The world’s finest cities are not just agglomerations of sites, points on the map to which global masses flock on a seasonal basis, but areas inhabited by generations who, whether over a century or a decade, define its ambiance to the extent that it is social, or inclusive within the buzzing change of identity and culture, as people have moved with relative personal freedoms within and across national borders, geographically and psychologically. That idyllic sensibility is contained, perhaps with a tone of elitism, in Cihangir, which maintains a kind of downtown vitality evocative of the once-affordable streets of London or New York.

The limits of Cihangir end too soon for some, for others not soon enough. Its widest, busiest avenue, the double-lane Akarsu Slope has seen better days, recalling the heyday of life in and around Taksim Square not so many years ago. Despite the aura of faded glory that defines much of Istanbul’s strained allure, there are yet reasons to delight in the fruits and flowers that have blossomed out of its peculiar soil, turned and cultivated by the unlikeliest of characters from around the world. The international profile of Cihangir, then, is unmistakable, immediate as the ubiquitous presence of its popular cafes.

As it was and will be

When ascending the hilly urban terrain up from Karaköy into its environs, a seer might be struck by a powerful vista, of the trio of waterways that stream into each other at the tip of the historic peninsula that was once the prehistoric castle town of Byzantium, its coursing flow meeting the Golden Horn inlet and the southern point of the Bosporus strait. There is a stairwell that overlooks the marine panorama, where folks sometimes gather to while away the time basking in a particularly impressive vision of their place on the planet. And walking from there to the corner of Coşkun Street and Akarsu Slope the neighborhood opens up.

A cluster of public establishments and private residences is more urban, right beside traditional homes that retain wooden architecture reminiscent of the Ottoman era. A spot called No. 21 is known for serving a constant, fresh supply of water and some of the best-mixed nuts around, while Journey, a bustling cafe popular among expats, runs a world-class kitchen dicing up superlative inventions of the Mediterranean and Anatolian culinary fusions. And down the broad avenue, there is a plethora of bistros, eateries and shops. It seems conducive for a pedestrian promenade, but cars continue to race past.

To act in the know

Cihangir, like Moda in Kadıköy on the Asian side of Istanbul, has a chip on its shoulder when it comes to how it looks, and who wants to be seen in it. But unlike the uppish quarters farther north along the Bosporus, these two districts maintain a mixed, residential status that is somehow cool for both those who are more economically mobile and for those who strive to swim in the deep waters of expensive nights out and ever-changing wardrobes aligned to the power-hungry facades of global fashion. These two overlapping sociologically distinct perspectives arguably come together when looking at new art on the fringe of the mainstream.

The definition of cool is oftentimes more than a subjective notion of being or playing, doused in the fairy dust of Hollywood glamor. It can be a matter of objective attainment or the informal education that the cultural moment increasingly provides via mass media. But these sentiments do not hold water for long. At the end of the day, cool is an indifferent shrug despite total absorption into the capitalist paradigm in which consumption is rote and default. That is why young artists and their failures, off-site art spaces and their quirky shows are an apt reflection pool over which to gaze back and wonder at the illusions of self-consciousness.

In terms of acculturation

One of the paradisiacal mirages of youth is persistent, and at times dogmatic belief that newness is always best, or from a philosophical point of view, that it is even possible in a world subject to permanent change at all times anyway. The delusions of intractable sameness are only the other side of the coin when it comes to the flashy prerogatives of apparent novelty. Such highfalutin thoughts, the likes of which might be heard at any hour in a cafe in Cihangir, will not stop artists from creating aplenty, floating in a daze on the lazy river of experience. Their works are fantasies of independence in a slew of artist-run initiatives in the quarter.

Between the video vitrine of YAYA, tucked away in a passage to house the permanent, eccentric locale of Viable Istanbul, or the 12 square meters (129 square feet) of Kiralık Depo, both of which are around the corner from each other, at street-level, under the homely interior of Sync Society or above the institutionally prominent Pilot Gallery, not far from the workshop-based Daire Sanat. The list goes on, with Ark Kültür hosting the last Design Biennial, Cihangir is a district distinguished by its burgeoning role in the contemporary art landscape of Istanbul, one that appears to be growing, while its spaces and works retain a candor of intimacy all their own.