This is a photograph taken around 2:00 p.m. on a spring day sometime between 1963 and 1964, amid a moderate southerly wind, among those walking from Eminönü toward Karaköy on Köprüüzeri and those coming toward us from the opposite direction…
The jacket of the second man from the left is pressed against his left side, while the right side of his jacket is billowing in the wind. This shows that the wind is hitting the man from behind on his left side—and quite forcefully at that… This person’s position on the bridge is exactly facing north (with only a 10-degree tilt toward the northeast—which can easily be disregarded). So the southerly wind is really getting to people. God forbid their backs get stiff… When they return home this evening, they may need to massage their backs with a wad of cotton soaked in camphor-infused alcohol or a dry towel gently warmed over a hot stove…
If the wind had shifted to the north, this time there’d be no way to hold onto his jacket or keep it under control—it would billow backward, inflating his back like a parachute… As you know, Köprüüstü is open on all sides; when the wind blows, it comes from every direction and leaves you dazed…
As for the other pedestrians, one is wearing a leather jacket tight enough that it won’t flap about in the wind. The other has buttoned up his jacket to keep the wind from getting inside. The elderly gentleman on the left was the same way… Well, of course—he’s got years of experience under his belt. In the wind, you don’t leave the front open—you button it up. Those graying whiskers didn’t turn gray for nothing… Thankfully, the gentleman in the dark-gray jacket was walking around unbuttoned, so he kept us informed about the weather—bless him (I hope he’s still alive).
The bridge deck is still covered with mosaic pavers. This paving was removed during repairs in the mid-1960s, during the tenure of the late Haşim İşcan, and asphalt was laid in its place… At the same time, the two pontoons on the Eminönü side of the bridge that were beginning to sink into the water were replaced, and the bridge piers on the quay side were raised by about 55 centimeters.
It has only been about 2–3 years since trolleybuses began operating across the bridge. The Eminönü-Beşiktaş-Ortaköy trolleybuses, and later the Bebek trolleybuses… As well as about 10 central loop-line trolleybuses passing through Bayazıd… Because double-wire overhead lines have been strung…
The Galata Tower has not yet undergone any renovations. It remains in its original style. One winter night in 1964, its spire will be destroyed in a severe storm, after which it will undergo years of repairs. An elevator will be added inside, and the tower will be ceremonially opened to tourists.
The “Siera” radio advertisements, hung at regular intervals on the bridge’s piers, are still in place. These advertisements were, in a way, a hallmark of the Galata Bridge…
The bank advertisements, as well as those for food, insurance, paint, cookies, and radio—affixed to the rooftops of buildings on the Karaköy hills—may not be very noticeable right now, but once it gets properly dark after eight in the evening, they’ll begin to glow, offering a visual feast especially for passengers on the night ferries coming from Kadıköy-Haydarpaşa, offering a visual feast to night ferry passengers. With their flickering, moving, and shifting multicolored light displays—from right to left, from inside to outside…
The ones that stick in my mind: “İş Bankası, Ottoman Bank, Böhler welding electrodes, DYO, Marshall, Eti, Ülker, and Besler cookies, Fisk tires, Güneş Insurance, Piyale pasta, Güney Sanayi, Hayat Magazine, Fruko and Ankara sodas, Altınyıldız fabrics, Anapa Children’s Department Store, etc…
Most of them have faded from the market. They’ve been reduced to mere fragments in our memories now… When you got off the ferry in Karaköy at night, trying to find your way through the crowd mingling in the twilight, the colorful lights would catch your eye, accompanied by a strong scent of fish and seaweed. Evening newspaper vendors and the evening simit sellers, trolleybuses packed to the brim at the pier stop, old Magirus trucks, Büssings, Leylands—and their honking horns and the clatter of their engines—all contributed in unison to the unique atmosphere of Karaköy. These were accompanied by the steamship whistles sounding at frequent intervals from the sea and the shrill cries of seagulls; even the deep, resonant whistle of a commuter train in Sirkeci would occasionally mingle in from afar.
If you turned your head and looked toward the hills of old Istanbul, you could tell the next day’s weather by the color of the lights on top of the Bayezid Tower. If it was “green,” it meant rain the next day; “red” signaled snow. “Yellow” indicated fog, while “blue” meant clear skies.
The bridge’s piers were always creaking. Every vehicle passing over it—especially the metal plates at the joints—would clang and clatter, causing the bridge to vibrate constantly. Those sitting at the tea house beneath the bridge had to hold on tightly to their cups; otherwise, the slightest rock of a steamship quickly pulling up to the express pier on the bridge would cause the entire bridge to shake, and pedestrians walking on it would lose their balance slightly.
Because of the two separate steamship piers on the bridge (numbers 5 and 6, serving direct routes to Yalova and all the Princes’ Islands—both express and regular mail ferries), as you walked along the pedestrian path, a steamship moored right next to you at the pontoon pier would blow a stream of steam from its smokestack—right at eye level—as if the captain were doing it on purpose… It would sting your eyes, and you wouldn’t be able to see what was ahead. Thankfully, the wind would quickly disperse the smoke. But for a few seconds, it would paint the surroundings a color somewhere between dark gray and black…
These piers were removed in June 1979. Because they had caused the Old Bridge to tilt about 5 degrees to the right over time… They were all moved to the Eminönü pier. Indeed, the top of the bridge wasn’t level. It sloped slightly to the right (as you headed toward Karaköy)…
In the evening, small boats would dock at the pier between the bridge’s Karaköy abutment and the pier (right in front of the Ziraat Bank) to sell cheap fish. A crowd would gather in front of every fishing boat, and the shore would fill with fathers wanting to surprise their families with fish for dinner… My late father rarely wanted to buy any, saying, “These fish have swallowed mercury now…” How I used to envy those bonito, young mackerel, and horse mackerel…
Young children “collecting newspapers” would cut off the path of those getting off the ferry. Many passengers who had already read their newspapers along the way would give them their papers. I’m sure many of these children—who were trying to make ends meet for their families, who didn’t beg or steal, but were striving to earn an honest living, even if it was just by collecting newspapers—are probably in very good positions right now (I hope that’s the case).
My late grandmother didn’t much like walking across the bridge. She’d say to us, “Oh dear, this place has turned into a flea market again. Come on, let’s hurry up and get on a vehicle as soon as possible”… And the crowd would seem to walk right over us, as if in defiance of her. Well, what were they supposed to do? Were they supposed to step aside, splitting the road right down the middle just so we could pass, and then bend down all the way to the ground to make way for us?
Actually, I used to love the Bridge (I don’t like the new one anymore). I simply couldn’t resist leaning my arm on the balconies—added later at regular intervals—facing the inner harbor to watch the sea and observe the fishermen. And, of course, the steamships glistening in the distance…
Some of these benches were located at the bottom of the bridge, at the top of the stairs leading to the piers. Others were “blind” benches—they jutted out over the water like a balcony… The ones at the top of the stairs were always bustling with foot traffic. As for the open-air balconies, you could lean your arm against the railing and gaze at the surroundings for half an hour—no one would bump into you or disturb you.
They tore down the bridge in the ’90s, calling it “old.” Actually, a fire that broke out on it was used as an excuse. But if it had been renovated, we’d all still be leaning our arms on those balconies at different times, enjoying a wide panorama that included Yenicami, Topkapı Palace, Sarayburnu, Haydarpaşa, Selimiye, the Maiden’s Tower, Harem, Ayazma, Salacak, Üsküdar, Kuzguncuk, Tophane, and Karaköy—all while puffing on a Bahar cigarette and enjoying the view… It didn’t happen; it slipped through our fingers, and this ancient treasure of ours was lost…
Here’s a little secret for you: When you’re sifting through your memories of Old Istanbul and a kanun improvisation by Erol Deran plays in the background through your headphones, the words flow onto the page with even greater pleasure. There’s no end to the joy of poring over these memories. Our beautiful, beautiful Istanbul is also synonymous with music… Although right now, the late Zeki Müren is playing “Ne Çıkar Bahtımızda Ayrılık” in my headphones. It’s as if he knew I was struggling to write a piece about the old Galata Bridge…