Read part one from yesterday, before reading on…!
Ducking into a side-street I quickly caught my breath. Being a computer geek, it probably comes as no surprise that my muscle tone isn’t fantastic. My fingers, well, they are finely-honed, agile implements capable of typing at 150 words per minute. But my legs and heart? Not so great. Back at university, when I was a little more active, it might’ve been a different story, but now I’m in some dark alley panting and wheezing.
It wasn’t until last year that I finally caught up with all of the Godfather/American Gangster films, so at the time I didn’t realise this, but the sun coming from behind me created a perfect silhouette. My persistent pursuer saw me clearly in the alley, smiled a little creepily and started to close the gap. It’s then that I did something I hadn’t done for about 10 years: I sprinted. With my legs wobbling beneath me, head pounding and my heart trying its best to leap out of my chest, I started to put some distance between us.
I should’ve figured at the time, by the way he was striding quickly but with delicious intent, that I wasn’t going to get away. He surely knew it; it’s just a shame I didn’t — I probably took a year or two off my life, running around Istanbul like a spastic, with hardly any sleep (and a meager Turkish Airlines breakfast).
Eventually, I found myself outside the Grand Bazaar. It wasn’t quite what I expected — I expected more of an open-air affair, like the one in Aladdin. Apparently that kind of bazaar is more common in Egypt and Morocco. In Istanbul you have this massive maze of crisscrossing streets; narrow streets, lined with shops, each one armed with an owner trying to sell you his wares. I explored for a while, figuring the guy couldn’t possibly be following me through such a massive throng of people. I even stopped for a 20-cent class of freshly squeezed orange juice and marveled at how the same thing could cost 8 euros in the Istanbul airport.
I even bought a nice piece of silk that my girlfriend would later turn her nose up at, because she preferred the emerald bracelet I bought. Women, huh. I thought it was diamonds that were the key to a girl’s heart…
Before long, I caught a glimpse of my predator behind me. Somehow he’d kept up with me; I guess he just knew the area a whole lot better than some pesky tourist. My trip to the Bazaar was over and I headed out, along some tiny street, back towards the mosques. To be honest, I was starting to tire, and my rationality had started to kick back in. I really doubted that he wanted to kill me, in broad daylight, surrounded by hundreds of tourists. So I promptly stopped and sat down with my back against a wall, waiting for him to catch up.
Muhammad: You come buy some carpets? My uncle’s shop is just around the corner.
Seb: wheezing. You must be kidding. You followed me, to make sure I went to your uncle’s store to buy a… carpet?
Muhammad: Yes. Follow me, sir.
And so I had my first, true Turkish experience. ‘Apple tea, sir?’ Sure, don’t mind if I do. I found out later that if they really like you, they get out the liquor — some kind of brandy — but they obviously didn’t like me all that much, after I hauled ass half way across central Istanbul, as they only offered me apple tea.
For about an hour a guy tried to flog me carpets that ranged from 250 euros to about 4000 euros — and that was just for the small ones. ‘This one would be a lovely gift to your mother.’ Sorry mum, but I just don’t love you enough. It was informative though, and I learnt all sorts of exciting things, like the number of knots per square inch, and how silk carpets are far superior to other threads. It takes about 9 months for some young woman, in a hut somewhere in the Eastern mountains of Turkey to weave a 1 meter silk rug — thus the insane price, the man said.
I finally managed to get out of the shop — it took about 20 minutes from me standing up, to actually being allowed out of the shop — I couldn’t help but think I’d really upset these guys by not buying a carpet. I’d sipped their tea, and rubbed my feet on their rugs. I’d flaunted their hospitality.
Then I reminded myself that a creepy guy called Muhammad had stalked me across Istanbul. Something told me this was just the opening act of a trip that would turn end up being far more interesting than I had anticipated.
Check out those awesome minarets!
andhari
Jan 27, 2009
some of the sellers are persistent. I got followed too at some markets ( in egypt ) so if you wanna visit, you’ll get the experience again
and they offer you shisha. Which gave me a fantastic idea for souvenirs for friends back home : bong.
sebastian
Jan 27, 2009
I try to avoid the hookahs… ! Both kinds!
andhari
Jan 28, 2009
lol good for you, because it’s pretty much makes me wanna throw up too.
I was in Turkey
Jan 28, 2009
it was so close, but that’s the beauty of istanbul.
I am trying to put up a website about Turkey based on people’s experiences in Turkey.
http://www.iwasinturkey.com
I just want to ask if you would be interested in publishing this and the one before on this website with referral links to your website.
You can either put your articles by becoming a member or I can do it for you.
We also have a Flickr group http://www.flickr.com/groups/iwasinturkey/pool/ which you can add your Turkey pictures.
Please let me know what you think.
Thanks for your time.
Onur
info@iwasinturkey.com
Fatalbon
Feb 20, 2009
Don’t feel bad sebastian it is a aggressive marketing employed commonly in touristic areas. Actually government is trying to fight it. Basicly shop owners hire people to harass turists till they get into their shops to rule out competition. Same thing happens in beaches too; if you see men just standing and staring to you they are probably hired by the next beach resort.
baahar
Sep 22, 2009
Yes the sellers at the grand bazaar are exactly like that
Beautiful and fun read
sebastian
Sep 22, 2009
It was a very… intense… introduction to my holiday in Turkey, put it that way
Thanks!