Water Pipes and Raki

Last night a couple of us went out for a late dinner in the neighborhood. Seven pretty girls and me. The waiter was a stocky Turk with dark, leathery skin and a perpetual five o’clock shadow. He wore all black clothes and a black bandana. One of the other waiters drifted over later in the meal and casually mentioned that our waiter is the Kirk Douglas of Turkey. I don’t quite know what that means, but it seemed to make sense. He was a good waiter. Overly friendly and very pushy when trying to get us to order more, but not menacing and overbearing like the street merchants. As the dinner moved along and we ate and drank, the waiter got more and more friendly with us and couldn’t stop talking about how lucky I was to be dining with seven pretty girls. We were all in good spirits and enjoyed his attitude and we joked back and forth with him. When it came time for the bill, he had got us into such a good state of mind that when he offered an after dinner water pipe, we took two. A couple of 3-foot tall glass water pipes were placed on the table and filled with tobacco; apple flavored and cappuccino flavored. They were very tasty and were not harsh like cigarettes. I had a glass of Raki with the tobacco. Raki is sort of the unofficial liquor drink of the Turks. It tastes a little bit like Jeigermeister. It affects you a little bit like tequila. Needless to say, after a couple of puffs from the water pipe and the Jeiger/Tequila-ish drink, I was feeling pretty mellow. My wooden chair felt like a marshmallow under my arse.

After dinner a few of us were feeling pretty good and decided to keep the night going. We went to a little bar in the neighborhood and drank tall glasses of the local beer. They only seem to have one kind of beer here. And it just so happens to taste just like PBR. Ain’t that a good thing. Of course, our waiter is uber-friendly and hangs out with us quite a bit. Eventually, he ended up sitting at our table and hitting on one of the girls. After awhile, he convinces us to go with him to another bar where his buddies are hanging out. He tells the girls there will be good music and dancing. Exactly what they want to hear. I’m tired and drunk and I don’t really trust the guy, but what the hell.

We recruit one other Turk from the bar and we set off walking for the new place. On the way over, the new Turk tries to put his arm around one of our girls…the one girl in the group that just so happened to grow up in New York City…which was an unfortunate coincidence for our new Turkish friend, because her New York nature kicked in, and as soon as his fingertip touched her shoulder, she wheeled around to escape his touch and in the same motion swung her purse around with her momentum and used it to whack the guy right in the balls. The guy tried to laugh it off and we attempted to continue on.

We show up and they are blasting American Top 40 hits. There are about 10 Turkish men there and one girl. So when one American male walks in with 5 girls, every head in the bar turned and stared in our direction. We waste no time in securing drinks and hit the dance floor. Two girls dance with strange Turkish men, one girl dances with our waiter, and one girl is sober and functioning as our chaperone. That left one girl for me. We danced and drank till the wee hours of the night.