A little after eight o'clock in the morning, crowds of young
professionals and older men in knit hats bundle down the docks at the
edge of Istanbul's Kadıköy district and watch similar herds of busy
gulls swirling across the Bosphorus, obscuring the panoramic view of the
Byzantine city walls and the Hagia Sophia. Istanbulis don't queue, but
they don't jostle either. When the gates finally open, they board the
commuter ferries with amiable efficiency, holding their briefcases to
their chests and casually minding the expanding and contracting gap
between hull and dock.
Deckhands stand by to help everyone aboard. Only a few elderly
tourists reach for their rope-hardened hands. The trip from Asia to
Europe is, despite the staggering views on offer, a routine commute for
the thousands of locals who live in eastern Istanbul's patchwork of
bohemian and bourgeois neighborhoods and work in Sultanahmet, the city's arrhythmatic Ottoman heart, or Beyoğlu, the more student-dominated peninsula just to the north.
There is a casual familiarity among the passengers. Boats are unlike
subways in much the same way cocktail bars are unlike food courts.
People talk about their families and admire each other's leather coats.
If commutes are the ellipses bookending the workday, then this
literal sail to Byzantium is lowercase and bold, casual and striking.
This is how Istanbul's hungry young capitalists get to work and, with
the economy booming, there is a palpable feeling of nervous
purposefulness on board. Turkey has been through enough rough waters
that Istanbul's current fortune -- especially when contrasted with
European chaos -- can seem delicate. The professionals on board are all
invested in their city's modernity and relevance.
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