Human & Travel Stories
Atanasia Yeorgiadu:
The Mermaid Who Once Sang on the Bosphorus
Written for Epikaira // Sep 2026.
In the Şişli district where I live, there is a lush green space that seems to give us room to breathe. It is home to the Şişli Greek Orthodox Cemetery. Every morning, just to the right of its entrance, florists arrive with baskets overflowing with flowers, arranging them carefully to sell throughout the day to those who come to visit the graves. As I look at those flowers in every color and walk through the gates, I take pleasure in leaving the outside world—and all its noise—behind. I like to wander among the graves, visit the enormous trees whose trunks have resisted the passing of time, and stop by the church at the heart of the cemetery. Every corner of this place whispers something about the history of the neighborhood I live in.
One day, as I was walking around the cemetery once again, I saw her face behind a cluster of daisies peeking out from between the gravestones. She looked full of life, with a delicate smile resting on her lips. Her hair reminded me of my own: short, with bangs. When I read the inscription on the gravestone and discovered that it belonged to Atanasia Yeorgiadu (Athanasia Georgiadou), the woman I had known as “Denizkızı Eftalya” and whose songs I had always loved, I felt a sudden sadness.
Today, I want to tell you about Atanasia, whose crystal-clear voice I would never want to see disappear into the pages of history.
The Voice That Scattered the Gloom
The year is 1887. Atanasia is born into the modest home of a Greek Rum family in Istanbul. These are the final years of Sultan Abdülhamid II’s reign. Her family lives in Büyükdere (Βαθύκολπος), in Istanbul’s Sarıyer district. At the time, the neighborhood has a predominantly Rum population.
Her father, Yorgaki Efendi, is a gendarmerie officer. In his spare time, he entertains guests at home with music, playing the saz and singing. From an early age, Atanasia begins to listen to these melodies, memorising them one by one. By the time she is a young woman, her voice can already be heard at gatherings of friends, for her father has long since discovered her talent and wants her to sing alongside him. Atanasia needs no persuasion. Her soul flows with music, just like her father’s.
These are the years when the Empire is gradually losing its strength, while the people of Istanbul are living through social and economic turbulence. Perhaps in an attempt to disperse some of this gloom, father and daughter begin appearing together at gatherings, and in the years that follow, at moonlit nights on the Bosphorus.
During the years of the Allied occupation of Istanbul, between 1918 and 1923, colorful new ‘gazinos’ (casino clubs for music & dinners) begin opening across the city, almost in defiance of the atmosphere of despair. But performing at these venues is not a privilege granted to everyone. Alongside an artist’s voice and musical knowledge, fame matters too.
It is around this time that Atanasia, who has not yet appeared on stage, begins to make a name for herself at moonlit evenings held out on the Bosphorus. Her voice becomes one with the sea, lodging itself in the memories of those who hear it. The waves, too, seem to accompany her with great generosity.
And so she begins to be known as Denizkızı Eftalya — Eftalya the Mermaid.
On those moonlit nights, people could not see her in the darkness; they could only hear that magnificent voice. “A voice like this could only belong to a mermaid,” they would say, giving her the name that would remain with her for the rest of her life. She herself feels no estrangement from it. After all, she has been accustomed since childhood to hearing her voice echo along the shores.
In the first years after the establishment of the Republic, she is already a celebrated name. She has earned the title of assolist, the star singer of the evening. She begins performing at one of the period’s famous entertainment venues, the gazino of the Belvü Hotel, whose name comes from the French words belle vue, meaning “beautiful view”. She sings with confidence. Anyone who hears her voice wants to hear it again.
In 1928, she travels to Paris, where she signs a contract with a renowned French record label. She also gives concerts there and begins using Denizkızı Eftalya as her stage name. It is in Paris, too, that she meets Kemani Sadi Işılay, who would later become her husband and remain by her side until her death.
From the Bosphorus to the Great Stages
When they return to Istanbul, there is hardly anyone who has not heard of Denizkızı Eftalya. Alongside another celebrated voice of the era, Safiye Ayla, she becomes one of the artists whose names crowds look for on the posters and announcements of the gazinos, eager to hear them live.
Of the songs recorded on her records, “Kadıköylü” (from Kadıköy) becomes the one most often sung and remembered. Some people even come to believe that she herself is from Kadıköy because of the song.
She and Sadi Işılay begin appearing on stage together. They perform at the Bomonti Beer Garden, one of the era’s well-known beer gardens, in Galata’s famous baloz venues, and in the gazinos of Kadıköy, Kalamış, Harbiye and Beyoğlu.
The periodical Nota Musiki Mecmuası, a well-known magazine about music wrote of her in 1933:
“Madam Eftalya possesses an exceptional honor. How did she earn it? She was born and raised within music and, to this day, has lived by breathing nothing but the air of music, adding a powerful voice and a strong musical education to her gift. This is the greatest secret of her success. Madam Eftalya is an unrivalled stage singer. With her voice, technique and heartfelt delivery, she is worthy of this honor. We salute our esteemed artist.” (1933)
The Last Night on the Bosphorus
By the time Denizkızı Eftalya has become so famous, a special mehtabiye — a moonlight excursion — is organised for her to perform in 1936. Guests will be on the Şirket-i Hayriye ferry out onto the water beneath the moon and listen to the music of the city through her voice. Tickets sell out days in advance. The event is also intended as a strategic attempt to revive the city’s ferry lines.
That night, Denizkızı Eftalya sings for hours on the Bosphorus, accompanied by an instrumental ensemble. But she catches a chill and falls ill. Sadly, she never fully recovers. A succession of illnesses over the following years gradually weakens her, and in 1939, she dies of heart failure.
Following her funeral at the Agia Triada Church in Beyoğlu, her body is laid to rest in the Şişli Greek Orthodox Cemetery.
What remains of her today are her memoirs, interviews, black-and-white photographs and, of course, that beautiful voice, forever intertwined with the sound of the sea.
In 1998, a well-known record company brings together songs from her old shellac records and releases them once more. Thanks to this, we are still able to listen today to many songs performed in her voice.
The Traces of Denizkızı Eftalya in the Streets of Istanbul
A few weeks after finding her gravestone, I happen to learn that Eftalya’s traces have not entirely disappeared from the city. They lead me to Talimhane, near Taksim, and to Lamartin Street, an area known for its hotels. The street takes its name from the French poet Alphonse de Lamartine, who visited the city in the 19th century and called it “the capital of the world”. Perhaps wishing to crown the poet’s compliment with a street of his own, they named it Lamartin Street.
A little further along, I notice a hotel with musical notes, a violin and a treble clef decorating its entrance. This building was once an apartment block called Billur, demolished in the 2000s. It was built in 1933 by Ahmet Hikmet Koyunoğlu. The person who commissioned the building was Denizkızı Eftalya herself. That is why the gate bears musical motifs, and why the building was named Billur — meaning “crystal”, a fitting reference to the clarity of her voice.
Directly opposite stood another apartment building, called Ses (“Sound”), which no longer exists either. Its entrance was decorated with the motif of a lyre, thought to be a reference to Kemani Sadi Bey, the husband of her.
Sadly, neither building survives today. Fortunately, the music-themed wrought-iron gate has been preserved. At the entrance of the hotel, it continues to tell us something about Eftalya.
The Mermaid Who Remained in Memory
The story of Denizkızı Eftalya is one of the hundreds of stories that Istanbul hides.
Stories of people who were once famous, were loved, were applauded and lived intensely within the city — and who then disappeared, almost silently, into the passage of time.
Some are forgotten forever.
Some, however, return.
Eftalya’s story returned through a grave, an old photograph, a wrought-iron gate and a few old recordings.
In 1998, a well-known record company brought together songs from her old gramophone records and released them again. Thanks to that reissue, her voice can still travel from speakers and reach us even today.
Athanasia Georgiadou died in 1939. Eftalya, however, never completely left.
Every time I see a moonlit night over the Bosphorus, I think of “Gel Ey Denizin Nazlı Kızı” — “Come, Sweet Daughter of the Sea,” the song by Aleko Bacanos that became one with her voice.
Under the silver light of the moon, the song seems to return from afar. As if it were still coming from the waters of the Bosphorus. As if the mermaid were still singing. And then I think that perhaps this is the fate of certain people who were truly loved by a city: they themselves leave, but something of their voice remains behind.
A song.
A memory.
An old wrought-iron gate.
And a story that refuses to end.