A fish vendor on our Born on the Bosphorus walk splashes water on his wares to keep them looking fresh. The neighborhoods that line the strait are all connected by the waterway but each is a world unto itself, like this multicultural fishing village.

Nestled in a small cove that hides it from the nearby center of Sarıyer, not far from where the Bosphorus meets the Black Sea, Rumeli Kavağı is officially part of Istanbul yet has managed to keep the structure, atmosphere and relative isolation of a real village. The only apparent sign of the surrounding megalopolis is the sight of the massive Yavuz Selim Sultan Köprüsü, the third bridge to span the Bosphorus, opened in 2016. Over a quarter of the neighborhood’s almost 4,000 inhabitants are involved in the fishing business, an integral industry in a city that partly owes its worldwide fame to a long-standing meyhane culture. Dining on grilled fresh fish and sipping on a glass of cloudy rakı, particularly while watching the lights of the city dance on the Bosphorus, is one of Istanbul’s purest pleasures.

Ramadan fasters in Istanbul may not love the endless daylight hours in summer nor the susuzluk (no water), but when the reward is a leisurely iftar under the trees on Kadınlar Pazarı, the pedestrianized market known as Little Siirt (named after the southeastern Turkish city where many of the local shop and restaurant owners hail from), it must surely seem worth it. A February iftar would not be quite the same, at least not in Turkey. As we walked through the twilight to Siirt Şeref Büryan Kebap Salonu at the end of the square last Saturday, hundreds of fasters waited in front of cling-filmed plates of iceberg lettuce and ciǧ köfte for the Ramadan cannon to signal “breakfast” time.

The best part of waking up in Istanbul is catching sight of the Bosphorus, followed closely by a breakfast of simit, the popular sesame-encrusted bagel-like Turkish bread. We spotted this simit seller in Üsküdar while on our Born on the Bosphorus walk.

That much of the past seems to stick to Samatya is a marvel in Istanbul, a city being rebuilt and “restored” at an alarming pace. First, there’s the question of its name. Occupying a stretch of the Marmara Sea and squeezed between the old city walls and Kumkapı, an area home to a rotating cast of eclectic restaurants, the neighborhood still goes by its Greek name (Ψαμάθια or psamathia, likely derived from the Greek word psamathos, meaning sand) even though it was rechristened as Kocamustafapaşa after the foundation of the Turkish Republic. Perhaps more importantly, it’s imbued with a certain type of nostalgia.

There’s nothing quite like freshly baked pide – it’s one of the many unforgettable stops we make on our walk through Istanbul’s Bazaar Quarter, one of the world’s biggest open-air commercial centers, crowned by the planet’s largest covered market, the Grand Bazaar.

It was the first of April and an absolutely pristine Istanbul spring day, the kind where one can break a slight sweat walking up a hill then catch a cool breeze in a nearby patch of shade. Returning to the city from a lovely weekend on Büyükada, we were smitten with spring and wanted to indulge in its finest offerings. In a fit of hunger-fueled inspiration, we quickly realized what we were craving: yenidünya kebabı. This spring-only affair is a specialty from southeast Turkey’s Gaziantep where chunks of minced beef and/or lamb are skewered in between sections of newly arisen yenidünya, or loquat, diminutive orange fruits that are as tantalizingly tart as they are sweet.

It’s Saturday around lunchtime and business as usual in the bustling Beşiktaş Çarşı neighborhood, as crowds of mostly younger people fill the narrow streets. Down on Mumcu Bakkal Sokak, a pedestrian-only street lined with miniscule shops, a line around the block has been formed by those eager to get into one of the city’s best döner spots. For many of those waiting in line, however, it’s impossible to ignore the scaffolding-covered building just across the way. Though the scaffolding masks most of the historic building, it’s still possible to make out strips of the distinctive baby blue color of what was one of Istanbul’s most beloved eateries: Pando’s kaymak shop.

Istanbul’s T1 tramway is relatively pleasant if you can find a seat, but borders on unbearable if you are on your feet. Back in 2015, we wrote about a trip we took from the line’s first stop all the way to one of its last, which lies way out in the district of Güngören. By the time the tram has made it to this point, it begins to perplexingly share a lane with traffic, voiding the whole point of this type of public transportation. On one weekday evening, we found ourselves standing in a rather contorted position on the beyond-crammed train, a price we were willing to pay for a trip to one of our favorite culinary hotspots. The journey took over an hour. It was well worth it.

At this simit bakery in the Istanbul neighborhood of Karaköy, mastic-flavored Greek Orthodox Easter bread is sold alongside sesame-covered kandil simidi, which will be eaten as part of the Miraç Kandili on Friday, April 13, a holy night that celebrates Prophet Muhammad’s miraculous journey to Jerusalem.

A café at its best is so much more than the sum of its parts: it’s a place where people can easily mingle, share ideas, and dertleşmek, or commiserate over their troubles, all while imbibing caffeine. At the same time, it’s a place where visitors might feel an invisible thread of common beliefs connecting them, an unspoken camaraderie, even if they don’t socialize with anyone. This community spirit runs strong in Dose & Istos Café, a new Rum (pronounced “room,” the name given to Turks of Greek descent) café in the heart of Beyoğlu. When we first went one rainy Sunday evening on a tip from a friend, we didn’t remember the exact address, just general directions that it was off Istiklal Street, near Galatasaray Lycée.

When Buket Ulukut first moved from Istanbul to a rural plot of land in the foothills of the Taurus Mountains in southern Turkey, she was leading a double life. “I’d be taking calls from clients in Europe while out amidst the rows of peppers and eggplants, hoping they didn’t hear the rooster crowing in the background,” says Ulukut, who worked in the textile industry before establishing Tangala Goat Farm in Muğla’s serene Yaka village. Since Ulukut settled in the area in 2008, her herd has grown from two goats to more than 50, producing milk that is made on-site into artisan cheeses sold throughout Turkey. Over the same decade, the number of Turks swapping the city for the countryside has also multiplied, driven by rising urban stresses and an increasingly stifling political climate.

“Two kilos five liraaa! Two kilos five liraaa!” bellowed a young and exuberant vendor of tomatoes to the ongoing stream of frugal-minded shoppers making their way through the snaking Tarlabaşı Sunday Market. Hundreds of sellers of fresh produce, dairy, seafood, kitchenware, clothing, smuggled tobacco, jewelry, fresh baked goods and numerous other items set up side by side in the central Istanbul quarter of Tarlabaşı every Sunday, weaving an extended path down a backstreet that incorporates both unbridled chaos and strict organization. It is just one of hundreds of similar weekly semt pazarları, the beloved Istanbul neighborhood bazaars that offer some of the cheapest prices on the widest variety of goods the city has to offer, while at the same time serving as a critical element in maintaining the vitality of Istanbul neighborhood life.

Lahmacun is the perfect savory snack: crispy, oven-fired crust, light and spicy meat spread, a fresh green garnish and a tangy spray from a lemon. We sample some of the best in the city on our Two Markets, Two Continents walk.

In the Kurtuluş district of Istanbul, we’ve lately been exploring links to older, nearly lost Istanbul culinary traditions. Spending time in the sweetshops, milk bars and şarküteri of this district, we’ve seen a glimmer, if faded, of the “Old Istanbul” that people remember from the 1950s and '60s, when the city’s historic minorities – Greeks, Armenians and Jews – played a prominent role in the culinary scene of the city. It’s a complex and endlessly fascinating subject, one that never fails to spark our curiosity. And then we were distracted by the smell of fresh bread. Fresh lavaş, to be more specific, being hoisted out of a fiery hole in the floor on a blackened hook by the sturdy Gül Hanım.