At Istanbul airport, we were escorted to a dark car park and driven for miles.
‘I knew we would end up in the white slave trade one day’, I whispered to Danielle.
‘No. we are past our use-by date. Anyway he had our names on the board, and he is wearing a Fez Travel jacket.’
Soon the minarets of Istanbul appeared, and I was reassured once more. Our young driver turned out to be legitimate, and very charming indeed. But then so did so many of the men. It took a few days to learn the technique of not being propositioned, but before that we had some entertaining encounters.
No sooner had we booked into the hotel, and gone for an explore of the inner city neighbourhood, than Danielle received a marriage proposal. A handsome uniformed hotelier called out as we were passing, and not only offered her marriage, but 27 children, a big house and a garden. Like Sarah, she laughed.
Danielle looked very smug as her success was outclassing mine. I had only scored two hand kisses, by the same man, along with his offer to ‘show me secret things in Istanbul that no-one else knows about'. He owns the restaurant next to the hotel so it was hard to avoid his longing looks. We took to returning from another direction, and looking not to the left or the right. Later our tour guide described him as ‘very low profile, and just to ignore him’!
My most colourful offer was from a dark and handsome carpet seller who declared that I ‘held his heart in my hand‘, and would I like to step inside his shop. I did not like at all, but we parted with a laugh.
You have to laugh at the ridiculously eloquent pick up lines, directed at two ladies a little past their prime, and the excessive enthusiasm for their shop or restaurant. But it is tiring, when all you want is a coffee, after a hard day sight seeing.
The most awkward situation was with our tour driver, who gazed at me from his rear view mirror. One morning at breakfast he stood behind me and rubbed my back, chanting, ‘Good morning! Good morning. How are YOU this morning?’, and smiling very warmly through his huge black moustache.
I asked our guide to tell him it was not acceptable, and later he apologised ‘most deeply, madam. I am very very sorry.’
‘That’s fine', I replied.' We can still talk to each other, but no touching. OK?’
It is hard to know what messages we western women give out, but we have learnt that eye contact is the key. When men greet each other they shake hands and often kiss on both cheeks, but they do not hold eye contact. Women certainly do not meet the eyes of men. This was a helpful piece of local knowledge for us. From then on, we walked past shops, avoiding the eyes of the men owners, standing at the doorways. We also resisted our natural inclination to answer when men call out, ‘Hello, where you from?.’
So silently, steadfastly looking ahead, even wearing sun glasses, we forge our way through bazaars, lines of taxis, mosques and metros- life is so much easier.
‘I knew we would end up in the white slave trade one day’, I whispered to Danielle.
‘No. we are past our use-by date. Anyway he had our names on the board, and he is wearing a Fez Travel jacket.’
Soon the minarets of Istanbul appeared, and I was reassured once more. Our young driver turned out to be legitimate, and very charming indeed. But then so did so many of the men. It took a few days to learn the technique of not being propositioned, but before that we had some entertaining encounters.
No sooner had we booked into the hotel, and gone for an explore of the inner city neighbourhood, than Danielle received a marriage proposal. A handsome uniformed hotelier called out as we were passing, and not only offered her marriage, but 27 children, a big house and a garden. Like Sarah, she laughed.
Danielle looked very smug as her success was outclassing mine. I had only scored two hand kisses, by the same man, along with his offer to ‘show me secret things in Istanbul that no-one else knows about'. He owns the restaurant next to the hotel so it was hard to avoid his longing looks. We took to returning from another direction, and looking not to the left or the right. Later our tour guide described him as ‘very low profile, and just to ignore him’!
My most colourful offer was from a dark and handsome carpet seller who declared that I ‘held his heart in my hand‘, and would I like to step inside his shop. I did not like at all, but we parted with a laugh.
You have to laugh at the ridiculously eloquent pick up lines, directed at two ladies a little past their prime, and the excessive enthusiasm for their shop or restaurant. But it is tiring, when all you want is a coffee, after a hard day sight seeing.
The most awkward situation was with our tour driver, who gazed at me from his rear view mirror. One morning at breakfast he stood behind me and rubbed my back, chanting, ‘Good morning! Good morning. How are YOU this morning?’, and smiling very warmly through his huge black moustache.
I asked our guide to tell him it was not acceptable, and later he apologised ‘most deeply, madam. I am very very sorry.’
‘That’s fine', I replied.' We can still talk to each other, but no touching. OK?’
It is hard to know what messages we western women give out, but we have learnt that eye contact is the key. When men greet each other they shake hands and often kiss on both cheeks, but they do not hold eye contact. Women certainly do not meet the eyes of men. This was a helpful piece of local knowledge for us. From then on, we walked past shops, avoiding the eyes of the men owners, standing at the doorways. We also resisted our natural inclination to answer when men call out, ‘Hello, where you from?.’
So silently, steadfastly looking ahead, even wearing sun glasses, we forge our way through bazaars, lines of taxis, mosques and metros- life is so much easier.
P.S.Only once did our resolve fail. That is another, and expensive story, called
‘Captured by a crafty carpet seller and his wily daughter.’
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