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below most onlookers’ eyeline, a small kitten cavorting under the wheels of the nearest car. The aged cat lover did not budge until this animal was safely on the pavement, by which time several irate taxi drivers were leaning out of their windows and shouting at him. Unmoved, he settled down with the kitten and a bag of food he removed from an inside coat pocket, and I realised that this extraordinary person was the mysterious local Cat Man who left bowls of food and water and well-fed kittens in his wake. A few months later I saw him asleep on the steps of a local mosque, surrounded by his dependants. Considering the price of vet-bought dry food, I wonder how this man affords his mission of mercy. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the vet gave him knockdown rates, knowing the destination of these bags of food. That is one of the wonderful aspects of the Turkish community – ruthless in business, they band together for a common cause like cat charity.
    Strays create unnecessary fuss in Istanbul considering how happily integrated they are. The municipalities want to round them up, rather as they did in 1910, when all the strays were deported to an island off the mainland of Istanbul and ended up eating each other. Animal rights enthusiasts want to round them up and put them in care homes. In fact, the status quo is just fine – they are independent, self-respecting agents of the streets who are fed and cared for: an ideal arrangement. They belong to everyone, and no one.
    The care of strays is one of the instances in Turkish society where collective instinct is directly at odds with official practice. If any of the ministers voting for the bill to round up strays were to encounter a capering puppy on the street, I betfifty lira he would give it a pat on the head or at least a kind word. But he would go ahead and vote to evict strays anyway, because policy is policy. Burası Turkiye – ‘This is Turkey.’

3
Social Growing Pains
    ‘This is Turkey’: I have heard this so many times as an explanation for inexplicable Turkish norms. It takes some time to get used to the way things are done here, partly because traditional customs have an unexpected way of cropping up in a society which is modernising with lopsided enthusiasm. Turkey is still a very young country making its way in the world. The struggles it is going through at the moment bring to mind the predicaments of an adolescent who is simultaneously self-confident and insecure. Turkey is coming of age.
    Mass migration, urbanisation and a growing awareness of human rights in the past fifty years have changed the social, economic and physical landscapes of Turkey, but it is the social landscape that is the most difficult to navigate. For a fairly relaxed Brit, Turkish etiquette has been intimidating because it is so complex, so imbued with history, and cannot really be taught; instead, it must be second-guessed like an erratic maiden aunt. I only realised this after I learned enough of the language to notice the subtleties of the ways people interact. I wince to think of the mistakes I must have made early on, the teas I should have accepted, the praise I should have lavished: clumsy blunderings through the pitfalls of Turkish convention. Paradoxically, underneath the filigree of social niceties is a steel core of uncomplicated good will andwarmth. Turks have a humble and humbling generosity, especially towards guests, which cuts through the elaborate tradition with which they often cage their interaction.
    The idiosyncrasies of Turkish conversation are endless: specific modes of address, the polite use of passive and impersonal verbs, phrases for everyday interactions – what you say to someone working, someone eating, someone whose food you have just consumed, someone ill, someone with a family member newly deceased or betrothed. ‘Congratulations’ will not suffice for good news, nor ‘Sorry to hear that’ for bad. You must tailor your words to the occasion,