The rush before Iftar

Wanting to stretch my legs, I went for a walk about an hour before Iftar today. Down the hill to the sea was peaceful and refreshing. As I headed back to the city center (from now on known as Meydan), the atmosphere became a frenzy of people, cars, horns and lights. A man was yelling and selling apples from the back of his truck, people crowding around him to get their apples first. From the bakery, a crowd spilled onto the street as people waited to get bread hot out of the oven.



Throngs of people waited at choice intersections for dolmushes and buses to take them to their destination. Some men carried packages of food wrapped in paper while others bore large steaming pots on their shoulders. At the restaurants, tables were set with multiple place settings with baskets of bread. Inside, tables were packed with people.



Behind the counter, cooks ladled soup into bowls over stacks of plates full of salad, which the waiters brought to the patient customers who must wait until the sun sets before they can eat. Two doors down, a sweet shop was empty and without patrons, its shelves bursting with freshly baked goodies. Shopkeepers close up, leaving the lights on inside. Then in almost an instant, the streets are emptied. Everyone dissappears from the streets, save the lone dolmush here and there.

This is my favorite time. I can walk the streets without worry of being honked at or run over. Nobody looks at me and calls out random English or German words. Nobody says, "she's a tourist," or "heh, foreigner!" I am free, moving with ease through the narrow streets. I can step anywhere, left or right, forward or back. The wind blows the hair out of my face, my arms relax and swing at my sides. The space is wide open and I can breathe. Aah. . .