By Robyn Eckhardt
Our Istanbul Fruit Guy
As we walked uphill to our rental apartment on our first evening in Istanbul last May, the display at a tiny fruit store beckoned. We stopped and bought peaches, melons, cherries. The white-haired proprietor was so friendly, the fruit he chose for us so delicious, that we shopped nowhere else.
Last month we returned to Istanbul for two weeks, staying in the same area. "Merhaba!" our fruit guy -- as we called him -- cried, as if we were long-lost friends. We vigorously shook hands, chatting as much as my Turkish would allow...
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