Terms of Entry
Istanbul, Twice
In May 2025, I found myself standing in line outside Hagia Sophia, reading a board I had not seen eighteen months earlier.
It was large, red, and had a price list on it with different columns. One for locals, one for foreign visitors.
The line moved in short bursts toward the kiosk. I stood in it alone. My aunt and her friend had met me in Istanbul, but I sent them off to wander toward the entrance of Topkapi Palace and around the plaza. There was no reason for all three of us to wait.
I knew what was inside. The scale of it and the dim light. The low-hanging chandeliers. The first time, I just walked in because I could, but now I was standing in this queue, repeatedly getting bumped in the back by the group standing behind me.
I did the math in my head. Then again. I also knew what else we could be doing instead: getting on a ferry, sitting and enjoying a Turkish tea, or walking without a plan.
It wasn’t a question of access. It was whether to spend the time and the money on this, or keep moving.
I stood there longer than I expected to. The last time I was here, I hadn’t paused at all.
In November 2023, I arrived with the windows down.
The car moved along the highway from Sabiha Gökçen Airport, moving in slow, uneven traffic. The air coming through the window carried exhaust and something akin to progress from the factories nearby. It reminded me of taxi rides from Pudong, and with that nostalgia came the same instinct to breathe it in deeply.
The driver had turned around to me and offered me a cigarette, which I declined. He lit it and rested his arm near the window. As we nudged forward, he reached into the console and handed me a clementine. I thanked him and peeled it as we slowly made our way across the bridge from Asia to Europe.
He dropped me off on the European side somewhere near Istiklal Street, where I was told the city would be alive.
My Airbnb was above a bar. Even with earplugs pushed deep, the music and voices came through the floor and didn’t stop. Around 4 a.m., shouting rose from the street. I don’t think I slept more than an hour.
I moved the next day.
After that, the week settled into a rhythm. I walked the city without much of a plan. I moved through neighborhoods, stopped when something caught my attention, and kept going when it didn’t. Cats came and went. I followed them more than once, if I’m honest.
I didn’t think much about cost. Food, transport, whatever came up. If something was open, I went in.
The second time I arrived, I did not sleep above a bar.
I checked into a hotel that overlooked the Bosphorus, near Dolmabahçe Sarayı. The room faced the water with views that stretched. Tankers moved past at a steady pace. The city was there, but distant. There was no music through the floor or voices from the street.
Breakfast was included. It would have been easy to stay inside. But we didn’t.
My aunt and her friend had no problem walking without a plan, which is one of my favorite qualities in a travel partner. We stayed out most of the day, moving without much structure.
We made our way to Galata Tower. It had been under renovation the first time I was in the city, and I thought it would be a nice way to orient them to the center of the city while also seeing something new. There was a new ticket booth that was active, with a short queue forming out front.
Thirty euros.
I looked at the sign again to make sure I hadn’t misread it. I hadn’t. These prices do not emerge in isolation. Visitor numbers have surged, the lira has weakened, and heritage sites have now been repositioned as hard-currency generators.
I stepped out of line.
In a city like Istanbul, there are hundreds of viewpoints that awe. Paying for that, standing in that line, it didn’t make sense to me. I told them the price, and ultimately they decided similarly.
We left and kept walking. Ten thousand steps, then more. They were happy to keep going, which made exploring easy. As we walked, I shared with them things I learned on my first visit.
By the time we reached Hagia Sophia, the pattern was already clear.
Fifty euros total.
I didn’t hesitate this time. I wasn’t going in. I had already seen it —walked in for free eighteen months earlier— and the jump from zero to fifty wasn’t just inflation. It was a paywall that changed the very nature of the building.
I thought about them as I shuffled forward in line. They had flown over twelve hours to get here, and ultimately, it seemed a shame for them to miss it. So, I got the tickets and sent them ahead as I milled about more around the plaza.
When they finally emerged, the awe I expected was missing. They talked about being hustled through the corridors. Between the price and the pressure to keep moving, the majesty had been lost in the transaction. Throughput shapes the visit as much as architecture. When time is rationed to move lines, attention is, too.
After that, we didn’t go on to Topkapi or the other “must-sees”, carrying similar 50 euro price tags. It wasn’t my decision to make. They had seen enough to decide how they wanted to move through the rest of the city.
The next day, we walked down toward the ferry docks, planning to cross to what is called the “Asian side.” Along the way, men stood near the water offering Bosphorus cruises for two hundred euros, sunset included with vague promises of space and views.
We kept walking.
At the terminal, commuters moved through the turnstiles without stopping. We followed them onto one of the ferries that runs the route all day, back and forth.
The shoreline runs in one continuous line. Mosques rise behind apartment blocks. Ferries cross back and forth without pause. You can see the place as a whole, and you do not have to decide anything to be in it.
Kadıköy gave us the same relief. We walked through markets and side streets and went into mosques without paying or queuing. We did not have to translate the city into a list of highlights. We could just keep moving.
On the ferry back, the crossing was still only a crossing. People got on, found space, and looked out at the water as the boat moved. The skyline slid past in silence and kept going. 🎟️
The Briefing
Istanbul is the only city in the world that sits on two continents, and the cheapest (and best) way to cross between them is the public ferry. Here are some hotels I’d recommend in Istanbul and beyond. Ayşe Kulin’s Last Train to Istanbul is a novel set during World War II about a Turkish diplomat saving lives, and the best fiction I’ve read set in the city.
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Wow, I had no idea! When we visited right after things started reopening post-Covid, not only was everything free, but it was empty. I literally sat on the floor of Hagia Sophia 6 AM, only me and a cat. How very very sad...
We went in 2005 and absolutely loved Istanbul. Went back in 2012 and already it felt a lot more commercial. Still enjoyable but it conformed to western tastes just that bit more and it felt less like you were experiencing something new. Goodness knows what we'd make of it now.
Our favourite memory were the archeological museums which are the best I've seen anywhere. Better than the British Museum, better than the Louvre, The Pergammon. Just amazing.
Do they still have the giant statue of Baal giving birth through his penis in the entrance hall? Or has that fallen victim to Erdoğan's prudishness?