Who Doesn’t Love a Nice Hat?

By David Wood

 “Do I have any chance to get into your pockets today?” one seller asked me as a single, arched eyebrow crawled up his forehead like a question mark

Another gave me a full bow and inquired, “Is it my turn today to perhaps see some of your money?”

These funny spiels had me laughing as I strolled the crowded merchant-lined streets of Istanbul. My favorite pitch was a fez salesman in the Grand Bazaar (a selling mart since the 1400’s!) who looked me directly in the eye, smiled, and asked, “Who doesn’t love a nice hat?” He had a point.

After touring the Bazaar, I made my way to the lovely park in-between St. Sofia and the Blue Mosque – two of Istanbul’s noted landmarks. While sitting on a bench and reading a newspaper, a woman approached and asked, “Excuse me, are you American?”

Lowering my paper, I saw the inquirer was a stunning, blonde woman.

“Yes, I am,” I think was what I said.

She looked to be in her mid-thirties and was truly dazzling physically. The creator had been quite kind to her and what hadn’t been taken care of genetically looked to have been solved under the skillful work of a plastic surgeon. She was so beautiful I quickly looked around to make sure she was actually talking to me. She was.

“Thank God you’re American!” he said in her sweet, Texas drawl. “These Turkish men won’t give me a minute’s peace. May I join you?”

It was easy to see why she was being bothered as she wore a beige silk pantsuit with a plunging neckline. I tried as hard as I could to look her directly in her eyes.

“Be my guest,” I said as I made a pitiful attempt to smooth my hair.

She went into her account of her day of tourism around Istanbul with Turkish men grabbing and pinching her at every turn. She was dressed far too provocatively to be in a country in which ninety-eight percent of the population was Islamic. It probably wouldn’t have mattered if she wore a burka, as she was the type who would ooze sexuality in a bee-keeper’s outfit. She said her name was Sally. I noticed the diamond ring on her left hand that looked almost as big as the dome of Saint Sofia lurking directly behind her.

I had been traveling in country after country where women didn’t approach men, and certainly not a Western man. I was making her laugh with my witty remarks on the prominence of the facial hair of Turkish men (and women!).

She giggled and said, “You’re funny and cute as a bug’s ear.”

I decided to take the bug part of her remark as a compliment, although bugs don’t strike me as particularly handsome.

We decided to go have a drink at an outdoor cafe across the street where Sally told me her life story. She was from Dallas and was currently separated from husband number three whom she said only cared about “The Dallas Cowboys and his damn stocks.” She had decided to go and travel on her own and “get some space.”

Sally was funny and good company and I became the envy of frothing Turkish men as I spent a few days wandering around the city with her on my arm. She didn’t mind walking for mile after mile as I showed her the Grand Bazaar and the lively back alleys of Istanbul’s markets. Though petite, Sally was one of those people who can eat like a horse and never gain a pound. We stuffed ourselves with dinners of savory lamb grilled on skewers and honey dripping baklava for dessert. Sally matched me bite for bite.

I wish I could report that we fell madly in love in that enchanting city, but romance wasn’t in the cards. She said she was taking a “time out” from men and was thinking of “becoming a nun.” I knew she was kidding, but had she answered that divine call I’d be back in Catholic school in a heartbeat. We were just two travelers who had mutually helped each other out in a strange land. She helped cured my loneliness, and I kept the wandering hands of the Turkish men at bay. Besides, I was well out of her league financially.

After we parted company, I went out and bought a nice hat.