The Hıdırellez, a folkloric tradition held annually in the first week of May, is a commemoration of the day two important prophets met in Islamic belief. It is believed that any wishes made that day will be granted within the span of a year. Many towns see people flocking to river banks, throwing small pieces of paper with wishes inscribed upon them into the rushing water, or etching images in the sand with sticks or by arranging rocks.

Young boys seemed to enjoy this outing most of all. Not concerned with the desire for houses or cars, they instead threw stone after stone into the river. Some sat snacking on the cotton candy that was made readily available for the event.

Older girls sat with handfuls of wild daisies, carefully braiding them into decorative wreaths.

On our way out, I inadvertently stepped right in the middle of a designed wish, noticing too late that I had displaced stones that had been arranged into a large rectangle with smaller dividing stones throughout. “A house,” Mustafa guessed as he came over to inspect, “a house with three bedrooms.”

I had destroyed one of the walls. Having just previously proclaimed that I didn’t need to make a wish (that I already had everything I could possibly want), I made an exception at that point. I dearly hoped that I hadn’t ruined the dreams of another.