The Lungs of Istanbul

Istanbul’s Walden Pond

Being from Oregon and appreciating a walk in the forest is like living in Turkey and being a kebap aficianado. You are a connoisseur, poopooing the inferior choices.

Istanbul will help remedy this malady of being a forest snob. It’s a concrete jungle that makes almost any horn-free setting blissful.

Istanbul Province’s Belgrade Forest is a 5500-hectare area of protected forest of mostly middle aged hardwood trees north of the city, near Bahcekoy.  It was named after the Serbians who were resettled there when the Ottomans occupied their country in the 16th century. Suleyman the Magnificent appointed the settlers managers of the area’s water distribution system. (This article from Time Out has more on the history). The small lake in the middle of the forest supplied the city of its water for millennia, and the grand aqueduct and its archways that go over Ataturk Boulevard is the most visible remnant of this.

To get there, one needs only get on the 42T bus from Taksim to Bahcekoy and get off near the very end of the line. A good clue that you

Fungus among us

are getting close to the non-action is the forest research and management department offices of various Istanbul universities.

After crossing through the entrance gate (2 TL for peds), wander around a bit. It’s easy to lose your sense of direction in this steep, low hill country that is about two-thirds the way up the Bosphorus on the European side. The early summer has been unusually rainy. There was mud everywhere. Like clockwork, frogs jumped into the water at every puddle approached. The evapotranspiration from the heavy greenery made the area feel like a steamy, sub-tropical jungle in the southeastern US. You can almost see the auto exhaust fumes from the city being sucked up and turned into luscious oxygen.

Perhaps the best part was meditating in front of the small, aforementioned reservoir, where I gazed on purple wildflowers that are normally wilted by this time, and heard the breeze rustling the leaves, making a waterfall sound. Along many of the dirt roads I walked along were continuous stacks of firewood. I imagined that these were going to the various nargile joints as charcoal, or bakeries, or perhaps even to heat the homes of people in shantytowns.

While supplies last

Go there in the middle of the week. I went on a Monday and there was almost no one. This is the closest thing to a Walden Pond you can get.