Field notes from a life in transit   currently: Turkey

Sofia Costa

Entry № 176  ·  Turkey  ·  14 August 2026, 7:03 am

Istanbul Rooftop Morning: Galata Tower from a Beyoglu Café

galata tower istanbul view: Rooftop café table in Beyoglu, Istanbul, espresso cup in frame, Galata Tower and Bosphorus visibl
Sofia Costa · 35mm№176 → Turkey

Ten past ten and the espresso is already losing its heat. I don't mind. Some mornings are for drinking coffee. Others are for holding it while you look at something.

From this rooftop in Beyoglu, the city refuses to sit still in one frame. There's the tower first, stone and slightly stubborn, the kind of landmark that photographs the same for every tourist and still looks different depending on the light. Behind it, the Bosphorus cuts a grey-blue line between continents, and somewhere a ferry horn sounds, low, unhurried, like it has nowhere urgent to be either.

Between me and the tower: rooftops. Satellite dishes tilted at odd angles. Laundry lines. A cat asleep on a corrugated roof like it pays rent there. A minaret slides into the gap between two apartment blocks, and the call to prayer starts somewhere off to the left, folding into the noise of trays clattering downstairs, of a moped taking the hill too fast.

I load the 35mm and wait. Not for anything specific. Just for the moment when the light stops being harsh and starts being generous, the way it does here around this hour, softening the tower's edges without asking permission. The camera doesn't rush me. It never has. It just sits there, patient, letting the scene arrange itself.

I think about how many cities claim to be a bridge between East and West, and how tired that phrase usually sounds. Istanbul doesn't need the phrase. It shows you instead: a mosque and a satellite dish sharing a skyline, a tea glass next to an espresso cup, old stone under new wiring. Nobody explains it. Nobody has to.

Someone below is shouting a name, maybe a delivery, maybe a greeting, the accent rounding the vowels in a way I can't quite place. Merhaba, someone answers, and the sound disappears into the traffic before I can decide what mood it carried.

The espresso is cold now. I drink it anyway. The tower is still there. It isn't going anywhere, and for once, neither am I, not for the next hour at least. Istanbul layers itself like this every morning, I imagine, whether or not anyone is sitting here to notice. Today, I happen to be the one noticing.

frame 176 · end of entry

dolcefarnienteistanbulturkeyunposedwherenext

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