Guests descend, en masse, and all of a sudden the house is full of commotion. We serve them Turkish coffee, kurabiye (cookies) and assorted dried fruit and nuts.

Some of them light up cigarettes on the balcony. The ladies insist I sit down and let them take care of the hospitality, but I refuse because that’s not my culture. We make them comfortable, let them enjoy the view and talk loudly.

Then, just as suddenly, they set off again, shaking apples from the trees to take with them. And peace returns: just me and our lad, breathing a sigh of relief.

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