Orhan Pamuk doesn't write at home. He keeps a separate flat with a view of the Bosphorus and walks there most days, treating the trip like a commute so that leaving the house means the writing has begun.

The Direct Answer
In a book-filled flat overlooking the Bosphorus, about a 25-minute walk from where he lives.
He's kept his writing space apart from his home for years, a habit he laid out in his Paris Review Art of Fiction interview.

A Flat With the Bosphorus in It

Pamuk works in a rented flat set high enough to catch the water and the old city beyond it. He found the place roughly ten years before he first described it in detail, and he's said it may hold one of the best views in all of Istanbul. Inside, the walls are lined with books, and the desk is turned toward the window, so the city he keeps writing about, the ferries and the strait itself, sits right there while he works.

The distance to that flat matters as much as the view. It's about a 25-minute walk from his home, close enough to reach on foot and far enough that the walk becomes a kind of border. By the time he arrives, the ordinary business of the household is behind him and a different frame of mind has taken over.

Why Home Is the Wrong Place to Write

Pamuk has said for years that the place where you sleep, the place you share with a partner, should stay separate from the place where you write. His reasoning is specific. He finds that domestic life, comfortable and predictable, quietly smothers the part of him that invents. In his telling, the tame daily routine of a household makes the longing for another world fade, and that longing is exactly what the imagination runs on.

The domestic rituals and details somehow kill the imagination. They kill the demon in me.

Orhan Pamuk, Paris Review, The Art of Fiction No. 187

So he leaves the house to write, and he's done it even when there was nowhere obvious to go. During a stretch living in cramped married-student housing near Columbia University, with no spare room to claim, he has described saying goodbye to his wife each morning, walking around a few blocks, and coming back through the door as if he'd arrived at an office. The address hadn't changed. The crossing was what did the work.

Once he's there, he stays. Pamuk spends around ten hours a day at the flat. That's a long shift by any measure, and he's described himself as a hard worker who's happy doing it. For the daily schedule and the by-hand method behind it, see the full Orhan Pamuk writing routine.

What You Can Steal