By the time I was due to travel to Georgia, protests against rigged parliamentary elections – and the subsequent ousting of the pro-EU president – had been running for several months. As they were centred on the capital, I wondered if I should proceed with my visit. But from Reddit and local travel bloggers I got the impression tourism was still safe, and indeed an important way to strengthen links with Europe in the face of growing Russian influence, so decided to proceed with caution. Ultimately there was nothing to worry about – although protests continued to shut down Rustaevli Avenue each evening, these were easily avoided, and the only evidence I saw of tensions were subtle: a couple of pieces of graffiti; a waiter’s refusal to speak Russian.
But although a tourist in Tbilisi could remain oblivious to events, the same was not true of the country I passed through to get there: Turkey. Just days before what should have been a straightforward transfer, Istanbul’s mayor had been arrested, sparking protests that were met with extreme force: tear gas, water cannons, rubber bullets. I arrived in the city to an oppressive atmosphere – emerging from the metro in Taksim Square, I found my route across Gezi Park to the Intercontinental blocked by tall metal barricades. Both the square and park have been historical flashpoints, so the authorities were taking no chances. As well as the barriers lining the streets – reducing access to a few chokepoints, easily closed to seal in protestors – the police presence was enormous, with officers and vehicles stationed at each junction as I made my way along İstiklal Avenue. Taking photos seemed unwise, as did venturing beyond Beyoğlu to the old city – location of Istanbul’s iconic mosques, but also of city hall, where clashes had been concentrated.
Unsurprisingly, then, these tensions largely put paid to my sightseeing plans. But to be honest I don’t think I would have enjoyed Istanbul even in calmer circumstances. I got off on the wrong foot at the airport, purchasing a Turkeycard for use on the metro. Although the former is meant to be useful country-wide, due to disagreement between local and national government it will only work on the M11 line, which terminates at Gayrettepe. Once there I located a machine where I could buy what I actually needed – an Istanbulcard. Unfortunately this clearly marked me as an inexperienced tourist, and someone immediately appeared at my side to “help” with the transaction. Or, had he got his way, transactions – despite cancelling my order, switching to Turkish, and flying around the menus, I spotted him add extra credit to an initial card purchase. So when he then insisted I needed to top-up further, I finally had the sense to walk away before his game played out.
Whether he was planning to lift the pass (or my credit card) or work some other scam, I’ll never know. But it put my guard up and – coupled with the heavy policing – I never really relaxed during my short visit. Frustrated that my lack of preparation had left me vulnerable, I found myself mistrustful of everyone from the touts attempting to lure passers-by into restaurants, to the guy who struck up conversation at a tram stop: superficially friendly, but constantly trying to move us to a bar. Even the street vendors who jokingly steal ice-cream back from customers annoyed rather than amused me.
Ironically, for all my fears of being pressured into an unexpected bill, the only actual discrepancy worked in my favour, as I enjoyed an excellent – but expensive – hotel breakfast for which I was never charged. Still, Istanbul joins Dubai on the short list of places which, should I need to transfer through them again, I have no desire to venture beyond the airport. The impression I got, of tourists being seen as fair game for exploitation, just doesn’t sit well with me. Throw in an authoritarian regime, and I see no reason to linger. Fortunately, I had a much happier stay in my real destination: Tbilisi.