Imagine Istanbul

“Along the Galata Bridge, men fish” is a line from the poem, In Search of the Little Boy of Istanbul, - which is exactly what they do. I don’t know if the tide is up or out, but they line up, shoulder to shoulder along the Galata bridge, thousands of fishing rods, connected to thousands of men. This photograph shows the traditional fisherman, cigarette hanging loosely from the mouth, dressed warmly for the chill that approaches with the setting of the sun. It is October and the sun has vanished quickly from its high point in the sky. These fishermen are fishing for their supper. I wonder how clean the water is being so close to the city of Istanbul and how safe the fish are to eat. But nobody seems concerned about that. Their only care is: when will the next one bite?

I am walking along the bridge because Istanbul presented herself to me and I snap photographs as fast as I can, trying to beat the setting sun, trying to capture all that she shows me.

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