Isn’t it funny how sometimes the best trips are the ones you don’t plan? Well, that’s exactly how I found myself in Istanbul last week. My original long weekend plans had fallen apart, and instead of sitting at home feeling sorry for myself, I booked a ticket to Istanbul on a whim. Thankfully the high season is over so it wasn’t that hard to find an affordable last minute flight. I wanted a break from my daily life, something that would balance my love for adventure with my need for solitude. As an introvert, solo travel often becomes a tug-of-war between exploring new places and finding those quiet moments to recharge. This time, I wanted to embrace both while keeping things slow and of course friendly on the environment and my pocket.

Day 1: Rain, Crowds, and a Café Full of Strangers

Istanbul greeted me with a surprising mix of energy. It was morning, and the city felt alive—tourists filled the streets, the air buzzed with voices in every language imaginable, and I immediately knew this trip was going to be an adventure. But not the kind of adventure you plan meticulously—the kind that finds you.

My first stop was the Sultanahmet area. You know, the one you see in all the guidebooks with the Hagia Sophia and Blue Mosque standing tall like they’ve been waiting for you forever. But instead of rushing to “check off” landmarks, I decided to take it slow. I started with a Turkish breakfast in a small café—just me, my tea, and the world outside the window. There’s something about sitting quietly in a bustling city that makes you feel both invisible and present at the same time.

I was about to head into the Hagia Sophia when the sky gave me its own welcome gift—a full-on rainstorm. And when I say rain, I’m talking buckets. From 1 to 3 PM, the heavens opened up, and there was no escaping it. I ducked into the nearest café for shelter, thinking I’d grab a quick coffee and wait it out. Turns out, I wasn’t the only one with that idea. The place was packed, tourists crammed together, dripping wet, and slightly miserable but united in the fact that we were all stuck.

And that’s when I met them—a group of about twelve Bosnian women, all in their mid-fifties, laughing like the rain was nothing more than an excuse for a cozy gathering. They waved me over, and before I knew it, I was sharing a table with them, using Google Translate to have the most unexpected conversation of my trip. We talked about their travels, my last-minute decision to come to Istanbul, and the strange magic of how the rain had brought us together. It was messy and fun, and in that tiny café, with everyone packed in like sardines, I felt an odd sense of community.

Eventually, the rain slowed to a drizzle, and we all went our separate ways. I wandered through Gülhane Park afterward, my shoes still soggy but my mood lighter. I found a quiet spot, sat on a bench with a cup of çay, and watched the world go by. There’s something special about those moments when you don’t have to be anywhere or do anything. Just being in Istanbul, in that park, watching life unfold, was enough.

Day 2: Coffee, Conversations, and Long Walks Along the Bosphorus

The next day, I woke up with no set plan, which, for someone like me who loves to map out every detail, felt liberating. I grabbed a light breakfast in Karaköy and spent the morning wandering through its streets. Karaköy is one of those places where you can easily lose track of time—there are cafés on every corner, and naturally, I tried as many as I could. Turkish coffee, pistachio coffee, endless cups of tea—each one a mini-break from the world outside.

I love people-watching when I travel. There’s something about observing life in motion that makes you feel connected even when you’re alone. As I wandered through the streets, I took in the tiny moments—the street vendors calling out to passersby, the tourists snapping pictures, the locals hurrying off to work. Istanbul seemed to hum with life, and I was happy to just drift along.

At some point, I found myself by the Galata Tower. Normally, I would have jumped at the chance to climb up for the view, but that day, I was more interested in the journey than the destination. So instead of joining the line, I kept walking, heading down toward the Bosphorus. The waterfront was exactly what I needed—open, breezy, and full of life but in a calmer way. I walked for what felt like hours, stopping whenever something caught my eye or when I found a quiet bench to sit and watch the boats go by.

Lunch was another unplanned moment. I stumbled upon a street vendor selling kumpir—a giant stuffed potato with every topping you could imagine—and I couldn’t resist. I took my kumpir down to the water, found a sunny spot, and just sat there, eating in peace. It was the kind of simple, satisfying meal that reminds you travel doesn’t have to be complicated to be perfect.

By evening, I ended up on Istiklal Street, a place that, despite its crowds, felt strangely inviting. I wandered through the side streets, dodging in and out of shops and cafés, watching street performers, and letting myself get lost in the moment. It wasn’t about seeing everything—it was about letting Istanbul reveal itself in its own time.

Day 3: Quiet Corners in Balat and Peaceful Views at Pierre Loti

By day three, I was craving something quieter, and I found it in Balat. This neighborhood, with its colorful houses and quiet streets, felt like a world away from the busier parts of the city. I spent the morning wandering aimlessly, admiring the vibrant facades and stopping at small shops along the way. There was no rush, no agenda—just me and the slow rhythm of Balat.

At lunchtime, I found a small café where I could sit outside, enjoy some meze, and watch the locals go about their day. It was one of those meals that felt perfectly unplanned, exactly what I needed at that moment. And as the day unfolded, I realized that my whole trip had taken on that same feeling—unexpected, slow, and full of quiet moments that I wouldn’t trade for anything.

In the afternoon, I made my way to Pierre Loti Hill, where I took the cable car up to get a view of the Golden Horn at sunset. As I sat at the top, sipping yet another cup of tea (yes, it was becoming a theme), I felt a sense of peace wash over me. The city stretched out below, and for a moment, it was just me and the view, a perfect end to my solo adventure.

Final Thoughts: A Trip I Didn’t Plan but Will Never Forget

I booked a room at a hotel conveniently located right in front of Laleli Tram Station, which made getting around the city a breeze. Thanks to Booking.com, I was able to choose the perfect hotel that fit my criteria. Whether I was walking or hopping on the tram with my Istanbulkart, navigating Istanbul felt easy and stress-free. As for dinners, I fell head over heels for a Turkish restaurant in Aksaray called Ciğeristan. It quickly became my go-to spot, where I enjoyed incredible Turkish dishes every evening, and by the end of the trip, it felt like a second home.

Istanbul wasn’t what I expected. It was crowded, rainy, and chaotic in all the best ways. And yet, it gave me exactly what I needed—a mix of adventure, solitude, and spontaneous moments that reminded me why I love to travel alone.

I didn’t follow a strict itinerary, and that’s what made the trip so special. I embraced slow travel, made responsible  choices where I could, and found beauty in the unplanned. Whether it was sharing a café with Bosnian tourists during a rainstorm, wandering through colorful streets in Balat, or quietly sipping tea at the top of Pierre Loti Hill, Istanbul gave me the freedom to just be.