Girls who end up in the Pudding Shop

Plain John Smith joins the hippie trail

20th February 1972, Istanbul, Turkey

A lot of British girls who come to Istanbul end up in the Pudding Shop.

The Pudding Shop is a comfortably run-down little cafe almost in the shadow of Istanbul’s famous Blue Mosque.

As caff’s go, it’s an unpretentious place. The table tops are plastic and the decor is early British Rail.

But just as Raffles Hotel in Singapore used to be the crossroads of the Empire, so the down-at-heel Pudding Shop is the international meeting point for a whole new generation of adventurers.

Any self-respecting hippie or hitch-hiker who hits the overland route to India and the East just HAS to check in at the Pudding Shop.

I must say there’s an air of ragged romance about the place. Stay long enough to sample a sickly chocolate pudding (that’s where the shop gets its name) and you can hear long-haired young travellers discussing anything from room rates in Nepal to the cost of a goatskin water bottle in Kabul.

Cheap

Run by a genial Turkish gent called Sammy, the Pudding Shop certainly knows its clientelle.

Prices are hippie-cheap (a bob will buy you a bowl of soup) and a hand-written notice on the wall reminds you that drug dealing in Turkey can get you 10 years in jail.

Apart from two well-thumbed maps of the world, that’s about the only decoration. Except, that is, for the notice board – a square of green baize carelessly tacked up in one corner.

It’s crammed with messages from young people coming, going – or just waiting. Read between the lines and you can see whole chapters of heartbreak or happiness scribbled on the back of an old airmail envelope.

Drama

There’s one addressed to Banjo Joe, which says: Couldn’t wait any longer. Gone to Katmandu. Love, Sylvie.

My goodness, what drama in green ballpoint!

Why couldn’t Sylvie wait? And why did Joe keep her hanging around – finishing banjo practice, maybe?

And anyway, does Sylvie really think she can be happy in Katmandu without Joe twanging away beside her?

One postcard, written from Rome, is an open love letter under a Vatican stamp.

Angela wants Malcolm to know she misses him very much, and she’s sorry about that business down in Greece, but she hopes he’s forgiven her now. Would Malcolm still be going to Paris this summer (all I want is your happiness)?

Oh Malcolm, you swine. If you’ve got any sense you’ll fly to her right away, with wings on your frayed plimsolls. Forget that nasty business down in Greece – she’s regretting it already.

Faded

My favourite message is written on the back of an old customs form. It says: Ken, am still waiting. Where are you? Penny.

The note is faded, but written in fresh ink underneath is: Penny, I’m back. Be in the Pudding Shop at eight tonight. I love you. Ken.

Ah, I can see it now. She’ll be blonde and sun-tanned, in faded blue jeans and sandals bought from some Himalayan tribesman.

He’ll be wiry and bearded, wearing one earring, with the dust of some desert trail still on his boots.

They’ll meet as the sun dies in flaming splendour behind the minarets of the Blue Mosque.

Oh, yes, my friends. There’s magic on the menu at the Pudding Shop tonight.

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On a recent visit to the Pudding Shop in Istanbul I saw this article, framed and proudly displayed to visitors and customers. I liked it a lot and so I am sharing it here, so more people can enjoy it. I was unable to establish which British newspaper / magazine it was written for and the name of the author, John Smith, wasn’t going to be a useful clue. Should you be in the know, please contact me and I will add the necessary credit.