Shadows on the Bosporus

They say Istanbul never sleeps, but I've learned that some of its dreams run darker than any waking nightmare. The city breathes in layers — the Ottoman ghosts whispering through the mosques, the hum of ferries cutting across the Bosporus, the neon signs of Beyoğlu clinging to memories they no longer own. Once, back in the early seventies, when many still called it Constantinople out of habit or n...