Beyazıt Square is one of Istanbul's great crossroads, and you step out of the Grand Bazaar's western gate into sudden open sky. Pigeons lift in clouds, the air smells of simit and roasted chestnuts, and students stream under the ornate gate of Istanbul University. The Bayezid II Mosque holds one side, and the slim fire-watch tower rises behind the campus wall. At the square's western rim lie fat marble column drums carved with a strange teardrop pattern, unlabelled and easy to walk past.
Those drums belonged to a triumphal arch. In 393 the emperor Theodosius I dedicated a vast ceremonial plaza on this ground, the grandest public forum old Constantinople ever built, and the arch was its entrance. Earthquakes and stone-robbers took the rest. Around the ruins the Ottomans raised their own landmarks, and the square kept working. Old men sell bird seed by the handful, the secondhand-book court opens off a gate beside the mosque, and the whole city still passes through, doing the job Theodosius gave the space sixteen centuries ago.