Sleepless in Souptown: Reflections on a Lonely Morning in Kasımpaşa
What to do in Istanbul when it's 4 AM, you can't sleep, your mind is racing and your stomach is empty? Head to the 24-hour soup restaurants of Kasımpaşa, where someone is always awake.
There's something particularly lonely about being awake when everyone else is asleep. Not everyone obviously, but that's the loneliness at play, the questionable judgement that is the misleading result of a lousy sleep schedule. In any case, it's 4 AM and I am alone with my thoughts, wide awake and well aware it will be several hours before I can return to the dreamworld.
This is where the perks to living in the heart of a city of 20 million kick in, and these include soup restaurants open 24 hours a day that are within a half-hour walk from my apartment. It's an interesting trek, from Kurtuluş through Dolapdere and on to Kasımpaşa, where two excellent spots are open around the clock. My mind is full, but my stomach is not, and so I walk.
Outside it's cold enough to require a sweater under my leather jacket, but unusually warm given the season and hour. The moon is something of a celestial Easter egg, delicately curved on one side and glowing pale yellow atop a somber navy sky. I pass through Kurtuluş Son Durak and Yenişehir is mostly asleep. By the time I make it into the hilly streets of Dolapdere, I don't see a soul save one delivery driver struggling to make it up a steep incline. This is not the most recommended walk, especially considering the time of day or night (or morning? It’s unclear.) I've been stopped by police for strolling around this area at this time. Fair enough, because anyone up prowling these streets at this hour is likely on a search for drugs or planning a break-in before the first call to prayer, which is a classic excuse thieves use when the cops ask why they are out and about at the crack of dawn.
The light is at the end of the tunnel once I cross Dolapdere Avenue at the edge of Tarlabaşı and amble over to the main street of Kasımpaşa, where I finally encounter others who probably also wish they were home in bed and fast asleep. I roll into Merkez Çorbacısı, it's my first visit and has come highly recommended from a trusted source. Outside it is still pitch black, and every table in this small restaurant is occupied. The Roma musicians who came with their instrument cases from the meyhanes and clubs of Beyoğlu are ending their night, the municipal garbageman at the next table is beginning his day. I have no good excuse to be here except for that I'm craving hearty soup.
I order a bowl of atom, a fiery combination of the classic but not for faint of heart Turkish soups, işkembe, kelle and paça. I douse this with a liberal squeeze from a lemon wedge, a spoonful or three of minced garlic, and a drizzle of red chile pepper oil, munching on strips of arugula between slurps. Not exactly the place to take a date. I notice an eyelash surfing atop the furious crimson waves in my bowl, assume it's my own and sip on. The stranger sitting across from me finishes his yellow lentil soup, says afiyet olsun warmly to me and leaves, presumably to end his night or begin his day.
Unlike the diner across from me, I took it easy on the hunks of fresh, crusty bread and am still hungry. Now it's time for Deniz Lokantası, where I've been coming for years. Supposedly the usta from Merkez Çorbacısı left Deniz Lokantası to open up his own place, and both spots have loyal customers. I am either equally loyal or disloyal to both, and the bowl of tavuklu yarma (shredded chicken breast and wheat berries in a light yogurt broth) I order here hits the spot as always. At the table are four heavy-set men who I assume are from Iraq, because they keep mentioning Baghdad, or at least that is what I understood. I really wish I learned Arabic. I peel the lid off a distinctive plastic cup of water that seems to only be found in restaurants like these or intercity buses and heartily drain it in two sips, pay my tab and step back into the morning. The cluster of taxi drivers outside are waiting for the next call, these guys are certainly no stranger to this hour.
I make my way back through Kasımpaşa in the direction of home. A guy on a rickety motorbike zooms around the corner, somehow hauling a twin-sized mattress strapped to his back. Sights like this have long ceased to faze me. I tried to sit a park but the morning dew rendered the benches unusable. Instead I plop down at a bus stop, but it's 5:40 AM and the first bus of the day won't be here for another twenty minutes. If our only guarantee in this life is that we have one chance on this planet, is it worth compromising that single shot for the possibility of an eternal afterlife free from earthly problems? Ok enough, brain. I press on, continuing toward Osmanbey on Dolapdere Avenue rather than taking a left and trudging up the brutal hill that causes me to sweat profusely every time I attempt to tackle it, regardless of the temperature. The street is a dark, mysterious melange of mannequin shops, mechanics, new hotels and demolition sites.
By the time I'm back in my neighborhood, it's just after 6 and people have started to hurriedly make their way to the metro for work. The morning light makes a sudden and triumphant appearance, a sharp 180 from the darkness and emptiness of just an hour and a half ago. Back at home, my head hits the pillow. It's time to end a night that never really started, and fail to properly begin a day that would end up starting late. The two bowls of soup and aimless wandering have left me with heavy lids, I close my eyes and my thoughts stop making noise.
Great work! Really well written. Soup houses in Turkey are the best 🤌🏼.