Istanbul - pt. 3

My 2nd day in Istanbul, I decided to do the Bazaars (Grand and Egyptian Spice).

On my way to the Grand Bazaar, I was approached by two men. One selling carpets, the other just wanting to talk. By approached, I mean they followed me. Because almost EVERY man I walk by says something to me. But they seem to be like cats or hookers - they have a defined territory, so if you move beyond them, they don't follow.

But some do. You can choose not to reply to them, or tell them "no, go away", but it doesn't seem to work. I've realized that to turkish men, EVERYthing is a negotiation. "No" just means you want a lower price or they haven't said the right thing yet. To the carpet sellers, I've learned to say I've already bought one, then they usually stop following me.

When I walked into the Grand Bazaar, it was like entering a whole other world. A world much like the outside, but where the streets are more narrow and you practically have to shove the shopkeepers out of the way in order to walk past them. A world of one long chorus of "Yes please. It is my turn now. Hey Lady. Where are you from? Lady, please talk. Where are you from? Hey Lady? Oh, Bonita. Are you Russian? Bonjour! Are you from England? Hey lady? I am here. Where are you from? Hey Lady!?!" I think I had every European language thrown at me in an attempt to get my attention. But I was determined to heed none of them.

I didn't feel uncomfortable, but those aren't the kind of shopping conditions I like. I just want to be left alone to browse, and am much more likely to buy if not given the hard sell. So, instead of buying anything, I just looked straight ahead and made my way up and down all the streets inside I could manage, looking 3 or 4 stalls ahead of me at the items for sale. Any faltering would have caused the shop keeper closest to me to pounce. And like I said, you can't easily extract yourself from conversation with any of the men here, except by walking away. Dialogue equals negotiation. The practially force you to be rude to them, and while most seem ok with that, a few are complete assholes.

I wonder how many other travellers, like me, end up not buying anything there because the wealthy Armenian shopsmen (I learned from a Turkish woman today that all the stall owners in the Grand Bazaar are Armenian) are too intimidating? For a country dependant on tourism, they seem to not understand how people from the west prefer to shop.

So, I made my purchases outside the Grand Bazaar, on my way to the Spice Market. I even bargained!

I wandered into and through the spice market, only to leave thinking I must be in the wrong place. It looked more like the Grand Bazaar than I thought it should, but smaller and with a bunch of places selling Turkish delight.

So I wandered back out, and stopped for a Doner (like Gyros) and a Pepsi Light, costing all of 4 lira (well under $3), before following the signs to the Galata Bridge, where I sat in front of Yeni Cami (the New Mosque) and pulled out my map.

It took me about 5 minutes to figure out the Spice Market entrance was right behind me. When I walked in, I instantly realized I'd already been there. (I don't mind backtracking and getting lost on vacation, as long as I'm doing it on my own - it just feels like exploring the city I am in). The Spice Market doesn't sell much in the way of Spices anymore. It's like an enclosed Pier 39 with souvenir shops.

So I turned and walked across the Galata Bridge, determined to go to the Galata Tower.

But I went left when I should have gone straight, and walked down this strip of shops all dedicated to plumbing, bathrooms and kitchens, where I had my worst experience in Istanbul to date.

I didn't manage to see Galata Tower before it was time to head back to my hotel to get ready to meet Hasan. Ah, well. I'm not sure I would have appreciated it after the episode.

I went into the Basilica Cistern on the way to my hotel. It is amazing and cool and serene and dank and beautiful in there. When I'm in Amsterdam, I will post pictures. Niblet liked all the underground water.

***

My 2nd date with Hasan began outside my hotel. We walked to the restaurant across from his family carpet shop in order to see the Whirling Dervish dancer. I don't understand how they don't vomit and fall over. Some Dervishes spin for upwards of an hour and a half.

We had a light meal and tea, then headed to Taksim, the cool shopping center of Istanbul, very western looking. In fact, it could be in any of the major cities of the world. It looks like Union Square. And Melrose. And the Leidseplein.

We went first to an english pub Hasan likes, and I tried Raki. Raki is the national drink, tastes like drinking the fruitcake fruit, and knocks you on your ass in one drink, if you're not used to it. After the Raki, he took me to a wine bar. I have to say, I was disappointed. It was nice, but it was so San Francisco, and I didn't come to Istanbul to experience California. The saving grace was that I tried a Turkish wine from Anatolya, as well as a cheese from that region, and also 2 kinds of Kurdish cheese. The Anatolyan cheese reminded me of bleu cheese without having any blue in it. The Kurdish cheese rocked. One tasted like smoked dutch gouda. The other was similar to mozzarella string cheese, but more salty and not quite as moist.

Most cheese in turkey is sheep's milk cheese, with some goat and some cow. But sheep are to them what cows are to us, and they eat lamb and use sheep's leather the same way we do cows. I have yet to see any pork in this country.

As we were drinking the wine and eating the cheese, it became clear Hasan had no intention of going dancing. He kept talking about being warm with me and wanted to spend the night with me. I suggested my hotel. He thought the two of us getting a hotel together would be better.

I decided come what may, this relationship was ending *tonight*. He kept wanting more of my time, all night, the days, the next night, etc. I'm travelling alone for a reason: I've just filed divorce papers, and I have so many responsibilities at home, I just wanted time to travel and explore and not have a schedule and not have to worry about pleasing someone else and not have to be at certain places at certain times. So I asked him first to take me someplace for me to smoke apple tobacco from a Nargileh.

How would that help, you wonder?

By making me so obviously ill he would feel like dick pressuring me for more.
Short of turning green and vomiting, I would have spent hours negotiating with him.

I didn't have to actually vomit. Turning green seemed enough to do it.

He walked me back to my hotel (and wanted to kiss me - gah! MEN!). He asked if he could see me the next night, and I said I would see how I felt when I got back from my day trip to the Princess Islands. I got his number so I could call in case I got back too late for the shop to be open. I knew then I was going to let him down over the phone. Chickenshit of me? Maybe. But I don't want to negotiate a break-up with someone after 2 freakin' days, you know?

I did call his cellphone, 2 times that night, and once the following night. Each time I got a message saying he couldn't take the call and to call back later. Apparently his service doesn't inculde voice mail. I've gone by the shop a couple of times, and he hasn't been there at those times. I didn't want to be a complete asshole and totally brush him off with no word, but he's not making it easy to be even a little bit nice.

It's a shame - because he is cute, and I had fun the first night. But I want to be footloose and unfettered, not practically married to the first Turk who didn't try to sell me something.

***

This entry sounds like I think more negatively of Istanbul than I do. I really love it here, it's just difficult to adapt to the culture of tourism and shopkeepers and the need for every man to try and speak to me. Western movies make all women seem like sluts compared to muslim women, and so the men are all very hopefull they are going to get some, just like James Bond.