Pricetag

(written on phone again - excuse the grammar and mistakes)

Some nights don't have a price tag. Other nights do, and they can be quite steep.

So, I arrived in Istanbul two nights ago. I came for work reasons as par usual and in the bits between work I tried to do me things.

I had an hour before a Skype interview thing and was feeling peckish. Being a high star (4 I think? ) hotel of course one can order room service. I however, was ever so slightly conscious of the aroma that had built up in the room. Not shit. Not fart. Not BO. Not rotten things. Not a rancid corpse rotting in the bathroom. No. None of those things. It was actually washing. Still damp washing which I stuffed into my bag after 3 attempts in the dryer. Not sure what the hell the dryer thinks its job is, perhaps it thinks it's to create a sub-tropical environment in the dryer - only warming the wetness of the garments within.

Yes. My hotel room was strewn with two-day old damp clothes. And it wasn't a fresh smell you'd rush into rooms for. More of a smell you'd screw up your nose to but not really be able to tell what it is – apart from damp. So, I escaped the room for the fresh air of the motorway running outside the main doors of the hotel. There was a mall thing across the road, and they tend to have things in mall things (I have noticed this), so my something was to combine these things.

Malls confuse me – I have no idea what to do in them. There are all these shops and people waddling about as if they seem to know what's going on. One day someone decided that the problem with shopping is the distance between shops, the weather and cars, so let’s shove all the shops into one big shop and call it a day. The maul in the mall happens when shopping takes over ones life; black Friday is such a thing. And don't get me started on that monstrosity.

I was also waddling about. I certainly don't stay still or even venture into these illuminated spending traps, but ambily strut around hoping something becomes stomach-able. Well, doing my man waddle I came face-to-face with another man waddle. We wanted to see what (well I did) films were showing, though it was all closed down.

He introduced himself, and, like everyone else asked ‘where are you from?’. To which I predictably said ‘Earth’, then with wait for the blank stare to saturate before continuing ‘Scotland’. It's always more beneficial to say that rather than England. England has too much history with its flag-wielding, people ruling, snobbish elitism. Scotland is less associated with these things, though certainly not exempt, and so it’s easier to have a conversation after.

We got talking. He's Turkish, not from Istanbul though, and was in town for work. Also, he seemed rather in need of a chat of some kind. We went to a little café upstairs and continued with the already initiated chat over Turkish coffee - a drink which lingers in your mouth many minutes later.

I can't recall how the conversation went exactly ~ work, travel, politics, that kind of thing. Orhan and i parted ways as I needed to go back and take a call.

Following the call I went to go do some infrequent gym exercises. These rare opportunities to do movements other than finger whacking the keyboard and waddling about are a joy. Hunger was the feeling which next took over. Orhan and i agreed to meet again that evening to get some dinner, so that was the plan. Eating alone is not as exciting as eating with others you see, as it can be quite good entertainment watching people struggle to chew and speak at the same time, so long as you are a reasonable distance apart where the spray can't reach. I sat there and nommed whilst Orhan pecked at some skewered meat and popped outside often to have a puff.

I was wearing my hotel slippers; which posed an amusing spectacle to some of the guests of the restaurant. All i was expecting for this evening was to simply grab some quick food and then head back to work some more... This didn't happen.

Orhan said: ‘we should get a drink’

I said: ‘sure, but I'll probably only have the one’

We got back in his car and drove further into town. My hotel was near Attaturk airport, so the drive into Taksim was a little further than I was expecting. A haze blanketed istanbul and only the honking of the various vehicles and the headlights seemed to pierce it. I wonder how there are not more accidents on Turkish roads ~ there's literally no rule book for the roads, or if there is, it’s been well and truly thrown out the vehicle and driven over by a legion of motor vehicles and left to cower in the corner somewhere ignored by virtually all who incidentally glance towards it.

We parked. Well he did, I just got out the car when it stopped.

A club eh? Seemed so. So me, this guy I just met and my slippers proceeded inside. The place was actually more of a gentleman's bar; immediately obvious when you walk in and half the people there are attractive ladies. This is quite a tell-tale sign that the costing is going to be a little steeper than normal. Some of these attractive specimens moved from a booth so Orhan and I could flump ourselves in it. This was in fact, one these 'madam bars' you hear about.

Wasn’t long before two girls were invited to sit next to us. Luckily they spoke some English; one more than the other. They were both from Ukraine and wore tight clinging cocktail dresses and were, for lack of any other word, gorgeous. Before long champagne had been ordered for the girls and as if seriously dehydrated, the girls drank it away rapidly. Rather too rapidly. I checked; only 5% alcohol content.

Needless to say, I was very much myself – in the truest dorkiest way. I even started dancing with some bloke who was waving around tissues on the small dance floor in the middle of the room. Me, fully in orange for some reason and in slippers and this old guy flapping around tissues probably made quite a sight.

Three hours in and only two whiskies for me, I was ready to go. The ten or so bottles of empty champagne stood at the end of the table. The bill came…

Now, I might add at this point that I wasn’t expecting to have to pay half the bill. I was expecting to pay for myself, but not necessarily for all that which was bought for the girls. The bill was slid over and the guy eyed us up as he did so. I can see why. It was for 12,600TL! Which is a lot of money. If you divide that sum by 5 you get the approximate figure in pounds. Yeah... i know.

Later we checked, on the wall near the entrance was a price list. It showed the cost of the champagne: 1,300TL a bottle! My new friend thought we should split it. If I wasn’t dizzy from the spinning or the whiskey already I was now.

I only had 200TL in my wallet. Cards were my only option and i knew how impossible this situation was for using them. There were two main reasons for this:

1. I knew I would be cutting close to the bottom of the barrel of finances if I was to pay half of this. And, 2. My bank is notorious at blocking my card if it even gets a whiff of fraud. I knew paying on card would likely not work. I've never paid for something even remotely as expensive on a night out before, and being in foreign land, the suspicion would be high. After several attempts 2,000TL was paid from me. Orhan managed his without complication. So, a fair amount more was due. There was mild unease in the situation; the girls sat sipping their very expensive bubbly water, whilst two servers inserted my cards in multiple ways into their machines.

So, I was commanded to take the walk of shame to a cash machine. Shadowed closely by a man who to ensure I didn't just scarper. I might have considered it if I was on my own, but outrunning this guy in slippers might not be the wisest of moves, besides i wasn't on my own and i knew my responsibilities.

My withdrawal limit is $500 when overseas. And judging from the card attempts earlier I figured it would be a slim chance for it to work. My cards had likely been flagged. The guy even offered to ‘help’ me when at the machine. I have no idea what kind of help he would provide me there but it certainly wouldn't be an auteristic act. I declined.

No money.

I skulked back with the man in silence. I was too appalled by the bill to make polite conversation.

My friend paid the rest of the bill and we quickly left. He was in high spirits and said ‘it's just money’. True enough. Truly a very friendly man and one who calls me 'brother', as he beems with positivity.

Following this I tried multiple methods of paying him some money. Cash transfer, Western Union and calling my bank. But for several reasons it wasn't going to happen. Mostly because my cards were blocked and to go through all the security questions takes an age. It was late and i couldn't face it.

I was to be flying out the next day and so I was keen to give him some money before-hand. Tomorrow I'll physically go to a Western Union.

At my hotel, as he drove off to his, I was feeling rather the fool. I had had the most expensive night of my life, and after all that, I had nothing to show for it. Just far lighter but also feeling heavier than earlier on in the day. One of the girls earlier seemed very interested in me, though, I was not quite sure about the operation of this. Were they high-end prostitutes? Or escorts? Or simply companions in the club? I couldn't tell, so I didn't act on it. Also, showing interest is in the line of their work, whatever that might be, so i decided it was best to call it a night at the club and not pursue anything.

I slunk into my bed coming to terms with what just happened and slept fine when having accepted it. I could now move on.

The following day I met Orhan just before my flight. We sat in the same café as the previous day; incidentally around the same time, and had good conversation once more. I slid him an envelope of cash. I had now paid a third of the bill. This, in my mind, though I didn't verbalize it was what I was prepared to pay. Orhan was fine with whatever, and said if I couldn't afford it I could have the envelope back.

I would have taken the offer if he was a rich man. Though, I could see he was doing OK, but as a family man and employed in a moderate income job, I knew it wouldn't sit right with me. Besides, he was my 'brother' right?

A couple of weeks later he messaged again asking for 2,000TL after insisting i didn't need to give him anymore. He has been very upbeat and took my decline of this well. I like the guy, but i don't think he's good for my bank balance. I think that's the last i'll see of my brother. Also, there's a chance that he was complicit in this, in which case, i would say he's quite a good scam artist. The problem i have with this viewpoint is that he agreed to pay for the bill, and was not insistent with me paying it if i couldn't. If he was a scam artist he would have insisted.

Lesson to be learnt: always check prices before being led into bars; particularly those with table service. Also, decide in advance who's going to pay what, or what you’re prepared to spend.

Some lessons are free, others are less so…