Constantinople, ‘Stamboul, Istanbul. The names of this city have changed over the ages, but her essential character has not. Even the remains of the walls built by the Romans remain partially intact, as well as the cistern aqueducts that supplied water to the city in ancient times. Walk through her neighborhoods, and you can still come across Ottoman writing etched on the mosques and many other buildings.

These days, the visual character of the city is challenged by the rise of skyscrapers, shopping malls and endless new apartment buildings, a construction boom fueled in part by the ever-swelling population – some 14 million and counting.

At the center of these colliding worlds, the old and the new, passes the magnificent Bosphorus. It connects more than just Europe and Asia, this splendid piece of aqua-logic: it connects people, cultures, history and commerce.

Like most Istanbullular, I often lose sight of these things. Days, weeks, months, pass, and you get stuck in the rut of going to work, dealing with the traffic, the costs of living, the grind. So now and again, I make a point of just jumping on a ferry boat, for no particular reason and with no special destination in mind.

On a ferryboat crossing the Bosphorus, you can go up to the open top, or find a seat down along the water level. Either way you’ve got a splendid view. Agarson passes, selling tea and simit bread. You can sip the tea, and toss the simit bread to the sea birds soaring high overhead.

Meanwhile, the ferry boat sets out, the pilot steering past the Haydarpaşa train station, and out to where a long, low sea wall separates the Bosphorus from the Sea of Marmara. Here, you see passing oil tankers, container boats, even war ships, all of them bound for either the Mediterranean or the Black Sea. They are bound for Europe, for North Africa, for China and Russia, and many other ports.

As a passenger, watching all these great ships pass, you never cease to be thrilled by the sense of possibility, endless possibility. Your name may as well be Ismael, young and idealistic, bound for adventure.

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I wanted to convey some of that feeling – the city at its best – to try and also capture the city’s importance in these dangerous, uncertain times. It remains a vital, strategic port city.

Just last week, a Russian warship reportedly passed through the Dardenelles, bound for Syria. You read, of course, about the big war of words between Turkey and Russia following the downing of a Russian jet that allegedly flew through Turkish air space late last month.

Russia and Turkey have strong historic and economic ties. Russia is Turkey’s second-largest trading partner, and the south Turkish coast is a popular destination for Russian tourists. In the wake of the downing of the Russian jet, the Russian government has promised a slew of repercussions, including the possibility of cancelling certain business contracts, the ending of visa-free travel for Turkish citizens, and advising Russians not to visit Turkey. All of these measures could have a deep impact on the Turkish economy.

Russian President Vladimir Putin has accused Turkey of covertly supporting Islamic State in Syria, a charge that Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan heatedly denies – to the point where this past week he vowed to step down if Russia could provide any proof of its allegations …

… I may as well leave off that conflict, for now. One thing I have learned, in five years of living here, is that things can move pretty quickly in this part of the world. By the time you read this story, the situation could very well have changed drastically. That’s one of the reasons I tend to avoid writing too much about politics here, and generally focus on the day-to-day life.

Why did I bother bringing up the Russia-Turkey conflict then? I don’t know. I suppose it’s because when you cross the Bosphorus, you feel a sense of worlds meeting, a majesty, you could say, that naturally induces wide-sweeping thoughts. You find yourself looking out at the churning waves, and feel a sense of history, of the world passing, both good and bad. Those clouds in the distance could very well be the shadows of war, or they could be merely the arrival of winter. You can’t be sure about anything at times. It’s both depressing and strangely exhilarating. Either way, you find yourself looking all around, contemplating history, the grand old-new world, your place in it, however big or small.

But let’s put such thoughts aside for now, and get back to our journey.

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Passing the shipyards, we enter the broad, deeper waters that provide a panoramic view of the city. On the right, we can see the Maiden Tower approaching, and the houses high on the hills of Üsküdar. On the left, we can see the minarets of the Hagia Sophia and Blue Mosque, as well as Topkapi Palace towering in misty, autumnal sunlight. Straight ahead, along the shores of Beşiktas, we can see Dolmabahçe Palace, where my wife works, and further on the Bosphorus Bridge and Ortaköy mosque. And even further, beyond the hills, you can see the towering skyscrapers of Levent and Maslak.

While we are taking in all these sights, tourists, individually and in little groups, take pictures on their cameras and smart phones. The tourists speak English, German, Chinese, and a slew of other languages. They are students, retirees, backpackers, businessmen, even ordinary Turks from the Anatolian countryside visiting the city for a few days.

Eventually, the ferry boat rounds the Golden Horn, and begins the final push toward Karaköy. Here, when you get off, you will set foot in Europe, an experience which never loses its novelty, no matter how many times you have made the crossing. Fifteen minutes ago, you were in Asia, and now, you are in Europe.

As always, you notice the aesthetic differences – there are more tourists on this side, for instance. The city here has a more cosmopolitan flavor, with its steep hills, leading up to Beyöğlu, Istiklal Caddesi and Taksim Square. There are more street musicians, with their sazes and lutes, as well as the chestnut sellers, and the shops with their endless variety of goods. The tram waits to take people over to the “old city.”

And, of course, there are the Syrians, who in recent years have made a deep impression upon the cityscape. You see them everywhere, the women sitting on blankets in the streets, their children either playing nearby or trying to beg or hustle the tourists for money. They compete with the poor Gypsy and Kurdish children, who have owned these streets for decades.

The sight of the Syrians sends you off on another chain of thought: the civil war just south of the border that has been raging for years now, with no end in sight. Looking at the Syrian children, you realize that most likely they will end up growing up here, and will never see their homeland again. Their voices will add a new rhythm to the city’s already cacophonic blend of sounds, just as you did when you came five years ago.

And it hits you again, as it has before – more so in recent months – the thought that you are witnessing history. A troubling, troubled history, like a painful, prolonged birth. But that is one of the things about crossing the Bosphorus. From the time when the Emperor Constantine christened the city, to when Fatih the Conqueror’s Turks stormed the walls, to the times when occupying Allied warships awaited a truce in Luasanne, this city has always been a witness to history, a window to a changing world.

With the daily grind, it’s easy to forget: Every day, you are witnessing history, the world beginning anew. That’s why it’s important, every now and again, to remember to take a ferry boat trip on the Bosphorus.

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James Tressler is a former Lost Coast resident and journalist. He is now a writer living in Istanbul.