I really did.

But we were speaking two completely different worlds.

So I called my Turkish friend. And just like that, she became our bridge.

There I was standing on a random street in Istanbul, talking to the man in front of me through someone who wasn’t even there.

It felt ridiculous. And beautiful.

Because even without language, there was still effort. And somehow, that was enough.

And then there’s the city itself.

Istanbul doesn’t try too hard to be beautiful, it just is.

The sea, the mosques, the mix of old and new… it’s the kind of beauty that doesn’t feel staged. You don’t just “see” it, you sit with it.

Sometimes with a cup of tea in your hand.

That’s another thing I love here. You don’t just pass by places - you pause. There’s always somewhere to sit, to breathe, to just exist for a moment.

And tea somehow makes everything feel slower, softer.

Life here also moves… on foot.

You walk. A lot.

A 30-minute walk? That’s considered near.

At first, it felt tiring. But over time, I started to enjoy it - the rhythm of walking, the feeling of being part of the city instead of just passing through it.

But there’s one thing I still can’t get used to.

The smoking.

It’s everywhere. You walk, and someone in front of you is smoking. You sit, and the smoke finds you anyway. It’s one of those things you just have to accept here, even if you don’t like it.

Then there’s the chaos.

Not the messy kind, but the kind that feels… alive.

Public transport works surprisingly well. You can go almost anywhere with one card. People are helpful, systems are efficient, and things somehow function even when they feel a bit disorganized.

But the roads?

That’s a different story.

Cars don’t wait. They move like they have somewhere urgent to be - always.

Crossing the street becomes an act of courage. You hesitate, you calculate, and then… you just go.

And hope for the best.

Food, though… makes everything better.

Turkish breakfast quickly became one of my favorite things. It’s simple, but it feels full—like something meant to be shared, not rushed.

And the sweets?

Dangerous.

Baklava, künefe… they don’t just taste good, they stay in your memory.

Being Muslim here feels… easy, but also different.

Mosques are everywhere. The sound of the azan echoes through the city, and there’s a certain comfort in that.

But Istanbul doesn’t fit into one box.

You’ll see things that challenge your expectations. People don’t always match what you assume just by looking at them.

And maybe that’s the beauty of it.

It teaches you not to judge too quickly.

I came here with expectations.

But Istanbul didn’t try to meet them.

Instead, it showed me something more real, something unfiltered, imperfect, and full of contrasts.

And maybe that’s why it stays with you.

Not because it’s perfect.

But because it feels alive.

If you ask me now,

Yes, Istanbul is safe.

Yes, it’s worth visiting.

But more than that…

It’s a city you feel.

Turkish breakfast at my Turkish friend's house