Beim Kıtalar Arası Derbi, dem wohl größten Derby der türkischen Süper Lig, trafen am Wochenende die Istanbuler Klubs Fenerbahçe und. Wie gibt's denn das? Beim Geister-Derby in Istanbul zwischen Fenerbahce und Galatasaray schaffte es (ein paar Journalisten ausgenommen). Alles zum Ort "Istanbul-Derby".
Massenschlägerei beim Istanbul-Derby: Die Eskalation am BosporusSpieltag der Süper-Lig-Saison steht ganz im Zeichen des Istanbul-Derbys zwischen Fenerbahçe und Beşiktaş am Sonntagabend. Galatasaray. Karte von Istanbul mit den ehemaligen und gegenwärtigen Heimspielstätten von Fenerbahçe und Galatasaray. Fenerbahçe: Şükrü Saracoğlu Stadı (seit ). Als Interkontinentales Derby werden die Begegnungen im Fußball zwischen den beiden erfolgreichsten und populärsten Sportvereinen der Türkei, Fenerbahçe und Galatasaray, bezeichnet.
Istanbul Derby Flight time from Derby to Istanbul via Amsterdam • EMA to IST via AMS VideoPyro, Passion \u0026 Problems - Galatasaray v Fenerbahçe - Derby Days
However this number may not always be met and it may even be possible that your party are on the tour on your own. Higher numbers make for a more sociable experience, lower numbers make for more personalised attention from your host.
Can you cater to dietary needs and restrictions? Our locals hosts will do everything they can to cater to travellers needs. Its a good idea to share your requirements at the time of booking so that our host is able to make the required preparations.
Yes, the local hosts allows under 18's on this tour, but they should always be accompanied and supervised by an adult.
Where do I meet the tour group? Transfers are not included in this package so you will need to make your own way to the 4 star central Istanbul hotel we book for you.
Will I have to share a room? In order to keep the costs low we always offer prices based on 2 sharing. If you make a booking for an odd number of people you or another member of your party may be paired with another traveller of the same sex.
If you wish you may pay a supplement for a guaranteed single room. Simply make your booking as normal and get in touch with us to arrange this.
This was amazing! Thanks to Homefans I went to a lifelong dream of mine: the Intercontinental derby Galatasaray against Fenerbahce! I had a blast the whole weekend and Homefans arranged everything for us.
Our tour guide was the best ever, he made the experience even better. Thanks a lot guys! Write a review. Organized by. Where you can treat yourself to some tasty local food and enjoy one last moment of calm before your crazy matchday experience begins.
You'll meet up with Besiktas supporters groups to learn their chant and get immersed in their local fan culture before heading to the stadium together.
Where you'll see one of the loudest and most insane football atmospheres on Earth! After the game, your host will be happy to give you the best nightlife tips.
Or help you get back to the hotel and recover after a truly crazy day! Istanbul is a city of many stadiums and clubs If there's another good football game in town, our host will be happy to give you more insight and take you there.
Unfortunately, even the finest and craziest adventures must come to an end. But the new friends and fantastic memories you've made will last for a lifetime.
It's time to pack your bags, check-out, and say goodbye to the majestic city of Istanbul. But don't forget to stay in touch with your fellow travelers - you might meet them on another Homefans trip sooner than you think!
Enter the e-mail address associated with the account. We'll e-mail a link to reset your password. Istanbul, Turkey. Created with Sketch. Overview Considered one of the capitals of football, Istanbul is home of three giants in Turkey: Besiktas, Fenerbahce and Galatasaray.
Are you ready? Itinerary Expand All. Day 1 - Welcome to Istanbul. Day 2 - Gastro city tour and Match day. Day 3 - Stadium tours and Free time.
Day 4 - Time to say Goodbye. Finished with mozzarella cheese. Thin turkish pizza covered with seasoned minced lamb and onions, fresh tomatoes, parsley and red peppers.
Homemade oven baked layered aubergine, potatoes and peppers, mushrooms and courgette. With creamy bechamel sauce, and a layer of cheese. Finished with seasoned tomato sauce.
Sliced onion, peppers, aubergine, courgette, mushrooms and tomato, cooked on the charcoal grill. Served with hummus and finished with a seasoned tomato sauce.
Cooked vegetables Onion, peppers, aubergine, mushrooms, tomato, courgette wrapped in a tortila. Sliced and topped with turkish yoghurt and seasoned tomato sauce.
Served with humus. Main course, button mushrooms, cooked in a creamy garlic sauce with peppers. Shawarma Succulent shredded lamb, seasoned in house and cooked to order.
Shawarma Succulent shredded chicken, seasoned in house and cooked to order. Cooked on the charcoal grill. Char-grilled specially prepared minced chicken, served with rice or chips and salad.
The Twitter ban crumbled online before it ever died in the Turkish courts. The YouTube ban — also struck down in court shortly after the Twitter band ended — was circumvented by many with VPN and other online widgets cloaking the location of the user.
Most used it for extremely apolitical purposes, like watching the video of a cat dressed up like Bane. Actual quote on the matter: "I couldn't watch Bane Cat.
What kind of bullshit is that? The cats and dogs of Istanbul are its best rebels. Cats wander freely through the fences of military installations, eating and shitting and pissing where they like in between long suspicious stares at passersby.
Just behind the military museum behind the big scary military apartment building you definitely should not take a picture of, a ring of statues rolls clockwise through Turkish history.
There is a statue of Attila the Hun, and Timur the Lame, and then Ataturk, huge and bronze and gesturing in the general direction of a blood-red Turkish flag.
A dog sprinted across the park, circling and setting down in the grass to gnaw a bone he'd found somewhere.
Two other dogs followed in tow, waiting with all the intensity of a thousand suns for the hound to drop it.
He ignored the soldiers and the signs and the other dogs and everyone else, gnawing on a meal at the feet of the father of the nation.
Turkish beer is awful. It is brewed with sugar, and at best tastes like the ghost of some horrid and defunct Midwestern piss-punch, but Turks drink it.
They drink Raki, and horrible Efes beer, and overpay for Tuborg because hell, it's not Efes, and like everyone else shell out for American whiskey for the right and wrong reasons.
Wrong: it's expensive and fashionable, and right: it's good, and will get you moonshot drunk in a very short span of time.
Turks drink shots, too, doled out on barrels outside shot bars in cluster bomb fashion. You can have a walking beer on Saturday nights as long as you're not causing a problem.
Based on the level of ruckus in Istanbul on a Saturday night, "problem" would be somewhere north of openly attacking strangers, and south of "one person riot.
And there is a cutoff for booze sales, and there are the periodic attempts to limit where people can drink, but to be in the midst of a city that is avowedly Muslim and stumble into a hornet's nest of shot bars full of Iranians who flew in just to get trashed clear and legal, locals pregaming two days early for a soccer game, and tipsy expats asking all the wrong people for hash There is the knowing you get from reading, and being told, and then there's seeing a Galatasaray fan leveling what's left of a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black before entering the stadium.
Ataturk deposed a king and built a nation, and he died of cirrhosis at the age of A lot of Turks have taken this not as warning, but as an indication of productivity through medication.
A group of Galatasaray fans walking down Istiklal, maybe seven or eight guys you'd call bros or possibly dudes, meander toward the Metro stop in Taksim Square.
One carries an open bottle of Jack Daniels. They share it, passing it back and forth with grimaces in between verses of a chant.
The subway runs right to the new stadium, an improvement on the old method of delivering Galatasaray fans to the stadium.
Fans used to ride en masse in buses, and shoot flares and firecrackers out of the windows as they went. The call to prayer begins to wind its way down from a minaret somewhere.
They take the moment to top off their Cokes with the remainder of the Jack before getting on the subway. He is missing the index finger from the first knuckle on his right hand.
His pockets are stuffed with firecrackers — not babyish state-legal firecrackers you find in the grocery store parking lot, but the monstrous illegal chinese pipe-crackers that could take a hand off.
Or a finger. They might be able to take a finger, or specific, raki-holding fingers off, too. The age range of those participating is astonishing: old men are chanting along, and smashing their fists into the roof of the train to keep the beat along with guys in their twenties pounding on the windows.
The men who would be taciturn boosters or yelling down in front! He giggles and tosses one out into the cavernous space of a metro station.
Everyone on the train starts to giggle, and their voices rise in a single escalating pitch:. The explosion is loud, loud enough to be a real bomb, or at least a real something going off, because while Turkey is not Israel or Iraq, it is closer to the part of the world where things randomly explode, or at the very least froth over into protests involving helmeted death police and clouds of tear gas more often than they do in the United States.
No one else seems bothered, not even the random police standing on metro stations. They do not flinch. More singing, more chanting, and then a rush of bodies--this is a clearing out, a very defined mass rush away from something.
Over a wall of shoulders draped in red and yellow, there is a man's face beaming with what can only be described as idiot excitement. It is the face of a dad as he guns a new car down a hill with the kids in the back at easily thirty miles over the speed limit.
It is the face of a budding pyromaniac, or the smile on a bar patron's face when the first pint glass has been thrown across the bar, and every piece of unbolted material will rain sideways through the air in the flash-fire of a fight.
It is the look of a child who figured out that the sockets are filled with electricity, and is trying to talk their sibling into making the same discovery with their finger.
This man is pointing down toward a gentle hissing from the floor. He is giggling, and puts his fingers in his ears.
Voices rise. The firecracker explodes, and splits the air in the car and floods the space with white smoke. Ears ring. To the left there is a kid, maybe twelve or so, smiling the same idiot's smile and laughing hysterically as tiny, sound- hairs lay down dead in his ears forever.
He looks ecstatic. The subway disgorges Galatasaray fans directly into a long tunnel — let's call it a chute, like the ones in large cattle slaughterhouses — that after a blind turn to the left puts you on a beeline for Türk Telekom Arena.
There is the stadium in front of you, shaped like a Swedish coffee table like every other modern football stadium in Europe, and a long corral of fences on every other side.
The tops are angled in to prevent someone scaling the fence and throwing rocks at the opposing team's buses. While they wait, they buy corn and kebab off a vendor, munching, pacing shadows on the ridgeline testing out various rocks for weight and talking to other fans as they pass.
Someone has climbed into a half-finished apartment building adjacent to the subway chute, and is dropping red flares on improvised parachutes down.
They hang burning in the air, and float down to the road below on a lazy trajectory. Occasionally someone will spark up a flare on the ground, a chorus of cheers going up with each one.
The police massed over in the corner pay slightly more attention when this happens, nervously spitting sunflower seeds to the ground and fidgeting with their tear gas cannons and riot shields.
One cop buys a pack of sunflower seeds off a kid and looks at him and tells him "Don't let me see you again. There is something deeply odd and tense about a group of soccer fans amassed with no other to rage against.
On the other, Galatasaray fans stabbed two Leeds United supporters to death in during the UEFA semifinals, had a match abandoned due to rioting as recently as last year, and staged a series of running skirmishes with the Spanish police after a match with Real Madrid in , and stormed the studios of a Turkish TV station whose commentators predicted an early exit for the club.
Then remember that not even Turkish soccer fans or any other angry mob would travel to Bristol, Connecticut for love or money. That other — the thing to stab, beat, scream at, throw flares at, and exist to antagonize — is only here in the form of the team, its coaches, and that bus, the bus speeding at a robust clip from left to right and tracking across the ridge line, the bus currently clacking and clicking with the sound of carefully chosen rocks thrown by Galatasaray fans.
The team bus is obvious: a blue and yellow luxury coach outlined against the gray sky.