Istanbul seemed magical in the snow. Then reality intervened

The city’s most iconic landmarks, including the famous Republic Monument, were glazed with a graceful coat of gentle white, writes Borzou Daragahi

Once-noisy boulevards were quieted by the thick blanket of white (AP)

It was the first big snow of the year, and I was like a little kid. I strapped crampons onto my boots and ventured out into the snow-covered landscape of central Istanbul. Once-noisy boulevards were quieted by the thick blanket of white.

Kids, and even some adults, turned the city’s dramatic hills into toboggan runs. They shrieked gleefully as they zipped down, navigating past precarious obstacles like parked cars and municipal recycling bins. Even the stray cats and dogs that roam the city joined in the fun, licking at the freshly fallen snow.

Up the hill at Taksim Square, there was a veritable snowball free-for-all. The young and old alike picked up globs of snow and threw them at each other, slipping and falling with abandon. Children were out late, delighted by the prospect of schools being shuttered the next day.

The city’s most iconic landmarks, including the famous Republic Monument depicting Mustafa Kemal Ataturk and his victorious comrades establishing Turkey in 1923, were glazed with a graceful coat of gentle white, as was the quaint red tramway that makes it way along Istiklal Caddesi.

I fell asleep staring at the snow-covered trees outside my window, the night’s dark tempered by the sublime glow of moonlight upon the snow.

By Tuesday morning, reality intervened. The city had been so badly walloped by snow that the municipal government banned all but essential traffic from the roads. The cleaning lady cancelled, and who could blame her, given the slipperiness on the unploughed pavements. Food delivery services had suspended operations.

Then came the 12.45pm email from Turkish Airlines: my flight that night was cancelled. The blizzard had not only blanketed both of Istanbul’s airports, but blotted out all visibility, making landings and departures impossible, and prompting stranded passengers transiting Europe’s busiest airport to stage impromptu protests.

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I spent hours scrambling to rebook reservations and to reschedule the interviews I had planned for that very night and the next morning. Phone lines were clogged with other frustrated passengers.

I looked out the window at the blanched tree branches outside, and the same snow that had seemed so gently welcoming only 12 hours earlier now took on a menacing pallor.

Yours,

Borzou Daragahi

International correspondent