Night on the Town, Morning in the Pool
The evening, like most in the largely uninhabited backpackers hotel, began inauspiciously. I was invited to eat the dinner prepared by the family-run institution's matriarch. Not wishing to give offense, and having no better options planned, I acquiesced. The food delicious, I was otherwise unattended amidst several other tables saturated with the large group of middle-aged women and their children who had, for some unknown reason, descended upon our little haven.
The sole person who paid me mind was the hotel manager, I nice gentlemen, about my age, who, once the guests were sated with kepabs and pilav, sat down with me to enjoy his own merited portion. First, he informed me of a belly dance performance that would ensue after dinner. My glutted belly could take no further agitation, so I declined in favor of an evening walk and tea to aid my digestion, but when he invited me to have a drink later, I saw no reason not to accept.
Alas, the wily manager must have chuckled thoroughly, for upon appearing at the appointed time, I arrived just in time to hear him inform the horde of women and children that I would be their guide out "on the town." Of course, I knew nothing about this place and would have failed miserably, but luckily another man, Turkish, came along and was the true leader. As we traipsed along, I incredulous at the turn of events, and dazed at the thought that children would be coming to a bar with us, was bombarded by the irrepressible and by no means inconscionable excitement and curiosity of the children, the oldest of whom was 12. Luckily, my limited Turkish prevented me from divulging too much of my sordid past, or from understanding the multitude of jokes they made at my expense.
My first glimpse of relief was when I realized that the children were only walking with us, but then headed home well before we arrived at our destination. But this moment of exhalation was soon cancelled when we walked into a disco full of college age Turkish youths, dancing to R&B and house music. I shuddered at the rebellion that surely would take place when these women saw the depravity around them, and realized that I was to be counted as one of its participants.
Again, surprise reared its not undesirable head. The women, seemingly solemn at first, soon began to dance along, one by one, and eventually even invaded the dance floor. Tired as my legs were from several days of mountainous hiking, I unchained the fetters of my reservations enough to deceive them regarding my dancing prowess.
At around 1:30, they indicated the desire to leave. Not bad, I thought to myself, lasting past midnight. My stereotypes were fully burst, trampled, and pulverized, however, when we headed, not back to the hotel, but to a bar with traditional (live) Turkish music. The ladies were now firmly entrenched in familiar territory, and set about regulating this latest province in their kingdom. Requesting three songs, they got up and danced the night away, silencing any contrary wills should there have been any. But who could have grudged these women the joy that could not help but pour from their faces?
The next day, I dragged myself out of bed in time for the free breakfast the hotel owed me. I knew not whether to dread what lay in store, or eagerly anticipate it. As I feasted on leavened bread and cheese, the children shouted to me, one girl having dylexicized my name into "Jemery." Barely had I finished my repast, when a chorus of pleas reached me, urging me to come swim with them. It was a mere 10 am, the temperature not above 70, and the pool water an intimidating 60. But I knew they were leaving soon, and who I was to deny the role of hero into which I had been so surreptitiously cast? So in I went, goosebumps and all. I tried to teach them some clever ways of getting water into the eyes of one's opponent, but otherwise they were too excited to learn anything practical. We closed our time together with a game of foosball, played with a ping pong ball. The one thing I will remember from this enterprise was just how wonderfully uncompetitive the children were, enjoying the game but unmindful of any significance regarding the outcome.
Parting was uneventful, a fitting cap to the drab promise which opened the preceding evening. I retired to my room to contemplate the sun.
The sole person who paid me mind was the hotel manager, I nice gentlemen, about my age, who, once the guests were sated with kepabs and pilav, sat down with me to enjoy his own merited portion. First, he informed me of a belly dance performance that would ensue after dinner. My glutted belly could take no further agitation, so I declined in favor of an evening walk and tea to aid my digestion, but when he invited me to have a drink later, I saw no reason not to accept.
Alas, the wily manager must have chuckled thoroughly, for upon appearing at the appointed time, I arrived just in time to hear him inform the horde of women and children that I would be their guide out "on the town." Of course, I knew nothing about this place and would have failed miserably, but luckily another man, Turkish, came along and was the true leader. As we traipsed along, I incredulous at the turn of events, and dazed at the thought that children would be coming to a bar with us, was bombarded by the irrepressible and by no means inconscionable excitement and curiosity of the children, the oldest of whom was 12. Luckily, my limited Turkish prevented me from divulging too much of my sordid past, or from understanding the multitude of jokes they made at my expense.
My first glimpse of relief was when I realized that the children were only walking with us, but then headed home well before we arrived at our destination. But this moment of exhalation was soon cancelled when we walked into a disco full of college age Turkish youths, dancing to R&B and house music. I shuddered at the rebellion that surely would take place when these women saw the depravity around them, and realized that I was to be counted as one of its participants.
Again, surprise reared its not undesirable head. The women, seemingly solemn at first, soon began to dance along, one by one, and eventually even invaded the dance floor. Tired as my legs were from several days of mountainous hiking, I unchained the fetters of my reservations enough to deceive them regarding my dancing prowess.
At around 1:30, they indicated the desire to leave. Not bad, I thought to myself, lasting past midnight. My stereotypes were fully burst, trampled, and pulverized, however, when we headed, not back to the hotel, but to a bar with traditional (live) Turkish music. The ladies were now firmly entrenched in familiar territory, and set about regulating this latest province in their kingdom. Requesting three songs, they got up and danced the night away, silencing any contrary wills should there have been any. But who could have grudged these women the joy that could not help but pour from their faces?
The next day, I dragged myself out of bed in time for the free breakfast the hotel owed me. I knew not whether to dread what lay in store, or eagerly anticipate it. As I feasted on leavened bread and cheese, the children shouted to me, one girl having dylexicized my name into "Jemery." Barely had I finished my repast, when a chorus of pleas reached me, urging me to come swim with them. It was a mere 10 am, the temperature not above 70, and the pool water an intimidating 60. But I knew they were leaving soon, and who I was to deny the role of hero into which I had been so surreptitiously cast? So in I went, goosebumps and all. I tried to teach them some clever ways of getting water into the eyes of one's opponent, but otherwise they were too excited to learn anything practical. We closed our time together with a game of foosball, played with a ping pong ball. The one thing I will remember from this enterprise was just how wonderfully uncompetitive the children were, enjoying the game but unmindful of any significance regarding the outcome.
Parting was uneventful, a fitting cap to the drab promise which opened the preceding evening. I retired to my room to contemplate the sun.
posted by Jeremy LaBuff at 8:19 AM
1 Comments:
Another strange adventure...
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