It was the height of Ramadan, that wonderful, languid, celebratory month that so consumes the Middle East. And in Konya, Turkey, that had its repercussions.
I had come up against some of these already. Lunch options were few and far between as the city fasted throughout the day, and drinking—hard enough already in this Central Anatolian stronghold of whirling-dervish Sufism—involved a level of investigation and invention that the heat precluded. Not for Rumi’s most ardent admirers the beer and raki so thoroughly enjoyed by my friends back in Istanbul and Izmir. (Or at least not publicly. Konya is said to have one of the highest rates of alcoholism in the country.)
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