In the Gentle Breeze of the Bosphorus

As I set out from Kadıköy to Beşiktaş, everything feels like a delicate sorrow gliding over the sea. The sunset paints Istanbul with golden brushstrokes. Seagulls hover in the air like suspended thoughts, drifting from one place to another as if trying to complete the missing lines of a forgotten story.

The moment I step onto the wooden planks of the ferry, time slows down. The wooden benches carry the weight of years, and in the eyes of the passengers, different fatigues linger. A father fixes his child’s hair, while a woman gazes at the horizon, caught in her own tide of thoughts. No one speaks, but everyone has a sentence inside them.

The scent of the sea blends with the cool breeze, hitting the stone walls of the city. Ships gliding across the Bosphorus seem to disappear into a distant dream. Seagulls hover just above, some waiting for bread crumbs from the passengers, others having already merged with the sky, gliding like mere shadows.

Istanbul surrenders to the soft embrace of the evening. Süleymaniye stands like a faded memory behind the mist, while the Maiden’s Tower whispers from afar. Everyone on the ferry holds a different version of Istanbul within them. Some grasp it through a memory, others through a hope. But no matter what, Istanbul shows its most beautiful face when the sun sets, leaving a tale for those departing and a long sigh for those who remain.

Stories Behind the Photos

Waiting at the Pier
The air is hazy, reminiscent of early morning, yet it’s the evening twilight. Two men stand by the iron railings, engaged in conversation, perhaps reflecting on the day, or simply sharing one of life’s mundane yet meaningful dialogues. Behind them, a red container sets the tone of anticipation. Seagulls perched on yellow lampposts watch over the city from above. In the distance, a lighthouse, a ship, and the fading silhouette of Istanbul shrouded in mist. This is Kadıköy, the stillness before movement, a moment before stepping onto the ferry.

The First Step on the Ferry
The moment one steps inside, the world quiets down a little more. The covered upper deck, lined with wooden benches, is filled with shadows that take up more space than the silhouettes themselves. A woman and two children lean against the railing, staring at the water. Just then, a seagull enters the frame, its wings like an unspoken thought frozen in midair. A father or an older brother stands behind them, perhaps about to say something, but silence prevails. The pastel hues of the sunset turn them into a painting. The ferry is in motion, yet time stands still here.

From Within the Journey
The benches are orderly, the people scattered. Everyone on board is alone for a moment. A woman sits by herself, lost in thought. Across from her, a headscarf-wearing woman seems on the verge of speaking. A man records this fleeting moment on his phone, unaware that no recording can fully capture the wind tangled in the hair, the sunset pouring into the Bosphorus. In the background, another seagull glides over the water. Some are heading home, some to work, others to places unknown. But the journey continues.

Hands and Wings
Here, time feels even more delicate. In the foreground, a young woman reaches out toward the seagulls. Her hair sways gently in the breeze. Her silhouette blends with the misty contours of the Bosphorus. Beside her, another woman lost in thought, absorbed in the journey yet seemingly somewhere else entirely. A seagull in the foreground has just taken flight, its wings embodying freedom and transience. Behind them, Istanbul fades into the mist, as lonely as those watching it.

The Sky and the Passengers
Two young girls stand at the railing, their faces hidden, yet their posture speaks volumes. They slightly lift their hands as if playing with the seagulls. Behind them, a man with a small camera attempts to capture this fleeting moment. But what he doesn’t know is that this moment will linger not just in his recording, but in the echo of everyone present. The seagulls will glide for a while longer, and when the ferry reaches Beşiktaş, this spell will break. But for now, everything is still inside a story.

The Song of the Seagulls
A seagull dominates the foreground, its large wings seemingly frozen in time. The young woman slightly turns her head, engaged in a silent communication. Her eyes remain unseen, but whether she is looking at the bird or not doesn’t matter; they both exist in the same liminal space. The Bosphorus clings to the last light of the sunset. The city’s silhouette dissolves into a distant fairytale. Perhaps Istanbul is something that disappears without those watching even realizing it. But the seagulls, like fleeting sentences carried by the wind, will always remain.

Each photograph narrates a moment of transition, of vanishing and re-emerging. Istanbul embarks on a journey alongside its passengers. And when the ferry finally docks in Beşiktaş, only a faint ripple remains on the water.