In November 2025, I traveled to Türkiye for the first time — a journey that moved through the energy of Istanbul and the ancient stone city of Mardin as part of Talking Türkiye: An Edible Odyssey Through Turkey with chefs Vishwesh Bhatt and Richard Gruica. What began as a culinary trip quickly became something far deeper: an immersion into a country where food, history, religion, architecture, and hospitality all exist as part of the same living narrative.
The experience officially began in Sultanahmet with an evening at Mesale Café surrounded by lantern light, Turkish tea, appetizers, live music, and a Whirling Dervish performance that immediately set the emotional tone for the week ahead. Watching the dervishes move in slow, meditative rhythm beneath the glow of Istanbul at night became one of the most memorable moments of the trip for me. It felt less like a performance and more like witnessing a spiritual practice unfold in real time.
From the moment I arrived in Istanbul, the city felt impossibly layered. Ferries crossed the Bosphorus beneath gray November skies while the call to prayer echoed across rooftops and minarets at sunset. Spice markets carried the scent of saffron, roasted chestnuts, sumac, and strong Turkish coffee, while narrow side streets revealed tiny kitchens preparing dishes that have existed for generations. Istanbul never feels still. It moves constantly, balancing Europe and Asia, ancient empires and modern life, elegance and chaos all at the same time.
One of the things that stayed with me most throughout the trip was hearing the call to prayer echo through the city each day. No matter where we were — walking through markets, sitting at dinner, photographing alleyways, or crossing between neighborhoods — there was always this moment where the city collectively paused and looked upward. It felt grounding in a way that is difficult to explain. A reminder that life moves quickly, but we should still take time to be grateful simply to be here. To experience another culture. To meet new people. To sit around tables with strangers and try foods, traditions, and rituals that have existed for centuries before us. Travel, at its best, expands your understanding of the world while quietly humbling your place within it.
One of the most memorable parts of the experience was meeting our guide, Şule Batmaz, who introduced us to a side of Istanbul many travelers never truly experience. Beyond the grand mosques and famous landmarks, she guided us into the rhythm of the Asian side of the city — quieter neighborhoods, hidden cafés, local markets, family-run restaurants, and everyday moments that revealed Istanbul’s authentic character. It was there, away from the crowds, where the city began to feel deeply personal rather than simply historic.
The itinerary itself immersed us directly into Istanbul’s culinary and cultural heartbeat. We explored the Hagia Sophia, wandered through the labyrinth of the Grand Bazaar, descended beneath the city into the hauntingly beautiful Basilica Cistern, and spent hours tasting our way through the Spice Market with local meats, cheeses, teas, baklava, and Turkish delight. One afternoon unfolded beneath the Galata Bridge with fresh seafood overlooking the Bosphorus before ending aboard a sunset cruise drifting between two continents while Istanbul glowed gold at dusk.
Turkish breakfasts became their own ritual entirely — endless plates of olives, cheeses, warm bread, honey, tomatoes, herbs, eggs, and tea arriving one after another with no sense of hurry. One of the most remarkable things about Istanbul is how naturally fine dining and street food coexist. Michelin-starred restaurants sit beside tiny family-run kitchens where recipes have barely changed in decades. The journey concluded back in Istanbul with a farewell dinner at Neolokal, where Anatolian cuisine was reimagined through a modern lens while still preserving its soul.
But the journey became even more profound moving southeast toward Mardin, one of the most visually extraordinary places I have ever photographed. Rising above the Mesopotamian plains in layers of honey-colored stone, Mardin feels suspended between civilizations. Syriac, Kurdish, Arab, and Turkish influences intersect throughout the city, creating an atmosphere unlike anywhere else in the world.
Mardin slowed everything down.
The streets twisted through ancient passageways lined with carved stone facades while meals became richer, deeper, and more rooted in tradition. One of the most unforgettable evenings of the trip was celebrating Chef Vishwesh Bhatt’s birthday at Cercis Murat Konağı alongside Chef Ebru Baybara Demir. Music, dancing, raki, and an extraordinary spread of Southeastern Turkish cuisine transformed the evening into something far beyond dinner — it felt like a celebration of culture itself.
The following days brought even deeper immersion into the region’s traditions. We joined local culinary experiences centered around pomegranate harvesting and a family-style farm feast known as “The Gypsy Table,” where chefs, locals, and travelers gathered together around seasonal dishes prepared collectively.
One of the most powerful moments in Mardin came while visiting local women preserving the ancient art of rug making. Sitting among looms, dyed threads, and intricate patterns passed down through generations, it became clear that this was about far more than textiles. These women carried an extraordinary dedication to protecting a craft deeply woven into the cultural identity of the region. Every knot, color, and pattern held history inside it. In a world increasingly dominated by speed and automation, watching their patience, precision, and pride in their work felt incredibly moving. It was a reminder that some traditions survive only because people refuse to let them disappear.
What made this experience unforgettable was how immersive it felt. This was not simply culinary tourism built around reservations and photo opportunities. It was about context. About understanding how geography, migration, religion, and history shape cuisine itself. About drinking tea with locals, walking ancient alleyways after dark, hearing multiple languages spoken in the same marketplace, and realizing how much of Türkiye’s identity is preserved through hospitality and food.
For Fotoccine, this journey represented the kind of storytelling I continue chasing — documenting atmosphere as much as destination. The glow of lanterns against stone walls. Steam rising from tea glasses on cold evenings. The rhythm of kitchens before dinner service. The emotion hidden inside ordinary moments.
Türkiye changed my pace while I was there.
It taught me to sit longer.
To listen more carefully.
To look up more often.
And to remember that some of the most meaningful moments in life happen when we step into someone else’s culture with curiosity, gratitude, and an open seat at the table.
