Yeni Camii and The Port of İstanbul by French artist Jean-Baptiste Hilair (1753-1822)
A reader recently reminded me of a song he had heard many years ago in Istanbul and had never quite forgotten: “Gel Gel Kayıkçı” — “Come, Come, Boatman.” I began to follow its trail, only to discover that its story was as thoroughly Istanbulite as the song itself.
“Gel Gel Kayıkçı” is an old urban song whose roots appear to reach back to nineteenth-century Istanbul. In the Greek version, known as “O Kaïxís” (The Boatman), even the refrain remains in Turkish: “Gel gel kayıkçı, yavaş yavaş…” — “Come, come, boatman, slowly, slowly…” Greek and Turkish inhabit the same melody, much as they once lived side by side in the streets and neighbourhoods of Istanbul.
The older version tells of a night, the water, and a secret escape. A boatman is summoned to help rescue a “güzel hanım” — a beautiful lady held within a harem and carry her away to freedom. The boatman is therefore more than someone ferrying passengers across the water: he becomes the figure who makes passage from one life into another possible.
Over time, the song changed, acquired new words and shed parts of its original story. In the modern Turkish version, the old tale of escape disappears and the waterside mansions of Kandilli enter the song instead, transforming it into a romantic song of the Bosphorus.
Perhaps this is precisely what makes “Gel Gel Kayıkçı” so profoundly Istanbulite: a melody whose beginnings are difficult to pin down; languages, shores and stories flowing into one another; a song that changes as it passes from one community to another, yet somehow survives.
A little Turkish, a little Greek; a little history, a little legend and beneath it all, the waters of Istanbul flowing quietly by.
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