New Year's Eve Revisited

Some stories need a delayed telling and this one certainly qualified for that designation. For reasons of family worry, I held onto this one until Beth was back in the U.S. and I was in a country that doesn't normally conjure up irrational CNN inspired fear. But there is a lesson learned in everything, so I feel that I must pass this one on.
I have alreadly hinted at the amazing New Year's Eve that was had in Istanbul--costumes, moustaches, disco-ball, blah, blah, blah. Well the end of the night is something that will be etched a little more deeply into my head.
Once Beth, Martha, Pete, and I were ready to leave the bar where we rocked out the New Years, we asked for our tab, which should have been fairly small as we only had a couple beers between us due to the prices there. With the revelry going on, the bar staff felt safe in adding a couple dozen beers to the tab. Some distant acquantices we briefly shared a table with were on the tab too, although they had left and paid for what they had, the bar would use this to add further confusion to their bogus bill.
We paid for the alreadly over-priced beers that we drank and told them thats all we were paying. I told the manager to call the cops as we wanted this resolved. Knowing that the ruling would be in our favor, the bartenders and managers got pretty aggressive in their shouting with me and knowing that they would not call the cops nor did we have the means to, things would not end well. I told Beth and the gang to head back to the hostel and that I would meet them there soon. After some more non-cordial coercion attempts by the bar staff, I resolved that a runner was the only way I was getting out of this situation. I bolted, and in my state, I felt I was running like the wind--Steve Prefontaine meets Jeff Foxworthy. Only stopping when I felt I was a safe distance away, I turned to see three men come out of nowhere. They were pissed and started to forcefully drag me back to the bar, although I convinced them that I would walk on my own. Knowing full well that once back, the extortion would resume, just as we got close, I turned and set off again, only this time one man had a grasp on my favorite hoodie and I had to run out of it. This time, I ran as long as my lungs would allow, which sadly turned out not to be enough. Right as I stopped to turn around and say "just kidding" I was met with a fist in the back of the head followed by the next 5 guys following suit, with their newfound courage due to their numbers. I would like to tell you that I made a few pay, but this blog speaks only in full and half-truths, and that would not fall into either. Luckily, none of these punches really had much behind them, although I did feel a little like Glass Joe in Tyson's Punch Out. Lesson #1: Contrary to popular belief, a moustache does not give you super-human strength.
After doing the old dance and dodge for the better part of a minute the police thankfully rolled up, scattered the the group and took myself and the leader of the pack into the car. Contemplating the fact that I was wearing a criminal looking upper lip accessory and a slightly vulgar T-shirt, I was wondering how this play out. This is where a language barrier really puts you at a disadvantage. But to the police's professional credit they took us both to a nearby (and fortunately impartial) shop owner to translate. Realizing the facts would soon come out about what we already paid for our bill and the 6 on 1 free for all, the lead perpetrator talked to me in a more pleading tone in the back of the police car. Although pissed about the inhumanity of their actions and the soreness of my jar, I was for whatever was going get me back to the hostel the quickest. The shop owner translated the ordeal and the police, not wanting to deal with the mess, said that if we shook hands, all parties could go home. It was done.
I declined the police's offer of a ride home and the shop owner invited me in for tea and to rehash the events. He and his friend laughed knowlingly of the events and stated that I was lucky that the police arrived when they did. He cautioned that this is not the way of Turkish men to fight 6 on 1, but rather weak men trying to feel strong. I agreed, and that is why I have not described these people as Turkish, although they were. Like the wise old sage that he was, the shopowner provided clarity and recounted his own youthful story of meeting some foreign women and being stuck with their tab at the end of the night. His advice, Lesson #2: In dealings in unfamiliar places/people, never establish a tab or credit.
Fortunately, this ordeal cost me very little (soreness aside, I did not suffer any injuries at all) and paid me well (life lessons, excitement, impromptu work-out, story to greatly exaggerate later on). I would not have such a positive outlook on the night however, if I had not, unknowingly at the time, given my Blu Blocker sunglasses to Beth for safekeeping prior to the episode. If those would have been a casualty of the night, I would never have forgiven myself or anyone else.
So, when you are doing your cardio work-out this week, do an extra 5 minutes, as you never know when you'll have an angry mob nipping at your heels.

Everyone needs a beating every now and again,
Brian