Chase A. Wolf's

Nastia - My Ukrainian Bodyguard

     I forgo eating after the meeting, not because I’m fasting, but because my half-mad Ukrainian girlfriend – Nastia – is flying in tonight and I know we’re going to spend the evening eating oysters and drinking vodka.  Well, she’ll drink the vodka and we’ll both eat the oysters –she has a nearly insatiable appetite for both.  

     She’s a 98-pound, two-fisted Slavic tornado and I make a mental note to check for the location of the back door at every restaurant we visit.  I’ve seen Midnight Express and the last thing I want is to be traded for smokes in a Turkish prison, and, knowing her utter distain for all liquids not distilled from potatoes, I was suddenly gripped by a fearful vision of some Turkish barkeep serving her water instead of vodka, whereupon, moving with cobra-speed, she flies half over the bar, grabs him by the tie, and pulls his hapless face an inch from hers, snarling:  “No  #!@!  Wadka!”  Following which, I take up involuntary residence in a very dank and scary place. 

     She’s actually quite a sweetheart – but I do have a weakness for the unpredictable ones and out of long habit I scan for escape routes when we dine that evening at the hotel’s rooftop Turkish-style restaurant, which had respectable food and a great view.  Fortunately, our waiter was well familiar with Ukrainian/Russian tastes and we left without incident.      

Stores outside the Spice Market in the rain

     We spent the next day, Sunday, meandering through a part of the city we hadn’t been to before.  Lucky for her, we passed many fashionable and pricey stores, both “brands” and local – and lucky for me, we were able to keep passing them since they were closed on Sunday. 

     We made the most of InterContinental’s Club by eating breakfast, enjoying high tea and imbibing during the cocktail hour.  So, we had a late dinner and since we both love sashimi – and being surrounded by the sea – we sought out a suitable eatery.  We were directed to a very beautiful Japanese restaurant but were astonished to discover that they didn’t serve sake!  What, I cried, have the Ottomans retaken the city?  How barbaric!  We were informed that there were problems with government import rules or something.  However, they pointed us to another fine restaurant in the nearby Swisshotel – the sashimi was predictably excellent and we had our sake.     

An old but hungry tiger at the Archeology Museum

     I had several meetings on Monday and made a quick trip to the archaeological museum – very impressive – too much to describe here, but well worth another visit.  Then it was off to the metro to find the local Dojo and train.  I’ve been there before, so it’s not too hard to find, especially since the metro is excellent in Istanbul. 

     Monday was International Woman’s Day – heavily celebrated in those Eastern parts – so Nastia and I met my friends from the Turkish Aikido group at a “local” café and bar, better – known to Americans as TGI Fridays.  We had great fun and consumed lots of beer.  I drank “Efe” – a pretty good Turkish beer – with Nastia hitting the vodka and casting occasional dispersions from the sidelines in Russian upon our collective manhoods for preferring hops over her beloved potato drink. 

At TGIF for Woman's Day - Nastia in purple

     Fortunately, only I spoke much Russian, and after a few shots even I couldn’t understand her, so every time she said something I just hoisted my mug, and proclaimed: “Well said, my dear.”  She looked at me through slitted eyes at first, not quite understanding, but after more than a few shots of vodka, just shrugged and began hoisting her glass with me, laughing along in company of good friends, which transcends all language barriers. 

     On our last trip to Istanbul, we’d missed the Spice Bazaar, opting instead for the Grand Bazaar.  But neither Nastia or I were very impressed with the Grand Bazaar – it reminded us both of a Florida flea market – a lot of the same sort of poor quality goods – touristy trinkets, t-shirts and jeans.  I’d even seen a Michael Jordan t-shirt there – how long had they been hanging onto that?     

Digging the spices

     It was raining lightly when we arrived at the Spice Bazaar – more of an annoyance than an obstacle – because we couldn’t smell it until the cacophony of aromas hit when we approached the stalls of the first spice vendors. Egads!  Spices were piled up everywhere and there many shops selling all types of produce, meats and seafood – fresh fish flopping away on ice as crabs tried desperately to escape their baskets – the well-practiced fishmongers absently flipping them back in with one hand while jabbering excitedly with the other.  

     I envied the locals who shopped there routinely and ruefully remembered that soon I’d be back in the States and buying my plastic-wrapped dead food beneath the ghastly flickering fluorescents of an over-sanitized mega-chain grocery store where the danger wasn’t in having my Achilles tendon speared by an escaping crab – it was falling asleep in mid-aisle from the sheer boredom of it all.  This was the essence of why I want to bring Global Shopping Adventures to America – maybe minus the crabs.      

The Blue Mosque

     As we penetrated deeper into the cavern of shops, the assortment of goods became more varied to include carpets, linens, clothes and much more.  Again, although a bit of a “flea market”, there were actual stores throughout.  Distinctive spaces with signage and identity.  The shop keepers eager to do business and customers flitting to and fro checking out all the wares – like bees on a mission to find the best honey.  The vendors switched from Turkish to English to Russian to French as easily as we Americans switch from English to, well, English – and we moved in to haggle in earnest.  

     And now a cautionary tale for you, my faithful readers.   

     As you know by now, I regard myself as the world’s shrewdest haggler – famous for never paying retail – and not even wholesale if I can avoid it.  Stories of my negotiating prowess are told in many languages in the far corners of the world.  But I say this not for self-aggrandizement, but as a lesson in pride and hubris – and to remember that no matter how good you might think you are – there’s always someone better.  

     To wit: 

     I was wrapping up negotiations on a beautiful bed cover that I didn’t really need – but for some reason took a sudden fancy too.  The exact details of the schooling I delivered to the Turkish merchant in the ways of haggling I was sure would later be inscribed on the Market Walls in Turkish, Kurdish and Arabic – along with a reasonable likeness of me below it and the word “Beware!” translated into all three languages.  I then heard a sudden calamity – yelling and wailing in a nearby stall.  Realizing that Nastia had disappeared and recalling my dread of Turkish prisons, the blood suddenly drained from my face.  I rushed over to commotion – all the while looking for a means of escape – and stepped dead in my tacks.     

Hagia Sophia

     There was my dear Nastia, concluding her own negotiations – smiling broadly as I rushed up, and said:  “Chase, look, I buy three of these pretty bed covers for you for -” and she said the price – which was, of course, slightly less than I’d paid for one of mine.  The Turkish stall master’s wife was weeping and tugging on Nastia’s elbow – who shooed her away like a fly.  The stall master himself was standing nearby, once the undefeated champion of the hard haggle, now bested by a tiny Russian-speaking, she-devil with Gypsy-like powers of persuasion.  His head hung limply on his barrel chest – a once-proud man, now an empty, egoless husk.     

Hagia Sophia interior

     Nastia beamed as she saw the surprise on my face, and then, realizing she’d forgotten something, whipped around to the stall master, fixed him with the Evil Eye, and barked in Russian:  “Beest Rayeh!” – which I believe roughly translates into English as “Hurry up!”  The stall master sighed and began removing the shirt from his back – at which point his wife began wailing louder.  Horrified, I convinced Nastia to let him keep it – “be a good sport, dear” – but actually, if for no other reason because I couldn’t tell if the coarse, mattered hair covering his chest and back was a mangy boar-hair sweater, or – not….  “Capital, my dear, er – wonderful – perhaps we should be going now,” said I, and rushed us both out of the market, with not only the bed covers but all her other ill-gotten booty, curtains, teas, spices and such.  Naturally, I later deflected her questions of how much I’d paid for my bed cover.        

     And I swear it all happened just like that.     

Hagia Sophia interior

     Later, we stopped at the Sultan Ahmed Mosque – better known as the “Blue Mosque,” and then the Hagia Sofia – the magnificent Byzantine church that was later converted into a mosque by the conquering Ottomans.  What stands today is actually the third church to stand on that spot – the first two having been destroyed by fires.  The first was constructed by Constanius II, son of Home Office’s despised Constantine the Great, and the last constructed by the 6^th century emperor Justinian I – who, even though he was a Byzantine emperor, commands Home Office’s respect because he considered it his divine duty to restore the Roman Empire to its glory and engaged in several campaigns to “kick some Vandal and Ostrogothic butt” – in Home office’s words.  At which point Home Office gets all misty-eyed at the prospect that but for a bit of plague and other bad luck, we’d all be Romans now.     

Ritual cleansing at a mosque fountain

     Both were huge, ancient and beautiful; however, at the Hagia Sophia, Muslims had covered over the magnificent Christian tiles and frescos with plaster and Islamic iconography.  It reminded me of how the Christians defaced the carvings of the Egyptian Gods in Luxor.  The building served as a as a mosque until 1934, and was converted into a museum in 1935.  Restoration work began in the 20^th century, and much of the early Christian work beneath the Muslim makeover was destroyed when they tried to expose it.    

Mosque at the spice market - sun/rain/moon

     Interestingly, there’s a movement to “Free Agia Sophia” and to restore it to a working church for the Orthodox Christian faith, which it was over 1,100 years before the Ottomans rolled into town in 1453.  This might seem a little odd at first given the time frames, but is it really any different than any other cultural repatriation movements, like Greece’s demands of Great Britain to return the Elgin Marbles?  People take their cultural heritage seriously – and their religion even more so.  I’m just happy it’s a museum and getting the proper curatorship it deserves.      

Chamber meeting room at the Sultan's Palace

     We also stopped at the Topkapi Palace better known as the Sultan’s Palace.  It’s beautiful, but you’re only allowed in certain parts.  I wanted to see the Harem, but the eunuch guards are very persuasive that I not – though they did suggest I become one of them if I was really determined to see it.  With my usual fear of Turkish prisons, I swiftly caught Nastia as she moved in to slap one of them, and I politely declined their generous offer and scuttled us both out of there.  We also learned that one of the most important women in all of Turkish history was Ukrainian.   She was a member of Suliman’s harem who rose to become his most favorite wife and her child became the future Sultan.  My beautiful Ukrainian, Nastia, absorbed this information with indifference – as if it could have been any other way – but also chided me about getting any ideas, harem-wise.     

Aikido at the Istanbul Dojo

     That evening, my good friend and fellow Aikido practitioner, Bora Bastan – who is also an excellent tour guide who speaks English and Japanese (basaranbora1@yahoo.com), treated us to a Turkish restaurant Kervansaray in the Taksim area of the city that featured an evening of belly dancers and classic Turkish dance.  Tourists from all over the world were there to watch the program.      

Mosque and minarets

     Our day’s labors behind us and our adventures in Istanbul at an end, we returned to the hotel quite late and commenced packing for an early trip to the airport.  We’ll both be flying out to our respective destinations in the morning - me to Rome and Nastia home to the Ukraine.  As I write this, she’s humming away in the background, packing and flitting about, pleased with our time together and her recent acquisitions.  As always, I shall miss her company.  

     And as for me, I’m just pleased to be spending the night in a hotel bed and not on the straw floor of a Turkish prison preparing for the arrival of the local Welcoming Committee.