Çukurcuma is a hillside quarter in Beyoğlu given over to dealers in old things. Its lanes hold shop after shop of chandeliers, brass, gramophones, vintage cameras, Ottoman calligraphy and furniture waiting to be restored. Doors stand open onto rooms stacked floor to ceiling, where a dealer nurses tea while you turn over a tarnished samovar. Decorators, film-set designers and collectors comb the shops for pieces the rest of Istanbul threw away. You walk it slowly, because the streets tilt and every window asks you to stop.
The hollow that gives the quarter its name — çukur means pit — filled in the 1800s with tight rows of wooden and stone houses. The antique trade came later, as whole households were emptied and their contents sold off. The quarter climbs and folds, so you lose your bearings between Cihangir and Galatasaray and surface somewhere unplanned. Cafés and small galleries have settled in beside the older shops, and the mixture of cracked mirrors, cats, restoration dust and coffee is the whole point.