Istanbul: Episode 2

Okay, so the initial shock of the room has diminished, and I made peace with the fact that I am going to call Ipek Palas home for the next two nights.

I decided to venture out into the streets as it was after 7 pm and I was starving. Like a good tourist, I thought I would sightsee a little bit and then sit down for a quiet, yet local, dinner.

I think I managed three steps out the front door when I was approached by a fairly handsome, yet extremely slick, Turkish man in a pink shirt and suit. Although being warned by colleagues about the information gathering skills of the Turkish, he knew within 2 sentences that I live in the Netherlands, and continued in such fluent Dutch it made me self-conscious. I will spare you the details, but after a lengthy conversation I was rid of him and managed to buy some mineral water from a shop a block further (he followed me all the way).

Taking a brisk walk around the block cleared my head of the room-incident, the terribly disgusting kiss and the slick-pink-dude.

Being very careful not to get lost, I didn’t venture our too far, and soon found myself in front of the Ipek Palas again, still hungry. (Did I mention that slick-pink-dude tried to sell me a starter from “his” restaurant before I managed to escape?)

Going for the path of least resistance, I crumbled to his charms and sat down at a table literally on the street. Every time a taxi drives past I flinch and move my chair a little bit.

Now, I am a strong believer in that everything happens for a reason. And it has never been more clearly illustrated to me than everything I have experienced here. If I have not:
- been to the Indian plaza in JHB where every salesperson is your best friend
- almost been ripped off in Belgium by silly French-speaking opportunists
- experienced an authentic African market in Cameroon where you literally need a big black bodyguard, and
- of course spent time in Taiwan, which is way to complicated and un-understandable to explain here,

I would not have survived this evening.

Slick-pink-dude tried every trick in the book. From just bluntly bringing food to the table without you ordering anything, to suggesting a day out tomorrow with other Dutch girls that were sitting at the opposite table (of course only after they have already left, so his story could not be verified). He went on to enquire about a possible boyfriend, and subtly (not!) fishing if I knew any locals. I stepped into a couple of questions, but as with any game, soon got the hang of it.

I had some nice wine, a good dinner, and most importantly, a correct bill at the end!

I was proud.

After paying, and of course leaving a good tip, as he did try his best, he sent me on my way with the customary Dutch three cheek kisses.

Even after all that I have seen in my short life, and my subtle appreciation for different cultures, feeling his day old stubble against my cheek gave me the chills.