December as autumn, in Ihlamur Kasrı


I wake up at Asli’s house on Saturday and make it to my doctor’s appointment in Fulya early in the morning. The night before I was eating chicken and rice from a minivan parked on a slope in the former slum-ghetto surrounding the north gate of Bogazici University. We were, prior to that, at a meyhane frequented by students. Six women’s who we were. Bajar, a rock band singing in Kurdish had been on stage earlier as we danced in a long halay between seats of a BU theatre.

I roll the time forward to the sun on my face. Now. I’m in Ihlamur Palace. Outside it’s autumn in December. Yellow leaves dot the green grass and what’s it with the birds relentlessly chirping over traffic noise? Let my civilization be, you silly creatures! Let us be! Let us fold the earth in concrete origami and roar in our busy, busy, busy. You chirplings have nothing to do, mind you.

The marble interior of this quiet four-chambered modest kasr is extraordinary. I know little about marbles, Ottoman architecture or interior design. I notice, in each chamber the walls are marbled marble. What? English is rather unassuming sometimes. The walls are ebrulu (marbled) marble. Each chamber, different shades… 
(Mother Google tells me it's stucco, which not only breaks my heart but makes me curse our digitally disenchanted world.)

click 'stucco poses as marble'

I’ve taken habitation here since nine thirty in the morning and had breakfast, drank tea, coffee, tea and tea.  I’ve even paid the bill as there remained no other intelligible interaction option on my end. “One more tea, please?” “No way, ma’am. You’ve quite a bladder!” "Oh, well in that case…check please." I like baking here under the sun while my laptop battery bleeds a 15%. I urge myself to move, at least to the toilets outside the building (these Ottomans! Savages!) but, once I get comfortable, and the sun and…

The marble stairs, marbled marble interiors, ornamented stone buildings, the little pond with watch lions… this little park with entrance fee of 50 cents… How can I leave and plunge into my reality? Among my contemporaries… There is a snobbish young chestnut tree whose leaves are still on and it's showcasing green and pink and yellow foliage like a cocky peacock. The memo, yo? It’s December. Drop those leaves down. Now!


From the glass tabletop I see migrating birds. Kırlangıç… when was the last time I saw swallows? Everyone outside is taking pictures of the leaves. Tossing them in the air. Having their toddlers walk towards them. A little instagram staging in this historo-urban time trap... The elderly couple hug each other and the young girl takes a snapshot. Now she walks back and the three in a selfie. Who will look at your pics? Who will print them onto cute & kitsch calendars?


Nigoğus Balyan...Nigoğus Balyan...Nigoğus Balyan (also known as Nigoğayos Balyan)
Google doesn't tell me much in Turkish about the architect who built the kasr in mid 1800s, but I get lucky when I type his undoubtable Armenian name as "Balian". He belongs to a family of architects who, for a century, shaped Istanbul as we'd like to be proud of it. Think half of architectural gems of the city… For more info read: The Balian Family and the Architecture of Constantinople by Sarkis Balmanoukian here:

Armenian Constantinople

I partake in the parting. Finally.










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