Every morning, a man comes down my street selling veggies and fruit. He yells, “Portakal bir lira! Portakal bir lira!” (“Oranges one lira! Oranges one lira!” A kilo of oranges for one lira. That’s about 25 cents a pound. What a bargain!) The man alternates. Sometimes it’s a man selling tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, and potatoes. He yells, “Domates!” One yells, “YEŞİLİİİİİİİİİİİİİK!” (“Green veggies!”) I like the one who sells lentils and chickpeas. Another man sells breakfast rolls. He yells “PoğaÇAAA!” His cry sounds so desperate, I hope every day that someone on my street is buying a dozen rolls at least. He must be selling them though, because he comes every single morning, and sometimes again in the afternoon. Then the ladies yell out of their windows to ask how much and run their baskets down along the side of the apartment buildings on a rope to buy a kilo of this, five kilos of that.
Meanwhile, the first call to prayer is at about five or six am. There are a couple of mosques nearby, so it sounds like they’re singing in a round. In addition, you have the children calling to their grandmothers from the street, and the ladies chatting with their neighbors from window to window or street to window. All of your chores, your entire social life and religious devotions could take place without you ever leaving the house.