The Istanbul Diaries, Pt. IV: "Do You Want a Turkish Boyfriend?"

Why no, actually, I don't.

There are two types of people that I encountered in Istanbul: the Turks (duh) and this really amazing expat/tourist scene. Let's start with the latter:

Expats/Tourists

I feel as though I gushed about all the great tourists I met in Pt. III of this almost obnoxiously long series, so go back and check that out if you haven't already. However, regarding the expats, I met two really interesting women, Semy and Erin, on my second day there. We were told about this cafe (kinda similar to a local Starbucks) that was really close to our hotel, so we stopped by there. Semy was hanging out there for awhile and we started talking to her. Long story short, she and her friend Erin had come to visit Istanbul in the fall/winter, fell in love, and had recently relocated there! Like, up and moved; I liked the way their minds worked already! They both worked at a store that specialized in handmade Turkish products (towels, scarves, soaps, etc.) which was owned by a woman from Canada, proving that this is, indeed, a small world. We talked to them for awhile and went back to visit before we left; during the times that we spoke with them, they gave us great advice about where to eat (Kybele and Kalamar were their phenomenal suggestions) and told us where to get the best deals on spices at the Spice Bazaar (more coming later). It was great interacting with them and hearing about their first few months as some of Istanbul's newest American expats. So far, they seemed to have really integrated into society, which was inspiring to see. Who knows, I may end up back there one day...

Turks

Oh, the Turks. I should first say that the majority of the Turkish people I met and interacted with were men. With the exception of three women, every person I encountered at stores, restaurants, etc., was a man. I'm pretty sure this has something to do with the fact that approximately 97% of Turkish citizens are Muslim and there exist gender roles within that religion to which some people strongly adhere.

Mehmet and us!

Either way, the men that I met were actually pretty interesting. Two who stand out above all others are Mehmet and Gokan. We were told by Semy and Erin not to buy anything for ridiculously inflated prices at the Grand Bazaar, but that there were shops outside of it with good prices. So, outside we went...and met Mehmet. I just stopped to look at one scarf at the shop he owned...and stayed for 45 minutes. When I told him I was American, he replied, "Oh, I love America, but I hate fascists!" Among those who topped his list were Hitler, Mussolini, Sarkozy, and Baby Bush; to him, Obama is an okay cat. That simple statement began what was one of the most interesting conversations I've had in Europe. Mehmet's English wasn't perfect--though certainly better than my nonexistent Turkish--but he still managed to school us on a few things. He has two wives and four, soon to be five, children. He told us that he hates the way in which governments treat people and destroy cultures. Case in point: France's attempt to decimate Algeria and Algerians towards the end of their formal colonial relationship with one another; he was definitely salty about that. Mehmet was very clear that the United States has blood on their hands, too, a sentiment with which I agree (Trail of Tears, anyone?). During this whole conversation/life-history lesson, there was, of course, apple tea. I could barely bring myself to leave and almost seriously considered staying when Mehmet offered me a job teaching his kids English...but, alas, all good things must come to an end. Mehmet gave us his card in case we needed anything while we were in the city and we departed. Thoughts on him? Mehmet was the truth...the absolute truth.

That's Gokan. But do you see the VIEW!? Hagia Sofia to the right and Blue
Mosque to the left, with water in the background! #perfection

As we were ambling back towards our hotel, we happened to pass by this expensive-looking rug store...and met Gokan. He worked at said rug store and had spent part of each year for the last eight years in Massachusetts. When he saw us, the first thing he said was, "Americansssssssssssss!" in this odd, slightly squeaky voice. When I told him I was from Alabama, he said, "What? Mobile!?" Like, really!? There are people in Georgia who don't know what Mobile is and I had to come all the way to Istanbul for my hometown to get some love!? Bout time! Of course I had to ask him how he knew about my 'hood, and his retort was, "I used to sell weed down there." Ummm, we're going to give him the benefit of the doubt and say he was joking...Anywho, we sat and chatted with him for awhile and he took us up to the terrace of the store, where we got the most perfect and breathtaking view of the city. Just reliving that first moment when we saw it brings a smile to my face. After about 30 minutes and declining more tea (even I have my limits), we bid farewell to Gokan of the squeaky voice and random knowledge about Mob-town.

Please excuse the nest that I call hair in this photo; we'd just
gotten back from the Bosporus cruise and my stylish curls didn't survive.
In this nice Hafiz Mustafa employee's defense, he did not
ask to touch my hair, but to take a photo. 

Regarding the title of this post, it comes from a man at the first restaurant we went to for dinner in the city, who promptly asked me that question. I don't know if it was desperation or if he was just awed by my hair, but his wasn't the last proposal I got (quick side note: imma need for people to not be asking to touch my hair, tho. The answer is hell to the naw!) Over the course of five days in Istanbul, I apparently gained two boyfriends and a horde of people who were fans of my hair. Gokan told me that "Turkey is a great place to be black [because] you're different," and he was definitely telling the truth, if one can judge that based on the amount of proposals received (did I mention Mehmet tried to play matchmaker for his nephew and me?). I'm not saying that the country isn't as plagued by racial discrimination as the rest of the world, but it was nice to see nothing but the better side of Turks for five blissful days.

Overall, Turkish men are flirts; it's almost a sport or second job for them. Their aggression can be a major turn-off for most people and was definitely trying at times, but overall I thought they were friendly. I feel as though they tease and slightly antagonize foreigners, in general, because they get a kick out of seeing us squirm. As a black woman, I certainly got hit on, but I also feel as though people were just curious about She of the Big Hair, which I understood and didn't mind talking about, though I'm so sick and effing tired of getting asked where my people are from. Some of the catcalls were definitely doing the absolute most, but the stares of admiration just confirmed my belief that men of all cultures love black women, whether they want to admit it or not. 

Overall,  I was flattered, of course, that the men all paused because of my vivacious personality and ever-improving natural hair game, but I was definitely a little weary of having to fend off the hombres in the 'Bul.

Let it be known, ladies and gentlemen, that pimpin' ain't easy and a girl needed--and needs--her space.