There are encounters that change our lives. I think I speak for every traveller that has ever experienced one of such meetings that changed his or her ideas about the world. Well, let's say in a less dramatic tone that there are in fact people that walk into our lives for a brief instant and change the course of the events taking place at that moment.

I experienced one of such encounters during my first day in Istanbul. As I was telling you on a previous post, I dedicated the entire first day to the exploration of the historic peninsula, also called Sultanahmet, and ended the day eating dinner at a café in Gülhane.

Since we were staying in Beyoğlu's Cihangir neighbourhood, on the other side of the European part of Istanbul, we had quite a long way home. At this point, nightfall was already revealing another very interesting side of the city; a more mysterious and melancholic ambiance took over the streets as we approached the Gülhane tram station to head towards Eminönü. After crossing the Galata bridge, this line would take us to Kabataş and from there we would board on the Füniküler all the way to Taksim square, located only a ten minutes walk from our hostel.

Everything seemed to follow a normal course when the tram stopped for no reason at all.

"This is very weird", I remember thinking to myself. From the Gülhane tram station to the point where the tram stopped, I was able to see all the shops and restaurants working normally and people coming and going, in what I considered to be a very common hustle and bustle for Istanbul.

Nonetheless, the announcement in the tram car was final. "This is the last stop, we ask you to descend now". So, with no clue of what was happening, everyone got off the wagon.
Before my eyes, the impressive Yeni Camii, the New Mosque, seemed twice as big as during daytime, with its silver-colored domes and minarets casting shadows in the Eminönü port.

Some people seemed very annoyed and the large majority of those who were using this public transportation system walked away in different directions. We must have stood at the Eminönü station looking like clueless tourists for a couple of minutes, discussing what the problem could have been.

"This line was functioning properly when we used it in the morning", I added, in an attempt to fill the air with words that were actually not addressing the problem. "This is why I told you we had to go back to the hostel as long as there was daylight. Now we have no idea what to do. We can't walk, it's too far away and it's already dark".

My brother's words were on my mind as I tried to figure something out that could get us safe and sound back to Beyoğlu. The only thing I could come up with was ask someone what was going on. Maybe he or she could help us get in a cab. So I walked towards a guy who had his headphones on and seemed very distracted.

"Pardon, could you help me, lütfen?" The young bearded man turned his head towards me and raised his eyebrows. With a kind smile, he uttered some words which I didn't fully understand. "Sorry, my English not good", was his reply, which he expressed with a nervous laugh. "No problem. My Turkish is also not that good", I added.

When he finally understood what my question was, he simply shrugged his shoulders. Good. It meant we weren't the only confused people after all. He pointed at us and told us to come with him.

So we followed Rony, my new friend whose English was good enough to explain me where he came from. "I'm from Kurdistan. I speak Kurdish, Turkish and a bit of English". He told us to wait next to a wooden booth where he was buying his and our bus tickets.

"This is very dangerous", I could hear my brother whispering to me. I nodded and told him that it was our only shot at getting to Beyoğlu. With our tickets in hand, Rony showed us the way to the bus, as we managed to dodge taxis and other buses driving around Eminönü. I was able to give one last glance to the Galata bridge as we hopped in the bus and sat on the last row.

We waited for about 10 or 15 minutes in the darkness. I really have to agree with my brother's worries; we were waiting inside a bus that was parked, almost empty and sitting next to a stranger. But I had a good feeling about Rony and started a conversation with him. Born in Urfa, a city of predominantly Kurdish and Arabic population in south-eastern Turkey, he came to Istanbul to study Law and was waiting for his visa so he could travel to England to visit his brother.

 As he teached me how to count to ten in Kurdish, I could see the sights we already knew outside the window. We passed by the Pera Palace, the famous hotel where Agatha Christie wrote her "Murder on the Orient Express" and I recognised one of the first views that mesmerized me from the city: that of the satellite dishes crowning the buildings of Galata and the Galata bridge looking smaller and smaller as we kept driving to the heart of Beyoğlu.

When we finally got to Taksim, Rony also got off the bus and kindly offered to walk us out of the underground station. "I go to Beşiktaş now. It was nice to meet you". He waved at us and we waved back, hurrying our way to the hostel.

When we got there, the hostel owner immediately asked us if we had seen anything happen at Taksim. We told him about our mishap and he finally explained us what was going on.

"Earlier today, the worst mining disaster in the history of the country happened in Soma, a city in the Aegean region. So far, more than 200 people have been found dead because of an explosion inside the mine". We were shocked. He continued: "What happened is that probably following the orders of Erdoğan, the city's tram line to Taksim square (the epicenter of the big protests of 2013) was cut in order to avoid a massive concentration of people".

The images that came on the Turkish TV were truly sad. Rescue workers were pulling corpse after corpse out of the mine and the families gathered around were heartbroken. And so was I.

The next day we woke up to see Taksim square surrounded by anti-riot police and the access to the Atatürk monument blocked. Flags were flying half mast.And I thought about Rony on that very instant. On how his kindness saved us and on how I could never thank him enough for helping two complete strangers like us.
The ambiance in Istanbul was quite sad on that day, but I also could distinguish within me a good sensation. It was a sensation of immense gratitude and bliss.A gratitude as endless as the blue skies of that spring day and a bliss as joyful as that of feeling the first sunrays of the day caress your cheeks and warm your spirit.

Anti-riot police surrounding Taksim square.

The headlines of Turkish newspapers the morning after the Soma mine disaster.

Turkish flags were flying half mast all over the country.

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