On the Street Where I Live...

Istanbul is a city of both great beauty and equally great ugliness, sometimes on the same street. Rumeli Hisari remains one of the "authentic" areas of the city, complete with old and crumbling wooden houses, restored ones, gece kondu ("night" houses illegally built), modern rectangular blocks...
The photo above is of my neighbor's house. She's the one who wanders the streets collecting bits of wood with which to build a new one. From the image, you can't quite appreciate the scope of the scrap pile. The one in the back is even more impressive. My kitchen window looks out onto her mess and several plum trees. I like to watch the cats play in the trees.

Recently, I stopped to say hello to my neighbor. We went through our usual ritual, "Who are you, where do you live, what do you do?" She then abruptly dismissed me with a flick of her hand. I accepted my dismissal. While headed down the stone path, I turned back to see her giving me a friendly wave.
The other day, she was seated on the curb in the sunshine, shoes and socks removed, examining her feet and talking to several people. My housemate told me they were asking her to sell her land so they could build a new residence in is place. While her home is indeed an eyesore, I hope she said and will continue to say no. For some odd reason, I like her and her determination.

I live on the ground floor of a three level building where there is access to a garden and sort of patio area. This is Ayda, the top floor neighbor's dog. We often play catch, although she doesn't understand the rules of the game.

This is my building. As an apartment, it's nothing outstanding, though the views from the balconies are. I have balcony envy, though we do have limited views of the Bosphorus from the garden.

Out the front gate and to the right is an abandoned house. Sometimes I'm quite sure there are squatters inside, though I have no direct proof. I dream of winning the lottery, then buying this house and restoring it. In fact, I dream of restoring several houses within a two-block radius. To the left and downwards is a shell of a building. Recently, parts of its wall collapsed onto the stone path in front of it. These paths are actually streets with names. Apparently there are many in Rumeli Hisari. This one is Durmus Dede (Grandfather) Sokak. It is slippery when raining, and always steep. In front of the collapsed house and during the right season, it is spattered with figs and a pomegranite or two.