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.
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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.
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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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Last modified: 21 September 2024