Hi, I’m Tomasz — and the afternoon that started my Istanbul notebook

Hi, I'm Tomasz. In my daily life in Poznań, I write technical documentation. My workdays are spent drafting system manuals, mapping software processes, and untangling complicated workflows so people can solve problems without unnecessary stress. That mindset inevitably travels with me. Twice a year, usually for four-day city breaks with my partner or a pair of close friends, I leave my desk behind and board a flight to Istanbul.

I am fascinated by how layered this city is. I love the clatter of commuter ferries carving across the Bosphorus, the steam rising from neighborhood lokantas, and the immense weight of Ottoman and Byzantine history built into every cobblestone. Yet I also remember the moment my loose collection of transit notes turned into a proper journal. It happened on an autumn afternoon in Sultanahmet, right in the historical core of the city.

Stepping below the street

The street above was bustling with its familiar energy. Trams rumbled along Divan Yolu, vendors roasted chestnuts on street corners, and a steady stream of visitors moved across Sultanahmet Square. Having sorted out my ticket in advance so I could bypass the ticket booth, I crossed the tram tracks from Hagia Sophia and slipped into the quiet entry pavilion of the Basilica Cistern.

Walking down that stone staircase produced an immediate sensory shift. The roar of the city faded into absolute silence, replaced only by the gentle, rhythmic dripping of water and the cool, humid air of the subterranean chambers. It felt remarkably grounding after hours on my feet.

Down below, a forest of carved marble columns rose from the dark water, softly illuminated by warm lighting that moved slowly across the vaulted brick ceiling. I took my time along the raised walkways that crisscross the water floor. The structure served as a vast Byzantine water reservoir, built in the sixth century, yet its engineering feels extraordinarily graceful even today.

I stopped by the Weeping Column, watching how the moisture darkened the teardrop patterns carved into its trunk. Further in the back corner, I walked over to see the two massive Medusa heads reused as column bases. One rests sideways, the other completely inverted.

Standing in front of those ancient Roman carvings, repurposed by medieval builders who simply needed solid foundation stones beneath the water, I felt the sheer density of time here. It was a short, atmospheric stop between longer walks, but it gave me the exact mental pause I needed.

Tickets and visiting hoursBasilica Cistern→

A table beside the palace walls

Returning to the surface, the bright daylight and traffic felt sharp. My partner and I were hungry and ready for a proper rest. Instead of picking one of the loud cafes right off the square, I led the way behind Hagia Sophia toward Soğuk Çeşme Street, a quiet lane that runs flush against the heavy stone walls of Topkapı Palace. There, tucked under the historic masonry, we stopped at Chimney Bistro.

Stepping inside felt like slipping into a comfortable hideaway. The bistro has a distinct, intimate feel, featuring an exposed brick bar and an open roof that lets the evening breeze drift down from the palace battlements. It was warm and quiet, far removed from the bus tours.

We had arranged their Chimney Combo meal, which made settling in very easy. When the freshly baked beef pide arrived at the table, still steaming from the oven alongside a plate of pasta and two glasses of wine, the exhaustion of the day melted away.

Sitting there beside the palace walls, I pulled a small squared notebook from my bag. I began sketching out the route we had taken, noting how the tram lines connected with the Eminönü ferry docks, and writing down the sequence of sights that had kept our day smooth and effortless. I realized that Istanbul only feels chaotic until you map out its practical rhythm.

Book a table and the meal comboChimney Bistro, Sultanahmet→

That notebook entry was the first of many. Over the years, keeping clean, reliable records of how to navigate this layered city has transformed our visits into genuinely relaxing city breaks—and that is why I keep writing.