The Heart of Istanbul: The Shopkeepers

We are in Çukurcuma, one of the most characteristic neighborhoods inside Cihangir, descending from Istiklal Street in Istanbul’s Beyoğlu district. The neighborhood is said to have taken its name from Fatih Sultan Mehmet after the conquest of Constantinople, performed the first Friday prayer in a hollow area, or çukur (pit) in Turkish, which was known in Cuma (Friday). The combination of these words, Çukurcuma, means "Friday Pit" and refers to this historical event. From the Ottoman Period to the Republican Era, it has hosted many different communities, and today it feels like the capital of art and antiques. In the 19th century, Çukurcuma became a hub for European merchants and Levantines, and it has managed to preserve its heritage through Western-style mansions, artisan shops, and antique stores. For me, Çukurcuma is not just a neighborhood; it’s a stop where I reconnect with Istanbul. Even as I write these lines on a plane back to Milan, my mind is still wandering through these streets. The first time I visited as a child, I felt instantly at home; as a teenager, I filled it with memories. Even today, I see Istanbul as the most beautiful city in the world, and its spirit is alive here. When someone asks, “Will you move back to Istanbul?” my answer is a firm “no,” given my complaints about the economy and politics—but I can’t stop the voice of Orhan Pamuk inside of me. When I discovered his book called Istanbul: Memories and the City at Halit Passage in Beyoğlu years ago, my view of the city has always been intertwined with nostalgia. I first learned about Istanbul from him: that Tarabya came from Therapia because the Bosphorus air heals everyone, the Ottoman secrets hidden in Nişantaşı homes and finally, the aura I still feel today in Çukurcuma, where he had lived since the 1980s. Çukurcuma’s streets are filled with the spaces of people who inspire me. Heading down from Istiklal Street, past Galatasaray High School, and down Hayriye Street, our first stop is Cihangir’s “wardrobe,” MEL’S. Melissa’s boutique, perfectly reflecting her style, “Be as free as you can be” which reminds me of Carrie Bradshaw’s closet or the Barbie dream house every little girl imagines. When I ask Melissa what inspired her while creating MEL’S, her answer is both playful and moving: “This was my childhood dream, and I tried to bring it to life. When I was little, I would decorate as if I was already visualizing this shop—pink glittery walls, transparent furniture, Hello Kitty mirrors. It’s as if nine year old Melissa decorated the place.” Yet she also underlines another crucial detail: she shared this vision with her sister, who helped her transform the dream into reality.

From vintage Roberto Cavalli pieces to Melissa’s meticulously curated Fendi Baguette collection, the store welcomes every visitor as if to say, “Come, let’s play.” For Melissa, this place is not just a store but a piece of neighborhood life. Sitting at the nearby Müzz Café, sipping her coffee, chatting with local shopkeepers, and greeting acquaintances demonstrates the warmth and intimacy Çukurcuma still offers.

Today, we do a fun and fast shoot at the boutique. After leaving her to organize hundreds of newly discovered pieces, I head to my second—but actually everyday—stop: Seraphic Atelier.

Owned by Didem, the atelier is a perfect example of sustainable creative production in Istanbul. It proves that the “oh, I wish I had a ceramics studio” fantasy is not easy as it seems. With her consistency, discipline, customer care, and endless creativity, this atelier has become one of Çukurcuma’s most notable addresses. Her recent flower and tarot workshops add another layer to the space’s mystical, warm aura, which perfectly complements the neighborhood’s enigmatic spirit. Spending time here is not just about being in a creative environment; it’s also a reminder that the “neighborhood atelier” culture still thrives.

Although Didem no longer lives here, she remains a local presence, taking all her needs in Çukurcuma. Spending a day here, she enjoys her coffee in her own atelier where she lately turned into a half cafe, takes meals from the nearby Mayko Lokantası, and desserts from a shop further up the street. Today, she shows us her newly started clock collection—ceramic clocks of all colors and shapes, which I believe will become Seraphic’s signature pieces. And we take the opportunity to get the batteries and mechanisms installed at Kosova Saatçi.

Kosova Saatçi is like a living microcosm of Istanbul. Located in Beyoğlu’s Kuloğlu neighborhood, it is more than a watch shop, a museum of time. According to sources, it was established by a craftsman who migrated from Kosovo in 1963, and the business has passed from father to son. The window displays centuries-old pocket watches, not for sale but part of a private collection; the walls echo with the clicks of mechanical gears, and inside, the master carefully repairs these delicate pieces. Entering the shop slows time; past and present blend together. Locals know it simply as “the old, kind master’s shop.” Customers leave with not only a repaired watch but also a small fragment of the memory of Istanbul.

After finishing our work, we return to the atelier and take a short detour to Kayra Antika when the customers arrive to atelier. While antique shops are an essential part of Çukurcuma it was a must to pass by one. On each visit, my eye is caught by a piece that nobody has taken yet: a French abat jour with a Chinese motif. The owner, Ismail Abi, prefers not to share too much of its history, only noting it belonged to an Ottoman-era family. While exploring the shop, he offers the classic, warmly brewed Turkish tea that is part of Istanbul’s traditional shop culture. Among the fascinating Ottoman-Asian and French-heavy items, my eyes fall on a stack of art history and carpet motif books. I learn these are part of his collection, intended for a future free library for students. To me, this is Çukurcuma’s spirit: stories preserved, lived with, and passed on for the future.

I end the day in here and next day I start my morning with breakfast at Norre, a cozy Scandinavian-inspired café in Çukurcuma. Norre is a family business run by three close friends—Aslı, Alican, and Can—who greet me with smiles despite the morning rush. Chef Aslı, trained at Eataly; Alican, formerly in Eataly’s marketing; and Can, who previously worked with Alican in marketing, left the corporate grind to open their dream café, Norre. Their warm hospitality draws you in as much as their food. Tasting Aslı’s delicious French omelet while chatting with Can makes you feel instantly at home.

The best part of Aslı’s approach is that the menu is always updated, offering something new with every visit. While talking with them about life and cafés, I learn that they dream of exploring other cities and even expanding abroad. Perhaps one day we will see them elsewhere; for now, Norre remains, in my opinion, Çukurcuma’s most authentic corner. If you find yourself here during the day, don’t leave without trying their coffee and banana bread.

What makes Çukurcuma, Cihangir, and even Taksim so special is this: despite a city that can feel intimidating and enormous, the warm-hearted life of local shopkeepers shines through. A glass of tea, a sip of coffee, a small chat, a chubby cat at the door, the scent of the sea and fish from the Bosphorus, or the cries of seagulls on the rooftops… Perhaps it is the nostalgia of walking in one of Istanbul’s oldest, most fragrant neighborhoods. But there is something deeply in here makes you feel you belong here. That is why this is my letter to Istanbul: a place that touches my personal stories while keeping the city’s cultural memory alive, and perhaps the main reason my heart can never truly leave.