The Blue Hour

Chapter 37: Flora

As she entered the square, the busy noise overwhelmed her. The whole way, she had been walking as if in a trance, trailing a merchant in a blue skullcap, stooped under the weight of the basket-full of flowers which he brought to market. Almost immediately, she spotted Hamid. Unassuming in a simple, white surcoat, he leaned against the marble fountain, his searching eyes scanning the crowd. Behind the fountain, a loud-mouthed man served white pudding and minced meat on sizzling skewers. In the humid heat, the exotic scents dazed her. She looked around, dumfounded. Beneath the frying meat lingered the smell of coffee and tobacco from the cafés where men lounged with their pipes. More men, idling and sweating, squatted in the street corners; by the towering iron gates leading into the Bazaar, a little girl with hopelessly tangled hair, wove baskets and shell necklaces; two black-eyed women in thick layers of patterned skirts, begged for money or food, but vanished when patrolling guards approached; a porter in a red fez, carrying bolts of silk and intricate lace, disappeared through gates followed by another porter with a long, wooden rod on his right shoulder, laden with, what might be, dried meat. The merchant in the blue skullcap tried to sell his produce to three women in headscarves with children tugging at their long, flowing robes. A eunuch guard waved him away.

All the impressions and the tangle of unknown languages made her head spin. It was disorienting and frightening not to understand a single word. She drew a deep breath, feeling the aching tension in her body. What was she doing here? Being a fool, that's what. Being reckless and stupid. If, at that moment, Hamid had not lifted his head and looked straight at her, she might have fled back to Pera. He hesitated, probably confused by the shawl over her hair, and, had she looked away, might have concluded he was mistaken. But she did not, and their eyes met.

They were both timid. A couple of times, they started speaking at the same time.

"Did you..."

"Was it difficult..."

"I hope..."

It broke the ice, both grinned.

"You go first," they said simultaneously and now they really had to laugh.

"Alright, I'll go first," he said with a gesture towards the entrance to the Bazaar. "The Bazaar is a world of its own, and that's the plan for the day, a discovery adventure."

"Oh," was all she could muster. Her fluttering heart and the thousands of butterflies in her stomach already made her feel weak and now this, a proposition to plunge into the obscurity beyond the iron gate with a man she barely knew. Though Hamid didn't feel strange to her. She could not claim to know him, but they had a connection which felt honest and true, more so than anything she had ever experienced before.

"If you prefer, we can stay here, on the square," he said, sensing her hesitation but sounding disappointed.

"No, no let's go!"

She inspected his face, the twinkle in his brown eyes, the sensually grinning mouth on the verge of laughter; he was happy. She too was happy, in a giggly, lightheaded kind of way.

"I've never been inside the Bazaar before," she said.

He turned to her, embarrassed. "To be honest, I don't know my way around the Bazaar either, and it's crowded and dark. Let's stay close so we don't lose each other."

She put her arm under his.

Of course, they got lost. How could they not, in the sombre criss-crossing myriad of vaulted streets and alleyways. It was impossible to get an overview of the geography because the Bazaar was jam-packed with people, horses, donkeys, dogs, cats, and natural light was only admitted through sparsely dispersed rectangular windows under the tiled roof. Along both sides of the trampled mud roads, merchants sat on carpets or wooden divans in front of shelves with produce, and their customers were invited to converse and bargain over a cup of coffee before buying. Even though the Bazaar was less ominous when they were actually in it, she did not let go of his arm. It was a contact of fabrics which would have troubled her, had her sensors not been so consumed by the colourful, fragrant maze.

An hour later when they were still lost, they were childishly jubilant to figure out that each road bore the name of the profession of the sellers or of the goods sold there, textiles, spices, luxury goods, shoes, bags, gold, and on and on, even though there was still no way of knowing north from south or east from west, so they weren't helped much. But they felt more at ease.

When she looked with admiration at a gold bangle with a lucky charm to ward off the evil eye, he slipped it on her wrist.

"Please, a gift," he insisted. "As a memory."

When his fingers brushed against her skin, her heart fluttered.

They drifted with the crowd, past vendors, restaurants, hammam, a mosque and prayer rooms, deeper into the labyrinth. The cacophony was so loud and the world so mesmerising, her amazement choked off all words. Her whole being was concentrated on taking it all in, and on keeping the grip on Hamid's hand so she would not lose him.

Checking his bearings over and over again, Hamid took them down one alleyway after another. He had heard of a vendor who sold baklavas made of seventy layers of filo dough and went in search for him. When she admitted to never having tasted a baklava, he bought one to share, deliciously sweet and nutty pastry served with steaming hot mint tea. Her scarf had slipped off her hair, but she didn't care. In the obscurity and so far from Pera, no one would recognise her. They continued through corridors with textiles, past the hat vendors. Flora picked out a red fez and put it on his head.

"What do you think?" He flashed a broad smile.

"I'm not sure it suits you," she laughed.

"Peresto would agree."

"Who's Peresto?"

He returned the fez to the vendor. "My step-mother."

She realised how little she knew about him, where he came from, who his family was. Then she realised he knew nothing about her either, and it was just as well. It was as if they travelled in a delicate bubble which might burst with the wrong touch.

For a long time, they lingered in the spice market. She asked how to use saffron, cinnamon, and cumin, and he, in turn, asked a vendor who launched into detailed explanations, which, at breakneck speed, Hamid translated for her. Little of what he said made sense to her because she had never heard of most of the dishes he referred to or the ingredients he took for granted.

They exited the covered Bazaar through a large gate, and stepped into the sunlight where she was immediately struck by the musky smell of sweat and manure, and by an explosion of colour and sound, screeching, chirping, mewling. Countless animals, camels, horses, donkeys, caged or tethered, patiently waited while their owners showcased their strength and beauty to attract buyers. In narrow stalls, traders called out their prices and engaged in lively negotiations. Children and curious onlookers watched and commented. Here and there were small food stalls and tea houses. Deeper into the market, they passed livestock, cows, goats and sheep, and fowl herded together while farmers examined them and haggled over prices.

_________________

Author's note

The Ottoman government played a significant role in regulating the bazaar, setting prices for goods, ensuring fair trade practices, and collecting taxes from merchants. The government also appointed officials known as "kethüda" to oversee the daily operations of the bazaar, resolve disputes between merchants, and enforce regulations.

The Bazaar served not only as a commercial center but also as a social and cultural hub, where people from different backgrounds could interact, exchange ideas, and negotiate deals. It was a place where the Ulema, the learned class of Islamic scholars, could be found discussing religious and legal matters with merchants and customers.