Agent Triple P has always enjoyed watching a girl on a bidet. They are still quite unusual in the hotels we stay in. Places influenced by the French, such as Montreal and Switzerland, have them but otherwise they are very rare.
So we have been very much enjoying, therefore, B enjoying the bidet in our bathroom. It's some strange combination of the vulnerability of the squatting pose, the tinkling water and the cold white porcelain next to naked skin that does it. Mercy me!
Agent Triple P was shattered. The combination of wall to wall meetings all day followed by wall to wall (literally, B enjoys the vertical approach) sex all night was taking its toll.
What's more he had failed to deliver on his promise to provide B with caviar. It just goes to show, as Triple P well knows, that not all 5 star hotels are equal. After all the Beverly Wilshire managed to deliver even at 1.00am (caviar is best enjoyed at decadent times and in decadent locations - in that case on a balcony overlooking Los Angeles with a bottle of Laurent Perrier).
"It's Istanbul you want for caviar!" said his new friend, Dr A, a prominent Istanbul lawyer.
It now appeared that Triple P would be back in Turkey within 3 weeks visiting both Ankara and Istanbul. B would be joining him again and had rather grumpily accepted a deferred delivery. Thank goodness another pink bag of Agent Provocateur had mollified her.
Tonight was their last night together and they decided to try the other restaurant in the hotel, Brasserie One. This had rather more atmosphere than the Italian restaurant dowstairs and had a menu made up of a mixture of International and Turkish dishes.
Last night they had been taken to a very Turkish restaurant by a lady lawyer and her husband. They had had huge quantities of food none of which he knew the name of. There were things that looked like deep-fried lemons that were stuffed with red rice and vegetables, plates of rice and beans served with pickles, hot stuffed vine leaves, large grilled red chillis, bulgar wheat and tomato salad and lots and lots of grilled lamb, chicken and beef served with yoghurt, houmous and pitta bread. B's little face lit up as each succesive dish was brought to the table. The retaurant was obviously very famous as there were lots of photographs on the wall of the owner and obviously famous Turks (even rarer than famous Belgians).
The restaurant did not, however, serve alcohol, which although Triple P had come across it before, was rather unusual in Turkey. Kemal Atatürk had been a great drinker (a very great drinker he died of cirrhosis of the liver) and had encouraged the production of alcohol in Turkey.
So after their new friends dropped them off back at the hotel B insisted that they went to the trendy Copper Club in the basement. B knocked back several Raki but Triple P, who had had it before and knew it was not as innocuous as it tasted, was more measured. Some sensational looking local girls in very small dresses arrived and perched on the bar stools and within only a few minutes B suggested that now would be a good time to go upstairs.
Triple P made an appreciative comment about one of the girl's shoes on the way past, eliciting a dazzling smile, and B was frosty all the way up to the eighteenth floor.
However, when they returned to the room she discovered, that whatever the records might say, the chambermaid had worked out that there were two people staying in the room and therefore two chocolates on the pillow were needed. Having dealt with those in alarmingly short order B promptly helped herself to another Raki from the minibar and was soon back to her earlier relaxed state. However, she announced that Triple P deserved to be punished for flirting (seems unlikely) and withdrew from her bag a bunch of the sort of golden twisted silken cords that people tie around their curtains (very much shades of VA; I wonder if these curtain shops have any idea what these women use them for).
Next morning, feeling rather bruised and realising that even two Raki is two too many, he updated his blog following a rather substantial breakfast whilst a rather pale looking B went off for an 8.30am meeting.
During the day he actually had a spare 40 minutes and his driver took him to see Anitkabir, the mausoleum (another Turkish word!) of Kemal Atatürk . This was a very impressive area but even more impressive is the fact that it has had over 11 million visitors already in 2007, 546,200 of them last week on November 10th alone, the 69th anniversary of his death.
He was back in the hotel by 5.15 and was almost immediately followed by a much restored B who had recovered her usual bounce as she demonstrated for the next hour before they both retired to the bath together with several bottles of Efes beer.
They went down to dinner early so as "not to waste too much of the night", according to B. They had another large meal, in Triple P's case a Goulash soup, Penne Arrabiata and Ciz Biz; grilled slices of marinated veal served on an aubergine yoghurt salad with pitta and spicy sauce. It was sensationally good although B stole most of his leaving him to steal bits of her Germanically overdone Entrecôte. It went well with the local Sarafin Cabernet Sauvignon, however.
B seemed to be in an altogether more romantic mood than the last few days and on the way back from visiting the bathroom, while she tackled a warm chocolate cake with vanilla sauce, he managed to steal a pink carnation from a display decorating the entrance to the large IT conference in the adjoining conference centre. Triple P presented this to B with rather more flourish than it really deserved whereupon she promptly burst into tears and said no-one had given her flowers for years.
Triple P took the opportunity of asking whether he was forgiven as regards the caviar whereupon she immediately stopped sniffing , fixed him with a steely look , said "no" and then started crying again.
B was much less aggresive when they went to bed, compared with the previous nights, but no less arousing for that as she concentrated on a positively Tantric slow build up technique which, after the third time left Triple P quite literally drained.
She had to leave horribly early for her flight leaving Triple P to type this entry and wondering what to do with the pair of black, scalloped La Perla knickers she had inadvertantly left knotted up with his rompers.