At least since Lady Mary Wortley Montague in the 18th century, virtually every Western writer, including such other luminaries as Voltaire and Agatha Christie, at some juncture in their musings on the city inevitably comments on the streets, the commotion, crowds, colors and sound. Many also mention Istanbul's plethora of maze-like narrow winding streets. What they do not touch on, and for that matter, neither do most Turks, is the names of the streets. This may simply be because, since there are so many of them, no on can manage to remember their names.
In fact, street addresses are something of a polite fiction – everyone has one, but no one really uses them. When going some place for the first time, one dutifully records the street address, but what really matters is the directions, preferably in minute detail, that guide one to one's destination. It is a shame, however, that no one pays attention to the street names, because Istanbul has what, to my knowledge may be the most interesting, and sometimes funniest, street names in the world. Just the streets where I myself have lived are fascinating. The first was Dubaraci Sokak, which means literally, "One who throws doubles in backgammon lane", or something to that effect, but put more accurately, it means "Four-flusher Lane". How this street came to get that name and how much backgammon was or was not played there was something I would wonder from time to time.
Next I moved to Beyazgul Caddesi, or "White Rose Street", which is, perhaps, prettier but certainly not so interesting. From there it was on to Boyali Kosk Sokak, or "Painted Mansion Lane". I always found that one significant, because it seemed to me that it must have indicated that most of the Bosphorus-side mansions were not painted, whether as a matter of tradition or for economic reasons. Also, that name to me implies that some street names may have crossed over from landmarks used in oral direction-giving, as in, "Walk down the street in front of the painted mansion". Not far away is another eccentric one: Dul Kadirogullari Sokak, or "Sons of the Widower Kadir Lane".
This name also indicates the historic nature of some street names.
Currently, our offices are on Mesrutiyet Caddesi, or "Constitution
Street", which must have been given its name during the early
Republican period. The same is certainly true of Cumhuriyet Caddesi, or "Republic Street", which is the main artery feeding into Taksim Square. Another unknown historic name for a street is Kennedy Caddesi, named after the American president of course, which is not far from the airport but which everyone refers to simply as "the coast road".
My friend, the poet, John Ash, lives on Timarci Sokak, alternately
"Groom Lane" or "Stableman Lane", in the part of the historic district of Pera at the foot of the Galata Tower, which is, referred to as Kule Dibi, literally, "At the Base of the Tower". This was, in its heyday, a very wealthy and fashionable district full of grand townhouses, so it is hard to imagine that there would have been a livery stable there, but then what is the source of the name? Equally, my girlfriend lives on Vezir Kosku Sokak, or "Grand Vezir's Mansion Lane" and one is naturally impelled to ask, "Which Vezir?" casting one's mind back through the long and colorful cast of Ottoman grandees who held that title.
Other street names are simply quaint, such as Aynali Cesme Sokak, or "Mirrored Fountain Street". There is also the occasional literary name, like Omer Hayam Yokusu, which requires a digression onto the concept of the "Yokus". The word literally means incline, slope or gradient and, as a street name is usually rendered as "uphill street". In Istanbul, a city originally built, like Rome, on seven hills that, as it has expanded, has come to be a city of hundreds of hills, each seemingly in competition to be the most precipitous and daunting and to have the steepest, windiest, most treacherous streets. Fittingly, just as the Eskimos have 40 words for snow, so do Istanbullus have a word for steep streets, the one mentioned previously being "Omar Khayam Uphill Street". Thrusting straight up hill through a rather seamy district of gypsies living in now dilapidated grand mansions with laundry strung across the streets in a riot of color and mysterious glimpses into other lives, his Uphill Road is a fitting tribute to the poet.
Another one that is interesting not so much for its name is Yesil Cam Sokak, "Green Pine Street", which is prosaic enough, but because, just as the Hollywood district of LA gave its name to the American film industry, so has the Turkish film industry, especially of a certain era twenty to thirty years ago, come to be known as "Yesil Cam" for the street where most of the film companies of the time were located.
In closing, I will touch on my favorite street name. I have never seen the street and, to preserve my imaginings of it, may choose never to go. A director we sometimes work with was editing a film at a studio on the street, which is not far from Omar Khayyam Uphill Road, and I had to send him a package by motorcycle messenger. Dutifully writing down the address, it was only after I put down my cell phone that I was struck by its name, which is Pur Telas Sokak. It is not quite translatable, but a good attempt might be "Unadulterated Haste Street". Not only is it simply unimaginable to me how and why this street name could have been selected, but I also think it perfectly apt for the world of commercial film and post-production, where there is never enough time, virtually no sleep and Pur Telas is the reigning state of mind.
