Ne kedar?

Dear Curious,

Mel and I have learned a new survival phrase, "Ne kedar?" Before I relate the meaning, allow me to briefly tell the story leading up to its necessity.

We were passing some time while waiting for the ferry to depart for the island. I had expressed a need for some UV blocking sunglasses so we set off to find a suitable pair close to the docks. While walking and generally conversing with one another, I noticed a brush drop off of a boy's shoe shining kit just ahead of us (I'd guess his age to be 19). He seemed not to notice. Being a Texan, with all my ingrained manners, politeness and friendliness, I picked it up for him and said, "Sir, you dropped your brush," having no idea whether he understood even a word of what I'd said.

He turned around and looked at what I held in my hand and then down at his kit, suddenly looking relieved. Immediately, he sat down on the curb and beckoned me over, indicating that I put my foot up on his wares in thanks. I declined as I honestly didn't really want my shoes shined. They were running shoes. You don't shine those. He continued to gesture at me, and Mel, bending to her Texas-grown politeness said to me that he wanted to clean my shoes in return and urged me to just let him. Okay.

While he took what looked like a toothbrush dipped in dirty water to my shoes he conversed with me briefly about where we were from and how he was from so-and-so and that his father was in the hospital. Then he offered to do Mel's shoes as well, and she politely went along.

When he finished, he announced that that would be 25 TL (about $15) each. Both Mel and I were dumbstruck. Mine was twofold. First, of course, was the surprise that he was asking for payment when we thought he was simply returning kindness. Second was the surprise that this is what people paid for a shoe cleaning in Istanbul. The boy saw our hesitation and reconsidered, offering us 25 TL for both together. This seemed more reasonable and I felt a certain level of relief, but I still didn't even want the shoe cleaning in the first place!

My head was swimming, and Mel and I looked back and forth at each other in confusion. We both pulled out our wallets and I went strait for the change pocket. I pulled out most of what I had and held out about 3.50 TL. Mel pulled out a five.

"This is all we have."

"This isn't much."

"That's all we have."

The boy looked extremely disappointed. How could we be so rude as to cheat him so badly? We walked on expressing how sorry we were, wanting to put as much distance between ourselves and him as we could. Mel thanked me for being such a good liar. We were both loaded down with enough cash for an island getaway.

In the following days a suspicion had risen in my mind, which was confirmed shortly thereafter. We related the same story to a few of Mel's friends at the school. We hadn't gotten but a few lines into it, barely enough to give context of what the story was about, when Andy, a slightly disillusioned but fun and nice guy with a year's experience in Istanbul, interjected with, "Oh, you didn't fall for the dropped brush trick did you?" We hadn't even mentioned a brush. "Man, when you see a brush drop off a shoe shiner's stuff, you should kick it out into the street." We had thought about selling it back to the kid. 25 TL.

So there you go. Swindled out of money (albeit a small sum). And here we are with the new knowledge that as a tourist, being nice can cost a fair amount of money, which is very sad to us. What we've simply learned, and what we now pass on to you, our readers, is that if someone attempts to return a kindness in Turkey, simply ask, "Ne kedar?" or "How much?" before any service has been rendered. It might sound rude, but chances are, that brush wasn't dropped by accident.

Here's a few additional links to show you what else we have to look out against:
Scams Scams Scams
For the Single Male
Traveling Partners
General Tourist Traps (forum)