Once again, Ramadan has reared its hungry head in Istanbul, but my perception of the holy month could not be more different. Last year, I describe the excitement of awakening on the first day of the holy month as similar to Christmas (see cheesy old blog post here). This year I completely forgot about it.

However, as the week has passed, there has been more visible evidence of Ramadan in the city than noticeable before, and as the days wear on it is clear that change is afoot in Istanbul.

A few days before the start of Ramadan, articles like this came out in a Turkey’s newspapers. The local municipality patrol in Beyoglu, where I live, forcibly removed outdoor tables from local restaurants while patrons were dining, after a ban on outdoor seating was affected sometime last month. Though many restaurant owners have permission for outdoor seating and a decision was made to allow chairs and tables within two and a half meters of establishments, the municipality took and apparently destroyed furniture from the many streetside cafes and restaurants.

Rumour has it that behind this overhaul is Turkey's Prime Minister Erdogan, the Islamist-leaning leader who was elected in 2002 and was reelected for a third term this June. His authoritarian tendencies have become more apparent in recent years, particularly with last September’s constitutional referendum which reduced the power of the secularist military establishment (who have overthrown elected governments when they felt the need) and his intolerance towards journalists and even civilians who openly oppose the government. It is said that Erdogan drove through Asmalimescit in convoy sometime in July, and unable to pass through due to the number of tables (and people) lining the street, he demanded they be removed, using forthcoming Ramadan as justification.

Ever since, my neighborhood of Cihangir, as well as Galata and Asmalimescit have been ghostly quiet, and the vitality of the city, while always lulled with the commencement of Ramadan, seems to have been annihilated. The streetscape has been transformed. Glum and bored waiters stand on empty sidewalks, watching their patrons as they lean out towards the fresh air. The stray cats have free reign, which only emphasizes their vast numbers. I can now walk freely without having to veer off onto the street to avoid tables that jut out and prevent a clear path.

In protest, many restaurants provide pillows so their customers can sit on the floor when they step outside to smoke. Others have placed their tables threateningly close to the door, projecting over the edge defensively. But it doesn’t help the fact that restaurant owners are losing business as a result, many wholly reliant on their outdoor space and fearful their establishments won’t survive.

As an expatriate, this comes as the first vision of a changing Turkey. Of course, there have been many changes since my arrival, but words of an article skimmed, discussed, and disregarded do not seem to have the same impact. Last week, for example, the country’s top four military officers left their jobs, emphasizing the continual power struggle between military and government. This is big news, as they are the defenders of secularism in Turkey, and are likely to be replaced with AKP supporters. But for me, the impact only began to set in as table-purging in Beyoglu began, visual proof that one man’s power is surely rising and his Islamist views are becoming realized.

It isn’t entirely clear whether things will return to normal once Ramadan ends on the last of the month. Perhaps my desire last year to witness the holy month with more authenticity has come true, and by September I’ll return to my perch on a wire frame chair outside Journey Café with a glass of red wine and a bowl of almonds. For I dread to think I won’t be able to do that again. I dread to think of Istanbul without Asmalimescit and the constant stream of pedestrian traffic squeezing down a narrow path between tables of raki and mezze and surrounded by smiling diners. And strangely, I dread to think I won't be able to walk down my street without being forced into oncoming traffic as tables form edge to edge barriers along the sidewalk,  and while smiling at the familiar patrons and fumbling for my keys, I ignore the Vespa whipping past, dangerously close to my bag of groceries.

If things don’t change and this is the start of a large-scale transformation in Istanbul, I’m not sure how much longer I will stay. Already the energy has been drained, perhaps because of the hungry, grumpy Muslims, who will be happy to return to normalcy once Ramadan ends. But I do not wish to witness the spark of the city go out.