The day before I arrived back in Istanbul there had been another explosion. Somebody on a motorcycle detonated a bomb near a police station in an Istanbul suburb (or as Fox News called it, ‘near to the airport’). It wasn’t largely reported, because it wasn’t a tourist area and ten injured Turks aren’t too newsworthy.

However the media perception of Istanbul (and by extension Turkey more generally) is of somewhere dangerous. Certainly the country is a little unstable, as are many places (Jakarta and Bangkok spring to mind here; I have lived as an ex-pat in both of those). Demonstrations can turn to riots at a moment’s notice and the police can be very heavy handed when dealing with any sign of trouble.

This perception of danger has had a devastating effect on tourism in Turkey, particularly on the coast where they rely on Western tourists; visitor numbers are around sixty percent down on last year.

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Anyway, I rented a flat for a month via Airbnb, in the hope that I can get some work done as well as enjoy the goodies that Istanbul has to offer. This is the first time I have fully unpacked my bag since last May. Living the dream, eh?

View from my window.  Not too inspiring but I’ve had worse.

Once again I have ended up on the top floor, the struggling writer starving (well, hardly) in her garret (or the mad woman in her attic).

I call it Chintzy Chambre.  After I took this picture I threw my scarves around to try and make it look a bit less like somewhere my mother has decorated.

The neighbourhood is ok; it’s touristy but it’s very convenient for transport and everything. Every evening coming back it is like a minefield, dodging the various restauranteurs who stand outside extolling the virtues of their particular restaurant. They stop just short of bodily pulling me in. I have promised them all that I will eat in their restaurant ‘soon’; it’s getting awkward. But I am trying to save some money, and not eating out so much is one way of doing that. Usually I just buy bread, cheese and olives from the deli and take it back to Chintzy Chambre to eat.

Some of the many cafes I have to dodge on an evening

Istanbul is not the bargain destination it once was, although the recent troubles have driven the prices down a little. Cost of living wise, it now stands on a par with Malaga, Prague and Cape Town (this according to numbeo.com).

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I have spent most of this week on the Asian side of Istanbul (more of that in next post). I love the Kadıköy neighbourhood and have already picked that as where I would want to live if I stay in Istanbul.

Moda in Kadikoy.  Full of cafes, offbeat vintage shops and that kind of thing.  Lots of men with beards and the odd man-bun spotted.

But it is looking less and less likely that I will stay. The weather will soon be turning decidedly Autumnal.

Also the days of leaving the country every three months to keep your visa alive are long since over and I would need a resident permit to stay longer. This is not an insurmountable problem, but it would require a lot of work and a fair bit of expense to get together the long list of supporting documentation that I would need (plus, as I understand it, patience and persistence on my part to deal with the bureaucracy).

I’m not sure the pull of Turkey is sufficient to justify it.