Dropped from the Sky

As I was turning a corner outside the Spice Market today, I heard two women asking a salesman about leeches. You can buy them from a number of large water bottles around the market. The women checked their phrase books and notes while speaking to the leech seller, but spoke to each other in French. Well, a) I’m kind of fascinated by the leeches, and b) I’m kind of a whore when it comes to speaking French. By that I mean, I’ll speak it when and where I can and will often insinuate myself into a conversation if I can find a way in. I’ve given many directions and much advice on trams and on the street. Since these women weren’t getting the leech information for which they were asking, but were clearly having a good giggle, I did indeed insinuate myself into their conversation.

According to the leech man, the blood suckers don’t eat anything. Water is sufficient. Frankly, I’m sure they must eat something, but suspect they aren’t fed once up for sale. We talked about how they’re good for migraines, how they swell when applied to the skin, and speculated on what to do with them once they have been used. Apparently, one just gets rid of them. They don't make the best of pets.

The conversation continued. Did I know if French schools here hire French nationals? How would one’s sister go about applying? How long have I lived here, has my behavior changed since moving here, have I notice that some women refuse to speak when asked for information? (Yes, apply over the internet, 4 years, yes but in subtle ways I don’t notice until I go back to the States, no.) The women’s traveling companions joined us. Did I know of a change bureau? They were out of lira but didn’t want to change more than a small amount just to get back to the hotel before heading to the airport.

I accompanied them to buy Turkish Delight (I really dislike the texture but don't refuse it when offered it on holidays). The traveling companions were a bit nervous about getting back to the hotel on time because they hadn’t been abroad before, but I didn’t detect any impatience from the first two women. Between the market and the train, we had a short but rich conversation about vegetarianism, their very moving visit to the mosque in Ëyüp, karma, happiness, humbleness, and how we really just appreciate a good tagine. In the underground passage leading to the tram stop, I helped one of the nervous women buy a battery operated, dancing zebra doll. I always wondered who bought them. Now I know. With contact information exchanged, I brought them to the correct side of the tram station and used my newly topped up akbil (short for akıllı bilet, meaning “smart ticket,” a magnetic thing used on public transportation) as each of them pushed through the turnstile and onto the tram. No need to exchange 5 Euros to get back to a hotel.

According to the last woman to make her way to the tram, I was dropped from heaven into their path. I don’t know about that, but I had a fine 16 minutes with some people with whom I'd like to be friends. In French on top of that.