After a long hot day driving around and sightseeing in Istanbul, Turkey my father and his colleagues decide to grab something to eat. My father’s friend, Franz, parked his car in front of an antique shop. The antiques merchant and his colleagues eye the VW bus and then look at the collection of hungry and sweaty Swiss faces. Franz says hello and the merchant immediately begins to offer him a miniature bronze statue of a man on a horse, claiming a great price on such a priceless antique. Having been swindled earlier on in the day (Franz purchased an item that was supposedly an antique but turned out to be a common replica) Franz, still bitter, immediately declines. The merchant insisted that it was “perfect” and it was in Franz’s best interest to purchase it, that “he would not be able to leave Istanbul without it.” Hungry, hot and irritated Franz simply walks off without a second glance to the merchant.

My father chose the restaurant. Having been well traveled he made the smart decision for them to sit on the second floor of a restaurant that was directly across the street from where the VW bus was parked. They sat on the porch and sat crossed legged, keeping a watchful eye on their vehicle. It did, after all, contain all of their belongings.

Happy and full with fine local cuisine, the Swiss companions made their way back to their bus. Happy that their bus had not been broken into, Franz proudly got into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and turned in his seat to wave to the vendor who was no longer there. At that same moment, while simultaneously releasing the clutch and applying pressure to the gas pedal, the VW van moved forward for a split second before a loud metal crunching sound met with exclamations of profanity in French and German, filled the vehicle. The entire VW ended up tilted to the left side, its undercarriage scraping along the asphalt until Franz slammed on the breaks. Everyone exited the vehicle and stared in an absolute amazement at two concrete blocks where the wheels used to be. The look of horror on Franz’s face replaced his previously proud visage. What in the world were they to do and where would they be able to buy two wheels for a VW?

Fortunately for them there happened to be an auto shop less than a block down the street owned by no other than the antiques merchant himself. He also happened to have two Volkswagen wheels, the perfect ones for his vehicle. Unfortunately, wheels were not sold in pairs or as single items, they had to be bought as a set. Disdainfully and with no proof that the wheels were theirs in the first place, the Swiss travelers combined funds to pay for four wheels. The merchant explained “These are perfect; you can’t leave Istanbul without them!”