Izmit Railroad Station

Laying of the rails, Izmit Train Station should be opened: Railroad works for the High Speed ​​Train (YHT) between Istanbul and Ankara, where the government wants to start the 29 anniversary of 90 in October, has continued during the feast. While the Turks were feasting, the Italians worked.
I would very much like to have the rails laid as soon as possible and to reopen Izmit Train Station, which has been closed for two years.
Just before the 17 August 1999 earthquake disaster, I saw what the rails were getting up in the city.
It's a late afternoon in the cobbled courtyard of Izmit Train Station. It's sunny, but it's a cool autumn day. By Seka, sulfur, seaweed by the sea, and a sharp diesel smell from the rails. Poplar trees slowly pouring leaves.
The young man walks smiling, with four bagels in his hand, a few boxes of regreter, towards the section of the benches. The brand of the leather jacket and the kunduran on his feet “Beykoz Sümerbank ğ He is a Seka worker. My dad.
Together we will go to Adapazari and I will be in the short pants, the straw yellow hair and the blue eyes, I will be in Izmit Train Station for the first time. My father doesn't break my request until the train we're waiting for, he's taking me to the waiting room. There is a spooky silence, a strange twilight, sadness and remorse on the faces of people waiting on wooden sofas.
That day, I have seen in the passenger lounges at the train stations 6 this landscape has not changed. What kind of sadness is this? As if all the unhappy, hopeless, people prefer the train especially for the journey. I didn't realize my childhood in impossibility, but in my first youth, I realized that the people who didn't have the money brought them to their destination. The hearts that poverty cannot learn, always prefer the smell of diesel oil, the lounges of waiting rooms and the eggplant color.
Again on a morning of December. The weather is darker.
I'm in the waiting room at the 05.30 and Izmit Railway Station.
In the year 1984, the hall's face candle holder light bulbs have been newly inserted, the lamps of the flors. I look at people's faces in this light. This is what I saw in my childhood. It's like they've never been out of the wooden couches they sat in for years. I'm six years old in a time tunnel. I'm looking for my dad to hold his hand. No. It's been a few months since 47 passed away from this world. That yellow boy in a short pants started college, he couldn't see.
It's snowing outside. A sharp type. The perons are full of college students. At the stove in the waiting room after a little warm up I go out. The Anatolian Express will come to Haydarpaşa soon. The time is exactly six to ten, and it's a bank. Black wreck. The same train that Nazim Hikmet rode from Moscow station and headed for Leipzig. A beautiful girl who looks like Vera Tutishova is still in the window. The train's warm. We're riding and heading to Istanbul.
Hereke'da day is shining, but we are standing. No place to sit. We do not even have breakfast, smoke on the side of Haydarpaşa after smoking cigarettes we smoke on the sidewalks. The ferry is going away.
I will run from Karaköy to Beyazıt as soon as I finish the fresh tea and crispy pastry at the Vaniköy Ferry, which flows through the Bosphorus. When leaving Mercan Yokuşu, he passed through the high walls of Istanbul University. I'm going through the door of the faculty at 09. As if this is not enough, go up to the sixth floor of the Faculty of Arts. Reach the Department of German Language and Literature. Open the door of the alphabet and the German Hodja Erika Mayer, "Where did you stay" brushed. How will the German wife know, I come from the morning of Izmit Mehmet Alipaşası'nın. Gaziosmanpasa, not the Kasimpasa, Mehmet Alipasa. Not the other end of Istanbul, Izmit.
I always liked Izmit Railway Station. And trains. Izmit, my eyes always appear immortal with Cemal Turgay's lens. Ustad, this photo, ”Call to Izmit kapak to cover his work, I became an interpreter to my senses, immortalized in life.
The train will no longer go through Izmit. We're going to forget the bell bells, the candles hanging on the barriers.
Since 1873, trains have passed through Izmit.
Izmit Mutasarrif Sirri Pasha planted plane along the railway.
Even though we love what the train is getting out of the city, it will not be easy to forget this nostalgia.
I have a feeling. The centenary witnesses of the trains planted, no longer live.
The people of this city have seen good days. Everything's changing. The nostalgic values ​​of Izmit are saying goodbye to the city.
We look back; what's it, what's up with it:
We have the sadness…