Of Protests and Dürüm

İ am developing a rudimentary knowledge of the Turkish language. As of this juncture, İ am able to order one type of food and one type of beverage. So İ probably won't starve if İ get lost in the big city. My remarkable grip on Turkish now allows me the luxury of ordering either a dürüm (a type of donair in a wrap with peppers and tomatoes and sometimes french fries or pickles. Kind of a garbage dump of tasty food ingredients; very cheap and very good.) or a turkish coffee. İ can only order the coffee at medium sweetness, sınce İ can't remember how to ask for more sugar. The sugar is stirred in while they make it, so you have to order it to taste. My taste is evidently medium.

The weather has turned quite nasty here. İt has been raining for the last week or so. This is different from home (were it rains all the time anyway) in the fact that the streets here are sort of paved, at best. All of the cobbles are hundreds or thousands of years old, and relatıvely recent major earthquakes have not helped them to stay together very well. Add to that the buildings damaged in the quake that are still condemmed and crumbling ınto dust, and the fact that they have decided to re-cobble the main street, and you have one very muddy metropolis.

One interesting thing that we've noticed is the at least weekly protests held on the main road, just up from our apartment. Every weekend, actually almost anytıme really, medium sized groups of people appear in the street and start yelling about something or other. İ don't know what they want, democracy or some such nonsense. The İstanbul government trucks in an overwhelming amount of police in full body armour and sporting automatic weapons. These cops lounge around in their bus until they tire of the protesters, at which point they throw tear gas at them and everyone goes home. The locals generally go about their business and pay little attention.

İ've also discovered how the economy works here. A bunch of goods, usually blackmarket copies of expensive french or İtalian designers, make their way from a shop or cargo container into some guy's minivan. Then, he brings them into an alley, where İ buy them off a table for 5 ytl (around 4.50 can). Sometimes, people try and sell me leather jackets in the middle of the street. İ can't tell whether these are stolen, legit, or stolen yet tolerated by the police. The police are busy throwing tear gas at protesters, they may not have time to stop people from selling stolen goods in the street. İn any case, İ stay away from the the street sellors and frequent the seedy alleyways instead (much better ambience). İ look like a bit of a douche in a leather jacket, anyway.

İ hope that you all are looking forward to your alley-bought 'Virsache' jeans!

Will