Hi, I'm Adrien — and an afternoon in the sultan's gardens
A quiet autumn afternoon among the courtyards of Topkapı Palace and the cobblestones of Soğuk Çeşme Street persuaded me to finally start keeping a diary.
Hi, I'm Adrien. In Lyon, where I live, my working weeks revolve around urban foliage, stone paving, and the gentle grading of public parks and courtyards. For years now, I have packed a small leather holdall twice a year and caught a flight east to Istanbul for four or five days. Sometimes I travel with my partner, lingering over shared mezze into the small hours; other times I come entirely on my own, moving at an idle, solitary pace dictated only by morning light, tea glasses, and empty notebook pages.
People often ask what keeps pulling me back to this peninsula between two seas. It is rarely the monumental rush or ticking boxes off an itinerary. It is the topography, the maritime light cutting between cypress crowns, and the layered centuries embedded in the masonry. This journal began on one particular afternoon when I realised that unless I wrote down the texture of these hours, I would lose the quiet clarity they brought me.
The layered shade of Topkapı Palace
I began that morning by walking up the spine of the Historic Peninsula toward Topkapı Palace. As someone who thinks about spatial transitions for a living, Ottoman imperial architecture has always fascinated me. It does not hit you with one colossal, intimidating façade. Instead, it unfolds gradually across four distinct courtyards, like a series of walled outdoor rooms stepping downward toward the water.
Passing under the towering stone gatehouse, I moved away from the city's murmur and into the Second Courtyard. Slender cypresses rose high above clipped lawns, framing the portico of the Imperial Council Hall and the proud spire of the Tower of Justice. I sat on a low stone ledge under a plane tree for a long time, watching the interplay of grey ashlar stone, marble columns, and the wind stirring the leaves.
From there, I spent half my day wandering through the palace complex. I dedicated a generous, quiet stretch of time to the Harem, losing myself in its narrow tiled corridors, painted domed ceilings, and the delicate seclusion of its private courtyards. Afterwards, I drifted past the palace kitchens, admiring the collection of celadon and blue-and-white porcelain housed beneath rows of conical brick chimneys, and stopped by the clock museum to study the elaborate mechanisms sent as diplomatic gifts centuries ago.
Eventually, I emerged onto the marble terrace of the Fourth Court. Here, beside the tiled eaves of the Baghdad Pavilion, the palace opens entirely to the elements. Standing by the balustrade, with the breeze sweeping off the water, you catch the Bosphorus and the Golden Horn converging at the point of the peninsula. I leaned against the warm marble parapet, pulled out my sketchbook, and tried to capture the junction where terraced gardens give way to open sea.
Winding down beside the palace walls
By late afternoon, my feet were weary and my notebook was filled with ink smudges and rough architectural sections. I slipped out through the palace perimeter and turned into Soğuk Çeşme Street, a peaceful lane paved with cobblestones and bordered on one side by the ancient stone ramparts of Topkapı and on the other by restored Ottoman wooden houses, all sitting in the shadow of Hagia Sophia.
Tucked right against these old ramparts, I found Chimney Bistro. The place felt immediately welcoming after hours on stone flags: warm exposed brick around the bar, an open roof catching the evening air, and a relaxed, unpretentious hum. I settled into a quiet corner, ordered a glass of red wine, and opted for their Chimney Combo, which paired a drink with a freshly baked pide right out of the oven.
Sitting there under the open roof, listening to the clink of glasses and the faint call to prayer floating over the battlements, I found myself writing pages instead of mere sketches. That quiet progression—from the grandeur of imperial courtyards to a calm table beside historic stone—is the cadence of Istanbul I love best. It seemed only natural that my journal should begin here.
Book a table and the meal comboChimney Bistro, Sultanahmet