My Dreams of Istanbul
I was walking across a bridge. It was built for auto traffic, a lane of traffic traveling both into and out of the city. On each side of the bridge was a wide walkway. The material it was made of was thick and spongy, like industrial styrofoam. I could feel my feet sink into it a little with every step.
As I walked toward the city I could feel the heat of the springtime sun, a cool wind blowing through the valley below the bridge and, tousling my hair, carrying with it the scents of strange flowers in bloom. Cars hummed by, their bodies floating above the road on strange scientific devices. They all looked old and work in that way that cars from Europe always do. Like they'd seen wars and had the scars and nightmares to prove it.
The city before me was massive but contained. Rather than sprawling outwards over miles and miles of space it stretched upwards. There were few actual skyscrapers, but every building from the lowliest tenement to the centers of industry and the arts all stood twenty, thirty stories tall at the least. And at each corner of the city was a tall structure, a thin and sharp spire, at the very top of which was a ring. Stretched from corner to corner of the city, through these needle-buildings, was a fine blue tarp that arched up, shimmering like the ocean floating above the metropolis.
My senses were filled with beautifully strange new stimuli as I stepped off of the bridge and under the roiling blue shield of Istanbul. The air was thick with the scents of cooking meats and spices. Bizarre fruits and vegetables were being sold in corner markets and carts pushed around by arabers. Tapestries hung out of nearly every window and flapped about in the light breeze.
I walked to the garment district and met with an old friend, Simay, whom I hadn't seen in a year or two. She was to be my guide. She dressed in plain clothes, dark colours to contrast with the drab greens and greys that I was wearing, dressed as if I were a war photographer. Her hair was pulled up into a loose bun and she smiled and gave me a hug as I approached.
Simay was to be my guide, and she started me off by walking me through the Bazaar. The buildings were close together, the bottoms of them the original buildings that were constructed here hundreds of years ago while atop them sat newer constructions, odd, sci-fi structures that looked like broken down modern versions of the kinds of towers that they would have built during the Crusades. We looked up and studied the gossamer blue tarp that stretched across the city, keeping the polution of the city n and giving everything a hazy blue tint like we were underwater.
Simay smiled at me a little, having a sense of the adventures that we were about to get into. I followed behind her, marveling at everything that I walked past.
As I walked toward the city I could feel the heat of the springtime sun, a cool wind blowing through the valley below the bridge and, tousling my hair, carrying with it the scents of strange flowers in bloom. Cars hummed by, their bodies floating above the road on strange scientific devices. They all looked old and work in that way that cars from Europe always do. Like they'd seen wars and had the scars and nightmares to prove it.
The city before me was massive but contained. Rather than sprawling outwards over miles and miles of space it stretched upwards. There were few actual skyscrapers, but every building from the lowliest tenement to the centers of industry and the arts all stood twenty, thirty stories tall at the least. And at each corner of the city was a tall structure, a thin and sharp spire, at the very top of which was a ring. Stretched from corner to corner of the city, through these needle-buildings, was a fine blue tarp that arched up, shimmering like the ocean floating above the metropolis.
My senses were filled with beautifully strange new stimuli as I stepped off of the bridge and under the roiling blue shield of Istanbul. The air was thick with the scents of cooking meats and spices. Bizarre fruits and vegetables were being sold in corner markets and carts pushed around by arabers. Tapestries hung out of nearly every window and flapped about in the light breeze.
I walked to the garment district and met with an old friend, Simay, whom I hadn't seen in a year or two. She was to be my guide. She dressed in plain clothes, dark colours to contrast with the drab greens and greys that I was wearing, dressed as if I were a war photographer. Her hair was pulled up into a loose bun and she smiled and gave me a hug as I approached.
Simay was to be my guide, and she started me off by walking me through the Bazaar. The buildings were close together, the bottoms of them the original buildings that were constructed here hundreds of years ago while atop them sat newer constructions, odd, sci-fi structures that looked like broken down modern versions of the kinds of towers that they would have built during the Crusades. We looked up and studied the gossamer blue tarp that stretched across the city, keeping the polution of the city n and giving everything a hazy blue tint like we were underwater.
Simay smiled at me a little, having a sense of the adventures that we were about to get into. I followed behind her, marveling at everything that I walked past.