Ramadan is finally finished and we are now into the 3 day holiday period known as Şeker Bayramı, or Sugar Festival. The name is given for all the candy that is handed out to children as they go door-to-door wishing their elders a ‘good Bayram.’ If I could make a cultural comparison I would say it’s like Easter. Though the official name for this period is ‘Eid-al-Fitr,’ in Turkey it’s acceptable to call it ‘Şeker Bayramı.’ It is a joyous time marking the end of 30 days of fasting. I don’t personally fast, but there is still a collective experience even if you’re not taking part. We are woken each night around 3 a.m. by drummers walking through the streets alerting people to ready their meal before sunrise.

The next bite of food, drink of water, or drag of a cigarette won’t take place until sunset. Even those who don’t participate are careful not to drink water in front of others or eat on the street. In more conservative neighborhoods, you won’t even find a restaurant open. As long as I have lived in Turkey, Ramadan which is set on a lunar calendar based on a new moon sighting has always fallen in the summer. Sunsets are late, the weather is at times oppressively hot and humid, but even during Ramadan the work must continue. Imagine being sleep deprived, thirsty and hungry for 30 days of summer! Tempers are short and it leads to a lot of unnecessary unpleasantry. I have vowed more than once to flee during Ramadan. It is challenging, which makes the Sugar Bayram all the sweeter. People want to celebrate and feel revived. Men and children often get a special Bayram haircut and everyone wears their new Bayram clothes to visit friends and relatives, like putting on your Sunday best. The children love it for the candy or small amounts of money they recieve, and the adults enjoy the chance to catch up on gossip over tea and baklava. This tradition has been a little uncomfortable for me. I don’t like sweets, but it really is rude to turn them down. So when you are visiting a handful of families in a day, that means a lot of baklava that you can’t really turn away. I always feel terrible by the end. My husband has a wonderful, loud, joyful and funny family, and of course they mean well. Feeding you is one of the ways they show their love. My mother-in-law is always trying to find new ways to get me to take on a few pounds, hovering over me, slyly adding more food to my plate commanding ye ye (eat eat) until finally I must implore her to stop, she walks away in the inevitable pretend huff. This is then repeated by aunts and grandmas until I am ready to burst. This year I actually went on the defensive and brought my own treats, something I actually wanted to eat, empanadas!

I don’t want to brag, but more than a few of the elderly ladies asked for the recipe.  Bayram is also a time when people make the journey back to their villages; in fact, I read that the roads are so busy during this time that the number of extra drivers on the highways is the same as the population of Sweden. With so many people travelling to their villages or taking the days for a holiday, Istanbul is relatively empty. I cherish these days. The normally bustling streets and unrelenting traffic disappears and you are really able to appreciate what a beautiful city it truly is. I take long walks with my dog. I like to sit in cafes with the rest of the people who opt not to leave, acknowledging each other with a nod. Somehow it makes me feel like more of a local. This is our own private city, it feels like our secret.