Sunday, February 22, 2026

It was a drizzly, cold morning on the heels of generally değişken weather this week. On a couple of days we had temperatures in the sixties, on another day there was snow (of a sort). 

But I liked the drizzly cold vibe this morning. As I took my morning constitutional down İstiklal Caddesi there were relatively few crowds, whereas typically Sunday is the most crowded day for that street. Maybe it's just me being older, or more accustomed to living in a quiet place like Montana, but the mass of humanity served up on İstiklal is tougher to take as the years go by. I avoid it altogether on weekend afternoons and nights, but in the mornings I still love the vibe, especially during inclement weather. 

I had coffee at one of my few old hangouts that still exist--the Urban Cafe in Beyoğlu. This place is more popular than ever now--at night there are always dozens of people sitting outside in the little back alley where the cafe is situated. Fortunately, it's still pretty dead in the mornings, so I like stopping in, since I'm in the neighborhood, and getting a coffee. I started going to the Urban in the mid-90s, alongside my other favorite from those days, the Kaktüs. Unfortunately somewhere along the way the Kaktüs became Lonely Planetized. I remember stopping by in the early 2000s to find about 10-12 elderly French tourists inside and never went back. It looks like it may have moved to Cihangir now. Figures. 

As I pushed my way back through the wind and rain this morning, I remembered a few of the characters I used to see there regularly. One was a guy I used to call the Türkish Kovboy, because of the ten-gallon hat he used to wear as he strutted up and down the streat. There was also a guy who used to dress up in a three-piece suit (always the same one), complete with a vest, pocket watch, and fedora, wielding the largest tespi I've ever seen. 

And who could forget the screaming man of İstiklal? He looked like he slept in an alley behind a bakery, as he always appeared to be covered in flour (though perhaps it was concrete). The screaming man would get behind someone and then, when they least expected it, scream right in their ear, scaring the absolute shit out of them. Once this happens, you're never quite the same--trust me. 

The screaming man was the subject of my first-ever publication, an article in the "Arts and Culture" section of a now-defunct paper called The Balkan News. 

Before long, I'd made it back home for another afternoon of writing. If you have to go somewhere, Istanbul in the rain can be pretty treacherous, especially during the week. But when you're time is your own, it can be lovely.