On a balmy Sunday afternoon a group of us gathered in a
roadside park in Tophane to soak up the city (exhaust fumes and all). Our
attention was soon being demanded by an ostentatious pair of male interpretive
dancers who had made their stage on a neighbouring patch of grass. We all
wondered at first if they had taken something, so childishly shameless was
their prancing and frolicking, but it eventually became clear that their
inhibitions were so low that no narcotics were required.
This double act was not long without competition, however.
As the sounds of a scuffle punctuated the steady drone of the notorious Istanbul traffic, our
heads collectively swivelled to take in the latest spectacle. On first seeing
the thrashing and struggling of a group of young men, we thought perhaps this
was a rival dance troupe. However, when the knotted brawl dispersed to reveal a
teenager with blood streaking from a knife wound in his arm, we realised that
this wasn’t quite as benign as the performance to our right. In true
‘westerner’ fashion, we all started to make noises about calling an ambulance.
This (in our view) seemingly obvious course if action seemed not even to occur
to the small clutch of men surrounding the victim. In fact, he was saved by a
passing dustbin man who, as casually as if he were tying his shoelaces, dropped
his load from his shoulders, swept off the victim’s belt and fastened it firmly
around his upper arm to stall the bleeding. He did this within about 30
seconds, after which he hauled his load back onto his shoulders and went on his
way. Clearly this was not the first knife wound he’d dealt with. Still not an
ambulance in sight, the boy was eventually bundled into a taxi.
Always something to see in Istanbul.