"I hate this place," Samir grumbled in his singsong Damascene as he served up two plates of fresh fish. Mine was horrible, maddeningly full of spikes and wrapped in a cheap bun. "They work me twelve hours a day and treat me like shit all the time. They've got this complex, these Turks, they blame us for bringing down the Ottoman empire. It's the fucking twenty first century, get over it!" He was getting visibly redder in the face as he spoke; he saw in me an opening to vent, and I gladly obliged.
"You know I don't just work here, right, I am studying maritime law, masters, at the university..." Trailed off, distracted, and then suddenly leaped into character as he saw a couple pass by. "WELCOME!" he shouted, with a comically desperate grin, "Take a look at our menu, great prices, service, best fish in town!! Please just take a look, maybe for later..." The tourists awkwardly disentangled themselves and walked on.
Everything about this city makes me giddy and delighted to be here. Not least of these elements are the fishermen who come out each night on the Galata bridge, fishing until all hours of the morning. It was sad to think of Samir's rough patch, that he felt compelled to point out that he was a student, and not just a waiter. It made me think of my own insecurities on being away from the academy. Samir bustled about the store, stopping every once in a while to lament one or another facet of Turkish life.
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