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I’d spent the afternoon exploring the neighborhoods between Fatih and the Golden Horn, looking in every street, and every shop, peering into the windows of each and every family living in the neglected stone houses and the teetering unpainted wooden houses left behind by the Greeks who had fled the city, when, having had my fill of their joy, noise, misery, and crowded poverty, I had stepped into the hotel to escape the rain.

Orhan Pamuk:
Among the greatest pleasures of my life are the long walks I take across Istanbul’s obscure neighborhoods and its more remote streets. As a young man, I would set off on these unplanned walks when I wanted to skip high school or university classes, or whenever I felt dejected, or when I worried about what I would do with my life. My aim was not to walk by the entertaining streets of the city or to look at its lush, colorful shop windows, but instead to imagine the interiors and identify with the lives in its homes.