Istanbul Bazaar
The Shoeshine wandering Istanbul's bazaars and side streets, led me to a simple yet memorable moment. The withered gentleman approached; I knew avoidance was hopeless. So when he pointed to my rather sad shoes, I could only nod and smile. This was to be my first hired shoeshine, possibly his millionth. Opulence surely, akin to a spa manicure or 8000 yen coffee in Kobe, but justifiable as a worthy cause I thought. I gave him the universal “How much?” hand signals. He raised two fingers; the haggling was over. His strong left hand held my ankle, while his right softly rubbed black shine into the leather - fast and exact was his knack. The longer he worked, the more relaxed I became. The street noise, that only moments before was an annoyance, suddenly vanished. When finished, he rose with great difficulty; I place my hand under his arm for re-assurance. Passing him the US dollars, we looked at one another for a moment. Gratitude was exchanged with nods. Then lifting his ancient brass kit of brushes, polish, and potions, he turned to again walk the streets in search of other needy shoes. I lingered, watching, till the crowds envelope him.
Submitted by:
Paul D., Kingston
