Haydarpaşa is not only a building but a social memory of humanity.

Haydarpaşa is not only a building but a social memory of mankind: the craftsman mechanics who took the pistons of the coal-smelling land locomotives out of the iron pile and made them into melancholy-sounding ghosts, seemed to be crying out of the ward, muffled jamming in the throat and moist eyes, sometimes the hope and sometimes the disaster.
In the Hancı poem, Bekir Sıtkı Erdoğan says, "The journey started from Haydarpaşa."
A friend compared me to "Haydarpaşa", his purpose, in his own words: "Uniting Anatolia with Europe, Haydarpaşa. Longing runs out, a lot of rush, joy and sadness are experienced, it is not just a building, but a place that witnesses them. You brought us together, you were instrumental in people's happiness, so I identified you with it! "
It is after this sincere compliment that I remind Haydarpaşa. he requested Why not, my dear brother ...
Although the names usually describe the person who lived it, Haydarpaşa represents the station that was built 106 years ago. Nobody cares, that Haydar Pasha is the Pasha of Selim III. It is the head of the iron road that goes out of the pen and brain of Alaman architects, Otto Ritter and Helmuth Cuno and goes back to China. The shavari building, which was built on 3 piles, is where the Bosphorus embraces with the seagulls, and it is like a charming bride.
It is not of any concern to anyone who has an arsenal in World War II, the wing turned into a burned bird as a result of a sabotage in 917, the explosion of lead stained glass from the explosion of the Independenta tanker in 976, the roof was burned down in 2010 and the 4th floor was unusable.
In fact, there is not much that remembers the pier next to it. Haydarpaşa, for us, did not get its reputation from the French madam named Christine Davray (Haydar), which was revealed with the claim of the bride of the pasha. What is it, Sir! Jean Yves Haydar was idle and said, “I am the grandson of Haydar Pasha,” and his wife, whom he took his sexy photos, said, “I am the bride of Haydar Pasha!” With the discourse of Cüneyt Arkın, Ekrem Bora, Kadir Inanir, he appeared in his movies by kissing a little with the joes', to the huge (!) newspapers that sold the photos taken by his husband…
It is true that the real fire will be experienced by using the station other than its purpose.
Haydarpaşa Train Station: 3 billion 19 million 180 thousand dollars are paid, they will sell, they will build a hotel. This means the destruction of memories. They will kill Haydarpaşa! ..
Under the pretext of the Marmaray line, there is an attempt to transform it into a shopping mall and a hotel. To this, on behalf of Haydarpaşa Solidarity Chamber of Architects Istanbul Büyükkent Branch United Transportation Union 1. Branch, Chamber of Architects Anatolia 1.2. The Metropolitan District Representative Office reacts and makes a demonstration in front of each market station. It is necessary to congratulate and support the children of this country.
It is one of the important places where my intense memories pass. As my roots are located in Ercis, sometimes our journeys to Erzurum, sometimes to Kurtalan and Tatvan were the most important excitements of my childhood days.
We got on the train early. My father found a compartment key. 3. We would be early to settle into the train room with the wooden seat with our position ticket and lock the door. My brother and I took the window shore, sometimes for two nights, 3 day of our journey, in the evening on the top of the wooden shelf in the wooden shelf in the back and put the blanket on the bed, we loved to make bed and bed blanket.
Top lowering the window opening to the bottom, to the mob, to the crowd, blue in the embrace among the long wagons, wrapped in a jacket, with a jacket in the hands, in the coat of hand, with the coat in the hands, briyantin hair with polished shoes, Ayhan Işık taa I heard here, until the marrow I would testify.
Sales promotions made by lemonade, soda, bagels, newspapers, regrets with peaceable attitudes with a tone similar to music in narrow corridors, the mysterious atmosphere of the metal sounds made by the doors opening and closing on the rails, the steel nipper in the hand of the ticket controller condenser, punching the ticket from the cardboard "ticket control!" saying the threat of clicking the glass of the doors in my ears; In the tiny hall between the wagons, the eyes of those who have been blindfolded for years, have not lost their hopes and have continued their youth in their brains are in my eyes.
In the area of ​​two thousand square meters, dozens of parallelograms of iron bars curved in an order similar to brain vessels, beyond Üsküdar KadıköyThe concept created by the fact that a couple united towards the bottom of the bridge that connects to Istanbul was the integration of the bitter lovers, who lived in different times and got to know each other, similar to the tightness of their hands.
In the main building, a half-lined vaulted glass with a row of lenses, the black law enforcement officers in the trench as if they were afraid to appear inside, the post office, the huge panels showing the places and hours of movement on the walls, the stone floors and the high ceilings that could echo through the floor as they walked. There was no description of the taste of our runnings as we played hopscotch with our short pants and rubber shoes.
The goodbye to the soldiers, the bridal processions, the students, the refugees who came from the village and took refuge in his son, but who did not face the bride, who invented him from Istanbul, who were wrapped in a skin-like bone, may be the nephews who would go to Nepal with their bags on their backs, wooden boards. for suitcases, sacks torbalıl, colors colors reflecting my Turkey with their attire, his gaze from Iran, Armenia, Arabia, Mongolia faces flowing all sorts of folks, the short duration of the Haydarpasa occur, but they would be guests unforgettable lifetime.
Charcoal-smelling land locomotives plucking the piston from the iron pile, the burden of the burden of the raven sounds of the master mechanic koparken koparken, throat pinched in the throat and moist eyes sometimes seemed to cry out the hope, perhaps the disaster.


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