The peaches of arrival.

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Peaches here are far better than the peaches you eat at home. I know, it's quite a claim. But I've had a few peaches in my 27 years, and these win all over your peaches. Slam dunk. Imagine the sensory difference between your 5th grade halloween parade and going back in time to Julius Ceasar's triumphal march through Rome. Imagine that in your mouth. Wow. Not only are peaches here, in Turkey, amazing, but a peach was the first fruit I ate here. It came from the manav, which is the green and fruit grocer on every other corner. I was living in Arnavutkoy at the time, and I went to the manav out of sheer hunger. I could not steal from the other hostel guests. Despite having taken 6 weeks of great Turkish classes back in DC, the prospect of uttering some really unfamiliar sounds (beer sheftahlee alahjahyim?) and having it result in an edible object daunted me. I was planning on eating that object, after all. Sitting on the bumper of a nearby car, the grocer himself wasn't too thrilled at interrupting his conversation for some galoot with a constipated expression on his face and bright yellow-and-green sneakers. Peaches. Point. Yes. Tesekkur ederim ("Thank you kind sir!") and I had this peach. I felt like Charlie when he found the golden ticket. I brought it back and ate it, and indeed, those roman trumpet did blow. Later, in the midst of a Craigslist-sponsored journey from the lovely little Bosporus-side hamlet of Arnavutkoy to the increasingly hip (gentrifying) neighborhood of Cihangir, I mentioned this superlative peach to my prospective flatmates. I think they really liked my enjoyment of the peach. I was really hoping for the apartment, and three days after the interview, Dorte and Vulkan told me I was their number 1. So the peach actually came through twice in a big way. After writing this, I realize it comes off as at best cheeky, and worse pandering for attention. Forget it, I really liked the peach and didn't want to write about anything else right now.

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