The Street That Went Silent

What makes the difference, in my reading, is whether the silence has a reason you understand.

By Neil Solomon · 2 min read

Picture a couple named Ruth and Colin. They found a flat on a leafy street in Kadıköy, in Turkey. On the first visit it was perfect: soft light, a few trees, no horns. They told each other, this is what we came for.

Months later there was a stretch when the street emptied. Shops were shuttered, few people walked by, and the evening sound was a single door closing. Ruth said it felt like a ghost town. Colin said he was not sure whether he loved it or missed something.

I think many people who move abroad meet this moment. We picture calm as a reward. We do not picture that calm and loneliness can be the same hush, felt from two sides.

What makes the difference, in my reading, is whether the silence has a reason you understand. A quiet street on a Sunday morning is rest. A quiet street when you expected life, because of a season, a closure or a stretch of unusual weeks, is a gap. The sound is the same. The meaning is not.

Some people describe an odd thing. They say the calm they wished for in a busy home city turns into a feeling of being on the edge of things. They had wanted to step away from the noise. They had not quite pictured stepping away from people.

It is worth saying that streets change. A neighbourhood that is full of life in one period can be thin in another. If you only saw it once, you saw one version. If you stayed through a long stretch, you saw more. Neither is false.

A small scene.

"It is so still tonight," said Ruth.

"Is that good?" Colin asked.

"I thought so last week."

They sat for a while, listening to nothing, and then Colin put on some music, softly, so the room had a voice.

I would not read a moment like this as a sign that the choice was wrong. It may only be a sign that calm needs company. Many people find they want a place that is still at home and lively within a short walk. That mix is easier to find than people think, and it is worth looking for on purpose.

Another thing I notice is how much of calm is built by the person and not the street. A regular cafe, a baker who knows your order and a friend a few doors down give a quiet street a pulse. Without them the same street can feel hollow. So when the silence starts to weigh, the answer may be a small habit and not a move.