My excitement, however, was briefly dampened when I arrived at Sabiha Gökçen International Airport. Somewhere between the arrival gate and baggage claim, a pendant that had been dangling from my handbag for months vanished. I had fallen victim to a pickpocket.
In hindsight, it felt like a small price to pay for a city once known as Constantinople, a place that would soon overwhelm my senses.
Home to 15.7 million people, Istanbul revealed itself gradually – fast yet unhurried, chaotic yet oddly comforting. The initial shock of being pickpocketed faded as the city welcomed me with cool November air and unexpected charm.
During the half-hour drive from the airport, minarets pierced the skyline while the Bosphorus shimmered quietly in the distance, famously dividing Europe and Asia.
Peering through the car window, the city felt alive, bearing the weight of ancient history I had previously only seen online, now unfolding vividly before me.
My journey began at the Galata Tower, not merely as a tourist ticking off landmarks but as someone learning to listen – to the city and its streets.
From the observation deck, Istanbul stretched out in all directions: terracotta rooftops, and the unmistakable silhouettes of Hagia Sophia and the Sultan Ahmed Mosque in the distance.
From there, I ventured into the Basilica Cistern, one of the city’s most atmospheric landmarks. Stepping inside felt like entering a fantasy realm – dark, echoing and mysterious.
Walking along narrow wooden platforms between towering columns, I marvelled at a structure built nearly 1,500 years ago to store and supply water. It was a reminder of the ingenuity of ancient civilisations, and served as a filming location for “From Russia With Love”.
As I strolled between the Sultan Ahmed Mosque and Hagia Sophia – the sixth-century cathedral turned mosque in 1453 – the streets came alive in a different way.
Cats appeared everywhere. Lounging on steps, weaving through crowds, perched outside shops. The entire city seemed lovingly claimed by feline residents. The nickname “Catstanbul” suddenly made perfect sense.
There were dogs, too – large, gentle ones that inspired an almost irresistible urge to stop and offer a hug.
In Istanbul, street cats and dogs are not seen as nuisances but as neighbours. They can be found in mosques, markets, parks, cafés and even shopping centres.
Locals provide food, shelter and affection, treating the cats as valued members of the urban ecosystem rather than strays. It is this compassion that gives the city much of its warmth.
The hundreds of thousands of free-roaming cats have also become an unlikely but powerful draw for tourists, offering a glimpse into a culture rooted in kindness and coexistence.
Crossing to the Asian side, a visit to the Çamlıca Mosque stirred a sense of familiarity. With its sweeping domes, six minarets and white, gold and blue hues, it reminded me of the Sultan Salahuddin Abdul Aziz Shah Mosque in Shah Alam.
At Nakkaştepe Garden, Istanbul’s first public garden, I stood overlooking the Bosphorus beside the July 15 Martyrs Bridge.
My gaze then drifted towards the Fatih Sultan Mehmet Bridge, briefly transporting me back to Malaysia as I thought of the Penang Bridge and the Sultan Abdul Halim Muadzam Shah Bridge – graceful structures linking land and water.
My final stop was Kuzguncuk, an old neighbourhood in Üsküdar. Along İcadiye Street, traditional shops stood beside churches, mosques and lush gardens where fruits and vegetables are grown and sold.
The colourful houses, each with its own cumba – an enclosed balcony – seemed to carry stories of the past while embracing the present.
When it was time to leave, Istanbul had firmly settled into my heart. The kindness of its people, and the quiet dignity with which its animals are treated, made saying goodbye hard.
I returned home with more than photographs – I carried with me memories of a city that feels timeless, tender and deeply alive, where compassion walks the streets on four paws.
This article was written by Fatin Umairah Abdul Hamid.