After more than six weeks on the road David’s shoes were in dire need of a good clean and polish prior to his conference on Monday morning.
We went looking through the shoe shops for polish but no-one had brown. (Istanbul by the way, has around 10-12 shoe shops in most city blocks and is holding the international footwear trade fair in November).
Then as if by magic, a helpful man who spoke pretty reasonable English materialised at our side with the offer to take us to his brothers shoe shine stand just a few metres away.
I must say the Turks really know their leather and after many layers of cleaning, nourishing, polishing and buffing the shoes looked splendid.
But of course now David was taken as an easy mark and persuaded to go and visit the cousins carpet shop.
I tried to dissuade him but he felt obliged so I wandered off to look at shoes. About 5 mins later a guy tracks me down and says that my husband is trying to decide between the 9x12 or the 15x18, and wants to know which size he should choose.
I know this is a ruse but I also know that David hasn’t spent a lot of time in third world haggle holes like me and feel obliged to go and rescue him.
I trek back to the shop, and climb five un-air-conditioned levels of stairs (bear in mind it is 30 degrees) and as I am walking (ok, stomping) I determine that the simplest strategy to help David and myself is to get David to give me his wallet and the keys to the hotel. That way even if he can’t help being Mr nice guy at least he can’t be fleeced.
I needn’t have worried. Back at the shop I find David admiring the view and taking photos from their upstairs window and the Turks (having accepted that they misjudged their mark), eating their dinner.
As we walked back to the hotel amidst many people greeting us along the street with the familiar refrain “please let me help you spend your money”, David commented that the Turks are at least very upfront in their intentions.
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