Manchester City collect the Treble in Istanbul

Reflections on empires, Pep Guardiola, and Istanbul

If life were beholden to my every whim, I’d be in Istanbul right now. Alas I’m in the warm embrace of post-smoke week Philadelphia, watching the UCL spectacle from a long way off.

As such, Istanbul does not exist presently before me. But it does persist permanently in my mind. For that colorful chaos of sight and smell and people- with its minaret skyline of everlasting grandeur, its wide-ranging populace beneath it- remains among the most fascinating places I’ve ever seen, in a life graced by places and fascination.

If several lives were afforded to me (rather than just the one I’m as of yet aware of) I would happily place one inside Istanbul. For it, unlike life, seems to go on forever.

In Istanbul, one is struck immediately with the sense that things are happening here and considering its history, have always been happening here. The curiosity-minded would never meet boredom. Places like Istanbul, by near-definition, are never fully deciphered.

I remember standing in the Grand Bazaar, chatting with a man before a cascade of carpets. He possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of American presidents. He insisted he quiz us, see if our knowledge was on par with his. I remember the cats and the cuisine and the nargile. I remember the maze of streets, the sophisticated people. I remember the history. I remember the empires evolving beneath it.

And I remember that for some reason, the evening we arrived we found ourselves walking down Tarlabaşı Boulevard. A long line of football supporters marched by us, maybe in the direction of Beşiktaş. They were singing, shouting, imposing, smiling. One of them removed a beer cap with his teeth, then launched the cap with his mouth toward the street’s far corner.