According to my records, I receive an annual allowance of 20,000 Kurush—a fortune by any measure. To put it into perspective:
1 Gold Coin (Sultani) = 1,000 Kurush1 Silver Coin = 100 Kurush1 Copper Coin = 1 Kurush
It's a generous sum, but not without reason; the role of a crown prince is to live in both comfort and dignity, yet remain ready for duty. Still, I can't help but wonder how much this sum compares to what the average merchant earns in a year—or what a farmer might make in a lifetime.
My day begins before dawn, waking early to fulfill my prayers (Salah). Today was no exception. Afterward, I took to my exercise routine: a mix of stretching, light martial drills, and some running. Staying fit is vital; royal life often tempts one toward gluttony, and I've resolved not to join the ranks of portly sultans. My diet? Rich in eggs, milk, and lean meats, with just enough indulgence to keep life enjoyable. It's all part of my quest—both to stay healthy and to gain some height!
Most days, my tutor Sa'id Hoja ensures my mornings are filled with lessons—history, Arabic, and Persian literature—but today, the schedule is lighter. I've decided to take a stroll through the streets of Istanbul. There's something captivating about the city's pulse: the rhythmic calls of the muezzins, the scent of spices from the bazaars, and the sight of traders unloading goods by the docks. I'm eager to step out, observe, and perhaps learn something new from the world outside these palace walls.
~~~
After preparing myself, I sheathed my Kilij on my left side and strode out of my chamber. The castle corridors echoed faintly with the soft footfalls of servants scurrying about, and the cool morning air greeted me as I stepped outside.
At the stable, my personal guard, Şahin, waited dutifully by my horse. His imposing figure was offset by the ever-present twinkle of humor in his eyes.
"So, my Shehzade, where do you plan on going today?" Şahin asked as he helped me mount my steed.
"The Grand Bazaar," I replied with a grin, "I want to feel the life of the markets. The buzz, the smells of spices, the colors of fabrics—everything."
Şahin raised an eyebrow. "You know, Shehzade, you could just visit the castle kitchens if you're after the scent of herbs. Or summon an odalık to bring them to you."
I shot him a mock glare. "Şahin, if I wanted to be coddled like a fledgling, I wouldn't bother stepping outside. The bazaar has its own kind of magic—you wouldn't understand."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "You're right, Shehzade. I wouldn't. But I suppose it's my job to make sure you enjoy it safely."
After some time, Şahin and I rode our horses towards the Grand Bazaar, roughly 3 Mil (about 5.4 kilometers) away from the palace. The route was a scenic journey through the bustling streets of Istanbul. Along the way, we passed familiar sights—the barracks where I had sparred with Kerem and the towering majesty of the Hagia Sophia mosque. Though tempting, that was not our destination today.
The pathways were well-maintained, paved with cobblestones that echoed with the rhythmic clatter of our horses' hooves. Each turn brought a new perspective, vibrant with life: street vendors arranging their goods, children playing by fountains, and the occasional noble carriage weaving through the crowd.
For someone who had never set foot in this city during my previous life, the experience was electrifying. This was Istanbul, the heart of the Ottoman Empire, and it was mine to explore.
As we approached the merchant district, the aroma of spices and baked bread filled the air. The sounds of chatter, bartering, and distant music grew louder, enveloping us in the lively energy of commerce. Then, just ahead, stood the Grand Bazaar—a labyrinthine marvel of domed passageways and vibrant stalls.
Our horses slowed to a halt. I couldn't help but marvel aloud, "Wow…"
Such magnificence greeted my eyes. Merchants proudly displayed their spices, silks, and other goods in colorful arrangements that seemed to call out to every passerby. Here, in this crossroads of civilization, the treasures of the East met the luxuries of the West, creating a vibrant tapestry of trade.
As Şahin and I settled our horses at the nearby stable, the bustling atmosphere of the bazaar enveloped me. We stepped into the covered marketplace, its arched ceilings echoing the hum of voices. It was a view that could only exist in these centuries—a moment frozen in time.
The aroma of exotic spices mingled with the scent of freshly baked bread and roasted coffee. The soundscape was equally striking: merchants shouting their wares in Turkish, their voices laced with the melodic cadence of bargaining. Every corner of this bazaar seemed alive, a living testament to the empire's wealth and diversity.
I tugged at Şahin's sleeve, my nose leading me toward a stall where skewers sizzled over open coals. "Şahin, do you smell that? Let's try some skewers!"
He chuckled, "Shehzade, you're as easily swayed by food as a falcon by fresh prey."
We approached the vendor, a man with a broad smile and calloused hands. "Ah, young Shehzade, try my lamb skewers. The finest in Istanbul!" he boasted.
This section effectively showcases Selim's engagement with the bustling life of the bazaar, emphasizing its rich sensory and cultural experience. The description of the skewers is evocative, but some refinement can make it even more engaging and immersive while tying in the material district exploration seamlessly. Here's an enhanced version:
I handed the vendor 6 kurush and took 5 skewers, savoring the aroma before biting into it. The lamb was tender and flavorful, seasoned with a blend of spices that seemed to dance on my tongue. The peppers added a smoky sweetness, while the sauce tied everything together perfectly. For a moment, I felt like I'd discovered a culinary treasure in this vibrant bazaar.
With the skewers finished, Şahin and I continued to the Artisans quarters. The atmosphere shifted subtly here—less of the rich scents of spices and food and more the bright, tactile allure of silks, finely crafted tools, and magnificent artisan creations. Each stall seemed to hold its own little world of craftsmanship, a testament to the ingenuity and diversity of the Ottoman Empire.
Then, we strolled deeper into the material district. The sights were dazzling—shimmering silks of every hue, finely crafted tools, and intricate jewelry displayed proudly at the jeweler stalls. Each merchant seemed eager to outshine the others, their stalls brimming with goods ranging from humble work tools to luxurious items fit for a palace treasury.
"You name it," I said, gesturing around. "From the most basic tools for daily tasks to masterfully wrought jewelry, there's no shortage of creativity here."
Şahin, walking beside me, tilted his head. "My Shehzade, what are you hoping to find in this bustling maze?"
"I came to see what my people create—whether it's delicious foods or ingenious tools to ease their lives," I replied thoughtfully. Then, turning to him, I asked, "Do you know the true purpose of the bazaar?"
"Hmm," Şahin mused, "to buy things, of course. Food, gifts, tools… maybe a trinket or two to impress someone special?" He gave a sly grin.
I chuckled. "Well, yes, but that's only scratching the surface. A bazaar is more than a marketplace. It's a stage where artisans and merchants showcase their achievements, their innovations. It's where rumors spark curiosity, drawing crowds eager to see the latest wonders. And beyond that," I added, gesturing subtly toward a group of men speaking a foreign tongue, "it's where cultures meet. The foreign merchants, their wares, their knowledge—don't you see?"
Şahin nodded slowly, his gaze following mine. "You're right, my Shehzade. A bazaar does connect the world."
Then, with a teasing smile, he added, "Though I can't help wondering—do those foreign merchants bring their charming daughters too?"
I sighed, shaking my head. "Şahin, I'm still too young for such thoughts."
Something clicked in my mind. "Oh yes! I almost forgot. There's still something I need to find. Do you know where I might find a district that sells books?" I turned to Şahin.
"Hmmm, books, you say? I wouldn't know, Shehzade." Şahin tilted his head, looking genuinely puzzled.
I scanned the nearby stalls and approached a vendor arranging spices. "Effendim, pardon me—might you know where I can find a shop that sells books?"
The vendor paused, momentarily caught off guard by the question. Then, after a brief chuckle, he said, "Books? A noble pursuit, young Efendi. You'll want to head east." He gestured with a weathered hand. "Look for a sign that says 'Khattab's Abode.' You can't miss it."
"Thank you, Effendim," I replied with a polite nod. Şahin and I followed the direction he indicated.
~~~
Soon enough, Şahin pointed toward a shop nestled between two vibrant stalls. Its wooden sign swung gently in the breeze, etched with elegant calligraphy: Khattab's Abode.
"There it is," he said, gesturing toward the entrance.
I smiled. "It looks like we've arrived."