Profiling Istanbul: Between nostalgia of loss and abiding love in Cengelkoy

Like the rest of Istanbul, Cengelkoy has weathered many of its own seasons of social change. Compared to the many centuries that characterise the history of this city, a mere 50 years ago, Cengelkoy was a small village on the outskirts of the landmark peninsula on the Anatolian side along the Istanbul Strait, home to summer residences and only accessible by small ferries.

Hosting a large segment of the Turkish Greek population up until the 1970s, Cengelkoy remained among the few places that reflected the Ottoman legacy of religious and ethnic diversity.

Mihail, a Turkish citizen with Greek origin born in Cengelkoy in 1922, lived his entire life in the garden of the Cengelkoy St. George Greek Orthodox Church before his recent death. When asked by Reyhan Corak, author of the book Cengelkoy, about the relations between Muslim Turks and Christian Greeks of Türkiye, he would poignantly express, “We were like this (bringing together his forefinger and middle finger). We had nothing hidden or separate from one another. Our homes were always open to one another.”

Kadir Pelit, one of the three partners of the oldest patisserie in Cengelkoy, who was born and raised here, shares similar sentiments. “If one’s home or store got flooded, if a fire broke out, if someone got ill, they would rush to help us out. Likewise, we would do the very same for them. As neighbours, as friends, we would always be there for one another.”

Kadir continues describing how they would even share in celebrating one another’s religious holidays – the Muslim Turks would participate in the Easter celebrations and the Christian Greeks would prepare “irmik helvası” (an Ottoman dessert made from toasted semolina, butter, sugar and water) for them on the Muslim holy days. Mustafa Pelit, his brother and partner at the patisserie, adds, “The camaraderie went even further. Out of respect for our fasting, they would not eat or drink in public throughout the month of Ramadan. In the evenings, they would even close the curtains of their pubs.”

A little further along the main road, a surprising encounter was in store for me.

While speaking with Satilmis, who has been running the 220-year-old Tarihi Cengelkoy Firini for 57 years, someone with dark-framed glasses and a broad smile peered through the low window as he ordered his ‘simit’ (the national bagel covered in molasses and roasted sesame seeds).

“Are you talking about Cengelkoy?” he asked. “My name is Tanas. My family has been here for centuries, way back to even before the conquest by the Ottomans. I am from an Orthodox Christian family here in Cengelkoy, and I married a woman who is also from Cengelkoy. We still have our family here; even my grandkids live here.”

Describing the strong ties that endure among the locals of Cengelkoy, Tanas told me about how he still organises events where the locals of Cengelkoy come together. “We all believe in the same God. There is only one God."

However, the “events of 6–7 September” which occured in 1955, followed by the exchange of populations between Greece and Türkiye in 1964, would lead to dramatic changes. The contentious events by the provocateurs would propel a narrative of division, inciting animosity. But many residents of Cengelkoy refused to give in to such divisive agendas.

Kadir says he has firsthand knowledge about some Turkish friends writing their names on the doors of their Greek neighbours’ shops and homes, to protect them from being demolished by political radicals trying to steer their own divisive political agendas.

Kadir shares how, just recently, a group of old Greek locals of Cengelkoy came to take part in the funeral ceremony of their Turkish friend, who put himself in harm’s way to protect them during those tumultuous days. They took part in the Islamic burial ceremony, shovelling soil over his grave as a way of paying their final respects.

The political upheaval of the ’50-’60s would have repercussions that would be felt by both the Greeks and Turks of Cengelkoy. The large number of Greeks who had to leave for Greece and the many other Turks rooted in Greece and had to return would never feel at home in their new spaces.

Though no longer neighbours in Cengelkoy, many come to visit the patisserie to this day and are, to Kadir’s admission, unable to hold back tears, reminiscing the days long gone. Yet, they still find ways to continue their close relations.

After the customary prayers on the morning of Eid al Fitr or Eid al Adha, Kadir’s face will light up with the ring of his phone. At the other end will be a dear old friend of the family, exclaiming, “Selamun aleykum. Bayramın kutlu olsun Kadircim.” (Assalamu alaykum. Eid Mubarak, dear Kadir!) On Easter, Kadir will likewise call Yorgo, this time exclaiming in Greek, “Yorgo abi, Kalo Pascha” (Happy Easter, brother Yorgo!)

To this day, Yorgo, who served in the Turkish military with their father, comes three times a year, each time bearing gifts with him.

For Mustafa, however, one gift holds the most special place in his heart, a knife Yorgo gifted his uncle when they first started the shop. “My uncle handed me the knife when I started trying my hand in the kitchen at 15. Just a few months ago, when Yorgo came to visit again, I told him that I still had the knife and that whatever success we had had as a patisserie, he had had a hand in it!” Apparently, Yorgo was so touched that he promised to gift him a new one, this time to be passed on to the next generations continuing the shop.

While Cengelkoy’s demographic has since changed dramatically, many attribute the ongoing peace, sobriety, and tranquility palpable today to this deeply seated culture of tolerance and understanding.

The 1970s and 1980s – which witnessed the opening of the first bridge across the Istanbul Strait in 1974, followed by the second in 1988 – heralded an entirely new chapter for Cengelkoy. The unimpeded connectivity would bring on an unprecedented urban sprawl.

The hills, once entirely green and awash with the joyous laughter of kids flying kites, cattle and goats grazing on the many pastures and fruits and vegetables growing in neat rows of gardens, would soon be replaced by hordes of people building mansions.

Kadir’s recollections of a Cengelkoy not too long ago, yet very different, are palpably vivid. “When walking down the main road in the summer, it would smell of linden. The tall and robust plane trees on both sides would almost create a curtain of green, the light of the sun creeping through the bustling leaves.”

Kadir grew up working in his family’s garden, picking fresh produce either from the ground or from the branches. Depending on the season, he would harvest an abundance of fruits and vegetables. In Cengelkoy alone, he recalls, there were four to five different kinds of pears, four different kinds of figs, and large pomegranates.

“I still remember how they all tasted,” Kadir says.

“There were streams gushing down the hills, connecting right at the beginning of what the main road is now. The water was so clean, it tasted like sherbert. My friends and I would swim in the crystal clear, cool waters off the shore. Then we would sunbathe on what is now the main road, maybe two or three cars would pass every half hour. I would be on the lookout for those coming from one side, as my friend did the same for the other…”

Those days are long gone. So are the sweeping hills of green at the backdrop. In more recent decades, the influx of people reached new heights, with the competition for a spot overlooking the Istanbul Strait becoming fiercer. With its peaceful and secure atmosphere, Cengelkoy was idyllic for the growing conservative segment of the Turkish community, which gained more wealth and success previously inaccessible to it, given the discriminatory policies of the juntas and their cronies. Today, Cengelkoy is home to a predominantly conservative Muslim community.

As the decades have rolled on, Cengelkoy has witnessed a rapid surge in upscale housing, leading to property values soaring. In an increasingly commercial Cengelkoy, with sky-high real estate prices, the old mom-and-pop stores have struggled to stay afloat.

Many of Cengelkoy’s iconic stores have closed shop, like the 70-year-old Kofteci Recep Usta, the 30-year-old bean store, Ashane Ispir Kuru Fasulye, not to mention the corner hat shop (where Barto’s Burger Place now stands) and the flower shop (now the grounds for Cengelkoy Durumcusu).

Some others have reinvented themselves to compete with the convenience offered by bigger market chains. They have tied up with quick delivery companies as well as expanded their shelves to make room for more newly sought products to secure their continuity in the new era.

As Mustafa shares, “There were maybe fifteen different “kahvehane” (coffee houses) when we were young. Now they have been replaced by the multitude of cafes.”

Reflecting on all the stores that are no longer here, Satilmis says in an almost defeated tone, “Eskilerden kimse kalmadi ki…” (None of the oldies remain….). Then, he stops though and smiles before quipping, “Neyseki Seval var. Bir o kaldi zaten.” (Thankfully, Seval is still here. As it is, she is the only one that remains.)

In this sense, the patisserie seems to be a source of constancy for Cengelkoy, offering as much comfort and reassurance for the old locals as it does for the newcomers. So, it was only most fitting to ask one final question, “Despite all the changes Cengelkoy has been through, what is it that keeps you here? What do you think endures?”