All Along the Galata Tower
Istanbul, Turkey
There were moments in Istanbul, while walking along the Galata Bridge, that I felt inured to belt Jimi Hendrix’s version of “All Along the Watchtower.” I contented myself with a silent rendition instead, a mini head concert and lyrical shift to “All Along the Galata Tower,” an ode to the iconic 14th century landmark that offers generous panoramic views of the diverse cityscape and Bosphorus strait.
Like its coastal siblings Palermo, Marseille and Barcelona, Istanbul carries the energy of a city and the character of water; she flows differently to landlocked metropolitan areas, her salty fragrance tempering an otherwise frenetic pace – things happen, but they happen in their way, in their time.
I was seduced by the aliveness of the bridge. The November days were chilly, sometimes overcast with occasional bursts of sun followed by a smattering of rain, none of which impeded the daily foot traffic.
I spent ten days walking between Sultanahmet, Galata and Taksim, Istanbul’s famed neighborhood trinity, wanting to not only intellectualize, but also directly experience the intersection of worlds facilitated by this epicenter of life.
This is what was present: rich and poor, secular and non-secular Muslims, women in hijab, women with free-flowing hair, couples sneaking subtle caresses, a proliferation of selfies rivaling the number of fishing rods lining the bridge’s ledge, freshly fried fish nestled between thick slices of bread, frothy mugs of beer, baklava swimming in honey, friends jubilantly greeting friends, food stalls bursting with grilled corn and roasted chestnuts, the air pregnant with the pungent smell of tobacco and a cacophony of loud and boisterous voices serving as cinematic backdrop – a veritable feast for the senses and warmth for the heart.
If you were to ask me what I believe is the most important element for overall well-being, I would say connection. Connection is what nourishes the soul and allays our need for belonging. We often use the term “bridge” to connect people, places and concepts, and to “bridge” our differences.
In many ways, the bridge is also an equalizer, a place where divergent worlds cross and meet, an energetic swirl of commotion, culture and commerce. A few months later, a suicide bomber would detonate near the Hagia Sophia and Blue Mosque just two kilometers away, killing thirteen people, a harsh reminder of our fragility, as well.
As I walked across the bridge for my umpteenth time, I couldn’t help but think that while there is no denying the uncertainty, conflict and disconnect that exists in the world, there are also fisherman, young lovers and dreamers all along the Galata. And each day I was humming,
“There are many here among us
Who feel that life is but a joke
But, uh, but you and I, we’ve been through that
And this is not our fate
So let us stop talkin’ falsely now
The hour’s getting late.”
