What I once experienced in Turkey

If someone from Greece accidentally parachuted into Pera, and beyond, they would think they had landed in a Greek city.

The people, the shops, the churches, the entertainment centres with Greek songs made you wonder if the story about the Fall of Constantinople was wrong.

In the morning the Zappides, the Centralikians with their aprons, the Zographians with their hats with capital letters ZL, i.e. Zografio Lyceum, filled the sidewalk that took them to school, with their laughter, with their voices, with their liveliness, and in the evenings they would leave the dressmakers at the Crossroads, tailors, hatters, and we young people at that time who were throwing our words at them.

During Holy Week and other festivals, when the procession took place, the streets were filled with people with lit candles. The sound of the bell reminded us that we live in our own place, our own land.

In the summers, the Bosphorus and the islands came to life. Everywhere Hellenism was present, standing out with its civilized presence. Along with us and the fine Turks who felt good to live, to have fun with us. And this whole picture suddenly changed. The earth left under our feet. Their chauvinism awoke in them. The fanatical crowds looked at us then with envy and hatred. Some of us were driven out, others forced to leave. We left and they rushed from everywhere to taste the civilized way of life we created.

The population in the following years increased tenfold. They came to Istanbul from all corners of Asia Minor. And the seven-hipped city, which sailed on three seas and from everywhere you could see this unique view, was filled with high buildings to house the crowds. Even the mountains of the Bosphorus were built.