A profile for those who know that crossing water changes more than geography
The moment the ferry pulls away from Bostancı, Kartal, or Kadıköy, the mainland starts to dissolve. The skyline is replaced by open water, gulls follow the wake, and the scent shifts from exhaust and concrete to salt and pine. The Adalar — literally “the Islands” — feel close enough to touch from shore, yet distant enough to belong to another Istanbul entirely.
This isn’t one place. It’s nine islands, only four of which are inhabited year‑round: Büyükada, Heybeliada, Burgazada, and Kınalıada. Together, they’re an archipelago of both escape and exile, leisure and labour.
🏝️ Geography of Separation
The Princes’ Islands have always been defined by their separation. In Byzantine times they were places of banishment — outposts for fallen royals, dissenters, and the inconvenient. That history lingers in their psychology: beautiful, yes, but also slightly apart, a half‑step outside the city’s main story.
No private cars are allowed here. Movement is on foot, by bicycle, electric cart, or horse‑drawn carriage in the past (phased out in recent years). Streets curve to the terrain rather than cutting through it; hills frame unexpected sea views; pine forests give way to sudden clusters of cafés.
🧱 Architecture in Layers of Leisure
The inhabited islands are a gallery of late‑Ottoman and early‑Republican summer houses: wooden mansions with wrap‑around verandas, art nouveau flourishes, pastel façades faded by the sea air. Some are restored to perfection, others surrendering slowly to salt and neglect.
This architecture isn’t monumental — it’s personal. Built as retreats for the wealthy, many still serve as seasonal homes. In winter, shutters close, streets empty, and the silence can feel almost rural.
🚶 Life at Two Speeds
Island life has two distinct seasons:
- Summer — Ferries disgorge day‑trippers and weekenders. Ice cream sellers line the waterfront. Restaurants overflow. The air is thick with the scent of grilled fish and sunscreen.
- Winter — The population contracts to the permanent residents: retirees, writers, caretakers. Streets are quiet, shops are few, and the pace drops to something unmeasurable.
Both seasons are the islands. Neither is the “true” one.
🌊 The Four Lived Islands
Büyükada — The largest and most visited. A horseshoe of waterfront cafés, bike rentals, and souvenir shops, opening onto hills crowned by the Greek Orthodox Monastery of St. George. In summer, it feels like a festival. In winter, like a small town.
Heybeliada — Greener, more intimate, home to the Naval High School (now closed) and the Halki Seminary. Less commercialised than Büyükada but still lively in season.
Burgazada — Known for its Alev Leto Hill, pine forests, and literary heritage (Sait Faik Abasıyanık’s house is now a museum). Quiet, low‑rise, and fiercely local.
Kınalıada — The closest to the mainland and the most densely built, with fewer trees but a strong sense of community, especially among its Armenian population.
🛶 Commerce and Constraint
With limited space and no industry, commerce is small‑scale: grocers, bakeries, hardware shops, bicycle repair stalls. Many depend on the summer influx. Supply is dictated by the ferries; so is price.
The economy here is seasonal, precarious, and deeply tied to the mainland. Yet in that dependency there’s a kind of freedom — an immunity from the frantic development pace across the water.
🧠 What Adalar Isn’t
It isn’t a “secret” — every “Istanbullu” knows it, and every summer crowd proves it. It isn’t untouched — tourism has left its marks. And it isn’t just idyllic — the islands wrestle with waste management, over‑tourism, and the fragility of an ecosystem under pressure.
📌 Practical Notes (Without the Gloss)
- Transport: Regular ferries from Bostancı, Kadıköy, Kabataş, and Beşiktaş; private sea taxis off‑season.
- Getting around: Bicycle or on foot; electric carts available.
- Best time: Late spring or early autumn for balance between activity and calm.
- Stay: Small pensions, seasonal rentals, and historic hotels.
- Noise: Low in winter; festival‑like in peak summer.
🧭 Who It’s For
- Those who value the journey as much as the destination.
- Walkers, cyclists, and slow observers.
- City residents in need of a reset.
- Readers who like a touch of exile in their leisure.
🧾 Final Thoughts
The Adalar are close enough to see from your apartment balcony in Kadıköy, but far enough to feel like you’ve left the city entirely. They’ve been prisons, refuges, retreats, and playgrounds. They are still all of those things, depending on who you are when you step off the ferry.
They remind you that sometimes the most interesting parts of a city are the ones not physically attached to it.