I was Wrong About Ortahisar – Chapter 3

The House of Memories

 

Perusers, I admit. In some cases when I travel, I imagine I can’t communicate in Turkish. I know I shouldn’t do it, yet the outcome is that I am conscious of intriguing discussions about what Turks truly consider voyagers who visit their shops.

 

The House of Memories captivated me incompletely due to the name and the antiquated look of the outside, however, sitting outside were four old Turkish men, who bantered about whether I would…

 

A: Walk in the shop

 

B: Actually purchase something

 

The man who wagers on An ought to have made a money related bet since I wandered inside to find a to a great degree intriguing gathering of old family unit things, cultivating gear, mind boggling gems, and memorabilia. As much as I was in stunningness of this accumulation of collectibles, I didn’t purchase anything so the man who wager on B, missed out big time.

 

The Onyx Souvenir Shop

 

Onyx is a prominent trinket in Turkey and this shop was no special case. A large number of little carvings of creatures, chess pieces et cetera, lined the racks.

 

Glancing around, I looked through a glass window of an entryway at the back of the shop. In the soiled room, loaded with clean was a moderately aged man, sitting at a granulating wheel. In my best “Turkish” I inquired as to whether I could watch him at work and the appropriate response was a reverberating “obviously, obviously. Simply go in.”

 

In spite of the absence of daylight, this man was persistent as he put pieces of onyx against the crushing wheel. He was clearly a specialist skilled worker maybe taking in it from his dad.

 

Regard is expected also, to the shop proprietor and expert on the grounds that these gifts are hand-made in Turkey, and not transported in from some Chinese processing plant, then sold as the genuine thing. I know a lot of gift shops around the nation who are blameworthy of this.

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