I first visited Istanbul when I was about six years old, back in the early ’90s. I don’t remember much—just flashes: the double-decker bus we traveled on (which felt like pure magic to a kid), the barking, hopping toy puppy I managed to beg for just before departure in an underpass, and the mysterious bathtub in our hotel room. It was one of those sit-down tubs, something I’d never seen before. When my mom called out, “Your bath is ready!” I just stood there, baffled. Do I sit on top and splash just my feet? Or do I awkwardly tuck myself down into it like a tiny folding chair? In the end, I chose the latter—I think.
My mom used to travel to Istanbul a lot back in the day, mostly for clothes. That was pretty common at the time—people brought clothes and gold back to Hungary to resell, since everything was much cheaper there. So naturally, I grew up hearing countless stories—about the warm people, the vibrant culture, the food, and the incredible hospitality. Whenever someone mentioned Istanbul, my mom’s eyes would light up.
So this year, when she asked me where I wanted to go for my 40th birthday, the answer was obvious: Istanbul.
We went in April, and the weather was perfect for a bit of wandering and exploring. I didn’t have any expectations—just like I never really do when I travel. I always do a bit of research, sure, but I like to experience things firsthand, without too many preconceived ideas.
We took a taxi from the airport into the city, and let me just say—the traffic in Istanbul is an experience. Indicators? Optional. Lane changes? More like a group choreography with invisible rules. Our driver was the picture of calm, even when other cars came inches from ours or we were gridlocked for ages. The only thing louder than the traffic itself was the constant symphony of honking, and in between the lanes, vendors selling snacks and water tried to tempt the bored, overheated drivers. As much as I love driving, I have to admit: Istanbul might be the one place where I’d pass on getting behind the wheel. You really have to be born into that kind of chaos.
The city is massive—and so is the crowd. Honestly, I wouldn’t recommend visiting with small kids, though I saw plenty of families. Getting into mosques or Turkish baths is nearly impossible without booking in advance, and even then, expect lines. We didn’t manage to go inside any this time, but since I fully plan to return, I don’t count it as a loss.
The people were warm and welcoming—especially once they found out we were Hungarian. Almost everyone we met spoke English or German, so communication was never an issue, whether we were chatting, asking for directions, or—my favorite—bargaining. Yes, haggling is still very much alive, and honestly, shopping would be way less fun without it.
Food-wise? Let’s just say, come hungry. Don’t skip the simit (a sesame-covered local pretzel), the grilled or boiled corn from street vendors, or lahmacun—a thin, crispy Turkish pizza that’s absurdly good. If you’re not lactose intolerant, try ayran, a salty yogurt drink mixed with water. It sounds odd, I know—but it’s strangely delicious. For me, it tasted a bit like kefir.
Got a sweet tooth? Then please try lokma—tiny fried dough balls soaked in a syrup of honey, sugar, and water. Yes, they’re pure calories in spherical form, but they’re worth every bite (and every extra run you’ll need to do when you get home).
I also loved how the city bursts with colors, especially in the markets: shiny eggplants, perfect tomatoes, oranges so fragrant you’d think someone sprayed perfume on them. The spice stalls were piled high with pyramids of paprika, saffron, and mysterious blends you want to bury your face in. And then there’s the tea—oh, the tea. Everywhere you go, someone’s offering a tiny glass of steaming black Turkish tea, served in delicate tulip-shaped glasses. Whether it’s in a bazaar, shop, or even during a haircut, tea is a ritual, a connection, a moment to pause.
And speaking of drinks—let’s not forget the Turkish coffee. It’s strong. Like, really strong. But also rich, velvety, and delicious. I loved how it’s served with water and sometimes a little sweet. What fascinated me most is the tradition of fortune-telling from the coffee grounds left in your cup. I didn’t get a full reading this time, but next time—I’m in.
Cats are everywhere. Dogs too. Most are strays, but the locals take care of them—feeding them, building little shelters along the streets. I found it so heartwarming. But beware: the streets can be a bit messy, so always watch your step unless you want to walk straight into an unexpected “gift” left by one of these furry city dwellers.
One highlight was taking the ferry to the Asian side. Boats run frequently, so getting across the Bosphorus is easy and scenic. What really surprised me was how different the two sides felt—Europe more conservative and historic, Asia more modern and laid-back. But crowds? They’re everywhere. Doesn’t matter which side you’re on.
All in all, I’m so glad I finally went back. I can’t thank my mom enough for all the stories that sparked this desire—and for showing me that Istanbul is not just a place on the map, but an experience. A whirlwind of color, noise, taste, and history.
And one day, when my kids are grown, I’ll take them too—so they can discover their own Istanbul stories.
P.S. I’m sure I’ve left out a thousand little moments. If you’ve been to Istanbul, tell me—what were your favorite memories? share your stories with me on Instagram, facebook or Tiktok. You can leave a comment or tag me in your stories.
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