I have always detested New Years Eve. There is such high expectation to revel with other revelers, rejoice in your tomfoolery and have oodles of casual sex as we come together as one to countdown and celebrate a new beginning. Blah! Yet every year I would dress up in my finery ready to revel, indulge and make general whoopee when in fact I would rather be on my couch eating pizza and chatting to my cat about our plans for the coming year (and there would be some epic adventures involved).
“It’s going to be the best night of your life”, THEY say. Well who the feck are they because I have always found New Years Eve to be the suckiest night of the year. Is “suckiest” a word? If not, it should be. New Years Eve always sucks balls! And New Years Eve 1999 proved to be exactly the same.
That fateful evening as we held our breath for the Y2K bug to implode our world and as Jennifer Lopez was Waiting for Tonight I was, yet again, breaking up with my “Mr Mediocre”. Yes I am stealing the idea from S&TC but I think in this case the name given to my ex is insightful and, well, he really was mediocre at everything that he did (nudge, nudge). It is clear to me, probably also to you and almost certainly to a psychologist, that I still have some unresolved issues with him but Mr Mediocre is mentioned only briefly so I will now move on with the story.
Anyway, Mr Mediocre had succeeded in letting me down for the tenth New Year in a row and I found myself sitting harbour side watching the Sydney fireworks alone – again. Around me merry people applauded the year that had ended and rejoiced with their lovers celebrating the celebration of a new millennium. A New Millennium! It was kind of significant wasn’t it? 2000 years ago – or thereabouts – “a child was born”. Obviously many children were born but this one was kind of important. As I sat drowning my sorrows I decided that I needed to reconsider precisely what I was doing with my life as, after all, not only did I have issues regarding my relationships, I also was turning the dreaded 30 in eight days time. Crap!
Within days I had rebounded into Mr Mediocre’s arms (like I said – issues) but had also made the fateful decision to embark on the holiday of a lifetime to find myself. Perhaps have an epiphany that would change my life forever. This holiday was going to be outstanding too as I had incorporated good friends with amazing destinations from the birthplace of the abovementioned significant child, camel riding to the Pyramids of Giza and a trip to Petra to re-live the final scenes from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Yes, I know that scene rocked!
Shortly before flying out my girlfriend rang from Londra and suggested a side trip to Türkiye – a chance to unwind. “An excellent suggestion.” said I. And by the time I arrived in Türkiye to meet my girlfriend those two weeks would be well earned as I was mentally and physically exhausted from the hieroglyphics and the craziness and the heat and well, I just needed to re-boot my system.
On our first night in Türkiye I met who I will forevermore call The Turk. He suggested that we spend the day on his sailing boat. He said that we would have a great laugh and enjoy good food and have a wonderful time swimming in the blue sea. He promised us a day to remember. Cheesy eh?
Well as cheesy as it was we did spent the next day enjoying his food and laughing out loud at his silly jokes. We enjoyed swimming in the sea and it was indeed very blue, almost turquoise! Upon arriving back to the jetty The Turk suggested meeting up again in the evening for drinks however as we had both had too much sunshine and perhaps a few too many beverages throughout the day my girlfriend and I fell asleep in our hotel room before the sun had even set over Bodrum Kalesi. I didn’t see The Turk again before I left and frankly, didn’t really think about him either. He was merely an anecdote when recalling my adventure to others. (I know that my girlfriend will no doubt recall this day quite differently but I don’t really want you all to hate The Turk before you get to know him so this is the story I am going to stick to).
I returned to Sydney in time for the 2000 Olympics and then it was New Years Eve again. A full year! Had I grown? Had I learnt anything? Did my life have new meaning? Not really but I did, finally, end it with Mr Mediocre having finally realised that he would never mature into the man that I deserved.
Fast forward to June 2001 and I find myself with friends ready to indulge in the delight that is Türkiye once again. Walking down the caddesi on my first night I bump into – wait for it – The Turk. Kismet? Destiny? Inevitability?
Well whatever it is I now find myself married to The Turk and we have been blessed with our one little darling, my baby, the ever wonderful, always beautiful, Daughter (who is currently morphing into an obstinate teenager) and we are ready for a new adventure.
Today surrounded by boxes we are preparing for the biggest move of our lives from Sydney, Australia to a small village on the outskirts of Mersin in Türkiye. I don’t know how long we are going to last – could be 3 months or it could be forever. Whatever happens I will keep you updated with my witty banter and hopefully not too much twaddle.
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Excellent read, can’t wait to hear more about your adventures when you move to Turkey!
Jane this is fantastic!!! It is a great way to process everything that’s going on, looking forward to your journey via the blogosphere! Xx
You inspired me Camilla.
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wow! what a journey
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I look forward to following your blog once I have now found it. I too will be moving with my 15 year-old to Cairo in the summer for 2 years… leaving my husband at home in Canada because of his job. I hope to get to Turkey for sure when I am in Egypt. Have a great day, Cheryl
Wow! Cairo! Your 15 year old will definitely have an adventure. I adored wandering through the back streets and old souk (although I did not love the camel ride to the Pyramids one little bit). Feel free to look me up if you land in Mersin. We can swap stories over a glass of red!
Thanks very much. And yes.. I will avoid those camels at the pyramids. Read a lot and they always sound like a nightmare of huge tout proportions. Cheryl
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