[Re]Discovering Solo Travel in Istanbul

It was in the Hippodrome that the giddiness set in. I was surrounded by ancient relics of Byzantium – the Obelisk of Theodosius, the triple serpent-headed Spiral Column, and the rough-stone Obelisk. Beyond soared the six minarets of the Ottoman-era Blue Mosque and the four of the infamous Aya Sofia. I was in the center of one of the world’s largest open-air museums. And I was alone.

Before meeting Bruno, I’d often had the opportunity to travel solo. Senegal, Nepal, London, Paris, Cape Town – the list of places I’d visited without a partner or friend spans the globe. When I met Bruno that fateful afternoon in Mozambique and began daydreaming about a nomadic life in a camping car, I assumed there would be times when I’d part ways with Bruno for a few days and visit a place on my own. It would be good for me, I knew. It would keep me sharp, independent, resourceful – and plus, it would be fun.

Almost three years have passed. Bruno and I have traveled together through Southern and East Africa, through North Africa and into the Middle East. Besides my yearly summer jaunts to Canada, we have essentially always been together. I love traveling with Bruno, sharing places and experiences with him, deciding where to go together, and problem-solving as a couple. I have felt no reason to leave him and our comfortable camper van for solo trips.

It was thus slightly strange to find myself without Bruno in Istanbul, especially since I hadn’t asked to be here without him. When I walked off the bus that first night with that disorientated, vulnerable feeling that comes with arriving in a new place for the first time, it felt unfamiliar. With Bruno, I feel safe and secure, confident and confortable as we enter each new country. I hadn’t felt so exposed in a long time. Yet, as I walked along the cobbled arena that was the center of both the Byzantium and the Ottoman Empire for 1400 years, my insecurity and discomfort were slowly replaced with exhilaration. It felt kind of good to be in Istanbul alone.

Depending on my own wits and inner compass, I spent that first day in Istanbul wandering the streets. I strolled past the Sphendone, the last remaining crumbling wall of the Hippodrome. I walked into the courtyard of the Blue Mosque and down the boulevard toward the Aya Sofia. I wandered through hilly alleyways, past shop windows displaying mosaics, carpets and bakhlava, past colourful wooden houses and old neighborhood mosques, and onto rooftops overlooking the Strait of Bosphorus. I moseyed my way down the hill toward the water, and walked along the boardwalk, over the Golden Horn River past the amblers along the Galata Bridge, and into Beyoğlu and Karakӧy, the artsy hipster areas of town.

The high of being alone in a new city lasted several days. I had things pretty darn good, to be quite honest. I was staying in my friend Dani’s rented flat room while she was in Barcelona. The room was big and bright, and the location was fabulous. It was a mere five-minute walk down the hill to reach the yoga studio where I’d signed up to take classes.   A minute’s walk beyond that was Findıklı tram station that would take me, in only ten minutes, to the center of historical Istanbul.

Armed with Dani’s city map and expat advice, I set to visiting not-so-touristy spots. I walked along the busy Bosphorus, past the old men reading newspapers at park benches, the groups of gypsies contemplating a dip in the water, and the couples drinking tea at çay bahçesis. I walked to Beşiktas and Ortakӧy, two neighborhoods with excellent markets and cafes that I never would have known about without Dani’s advice. I wandered through upmarket Niçantaşi and down the big shopping avenue of Istaklal Caddesi. I went to the local bazaar with Dani’s Kurdish roommates, Zelal and Sinan. I sampled foods like kumpir (baked potato), borëk pastries, and gӧzleme (cheese, spinach and potato crepe). I drank oodles of çay to keep warm from the crisp early spring wind and wrote copiously in my journal.

It was all too good to be true, however. First, I ran out of cash. I had brought $150US in cash, and stupidly changed and spent all of it before ever trying my debit card. When my card refused to work at eight different cash machines, I suddenly found myself alone in a city without any means of getting cash. This was a novice mistake. I didn’t think I was a novice traveler, but perhaps I’d reverted to a novice solo traveler these past three years. And as a novice solo traveler, my first instinct was to panic.

It took me an email exchange with Bruno and twenty-four hours to calm down before I figured out a way around my problem: pay for people’s entrance tickets at tourist sites with my credit card and take their cash. Disaster averted.

With my new-found cash-collection method, I began to check off Istanbul’s major tourist sites. Topkapı Palace, the court of the Ottoman Empire between the 15^th and 19^th century, check. The Museum of Turkish and Islamic Arts, housed in an Ottoman Palace along the Hippodrome, check. The Blue Mosque, with its tumbling domes, sky-high minarets, and Iznik-tiled interior check. The Kariye Church, full of stunning Byzantium frescoes and mosaics, check.

And then, I got sick. I mean, really, really sick. The kind of sick that brings you to bed for five days and to the doctor on the sixth. The kind of sick that leaves you choosing movies and naps over tourist sites. The kind of sick that leaves you wishing you weren’t alone in Istanbul at all, but home in your comfy camper van bed with your husband and travel partner taking care of you.

I spent several days feeling sorry for myself at this point. I looked at my list of things to do during what was supposed to be an extended stay in Istanbul, and began to cross off the things I could live without doing. Istanbul Modern, cross. Archaeology Museum, cross. Büyükada Islands, cross. Grand Bazaar, cross. I had arrived in Istanbul with the amazing gift of time, and my illness had eaten away at it. I began to wonder if solo travel was really for me, anymore.

The night that Dani came back from Barcelona, she dragged me into nearby Çihangir for dinner. Over the course of a plate of mezzes and conversation, Dani managed to shake me out of both my illness and my self-pity. Ok, perhaps my first antibiotic pill was part of the turning point, but by the time I went to bed that night, I’d decided it was time to get back out get there and do stuff.

And so I did. I took a cruise on the Strait of Bosphorus and tried to notice differences between the European and Asian sides of Istanbul. I admired the view of rooftops over the city from the edge of Süleymaniye Mosque. I went to the eerie subterranean Basilica Cistern, constructed by Justinian in 532AD to supply water to the Great Palace. I admired the tulips of Istanbul’s famous April Tulip Festival and walked down as many alleys and side streets as I could to make up for the days I’d lost. I finally made it to Aya Sofia.

But the best part of having Dani bring me back to life was having Dani. She took me to new neighborhoods and cool cafes. She brought me to her school for the day. She introduced me to her friends. She drank beer with me.

And on my last day in town, she brought me on the ferry to the Asian side of town, something I’d been meaning to do since my arrival in Istanbul. We spent a gorgeous spring afternoon wandering the streets of Kadakӧy and the waterside promedade of Moye, sampling mezzes at locantas and beers at beer gardens. We browsed the used books alley and local market, ogled at lokum sweet shops, and napped in the grass along the edge of the water to the Saturday afternoon sounds of the city’s hip youth.

I may not have seen all the things I wanted to see in Istanbul. I definitely only scratched the surface of understanding the city’s dumbfounding history. I didn’t get to enjoy as many of the back-alleys, local neighborhoods, and artsy cafes as I’d planned to. But I got to reconnect with a friend, meet a few new ones, and get a more-generous-than-most taste of a fascinatingly unique city. More than that, I got to remember some of the character-building benefits of solo travel, and re-learn some of the lessons that go along with it.

I think I’ve recommitted to the idea of taking occasional (very, very occasional, ok Bruno?) solo trips. I’m so lucky to have built a life around travel, and to get to share it with a partner who makes me feel safe and comfortable as I move around the globe. But I think that it’s also good to feel comfortable without my Bruno-crutch, wonderful though he may be. And if nothing else, traveling alone sure makes reuniting with Bruno all the sweeter – and that is reason enough to take a solo trip from time to time, don’t you think?