On a sunny July afternoon when my colleague from Axis Turkey office reckoned walking from Kuruçeşme (little ahead of Ortaköy) to Bebek in order to avoid the disreputable Istanbul traffic, little did I know that I would relish every step along the way. There is no better way to see a place than by setting off on foot. You will cover less, but you will see more. Unbeknown to me we would be teetering along sidewalks just wide enough for one person, with sharp ascents and descents in close and rapid succession. Albeit, when all was said and done, it was well worth the exertion.

I discovered our route was a meandering course running along the Bosphorus strait. This side is punctuated with iron fences and concrete walls. Istanbul’s terrain being hilly, one obtains a kaleidoscopic view of incessant maritime traffic cruising through the Bosphorus and the Asian side of the city. As we plodded along, we encountered some waterfronts and anyone acquainted with Istanbullus will be aware of their love affair with waterfronts. People were fishing, running, exercising, walking, dog walking, watching, chatting, singing and so on. Somewhere along the way emerged one of the most well-known night clubs in Istanbul which was apparently the place to see and to be seen. We walked past its discreet entrance as if deliberately tucked away from the public.

In stark contrast lay the other side; a high walled area with apartment buildings lofted above as if catapulted atop by a giant sling. Dotted by strikingly clean billboards with dandified models luring consumers with a promise of an elevated social status. Old, beautiful small houses of an age gone by, intertwined by unabated vegetation are cowered down by the dogged persistence of urbanization, slowly but surely descending them into the annals of time. Their witnesses to glory are long gone evoking just poignant guesses and dubious pleasures. The rampant march of capitalism has inevitably juxtaposed the collision of obscene modernity and obstinate history. It is a bewildering contrast leaving you with a feeling of despondency.

As the day was blurring into evening, we reached Bebek. It had an unmistaken atmosphere of a leafy suburb, spaced out and trendy suggesting that it was an abode for the rich and careless. Chic cafes and boutique shops are attractively paved on one side and the “crowd” appeared more hip and stylish. By this time, we were both in need of some refreshment and we decided to sit in a café by the waterfront. Ahead of us, a moored little boat was wildly rocking in dusky waters like it had a life of its own.

On our way back from Bebek to Ortaköy, we boarded and immediately regretted, a crammed bus. So packed was the bus that once you were in, you kept being pushed in and there was no turning back. As the bus sped along tossing around its cargo, I managed to balance myself by latching on to a hand rail only to discover that it was covered in oil. My hand inevitably slipped and my elbow touched the girl standing next to me. She got intimidated by my existence. I told my colleague that we need get off as soon as we can, which ended being in Ortaköy.

Ortaköy was a muddled place. Tourists and locals alike flocked its cobbled streets and invariably ended up doing similar things that are quintessentially Turkish. Intricate lanes hurried with shops selling Çay(Tea), souvenirs, books, handicrafts, paintings, amulets and caricatures. Food counters with clear glass displays lined together selling Waffles and Kumpir (jacket potatoes), the perfectly chopped toppings of which are so harmonized and so delightfully bright coloured, they look almost unreal. There are a ton of bars and restaurants with odd hawkers beseeching visitors to come in. I looked around and saw the telling structure of Neo-Baroque Ortaköy mosque with a dazzling cross continental First Bridge looming in its background making it a spectacular sight to feast your eyes on.