There are some questions with no reasonable answers, like “do you love your mother or your father more?” where the answer is either “I love them both” or “I hate them both”, depending on the aftershocks of your blooming.
It was a similar awkward situation for me when Dinamo Bucharest and Galatasaray fell into the same Euro League Group. The first duel was last Thursday in Istanbul; at the end my team has won and lost 4-1…
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The tickets for the game and the overnight hosting has been arranged by a multinational company, also a supplier and client for us.
The trip with Tarom has been quite comfortable, except the sandwich-alike looking chewing gums. The PA (personal assistant) of the host has arranged the transfers to/from the hotel, tickets and rooms through an agency in Istanbul. She was “well informed” by the agency that our plane will land at 17.40pm; we will reach the hotel at 18.30pm (same day?) and will have enough time for a 3 course dinner before the game (which starts at 22pm)… Hah! Darling, I should have told you that we might be landing on time at 17.40pm and we will be on the way to hotel for the next 2 hours; welcome to Istanbul, here the traffic doesn’t flow!
Of course we didn’t have time for the dinner, but to be polite, we did a food triathlon of 3 courses in 7 minutes, washed down with a cold beer (Efes Pilsen).
Ali Sami Yen is an old stadium, in the middle of the city’s financial district; to get in the stadium requires great effort and patience, which the Turks do not posses (otherwise Ottomans would have entered Vienna few hundred years ago but they couldn’t wait; Balkan girls were more interesting and my grand-grand-grand-grand father decided to withdraw. Now, I am exactly at the same place where he wanted to be then)
We have entered protocol tribunes exactly at the same time with the guests from Romania, around 150 spectators. The male “spectators” were not in the shape to watch anything but they had to be watched. During their female partners’ daylight shopping and also at the hotel lobbies, they tried to consume all available alcoholic beverages. Probably they aimed at helping the team, by terminating all spirits in the hotel, to assure Dinamo players will arrive sober.
One of the supporters was hugging an obviously unhappy policeman and shouting “Arkaddaj, arkaddajj, I love Turkey…yeaaaa” Another one was asking to a security agent “where ijj ze toiletzza? I want to pishu before zje game” The ladies were still sharing shopping feedback, showing their fake designer bags to each other.
I was trying to conversate both with few semi-drunk Romanians and another Turkish friend when someone tapped my shoulder. Returned and saw a policeman grinning to me “You? Speaking? Turkish?”
“Yes. I, speaking, Turkish…”
He asked again “How did you learn?”
It was evidently too late for me to say my origins and replied, “By reading, I am fascinated by your culture”. My Turkish friend was on the floor, laughing...
He grabbed my shoulder, turned aside and shouted to another policeman “ Hey, Hamit, this bastard speaks Turkish better than you do”. Yes, I do… No, I am not.
The game resembled a cat-rat fight, Dinamo tried to resist in vain. At the halftime, our drink-drank-drunk friends were chatting with Galatasaray supporters “Djinamo hadj few occasjions; if we would shcore, ooohooo…” . Sure mate, if my aunt had a dick, I would call her “uncle”…
But nevermind, the score is another reason to drink; together with the players…We go to Reina…
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“Once made equal to man, woman becomes his superior”… Socrates knew stuff…”I am the wisest man alive, for I know one thing, and that is that I know nothing”.. He really knew…"Beauty is the bait which with delight allures man to enlarge his kind"... Kinky Socrates, kinky...
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