Istanbul Day 1: Arrival, Galata Tower, Street Food, and Rooftop Sunsets

After weeks of juggling work deadlines and trip logistics, we wanted something spontaneous yet soul-filling — a city that could overwhelm and enchant in equal measure. Istanbul had been on our list for years. The city that bridges continents, whispers empires, and lives in color. We’d always dreamed of giving it a week, maybe more — wandering its mosques and markets, chasing light across domes and rooftops. But with a packed calendar and a bigger trip to India looming at the end of the year, we decided to make this one short — just three and a half days. Enough, we hoped, for a glimpse. We boarded our Turkish Airlines flight after a full day of work, and ten and a half hours later, after drifting between naps and airplane meals, the captain announced our descent into Istanbul. The city lay nine hours ahead of home — that surreal time warp that comes with eastward travel — and as we landed around 1:30 p.m., you could see why its called the city of mosques’ as there are minarets in every corner. 

The new Istanbul Airport was everything we had heard about and more — vast, gleaming, and unapologetically grand. There’s a certain rhythm to international arrivals here: a long walk through sleek corridors, the occasional moving walkway, and then an endless stream of people funneling toward customs. The signage is clear, but the distances are no joke — it feels like you’re walking across a small town before you finally reach the immigration counters. If you don’t have a Turkish passport, fast pass, or special lane access, brace yourself — the general immigration counters are way at the end. The lines are long but fast-moving, the officers efficient and no-nonsense. There’s a quiet order in the chaos — a sense that this is a gateway the world has passed through for centuries. Once you clear customs, the arrivals hall unfolds into a maze of duty-free stores, money exchange counters, and waiting drivers holding placards. Outside, Istanbul’s energy and heat hits you instantly — that blend of Mediterranean warmth and urban pulse. The airport sits quite a distance from the heart of the city — around forty minutes with no traffic, which in Istanbul terms means closer to an hour most days. As we debated our ride options, we realized there’s no single “best” way to get into town; just choices that suit your mood, budget, and luggage load.

There’s the train across the parking lot, a modern marvel that connects you to the metro system. It’s the cheapest, but with suitcases on cobblestone streets, it can feel like an obstacle course. Then there’s the Havaist airport bus, a comfortable, clean, and well-run system that takes you to major hubs like Taksim or Sultanahmet — great if your hotel is nearby. Next up are the taxis — the most convenient and also the most unpredictable. Istanbul drivers have a reputation for taking scenic routes (literally and financially), though many are genuinely helpful. They run on a meter, but it’s best to keep an eye on the map. Slightly better are Ubers, which work differently here: the drivers are often regular taxi drivers working through the app. It gives you a range of fares, and while the meter still runs, Uber monitors the route — so it’s harder for drivers to take detours. The only hitch? They can cancel on you, or the pickup points may change. At Istanbul Airport, Ubers don’t usually come to the arrivals curb. Instead, the app directs you up to the departure level and then the driver texts you to come across the street to a parking lot near the local train station. It feels sketchy at first until you see other travelers doing the same. We spotted at least three other groups waiting for their drivers in that unglamorous corner of the airport — a kind of unofficial Uber club for the jet-lagged. We used Uber extensively during our trip and walked even more — lots of walking. Of course, the most convenient (and expensive) option is a pre-arranged hotel transfer. It’s smooth, reliable, and perfect if you’re arriving late or traveling with a group, but at twice the cost of a taxi, it’s more of a comfort splurge.

Once we figured out the logistics, the next big decision was where to stay ( but this one has to be done prior to arrival). Everyone has an opinion about this, and none of them are wrong. Istanbul’s neighborhoods are like personalities — each one distinct, each with its own tempo. For a first-time visitor, Sultanahmet is the obvious choice. It’s home to the big names — Hagia Sophia, the Blue Mosque, Topkapi Palace — and feels like the city’s open-air museum. But it’s also crowded, expensive, and sometimes a bit too polished. We decided to split our stay: two nights in Galata, for its bohemian charm and rooftop views, and two in Sultanahmet, for proximity to the icons. Galata immediately felt right. It’s artistic, lively, and built for walking — cobblestone lanes twisting around hill slopes, historic buildings with wrought-iron balconies, and cafes spilling music and the smell of Turkish coffee. We booked Meroddi Barnathan Hotel, a boutique heritage property right by Galata Tower. Its story dates back to the late Ottoman era, originally part of an old school complex before being restored into a hotel. The rooms are small — typical of historic buildings — but beautiful painted walls, an amazing Iznik tiled bathroom and nice stylish furniture that give each room a special character. We loved the comfy beds, linen and all amenities like the coffee machine with complimentary capsules, everyday water bottles.The arched windows, tiled floors, spiral staircase with brass fixtures, old family photographs, and city-view terraces that make you want to linger make the rest of the hotel pop. The front desk staff were friendly and efficient; when our city-view deluxe room didn’t quite have the Galata Tower view we’d hoped for, they immediately found us another one. It wasn’t deluxe, but it had that view .

The crown jewel of the hotel is Barnathan Roof, its rooftop restaurant and bar. From here, Istanbul unfolds like a living painting: the Galata Tower rising close enough to touch, the minarets of Sultanahmet glowing in the distance, the Bosphorus shimmering between continents. As a photographer, this is what we want — the golden hour light bouncing off domes, the sky deepening to amber, and the call to prayer weaving through it all. But alas they have a strange rule: no cameras allowed , only cell phones. Guess they think it's better to have instagrammers who will click pictures with phones and spend more money than those poor photographers who spent all their money on gear. Their place is their rule , we abide by it but it did put a dent in the excitement. We planned to have dinner there later, but first — food hunting. After a quick shower and a caffeine boost, we stepped out into the evening air. The cobblestone streets were alive, their polished stones catching the last of the sunlight. We made our way to the Instagram-famous street that frames the Galata Tower perfectly. Every inch of it was packed with people trying to get that same shot — couples posing, tripods planted, laughter echoing off the walls. Beautiful, yes, but a little too staged. We skipped the photo op and turned toward Dönerci Engin Usta`nın Yeri, craving doner kebabs, only to find it closed for Friday prayers.

Very quickly we found out a quirky thing about Istanbul, everywhere, cats seem to reign supreme. From the courtyards of mosques to café terraces and cobbled alleys overlooking the Bosphorus, they move with quiet authority—pampered, admired, and deeply woven into the city’s rhythm. Locals leave bowls of food and water outside doorsteps, and we couldn't resist pausing to scratch a chin or snap a photo. These street cats, neither fully wild nor domestic, do add a different charm to the city as they are not aggressive at all. Our next option was to go to  Emek Börek, another local favorite, but it was too far for the time we had — and honestly, the evening light was too beautiful to waste in between buildings. Börek, for the uninitiated, is one of Turkey’s most beloved pastries — layers of flaky, buttery yufka dough wrapped around cheese, meat, or spinach, then baked or pan-fried until golden. It’s an Ottoman-era comfort food that has conquered breakfast tables and street stalls alike. Every region has its twist. We made a mental note for next time. Still hungry, we walked down to Karaköy Özsüt, a tiny, old-school shop famed for its kaymak — clotted cream made from water buffalo milk. It’s one of those foods that seem simple until you taste it and realize it’s anything but. Served with honey and Turkish tea, it’s heaven on a plate — rich, silky, slightly nutty. We couldn’t resist adding their buffalo sausage platter too — smoky, subtly gamey, unlike any sausage we’d had before. It had a depth that felt earthy and authentic, and together with kaymak and honey, it was the kind of sweet-and-savory meal that only makes sense in Turkey. Kaymak has deep roots in Turkish cuisine, dating back to the Ottoman era when it was served at imperial breakfasts. Traditionally made by simmering buffalo milk and skimming off the thick cream, it’s prized for its texture — denser and more luxurious than regular cream. I usually can’t handle dairy, but buffalo milk is naturally lactose free. So yes, I indulged — unapologetically. As twilight descended, we returned to the hotel rooftop, glasses of Turkish wine in hand. The city lights began to flicker on one by one — the Galata Tower glowing orange, the mosques silhouetted against a dark amber sky. The azan, the evening call to prayer, echoed through the air. There’s no better word than magical. We ordered grilled calamari and Turkish meatballs — the flavors simple, the view unforgettable. 

But Istanbul doesn’t sleep early, and neither did we. Energized, we decided to take a late-night walk down to Karaköy, the hip neighborhood just below Galata. The district has reinvented itself in the last decade — once an old port area, now a vibrant patchwork of art galleries, street murals, boutique shops, and trendy cafes. It reminded me a little of Lisbon’s Alfama or Barcelona’s Born district — historic but unpretentious, buzzing with life. We found ourselves on Umbrella Street — officially Hoca Tahsin Street — a whimsical lane covered in colorful umbrellas and lined with cozy restaurants. The atmosphere was electric, the kind of place where conversations spill past midnight. We wandered through its tiny boutiques, buying small souvenirs — ceramic evil eyes, hand-painted magnets, and Turkish delight boxes wrapped in blue paper. The shopkeepers were friendly, offering samples and smiles, and the whole street felt like a living postcard. Nearby, the Kılıç Ali Pasa Mosque stood serene, its elegant dome gleaming under the streetlights. Built in the 16th century by Mimar Sinan, the same genius behind the Süleymaniye Mosque, it’s one of Istanbul’s most graceful Ottoman structures. We couldn’t go inside that late, but even from outside, its beauty felt profound — a reminder of the city’s layered soul.

On the way back, we stopped by Kronotrop Coffee, one of the first specialty coffee houses in Istanbul, known for its meticulous brews and minimalist vibe. The aroma alone could wake the dead, and after all the walking, it hit the spot. Our final stop of the night was Beyzade Künefe, a dessert shop that quickly became our nightly ritual. We sat by the window, sipping hot tea and sharing künefe — that perfect harmony of crispy pastry, molten cheese, and syrup — along with a slice of green pistachio baklava that crumbled just right with every bite. Sweet, sticky, and utterly addictive. By 11:30 p.m., back in our room, we were exhausted but exhilarated. The window framed Galata Tower like a silent sentinel, its lights flickering against the night. We set alarms for sunrise at Ortaköy Mosque — a plan we weren’t sure we’d keep after such a long day. Tomorrow, we might chase the morning light across the Bosphorus. But tonight, we drifted off .