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One fateful day in Istanbul
As he recalls the curious cast of characters he encountered that day in Turkey, our correspondent ponders where he went wrong.
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Editor's Note:Part 2 of a two-part story. Read Part 1.

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By Rolf Potts

Jan. 19, 2000 | The simultaneous charm and risk of travel is that it shakes up the paradigms and habits that help you simplify and interpret day-to-day life. Life on the road, for better or for worse, vivifies a muted aspect of reality: It makes you realize that random factors influence your life just as much as planned ones.

On Page 80 of the Lonely Planet guide to Turkey, there is a passage entitled "Turkish Knockout" that reads:

"Thieves befriend travelers, usually single men, and offer them drinks which contain powerful drugs that cause the victims to lose consciousness quickly. When the victims awake hours later, they have a terrible hangover and have been stripped of everything but their clothes. The perpetrators of this sort of crime, who are usually not Turkish, often work in pairs or trios."

Bad fortune tends to magnify and mythify these innocuous little details and oversights. That I never read Page 80 of my guidebook during my first four days in Istanbul is one of a thousand factors which, in retrospect, seemingly conspired to leave me unconscious and penniless one night in the middle of the city.

A certain 101-level existentialist (Kierkegaard, I think) once suggested that life is lived forwards, but understood backwards. With this in mind, I have recalled and re-recalled the three hours preceding my robbery so many times that, now, the event itself almost seems like a miracle -- a divine shroud woven from 1,000 thin, perfectly converging threads of chance.

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Of all the factors that contributed to my fate in Istanbul, perhaps the most damaging variable was also the most innocuous: Shortly after purchasing a book of Middle Eastern myths at a shop near the Sultanahmet tram stop, I met up with a couple of Australians from my postponed overland truck trip. They informed me that our trip leader had finally turned up in Istanbul, and was due to arrive with the group in Sultanahmet at around 7 that evening. Figuring this would be as good a time as any to register and pay my trip fees, I returned to my hotel and took my passport, traveler's checks and $400 in petty cash from the lockbox.

Thus, for the first time since I'd arrived in Istanbul, I was personally carrying all of my money and identification at once.

I emerged from my hotel to find Mustafa, the sleepy-eyed assistant from the water-pipe cafe, waiting there for me. "I see you inside," he said. He pantomimed smoking a water pipe. "You remember?"

"Of course," I said. "You're Mustafa, right?"

Mustafa nodded. "We eat now?" he said.

At the time, I wasn't sure why Mustafa had pegged me as a dining companion. Initially, I thought he was going to tout me to some expensive restaurant, but instead he took me to a street vendor for flat bread and meat sauce. He briefly dug for pocket change, but made no protest when I paid for the food myself. In an inspired flourish, I even stopped at a storefront market and bought two Efes-lager tallboys -- one for each of us. Mustafa led me to a park bench near the Hippodrome, and we ate our meal in the late-day sun.

Since Mustafa wasn't much for conversation, I took out my Middle Eastern myth book and began to read. After a few minutes, Mustafa took the book from me and started to flip through the pages. Whenever he saw an illustration, he would ask me what it was. "I don't know," I would tell him each time. "I haven't read the book yet."

At some point during this charade, Ahmad flopped up out of nowhere and sat down beside us. "Mr. America!" he said, startling me a bit. "We go to McDonald's again?"

I looked over at the African teenager, who was already peering around for other tourists to hustle. "No, I think once a day is enough, Ahmad."

"You need a girl now?"

"Not right now. Maybe Mustafa wants one."

Next page | Two new "friends" arrive