Men who sell simits–a bagel-pretzel coated in toasted sesame seeds–are almost as ubiquitous in Istanbul as ankle-breakable holes in the sidewalk. Since I often took the same streets, I often passed the same simit salesman. We bonded by blinking at each other. Some days he was decked out in a houndstooth coat and beige fedora. One this day, he went sporty with a grey jacket and a navy Adidas cap.
As I approached he gave me our blink of recognition. I asked to take his photo. My Istanbul days are dwindling, so I needed to pack my souvenirs. Actually, the question, though I knew it well, came out: “Can I take my picture?” But he forgave me. “Of me?” Yes, yes, I reached apologetically for my camera and offered up my mother’s smile.
A crowd of men on a bench nearby began to chatter among themselves like pigeons. I turned to see if there was anyone there worth capturing–they went quiet–as my simit man got himself into a pose. “Should I wear my hat?
I grinned, “If you want.”
He took it off. “Oh, but I’m not beautiful,” he said smoothing his grey hair.
“You are, you are!” I insisted with a click.
I showed him the photo, which he gave a furtive look before patting me on the shoulder, sending me on my way. He stepped back to his friends, trying to blend back into the crowd of men. Like schoolboys, they teased him and he chuckled to himself. I walked away beaming, causing a few strangers down the street to wonder why that woman over there should seem so pleased.
–Istanbul, Turkey.
I just…aww.
Haha! Me too! Somehow his usual swagger and macho doesn’t show up at all in the photo.
And I know exactly what sort of buddy-buddy sheepish backslapping would go on among his old friends. Its so endearing. Especially how he doesn’t think he’s beautiful. He’s just…him. To you, or me, he is slightly, well, exotic, something to be captured like a memento, something unique. But to him, he is just…he.
Yeah, I think we were all smirking to ourselves good-naturedly. On my way back from the market with beer and chocolate at 2 pm, I took the long way around so as not to cause a scandal.
Hahaha, I totally get that.
Precious…………
You are, Linda!
Nice story to go with the photo – I’m usually too timid to ask if I can take someone’s photo. I try to snap surreptiously, like my lady on the bus …
Yes, I get nervous to take one without asking, then I get flustered asking. I seem like a hot mess for someone who has been wandering for a few years. The butterflies never depart, it seems.
I like your small stories of human moments.
-SB
http://senatorbrett.wordpress.com/2012/04/17/on-a-tuesday/
You always make me smile…bet he was smiling the whole day too!
Aww, shucks! Yes, I had a feeling that he’s have a funny story to tell later. I thought I’d direct him to the blog, but I have a feeling it’s better to stay an anonymous blinker.
Aw, that’s sweet!
Thanks! I like your work and know the feeling of, “Oh man, I need to write that down!”
bless him – I find the Turkish love having their photos taken
I wish I’d known so I would ask more people. I was always shy to request one.
Reblogged this on turkischland.
I truly believe that one does not collect enough “casual friendships” along the long winding road of our lives. It is these people that give colour to your busy days. A story worth telling for both of sides of the camera.
Lovely anecdote.
Thanks so much! I do wonder if he mentioned the photo to anyone else, and if he still looks down the hill where I would approach, perhaps hoping to see me coming back. I wish now that I had also bought a simit for the road! There’s always another time.