that’s always redefining itself—and the world
18 | RN&R |
B
IN
Istanbul
y the looks of things, a terrible disaster has befallen the Modus Hotel in Turkey, a five-story structure jutting awkwardly from a sharply tilted street. Medical bandages adorn the heads and faces of roughly a quarter of the denizens, some stained a light brown and coming loose around jagged surgical scars. Women with bandaged noses and puffy eyes. Men with gauze swaddling their bald skulls, pinpricked a bright red as if from chemical burns. Gawking sneakily in the first-floor dining nook, our travel party wonders which of the many conflicts pressing these borders is to blame. The horrific civil war in Syria? The reignited battle for control in Iraq? Thudding air strikes in Yemen? The Rohingyan migrant crisis? Some other foreign travesty? None of the above, it turns out. No, these walking wounded are casualties of a less dire conflict—the battle to look good. A cosmetic surgery center a few blocks away has made the hotel a choice locale for outpatient recovery. Travelers of means fly in, hack and slash what they don’t like, and first-class it home. Welcome to Istanbul, a city for the remaking. Called Byzantium by Greek colonists, Constantinople under the Roman Empire and given its current name when the conquering
AUGUST 27, 2015
DAYS
Ottomans arrived, 14.2 million people stuff themselves into this transcontinental metropolis, which grazes two continents and borders two seas at the northwestern reaches of the country. Appropriately, the torch-shaped city feels very much like the thrumming center of the world. It shouldn’t work, mixing this many disparate ingredients—high fashion and modest dress, palaces and shopping malls of equal opulence, ancient sites amid constant development—yet somehow it does. Along with my father and brother, I’m here for seven days to explore the sights and meet some relatives for the first time. Cosmetic surgery isn’t on the menu, but that doesn’t mean Istanbul won’t leave its mark. i must get to the bottom of istanbul’s strayanimals ePidemic.
Everywhere we walk, wild dogs and (some) cats litter the warm pavement, passed the hell out. On the way to Taksim Square, a dozen animals snooze in a small field, making it look like an unfinished pet cemetery. Outside of Topkapi Palace, two dogs slumber nose to rear. One has a red device implanted in its ear. During a visit to a nearby island, there are more sleepy carcasses, although there is one go-getter that runs beside our horse-drawn coach like it’s on security detail. At night, you can hear their vampire howls. I’m baffled and obsessed, taking more photos of unconscious animals than I do of the city itself. Is this by policy or freak
occurrence? It’s not until I return stateside that I learn the answer. Apparently, Istanbul residents are so opposed to euthanizing stray animals that the local government has rolled out a campaign, outfitting the city with vending machines that dispense dog food whenever people deposit their recycled cans and bottles. These dispensers feed the city’s approximately 150,000 roaming dogs (though I also spotted little water and food dishes used by stray cats). Meanwhile, to cut down on rabies and humanely curtail population growth, local shelters trap, spay and vaccinate stray hounds, then release them back into their neighborhoods with little red markers implanted in their ears. It’s an elegant approach, one that’s received interest from more than 60 other countries, according to an interview last year in Der Spiegel with the vending invention’s creator. But it also calls into contrast the city’s neglect of its equally legion—and visible— poor. Like the Syrian refugee who futilely presented his ID to passersby as a family of three trailed or the child beggars who pawed at our shirtsleeves, the visceral misfortune here stands out all the more because of the locale and its proximity to glimmering mosques and palaces. Or maybe it takes being a tourist to notice the human suffering that exists everywhere. After all, I couldn’t say whether Istanbul’s homeless population is greater than in major American cities or simply more exposed. There seems to be one universal truth wherever you go: After a while, you stop noticing.
story and Photos by raheem f. hosseini raheemh@ne wsre vie w.com
Plastic surgery, stray dogs and tourist traPs mark a city
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