Heartbreak in Istanbul: the final installation

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I want to thank you all for your dedication to my blog and this story…hopefully the last part won’t disappoint. (Note: please see previous two entries for any hope of understanding what I’m talking about.)

I wanted to go home. Alyssa, Spanish-guy Manel, and I quietly discussed our plans for the evening and came to the unanimous decision that a cab was definitely in order, as it was almost 4 in the morning and we were already exhausted. Hookah with Mike and his pals would just have to wait. (I forgot to say how Mike planned out our activities for the next night also, telling us to wear our best clothes and to look extra good because he was taking us to the snazziest place in town. Having only brought one small backpack, Lord knows we had no “good-looking” clothes…I guess it was fortunate things ended as they did because I would have been way underdressed.)

When we presented our decision to the group, everyone looked somewhat disappointed but gave us a warm smile, handshake, and goodbye. Mike, on the other hand, threw a tantrum. Like a 3 year old. A 3 year old girl.

First he scoffed, then he blinked a lot, and then he stared at me like I’d just killed someone he loved…then he repeated this sequence 5 times before saying a word. When he finally did speak, this is what came out:

“No, we’re going to smoke hookah. You promise me you smoke hookah with me tonight. You PROMISE ME.” He was yelling.

First of all, no, no I did not. That is an incorrect statement. Earlier in the day, he listed several activities that he would like to do and I do believe I agreed to these activities, if and only if, I was not tired at any given time. Being that I was at that point tired, as were my comrades, I believe I was acceptably exempt from all further activities. Oh but he was not having it.

“No, I said we are going to smoke hookah now.” I stared at him and blinked. He began breathing hard and his face started turning red. Manel tried to intervene by telling Mike what a great night he had and how we’ll all see eachother tomorrow, but Mike ignored him completely.

“Fine, you want to go home, I call you a cab.” He proceeded to walk to the street, yell (and I mean YELL) for the nearest taxi. He then hurried us all in the cab and proceeded to whisper something in my ear.

“You ruin it all. You will never see me again.” I sort of wish he were telling the truth.

Alyssa, Manel, and I sat in the cab trying to figure what happened with our once so friendly Mike.

“You broke his heart, Morgan. He wanted you.”

“Shut up Manel. I wanted to go to bed. He’s weird.”

And with that, we closed the conversation on Mike and proceeded to talk about why Alyssa kept poking Manel. (“But I’m NOT poking Manel, I never DID poke Manel!!”)

When we got to our hostel the door was locked. We rang the doorbell and stood waiting for the nightman to let us in when all of a sudden we heard a “…..Morgan. Morgggaaaaan. Moooooorrrgaaaan. Come and talk at me.”

I looked at Alyssa, then Manel, and then peered around the corner where I saw Mike sprawled out on a public bench holding a beer and motioning for me to go to him.

“Ohhh jesus I really don’t want to go.”

“I’ll go.” Alyssa always was the brave one. Minutes later, she returns bearing news. “He wants to talk to you.” Thanks Alyssa. But obviously I was curious…so off I went to converse with the drunk.

“I just want to hang with you longer time. Why you had to leave me like that. That was not nice of you.”

“Look Mike, I don’t even know you. I don’t know why you got so mad back there but it was out of control. I’m sorry but I’m just not used to how men treat women here. You don’t tell me what to do. You just don’t. When you do, I will, in every case, defy you and you can’t do a thing about it because where I come from, that’s called ABUSE.” He sat there looking defeated, humiliated, and emasculated. I felt AWESOME.

“But I just want to spend longer time with you and when you leave I get angry.”

“Yes, Mike, I know. I saw. I was there. This is over and I’m going to bed now because I’m tired. Please, do not follow me anywhere else.” And with that, I did my best Beyonce imitation walk into the now-unlocked hostel, slamming the door and employing my best hair flip. I slept peacefully and uninterrupted that night.

The next day, Alyssa and I awake to a sea of text messages from none other than our recently-disposed-ex-new-friend, Mike. They went a little something like this:

i’m sorry about last night i just really wanted to see Morgan I really like her no actually I think I love her and I got angry when she said she want to leave me. please come back to restaurant again i really want to see her again. fine i know i never see you again so have a nice life. (All over the course of maybe 4 text messages, each costing Alyssa $.50. Ouch.)

We thought it was all over. Again, we were wrong. That evening we went out with some people from our hostel to the hostel’s “sister-bar,” if you will, and we were all having quite a nice time. We had gone there with a friend of Mike’s who worked at the hostel and were casually discussing the things we did that day when…drum roll please…Mike called his friend.

Who does Mike ask to talk to? Me. How did he know I was with his friend? Oh, I’ve no idea. So I reach over and grab the phone and grunt a muted “hey.”

“Where are you?”

“Um…Cheer’s bar. Where are you….?”

“Taxim.”

“Okay.”

“Are you having fun?”

“Well, yeah…I am having fun.”

“That is great. I mean I just want to tell you something do you even like me because I mean I really like you and if you don’t like me just tell me.”

“Mike, I don’t like you.”

“You broke my heart. I don’t deserve this. You are evil.”

“I didn’t mean to break your heart. I don’t even know you.”

“I hope you have fun because I never see you again.”

“Okay Mike. Alright. Buhbye now.”

And this time, he kept his word and I never saw him again.

Except the next morning he did drop by the hostel to “say goodbye” to Alyssa and I before we left. Fortunately for us, we were in bed and Robin, the delightful little buttercup working behind the desk that day, kept him from disturbing our slumber. And just like that, my time with Mike, and subsequently all Turkish men forever, was over.

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Filed under Weird Happenings

Tags: culture shock, Istanbul, Turkey, turkish men