A Thousand Minarets

Last week, I had the incredible opportunity to spend ten unforgettable days in Istanbul—a city that feels like a bridge between time and eternity. As a history enthusiast, this journey was more than just sightseeing; it was a deeply personal and spiritual experience.

From the moment I arrived, Istanbul enveloped me in its rich tapestry of culture and heritage. I visited most of the historic sites—the ancient mosques, Ottoman palaces, and winding alleyways that echo with stories from centuries past. It felt almost surreal to walk the same cobbled paths once tread by the Sufi Mevlanas and Ottoman Sultans. My mind kept drifting back to the legends of Mohammed al-Fateh’s conquest of Constantinople, the golden era of the Ottomans, and the complex factors that led to the empire’s decline. Knowing the history gave every stone and minaret a voice; Istanbul is not just seen, it is felt.

It took me a few days to get the hang of public transportation, but once I did, getting around became much easier—and the system itself is great. Google Maps helped, though it’s not perfect. Some of the station information and walking directions in between stops were a bit off. For example, for the Grand Bazaar, it suggested getting off one stop too early. I only realized the correct station thanks to the map posted inside the train car, which actually had "Grand Bazaar" labeled under the next stop. That little misstep turned into a lot more walking than I’d planned—and trust me, Istanbul isn’t made for lazy strolls. There are no straight roads; instead, there are inclines, cobblestones, and countless stairs that elevate the word "steps" to a whole new level!

I stayed on the Asian side of the city to be closer to the school, which meant a fair bit of walking just to get to the Marmaray train or the ferry across the Bosphorus to the European side, where most of the historic sites are located. But the effort was worth it every single time.

The true purpose of my visit was to attend the Al-Madina Suhba Seminary classes in person, as part of their first-year Essentials program. What a blessing it was to finally meet the teachers whose knowledge and voices I had been learning from remotely. Engaging in face-to-face discussions, participating in live Q&A sessions, and simply being in the physical presence of such dedicated scholars was deeply inspiring.

One moment that still makes me smile: seeing Shaykh Mukhtar in loose pants, a t-shirt, and a simple kufi, sitting humbly among the students. Without his usual jhubba and sarik cap, I almost didn’t recognize him! But what truly stood out was the humility and gentleness of all the teachers. Soft-spoken, approachable, always smiling—they embodied the character they teach.

Midway through the trip, I took the high-speed train to Konya for a night—a journey that felt like a pilgrimage. I stayed right across from Mevlana Rumi’s tomb and museum, and the energy there was serene beyond words. That night, I attended the Sema, the whirling dervish ceremony. It was absolutely amazing. Something in the rhythm, the intention, the stillness moved me to tears. As I stepped out afterward, a gentle night breeze dried the tears on my cheeks. But they weren’t tears of pain—they came from a deep, quiet sadness, the kind that carries a sweet, inexplicable beauty with it.

Back in Istanbul, I noticed a quiet rhythm to life. The European side bustled with tourists and energy, while the Asian side—where I stayed—was home to everyday working people. It was refreshing. People generally kept to themselves, but if you asked for help, they were incredibly warm and generous. I couldn’t help but notice how attractive and fit most Turkish people are—perhaps it’s all the walking and stair-climbing built into their daily routines!

One of the most beautiful things I experienced was after Maghreb (evening prayer). The streets would come alive with families and friends crowding into kahva houses, sipping tea, chatting, and simply being together. This vibrant sense of community, lasting well into the night, was heartwarming to witness.

I definitely plan to return in a year or so, if possible. Next time, I’ll try to stay closer to a main Marmaray station to make commuting a bit easier. I’d love to take the train to Troy and Ankara—or maybe I’ll simply let myself get lost in the streets of Istanbul, sipping strong Turkish coffee with a sweet treat, or sitting by the Bosphorus as the sun sets and the adhan echoes from a thousand minarets across the city.