Sometimes it’s easy to feel immune to the magic of Istanbul. Living here means that the sparkle of the city fades a bit as I go about my day-to-day.
But every once in a while, something happens that makes us remember how special this city is. When I returned just before New Years, that something was snow.
When I lived in Boston, snow signified dread— no matter how white and beautiful and quiet the initial snowfall was, I knew it would linger and freeze and make life miserable for months. But in Istanbul, snow is rare and melts quickly. It’s ephemeral and nearly mystical, blanketing this old city with an unusual layer of calm.
I went out without gloves into the cold to take pictures, wandering the quiet streets of Moda giddy and frigid. It’s a joyful thing: my familiar neighborhood, hushed.
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