Caught in the 2016 Istanbul Coup: A Traveler’s Unexpected Journey

Istanbul's Blue Mosque (Sultan Ahmed Mosque)

There’s a group of people—some of my very favorite people in the world—who, if asked to do an impression of me, will say, “Did I ever tell you about the time I was in Istanbul during a coup?”

To be fair, it’s a solid impression. Because I was. Well . . . an attempted coup.

Here’s the story.

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“Wow,” I said to my wife. “Istanbul is really lively on a Friday night.”

And it was. People were everywhere—singing, chanting, gathering in clusters, some moving in what seemed like roving street parties. It all felt festive. Electric.

We were in high spirits ourselves, walking back to our Airbnb after one of those unforgettable meals that embeds itself in your travel memory forever. We’d met up with one of my former students at a place called Siirt Şeref Büryan, famous for lamb cooked in a blazing-hot underground pit. We spent the evening devouring juicy lamb, fluffy rice, warm flatbread, and the occasional vegetable (for balance, of course). Mostly, though, it was about the lamb.

It had been a great dinner.

And now, the city felt alive. Energized. We soaked in the vibe.

And then we reached our Airbnb. The moment we stepped inside and my phone connected to the Wi-Fi, it lit up like a disco ball in a lightning storm.

It was July 15, 2016. And there had just been an attempted military coup in Istanbul.

Coup Season in Istanbul

That night, tanks rolled onto bridges. Fighter jets streaked overhead. News anchors were forced to read military declarations on live TV. For a brief but surreal window of time, it wasn’t entirely clear who was in control of the country.

President Erdoğan appeared live—via FaceTime, of all things—to call on citizens to resist. And they did. Crowds poured into the streets. Civilians surrounded soldiers. The attempted coup unraveled.

We went to bed that night to the sound of jet engines growling above the city and chants echoing through the streets. My youngest daughter stayed up longer than the rest of us and later told us she heard gunfire from a tense standoff on one of the bridges.

It was a strange night.

I should note that while I was tempted to stand out on our balcony with my camera, taking pictures of the action in the street, our primary family travel rule is "don't do anything stupid." So I left the camera in its bag.

The wife and daughters inside the Blue Mosque (before the attempted coup)

A City Holding Its Breath

By morning, the elected government was back in control. But the city was not the same. Istanbul felt like it was holding its breath. The streets were empty. Shops were shuttered. The park across from our Airbnb—previously filled with families—sat eerily still.

Fortunately, we had some food in the fridge. Because that day, we didn’t go anywhere.

The next day was marginally better. A few shops cautiously reopened. I made a quick run to our favorite neighborhood sweet shop and stocked up on baklava. After all, if you’re going to bunker down, you might as well do it with a stack of golden, syrup-drenched, nut-packed pastry so crisp it practically shatters.

That evening I ventured a bit farther to pick up dinner. The streets still felt off, like a theater just before the curtain rises—but the city was stirring. Life was inching back.

We had one more quiet day before it was time to leave. The airport had been closed since the coup attempt, but flights were rumored to be resuming the next morning. Our Airbnb host helped us find a driver willing to take us to the airport, and we set out—nervous but hopeful.

Rolling Bags Toward Normal

We didn’t get far.

About a kilometer from the airport, traffic stopped cold. Police had closed the road. Cars pulled over on the shoulder and unloaded passengers and luggage onto the highway. So we joined the slow procession of travelers wheeling their bags, all of us quietly hoping this wasn’t a fool’s errand.

At one point we reached a steep, slightly muddy hill. I passed a few elderly women struggling with their bags, so once I got to the top, I dropped my bags and went back to help. Of course, by the time I got them up, a new group needed help. I’d become the human escalator. Eventually someone else stepped up and let me off the hook.

Inside the airport, things felt oddly calm. Security and immigration were efficient. No one said much. Everyone just wanted to move on.

And soon enough, we were at our gate. Then in the air.

And then—because travel—we were in Athens.

We left Istanbul behind to deal with the aftermath. A city still on edge. A city changed. A city we’ll never forget.

Lamps at the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul