Under the Bosporus

The first time I saw Istanbul, I had arrived by bus from Beirut, through Syria, and across the long, flat reaches of Anatolia.  The bus came to its final stop at what was announced as "Istanbul-Asia."  In front of us was the Bosporus.  To go farther, to reach the more tourist-oriented "Istanbul-Europe," required a ride on a ferry.

I couldn't have been more excited.  A ferry from one continent to another!  A ride that, at least in my mind, left the Middle East behind and re-connected me to the more familiar world of European civilization.  But a ride that also displayed the stunning skyline -- domes and minarets -- of traditional Istanbul.  The skyline of a world neither Arab nor Christian, but, sui generis, Turkish Muslim.

The next time I visited Istanbul, the Bosporus was spanned by two graceful suspension bridges.  The so-called First Bridge was visible from the old city and, eventually, has come to seem an integral part of the Istanbul skyline.

And now, this week, Asian and European Istanbul are being knit together by an 8.5-mile rail tunnel under the Bosporus.  At first, the tunnel will serve commuter traffic, but eventually will also carry high-speed inter-city trains, integrating the European and Turkish rail systems.

For those living in and about Istanbul, construction of the tunnel, like the earlier construction of the bridges, represents nothing but progress.  For traveling romanticists -- like myself -- feelings are more mixed.  Would a high speed rail journey from Beirut that ended at Sirceki station on the European side of the Bosporus seem as glamorous to a young traveler as did my own arrival?  Would the journey still be remembered as intensely years later?

Hard to tell.  Maybe walking off the train into the heart of Sultanahmet -- the "old town" -- would be every bit as dazzling to the first-timer as the ferry ride from the Asian side was to me.  I always remind myself that many contemporary French denounced construction of the Eiffel Tower as a monstrosity that would ruin Paris.  Change isn't always bad.

And yet -- as convenient as is today's just-over-two-hour train ride through the Chunnel from London to Paris, it certainly lacks the excitement and sense of adventure of transferring to a ferry at Dover for the crossing to Calais.  And closer to home, I remember the excitement of the train ride to San Francisco, where we caught the ferry from the Oakland terminal to the Ferry Building across the Bay.  (Yes, the Bay Bridge was there -- the ferry crossed under it -- but the Southern Pacific for many years continued to use their own ferry, before eventually crossing the bridge by bus.)

I need to remember that for a young traveler, the first time he views a new place is always exciting.  And I also need to remember that, as we age, we always resent changes from a world we found exciting in younger days.  I loved my first visit to England, when you could reach virtually every small village by rail.  But nineteenth century writers lamented the loss of an earlier, pastoral and seemingly larger England, an England not yet knit together by rapid trains. 

Woody Allen got it right in his movie, Midnight in Paris: Every generation has its romanticists who envy those who lived in earlier generations.

But, even making every attempt at objectivity, I still feel that the world loses something as it becomes ever easier to reach the most remote areas, as every major city becomes less distinct from others, when arrival in Istanbul (or Singapore, or Hong Kong, or Tehran) becomes little different from arrival in Los Angeles or New York.

But that's the way it is.  No one, including ourselves, is willing to resist changes that will make his life easier and more pleasant -- certainly not for the sole purpose of preserving his unique exoticism for the appreciation of jaded foreign tourists!