My sophomore year of college, I studied abroad during the spring semester in Budapest, Hungary. Being in Europe for 4 months, my fellow transplants and I took advantage of our relatively lax class schedule and traveled all over Eastern Europe. Most of these trips were just extended weekends, 3 or 4 days, just enough to get a taste of a city and/or culture. Towards the end of our time there however, we were presented with a spring break: a week long reprieve from class, which presented the opportunity for extended and/or more distanced traveling.
Upon this realization, groups began to form, with splinters planning trips to London, Berlin, and another Hungarian city known for its vineyards. I was somehow convinced (it didn't take much) to join a (very) small party on an excursion to Turkey. The mastermind of the vacation had it all figured out already: we would spend a few days in Istanbul before catching a flight to a town on the Mediterranean coast for some beach time, then head back to the former Constantinople for a night to cap off the trip. This appealed to me, as Istanbul had always been an intriguing, yet distant destination that I hadn't really ever pondered visiting while in Europe. So after a couple of planning nights that involved drinking and buying discount airline tickets, myself and two others were off to Turkey for a week.
Turkey itself was by far the most exotic place I had ever been to, the only place where I felt I stuck out like a sore thumb with my pale skin and light hair. I found myself on high alert the whole time, wary of pick pockets, smooth talkers, and any perceived danger. However, my travel companions were not so cautious. Due to their susceptibility to street offers and general lack of care, we found ourselves in a few uncomfortable situations, including a street vendor overcharging one friend for a hat, a persistent shoe shiner demanding money from the other friend after ambushing his tennis shoes with a brush, and an expensive meal in an empty restaurant based on false promises of discounts from the man on the street.
By far the most uncomfortable situation I found myself in was caused by my friend's newfound love for apple tea.
We discovered apple tea our first day there in that overpriced (but delicious) restaurant. They served it complimentary after our meal, and the sweet, hot liquid enchanted us for the rest of the time. I have since learned that in Turkey, apple tea is a tourist fascination, not actually local fare. But I will admit it is delicious nonetheless, even if it does come from a powder and not real tea.
But from that first time we brought the tiny, ambrosia-filled glasses to our lips, my friend would never say no to apple tea. This proved precarious when we found ourselves in the Grand Bazaar shopping for cushions. Our third companion had left us for the day to take a tour of Gallipoli, so my friend and I took the opportunity to do some shopping. I was looking for a lamp, he for some cushion covers, a less-expensive option to the famous Turkish rugs. He was incredibly picky looking for these cushions, stopping at nearly every shop front that had them to comb through the piles of colorful square fabric, only to come up empty handed.
After combing what felt like the entire Bazzar, we found ourselves at a shop who had taken over the hallway with piles and piles of rugs and cushions. As my friend began to sort through the offerings looking for the cushion that was "just right" the shop owner (salesman) appeared and began to assist with the search. My friend soaked the attention up, taking his task as "official cushion chooser" very seriously, continually demanding more options while I sat and observed from a pile of rugs.
Something odd began to happen though. Whenever the salesman brought out an option he seemed particularly proud of, he would look to me for an opinion instead of my friend. Now I had no vested in this cushion to begin with. It wasn't my cushion, it wasn't going to end up on my couch or my bed, so I could have cared less what this cushion looked like. But when there is a language barrier, you do not explain to the overly friendly salesman that you don't give a fuck what cushion your friend chooses, you just nod and smile to every one he holds up.
After an extended amount of time, my friend decided on a cushion and went to go pay. As the transaction was proceeding, the salesman offered us a refreshment of tea or coffee, and recognizing the opportunity, my friend asked for apple tea. The salesman was more than happy to oblige, sending away an errand boy to retrieve the goodness, meanwhile inviting us inside the shop to sip our tea and complete the transaction. Unassumingly, we agreed, only to have the salesman withhold the cushion and parade in front of us his selection of (expensive) rugs.
My friend and I felt obligated to suffer through the sales pitch, since we were still waiting on our tea, but were obviously uncomfortable and in no way interested in buying a rug. We figured we would sit through the spiel, drink our tea, then happily go on our way. We figured wrong. The salesman was very persistent in finding us the perfect rug for our home. That's right our home. Because as we soon discovered, the salesman had assumed that a man and woman traveling alone must be married, and had been kind enough to disregard how young we were. How progressive (or would it be regressive) of him.
This revelation came to us during the parade of (what I thought were ugly) rugs, as the salesman asked our opinion of each one. Trying to delay an impending purchase of a 100 year old rug, we took our time in assessing each one. My friend, trying not to offend the proud salesman, kindly deferred all judgements to me, prompting the salesman to finally say "yes, of course. It's the wife's opinion that matters." I, horrified, did not want to prolong this encounter by correcting him. Meanwhile, my friend found great amusement in our predicament and proceeded to refer to me by pet names, making comments such as "well what do you think, sweetie?" and "that might look nice in our bedroom, darling." My response to such statements was always a glaring stare directed right at him.
Eventually, after it seemed we had been presented with every rug in the shop, the salesman left for a moment, returning with our apple tea and a whole new batch of woven accoutrements. Upon receipt of the tea, my friend and I's plan was to then drink them as quickly as possible and then somehow get out of there. The drinking proved difficult however, as the tea was piping hot, at a temperature that very well may be described as molten lava. We were persistent though, and attempted to take large gulps of the sweet deliciousness of fire, burned tongues be damned.
While downing the tea, I did have a moment of hopefulness, when we were presented with a small rug that I rather liked. It was colorful and somewhat modern looking, and small enough that I thought it might be affordable. The wheels turned in my head of possibly being able to remedy this whole situation by just buying a rug. Interested, I inquired as to the price, and my plan was promptly shut down. There was no way in hell I could afford that rug, not if I even pooled my friend and I's money together. We backed off, but the salesman sensed our interest so he began bargaining. We continued to refuse, until he finally asked us to name our price. I gave him as honest answer, which was the absolute maximum myself, a student at the end of her semester studying abroad, could afford, which I know for a fact offended him. He now backed off.
But that didn't stop him from showing us more rugs. By this time, my friend and I had finished our tea and were quite done with the whole charade. We just wanted to collect his purchased cushion and go on our way, but we weren't quite sure how to go about it. Despite our obvious lack of enthusiasm for parting with our money, the salesman had not given up trying to find us a rug and continued to scour his inventory for one that would convince us to splurge. We tried to present excuses, such as we had no way to bring it back with us, we had no money, etc. (all true) but he had an answer for everything.
Finally, it seemed he had determined he had shown us enough and it was time for us to pay up, for what we're not sure. He asked us to make a decision, and so after some murmuring between us, we exclaimed it was something we needed to discuss privately. I intended this as an excuse to get up and run away, but the salesman took this as a cue to make his exit and stand right outside his shop entrance. So what he intended to be a private conversation between a married couple on what rug they would buy, was actually a frantic brainstorming session among friends on how to escape this mess.
What would make this story better is if I had an elaborate exit strategy, or if I ended up with a $500 rug, but in reality we simply (and very awkwardly) told the salesman we needed to think it over and would return later. He did not seem happy about this, and very reluctantly handed over the cushion before watching us rush away into the madness of the Bazaar. As soon as we turned a corner we burst into giggling and nervous chatter, continuing to rush through the rest of the Bazaar trying to put distance between ourselves and a very persistent Turkish rug salesman as the taste of apple tea lingered on our charred tongues.
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