A Rainy Day in Istanbul

It was my first time finding myself in the proud and storied capital of the Ottoman Empire. The vibe differed from what I had imagined — maybe because of the rain. That quiet drizzle softened the edges of everything. Istanbul was old but clean, wet but clear, dim but moody on that day.

The day began at 8:00 am when I was stirring my Turkish coffee in a small coffee shop. The streets outside were covered with unclear moisture, glistening under the faint glow of streetlights that hadn’t yet given way to daylight. The sound of footsteps on wet cobblestones just began to buzz in the air. The city was like being wrapped in a soft gray blanket — but it was neither sad nor dull — it was calm, almost meditative. Istanbul was waking up slowly, as it had done for centuries. But I was there to see it that day.

The Three Cups of Tea

Making my way through the narrow streets, I ran into a small boutique selling delicate cups, plates, and other interesting collections of local things. The shop was like a treasure chest, filled with unique pieces that spoke of a rich culture. The owner was a local young man with deep, shiny eyes that seemed to hold stories of their own. He was smoking, standing in front of his shop. His gazing eyes turned into friendly new moons as I passed by. He invited me to the second floor directly, where the good staff seemed to be kept. Then he made a hot apple tea for me.“Where are you from? You look like a Korean idol.”

Our conversation started in an old-school, flattering manner.

We soon moved into the fascinating topics around Turkish people and culture, for example, the tradition of the three cups of tea:

The first is for strangers, the second is for friends, and the third is for family.

I felt pure warmth in the first cup. He then offered me a second cup. Something flew into my stomach with the sips, the taste of a stranger’s friendship from a foreign city. He spoke of Turkish people with pride — friendly, sincere, owning a cultural identity as rich as the tea we shared.

We chatted for an hour before I had to leave. He only said one sentence that I was familiar with in the United States, which was a little bit close to a sales tone — only when I was making the last step out of his pretty shop:

“Totally feel free to get something you like or not at all. The tea is about friendship, irrelevant to whether you buy or not.”His words stayed with me as I stepped back out into the rain.

An Uncle Who Kissed My Face

After a huge portion of Turkish barbecue roll from a food truck (a delicious feast for just about 1 dollar), I resumed my wandering in the old town. People look drowsy, melting into a lazy noon; the town is resting. The rain became like a whisper against the skin. I assume the same vibe has happened every noon for centuries. Some story starts, while some come to an end, only leaving a shimmer of rain in one’s heart.

It was getting cold.

A scarf shop caught my attention. I was obsessed with the vibrant fabrics in the window — looking inside, the warmth and color of scarves felt like a refuge from the chill outside. I assumed the owner had a vibrant and bright heart, too. The assumption was ensured when the owner, a local uncle with a full beard, saw me.

“Who brings you to me, my beautiful angel?”

I remember this exact sentence since it was a bit odd that people nowadays talk like this…

But I guess he was just genuinely delighted by my presence or sincerely saw me as an exotic, beautiful thing, like his fabrics. Or even more straightforward — maybe because I was the only Asian girl around, so I was a rare model. He invited me in and started trying out each of his scarves on me in front of the main mirror, almost ignoring all the other customers in the shop. Even when I politely declared that I was not planning to buy anything, his enthusiasm seemed untempered. His shiny eyes admiring something valuable made me unable to refuse his passion.

Then suddenly, he kissed my face. I was shocked and embarrassed — even though it was a warm touch on my skin, full of some kind of pure appreciation of beauty.

He quickly realized from the kiss that my face was too cold.

“You must be freezing, my little angel.”

He immediately led me to a back room of the shop, where there was a small fireplace. He asked me to stay there and warm up while he had to tend to his customers outside.

I have to admit it was the warmest moment of that day. I was greedy about the fireplace, the warmth from it, and the quietness of that moment. Not many moments of warmth like this happened in my life.

Even though there was a little bit of uncertainty and worry about the intentions, I was guided by that greed and enjoyed the moment for 5 minutes. I will always remember that 5 minutes near that fireplace.

Then I sneaked away without telling him.

The Ultimate Sweetness: Hafiz Mustafa 1864

A bit scared about getting found, I rushed into the old town’s main street — I needed to find somewhere familiar. That is when I saw the green signboard of Hafiz Mustafa 1864, the famous candy shop. Bling-bling.

It looked like my home of that day somehow.

I entered the shop; it was a world away from the gray streets outside. The air was filled with the sweet scent of Turkish delights; the fresh colors of the candies were like pure love and hope wrapped in sugar.

Everyone was busy, so no one paid attention to me, the “rare and beautiful Asian girl.” Only one of the candy makers, busy at his work, looked up just long enough to notice my thin shirt.

“You must be cold, girl; stay for a while.”

Then he smiled heartily and soon returned to his tasks.

I felt a true sense of belonging in terms of human interaction for the whole day. I felt normal and safe.

No one gave me anything for free like the childhood story does, but I cheerfully bought the one and only thing of that day—a box of Turkish candy.

As I stepped back out into the rain, the sky was darkened while the lights were on. The city does not seem so wet or cold anymore.

Istanbul had shown me its heart. It was beating with dynamic vibes, with sensual texture hidden in the tea, the scarves, and the sweet candies.

There was no story for me in this city filled with stories—just a normal rainy day.