Bazaar’s Buried Bargains Ekrem absorbs the city’s tempo: he doesn’t lead, never lags, our paces matched in wary choreography. Each intersection is a puzzle—faces to read, gestures to decode, laughter hiding calculation. We slip into the low-lit lanes behind the Spice Bazaar, scents thickening—cumin, rosewater, amber, sweat. Saffron drifts on the air, echoed by the…