The breeze of the Bosphorus sweeps through Istanbul. Seagulls cling to this wind above the bustling city, humming with car horns and boat engines. They simply float effortlessly, gracefully, as if swaying in a gentle dance. Storks are also a familiar sight here, especially along the shoreline near the Blue Mosque, above the Bosphorus. They arrive in flocks, as if plucking seeds scattered in the sky before soaring away.

The Bosphorus breeze cools the city on warm August days. It whips up waves on the water, and even the larger ships are rocked by the white crests. Boat traffic is nearly constant: in the Golden Horn, smaller passenger vessels and yachts; on the Bosphorus, massive ocean liners and cargo barges appear alongside the ferries.

Urban traffic is just as relentless: cars (“oto” in Turkish) inch forward, horns blare, trams rattle past and the metro clatters loudly as it crosses the bridge. All of this is accompanied by gusts of wind, the rustling of trees and the piercing cries of seagulls: forming the city’s natural soundtrack.

The city spreads across hills in every direction, 
giving the houses a beautiful, terraced appearance. The meeting point of the Bosphorus and the Golden Horn is dotted with mosque domes and minarets. Istanbul rightfully bears the title “Gateway to Asia.” The bazaars, the goods, scarves, textiles, spices and countless tools made by local craftsman remind me of India, dressed in the coat of the civilized world.