“Life can't be all that bad,'Whatever happens, i can always take long walk along the Bosphorus."

You can’t wait for the stifling humidity to pass and then to walk around the streets watching and listening to the amalgam of people, history, cultures, smells and sounds. Here it is – the Galata Bridge full of men who catch fish; but the smell of fish and sea it is not disturbing or unpleasant, it is fresh and energizing. You sit on a bench. The sea is in front. It is not the best seaside panorama, but it is of the city. On you left, there are three men and a small chair. They drink tea. They offer tea to others. On the right there are two men who make fish sandwiches. It smells delicious. But would you risk eating street food? Well, you can’t really know a country if you don’t eat street food!
You walk a bit further; it is already twilight, with a warm and tolerable sun. On the bridge the people are switching: the fishers leave and are replaced by some guys who try to sell you anything. Across the street in a minivan with an opened trunk family is having dinner. Unbelievable! Their eyes are sparkling when they drink water. Finally, after a whole day of sitting in the exhausting sun they can drink water. It is Ramadan.
You follow a small street. People are outside drinking tea, talking and smoking nargileh. Ah, the smell! The way is full with people who walk in all directions, cars, taxis and cats. It is a wonder that no one gets hurt on this streets. You have to feel the city, to adapt and to lose yourself in it and then it is fine.
One, two, five, seven. Oh my god, eleven cats, 22 pairs of cat eyes look at me, but don’t ask for food. Across the street there are other five cats. In the library on a bunch of books there is a cat. Perhaps it is a smart cat.
Taksim. On a restaurant table there is another cat. It was the first time I saw so many cats, scattered all around the most unexpected places.
The wind is blowing, you try to take a deep breath, you move along with the crowd.

You enjoy the crowd. Walk around the streets. The rooftops, definitely you will go there tomorrow, you say. Then you find a narrow street and a narrower street and you find that jazzy club that a friend of a friend recommended. A non-touristic place, that’s what he said. You order a drink and listen to the life story of the owner. He is a refugee from Azerbaijan. “Oh, the languages are similar.” “I am from Moldova. You don’t know where it is?” “You know, that’s wonderful”.
And this is how you are lost in the unthinkable, startling and thrilling mess that Istanbul offers you.