Just back: A quest for cherries in Istanbul

Mary Whitsell wins this week’s travel writing competition for her account of a tantalising mission to find cherries in Istanbul.

The writer was able to see some of Istanbul’s most impressive sights from the taxi window – but cherries proved tantalisingly elusive Photo: Alamy

By Mary Whitsell 9:57AM BST 01 Apr 2011

Taxis in Istanbul – Just back: A quest for cherries in Istanbul

Istanbul made us long for cherries. We were stuck in midday traffic, the sun blazing down on our taxi. When children started darting in and out of the traffic with bottles of water, we were tempted. But when the boy with the cherries showed up, we reached for our wallets and tried to get his attention.

He didn’t see us sitting there, stalled in the traffic. The longer we waited, the better those cherries looked, piled high in a wheelbarrow, glossy and red. The boy pushed them in and out of traffic.

He had stuck small green branches in among the cherries, perhaps to keep them cool. He went past a store with hundreds of brightly coloured scarves and carpets. Women clothed from head to foot in black swished past him.

We watched as the boy negotiated the pavement, dodging other hawkers with their piles of oranges, chunks of watermelon, boxes of apples. The taxi inched another five feet through exhaust-scented air. The boy with the cherries was going faster than we were.

We stared at fruit stalls with pyramids of oranges, wedges of cut watermelon, piles of apples. We passed a shady garden with what looked like crumpled multicoloured cellophane scattered randomly. Then I blinked: the cellophane was flowers, bright as jewels, crimson, gold, purple and blue. There was a flash of silver and red, and the wheelbarrow laden with cherries creaked past us again, the boy straining and sweating behind it.

We caught our breath as we drove past crumbling walls on our right and the Sea of Marmara, a shimmering aquamarine, on our left. The boy with the cherries disappeared into the crowd.

That afternoon, we bought chunks of watermelon from a vendor. We walked through the cooling dusk past sprawling mosques with gold-tipped domes, churches and terraced gardens shaded by grapevines. Violins competed with the call to prayer, and the scent of jasmine and roses filled the air as we strolled along cobblestone streets. But we did not see any more cherries.

The next day, we visited the Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia, and the Topkapi Palace. I forgot to collect my backpack from the security check at the palace entrance and spent an uneasy two hours wandering around, waiting to see the sultan’s treasures and the relics of saints, trying not to think about my prescription glasses and the 250 Turkish lira in my wallet.

Just as I’d begun to give up hope of ever seeing my bag again, I remembered where I’d left it. I could have kissed the security guard who handed it back.

Back in our hotel, we listened to the trams trundling past, the hawkers outside screaming: “I make very cheap for you, pretty lady!”

That night, we dreamed of cherries.

The morning we left, we found a boy with a cart piled high with cherries just outside the Spice Market. We feasted on them all the way to the airport.

via Just back: A quest for cherries in Istanbul – Telegraph.