It was more likely my friend Rasta.
I found the ferry of Ratchik by asking a soldier and a German sailor there told me where the Kurdish Bazaar was.

He pointed up a steep street which ran past a high block of warehouses with every window broken.

Sandy had said the left-hand side coming down, so it must be the right-hand side going up.

We plunged into it, and it was the filthiest place of all.

The wind whistled up it and stirred the garbage.