Istanbul is a hard city in which to say ‘no’. In fact, in Sultanhamet, the tourist area in which I’m staying, it’s near on impossible. And yet, you must learn to say no- and quickly, too, or, by the end of the first day you will find yourself up to your arms in convincingly packaged boxes of Armani, your stomach filled with at least a dozen meals, your shoes looking like fun house mirrors, and your wallet empty.

In this part of town, at least, you must say no. Quickly, firmly, clearly and without hesitation or consideration of sensibilities. Because everyone you meet wants to something, and everything, from a bystander’s help in finding the correct direction, to the water, has a price.

“Hello, how are you, where are you from?” is the first question, usually rattled off in a single monotone sentence, without pause. This question is the first test, for they will tailor the negotiations that involuntarily follow based on a finely tuned knowledge, accumulated over years, of the various habits of different nationalities. They will also, thanks to your naive response, now posses an intimate knowledge of your current emotional state and manipulate accordingly.

At this stage, an informed traveler will have arrived armed with knowledge of the Uzbek for ‘I do not speak Turkish’ and have walked away and carried on with what is likely to be a fantastic day in Istanbul.

For anyone foolish, or ballsy, enough to carry the conversation any further, the next question will always be “Where are you going, how long have you been in Istanbul, do you like it here?”, again all as a single uninterrupted sentence. All three questions are at the most basic level, different ways of asking “Would you like to be scammed?”.

Responding that you have just arrived this morning, translates roughly as “Come and get me, I was born yesterday”, whilst someone foolish enough to show any doubt whatsoever about their onward direction of travel, or to express any shortcomings or disappointments, immediately solicits offers of directions, recommendations, or anything else in their power to help rectify your stay.

Such hospitality is, of course, not to be sniffed at, and in places such as Syria, I am told, and when I was in Belgrade, may be welcomed with no trouble whatsoever.

Accommodate any such offers in tourist areas of Istanbul with anything but with firm and repeated ‘no thank yous’ however, and you run a high risk of finding yourself whisked into this man’s overpriced restaurant, having your shoes shined, boxes of Bosporus water labeled as designer perfume thrust into your hand, or being hauled into a shop to try on a pair of jeans….with payment for their trouble, in all cases demanded. You’re unlikely to be robbed, but remember that in tourist areas, it seems, hospitality is for sale.

To make such sweeping generalizations, of course, is unfair. 1/10 people who want to talk to you will be genuinely interested, and the conversations with them are likely to be goldmines of local information as well as offering hugely rewarding insights into what life, in the real world, is like for people in Turkey. Such conversations alone are good enough reason to treat everyone in the tourist areas with at least some degree of patience and civility. Otherwise, of course, you may as well have turned up in a pith helmet.

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If a lunchtime stroll alongside the Hagia Sophia is enough to destroy your faith in the basic essence of human goodwill, the rest of Istanbul compensates, and in spades, as I’ll explain when I return in just a few weeks.