ISTANBUL – A sizzling June day reluctantly cools toward evening along the waterfront at Eminonu. I stop and write in my notebook.Smells: salty, moist sea; grilled lamb; car exhaust; sweat; hamburgers; flowering trees; cigarettes; sweet cologne.
Here, where the shimmering Sea of Marmara and the Bosphorus connect at the Golden Horn, massive ferries fill to capacity with pushy commuters. They include last-minute passengers not afraid to leap across the widening gap between solid ground and the decks as deafening horns signal imminent departure and the vessels chug to destinations with names like Kabatas, Uskudar, Buyukada, Harem, and Besiktas.
Between the ferry piers and a four-lane road clogged with rush-hour traffic, crowds stream in all directions across the wide Eminonu Meydani. I’m reminded of the concourse at Grand Central Station in New York except the twinkling overhead constellations are real, as is the crescent moon rising near the minaret of the 17th-century Yeni Cami.
The plaza is awash with activity. Vendors vie for attention, their carts piled high with cherries, bananas, apricots, peaches, pistachios, and mussels. A boy on a bicycle leans precipitously close to pyramids of fresh grilled corn. Nearby, a musician with a long mustache strums his amplified oud and sings a mournful song.
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