The Galata Bridge Incident

The mighty ocean liner moved, with no perceivable motion, up to the dockside in the Istanbul harbour. It was a delicate manoeuvre. I leaned over the side rail and watched with the sneaking hope that they might get it wrong, but no, once again they, that is the bridge officers, had once again demonstrated their skill in ship handling.

I looked out across to what I could see of the town. We were near the end of our cruise and going ashore had lost some of its glamour, but hell, this was Istanbul, where East meets West, and here I could already see various forms of Mosque, so it looked promising.

We were booked to go to the famous Blue Mosque, and already passengers were going ashore, so I made my way down to the departure gate were we would be called to go to our bus. The start was not encouraging. The bus had only pulled out onto the road, when it broke down. We remained calm. We were in good hands, well our guide remained remarkably unruffled, and low, within a short time another bus arrived.

We drove across the Galata bride, that spans the Golden Horn, and through the busy streets of this cosmopolitan city to the Blue Mosque. The Blue Mosque is not blue, this title is due to the blue tiles used inside. It is indeed a spacious building, remarkable for the huge dome supported on four magnificent pillars, truly awe-inspiring.

We removed our shoes, and, carrying them in plastic bags, made our way though the crowded interior. It seemed on that day that the nations of the world were represented. I heard a multitude of languages coming from the tour guides. I made the usual ooh haa as our guide tried to explain things, but I could not make out what he said against the general hubbub echoing around the interior dome. I’m no wiser now than when we started, but you have to say you’ve been there and exclaim at its wonders. We moved on.

Outside are the gardens and the fountains, all very pretty. I take videos of the interesting things, and in doing so get detached from my group. One minute they are there, and the next, gone. I run after them but am delayed by the pedlers selling guide books. 25 Euro each. that’s £25 near as makes no difference. I bargain him down to 5 Euro, pretty smart eh? I think I am pretty clever here, it was my undoing.

As we return this bus breaks down! This time, close to the docks, we can see the liner in the distance; why not walk? Across the Galata Bridge. It connects two parts of Istanbul across the Golden Horn river. A busy thoroughfare, and so off we set. It turns out that this is more than a bridge.

There is a lower deck which is like an esplanade of shops and eateries. It is thronged with poeple who have that eastern habit of moving in any direction, stopping and chatting, milling around, back slapping and moving on. The men swarthy, and the women, slinky devils with dark flashing eys of an oriental nature.

For a moment I wish I was down there, but I am English, cursed by the English standoffishness, and so I must continue along the bridge. As tourists we have to take in the sights, in this case fishermen, and boys fishing from the bridge. We stop and stare at the odd types of fish they have caught, and the type of bait they are using. The whole thing as this odd Eastern thing again, that they do this, even though there may be a rule against it. It adds to the flavour of visiting Turkey.

Then a stranger's voice interupts my perambulations.

'You help me out sir?'

I turn, it is a fattish man with coins in his hand, that he continually moves up and down like a concertina. I have the feeling, go along with him to see what will happen.

'Ha,' I say, 'you should be careful, I am from an East-end family, we know tricks!'

He smiles openly. Before he can reply a book seller intervenes.

'You want book about Istanbul, it very cheap.'

Another voice.

'Come away, let's go!' My wife.

I smile inwardly, I know what I am doing, and its only a bit of fun. And so we stand, the four of us as if in conference.

The fat man again. 'You help me out sir, I have all these Euro coins.'

He concertinas them up an down in his hand as if he were a magician. Of course that was what he was.

'You want cheap book?' The other man butts in again, but I am keeping a cool head, I can handle this. I brush him off.

'Come away love,' says my wife,'we must get back to the boat.' 

I ignore her. I assume a superior manner, I know how to handle these street peddlers.

'Well sir, you know, you international traveller, banks don't take coins.'

There is a carcophany of voices in my ear.'You want book?'. 'Come away, we must go.'

I mentally brush them aside of course I know the difficulty of exchanging coins for diiferent money. He has my sympathy, then I think as a fellow traveller I will help him out.

'If you help me I will give you good deal.' He sweetens the pill.

I move into business mode.

'Of course, what had you in mind.' I will not be commited till I know the value of the deal.

'Thirty Euros,' he says as he concertinas them for me to see.

I watch them going up and down catching sight of the Euro marking. I am being mesmerised.

'You give me 15 Euro note for these. Better than bank for me.'

In my head I perform the acknowledgment that he wants. Yes I am doing him a favour. The profit itself is of no concern to me, I am above such petty things. But of course it is in my favour and I can spend the coins. So here goes.

I take a 15 Euro note from my roll, I always carry them this way for safety, pass it over to him. He slips the coins into my hand and is gone, along with the book pedler. My wife turns away and I follow her.

I look down at the coins in my hand and there is one Euro and the rest small change Turkish coins worth no more than a pound for the the lot! I have been done, I cover my embarressment with a jaunty smile and follow my wife back to the ship, fifteen short. I have been Galata'd