{"id":66061,"date":"2025-12-08T21:13:13","date_gmt":"2025-12-09T02:13:13","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.stromspa.com\/?p=66061"},"modified":"2025-12-08T21:13:13","modified_gmt":"2025-12-09T02:13:13","slug":"travelling-at-a-slow-pace","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.stromspa.com\/en\/magazine\/world\/travelling-at-a-slow-pace\/","title":{"rendered":"Travelling at a Slow Pace"},"content":{"rendered":"

The sheets twist themselves up silently, like a secret whispered in the morning. No wake-up call to break the softness of that grey area between dreams and consciousness. A gust of warm air slips through the window which, as always, refuses to shut completely. It wafts into the room, bringing with it the steamy memory of the Bosphorus. As dawn stretches out, Kemeralti Street gently wakes up, a familiar cacophony that stirs something deep within me.<\/p>\n

I frown. What time is it? A jolt. The clock dial draws me back to its rules, like a sheepdog. I push back against the pressure building up inside me. Another day to fill, boxes to check, \u201cappointments\u201d to get through. An endless race, until exhaustion. My gaze is drawn to the left. Noon. And I say, partly to myself:<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve lost track of time. We were supposed to go to the Blue Mosque\u2026 well, Istanbul awaits, no?\u201d A voice interrupts me: soft, assured. The one that has the power to put the world back in its place, to erase worries with a single breath. It ignores the \u201cwhens,\u201d \u201cwhys,\u201d and \u201chows.\u201d It\u2019s the voice of those who know that everything eventually settles down, when the moment requires it. \u201cYes, yes\u2026 but it can wait a little\u2026 We have plenty of time\u2026!\u201d<\/p>\n

\"\"
\nFrom one side of the Bosphorus to the other: the magic of the evening
\nPhotos: \u00a9 Franck Laboue<\/span><\/p>\n

I let myself go and loosen my grip. Time flies by, we get up whenever we want, and the hotel room becomes a suspended cocoon. I could order breakfast to the room, just to prolong the moment. In this half-light, leaning against the window, the heat rising from the distance gently envelops me. The silhouettes of the mosques and the palaces float in the air like mirages, unreal, distorted by the light. An imperceptible smile spreads across my still somewhat sleepy face. The \u201cold me\u201d would surely have considered it absurd to return to Istanbul a third time and spend an entire week there. Yes, the \u201cold me\u201d would have rushed around like crazy to conquer the Golden Horn, consumed by that thirst to see everything, quickly, always faster. But here, now, things are different. The body finally understands that it\u2019s time to slow down. My subconscious pushes me, and I let myself be carried away. You have to slip into the city, tame it step by step, and breathe at the rhythm of its alleys and its heartbeats.<\/p>\n

\"\"
\nA kaleidoscope of Turkish delights at the Golden Horn<\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"
\nColourful houses on the hills of Balat<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00c7UKURCUMA: WANDERING BETWEEN PAST AND PRESENT<\/strong><\/h3>\n

We leave, contrary to what we had planned. An unexpected calm seizes me without me seeing it coming. Our steps stretch out, measured, always further north. The Galata Tower stays behind us; we let it slip away with no regrets. We set off and wander aimlessly, guided by nothing other than our instinct, making our way through the narrow streets. Furtively, the Bosphorus catches a glimpse of us between two buildings, like a watery mirror splashed by the sky. The wind whispers promises, makes portraits of Ataturk swirl in a distant breath, while old cars heat up motionless in the sun, recalling another time. The fa\u00e7ades, combining Art Deco and local tradition, boldly burst with contrasts. Cats, meanwhile, reign everywhere. Indifferently, they blend into the corners of bookstores, lie down on chairs, or stretch out between the bars of windows, as if the city belonged to them, and we were there merely as temporary visitors.<\/p>\n

\"\"
\nResting at the Topkapi Palace<\/span><\/p>\n

And then, without warning, \u00c7ukurcuma snatches us up. The neighbourhood doesn\u2019t announce itself. It doesn\u2019t show off. It takes you gently by the sleeve, at a crossroads, to the corner of a shop window that\u2019s too dusty to be truly commercial. We didn\u2019t decide on it. We simply find ourselves there. Perhaps that\u2019s its charm. We enter an antique shop, somewhat by chance\u2014or rather, we slip into it as one might slip into a memory. The door creaks; the light is low, golden, oblique. Everything radiates old wood and silent objects. Nothing is labelled, as if everything still belonged to someone. The walls seem to be holding their breath. A record spins in a corner, but there\u2019s no music playing. The owner, silent, offers us a discreet smile\u2014one of those smiles we reserve for people who don\u2019t ask too many questions. We emerge, slowed down, as if the air itself had thickened, our vision blurrier, our hearts softened.<\/p>\n

A little further down, the afternoon stretches out, bathed in that late-summer light that makes the fa\u00e7ades dance. A patio appears: Mayko. Tables under flower pots\u2014nothing imposing, but a quiet simplicity, a natural pit stop. We settle in here, without consulting each other, guided by that unspoken desire not to go any further.<\/p>\n

The dishes arrive slowly, one by one, unhurried. Here, everything takes its time\u2014the plates, the words, even the light. We exchange a few words with the owner, a woman with an easy laugh and a direct gaze. She knows each passer-by. They greet her with a nod, a word, a wink. A subtle, almost domestic warmth floats in the air, that of places you haven\u2019t left yet but which you\u2019re already dreaming of rediscovering. Cats move about under the tables, right at home\u2014because they are. We aren\u2019t yet, but we\u2019re getting closer.<\/p>\n

\"\"
\nA sweet break with the temptations of Istanbul<\/span><\/p>\n

We tell ourselves, without saying it, that this will be our headquarters. That things are good here. That sometimes, you don\u2019t need anything more than a little light on a table, some warm mezze, and a friendly voice to feel like you\u2019re exactly where you need to be. We\u2019ll be back. That much is certain. Maybe even tomorrow.<\/p>\n

THE LUXURY OF SLOWNESS IN MODERN TOURISM<\/strong><\/h3>\n

In a fast-paced world, where travel is often reduced to a race from point A to point B, slowing down is quite a feat. However, this is undoubtedly the true luxury of our time: the art of taking your time. Letting go of overly perfect itineraries, tight schedules, and the urgency of the \u201calways more.\u201d Because travel, freed from the obsession with performance, turns into an invitation to live differently. To immerse yourself, to breathe in the world at the rhythm of your own steps.<\/p>\n

Slow tourism, far removed from hectic practices, is redefining the very notion of travel. It\u2019s no longer about checking boxes, but agreeing to get lost, to let places and encounters unfold at their own pace. Travel becomes an intimate relationship, a meeting with the soul of a territory, far removed from frozen clich\u00e9s. It\u2019s a search for authenticity, a taste for the unexpected, a return to slowness, off the beaten path.<\/p>\n

But slowness isn\u2019t just about slowing down for yourself. It\u2019s also a gentler way of walking on this Earth. By opting for longer but less crowded routes, we\u2019re choosing to reduce our footprint and give more time to the planet, to communities, to human experiences. Travel thus becomes a conscious act, a collective reflection on our way of moving around on and interacting with the world.<\/p>\n

Adopting this philosophy isn\u2019t a rejection of the modern world, but an invitation to reinvent it. Travel ceases to be a headlong rush, a quest for speed; ultimately, it\u2019s nothing more than an immersion in the present. It becomes a suspended moment, where the beauty of the world is measured not by its speed, but by the way it affects us, transforms us, and connects us.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The sheets twist themselves up silently, like a secret whispered in the morning. No wake-up call to break the softness of that grey area between dreams and consciousness. A gust of warm air slips through the window which, as always, refuses to shut completely. It wafts into the room, bringing with it the steamy memory […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":28,"featured_media":66070,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1974],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-66061","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-world"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.stromspa.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/66061","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.stromspa.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.stromspa.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.stromspa.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/28"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.stromspa.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=66061"}],"version-history":[{"count":12,"href":"https:\/\/www.stromspa.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/66061\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":66095,"href":"https:\/\/www.stromspa.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/66061\/revisions\/66095"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.stromspa.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/66070"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.stromspa.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=66061"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.stromspa.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=66061"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.stromspa.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=66061"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}