In Istanbul, when you try to break a 100 lira note for a purchase of under 20 liras, they sigh heavily and send a loitering boy to another shop to get change. For reasons I have yet to understand, nobody has any problem breaking large bills here, as everyone seems to carry a thick wad of money. I put down a hundred note to pay for my kadayif with goat-milk ice cream this evening and the kadayifci produced first a wad of hundreds and fifties from his front right pocket, then fifties and twenties from front left, and then tens and fives from back right. Each wad looked about as thick as could be fit into a pocket.
Maybe people don't trust banks here. I will inquire at the tourist bureau, full of twenty- and thirty-somethings with nothing to do because no tourists are here (actually I saw my first obvious group today, Scandinavian women), where I have started hanging out whenever I also have nothing to do.
Every night, usually starting a bit after the evening call to prayer, comes the pop pop pop of fireworks thrown at police stations and armored vehicles and of tear gas canisters fired in retaliation. My second night in town, I was in a back seat of a packed minibus when pop pop pop sounded loud and close and then fireworks were exploding on the street few down the street, in front of a police station. The driver slammed on the breaks and standing passengers fell into a heap. He paused a moment then said, It's just fireworks, nothing will happen, and started forward again. Then two exploded very close to the bus and standing passengers tumbled forward again and seated passengers frantically jiggled windows closed. As the driver reversed toward a back street and alternative route, I caught sight of the insurgent, a skinny kid in skinny jeans and a black shirt. Then as we turned away he ran away and an armored police vehicle, nicked up as they all are from hurled rocks, passed us to give chase. I wonder what they do to fireworks to make them more grenade-like; I suppose there is a part of the firework that makes it fly before exploding that you can remove.
Maybe people don't trust banks here. I will inquire at the tourist bureau, full of twenty- and thirty-somethings with nothing to do because no tourists are here (actually I saw my first obvious group today, Scandinavian women), where I have started hanging out whenever I also have nothing to do.
Every night, usually starting a bit after the evening call to prayer, comes the pop pop pop of fireworks thrown at police stations and armored vehicles and of tear gas canisters fired in retaliation. My second night in town, I was in a back seat of a packed minibus when pop pop pop sounded loud and close and then fireworks were exploding on the street few down the street, in front of a police station. The driver slammed on the breaks and standing passengers fell into a heap. He paused a moment then said, It's just fireworks, nothing will happen, and started forward again. Then two exploded very close to the bus and standing passengers tumbled forward again and seated passengers frantically jiggled windows closed. As the driver reversed toward a back street and alternative route, I caught sight of the insurgent, a skinny kid in skinny jeans and a black shirt. Then as we turned away he ran away and an armored police vehicle, nicked up as they all are from hurled rocks, passed us to give chase. I wonder what they do to fireworks to make them more grenade-like; I suppose there is a part of the firework that makes it fly before exploding that you can remove.
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