It’s Snowing in Istanbul
It’s snowing in Istanbul. This will probably surprise some people. In fact, Istanbul winters are slightly milder than New York’s. Pipes rarely freeze. People leave their geranium pots outdoors all year long. But it does snow. In The Sultan’s Seal there is an image of Sybil in a sleigh with her mother, the British ambassador’s wife, going to pay a visit to the sultan’s harem on a snowy day. At the end of The Abyssinian Proof, the first snow of the season drifts over Sunken Village as its residents gather in the square.
I am looking out of my window at the Bosphorus and the sky, both the same bright color of tin, one the reflection of the other. Last night the winds howled around the house and a mixture of sleet and hail pattered on the roof. But this morning, a wedge of light at the edge of the horizon is pushing the winter clouds away. Already the roofs are red again. Bursts of snow blow through like wedding rice.
I remember a winter in the mid-1980s when the snow in Istanbul rose so high that the entire city was shut down for six days. Nothing came in and nothing went out. I was living in Arnavutkoy (Albanian Village in the novels) at the time, a district half-way up the Bosphorus on the European side. It is famous for its steep, winding lanes lined with small Ottoman-era wooden houses. The snow before the house door reached my shoulders – nothing for Minnesotans or even Bostonians, but quite a challenge for Istanbulis. For one thing, in these tiny winding lanes, where would you throw the snow? People set to with shovels nonetheless, carving paths through the snow, canyons that wound through the streets. People set fires on the mountains of snow to burn some of it off, to little effect. Like most people, my roommate and I stayed indoors. We played many hands of cards with the upstairs neighbor and her daughter. Older locals told me about the time in the 1950s when icebergs appeared in the Bosphorus. The strait froze solid and they could walk to the other side (given the strong currents, it must have been intensely cold).
Once in a while, I’d venture outdoors and meander through the snow canyons taking pictures of the lovely wooden filigree that decorates the traditional houses, each detail outlined in white, and the enormous icicles that had begun to form on the eaves. We bought our food at the corner grocery, as always. The grocer lived nearby. At the time, the city was mostly supplied by such small local shops, so we heard of no food shortages. These days small groceries are being replaced by chain stores. If their owners live elsewhere, the next great snowstorm won’t be so easy to weather.