Heat and Dust: The Istanbul Experience on 35mm Film

Two things come to mind when I think of Istanbul: the sticky humidity that filled the lungs, and the dust as a result of a constantly changing, highly dense city with a bumpy landscape. My white Converse shoes turning to the colour of coffee as I roamed the streets with each passing day. Feet aching as the shoe began to dig in at the back of my heel, leg muscles tight from constant hikes up and down the narrow streets that held a strong climb upward, but quick descent down. An unrelated and fun fact regarding the name of Heat and Dust that inspired the title of this post: my brother-in-law's grandmother wrote the book and screenplay for the film, which explored the shifting of life and culture within the hot and dusty India of the 1920s and 1980s.

Though outside of that reference, I can't seem to think of a greater way to describe Turkey's city of Istanbul, a city I can't say I have ever seen elsewhere before. Distinct in its features, a mixture of European and Eastern architecture and culture throughout, yet a definite style that screamed it was its own place. Chaotic in its structure, with little changes going into the modern era, likely a result of such old and dense city development that kept it difficult to change. Much of the city struggling to obtain some reliable functionality as result of this challenging landscape. A small tram would take you upward to the centre of Taksim. No bus could navigate that way without having to go through the winding streets that went around the city, caught in endless traffic and attempting to avoid the steepness that was found throughout the area.

Not all parts of the city were like this, some did feature a more flat landscape, and it was interesting how life differed in these areas. Still fast, still dense and coated in traffic. People would line up under the sun to hop on one of the many river boats that would take you to and from parts of the city on other sides, your only other option being to attempt to cross the few bridges. A metro went through one of them, but still struggled to remain reliable for the aforementioned reasons. Crammed together, motorbikes crossing the rail to switch to the other side of the road, little rule and organisation, yet accepted as if it was the only way to get by. It made no sense to me, but I understood the desperate measures people took to make life a little bit easier. Taksim, after all, was the most chaotic of areas. All surrounding parts of the city held a similar feeling as people flocked to and from the main shopping areas, bazaars with such density that I could barely breathe walking through them. Security themselves hardly managing to keep an eye on the sheer horde of people walking through the security gates at any moment.

I took a lot of photographs of Istanbul on the digital camera, but I can't help but feel that the film ones are the ones that truly show the emotion of the city. The grain adding to that gritty feeling felt walking through every part of the city. White buildings under the sun, no longer white from exhaust fumes and dirt kicked up by the hurrying feet of the city's tourists and inhabitants. Not to forget the endless puffing away at tobacco products, adding to a near permanent haze in the more narrow streets of the city, muting some of the European colours, a golden light piercing through it all at certain times of day, adding highlights to the cobblestone pathways. I'd look upward to the sky and see the tobacco smoke rising through that golden light, visible in the distance above the heads of Taksim's visitors.

Sometimes it felt easier to take the boat across to the next island, and it certainly felt more rewarding around evening, as the city's lights began to glisten and the areas by the water had a gentle breeze. After all the walking around in the city, that moment of near silence was bliss, and to be cooled off by the water and wait for the boat to arrive was much more appreciated. Standing still and looking out into the city, looking at areas we had already been to and where we could go next, taking in the atmosphere and feeling the mixed emotions of a city that was just refusing to take a moment to breathe. Sunsets as beautiful as ever, gradients appearing and glistening on the water, the sound of boats coming and going with a gentle humming.

My photography is generally void of people, I prefer moments that are quiet and empty, where I can focus on that atmosphere, lighting and composition. It was hard here, there always was someone in the frame, always a group of people moving from one place to another, always something in motion. Even on the boat itself, as people sat, drank their tea during the 5 minute trip, families grouped together; tired workers closed their eyes and paid no attention to their surroundings.

I tried to take an empty picture on one of those boat trips, but it just didn't work out, someone was always standing by the water. People would come out here to smoke, throwing that haze back out into the city, carried off by the wind, the exhales hidden by the sound of water being forcefully moved. I wish I had my wider lens for this, and used my Canon AE-1 and Canon FD 50mm F1.8 lens for all the pictures taken. Though I still like this one, that contrast between the light of the boat, the darkness of the water, few lights in the distance as night entered the city; a lonesome stranger by the corner, arched over the railing.

Such moments were a rarity. Where off the boat, by the water, even there it was full of people. Passers by, people grabbing coffee or seafood by the waterfront. The stench of fish lingered in such areas, even more so on the bridges as fishermen stood in unison waiting for something to bite. Beneath the bridge were more places to eat, and walking through this area you'd see the hooks dangling from above.

On one of the longer boat rides, we attempted to travel to one of the more distant islands, not realising how long the trip would actually be. I might write about this trip in another post, as I'm sure the full story would be quite long. Though I remember the cold air on the way back during the later hours of night. The jellyfish in the water on the way back, schools of fish that'd linger around the boat whenever it would stop. And again: the faces of tired travellers that would fight for any moment of sleep. Gentle rocking back and forth of the boat against the water, not enough to cause any seasickness, but enough to make you want to join those in that brief moment of sleep.