Hi, I’m Chiara — And the Afternoon Istanbul Caught Me

Hi, I’m Chiara. Back home in Bologna, I earn my living coordinating cultural events—a daily juggling act of festival programmes, staging logistics, and lighting cues. It is work I love, but it also trains the mind to anticipate, organise, and oversee every passing minute. Perhaps that explains why Istanbul hit me with such restorative force during an autumn holiday weekend with my partner a few trips ago. I had arrived hoping for a gentle break from deadlines; instead, I stumbled into an architectural cadence and a daily generosity of spirit that completely rearranged my idea of travel.

Now I find myself returning two or three times a year, often over spring or autumn bank holidays, occasionally joined by an architect friend who shares my quiet obsession with urban layers, Ottoman domestic spaces, and long, wine-soaked dinners that stretch deep into the night. This blog began not because I wanted to compile a checklist, but because of one specific afternoon when the city’s light and quiet corners insisted on being written down.

A Morning of Courtyards at Topkapı Palace

Coming from Italy, where historic power is often expressed through sheer stone blocks and monumental facades, Topkapı Palace felt like a revelation to my eyes. It does not loom over you; it breathes. The Ottoman imperial seat unfolds across four sprawling, tree-shaded courtyards, feeling less like a fortress and more like an elevated garden village designed for contemplative contemplation.

I set aside half a day to wander through it without looking at the time. I walked along the wide gravel paths under plane trees, lingering by the Imperial Council Hall and the sprawling palace kitchens filled with delicate celadon porcelain. But it was the Harem that held me captive the longest. It is a separate world tucked within the palace complex, and it deserves its own unhurried pace. Stepping into those private chambers, I found myself tracing the glazed blue and emerald Iznik tiles that cover the walls, cool to the touch even in late morning warmth. The way the filtered sunlight fell across the low cushioned divans and painted domes reminded me of theatrical staging, but with an intimacy that felt astonishingly domestic.

Before leaving, I walked all the way to the outer marble terraces of the fourth courtyard. Standing beside the kiosks, looking out where the waters of the Bosphorus meet the Golden Horn, with maritime silhouettes cutting across the blue horizon, I realised my shoulders had finally dropped. The city was vast and loud, yet here, above the water, it felt suspended in absolute calm.

Tickets and visiting hoursTopkapi Palace→

Unwinding Along the Old Stone Walls

By late afternoon, my feet were tired from hours on historic stone. I wandered out past the palace gates and followed the gentle curve of Soğuk Çeşme Street, a picturesque lane tucked right against the massive outer walls of Topkapı and just behind Hagia Sophia. That was how I ended up stepping into Chimney Bistro.

I was looking for somewhere relaxed to pause before the evening set in, and the atmosphere felt right the moment I walked past the exposed brick bar. I found a seat beneath the open roof, where the cool breeze of early twilight could drift in, and ordered a glass of chilled rosé alongside a freshly baked beef pide and a bowl of pasta. The food was warm, honest, and comforting—the kind of meal that revives you after miles of walking without demanding ceremony.

Sitting there at that table, listening to the murmur of conversations around me as the sky over Sultanahmet turned from dusty rose to deep indigo, I reached into my canvas tote, pulled out a blank notebook, and uncapped a pen. I wanted to capture the exact feeling of that transition: moving from the silent, tiled alcoves of imperial courtyards directly to a warm table beside ancient walls, glass in hand, entirely unhurried. That page became the first entry in my notebook—and the true beginning of this diary.

Book a table and the meal comboChimney Bistro, Sultanahmet→