Bazaar Bazaar

Today was a testament to my good karma. Just when I thought I’d go stir crazy, I got a call from another teacher inviting me to explore the city. I was initially suspicious of such a generous offer, but I soon discovered that she simply belonged to a rare breed of people called “elementary school teachers.”

With tattoos up and down her forearms a heavy dose of blue eyeshadow and a long blond pony tail, she doesn’t fit the mold.

She took me to the local travelling bazaar that comes to Yenikoy every Saturday. There, you can find cheap clothing with the tags cut off, display cases set up in the middle of the street with mountains of cheese and as many types of olives as we have protein bars.

There were ancient headscarved women selling bushels of different types of cotton (bring your favorite comforter and get it stuffed!), men selling impressive pyramids of pears, figs, and countless types of melons, and a little boy who persuaded me to buy a floral patterned shirt by counting to seven on his fingers in English. Women covered from head to toe unabashedly held up panties by the waistline to test the size and fabric quality. Teenagers with headscarved mothers wore puta madre t-shirts without having any idea of the connotations on their chest.

We then headed to the supermarket, where a diagram of a dissected cow that resembled a map of the U.S. outlined each part of a bovine and stated what type of meat came from where. İ know how to pick a good looking pack of intestines now. My friend showed me the quality brands of everything from canned corn to pomegranate oil.

On the bus ride home, we passed a horrific motorcycle accident complete with car parts strewn across the road. There was no shame in butting in front of other people to check out the mess or shield gore and graphic details from an unsuspecting audience. There are no sidewalks and therefore you have to walk dangerously close to traffic in some areas, but there is also no one suing the government for tripping on a crack in the concrete. It is tempting to want to put things into categories in order to have a sense of unity, but I’ll resist.