Sleepless In Mersin

Insomnia does have its perks, for me at least.  I have been powering through my first novel and am now up to Chapter 22.  It’s a romance with just a little bit of sex (not porno sex just the idea of it).  My friend in Oz who has been my advisor on all things book related has asked me for more sex but The Turk has said that it makes him look dirty by association.  Yeah.  Whatever.

insomnia

Insomnia has also allowed me to make sarma at 3.30 in the morning and, as an added bonus, I saved the salça that been doing its stuff on the roof from the sudden downpour last night (yes it rained but it will, no doubt, return to its usual hellfire today).  So the glass really is half full and all that I guess.

I’m assuming that the insomnia which has gripped me is part of the whole peri-menopausal sitch that I am experiencing now which means I am already a little highly strung, suffering from Sahara Desert-like hot flashes and agitated to the point of taking all of you out but now I’m fecking exhausted on top of everything else.  FML!  Seriously FMFL!

It’s nearly 5am now and I’m staring at My Kedi Cat sleeping on the desk beside me with a mixture of hatred and curiosity.  My Kedi Cat doesn’t experience insomnia.  My Kedi Cat has the skill of falling asleep standing up.  As can The Turk.  And Daughter for that matter.  I hate them all.

cat-sleeping

I start cruising the web typing in the most outlandish things I can think of.  It seems my chance of surviving a zombie apocalypse is on 13%.  Well that sucks.  But I have a stellar knowledge in all things Grey’s Anatomy which will be useful … never.

Daughter has suggested I count sheep but as we killed one yesterday for Bayram my sheep appear in a much more sinister form and scare me senseless.  I’m never going to sleep again.

The Turk has sensibly distanced himself while I externally combust and is merely appearing intermittently with chocolate, wine or some other distraction for my bollocking brain until this bout of insomnia passes.  Like most things he thinks the best cure for insomnia is sex.  The look on my face said it all and he hightailed it out of here.  I haven’t seen him since.  No really.

I step out onto the terrace and wish that I smoked again.  A cigarette would be great about now and if I smoked I would be assisting in my own demise.  I can sleep when I’m dead and all that.  I hear the Muezzin begin the ezan (call to prayer).  At least I’m not the only one up now.  Around the village I can see a few lights flick on as people begin their morning routine.

The sun is beginning to rise in the east and the terrace takes on a pink tone.  I sit on my new (unscarred) terrace furniture watching the sunrise and sip my çay.  It’s light enough now to take My Hurley Dog for his morning walk.  I guess that’s a good enough reason to get my ass going and start the day.

Gunaydin. 

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Lacey’s and Goat Stew

A dingo ate my baby.  A good story (well not for the baby).  Or how about my dog ate my homework.  A classic tale.

But this story is better.

This is the story of a goat.  A goat that ate my undies!

baby goatKurban Bayram officially gets underway tomorrow and there are a lot of goats and sheep in the village unwillingly ready to be sacrificed.   The herder will parade the animals through the village on their way to the kurban kesme yerleri (authorised sacrifice abbatoir) although here in the village it is not unusual for people to purchase an animal as the herder goes by for sacrifice in their garden or a nearby park.

Usually the herder will not go down our street.  Between My Hurley Dog and the Rottweiler next door the crazed barking sends the already nervous animals a little deli and they tend to run amok but today the herder had such a large contingent of animals that he was trying to control that a small number did wander into our street and start chewing on the weeds and grass outside my home.  Unbeknownst to me I might add.  I was still in bed.  Having sweet dreams.  Maybe about The Hot Groom … or Brad Pitt.  Or both.  Oh my!

Now to the story about my undies.

I did a load of washing last night.  I am a good Turkish Housewife (alright that’s not entirely true).  I put the washing on the line and then sat down to watch an episode of Stranger Things (love that show).  I then went to bed to have my aforementioned sweet dreams.  Of course I woke to the sound of My Hurley Dog barking like a maniac on the terrace so I went out to corral him back inside.  I hung over the railing to have a squiz at what he was barking at.  It could have been Grey Cat.  My Hurley Dog hates Grey Cat.  Grey Cat keeps sniffing around my two remaining stray bitch cats trying to have his way with them.  It wasn’t Grey Cat.  There was, however, a bunch of goats wandering around in our little garden but that wasn’t what caught my attention.  No.  What caught my attention was one particular goat.  It was a ridiculously cute brown goat (seriously how can they kill these darlings) and it was bouncing around below me chewing on something.  It seemed quite happy unbeknownst of his forthcoming fate.  Wait a minute.  What’s that he’s eating?  I looked behind me at my clothes line.  FML!  The line was definitely heavier last night!  What’s missing?  A t-shirt.  Yes, and what else – Oh bugger!  My lacy black undies.  The expensive ones.  The ones I had just brought back from Sydney.  The ones that are used for, ahem, special occasions.

I ran down stairs to collect the pieces that had fallen off the line and to try and retrieve my special occasion undies (although I can’t imagine them possibly being salvageable).  There was a tustle.  The little brown goat won and wandered off to meet his maker happily chewing on the remnants of my undies.  His last meal before he becomes Goat Stew.

In the meantime The Turk had woken up and was sitting on the terrace below mine having a çay.  And a cigarette.  And a laugh.

I turned and gave him the finger, “If I don’t get these undies back you’re never getting laid again!”

I don’t think he really cares.

So yeah Kurban Bayraminiz kutlu olsen!

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The Hot Groom

Last night I went to a wedding.  I hate a wedding on a weeknight.  I wasn’t prepared, in fact I knew nothing about it thanks to The Turk’s inability to tell me shit.  I had been in Adana all day (went to check out the incredibly disappointing H&M that had just opened) so when I arrived home to the news that I was expected to attend a wedding I was mildly (read that as totally) pissed off.

The wedding itself was as expected.  You know the usual Turkish, completely over the top wedding.  The music was way too loud and the women were ridiculously overdressed while, on the other hand, the men turn up looking like gigolo wannabe’s in jeans and open shirts.  Of course there was no food or booze but they did supply us with juice boxes (true story).  And sadly as I didn’t have any warning of said wedding I didn’t have time to buy some booze.  FML!  A booze free Turkish wedding on a freaking Wednesday night.  Could my life get any worse?

And then I saw The Groom.  No that’s not explaining what I saw properly – let me try that again:

And then, standing at the top of the stairs was a man, but not just a man, it was a man with god-like qualities.  His strong nose complemented his prominent cheekbones and his hair, so thick that I felt the need to run my fingers through it, finished just below the collar of his perfect black suit jacket.  He was tall but not too tall and he filled out that perfect black suit jacket perfectly.  My new crush scanned the room with purpose and I swear to God his eyes connected with each and every one of us.  I swooned.  I did.  I was Olivia De Havilland and I was swooning at the hottie at the top of the stairs – until it clicked in my pea size mind.  The hottie at the top of the stairs just so happened to be The Groom.  Sorry – The Hot Groom.  Bummer.

Of course I am well aware that I can’t try it on with The Hot Groom at his own wedding and yes I am obviously also aware that I am, in fact, a fat, middle aged woman who is very much married to The Turk who was, at that moment, sitting right beside me as I swooned and tittered over The Hot Groom at the top of the stairs but I just need to say – yes please!

burak

The Hot Groom had it all.  He was a dead set ringer for Burak Ozcivit and seeing as Burak Ozcivit was actually born in Mersin I have decided that The Hot Groom must be related in some way to Burak Ozcivit.  For those of you who don’t know of Burak he has graced my blog before when I discussed the do’s and don’ts of the great Turkish moustache and now, standing before me, was a perfect facsimile of that perfect man.  Yes indeed my new favourite relative aka The Hot Groom was rocking it with his thick black locks and a decent amount of facial hair that gave me the shivers (but thankfully no moustache).  OMFG!

The Turk looked from the Hot Groom to me and back again before rolling his eyes.  The following conversation then took place:

The Turk:  I see what’s happening here.

Me:             I don’t know what you are talking about.

The Turk:  Darling there are two reasons that your new love isn’t going to work.

Me:             Oh?

The Turk:  One, he’s half your age.

Me:             I could be a cougar.

The Turk:  (shook his head while looking at me in pity and a little bit of contempt) And two … check out your competition.

Me:             Who?

The Turk:  The Bride.

Damn it but he was right.  The Hot Groom was marrying an even Hotter Bride.

Of course.

Edit:  Despite the desperate requests of my readers to obtain a photo of the Hot Groom I must let you know that my one compromise on writing about his family is that I do not post any photos.  I’m sorry.  I have promised.  I know I hate me too.  Yes he was hot.

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Waiting For Rain (and hot flashes)

Despite the fact that I only returned from Down Under a month ago the never ending heat in the Village is sending me a little deli.  I mean yesterday is the perfect example.  There was talk of rain.  In fact no one spoke of anything else.  Adana had rain.  The Yayla had rain.  I believe even Mezitli had rain but here in the Village?  Nada.  Nothing.  Hiçbir şey değil!

And before any of you point out to me that it is Turkiye and of course it will be hot in summer I say this to you …. I am peri-menopausal and am pretty fecking agitated right now so before you start on me …. you have been warned!  I mean its fecking hot so why not add a hot flash to the hot.  Why fecking not???

sweating

I have decided to make a list about how many ways Mother Nature is screwing with us or screwing with me personally.  I do think it is personal.  Bitch must be peri-menopausal as well.

Anyway many of these are meme’s running around on the internet but, honestly, tell me I’m wrong folks:

  • Power blackouts. That shit will kill you because your air conditioning won’t work.
  • Power blackouts. That shit will kill you because your fan won’t work.
  • Power blackouts. That shit will kill you but will save you from the pneumonia that you will catch from the air conditioning blasting all night (if you listen to your Turkish teyze).  So … yeah … the pneumonia will kill you.
  • Hot shower? Or hot shower?  Hot water comes out of both faucets now.  The effort to towel dry just makes you sweat more and another hot shower is needed AND you have to dress in front of the fan or air conditioning so you stay dry!
  • Your thongs melt on the bitumen (no not “that” kind of thong).
  • The bitumen melts as well.
  • The temperature drops below 33 degrees. Woah!  Grab a jacket!  Wait!  Don’t grab a jacket!  You’re not Turkish silly!
  • Storm on the horizon? YES!    It’s now a Swedish sauna outside.  Steam non-optional!
  • You are prepared to drive great distances because the air conditioning works in your car.
  • You drive your car with your fingers.
  • You are afraid of your seatbelt.
  • The best parking spot is one with shade and yes you are prepared to go and move your car as the sun revolves around the earth.

steering wheel

On the bright side with no rain – probably ever again – it means that today’s chore of making the salca (I’ve got 100kg of biber waiting for me downstairs) will mean it can be done in one day.  Sure I might finish at midnight and sure I will no doubt be covered in bites and stained a bright red but in 2-4 weeks I will have my homemade salca ready for consumption.

The things we do!

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But Did You Die?

Daughter has gone back to school this week.  She is in Year 8 and, as she will have her TEOG this year (the TEOG exam which will decide which high school they can attend), there are extra lessons to help them prepare.  She is, of course, spitting a rather large dummy in every direction because it’s a daily onslaught of 4 lessons of science and 4 lessons of math.  Her two worst subjects (except for din (religion) but we have had her removed from that class).

So with Daughter back at school it means I am doing the daily drop off and pick up again and I’ve got to tell you these fecking Turkish driver’s are doing my fecking head in.  I have decided that Turkish driver’s are so full of their own self-importance that they believe they are the only fecking drivers on the road.  Get out of their fecking way.  They are like a fecking bulldozer and they are coming through!  Of course they know how to drive and I know shit!  You know shit too but don’t take it personally.

driving-in-turkey-distorted

Look, my friend — there are two kinds of drivers in Turkey.  First there’s the stupid ones — and then there’s the crazy ones

I am over driving defensively.  I am over giving way, using my indicators, stopping at red lights and keeping to the speed limit.  I have my kimlik damn it!!  I’m Turkish I say and so I will start to drive like a lunatic … so I will fit right in with the rest of them!

And like probably 90% of the driver’s on a Turkish road I don’t actually have a Turkish driver’s licence.  I have my Australian driver’s licence but from 1 January 2016 an Australian must obtain a Turkish driver’s licence as Australia is one of the few countries that have not signed the international treaty (we are governed by our States).  If you’re an Aussie and have not got a Turkish driver’s licence your only option (right now) is to leave the country every six months to get a new stamp in your passport.  I’m all over that idea and, despite the fact that I only just got back from Down Under, I’m already online checking out my options for a weekend in Europe in January.  I’m thinking snow covered mountains, cozy fires, mulled wine, Brad Pitt. Oh right.  Okay.

Did you know that in Australia you need 100 hours of practice driving and lessons.  Getting your driver’s licence in Australia takes years.  FECKING YEARS!  Here I dunno but what I do know that if a Turkish driver sees a red light it inspires insanity in them.  It’s a red flag and bull situation and no one ever really wins that do they?

And while I’m on my high horse – feck my life – the fecking pedestrians!!  I swear they step out right in front of you, obviously with big old blinders on their eyes and waddle through six lanes of traffic without a fecking care in the world while you slam on your brakes, smelling the burning rubber of your tyres as you slide sideways, your airbag exploding in your face and you nearly having a freaking heart attack while they throw you the evil eye for honking at them!  And no teşekkür ederim or sağol.  No fecking way!  Just the evil side-eye.

And seeing as I have already climbed into that big saddle one more thing!  There is a small home decoration shop at the end of our street and there is a woman that ‘works’ there.  I use the term loosely because, let’s be honest, despite the fact that everybody in the village may need a home decorator there are few in the village who could actually afford one.  Anyway Little Miss Home Decorator has a lot of freaking attitude.  She spends her day sitting on a chair on the small terrace chatting with all the neighbours (including Vito’s wife whom I still haven’t spoken to since this incident back in May) but if the sun gets a little too intense she has taken to putting her chair on the road under the shade of the building and so, when I (or anyone else for that matter) turn right onto our street there she is sitting in the middle of the road enjoying her çay without a fecking care in the world while you slide sideways on the gravel to miss her sorry ass.  Get out of the way biatch!  And God forbid if you ask her to move she stares at you with that blank death stare that all these crazies around here have although no doubt she gives me that look because Vito’s wife would have told her all about ‘the incident’ and what a bloody awful yabancı I am and do you know what?  I’m really okay about that.  I really am.

Meanwhile The Turk thinks that if you survive driving on a Turkish road any day then it is a good day.  If you survived any near miss while dodging pedestrians, bike riders, cars, trucks, horses, dogs, cats, goats, chickens or anything else then buy yourself a lottery ticket ‘cause you are having a fecking great day!

 

Burası Türkiye!

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The Yayla

It’s still mighty hot here in Mersin with most days cracking on in the high 30’s (that’s 100℉ for you crazy hold-outs in the good old USA).  I’m not going to whine about the heat today (I know it’s surprising even me) but instead I’ll tell you about what to do when it is hot in Mersin – do what the locals do and get the hell outta Dodge.

yenikoy 7

Yes sir when the heat gets too much for a Mersin-ite they pack their bags and migrate to the Yayla and so, in an effort to be as Turkish as possible and, with the flimsy excuse of a party, a few of us expats decided to reconvene in the little village of Yeniköy for the weekend to enjoy the cooler mountain breeze and a bevvy or three.

Yeniköy is approximately 20 km’s (about 12 miles for you backwater-type countries that still use the archaic Imperial system of weights and measures – sorry I’m pointing my finger again at you Americans) from the city.  Leaving the city on the Mersin Gozne Yolu I usually turn off at the Anadolu Ajansı Hatıra Ormanı (National Forest) and take the Mersin Arslankoy Yolu up into the mountains passing Aladağ along the way (pull over and fill your bottle with pure mountain water at the fountains as you pass by).  The first time I travelled up into the mountains was a little hairy with my little car unable to take the gradient on the unsealed village roads but with the current road upgrades the drive is more pleasant than terrifying for this little Aussie bird and the views as you pass through the tiny villages and mountain ranges is spectacular.

Arslankoy 2

One of the small lokantlar worth a visit is Yeniköy Restoran Palanin Yeri which is on your right as you go through the village.  Here they do the usual mangal, tavuk ve et dishes and it’s not bad bang for your buck (or your lira).  The beer is cold, the staff try their very best and with a mix of their English and my Turklish you usually get what you ordered but the real draw for me is that after spending time in the hell that is Mersin in August a visit to this pleasant garden restaurant and it’s cool breeze (usually 10°C difference) makes the drive so very worthwhile.

Palanin

Leaving Yeniköy there are a smattering of waterfalls to visit, the most famous being Santuras (St Iris) at Çağlarca or you might like to taking in some of the hiking trails nearby.  As the trails are used by the local herders you will probably pass a goat or two on your hike as well as, although I have never seen one, the occasional wild pig.

water fall

Another 30 minutes past Çağlarca is the village of Arslanköy which is pretty much as far as you can go without a 4WD.  At 1,475 m (4,839 ft) above sea level the summer sun is quite strong up here so remember to slip, slop, slap (Aussie reference sorry to the rest of you) and the village itself doesn’t really have a lot to offer but just past the village is a lovely lake which is a very pleasant spot for a picnic (make sure you stock up before you leave as there are only a few small shops in the village for supplies).

arslankoy lake

A weekend pass to the Yalya is just the thing to remind me just why I love living here in Mersin.

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Syria’s Children

His name was Aylan Kurdi. Do you remember him?  His name is Omran Daqneesh. Will you remember him tomorrow?  All of Syria’s children have names and we should never forget them.  But we will.  Of course we will.

OmranSure we were all rightfully shocked and saddened by what has happened to both of these little boys.  Social media was again abuzz as photos of Omran dazed and bloodied spread around the world.  “How could this happen again?” we all yell from the comfort of our homes.  News anchors were crying on the television from the safety of their newsroom.  People were tearing up on the radio at the thought of poor Omran and his family.  How could this happen again?  Again?  Seriously?  Don’t tell me you didn’t know.  This has been ongoing since 2011.  Omran and millions of others are being bombed every day.  I know real life is distracting and there is a lot of other juicy news stories to cover but please don’t be so shocked by what has happened to Omran.  He is just one of millions of people who have been displaced, injured or killed in this awful conflict.  Tomorrow there will be another little boy just like Omran but perhaps he won’t be as newsworthy.

Today Omran is safe but what exactly is safe in a war zone?  Thankfully the five year old was reunited with his mother, father and three siblings but eight other people were not so lucky and perished in the air strike that destroyed his home and his life.  Will his family stay in Aleppo or will they, like millions of others, attempt to leave Syria in the hope of a better life?  And what life would they have outside of Syria?

AleppoBorders are closing to them.  Options are limited.  There is so much anger and hatred.  Today there are tears for Omran but tomorrow there will again be calls to close borders and to “send them back where they came from”.  Tell me where the feck are they going to go back to?  Omran no longer has a home.  Aylan’s family made the decision to leave in the hope of a better life.  Aleppo is in ruin, hell most of Syria is under siege.  What hope do these people have?

The Syrian civil war began over 5 years ago and thanks to internal fighting, the constantly shifting alliances between the Assad government, rebels and Islamic extremists and the ever flourishing ‘war economy’ over 13.5 million Syrians have been displaced either internally or are refugees outside of Syria.  Turkey is the largest host country with 2.7 million Syrian refugees, Mersin has over 300,000 refugees.  What if Turkey decided to shut its borders or to turn these people away?  How many more deaths must there be?

Yes we should all be shocked and saddened at the photos of Aylan Kurdi and Omran Daqneesh.  We should be embarrassed at the world and at each other that this is humanitarian disaster is still happening in 2016.  Omran’s life will never be the same.  His family’s lives (who are now in hiding in fear of Government backlash) will never be the same.  And for those of you who think they are better off staying in Syria and that the borders should be closed?  Have a good look in the fecking mirror you asshole.  You should be ashamed of yourself!

Photo credit:  Reuters

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Next Stop Masterchef

Since returning from Oz I have found that whatever Turkish that I did have seems to have all but disappeared, even my “Ben kırmızı bir kadeh sarap alabilir miyim” seems to be coming out wrong (haters don’t hate.  That is self taught Turkish right there folks).  In an attempt to throw myself back into the deep end of the Turkish language I have been watching nothing but Turkish television in the hope that by engrossing myself in the shows will help me pick up some words or retrieve the words that I have lost.  Maybe.  Maybe not.  It seems I’m never going to get a glass of red wine again am I?

broken wine glass 2

For the past week I have been watching the Olympics on TRT Sport.  I’ve seen the Aussies being annihilated in the swimming pool.  I’ve seen the Aussies crash and burn on the field.  Basically I’ve seen them feck up all over Rio.  Sorry?  You’re wondering how many Olympic medals I’ve won?  Fecking none OK!  I am a couch potato but I am couch potato in Turkish.

Anyway I’ve also watched the diving and the gymnastics and right now am engrossed in track.  Honestly that Usain Bolt is a fast feck isn’t he?  How’s this photo of him smiling at the camera as he ‘bolts’ to the finish line (see what I did there?).  And what about that poor Japanese pole vaulter whose Olympic dream was crushed by his peen.  Poor buggar. Never before has a member of the male species wished for a smaller manhood. Until now.  Turkey has won two silver so far in wrestling and weightlifting, and today Turkey’s women’s basketball are playing against Spain in the quarterfinals.

Usain bolt

But I haven’t really learned any Turkish so I turned it over to a Turkish cooking show.

Who doesn’t love the Turkish cooking shows?  They cook.  They chat.  They yell.  Dance.  Sing.  Masterchef is as boring as feck compared to a Turkish cooking show.  Today I made patetesli sigara börek and even though I already knew how to make them this time I made them in Turkish following a Turkish recipe!   Yah me!

potato pieI mean just look at these bad boys.  What did you say???  I can’t hear you over the deafening sound of my own awesomeness!

So if you need me I will again be in the kitchen attempting a Croquembouche.  I mean it’s obvious that I am an undiscovered culinary genius.  Seriously if I can chef it up in Turkish then nothing is impossible!

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#First World Problems

Daughter and I have been in Sydney for the past 6 weeks as well as a sneaky side trip to Bali with a few of my girlfriends so I have been MIA in case you hadn’t noticed (what do you mean you didn’t notice???).

While Down Under I got to spend desperately needed time with many, but not all, of my most beloved peeps (and purchased some desperately needed bras – my boobs are back in the Northern Hemisphere again) and Daughter also got to have a few catch ups, again stalked members of 5SOS and even went to see The 1975 in concert.  Sydney was definitely a win/win sitch for both of us (although Calum from 5SOS is still playing hard to get).

Bali 1Now we are back in my Türkiye and back in the Village I find that things haven’t changed.  At all.

Of course I am aware that Türkiye was on the news while I was away.  As an early riser I had the news on and was watching the ‘incident’ as it happened.  (I will call it an incident however I won’t make any further reference to it due to the current political climate here).

“Holy Shit!” said I.

“Don’t go back!” said most, if not all, of my acquaintances back in Sydney.

Coming back home I admit was a little nervous but now that I am here and have been out and about I can say that in the Village and in the city of Mersin nothing has changed.  The sun is still shining, people are going about their business and life goes on oh and The Turk actually didn’t know that the ‘incident’ had taken place.  Slept through the whole thing.  And before you Negative Nelly’s start banging on at me yes I know that Mersin is not Istanbul and that there are continued protests there as well as other cities including Ankara but, just in case you didn’t realise, this is a blog about living in Mersin.

Anyway after staring at the television for hours I realised that something that was so huge in Türkiye and that held such huge ramifications for this country as well as the rest of the world it was merely a ripple in the pond in Australia (and possibly other countries) and was only getting about 7 minutes of airtime with the Australian media.   I should just stress at this point that the home that I was staying at only had free to air television – in fact I didn’t even get to see the finale to Game of Thrones until I got home!  #FirstWorldProblems

Everybody-Loses-Their-Mind-GoTAustralia had a general election during my time Down Under and so I did my civic duty and cast my vote.  I actually received a fine for not voting in the last election although on checking with the Consulate here in Türkiye I found out there was in fact nowhere to cast your vote unless you did it by post.  Have you ever tried to send mail from Türkiye?  Has it ever arrived or did it take 6 months?  I betcha that if I had done the postal vote in the last election my solitary postal vote would have been crucial in stopping that tosser Abbott getting elected!  And did you know that this is like the 50th freaking election since 2010 – not really – but it sure seems like it.  I mean Australia change leaders like others change their undies!  #FirstWorldProblems

I took Daughter to the hairdresser in Sydney.  Now, back in Mersin a trip to the hairdresser including a wash and blow dry will set you back 9TL or AU$5 (the price has gone up in our absence).  In Sydney a wash and blow dry at a suburban hairdresser set us back AU$60 or approximately 120TL!!!  #FirstWorldProblems

I made potato kofte for dinner for a friend and after a quick trip to the local supermarket I realised that Türkiye beats Australia hands down on the cost and the quality of the fresh produce available.  Of course here in Türkiye fruit and vegetables are seasonal but after I paid AU$3 or 6TL for one (rather crummy) bunch of maydanoz (parsley) I realised just how great I really have it here.  I couldn’t even get my hands on any nane (mint) either!  I mean WTF??  It’s mint for feck sake.  Here it’s growing on every freaking street corner.  I think back to when we lived in Sydney and we always had mint on hand.  Of course The Turk would grow his own.  Duh! #FirstWorldProblems

Although Australia did win hand over fist time and time again.  Electricity is abundant as is fresh drinking water.  I had only been home in Mersin a few days when the electricity was cut and the water disappeared from our pipes.  It took 2 days for the water to come back but the electricity did crank up again pretty quickly (and a good thing too with the current temperatures here in Mersin hitting mid-40’s (that’s Celsius to you freaking Americans) on a regular basis.  Sidenote – Daughter just stuck her head out the door and asked me “When’s it winter?”  LMAO! #SydneyoverMersin

The traffic back in Sydney is as always a dream to navigate although peak hour did my head in on more than one occasion.  I love that the speed limit isn’t just a suggestion and I seriously don’t think I heard a car horn during our whole time there!  #SydneyoverMersin

Of course the biggest drawcard and the one thing that I can’t replicate in Mersin is bacon.  Sydney has bacon.  A lot of bacon.  And I ate it all!  #SydneyoverFECKINGMersin

bacon 1So now that I’m back I will probably be back to whinging about all and sundry and hating this and that again but right now I will just say that I’m glad to be home.

Oh and yes I was playing with hashtags.  They are stupid and I hate them.  I vow this day to never use them again!

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Dear Türkiye

I am not standing by your side today for I am far, far away but I know that you are suffering and I weep for you.

image1I know you must feel manipulated and bullied by those who want you for their own personal gain. Those that feel that they can control you and own you. I see you being scrutinized and gossiped about by your so-called friends and neighbours who twist their own hateful words to the world until you feel that there is no hope left. And I know there are those that wish you nothing but harm with wave after wave of attacks against your countrymen by an enemy wielding instruments of death. You have been overwhelmed by the hatred when you yourself have been so generous and opened your heart and your arms to welcome so many less fortunate. It must be hard to hold your head up high with so many wishing you harm.

Fighting for your life can be painful and God knows you have suffered. We are all witness to your pain. I know that you have tried to be strong. I see your brave attempt to take control of your future but you just weren’t strong enough today. Don’t give up Türkiye. Don’t let the hate and the negativity win.

A great man once said, “Peace at home, peace in the world”. You and I know that great man as your father Mustafa Kemal Ataturk. He once made you strong. He once made you proud. And if you just remember Mustafa Kemal Ataturk in time of pain you will become a strong and proud nation once again.

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