The man at the British Embassy gate was not too happy to see me. Or, maybe he actually was because the dumb question I asked of him went some way to alleviate his fear that the taxi I'd just climbed out of was not a mobile bomb.

It was raining in Ankara last Tuesday night, which didn't help. Neither did the fact our taxi driver was unsure exactly where the British Embassy was.

(Note to Scottish, Welsh, and Northern Irish readers: In Turkish, the British Embassy is known as the "English Embassy". Sorry. I don't know why this is.)

The big building behind concrete barriers and a barbed wire fence kind of gave it away a bit but the security control booth, like the bridge of big ship looking out over all approaches, gave this place a stamp of seriousness.

Our taxi stopped with a skid right in front. This was not the greatest idea in a place where bombs and attacks on foreign banks and embassies is a reality. So I got out and, in my best Australian accent, asked how I could get into the Red Lion, a bar attached to the embassy.

Red alert to amber alert.

This potential intruder was just an Aussie after a cheap beer.

As it turned out, Tuesday night is darts night at the Red Lion as locals – expats, foreign embassy staff, and actual real live Turks – compete in a local league. Darts in Ankara? Who knew?

But the real purpose of this mission was, rather than terrorism or darts, to meet one of the people behind the Round Ball in Ankara blog, dedicated to two of Ankara's teams Ankaragucu and Genclerbirligi.

Genclerbirligi boast three Australians in its squad – Bruce Djite, James Troisi, and Mile Jedinak. The club's officials love Australians.

The General Manager would not shut up about Josip Skoko, the former Socceroo who was a key member of the team during its famous UEFA Cup run five years ago.

"Send us more," he said.

In over a decade covering Australia's national team, the most hospitality I've received from Football Federation Australia has been a run at the leftovers from lunch during a training camp in Holland.

Yet Gencler hospitality, for pretty much a stranger, included an invitation to eat a four-course meal with the team after watching a training session. In this business, that's unheard of. Especially at four o'clock in the afternoon.

This was my second visit to Ankara in nine months. Turkey's modern day founder Ataturk, or at least his imposing mausoleum and the accompanying official (debated by Greeks and Armenians) version of regional history, cast a long shadow over my first visit.

The escort for this visit was more benign but as ever-present.

Nothing gets done in Turkey without chay, the local tea. And so it was at Genclerbirligi's cubist club offices.

Forget Djite, Troisi, or Jedinak. The most important employee at the club was the chay man, who popped up at every and any opportunity.

On arrival, mid-interview, on the training pitch, post-interview.

"Chay?"

If we sent him to the British Embassy, they might relax a bit.


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