Whatever you need at any given moment is probably being sold by someone on the street not far from where you are at any particular time or place. Of course, this also applies to what you don't need as well. Whether you are casually standing on the street or purposefully going someplace, there will always be a peddlar nearby to offer you the silliest and most useless things. This is standard across the city.
Most common are the old women selling tissues and candy out of shoeboxes. I don't know if these women are just bored or miserably poor, but they will spend the whole day wandering with their box of tissues and candy, entreating every passerby to buy. I have to hand it to them though, they do try - it's better than the fat, lazy ones who spread a newspaper on the stairs in everyone's way, sit down and beg, palms open, Allah rahsosun!, God bless you. Yes, because starvation and poverty makes you fat as a whale.
Also standard in every district of the city are one or two zenci, black Somalians, who walk around with a red velveted board on which a fine selection of fake watches is displayed. They sidle up to you slyly and show their goods with a slight nod, as if divulging a secret. I can't vouch for the quality or bargain prices of these watches, but I find the practice enigmatic - I've never actually seen anyone buy from these men, nor have I ever heard them speak. They roam the streets silently, like shadows, disappearing as quickly as they appear. Turkey is a relatively homogenous country, so an African makes you look twice. The consensus among the Turks is that these Africans come here from some lawless, war-torn African country hopeful to pass into Europe or England clandestinely. Istanbul is just a waypoint for them, another caravansaray along the way.
I don't know if this woman bought or not
Many times older, disabled, or unemployed people will sit on the sidewalk, put a blanket on the ground, and lay out a variety of objects to sell with the care and precision of a museum display. Of course, these objects are useless (unless you smoke or have a hangnail): cans of lighter fluid, some matches, lighters, tissues, tesbiis (religious prayer beads), nail clippers, combs, and so forth. Usually there is a bathroom scale there as well, and for 50 kuruş the old man will let you step on the scale and tell you your weight. Sometimes if someone has been up on his luck he will have other things to sell, like television antennas, old radios, remote controls, keyrings, and used batteries. Yes, if they find it and it appears that it will work, then they can sell it.
Some men aren't content to sit in the same spot all day and therefore take these objects on the road. Last week, while Üskan and I were standing on the street killing time, a man walked up to us and revealed some multi-purpose screwdrivers and manicure sets. Üskan, casually leaning on the fence with his thumbs hooked cooly through his belt loops, inspected these objects with a knowing carefulness. After a moment, he nodded slightly, raising his eyebrows and puckering his lips as he *tsk*ed no - sorry, no thanks, don't want that garbage - and the man moved on. This happens a lot; men come along with briefcases of sunglasses, bags of socks, or duffel bags stuffed to the brim with "brand name" jeans or polo shirts. It's nice to know that if I suddenly decide that I need a pair of jeans or a screwdriver at any random moment, someone will surely be along to help me.
But usually most of the time it is in the afternoon or at night that these "bazaars" spring up on the sidewalks of İstanbul. Usually old men, widows, or the unemployed will set up shop right on the sidewalk to sell anything and everything no one needs. Things get particularly lively at night, and especially in the seedy areas of the city, like Aksaray or Şirinevler, where I work. In Şirinevler, there is a pedestrian bridge over the highway that, after 9 pm, really does become a bazaar - there are old phones, antennas, cell phone covers, bootleg DVDs, scary plastic dolls, socks, belts, underwear, an unimaginable collection of the most irritating battery-powered toys, books, kitchen utensils, shaving accessories, pens, bootleg Georgian and Bulgarian cigarettes, lighters, gaudy jewelery - you name it. It really is a bazaar of useless shit. I have come to think that these salesmen come here under the cover of night to sell because the darkness masks the poor quality of their products; once, I bought four pairs of socks for 1 lira, and after wearing a pair once my foot was stained black and the sock was thinner than tissue paper. Useless.
Where does all this useless shit come from? Well, not China, as you might be surprised to hear - it comes from Turkey; almost everything you see here is made here in Turkey. The brand new stuff, I mean. But the things that are used and no longer wanted are collected, repaired, and sold again. This may sound strange, but it is actually the most efficient recycling system I have ever seen. Many people in İstanbul actually make a living collecting old things. These people are called eskici.
The eskici is most undoubtedly one of my favorite things about this country because I think it is so funny. The eskici has a cart he pushes around all day while yelling, "Eskiciiiiiiiiiii!!!!!" If the eskici comes and you have things you need to get rid of, you call him, give him your unwanted items, and he gives you a little bit of money for it, if you want. What's so funny about that? you say. Well, the "call" of the eskici is particularly funny - some men have a deep, throaty call that sounds like a croaking frog, animal like. Other men say "eskici" in a way that sounds like "sıkıcı", which is the Turkish word for "boring" (pushing around a cart all day? Yes.). Most of the time, it just sounds like a low, incomprehensible moan. This is enhanced by the fact that in my neighborhood at any given time during the day there are at least 3 eskici working in a 5 block area. So all day, you rhythmically hear eeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Ooooooooooooooooooooo! After a while, this gives the feeling of living in a jungle of some sorts, the constant sound of animal calls in the background. Or, at least, like the streets are filled with raving derelicts.
Eskiciiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeaaaaaaa!!!!!
There are also many men who walk around with a giant plastic sack on a hand truck all day, moving from dumpster to dumpster to root around and pick out the plastic and paper materials that they can sell to recycling centers. I scoffed at this at first, but a woman I work with told me that it wasn't a rediculous job - a man she knew had bought an entire house for his family solely by picking paper out of the garbage. So perhaps useless things are only useless in the eye of the beholder - one man's trash really can be another man's treasure.
But usually most of the time it is in the afternoon or at night that these "bazaars" spring up on the sidewalks of İstanbul. Usually old men, widows, or the unemployed will set up shop right on the sidewalk to sell anything and everything no one needs. Things get particularly lively at night, and especially in the seedy areas of the city, like Aksaray or Şirinevler, where I work. In Şirinevler, there is a pedestrian bridge over the highway that, after 9 pm, really does become a bazaar - there are old phones, antennas, cell phone covers, bootleg DVDs, scary plastic dolls, socks, belts, underwear, an unimaginable collection of the most irritating battery-powered toys, books, kitchen utensils, shaving accessories, pens, bootleg Georgian and Bulgarian cigarettes, lighters, gaudy jewelery - you name it. It really is a bazaar of useless shit. I have come to think that these salesmen come here under the cover of night to sell because the darkness masks the poor quality of their products; once, I bought four pairs of socks for 1 lira, and after wearing a pair once my foot was stained black and the sock was thinner than tissue paper. Useless.
Where does all this useless shit come from? Well, not China, as you might be surprised to hear - it comes from Turkey; almost everything you see here is made here in Turkey. The brand new stuff, I mean. But the things that are used and no longer wanted are collected, repaired, and sold again. This may sound strange, but it is actually the most efficient recycling system I have ever seen. Many people in İstanbul actually make a living collecting old things. These people are called eskici.
The eskici is most undoubtedly one of my favorite things about this country because I think it is so funny. The eskici has a cart he pushes around all day while yelling, "Eskiciiiiiiiiiii!!!!!" If the eskici comes and you have things you need to get rid of, you call him, give him your unwanted items, and he gives you a little bit of money for it, if you want. What's so funny about that? you say. Well, the "call" of the eskici is particularly funny - some men have a deep, throaty call that sounds like a croaking frog, animal like. Other men say "eskici" in a way that sounds like "sıkıcı", which is the Turkish word for "boring" (pushing around a cart all day? Yes.). Most of the time, it just sounds like a low, incomprehensible moan. This is enhanced by the fact that in my neighborhood at any given time during the day there are at least 3 eskici working in a 5 block area. So all day, you rhythmically hear eeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Ooooooooooooooooooooo! After a while, this gives the feeling of living in a jungle of some sorts, the constant sound of animal calls in the background. Or, at least, like the streets are filled with raving derelicts.
Eskiciiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeaaaaaaa!!!!!There are also many men who walk around with a giant plastic sack on a hand truck all day, moving from dumpster to dumpster to root around and pick out the plastic and paper materials that they can sell to recycling centers. I scoffed at this at first, but a woman I work with told me that it wasn't a rediculous job - a man she knew had bought an entire house for his family solely by picking paper out of the garbage. So perhaps useless things are only useless in the eye of the beholder - one man's trash really can be another man's treasure.
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