Replies

Love the eagles...they are now a little more than 2 months old now, and so big and chubby looking...

Today is my sons birthday...he is 28 today....last year, on his birthday, he was celebrating in Turkey...he had quite an experience on that day, and with that introduction, I am going to display his memoir, from his 27th birthday, celebrated in Istanbul...its a very long article, hope you all dont mind...I know, hes my baby boy, and I think he can really write well, but the story is so funny, I think you will enjoy it...

And with that I will close, by saying good nite to one and all...dizzy is rubbing up against my legs, indicating,he wants me offline, and paying him some attention...I will post the sons writing in the next post...do read it and enjoy...

See ya all tomorrow...

hi cookie
I look forward to reading it
your son had quite an adventure
I like hearing his discoveries
c u tomorrow sweetie pie
sweet dreams
kisses to Dizzy
congratulations on your son's 28th birthday
happy birthday andy
Love, Palo

Here is my sons story of his 27th birthday, spent in Turkey, last year...

July 2nd
Istanbul, Turkey

The worst birthday ever? Possibly.

Walking out of the moneychanger's shop on the main road in the old Sultanhemet part of town, I glanced over at the colors and booming Turkish voices at the sound and light show at the Blue Mosque, and weaved between carpet salesmen and veiled women as I made my way down the street. My wallet was lined with 100 million Turkish lira. I was ready for a night on the town.

I caught up with Erman, a young Turkish student who I had met earlier in the day as he practiced his English on me. Westerners get an absurd amount of attention from the locals, as the men try to bed down with the immoral western girls and the merchants mumble a litany of "hello, where you from?" trolling for fish to fry in their shops. You either learn to ignore them or come up with phrases to deter them, but somehow you have to cope. The bad thing is the cynicism it brings and the unfair condemnation of a people based on the actions of a minority. I tried to keep an open mind, which is how I met Erman. Since he didn't try to sell me anything in the hour we talked, I thought maybe I'd met an honest Turk. It was very interesting talking with him about Turkey so much I asked him if he wanted to grab a beer somewhere (though Muslim, most Turks are very casual about following the Koran too closely).

We went to Taksim, the newer "European" part of town, with designer boutiques and western fast food restaurants. Sitting down to a couple of pints of Efes Beer, we watched the very un-Turkish (in my mind) Turks walking by outside. Girls with dyed hair, tattoos, and skimpy tops. Men with baseball caps and baggy jeans, and without the typical Turk mustache. And of course, a fair number of shorts and camera clad tourists wandering down from the four star hotels up the hill in search of excitement.

But the bar we were in was relatively quiet, so Erman suggested we go to a better place he new about. It was bad news from the start, and I new it, but I waded in anyway, since after nine months of travel, I felt I had become the invincible traveller. The entrance was a set of steps leading down to the basement of a shabby building, where a man in a tuxedo opened the door for us. The inside was very dark, devoid of windows, the only illumination coming from strips of neon lights running around the walls. The place was completely empty, except for about eight goons in tuxedos standing around the bar, and two tall scantily clad western women dancing on a small stage. Of course. Who says Patpong is the only place in the world with go-go bars? But I'd survived them in Bangkok without a problem, so I felt there could be no harm in checking this one out, just to see the sleazy side of Istanbul. No risk, no fun - right?

We were ushered to a table and we each ordered a beer. One beer I told myself, because I know how expensive places like this cost. The music was loud and obnoxious Turk-pop, the girls danced with the grace and enthusiasm of bulldozers, and the bouncers were sizing us up.

In the middle of our conversation, I saw trouble coming in the persons of the two dancers followed by waiters carrying bottles of champagne. Before I could dash out of harm's way, a pale skinned, blonde girl plopped down next to me, put her arm around my back and asked me where I was from. Forgetting the golden rule of never admitting to being American, her face lit up and she said "Yes, America is so great, I am from Yalta and I love Americans." Our engaging conversation was interrupted at this point by the popping of champagne corks as the waiter filled up glasses for the ladies. Quite nice of him I thought, though I knew they were going to end up on my bill.

I glanced over at Erman, my benefactor, and predictably he had his arm around his Natasha and was whispering... something in her ear. I was trying to decide if he was simply trying to have a fun night out on a westerner's bill, or if he was actually in on this whole scam and worked here. Probaby the latter. Serves me right for not just hanging with my dorm buddies back at the wholesome Orient Youth Hostel bar.

After a few minutes of brutal conversation, I figured it was time to gain the upper hand in this situation. I asked the waiter to see a menu so I could get an idea what I was up against. He just waved me off and said "You no worry, just relax. Enjoy." Yes. But I was persistent and he disappeared, leaving me with the Ukrainian girl who was now pouting that I was ignoring her. I was half inclined to tell Erman he could talk to both girls, but I figured I'd just want to punch him in the mouth if I started talking to him.

The waiter came back with the menu and my worst fears were confirmed. 15 million for a beer, a staggering 200 million for a teeny bottle of champagne. Assuming I was responsible for all the drinks I was looking at a bar bill of about $400 for one beer and a two minute conversation with a Ukrainian prostitute. But decisiveness is key, so I just leaned back and laughed and said I wasn't going to pay this ridiculous bill. Erman and the ladies turned to goggle at me, and the waiter, though he spoke little English, caught my meaning and waved over a waiter who spoke better English to figure out what I was up to.

"I'm not paying for this," I told him, and he laughed at me and said "What do you mean you are not going to pay, you ordered drinks, yes?" I told him I ordered one drink and that I sure as hell didn't order champagne or women. I figured this fellow could be reasonable and we could arrive at some kind of agreement. No need to get nasty. He told me he would get the manager to talk it over with me, and I leaned back and smiled, confident I could make my way out of this. No problem.

The manager showed up after a minute, a grumpy stupid looking character backed by four bouncers. Doh, I thought. Cutting to the chase, he told me in no uncertain terms that I would pay for all the drinks or I would not leave the place. It sounded ominous, all the more to me in this den of sleaze by myself. I actually got pretty pissed off at this point, angry that my birthday night out had turned into a bout of extortion at the hands of the local mob. I guess that influenced what I did next.

I got up and took out my wallet, and the manager nodded grimly, apparently thinking that his show of force had convinced me to comply. He was probably surprised by what I said next. "I am more than happy to pay for the ridiculously overpriced drink that I ordered, and just to show I'm a good sport I'll even pay for *his* drink," I said, pointing a thumb at Erman. "But there is no way I am paying for anything else." With that I handed the manager 30 million lira and headed for the door. The manager yelled at me to sit back down and two of the bouncers got in front of me and tried to physically restrain me.

For the most part, being bigger than the locals when I travel is a real problem. Cramped buses, clothes that don't fit, low doorways that I hit my head on, some of the many annoyances of being oversized for the local country. But finally it was an advantage as this two teeny bouncers were obviously a bit intimidated by me and my surliness. Had they all tackled me I would have been done, but they hesitated, and I lowered my shoulders and rushed them, knocking them both out of the way, one sent flying over a table. Then I beat feet up the stairs and took off down the street.

Back at the Orient Youth Hostel, I could reflect on my good luck. Though of course I was annoyed at paying $25 for one beer and a tense situation, I had gotten out and they hadn't given chase. What was really amazing though was someone else in the very same room of my dorm had had almost the exact same experience the same night. Except his bill had been one billion lira and he really had tried to reason his way out. As a result he was $300 poorer, the lowest price he could negotiate with the bouncers he confronted.

Now I'm a year older and a bit wiser, at least when it comes to dodgy situations and my own invulnerability. Definitely essential in the scam-filled Middle East.

By now you should know that we're all looking forward to hearing about your families' adventures.

Happy 28th, and many happy returns! Cheers. JL