My first post-lockdown party felt more like underground Tehran than Istanbul’s legendary nightlife

Tired of being stuck at home, I put on my mask and clutched a bottle of hand sanitiser. My efforts proved to be in vain, writes Borzou Daragahi

I decided it was more hygienic to purchase and bring six beers each drinker could grip in their own hands (Getty)

It was an invitation to a party like any other. Dress as you like. Come after nine. There will be music, dancing and snacks. Bring your own.

Except this was no ordinary party. It was the first party invitation I had received following the months-long coronavirus lockdown that has turned Istanbul, like other once-vibrant cities around the world, into a night-time ghost town.

Since lockdown measures were eased earlier this month, plenty of weddings, funeral ceremonies and parties for departing soldiers have been held across Turkey. But although this party wasn’t technically violating any rules, it still felt more akin to the booze-fuelled underground parties I used to attend in Tehran than an ordinary night out in Istanbul. “Please don't make noise or wait in the street outside,” said the invite. “Please don't share any details on social media.”

Tired of being confined to my home for weeks, I prepared to go. I dutifully put on a mask, as required now in public spaces in Turkey, and stuffed a bottle of hand sanitiser into my jacket pocket. The venue was an apartment in a nearby district of Istanbul, 10 minutes away by taxi or one stop on the metro. But I decided it would be more responsible to make the 45-minute walk than risk contracting or spreading the coronavirus on public transport.

At a liquor store on the way, I decided it was more hygienic to purchase and bring six beers, which each drinker could grip in their own hands, than a bottle of wine that would be passed around or sit on a table. I made sure to use my elbow to push the door open at the apartment. But when I got inside, I realised my efforts at maintaining my pandemic protocols were for naught. There were about 10 people in the apartment when I first arrived, growing eventually to perhaps 30.

The night wore on. More alcohol was imbibed. The DJ pumped out music and disco lights swirled. The dance floor filled up, and “social distancing” melted away.

Parties like these, I learned, had been going on for weeks, launched by a Lebanese guy stuck in Istanbul and frustrated by the lack of nightlife during the lockdown. He had met a couple other like-minded people; word spread, and the party became a weekly event, drawing rebels who sometimes stayed awake grooving until dawn.

Due to work the next day, I had no such luxury. I stayed perched on the balcony much of the night, away from the crowd on the dance floor, and sauntered out at about 11.30 pm, squirting my hands with sanitiser as I began the long walk home.

Yours,

Borzou Daragahi

International correspondent