The moment you say Merkez, you've landed in the heart of Siirt — narrow streets, the old bazaar, men sitting in the mosque courtyard, the noise of the market. Toward evening the streets shift gears: tea houses fill up, sidewalks come alive, everyone walks like they're late for something. Skip the long-term planning. The district's own momentum will drag you into some corner anyway. If you're stuck, stop, pull a dice out of your pocket, and let it call the shot.