Is ‘here’ still there? explores the fragile intersection of memory, place and change through the voices of Sinop's residents. By engaging in conversations with the locals about the ice factory, the shipyard neighborhood, the marketplace building, and the fortress prison complex, Is ‘here’ still there? weaves a tapestry of personal and communal histories through landmark structures of Sinop.

By capturing their recollections of these places, once integral to the fabric of daily life, but now all transformed and repurposed, and playing them within the locations being described, Is ‘here’ still there? invites listeners to re-imagine the past lives of these places and to engage with the ephemeral nature of memory.

We hear the voices of perhaps the last generation of people in Sinop, who still remember these places as they once were; functioning in their intended capacities. As these voices describe those places long ago - when the marketplace was vibrant with merchants and customers, when the ice-making building provided ice to fishers and residents alike, when the shipyard neighborhood had a “less than savory” reputation, and the prison complex had inmates rather than tourists - they evoke a sense of nostalgia and reflection on what has been lost and what has been gained, for better or for worse.

Conversations with :

Shipyard Neighborhood & Ice Factory Building:

Osman and Buke Onur, Sinop Residents, Owners of Hotel 117
Mert Akanal, Fishmonger
Tayfun Demirel, Movie theatre Nermin (defunct) operator
Hatice Ciceksever, Sinop Resident
Mr. Hakan & Mr. Fatih, Sinop Residents

Transcription of sound placement:

O.O: I am Osman Onur. Right now, you are in the heart of the shipyard neighborhood, at Hotel 117. If you want to know about the shipyard, let me tell you how it all started. I was born in 1953. Until I went to college, children could not walk around to the shipyard alone. Girls, especially so. We had a cinema here. If I was not with my elders Paşa and Pektaş, even I would not have been able to come. There is a dark history to the shipyard.

B.O: Prison.

O.O: The prison is famous. It made things difficult for the shipyard. All the ex-convicts used to come to the shipyard after being released from there.

B.O: They used to settle in the shipyard.

O.O: Yes, because they settled here, no one would come near this place during the day. The fishing community was here. After we went away to college, it remained the same. In our cinema, there was only a matinee for women on Sundays. The ground floor of this building used to be a cinema. Now, it is a building materials store. At that time, the only way in and out was from the road in Kars. What was the name of the road there?

B: Sarı Kadir in Kars... Ortayol.

O.O: Yes, Sarı Kadir... Ortayol. That was the only way. Later, in the late 60s, one by one, women started coming here, to Sarı Kadir, but before dark, everyone would leave. No women could come after dark. Years later, in the 80s... Yes, in the 80s...

B.O: In 88...…

O.O: We came here in 84.

B.O: Yes, we came in 84. In 88, I was one of the first women to enter the shipyard.I was the first.

B: What is your name?

B.O: Büke Onur.

O.O: Büke was the first female worker from Sinop that had a regular job in the shipyard neighborhood.

B.O: Because my husband was from Sinop, I started working in the store. That is how I started coming to the shipyard. For the first time, people saw a woman working in the shipyard. After me, neighboring businesses also started hiring their wives and daughters.

O.O: You officially started at the store in 98.

B.O: Yes, I did.

O.O: You were doing material promotions in the store...

B.O Yes, I was selling and promoting materials. Then in the evenings, I started going to Saray, the only restaurant in Sinop.

O.O: To Saray…

B.O: And it was also a tavern. I was the first and only woman sitting with the men there. Slowly, it became...

O.O: That place...

B.O: A place where women started to go.

O.O: Why did Büke come here? Everyone I knew was familiar with her.
Before coming here, we would sit together with our friends at home every evening, eating and drinking. Then I started working in the store. Büke could not stay at home for too long.

B.O: Yes, I started coming here...

O.O: She was regularly going to Saray.

B.O: The main reasons were that I was from Istanbul and had a bit of a marginal attitude. All these factors contributed to my coming into the shipyard without hesitation. Eventually, all women started coming, both to the restaurant and to the workplaces in the shipyard. It turned out well. The shipyard became a much nicer place, in my opinion.

O.O: The surroundings of the shipyard have changed.

B.O: In that sense, it has become modern. Modern.

O.O: The stores, too.

B.O: The shipyard has become something modern.

O.O: This all started back then.

B.O: Yes, yes.

O.O: Women started coming in. For example, beyond the Yalı café, there were only huts where fishermen hung their nets. No one dared to go there.

B.O: Its appearance has changed.

O.O: Yes, this place has changed a lot; it has changed significantly.

B.O: The buildings have changed. The facades of the buildings have changed. Just as people's faces have changed, the faces of the buildings have changed too. The roads have changed. It has become more maintained and more pleasant in every way. Even the chairs have changed. The wooden chairs are gone; now, there are nicer, more visually appealing chairs and tables. In this way, it has become a more modern and livable shipyard.

O.O: Before Ali Karagülle, there was Haydar Abi. Haydar Abi was at the place now known as Sabahattin Ali Park, which used to be in front of the prison, and the sea used to come up to here, where we are sitting now. When they started filling that area and connected it with Hamsi Road, it was said that a quarter of the entrances to Sinop passed through the Sinop shipyard back then. Then they said women should be allowed here, and they got in.

B.O: But now, I see that the generation that came after us is better than us. They are striving to beautify Sinop even more. And we are very proud of the current generation. Especially, there is a certain group among the youth who do not leave Sinop and work hard for Sinop, and we appreciate that.

B: Here, for example, there were shops and places with names which were known by everyone...

B.O: Yes, yes.

B: When giving directions, it was like, take the left from this person's shop, go from that guy’s place, things like that.

B.O: We still refer to Sarı Kadir Street. Sarı Kadir is there. We say, “After passing that, you will turn right and then left.”

O.O: Yes, in our childhood, the name of our place was ‘Melek Cinema.’ Melek Cinema was next to Ziraat Bank. So, the address points were like that. It continues the same way. This building is well-known. This building is as old as I am. It started in 1953 and was completed in 1956. There’s no old Sinop resident who doesn’t know this place. Everyone knows its structure. When we first arrived here, when we converted it into a hotel, when you look at this building from the seaside, it appears to have five floors. From the back, it has four floors. The status of this building in zoning has changed now, though. It appears to have four floors, but we had complaints, and they sealed us off. The top floor, our top floor. I made it a meeting room.

Today, we had to prove ourselves because we had no chance to alter the building. It is in the protection zone of a historical artifact. The adjacent historical structures are within the same protection zone. They are first-class historical artifacts. Since everyone in Sinop knew our building (how it has not changed), we won the court case. And it remains in its current form as it was built.

B.O: Just like Melih Bey said, the generation before us left Sinop. When they came for summer vacations, when giving directions, now, what is it...?

O.O: Sabahattin Ali...

B.O: Culture, Culture... Sabahattin Ali Cultural Center...

O.O: That place used to be the Ice Factory Building.

B.O: When we say "the street of the old ice factory," people look at us. But we still call it the Ice Factory. The old generation still knows it like that.

O.O: The older people, those of our age, know it by that name.

B: Next to the old post office.

B.O: Next to the old post office. The old ice factory...

O.O: We are the ones who established the Sabahattin Ali Cultural Center, it's our city assembly, but when they ask me, I still say it is the ice factory.

B: And there's also that place from the old days, the Şen Pastry Shop, right? You would say go from the corner of Şen Pastry Shop. Go from İlhami’s corner, go from Niyazi's corner. Directions like that were common back then.
O.O: That’s how we would give directions to the shipyard.

B: Yes.

B.O: So, what’s the current name of the pastry shop?

O.O: Köşk?

B.O: No.

B: Dolunay Pastry Shop.

B.O: Dolunay Pastry Shop, the old Şen Pastry Shop. Even now, people refer to it as Şen Pastry Shop, not Dolunay Pastry Shop.

B: Because they have become cultural landmarks...

B.O: Yes, they are established landmarks.

B: Go down from Ali Niyazi’s corner, through Ali Niyazi's alley.

O.O: Ali Niyazi was the biggest hardware store at the time. It was in a dangerous area (od the shipyard neighborhood); you could not go down there at night.

B: I remember, for example, in my childhood, I would go to Ahmet Kınacı’s. I would hear new books have arrived, and I would go get them.

B.O: Of course.

B: Where is Ahmet Kınacı? The bookstore over there, for example.

O.O: At the corner.

B: We knew the bookstore at the corner, up there. It was the place where you could find all the new novels, books, and magazines. It sold all the new products.

B.O: Exactly. We used to get our newspapers from there. It was just a newspaper stand.

O.O: Before that, it was next to Temel Usta.

B: Of course.

O.O: Temel Usta...

B: Temel Hakkı, yes.

O.O: The place where the baker is now used to be Temel Usta’s.

B: What about the place? Oh, right, Temel Usta's place; Haktanlar’s place is now a fish market. That place used to be a bookstall.

O.O: That was the first bookstall.

B: That is right.

O.O: Temel Usta, back in the day, there was nothing there for the longest time. During the fishing season it used to fill with fishermen and nets. There was nothing around here; shops were more towards the Mendirek side. This place was just piles of gravel and sand.

B: In fact, I remember there was no road from the front of the Yalı café to this side.

B.O: There was none; the land ended there.

B: It ended there.

O.O: The sea used to come up to the front of Acente.

B: Yes.

O.O: My father filled that area in. He filled it and made it a road...

B.O: Connecting it as a road...

O.O: He connected this place...

B.O: That was Osman’s father. Yes.

O.O: There is a picture of my father here.

B.O: This place is like the continuation of this building, like a garden.

O.O: Yes, a garden. It’s still the same in zoning as well. But at that time, my father make it a road and a façade.

B: That is nice; it is a public initiative there, a community effort.

O.O: Unfortunately, people cannot perceive that.

B: Yes, and of course, this is one of the changing points.

B.O: Unfortunately, this is one of the points that have changed for the worse. I mean, it’s being taken over, but in a negative way. While we are the current owners, others are taking over and using it for bad purposes.

O.O: My father and grandfather opened it to public, and made a road for it to be a walking path.

B: Well, what about...?

O.O: This contributes to women coming into the shipyard neighborhood.

B: That’s what you meant in a positive sense.

O.O: Yes, in a positive sense. That is what I mean. You can't enter there, you can not there…. How is that going to happen? I mean, how is a woman going to get into a boat? How would anyone travel around?

B: And also a taxi...

O.O: From the park.

B.O: In front of the park.

O.O: In front of the park.

B.O: In front of the hotel.

O.O: You would take the motorboats to go there.

B: Look, that’s nice too.

O.O: Houses with gardens, gardens.

B.O: That red...

O.O: You can not cross from there to this site.

B: Yes, yes, there were little boats at the place with lights near that red boat. Those were shuttle motorboats.

O.O: Yes.

B: Like the things that were put between the two shores. You would take those to...

B.O: We would go to the beach.

B: We would go to the beaches.

O.O: Like to Öztürkler Camp...

B: First stop was at Ziraat...

O.O: Then, below the forest,

B: Then below the forest...

O.O: There was no road.

B: Yes.

O.O: There was no road.

B: Look, this is also nice. There is that aspect to the shipyard as well. It also provides access.

O.O: But...

B.O: This place is becoming less of a harbor now.

O.O: You could not even pass in front of those fortifications over there. The sea used to come up right to the base of the fortifications.

B.O: Of course.

O.O: In front of that fort, it was the sea; we would roll up our pants and cross. Beyond that, there is the wharf. We would call it ‘Gümrük Wharf.’ Look at that place over there. That used to be the Gümrük Wharf. After the new wharf was built in the 70s, they opened a road and so on. Otherwise, there was no road here after the fort.

B: Yes, yes, it was all closed off. I remember; during our childhood, there was a gate that led outside from the lower castle. I was scared to pass through there because you had to go through a dark corridor.

O.O: Very Dark.

B.O: Exactly.

B: That place was dark and sketchy, where the park is now. Later, it became bright and lively.

B.O: Yes, that is true.

B: From a child's perspective.

O.O: When you passed through there, there was already a power plant on your right, like an electric plant building. It was dark.

B: Dark.

O.O: This whole place became touristy; when women were able to walk around without any hesitation.

B.O: Yes, slowly, women started coming. The number of boats increased; we bought a boat. Seeing that we bought a boat, others also bought boats with their wives. They joined in.

B: It was like a woman's touch.

B.O: Yes.

B: With the presence of women...

B.O: Yes, that is very true.

B: ... the issue of equality and equal opportunities came up again…

B.O: There is also this, I am sorry to interrupt, now, because this is a city with a high level of education, people were already ready for such a change. They did not find it strange for women to enter here.

O.O: Togo into the shipyard, I would enter from Karayazı, using the road next to the shipyard. I mean, I would turn this way from where the current Sabahattin Ali Cultural Center is. There was no road on the other side. There was no road in front of the ice factory either. I would come to this side, and the road would end in front of that castle fort. To cross to the other side, I would have to go through the gate on this side. Think of it like that; there was no pier or anything along the coast. The shipyard was a closed area. Coming down from Sakarya Street...

B: Tuzcular Street.

O.O: What was the name of that street?

B: Tuzcular Street.

O.O: ... and think of the big mosque. There was nothing else.

B.O: So, this area was waterfront.

O.O: There was no way to cross to the other side from here.

B.O: The waterfront.

O.O: So, in front of the current place called Acente, it was the sea. You could not cross to Yalı Kahvesi. If you went from Yalı Kahvesi, at the other end of Yalı Kahvesi, the road ended; there was no road, no walking path. After that, it was just the beach and so on.

O.O: There were huts used by the net weavers. It was like that up to the ice factory.

B.O: The fisher’s repair places...

O.O: Of course.

B.O: Workshops.

O.O: After the ice factory, there was nothing until the Agricultural Directorate. Just the sea.

B.O: The sea was below Ziraat...

O.O: Below Ziraat.

B: Those shuttle boats, let's call them shuttle boat motors, came to be because of the needs of the residents due to lack of roads and footpaths. Ziraat was the first stop.

B.O: Below Ziraat, then the orchard, then Öztürkler's, then the Americans, Gülümoğlu...

B: Mobil.

B.O: And then Mobil as well.

B: That is where it ends, the last stop…

B.O: It was the last stop there.

O.O: Mobil came much later.

B.O: Mobil came much later.

O.O: There used to be gas tanks at Mobil.

B: Yes, there were Mobil stations. For instance, there was Dramalı, there was İsmail Usta.

B.O: But they weren’t there at that time. They were already gone by my time. Dramalı and İsmail Usta were there during my youth. Dramalı İsmail Usta was up near Ali Niyazi.

O.O: I remember when Büke started coming to the store. Sarı Kadir. Zeki Kanal.

B.O: The butcher. The one at the corner.

O.O: The corner butcher. From Gerze.

B.O: Yes. There were one or two simit shops and bakeries.

O.O: That didn’t exist back then.

B.O: No, there was a bagel maker, a bagel factory.

O.O: We do not know about those times.

A: There was no road on that side of the ice factory. It was closed off; it was the sea. There was a wharf for the ice factory. At that time, of course, I was very small, so I remember it vaguely. Later, it was filled in and turned into a road. The shipyard had both good and bad aspects. When it got dark, my father would send me home. We could not stay here at night. Why couldn't we stay? The shipyard would get a bit chaotic in the evening. There were always fights and scuffles. So, there were good aspects too. It is a beautiful fishing town. This shipyard area was a place for fishermen. There was a slipway right next to the mosque where boats were pulled up. Before that, there were poles placed here and catches hung up. I also remember those vaguely. They used to do maintenance and repairs in the area where the cafes are right now, right next to the mosque. If you’d go further, there was the fish market;

I mentioned that the fishermen had shops in the municipal building across from the mosque. All the fishmongers sold their fish there. They sold their fish there, but that place was too small for them. In the 1980s, they moved out of there. After the move, we got this shop. Everyone scattered in different directions. The municipality later demolished that place. I think its demolition made it better. If you’d go further, from long ago, there was a place near the castle walls, opposite the wharf, between the mantı shops and the castle, there used to be an ice cream shop, but that has now closed down and been demolished. It was all waterfront, and now all filled in. Before it was filled in, there was no road there.

Back then, I don’t remember that far back, but I heard that Greeks used to work there in the shops. They used to pack fish in barrels, and then they would send them with the cargo ships that came here. Back then, mackerel was abundant. Now, there are no more mackerel; it's fished to extinction. I mean, as far as I know, it went extinct in these parts around the 1950s, but I can’t be entirely sure. I’m giving you a rough date, around the 1950s. The smell of grilling would spread all around here; it was mackerel. We would light our grill here. I remember when I was a child. Everyone would light their grills. This place would be filled with smoke. It would smell fantastic. Those were beautiful times, beautiful memories. Of course, time moves on. The shipyard has now become a tourist spot. A street where children and women dared to walk around has now turned into a tourist street. Is that good? Yes, it is nice, but the fabric of society has deteriorated compared to the past. It’s a small area. There were beauties, and there were also ugly events. Back in the day, there was an American base up there, when the Americans were stationed in Sinop. When evening came - ranking officers had houses here; they would rent homes - they would come down, but on weekends, all soldiers would come down. They would stay out until midnight.

B: The shore leave.

A: Yes the shore leave. Back then, it was very...

B: Did they go to the shipyard?

A: ...of course. Back then, fights used to break here between Americans and the locals in Sinop. It would be, "He looked at his daughter," or "He looked at my girl," and "He made comments," and so on. Almost every evening, there would be fights, either among the Americans or among themselves. As I said, it wasn't a pleasant thing, but it had a nice vibe. It had its beautiful side. Now, everything is in the past. I can’t say i don’t miss those old days; i do. I sometimes wish I could live in the past. Personally, if you asked someone else, they might like the current state, but I do not. My mother has been here for sixty years. When there were no women or children in the shipyard, she worked here. Everyone has accepted her. I mean, she was a strong woman. She could give a man a run for his money. She is tough, but she has a heart of gold and a lovely character. I am not just saying this because she is my mother…

Back at Yalı Kahvesi, there used to be wooden tables and wooden chairs. There were also grapevines overhead, where the grapes would hang down. It was such a beautiful place. We would sit around, drinking our tea. I also had a small boat. Back then, in this harbor, there were maybe twenty boats in total. Now, there are a thousand. When we got bored here, we would go to the sea and catch fish. I will never forget the day I caught a nine-and-a-half-kilogram turbot with my rod near Karakum, off Adabaşı. Pulling it in was a joy.

I still remember that day vividly; I can picture my father as I caught that fish, submerging his head in the water and pulling it into the boat with his hands. Later, we went to harbor, near Yalı Kahvesi, where other boats were waiting. When we pulled it out, everyone exclaimed, "Wow! How did you catch that?" When I said I caught it with a rod, nobody believed me. They would use trotlines, with hooks and so on. I then went out to catch turbots at the same spot again many times. I will never forget that at one time, I caught about a hundred sharks instead of turbots. Of course, we used to catch them back in the day. Now they are gone. They used to ship them overseas. They would catch them en masse and send them to the ice factory. The sharks caught here would be processed at the ice factory. It wasn't just sharks; there were also sharks and frogs. They were processed at the ice factory here and shipped abroad. I remember they would go to France or Italy. Now they are practically extinct around here. I remember eating grilled shark. My parents once prepared some shark dish, and I had it, when I was small. It had a very nice taste, like chicken. It was delicious. Sharks in the waters of Turkey are harmless; the sharks that live in Turkey are harmless. However, they were overfished for years. Whether intentionally or unintentionally, ultimately, their population has diminished. Not just diminished; it has become extinct. Unfortunately.

The interior of the ice factory was a noteworthy facility. The Germans built it. Using ammonia gas, and I believe that was around the 1950s. It used ammonia as coolant, the old ammonia system. They would produce long blocks of ice. They would use a hook to lift it with a crane and leave it outside. We would break it into pieces with an axe, and then on the side of the icehouse facing the road, there were two crushing machines where we would throw the ice. Those blocks of ice were very heavy. We would break them down into smaller pieces. Then we would use that ice to preserve the fish. Inside, there was also a freezing section. I remember that our older brothers would work inside for hours at temperatures of -40 to -50 degrees, wearing very thick coats. Now, many of them have lung problems.

Those were hard years, tough times. There was no technology. There was plenty of fish, but you could not preserve it well. There were no roads; you could not send it anywhere. There were no cars; you could not ship it. There were phones but no reliable network; you had no news from anywhere. There were switchboard phones; I’ll never forget that my father would turn the dial to connect to the switchboard. We would send a crate of fish to the post office for them to connect us to Istanbul. We would ask them to prioritize us, saying, "Please, we want to talk to Istanbul." Accordingly, we would send fish to Istanbul. That’s how it was. Yes… But I wish those days would come back. Exactly. Yes.

A: Well, let me start with the shipyard then. There used to be an old pastry shop at the shipyard, now it's... That shipyard used to be divided in two. At that time, all the boats were on the ice factory side since it was in front of the boatyard, and generally, men used to hang out there. Back then, there was sort of a segregation of men and women in the shipyard neighborhood. Now, as I said, there was a building in the shipyard, a place for foreigners, a sort of administration. There used to be an old post office right next to Ziraat Bank. From there, it would divide in two. Women could come that far, but they would not come much further back. Were there women who did not come? Of course, there were.

The boatyards were over there, and there were not any parks back then. There were always boatyards, and since Sinop mainly lived off fishing, those kinds of people were there, but nobody in Sinop found it very modern. But except for that neighborhood if a woman was walking home alone at two in the morning, nobody would bat an eye. It was that modern. Now it has changed; that is another matter. The ice factory had a door facing the sea, and there was a ramp there. Of course, we would catch a lot of fish and bring them to the icehouse. People would catch sharks there and cut them. They would extract the fish oil and put it in barrels. They would throw the carcasses back into the sea. The chum would attract gray mullets, and we’d catch them. Back then, everyone knew how to do it. I had been in the shipyard since 1971. The fishers would go out at night to fish; back then, there were no big motors on the boats, just regular motors behind long boats. Some even used oarsmen. There were either five or six motorboats; now, motorboats do not even fit on top of each other. The ice factory produced ice. It had everything needed, everyone had a large space for themselves in the ice factory. You could go inside and store the fish you caught. They would put the fish in large wooden crates and then place ice on top.. Let me go back a bit further. Since I am a bit older, I will not mention my age, but back then, everyone would get their share of the catch from the boats. They would give you two baskets, and you would fill those with fish and sell them in front of Ziraat Bank. Everyone would buy fish from there or from those who sell fish on carts.

Back then, you would go behind the ice factory to get to the prison. The prison was over there, and people would throw ashes from their stoves there. That place would always burn and smolder. Further down the way from the fortress, where we lived, since I was a movie theater operator, we lived up there, I would still spear gray mullets. I would walk in the sea as it was shallow, so I would walk in knee-deep water to get to the Hamsi Road side.

At that time, there were two cinemas; one was the Melek Cinema and the other was the Nermin Cinema. We were running Nermin Cinema back then. There was a lot of competition in the cinema business. Let me share a story that perhaps not everyone knows. Every weekend, there were matinees for women on Sundays. Only women would come then. They were normal family movies, of course. Adventure films came out later, and everyone lost interest in cinema; that is another story. Back then, both theaters would hang posters; Melek Cinema would hang posters, and so would we. Everyone would wait, and we had a few films. We would choose the best one. Everyone would sit and wait until twelve. Did Melek Cinema hang a ‘now playing’ poster? Did they not? We would wait and hang our posters accordingly. In the other cinema, did they hang a poster? Did they not? We would wait and hang our posters according to that. A bit of a competition. But back then, the cinemas would fill up with women; that’s how it was for family movies.

Now, on other side, ice was being made, and on the other side, there was a storage room, locked with iron doors. Everyone would put their fish there, but it was enough for Sinop. Back then, there were many small boats in Sinop. There used to be plenty of fish, even mackerel. We would catch mackerel with a net. My father would often say, "Son, let's go," and we had our own boat. He would say, "Let’s go; we’ll have fish for dinner." The port was built back then. We would go back and forth to catch fish. There would be five or six of us, and we would catch enough fish to come back with. Back then, everywhere was full of fish. Now, that’s not the case. Our cinema is right behind the icehouse. The castle is there, and right behind that castle. If you look at the castle from the Hamsi Road, you can see it, it’s still standing there, Nermin Cinema is right behind the icehouse. Not a movie theater anymore but the building still stands now; at one point, it was used as a wedding hall, but now it sits empty. They made it into a wedding hall. Later on, two relatives had a disagreement, and now it is just standing there, empty.

A: I am 73 years old. The Sinop of my time is considered as the 1968 generation. We lived exceptionally well, it was a beautiful city. Do you know what makes Sinop so special, my dear? Sinop is a peninsula. The house where we’re having this conversation was built in 1940, but this area is much older. Do you see the mosque next door? That is an Ottoman mosque. A little further, you can see the most famous prison in Turkey. Right next to it is the military recruitment office. As you went further into the city, they built the main market hall around the 1960s, no not the 1960s, 1950s. The city was centered in the heart of this peninsula. You could walk everywhere and go without fear. There were small cinemas, and on weekends, people would decorate donkeys and ride them into the harbor. Planes would land in Akliman, to deliver mail and cargo to the Americans and everyone would go watch the planes land. They would even bring gifts. Sinop was a small city, both historically rich and full of life. It was a very charming place. Why? Because there was no over development. The houses were built in a zigzag pattern according to the wind. Most of them were wooden and detached, like this very old house we are in. The wind would pass between the houses, so we did not have dampness or the oppressive heat like now. It was truly wonderful.

Sinop, like Istanbul, is a city with seven gates. Now, only two remain, Kumkapı and the Deniz Kapısı. Why is that? Because we fought hard to erase our own culture, and in doing so, we lost it. For example, you may have seen the ice factory down below. They changed its name, which I strongly opposed. I protested. Back when there were no refrigerators in Turkey, we Sinop locals used that ice factory as a fridge. Winter fish were stored there; if food was being sent somewhere, it would be stored in the ice factory to be kept cool. Everyone had their little corner to store their goods. It was like the city's refrigerator. Once refrigerators became common, of course, no one used them anymore, except for fishermen. Now it's being turned into an art space. Fishing was the primary source of livelihood for the people here, and secondly, shoemaking. There wasn’t much in the villages. Sinop didn’t get much from the surrounding villages, but there was plenty of fish.

One of Sinop's most important products is ‘nokul’ (a traditional pastry). Nokul was made for fishermen because it lasted a long time, and there were various ways to prepare and cook fish. And right next to this, we had our ice factory and the prison. Later, the market hall was built, completely in a European style, a beautiful building. But it eventually get neglected so much. After all the unplanned constructions started, all cities were ruined, my child. Make sure to record this as an important point. They made us lose our identity; they destroyed our cities. This is crucial. Why is it crucial? You can't form a nation from just a crowd. A nation has culture, traditions, and folklore. All of these were erased by this distorted urbanization.

For instance, fish used to be sent to Ankara. Fish were sent; everyone would place the fish in crates, and either that night or the next morning, they’d be sent by trucks. And the icehouse made excellent ice. There’s a large cylinder-like thing outside, and water used to flow out of it, gushing. Now I say, ‘Paint that cylinder white, write "Ice Factory" in big letters on it. Hopefully, they will. At one point, they even thought about demolishing the icehouse to make a park, because the residents spend a lot of time in parks. I spoke with people, one by one, and prevented its demolition. Now it has become a magnificent cultural center. And it turned out beautifully.

A: Hakan, what do you think about how the shipyard has turned out?

H: How has the shipyard changed? Over the last twenty years, it has transformed into a more social area. Before that, it was a more secluded place. It was mainly a place for seamen, tradesmen, and a spot where some winos spent time, and it was considered a bit dangerous. You know how in some cities people mention certain neighborhoods as dangerous? Well, for Sinop, the shipyard was that kind of place. It was a place where most people didn’t spend time—more for niche groups, people who belonged there. A stranger, they could be from Sinop, but if they weren't from the shipyard, the locals could easily tell. It was that kind of place.

A: People would get into trouble.

H: Yes, they would. That’s one. Secondly, as you mentioned, it was an area that was locked up with iron gates after the evening call to prayer. But locking it didn’t mean it was emptied completely. Life continued there in some way. That’s how it was. In our childhood, we didn’t really experience that period. When we first got involved with the area was around the time the Soviet Union collapsed, and Georgian traders from that region started coming here for business.

A: The "Russian market."

H: Yes, there was the Russian market. The inclusion of people from outside the shipyard—by that, I mean people living in the city who had nothing to do with the shipyard—probably began with the market at the Mendirek area, where the Russian market was held. Although it was called the Russian market, the people who came were Georgian citizens.

A: Yes.

H: When Georgia broke away from the Soviet Union, some Georgians came here , but it was still referred to as the Russian market. There was a similar market in Samsun as well. I’m not sure if it’s still around.

A: It later turned into a regular market.

H: Yes, I think the first time people started visiting the shipyard was with the Russian market. For me, my first memories of the shipyard is of the Russian market. I guess for our generation, we were introduced to the shipyard through the Russian market.

A: The Russian market is one of the key moments for me too, but the shipyard used to have a real nightlife. While it may still be a hub for bars now, there are more pubs and third-wave coffee shops nowadays, which have grown in number. But back then, there were performance stages, and nightclubs, good ones, too. At that time, places like Samsun, especially Atakum, didn't have anything like that. Now Atakum is one of the most dynamic areas in the region, with venues that rival those in Istanbul. They have some physically impressive venues, though the night ends early. We have already handed over the torch to them, and currently, we don’t have a nightclub in Sinop. There used to be one at the shipyard. Then there was Kulis, and before that, Kimene, Çipa, and Diyojen Bar. Diyojen Bar was named to attract Americans.

H: There was also Barınak.

A: Yes, Barınak was very important to me.

H: We need to make a special mention of Barınak. It was a place where the Americans from the radar base could socialize. A Sinop local who had connections with them created what may have been Turkey’s first place to serve pizza and beer…

A: Yes.

H: …I’ll call it a cafe, but it was closer to what we would now call a restaurant. What do they call them nowadays? I can't remember the name.

A: Fine dining.

H: Yes, it could have been a fine dining place where you could have pizza and beer if you wanted to.

A: A place for socializing after work.

H: Socializing—this is perhaps one of Turkey’s oldest venues. It must be around forty or fifty years old.

A: Yes, yes. A fifty-year-old place. Everyone wore Levi’s,

H: It couldn’t compete…

A: Pink Floyd playing in the background…

H: Now, it couldn't compete with the newer venues and either recently closed down or the owner passed away, that’s why it closed.

A: Yes, yes, Metin Abi.

H: Now there’s a new place called "Cem’s" in its place. When I think of the shipyard, the first things that come to mind from my youth and childhood are the Russian market and Barınak Cafe. There are still people who can’t give up on the pizza Barınak made. In fact, even in a small location, people still make ‘Barınak pizza.’ That’s how influential it was. Imagine—a restaurant closes, but its chef is still continuing the work in a small booth because Barınak had its own unique…

A: Yes, yes.

H: … identity. It’s a kind of legacy they’re trying to keep alive. Secondly, those ‘tea garden’ cafes—there used to be boatbuilders working in those areas making small wooden boats. Back then, fiberglass technology didn’t exist, and fiberglass required a serious level of expertise. In that small area, craftsmen built five to six-meter boats, and while the shipyard wasn’t directly named after them , you can think of it as a part of a whole. The shipbuilders also built wooden boats from scratch when there wasn’t much to do, or they would handle repairs and maintenance there. Other than the Yalı Kahvesi, there were no other tea places along the seafront. It was right by the sea, and in earlier times, I believe they used to hang fishing nets there. Even before boat-making, if you look at old photos, you can see the nets. We didn’t witness that, of course, but what I remember are the wooden boat masters, Barınak, and the Russian market. Georgian people would come by bus from there with their cargo…

A: Suitcase trading.

H: Souvenirs—you call them "kitsch," right? Kitsch products. Little house figurines and things like that were everywhere.

A: My dad would bring something different home every day…

H: From the Russian market.

A: … some random item. "I bought this, I bought that." Always thinking he got a bargain, and we had all these sturdy instruments at home.

H: There was a time when all of Sinop had this skin condition called "sosyete uyuzu" (scabies like skin condition). People believed it came from those who had been to the Russian market. I don’t know what kind of contact caused it, but I remember having it as a kid. It was called "sosyete uyuzu". Did you ever get it?

A: No, I didn’t.

H: Well, that’s the story. As I said, I think the shipyard broke away from its dangerous and unsavory reputation thanks to the the Russian market. Apart from that, as you move towards the castle and below the prison, that whole area is the shipyard zone. Over time, as the shipyard shrank, some of the old shops went bankrupt, and when no new businesses took their place. Later on the area was illuminated with street lamps, parks and gardens were developed, some of the sea was filled in to build walking paths. After all that the shipyard became more accessible, regular citizens started populating the area as the social spaces expanded—just like Fatih mentioned earlier, our old hangouts. But in my childhood, I could really feel that atmosphere—the winos during the day, the people stabbing each other, fights and chaos that never seemed to end.

A: All that madness had a certain method to it though. Even fights and stabbings, had a certain etiquette and a certain sense of respect.

H: Of course, nothing ever dragged on for too long.

A: What about now? Now, I think there’s a struggle—a struggle for change. The fishermen still have to stay there. There are fish stalls, and the big boats still dock there—at the shipyard, the pier, or more accurately at the breakwater. There’s a struggle for change happening now. On one side, you hear people yelling “fifty lira for mackerel,” while on the other side, there are a few more modernized restaurants; places selling pide, lahmacun, and mantı. Then, there are third-wave coffee shops, too. The shipyard is going through an identity crisis right now. It’s not entirely clear what it will settle into, but I think it’s heading in a good direction. I believe they can all coexist, actually, as long as that sense of respect is maintained. Hopefully, in Sinop, we can manage this transition, renew it, and revise it nicely. The current state of Yalı Cafe is really sweet in my opinion. The Acente next door is lovely, too.

H: Well…

A: What about the story of the city itself?

H: Now we’re talking about Galataport (a gentrified waterfront in Istanbul) and all, but this is a natural transformation here. Yes, Acente being renamed back to Acente is a special thing. Yalı Kahvesi has always been Yalı Kahvesi, but this has also been driven by individual initiatives. The changes happening here aren’t by big capital investors. If an investor came and said, “I’m going to change this area bit by bit, locally,” maybe it could happen. But here, it’s a natural process—perhaps you could call it natural selection, or maybe erosion, I don’t know. But this change is entirely related to how people’s way of life has shifted. If the shipyard had remained there, if the fishers’ and craftsman’s dominance still held sway, it wouldn’t be like this. The shipyard’s removal, the end of ship production, left only the fishing boats—mainly the large industrial boats. There’s no more craft work done here now. The only ones hanging on are the small boat owners, saying, “Leave some small space for us, or will we have to leave too?” A small section has been set aside for repairs, but it's not much, and it's not a real shipyard anymore—it’s more like fishing boat shelters. So, you could say only the name “shipyard” remains. If, twenty years from now, some egotistical mayor decides to rename it after himself or someone else, would anyone even care? I don’t know.

A: They did it with the ice factory already.

H: Yeah, the old ice factory is now called the Sabahattin Ali Cultural Center, see?

A: I think that’s absurd. The ice factory was the heart of the shipyard area in its time. It was essential for fishermen, sending ice to funerals, ice to the fishermen, and even to people’s homes. We’re talking about an institution that sustains daily life and commerce. Now, it’s been turned into a cultural center, and I think it turned out nicely in terms of its physical design. But what I strongly criticize is the name. Calling it the Sabahattin Ali Cultural Center is ridiculous, in my opinion. The word "ice factory" is not mentioned anywhere. Sabahattin Ali wasn’t from Sinop—he spent just a few months here in prison. I respect him as a writer, but I still think it’s absurd. I still call it the ice factory.

A: The problem we have, in general, is that as a society, we love changing names. We don't love preserving them; we love changing them constantly. We don't enjoy protecting what exists. If there's a story to be told there, we should hold onto it. But that's where we have a problem.

H: Yeah, people love naming stuff, claiming they've produced something, but they don’t follow through. You've done something, okay, but then why not leave it as the Ice factory instead of calling it the "Sabahattin Ali Cultural Center?" There's this misconception that, because it’s in the dockyard area, it only served the ice needs of the fishermen, but that's not true. It was during a time when not everyone had refrigerators. It provided ice to the whole city. It was a place where people stored their goods, and people would come and buy ice blocks to take home. In the evening, you'd hear the sound of ice being chopped, just like in a brick factory. It was a fully functioning place with staff. But of course, with the advent of modern appliances like refrigerators and freezers, that need disappeared. So, a whole industry was shut down because things became more streamlined. There used to be a wholly industrialized and streamlined process inside. But this is one of the few remaining ice factories in Turkey...

A: Yes, exactly.

H: It has the status of one of the last ice factories. Now, for our generation, why doesn’t it mean anything to us? It's because we have no connection to it. Not once have I gone there to get ice. For as long as I’ve known, it was always a abandoned building. Now, for the next generation, calling it the "Sabahattin Ali Cultural Center" will create a new kind of memory. They'll say, "I came here as a kid for a piano recital," or "I came for the Lakerda Festival."

But for our generation, the "dead generation" when it comes to the ice factory, we didn’t have any connection to it. It’s only recently that we’ve started building connections with the place. It's only been open for the last two or three years. Time moves fast, so I can't say for sure, but if you ask which generation has no ties to the ice factory, it's the one born from 1983 to 1990. Maybe even until the 2000s. This generation has no bond with that building. When you rename it as a cultural centre and call it the "Sabahattin Ali Cultural Center," in 20 years, when today's 22-year-olds are our age, they'll say, "Oh, they used to call this place the ice factory." But that will be the last generation who will remember the old name.

A: And here's something unrelated but interesting. The ice factory was built by the Germans. The sawmill in Ayancık was built by the Belgians. The radar station was manned by Americans. The ice factory is the smallest part of this story— the Germans have built it and then they left. As far as I know, and I could be wrong, there wasn’t much interaction between the Germans and people of Sinop. In contrast, there was more interaction at the Belgian sawmill.

The American radar led to the most cultural interaction between people. It's fascinating how all these connections, interactions with different people ends up being what makes Sinop, Sinop. The influence of the sea is there too, of course, with figures like Mithridates and Diogenes. But all of it is a whole. We shot a documentary about the ice factory, and there was a man who worked there back in the day. What was his name, I think it was İnan’s grandfather.

H: Yeah, you had mentioned this before.

A: He was such a sweet, chubby guy. We even have a recording of him telling the story. So, one day, something happens; there is this room in the ice factory where the temperature is minus something degrees, and somehow the guy gets locked inside. There’s an issue with the door, and he almost dies in there at those freezing temperatures. Eventually, they managed to get him out, and the man said this: when the Germans built that building, they left special insulating uniforms for all the workers, individually labeled, written Hasan or Hüseyin on them, they said "You’ll wear these when you work here." But none of our people wore them. And that day, he realized, “If I had worn that uniform, I wouldn’t have felt any fear at all. Maybe I could have stayed there not for one hour but ten hours in that uniform.” That was the day he understood German discipline. It’s such a sweet story because it didn’t end tragically. That’s where some German discipline left a mark, even if it was a small one. It was probably Salih Uncle or someone else.

With the Americans, it was a different kind of interaction—they played basketball together, ate pizza, wore their first blue jeans, danced, and made love. It was a completely different experience. In Ayancık, the influence of the Belgians was amazing. You could see it in the way they dressed, in fashion. In the 1920s and 1930s, there was even an women’s tennis club in Ayancık. Crazy stuff. You wouldn’t go there now, or if you did, you wouldn’t want to spend more than a few hours. Not to be critical, but that’s just how it is, at least for me. It’s a strange place.

H: Yeah, just like you said, first the Belgians, then the Germans, then the Americans. I feel like the Russians will be next.

A: It’s incredible. For such a small town, both in terms of its size and population, to have so many stories... it’s really strange.

H: Yeah, like in the shipyard, most people aged between 50 and 65 speak English, with an American accent. They had such deep friendships with the Americans. That bar in the shipyard—it was probably the Americans who spent more time there than the people of Sinop.

A: Absolutely.

H: And that’s another thing. It didn’t matter what the person’s profession was. Foreign languages have only recently started to be taken seriously in this country, maybe in the last 15 years or so. It’s just entering the school curriculum and becoming something important, as far as I know.

A: Every veteran taxi driver in Sinop speaks English.

H: Yeah, exactly.

A: They can get by in everyday conversations.

H: The older generation, those over 50, can handle daily conversations in English.

A: Like Çetin Abi, he speaks with a pretty decent accent.

H: So there’s that too. The city's identity has been shaped by continuous external influence. Even though we often talk about the shipyard like it was a bad place, it also had a real presence, a significance.

A: Bad? How could it be bad? The shipyard is the heart of Sinop, its heart!

H: It still is.

A: Absolutely.

H: But of course, it has shed its old skin. The shipyard is not what it used to be; it is now a place where people interact more. That is how it is now.