Beyoglu District Street in Istanbul, 1965
Istanbul in 1965
Beyoglu District Street in Istanbul, 1965. The photo was taken by American amateur photographer Charles Weaver Cushman.
Turkish writer Orhan Pamuk writes in his novel My Strange Thoughts:
“Over the past twenty-five years, Istanbul has changed so much that Mevluts memories seemed almost like a fairy tale (Mevlut is a bouza street vendor from the troubled Tarlabashi neighborhood - Old Photos). The streets, which were completely paved with paving stones, are now asphalted. Almost all three-story wooden mansions surrounded by gardens have been demolished. They were replaced by tall apartment buildings, on the upper floors of which the voice of a street vendor could not be heard. The radios were replaced by televisions that were always on in the evenings, the sound of which blocked the voices of the buza merchants. Quiet, exhausted people in colourless, worn clothes disappeared from the streets, and were replaced by a noisy, lively, well-dressed crowd.
Mevlut was not at all sad that Istanbul was changing. On the contrary, he always wanted to keep up with these dramatic changes and always went to neighborhoods where he was well received and loved.
For example, Beyoglu district is the noisiest district and closest to his home. Fifteen years ago, in the late seventies, casinos, nightclubs, and semi-underground date houses on the alleys of Beyoğlu did not close until midnight. Mevlut could trade there until late at night. Women who worked part-time as both singers and consumers in stove-heated basements and pavilions, their fans, middle-aged tired mustachioed men who came from Anatolia on business and had a drink with them, provincials who recently moved to Istanbul, for whom sitting at the same table next to a woman was unprecedented entertainment, tourists from Pakistan and Arab countries, waiters, security guards, jails gatekeepers — they bought buza from Mevlut even at midnight. But in the past ten years, everything has disappeared as if by magic. The fun places where Ottoman and European songs were sung were closed, and instead there were noisy eateries where they grilled Adanese shish kebab and washed down its rakes. Since crowds of young people enjoying their own belly dancing were not interested in buza, Mevlut now didnt even look into the area around Istiklal Avenue in the evenings.”
Beyoglu District Street in Istanbul, 1965. The photo was taken by American amateur photographer Charles Weaver Cushman.
Turkish writer Orhan Pamuk writes in his novel My Strange Thoughts:
“Over the past twenty-five years, Istanbul has changed so much that Mevluts memories seemed almost like a fairy tale (Mevlut is a bouza street vendor from the troubled Tarlabashi neighborhood - Old Photos). The streets, which were completely paved with paving stones, are now asphalted. Almost all three-story wooden mansions surrounded by gardens have been demolished. They were replaced by tall apartment buildings, on the upper floors of which the voice of a street vendor could not be heard. The radios were replaced by televisions that were always on in the evenings, the sound of which blocked the voices of the buza merchants. Quiet, exhausted people in colourless, worn clothes disappeared from the streets, and were replaced by a noisy, lively, well-dressed crowd.
Mevlut was not at all sad that Istanbul was changing. On the contrary, he always wanted to keep up with these dramatic changes and always went to neighborhoods where he was well received and loved.
For example, Beyoglu district is the noisiest district and closest to his home. Fifteen years ago, in the late seventies, casinos, nightclubs, and semi-underground date houses on the alleys of Beyoğlu did not close until midnight. Mevlut could trade there until late at night. Women who worked part-time as both singers and consumers in stove-heated basements and pavilions, their fans, middle-aged tired mustachioed men who came from Anatolia on business and had a drink with them, provincials who recently moved to Istanbul, for whom sitting at the same table next to a woman was unprecedented entertainment, tourists from Pakistan and Arab countries, waiters, security guards, jails gatekeepers — they bought buza from Mevlut even at midnight. But in the past ten years, everything has disappeared as if by magic. The fun places where Ottoman and European songs were sung were closed, and instead there were noisy eateries where they grilled Adanese shish kebab and washed down its rakes. Since crowds of young people enjoying their own belly dancing were not interested in buza, Mevlut now didnt even look into the area around Istiklal Avenue in the evenings.”
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Contributed by OldPik on January 6, 2025
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