Our first night in Istanbul, we stayed at a hostel in the Sultanahmet district equipped with a lovely rooftop terrace. Cold beers in hand, we chatted up a couple of Polish girls, N and A, who had been in Turkey a week already. N had short hair and a smart pair of glasses, A a head of electric blonde hair and huge door-knocker earrings. Evidently they had stayed in this hostel for some time, and knew all the staff by name. We were in turn introduced to two Turkish men, agents at the hostel’s travel agency, V and M. V didn’t sit with us right away, but M curled up next to A and asked us where we were from, how long we’re in Turkey. A few others appeared at the adjoining tables, the Turkish men kissing each other on the cheeks as a greeting. It was a beautiful night and the rooftop was coming alive.

Behind the bar, the chalkboard read: “DJ Käfteci (real one) tonight @ 11:30 (craziest party!)” Well, the DJ himself graced our presence and offered us a glass of Rakı, the traditional Turkish spirit. It turns out that “Käfteci” means “meatball”, his storied DJing talents being limited to switching CDs on a home stereo system behind the bar. V came back, and as he sat next to M he kissed her on her bare shoulder and put his hand over her knee. Apparently they knew each other better than I thought.

M was a younger guy, maybe twenty, with a chubby babyface and a big smile. Sensing that V’s success with foreign girls was nothing he couldn’t do, he scootched over right next to A and began putting the moves on without any pretense of decorum. He told DJ Meatball to bring over two cocktails and two beers, took one beer for himself, and gave the rest to N.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” he asked us. “Come on, say it.”

“Yes, she’s beautiful,” we said.

“She’s the most beautiful girl in the world! Am I right? Please, drink!”

He pushed her cocktail closer. A gave a laugh and an obvious eye-roll. She gave Will and I a look, a very specific girl-look that every girl knows how to make. The look that said “protect me from this guy.” She got up to flip through DJ Meatball’s CD collection, and Will took this opportunity to give him a little counselling.

“M, listen. You have some really good skills for picking up women. You’re fearless, you’re funny and you tell them you like them without caring what they think. But you need to fix your approach a little bit.”

“What? Yes, you will tell me what to say? One of us has to pick her up! One of you, speak for her now or else she’s mine!”

He seemed resolutely convinced that territory be established before the conquest began. Surely horrible things might happen if these battle lines were to be breached, but it was only my first night in Turkey and I hadn’t yet learned their rules of engagement.

“Just give me a chance!” he begged us.

We agreed that M and M alone should be allowed exclusive territorial rights over A for the rest of the evening, but in light of the look A gave us, it was clear that we were to stay on the sidelines in order to throw out the rescue ladder if needed. Anyway, we knew that M had no shot whatsoever, so we humoured him for a while.

“OK, so here’s what you say,” Will said.

“I tell her that she is beautiful and that I want to get her alone, yes?”

“No, no, no, that is all wrong.”

M appeared genuinely confused. It didn’t help that he was on his fourth beer.

“You need to talk to her some more,” I interrupted, “and you need to let her talk. Ask her what her interests are, why she’s travelling, you know?”

“She is travelling to find a man and for sex.”

Things were falling apart here.

“You shouldn’t talk like that to a woman, M. They hate that. Ask her some questions and listen to what she says. Then ask her more about those things. Conversation, you know?”

M broke into uproarious laughter. He laughed so hard it caused us to laugh too.

“Why you talk like this to girls? You probably want to marry them! Ha ha ha!”

M was a lost cause. Probably just drunk. But I looked over M’s shoulder to see DJ Meatball and A standing behind the bar, and DJ Meatball standing with his arm against the wall, blocking her path as she tried to squeeze past him.

“You’re beautiful! Most beautiful in the world! Won’t you give me a chance?” I heard him say.

This entry was posted on Thursday, September 13th, 2007 at 11:49 am and is filed under Uncategorized.