I bought a large glass of pomegranate juice. The cafe was empty, and there was no food there either. A man came out and insistently invited her inside. I didn't see the problem and went in. The boy brought my juice. After two sips, my throat constricted, it became difficult to breathe, my head began to spin, and my arrhythmia began. I don't know what was mixed in there. I was surrounded by five men. I jumped up and managed to run outside. I ran to the tram, already not thinking at all. My saliva turned into foam. No, I don't have allergies, and it wasn't juice. The juice is tart and slightly sweet, depending on whether the pomegranates are sweet. This juice was very bitter and unpleasant. It wasn't alcohol. I got to Eminem and spent several hours recovering until my head cleared up.
Draw conclusions. It makes sense to go to the police, they hardly care about slum Balat. Look at the houses in the pictures and take care of yourself. You can get three or four drunk. The company won't save you. No one will find you in the ruined slums. And it will be too late to find it. Or they'll say that you've eaten too much yourself. No one but you will protect you, girls.
A great inexpensive place, very friendly guys. We took doner and kufta in rolls, for 80 lira we got delicious rolls, potatoes and soda. Excellent Turkish coffee is brewed in the sand.
And right across the street is Dora cafe, where the guys boasted that their boss and owner is Rottweiler Dora, who smiles sweetly from the sign and welcomes guests live)