Between 1927 and 1929, heavy snowstorms that hit the city created massive drifts, but because the population was much smaller than it is today, the people of Istanbul weathered those long winter days with relative ease. Nevertheless, the snowfall gripped the city so tightly that even funerals could not be held during that period and had to be postponed for a day or two.
This photograph, passed down to me from my late grandfather’s archive, dates back to 1927. It was taken in the early morning hours, just before the start of the workday. Snow had fallen continuously throughout the night in the form of a heavy blizzard over the city… The moderate thickness of the white blanket on the ground is actually due to the nature of the falling snow. The bulgur-like snowflakes, driven by the wind, hit the ground rapidly but cannot easily stick; they are swept away by the gusts, scattering haphazardly to the left and right. However, in certain spots—especially in blind spots—they cluster and pile up on top of one another, just as seen in the photograph…
The No. 169 red tram of the Topkapı-Kaleiçi line is trying to climb Ordu Street with steady, slow steps. In fact, even though we can’t see or notice it from here, sand is constantly being poured from the holes in the small wooden compartments attached to the underside of the vehicle into the rail grooves, in an effort to help the metal wheels grip them more easily and firmly… Otherwise, the tram—let alone reaching the front of the Harikzedegân apartment buildings—would start sliding backward before even reaching the level of the stepped main entrance of the Lâleli Mosque, and suddenly find itself back at the bottom of the hill, at the roundabout in front of the Valde Mosque.
Behind it, the tram turning left to join the street is the Yedikule line. Line 33… It managed to make its way slowly and comfortably along a stretch that could be considered relatively flat all the way to Lânga-Yenikapı, but from this point on, the road ahead is truly the start of a risky journey for it as well. It has to climb nonstop all the way to the Çarşıkapı plain. Only once it passes Çemberlitaş will its elevation begin to steadily decrease along the route through Türbe, Sultanahmet, Yerebatan, Alemdar, Gülhane Parkkapı, Salkımsöğüt, Hocapaşa, and Muradiye, until you reach the front of Sirkeci Station…
Snow has been falling steadily from the northeast, meaning the Aksaray Square and its surroundings have been battered by the northerly wind all night. The noticeable gap in the thin layer of snow covering the dome of Valide Mosque is precisely due to this reason… That bare spot is the part of the dome that is directly exposed to the northerly wind. In the section where the heavy snow, falling in powerful, bulgur-like waves, struck with intense force, the snow—struggling to accumulate as it clumped together—couldn’t hold onto the ground and had already begun to slide away. Behind it, in the section directly beneath it, it had formed a pure white, thin veil, as it were. Had it fallen in a gentler manner—for instance, in light, scattered flurries like those in March—it would have covered the dome without leaving a single gap, forming a layer two karış thick.
The surroundings are quiet. Though our eyes search for another vehicle besides the two trams, they find none. Despite the snow and cold, the city’s residents were once again rushing to get to work and school that morning. They aren’t as fussy as people are today. A few farsakhs of snow isn’t enough to close schools or shut down workplaces. Life must go on, even if it means stumbling along the way…
If you couldn’t find a seat on the tram, climbing the hill at a slow pace isn’t really that hard. Especially if, before leaving home that morning, you’ve slipped on an old, discarded pair of wool socks over your shoes—no icy surface can easily throw you off balance on the way…
You won’t lose your balance; you’ll plant your heels firmly and confidently on the ground. When you arrive at work or school, you can simply peel off the remains of those soaked-through socks and toss them in the trash. At least you made it to where you needed to go in one piece. In harsh winter conditions that require all sorts of acrobatics just to avoid falling, this is a huge advantage…
On those snowy, cold days, before my grandfather set out for the State Printing House at Hagia Sophia, my grandmother would heat a piece of marble thoroughly on the stove, wrap the stone in a thick piece of cloth, and hand it to my grandfather, and he would carefully tuck this precious portable heater into his coat pocket.
Thanks to this marble—which retained its heat well throughout the journey and stayed warm for about an hour—he was able to weather the freezing morning chill with relatively warm palms, without his hands getting cold even as he alternated between putting them in and out of his pockets. The common name among the people for this practical and useful method—which most Istanbulites of those years frequently relied on, especially in the mornings on their way to work or school—was “tuğla”…
Mustafakemal Street, which stretches from in front of the Yenikapı station to Aksaray and on to the front of the mosque, existed back then, but but there was no road yet leading beyond that point—that is, toward Pertevniyal, Saraçhanebaşı, Kırkçeşme, Zeyrek, and Unkapanı. The construction of Atatürk Boulevard was still about fifteen years away. It didn’t seem particularly necessary anyway. Just look—aside from the modest two-story masonry building on the opposite side of the road leading down to Aksaray, there doesn’t seem to be a single other structure in sight…
The saplings planted along the roadside and supported by stakes—once this winter passes—will surely take to their new homes and, come spring, will turn green and bloom one after another. Each year, they’ll grow a little taller, casting their shade to enliven this road—one of the city’s major thoroughfares. Of course, a little more patience is needed; it’ll take at least another ten years for them to fully grow and flourish, no matter how you look at it.
It’s a curious thing. That aesthetic appeal, that charm found in the old electric poles is simply absent in their modern counterparts. Back in the 1920s, even the details used in the city’s street lighting were much more elegant, harmonious with Istanbul, and complementary… Just like a pristine, seamless layer of snow that gently covers the ground without getting muddied… 😉