It was February 2019, and I was visiting Istanbul. I wanted to see the Spice Bazaar. From Beyoglu I took the Rack Train to go to Karaköy. From there I asked a local taxi to take me across the Galata Bridge to the south side of the Golden Horn, roughly in the same area where the Topkapi Palace is located. After a short drive the taxi driver dropped me near a large mosque, at the beginning of a pedestrian area. Signs in English were indicating the direction to take among the maze of narrow streets and alleyways. The narrow street I took was the one leading to the main entrance of the Bazaar and was bustling of life. It was lined on both sides by all types of shops and food stalls, selling everything from local kitchenware to spices, perfumes, even jewelry or Turkish sweets. The sight of all colours, the voices of shopkeepers calling for the attention of passersby to the items of their commerce, were mesmerizing. Then at a curve of the narrow street, before reaching the Bazaar itself, t
Written by and for the former staff of UNICEF