38th Worldwide Sketchcrawl: Istanbul

The 38th Worldwide Sketchcrawl had place this last Saturday — which led me and Samantha to the lively fish market of Kumkapı. After two laps around the market trying to find the most appealing stand (with a stop to dispatch a balık ekmek while some showers persisted), evaluating where to stand sketching for a while without disrupting the flow of trade, appreciating the diversity being offered for sale, we finally settled for one stand that had an interesting variety of large fish hanging, and where we could stay as unobtrusively as possible.

Kedi balığı (Scyliorhinus canicula) Sand Lahoz (Epinephelus aeneus)

For roughly two hours we sketched among fishmonger cries, splashes of water, peeks of curiosity (at one time I spotted Samantha surrounded by five curious fishmongers, discussing among themselves who we were and what were we doing there). One old man came to me and I lowered the sketchbook so he could see. He looked, nodded and without saying a word did that fine gesture of appreciation with his hand (fingers joined pointing upwards, up and down, up and down). The blue of the sky turned to gold and that too faded to darkness, and our tired legs and eyes were by now quite ready to leave. Showing the sketches to the fishmongers and thanking once again, we left in search of a hot çay somewhere nearby.

at the fish market

It was a grey day on the 38th SketchCrawl— cold enough for your fingers to lock around your pencil, and your nose to be in constant need of a tissue. In between showers of icy rain, we split our time watching gulls and sketching fish, much to the delight and surprise of the burly fishmongers. They took turns bellowing "BUYRUNBUYRUN!" at potential customers, and hovering behind us tsking, and making hand gestures of approval.

We stood for nearly two hours, each of us working on our spreads, and I couldn't help but think that sketching demands a certain amount of toughness. I could feel my knees protest, and goodness, it was cold— but then the sketch would absorb me, and I forgot. Every so often, a fishmonger would yell "Abi!" at PeF, wave at him to move, then hurl an arc of seawater on his fish— the tail end of the arc landing where PeF once stood. I was routinely bumped out of the way by customers, and narrowly avoided getting drenched by a sheet of water being emptied from a bowed awning.



Every other street in Beyoğlu has a guy with portable stand of stuffed mussels— portable, because apparently they do not have a permit to sell these bivalves— or so I've been told. Yet there are so many of these guys that I wonder how true this claim of illegality is. People ask me whether they should indulge in eating these tasty treats (and I love stuffed mussels), and while I doubt they're too harmful, I am reminded of how the mussels arrive in the back of a truck and are sitting around all day... sometimes in the summer sun... but who knows?

I got my midye dolması— my stuffed mussels, at a fish shack by the Marmara Sea in Menekşe. The rice was delicately spiced, and with a squeeze of lemon, they were perfect.