Rising above İzmir’s Konak Square, the İzmir Clock Tower (Turkish: İzmir Saat Kulesi) is a graceful marble octagon 25 metres tall, designed by Raymond Charles Péré in 1901 for the silver jubilee of Sultan Abdülhamid II. Its tiers of pointed arches and arabesque detailing blend Ottoman tradition with Moorish flair, and four small domed fountains ring its base in the classic şadırvan style. This article will trace the Clock Tower’s story – from its imperial origins and rich symbolism, through the mechanics of its German-made clock, to its survival of wars and earthquakes – and finish with practical tips for today’s visitor. Along the way we will highlight architectural details and local anecdotes that set this guide apart.
In the late Ottoman Empire, public clock towers embodied the era’s aims of modernization and unity. As historian Bengü Uluengin notes, “the last century of the Ottoman Empire saw an intense move to build clock towers in Anatolia” – symbols used by the central government to advertise imperial sovereignty and introduce standardized, secular time across the provinces. These towers helped replace old town criers and prayer-time calls with a single civic time. Sultan Abdülhamid II (r. 1876–1909) championed such projects in every major city, and İzmir (then Smyrna) was a natural choice. By 1900 this Aegean port was Ottoman Turkey’s third-largest city, a cosmopolitan hub where Greeks, Armenians, Jews and Turks lived side by side. The pro-Western mercantile elite of Smyrna welcomed new symbols of progress, and the governor saw a clock tower as a fitting emblem of İzmir’s prosperity.
In summer 1900, Kıbrıslı Kâmil Pasha, the Ottoman governor of İzmir (originally from Cyprus), convened local notables to propose a grand monument. That meeting on 1 August 1900 settled the plan: İzmir would build a clock tower for Abdülhamid II’s silver jubilee. Kâmil Pasha, an experienced statesman who later became Grand Vizier, had a reputation for pragmatic modernization; under his watch the city budget (supplemented by citizen donations) funded the new tower. This was very much an imperial project: officials throughout the empire were erecting similar towers. In Izmir’s case, the governor’s initiative tapped into local pride in a way that other monuments could not – an 18th-century fountain or mosque might not speak to a rapidly changing age, but a clock tower did.
By the turn of the 20th century, clock towers were sprouting in Damascus, Tripoli, Beirut, and dozens of Anatolian towns. They served a secular purpose: ensuring a single, reliable time for markets, trains and schools. As one architectural study emphasizes, they represented the empire’s “advertis[ing of] its sovereignty in the provinces” and even a deliberate move to secularize local life by standardizing timekeeping. Many Muslims in that era had been accustomed to prayer hours announced by the minaret muezzin or sundials; the clock tower imposed a European-style civic discipline. The Izmir Clock Tower thus placed Smyrna on equal footing with European capitals, in both form and function. (Notably, the Ottomans often compared clock towers to church steeples – the new towers were seen as Muslim cities’ counterpart to Christian bell towers.) This theme of modernization is literally carved in stone at İzmir: the tower’s architecture combines pointed Ottoman arches with a North African/Moorish flair, a visual echo of the multiple cultural currents at play.
Raymond Charles Péré’s entry into this project came via the chief administrator Kıbrıslı Kâmil (Mehmed) Pasha. Known as “the Cypriot” (Kıbrıslı) Pasha for his family’s origins, he was born around 1833 and had worked in various ministries before being posted to İzmir. As governor, Kâmil Pasha embraced Westernizing reforms in education and infrastructure. It fell to him to champion the Clock Tower: he rallied the city’s European merchants and Ottoman elites to approve and fund the construction. His leadership ensured the project moved swiftly. Under his patronage, Péré was hired to design the landmark. (Kâmil Pasha later became Grand Vizier and had friendships with European diplomats, reflecting his continental outlook.) In short, the İzmir Clock Tower owes its existence to a determined governor who saw it as İzmir’s face to the modern world.
From top to base, İzmir’s Clock Tower rewards close inspection. Its four-storied octagon is built on an iron-and-lead skeleton, an advanced technique for 1900 that provided resilience. The exterior is clad in fine-cut marble blocks (some varieties – notably a “cherry” pink and green marble – were imported from Marseille) and local stone. The first floor has a simple octagonal plinth; the second and third feature pointed arch openings and carved geometric panels. Each face of the third level holds a circular clock dial (75 cm across) set in an ornate frame. Above, a domed crown with sixteen slim columns supports a cast-bronze bell – one of the tower’s key features. In all, the form reflects a deliberate eclecticism: Ottoman elements (minaret-like arches, Muqarnas capitals) meet Moorish motifs (the horseshoe arches and arabesque column capitals), and the designer’s own touch of fin-de-siècle Art Nouveau in the swirling floral reliefs on the balustrades. The result is a visually rich fusion that no other single style could capture.
Raymond Charles Péré (1854–1929) was born in İzmir to a Levantine family of French heritage. Educated abroad, he belonged to a generation of European architects active in the Eastern Mediterranean. His biography is obscure today, but contemporary accounts note that he practiced mainly in the Levant. The Clock Tower in Konak Square is Péré’s best-known work, indicating he had a skill for melding local and foreign tastes. Beyond İzmir, records of his other projects are scant – possibly some private villas or civic buildings of that era – but none achieved this monument’s renown. In hiring Péré, Kâmil Pasha followed a trend: many Ottoman cities used Western-trained architects. Péré’s legacy thus lives on in the tower’s eclectic design, which marries a Western architectural vocabulary (symmetry, stone carving) to Ottoman and Moorish decoration.
Beneath its decorative shell, the tower’s structure was built for durability. Inspection reveals an internal iron-and-lead frame – an engineering choice meant to handle the region’s seismic activity. The foundation and walls use cut limestone and marble blocks from local quarries; the marble’s smooth polish gives the tower its gleaming façade. The second level columns and cornices are intricately carved, highlighting the craftsmen’s skill. Notably, all four exterior faces bear carved emblems: originally each side displayed Sultan Abdülhamid II’s imperial tughra (calligraphic signature). After 1923 these were chiseled off and replaced by the republic’s star-and-crescent motif. This concrete transformation physically marked the shift from empire to republic.
The four fountains at the base deserve special mention. Architecturally, each fountain is a şadırvan: an octagonal kiosk with a dome, channeling water into a central basin (see photo above). These publicly accessible fountains were not mere decoration. In Ottoman city design, providing free water for drink and ritual ablution was considered a charitable duty. Indeed, in Islamic urbanism a sebîl (public fountain) was a symbol of piety and community care. The İzmir Clock Tower’s fountains thus served a real social function: travelers and locals could quench their thirst there. (Inscriptions on some Ottoman fountains explicitly cite them as endowments.) Today the fountains are usually dry, but they remain an integral part of the tower’s layout and beauty.
Function aside, the fountains are laden with symbolism. Their placement – one at each corner of the tower’s square base – creates a ring of water around the monument. This octagonal fountain-plan is reminiscent of designs at many mosques and markets. The use of the dome-capped kiosk signals the heritage of Ottoman mosque architecture (where ablution fountains appear in courtyards). By day, one can still see locals feeding the birds and children playing at these low basins. In effect, the Clock Tower stands not just for timekeeping, but for communal life: each fountain was once a spot where people gathered. On a deeper level, scholars point out that distributing water for free epitomized the Ottoman ethos of civic welfare. In that sense, the tower’s very base links it to Islamic charitable tradition as much as to imperial pageantry.
High above the fountains, the Clock Tower’s eponymous mechanism quietly marks each passing hour – a piece of history in motion. The upper chamber houses a weight-driven turret clock of 19th-century German manufacture, reputedly a gift from Emperor Wilhelm II of Germany. (The Ottoman Empire and Kaiser’s realm were allies at the time, and such gifts were diplomatic gestures.) According to local sources, this clock “has never broken in more than 100 years” – a testament to its quality and care. Indeed, municipal guides note the mechanism is accessed by winding a crank: the caretaker must rewind it every six days to keep it running on time. This weekly ritual continues even now, performed by city employees much as they would in 1901.
The clock faces themselves are classic white dials with black numerals and hands, one on each side of the tower’s third story. Underneath them sits the bell chamber: a single brass bell hangs on the fourth floor. (There is only one bell, sized to chime the hour after the clock strikes.) The bell’s weight is borne on a circlet of twelve stone columns, an elegant detail noted in architectural descriptions. When it tolls, its deep note can still be heard across Konak Square and even far into the Kemeraltı market alleys. There are no ancient inscriptions on the bell itself (as one might find in a church); its voice serves a purely civic, rather than religious, purpose.
Local lore adds color here. Municipal historians still mention that Kaiser Wilhelm’s envoy personally installed the clock. Visitors often ask whether the clock is “original” – the answer is yes, aside from routine maintenance and one major repair. (In fact, during the failed coup attempt of 2016 the entire clockwork was briefly stolen by rioters, but it was recovered and reinstalled as part of a 2019 restoration.) Between windings, the mechanism ticks silently, unseen, yet faithfully syncing İzmir to its own rhythm.
The Clock Tower has quietly watched over İzmir through triumphs and calamities of the past 120 years. It was completed just in time for the First World War; the Ottoman state that built it would fall soon after. Remarkably, the tower survived the Great Fire of Smyrna in September 1922, which consumed much of the city center. When Turkish troops entered İzmir on 9 September 1922, the national flag was raised atop the intact tower as a rallying symbol. This dramatic moment cemented the tower’s place in the collective memory of the city’s liberation.
With the republic’s founding in 1923 came symbolic changes to the tower itself. The old imperial monograms (the sultan’s tughra and coat-of-arms) carved above each clock face were chiseled away; in their place İzmir’s masons etched the new emblem of the state, the star-and-crescent (the Turkish flag). Thus the stone surface became a visual timeline: Ottoman tribute above, and Republican symbol now. Inside, however, the tower continued to tick. Through the interwar years, the Clock Tower stood quietly as Atatürk ushered Turkey into a new era of secular modernization.
Natural disasters were perhaps the tower’s greatest foes. In 1928, a magnitude 6.4 earthquake shook the region – it “destroyed” the tower’s top, according to chronicles. The cupola collapsed under the tremors. Again in 1974 a magnitude 5.2 quake toppled what remained of the spire. Each time the authorities rebuilt the damaged upper section and replaced the bell chamber. Architects who restored it in the 1970s even strengthened the hidden iron frame against future quakes. By one account, the tower’s “resilient” structure allowed it to endure two violent shocks. The most recent renovation came in 2019, when İzmir’s municipality commissioned a full facelift of the tower – cleaning the stone, re-gilding the crescent and repainting the clock hands – ensuring that the old water-clock of Abdülhamid II’s day would still shine for the next century.
Politically, the tower has remained a silent but constant presence. It has seen parades under its face on Republic Day, public gatherings during elections, and summer fairs in Konak Square. In turbulent times it sometimes becomes a focal point. For example, during İzmir’s 2016 coup protests, demonstrators climbed it and even attempted to pull it down; at one point they ripped the clock out, attempting to stop the city’s time. That the tower stood through it all – fires, wars, quakes, and riots – has only deepened its mythic status.
For travelers today, Saat Kulesi is not only a historical site but a convenient meeting point and photo stop in İzmir’s lively center. No admission fee is required – the clock tower sits in a public square and is free to visit. The plaza around it is always open to the public (it is in effect 24/7, though the immediate area becomes quiet late at night). The tower itself is fenced off at its base now, so visitors cannot climb inside. What you can do is take in its architecture and atmosphere at street level. Do plan to spend a little time resting on one of the benches, under the towers’ shadow, to absorb the details. Nearly every tour of İzmir will pause here – a quick snapshot or two is inevitable.
Getting There: Konak Square is İzmir’s transit hub. The easiest way is to ride the red Metro (line M1) to Konak Station, which is just a 3–5 minute walk from the square. Alternatively, the Konak stop on the heritage tram line rings the square itself. Public buses from anywhere in the city center also list “Konak” as a stop; dozens of routes end at this square. Even the local ferry (boat) system has a pier at Konak, so boats from Karşıyaka or Karataş disembark within a block of the tower. In short: every tourist map shows Konak Square. Once you arrive, the Hükümet Konağı (Governor’s Mansion) and its yard will be at your back, and the waterfront (Atatürk Monument) at your front.
By car, parking is more difficult: the square has very limited street parking and nearby lots (often paid). Locals generally advise using public transit if possible. If you drive, aim for the Karataş or Şehitler parking garages about 10 minutes away on foot, or ask your hotel for advice. İzmir’s rental bicycles (Bisim) have stands near Konak, so that’s another fun option for a city-lover.
Best Time to Visit: The Clock Tower casts the prettiest light in the golden hours of early morning or late afternoon. Early in the day you’ll have it to yourself aside from local workers – great for detail shots of the fountains and reliefs. By sunset, the tower’s silhouette looks stunning against an orange sky. (In fact, many İzmir residents consider an “obligatory” photo of themselves with the tower as a rite of passage.) Summer afternoons can be very hot under İzmir’s Aegean sun, so if visiting July–August keep that in mind. The square also becomes livelier on weekends and evenings, when children play near the fountains and performers sometimes gather. At night, the tower is colorfully floodlit, making for a very different but equally beautiful scene. One tip for photographers: climb the low walls around the fountains for a slightly elevated view, or step back toward the Kemeraltı streets for a classic three-sided perspective.
Photography Tips: Start with the classic shot: front-on at eye level. Including one or two of the domed fountains in the foreground is pleasing. For drama, try side angles that show the tower’s depth and row of arches. As noted, sunset is magic – the orange glow often falls just behind it over the bay. At night, the artificial lights (often changing colors) illuminate the white marble; a tripod will help capture crisp shots of the tower and the walking crowds below. Don’t forget the little details: get a close-up of the carved tughra (if visible), or the delicate metalwork of the clock hands. And do take a selfie with the tower. The surrounding flock of pigeons can actually help: many locals buy seed from vendors and hand-feed the birds, so a few white pigeons frequently perch around the base. That communal feeding scene – children laughing, birds fluttering – is an Izmir tableau in itself.
Accessibility: Konak Square is flat and paved, so it’s easily accessible to wheelchairs and strollers. The tower is not wheelchair-accessible in the sense that you cannot enter the base; there are a few low steps around it. However, you can view the clock and fountains from any angle at ground level. There are no dedicated restrooms at the monument. The area is quite safe and well-lit after dark (Konak is a busy square with many shops and cafes), but always use normal city-smarts on late-night outings.
Saat Kulesi is truly the anchor of Konak Square (Konak Meydanı), but the area around it is rich enough for at least a half-day of exploring. Take a moment to look around before leaving the square. Just behind the tower stands the elegant İzmir Governorship Building (Hükümet Konağı), whose ornate Ottoman-era façade (with a clock of its own) overlooks the water. A few steps to the south sits the Yalı Mosque (Konak Camii) – a petite, octagonal 18th-century mosque covered in turquoise İznik tiles. The contrast of this tiny mosque against the grand Government House and the Clock Tower is striking; locals often include it in photos for its picturesque color.
To the west of the Clock Tower lies the Konak Pier, a Victorian-era dock turned shopping complex. Designed by Gustave Eiffel’s company and built in 1890, the pier was recently restored and now hosts boutiques and cafés under its yellow-red canopy. It’s worth strolling inside (air-conditioned – a bonus on hot days) to see an old-time harbor atmosphere. The views along the adjacent Kordon (seaside promenade) are also lovely.
Just behind the pier entrance is Kemeraltı Bazaar, İzmir’s historic market. The Clock Tower is often described as the traditional portal to Kemeraltı: cross the street to find yourself amid a maze of narrow lanes filled with shops selling everything from spices and textiles to antiques and street food. Browsing Kemeraltı’s bustling shops is an experience in itself, and you will frequently pass by the tower’s view as you return.
Other nearby sights: north of the tower is Şadırvan Çeşmesi, an older public fountain predating the tower. Eastward (closer to the tram stop) is the Atatürk Museum (in a late-Ottoman mansion) and the modern Atatürk Monument by the water. All these spots can be reached within 5–10 minutes’ walk from the tower. In short: Konak Square is the heart of old İzmir, and Saat Kulesi marks that heart.
Over time, İzmir’s Clock Tower has transcended architecture to become a cultural icon – the de facto emblem of the city. Its image is ubiquitous in local branding and memorabilia: postcards, posters, fridge magnets and even phone wallpapers abound. For many Turks, the silhouette of Saat Kulesi instantly signifies İzmir, much as the Eiffel Tower does Paris. This is not hyperbole: the tower has appeared on currency and stamps. (In fact, the 1927 Ottoman 20 million-lira banknote bore its likeness, and it still appears on the modern 50-lira note issued since 2009.)
Artists and writers have long been drawn to the tower as a subject. Turkish painters have depicted it with Impressionist sunrises or glowing sunsets, capturing its romantic charm. It frequently appears in Turkish films and TV series set in İzmir; its face is an unmistakable backdrop in countless city scenes. Literary figures have mentioned it too: the novelist Ahmet Hamdi Tanpınar wrote in The Time Regulation Institute that “time and space exist in unity with man” – a sentiment one feels standing by the tower’s hands in Konak Square. (In Tanpınar’s imaginative world, the clock tower is where time’s abstract notion meets daily life.)
Civic and cultural events use the tower’s image heavily. Marathon runners wear it on t-shirts, sports teams use it in logos, and every year city pride memorabilia celebrates “My hometown İzmir” with a picture of the tower. Even the municipal transportation card (Izmirim Kart) sometimes features it. And of course, the souvenir market thrives on it: one quick look in any bazaar shop will turn up hundreds of miniatures of the Clock Tower in ceramic, wood or resin, each promising tourists a little piece of İzmir’s story.
In short, the Clock Tower is not just an old building – it’s a symbol woven into the fabric of İzmir’s identity. Locals sometimes call it “the heart of İzmir” because many encounters and photo-ops seem to happen in its shadow. Ironically, a tower dedicated to standardized timekeeping has given the city something even more valuable: a timeless symbol that ties past to present in the memories of residents and visitors alike.
The İzmir Clock Tower has moved from imperial monument to municipal icon without ever losing its dignity. Over the decades it has quietly witnessed emperors and republics, wars and celebrations, famine and prosperity – all while keeping İzmir on schedule, hour by hour. It is the meeting point in Konak, the landmark in every guidebook, and the backdrop to countless city stories. Yet to call it merely a symbol would be to undersell it: the Clock Tower is also a milestone in everyday life. Izmirians really do orient themselves by its hands – one might even set a rendezvous time by saying “the third knock on the bell.”
Today, nothing quite startles at its foot except perhaps the bakery fumes or a pigeon cooing. Children splash at its fountains, workers sprint past it to catch ferries, and lovers take selfies in front of it. In that way it is utterly part of life here. And through all these human moments – from the monumental to the mundane – the tower endures, reminding us that İzmir’s grand narrative unfolds one tick at a time. Much like the city it watches over, the Clock Tower bridges eras: it stands firmly in modern İzmir yet connects everyone who passes through Konak Square to a deep past. Its bells still echo off the Aegean breeze, assuring us that the pulse of this port city is as steady as its timepiece, unbroken by history’s tempests.