Hello, Neighbour: Istanbul’s Warm Welcome

Istanbul is bursting at the seams: the population of this still-growing metropolis is set to top 25 million by 2023. So it comes as a surprise that most areas of the city still manage to preserve the small-neighbourhood feel and offer Turkey’s signature sense of hospitality. Even on Istiklal Caddesi, a shopping boulevard that sees about three million people meander along it each day, traces of neighbourliness are noticeable. It could be the waiter at the lokanta (local restaurant) who remembers your name, the baker who says “Gunaydin” (good morning) or the stranger who offers to pay the bus fare of a fellow traveller in need.

Random acts of kindness are a trait of Turkish culture and deeply knitted into the life of the mahalle (neighbourhood). Find a good street to settle in and soon you can leave a spare key with the bakkal (general store). Or you can get tips from the manav (grocer), delivered in a conspiratorial whisper, about whether the beans are any good or the tomatoes in season. These are just a couple of the perks of becoming a mahalleli (local resident).

You know you’re in a mahalle befitting of old Istanbul when there’s a contingent of cats nurtured by fellow residents. Sharing leftovers with these free-range felines is a daily ritual for mahallelis and the neighbourhood cats are even given temporary names such as Maviş, Kitir or Boncuk. These rituals fuel a sense of attachment and belonging in the sprawl of streets. It is an unspoken code of unity that has kept the mahalle afloat as Istanbul’s population has boomed.

Initially neighbourhoods were shaped around identities, with their origins still hinted at in their names. Arnavutköy (Albanian Village), for instance, was the first Albanian settlement; Geniköy, remodelled over time into Yeniköy (New Village), was the village of Greeks from the Geni region in the 16th century. It is interesting to note that the suffix “köy” in the names of these individual areas is the Turkish word for village. The group mentality of the neighbourhood, then, can be traced back to an early desire to live and work with one’s own kind. Over time this has metamorphosed into a general feeling across the whole city to which Istanbul, forged by immigrants and a sediment of cultures, owes its harmony.

At its best, Istanbul is an accumulation of villages. Bebek, before it became its fancy self, was a fishermen’s village. Today’s popular shopping district and residential area Nişantaşı, known for its art nouveau buildings, started to claim a bigger role in Istanbul’s dynamics in only the second half of the 19th century. No more than 40 years ago, before the coastline was filled with concrete to make it accessible for vehicles and passengers, the European shore had beaches and attracted bathers.

Some neighbourhoods are still navigating between traditional values and the life of a modern city. The men-only teahouses, for instance, continue to adjust their boundaries with the next-door contemporary-art galleries in Çukurcuma. And third-generation esnaf (tradesmen) can occasionally be heard ranting about the Istanbul they remember – an altogether greener and friendlier place.

From the scream of a lady dangling her basket from her balcony for some fresh bread to the rattle of the junk dealer’s cart, the melody of this city is composed by its residents. The intimate and genuine gestures of the mahalle lifestyle make up the cornerstones of Istanbul’s social structure. For homesick urban dwellers or visitors adjusting to the dynamics of a bigger city, Istanbul’s welcoming attitude is the best cure.