As always in a new place, confusion is followed by a gradual orientation. When you travel you are like a three year-old child. You must learn the names of things, the names of places. That big street is where the buses come. This place sells cigarettes. This is 5,000,000 lira, that is 1,000,000. They look exactly the same an identical picture of Ataturk graces every bill, large or small. So put the big bills in your left front pocket, the small ones in the right.
Gradually we learn to pronounce the name of our neighborhood. We begin to recognize the series of bridges we cross between Mecidiye Koy and Sultanahmet. We remember seeing that music store before. We recognize that alley. We can find our way on foot to that place by the train tracks where we had those meatballs. We understand that when a smiling man approaches us outside a monument, he is neither a pervert nor a kidnapper he is simply hoping to lure us to his rug store. We learn to have the right amount of money ready when the cab nears our hotel. One day we even know when a cabbie is trying to hijack us. (Four million lira? That's a one-point-five million lira trip, buddy. Go find a tourist to pick on.)