Kadikoy During Ramadan

Kadiköy is empty around lunchtime. The once-crowded and noisy outdoor seating area within one of the Istanbul's most youthful and lively bars is now barren, hosting myself, my friends, and three girls chatting towards the fence that barricades the outdoor area. The waiter brings out three large pints of Bomonti beer, our usual choice of Turkish beer, and places each of the perspired glass mugs in front of us. My Turkish friends look around the silent area, and let out an an exasperated sigh at the sight of the unfilled tables and chairs around us.

Kadiköy is located on the Asian side of Istanbul. Cut in half by the Bosphorus river, the city of Istanbul serves as a bridge between two lands. The left of the Bosphorus is known as the European side, the right known as the Asian side. After a long day of sightseeing on the European side, home to the historic Blue Mosque and Topkapi Palace, we would venture to the nightlife area that Kadiköy offered. We would end each day with a beer and some small talk about the country's politics, following the recent election win of the AK Parti, the highly conservative political party of Turkey.

Today marks the second day of Ramadan. Within the Islamic culture, this month suggests modesty within a Muslim and their actions, abstaining from alcohol or other things considered forbidden, and today, Kadiköy has certainly felt the effects. Usually filled with Istanbul's youth, sitting and smoking at the café and bars’ outdoor tables, the streets now only host a few tourists, myself being one, and a handful of Istanbul residents who decided to venture out during fasting hours. Waiters at the restaurant stand silently by the cashier, some showing small signs of visible hunger or exhaustion, as they serve the small amount of customers in the area.

It is unusually cool in the city of Kadiköy today. I chose to wear dark, denim jeans, paired with a white top and decorative Turkish scarf I had been gifted by Erin, my Turkish-American friend from college, and her family, who I had been staying with throughout my time in Istanbul. This was different from my usual wardrobe that I had brought with me, which was filled with assortments of loose, cotton clothing that would be more forgiving in the Turkish heat.

Later that evening, we walk further into Kadiköy to find something to eat, and find a small restaurant on the corner of the cobblestone street with outdoor seating. Oyku and Deniz, who both live in Istanbul, head straight inside to order food, while Erin and myself hold a table for us outside.

Shortly after, one of the waiters brings over Oyku and Deniz’s first order, Lahmacum, a thin crust flatbread covered with an array of meats and salads, is set in the middle of the table. The pizza tastes wonderful, and is also light enough to fit about an entire pie within my stomach. Wasting no time to begin eating, my friends assist me in finishing the dish.

"They say these make new wives fat," Deniz says, with a laugh, her dimples visible as she speaks. "That they are so tasty, when wives come to Istanbul, they gain weight because they eat so much of it." Although the same age as me, the calculated English that Deniz speaks with, accompanied with the depth of her voice, makes her seem wise beyond her years. It is this reason, through the lens of a computer and hundreds of miles away, that she is often the person I go to when I need a solid piece of advice.

Deniz takes the lemon that came with the dish, and applies subtle drops along the pizza. As I wait for her to finish, I hear Oyku and Erin giggling to my left.

Our group jokes that Oyku is an American that was accidentally born in Turkey, her free-spirit and love of American hip-hop music rivaling the taste of an American girl. We continue and giggle and laugh loudly, as I look around at the empty streets surrounding our table.

Despite it being the beginning of Ramadan, Kadiköy is relatively judgement-free of our decision to dine during fasting hours. Earlier that week, Erin and myself visited the area of Sultanahmet on the European side to see Deniz graduate. Home to the beautiful and historic Ayasofia mosque, the area is known for being a popular tourist destination, but also conservative, as the amount of women wearing hijabs was significantly more than what was seen in Kadiköy. Our clothes, though modest by American standards, had trouble fitting into the mold of women with that area. But in Kadiköy, this really did not apply.

Kadiköy had the air of a European city, an area filled with youth that have a desire to discuss and improve the conditions of Turkey's government. Young college students inhabited the streets every night to discuss their opinions on the government, usually with discontent, within the corners of a dimly lit, artsy bar.

As I eat the Lahmacun, I pull out my camera, videotaping myself eating bites of it. When I get a few seconds of recording in, I face my camera towards Oyku and myself, snapping a quick selfie of both of us for the books. Oyku's smile is contagious, and her energy shines through the picture.

“Let’s get Kanafeh” Oyku suggests, as I finish the remnants of the Lahmacun. A pastry soaked in a delightful sugary-syrup and tasty cheese, my stomach makes a slight rumble, already aggravated by how much pizza I ate. However, I nod in agreement, thinking what could be the harm in one bite.

Knowing that their Turkish hospitality would very well suggest paying for the dish, I agree, but on the condition that I pay for it. Ignoring me, I continue to insist.

Oyku smiles, and comes up with an even better suggestion, a name for the four of us based on around the dessert we just ordered.

She looks at me and smiles, as the waiter brings the serving over, and the four of us dig into it for a generous helping, as the waiter silently walks back into an empty Kadikoy restaurant.