The Turkish woman was as wizened and brown as a date. The date smiled out at me from a magenta headscarf. "Ah," she said, placing her hand on my cheek, "so beautiful." (I have very pink cheeks that make me look like I've got raspberry ancestry.)
I'd met this woman about 24 seconds ago, and we were already at a level of intimacy that made my English blood quiver in terror.
Istanbul is a bit confronting when it comes to public intimacy or attention.
(I'm in Istanbul visiting my family and blowing my life savings on like, you know, finding myself.)
It's an incredibly friendly city. It's also very interested in female beauty. Men lazily, brazenly check out women. They stare as you walk past, call out to you, start conversations with you, come up to tell you that you're beautiful, try to get your number or take you to dinner. The worst ones are when they follow you.
Having grown up between England, New Zealand and Australia, I've always felt fairly neutral or invisible in public spaces - at least during the day. Walking around doesn't remind me of my femininity. I just walk.
But in Istanbul I do feel conspicuous. The attention makes you feel very aware of being female and being in public. It makes you so intensely self conscious that you second guess your right to be in public spaces. I feel like I'm in Year 8 again and going to the mall for the first time. It's exhausting. It also makes it impossible to rearrange itchy underwear subtly in public.
It can also be unpleasantly persistent. I'm not just talking about being followed on the street. I had a 40-minute encounter with someone in a shop, where he persistently told me he loved me, and pressed his phone number, email and business card on to me. I was also followed around whilst on a cruise by someone equally determined for my number.
I like playful flirting. But the persistent, earnest, unprompted pursuit is both wearying and kind of scary. And all of this is not because I'm especially attractive. I've seen it done to lots of other western female tourists. And I've been reading around. Lots of single western women travelling in Turkey have had a similar experience.
Because I'm forced into thinking about being young and female it's throwing up all sorts of memories. Over the years, I've often heard guys grumble something about how life's easier for young women. They cite things like getting free drinks, getting the option of staying at home, getting better service in bars ... you've heard it before.
Now there's no way I'd agree with the statement that attractive young women have an easier time in life. But I understand how you could form that opinion if you were just looking at something simplistic like how much free stuff girls get. And whilst I don't think it's as obvious in NZ, I could pinpoint a few examples in Turkey.
I've been given free perfume, free tea, and, bizarrely, free raisins. I've had incredibly attentive service, been repeatedly told how sexy I am and been attended to religiously in shops. Has my brother had this? Not to the same extent - although like I said they're a friendly bunch. And sometimes it's nice to be told you're beautiful. All our egos like a little kick.
Female tourists are made to feel simultaneously flattered and vulnerable. So how are you supposed to react?
If you want the flattery then you are giving a tacit ok to the system that produces vulnerability. After all, these are two products of the same attitude towards women. You can't desire the flattery. Even though it's addictive it's just not worth the vulnerability, second guesses and conspicuousness. You have to say, "No, I like free icecream but it's not worth all the downsides".
It would be logical then to overcome your vanity, reject the whole system and be angry. But it's also difficult to be angry because I don't think that Turkish men wake up thinking, "how can I make female tourists feel uncomfortable today?" I think these guys are nice. They're probably just unaware how their attitudes can make women feel. It's difficult to be angry at people who aren't trying to be rude.
And lastly, it's difficult to hate something when you know your feelings are irrelevant. I don't particularly like this situation and I'd rather just have the neutral experience that men have. No flattering highs or painful lows. But I'm just a tourist. And realising your own ineffectiveness can make you very zen like about this. You can't do anything, why get mad?