“Is there anyone in the group who is a pianist?” he asked.
I raised my hand.
“You play?” he questioned me.
We were standing next to a magnificent antique piano in the Dolmabache Palace, Istanbul. The guide was like a robot, you couldn’t ask questions because it would interupt his patter. The tour was a blur, we practically ran through the palace. It was hard to hear him, hard to keep up and nearly impossible to take photos. Partly because of the pace and partly because it was so dimly lit. I had reluctantly joined a tour of 35 people as the only way to gain admittance to the Palace, it was a public holiday and it was hot. It was all starting to feel like a mistake.
"Yes." I said.
“I am a little out of practice”, I admitted. It wasn’t as if he was about to let me loose on the instrument anyway.
“Do not call yourself a pianist then.” he snapped back abruptly and turned away.
“I’ll call myself anything I want” I answered back. I was stunned at his attitude.
“Only joking madam” he said. Trying to recover the situation.
I knew he wasn’t.