This weekend we were in Istanbul for the first time in nearly a year. It was an eye-opening window onto a city that has lost hope, direction and energy. I have never sensed such melancholy before.
There were a number of interactions and observations that left me somewhat speechless. The first one was the prices. Turkey might be putting out statistics which suggest 10-12% inflation but that is unbelievably optimistic.
Everything was between 50% and 100% more expensive than last year. From a haircut to a cola, from a “kumru” to dry cleaning, prices had shot up phenomenally. The only thing that has stayed the same seems to be taxi fares.
On that note, my regular followers will know that I have a beef with Istanbul’s taxis. On this occasion, the few times we used taxis were a delight. Either we were very lucky or license owners and taxi drivers have realised there is a problem. Still, well done guys!
Sticking with taxi drivers, you might not know it but in the past, they were 90% loyalist AKP supporters. On this occasion, we saw nothing but vituperative hatred for the ruling class. If nowhere else, the AKP has lost at least one constituency.
But what was melancholic in particular for me was the state of Etiler. This part of Istanbul is a white-collar zone, packed with young professionals from the nearby high-rise business blocks. I worked there for 4 years.
Etiler now is a wasteland, a moribund reminder of what happens when the middle class has no purchasing power. Midpoint? Gone. PF Changs? Gone. Mado? Gone. One out of every two shops or restaurants was boarded up.
You might think all those places were shit. Perhaps they were. But there is nothing in their place. One of the iconic streets of Istanbul has been taken out back and shot in the head.
Let me really give you context. Nusret, home of the famous #saltbae, seems to be the only place left - perhaps that offers some clues as to why its owner, Doğuş, is trying to sell up. The party, at least in Etiler, is over.
In our interactions with friends, the same stories kept on coming up. Everyone has either left, is leaving or is trying to find a way to escape. Of course, I should offer some context here: this is middle class Istanbul.
I am talking about well-educated, young, cosmopolitan Istanbul. The kind of people who work for the international companies you’ve heard of, who can speak multiple languages, who view themselves as both Turkish and European.
They’re going or they’re already gone. Losing your middle class leaves an indelible mark on a city like Istanbul and I could sense it everywhere I went.
I thought back to my team from my time in Istanbul. We were 10 then. Today, I’m in Switzerland, one is in Dubai, one is in the US, three are in Denmark, one is in the UK. Only three remain behind.
But looking at the prices, I could see why we’ve all taken separate but similar decisions to seek a life elsewhere. Our company is good but can’t increase wages beyond internationally accepted inflation indices.
The actual inflation that I saw told me that the time might have come to question Turkish data. What you read on paper seems completely divorced from the reality on the ground. Seriously, someone needs to look at Turkish data because it seems off.
Another overriding emotion that I saw was hopelessness. Everyone had an opinion about the forthcoming election but everyone also had the same endgame: “he’ll win even if he loses”.
I should say there was one exception to that. One old friend is 100% that Meral Akşener will win. We walked through the maths and her “Kurdish problem” but he was convinced that there will be a miraculous turnaround.
I’m unconvinced.
Let’s get back to the topic though. What happens when a city loses its mojo? What happens when the middle class stop spending or simply disappear?
(A compulsory aside: the poor are as poor as ever. I feel awful when I think about how this reads when there are people on the streets who are hungry. But I can’t write about everything at once. Aside over.)
Of course, Istanbul remains Istanbul. She is beautiful, she is frustrating, she is chaotic and she is the place you will always miss when you’re apart from her.
But Istanbul’s heart is aching. It is a city that could and should be the centre of the world yet it feels instead like a city that is dying. That saddens me as deeply as when I hear a friend is ill. It is the same helplessness.
I also don’t see a solution. Next to every building site, there are existing buildings with dozens of “for rent” or “for sale” signs. The engine of growth that is construction seems to have hit its inevitable end. Demand is sapped, supply is excessive.
How do I finish this stream of consciousness about the city where I was born and that I love? I have no idea. I am in love with Istanbul as I always was but I fear for its future.
And I fear for the future of the Istanbulites that remain. A miserable city is not a good place to be for 15 million people. Life is too short. I hope that those that remain can find a path to change.
