Monthly Archives: April 2014

The Demise of the Horse and Cart

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One of the most unique aspects of living in the Village is knowing that the freshest of fruit and vegetables, straight from the farm, can be found just by walking out my front door.  Yes the horse and cart is a mainstay of village life here in the Village and each day I am inundated with vendor’s selling everything from fruit and vegetables and fresh milk (yes I have found a supplier) as well as being utilised to transfer firewood and charcoal, agricultural day workers, and even, on occasion, kids to and from school.  Basically, the horse and cart are an integral part of my life.

For us Turkish housewives (which I am calling myself now despite not being Turkish nor a particularly good housewife) having the vendors come to you door means that we, who are extremely busy keeping our homes spotless, working in the farms and feeding our families (none of which I am doing but I stand by my statement that I am a Turkish housewife), do not need to leave our homes to shop and everything will come past at some stage over the course of the week.  This means I get the freshest of fruit and vegetables while practicing my inadequate Turkish on the vendor.  I am a source of amusement for the vendors too as I try and purchase their goods and negotiate the price all the while trying to control My Hurley Dog who, due to the fact that he has Small Dog Syndrome, hates every animal on site that is bigger than him.  I am quite sure I am one of the highlights of their day.

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With the change of Government from CHP to MHP in Mersin one of the first laws brought in by the new Government is outlawing the horse and cart as the Government body believe that they are inhumane and outdated (and they poop everywhere).  Sure no one likes horse poop outside their front door but what happens to the horses I questioned?  Sadly (and definitely even more inhumane) many of them have been sold for food but a few others are put out to pasture to live the rest of their life peacefully after all they have worked hard every day pulling their owner’s cart through rain, hail, snow and extreme heat.

And what are out options now for daily deliveries?  This morning a small tractor pulled up outside with a cart attached with fruit and vegetables.  The vendor tells me (via a lot of hand gestures and laughter) that the cost is higher now (as I found when I purchased some muz) as he has to pay for diesel.  Also stopping by was the vendor that usually sells kitchen and household goods.  He has purchased an old motorbike with a cart on the back.  It was apparently very expensive to purchase and sadly he had to sell his old horse to pay for it.  Poor thing.

 

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Desperately Seeking Kramer

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Kramer – noun – meaning a social gathering, a group gathered for a social event , a group of persons with a common interest.  A Kramer for me is meeting up with some of my closest friends for lunch or dinner or drinks or whatever reason at all and having an absolutely wonderful time!

Today I had a 4 way texting conversation with my friends in Sydney.  What started with a bit of a giggle over social media brought me to the realisation of just how much I want to sit with my friends over a glass or three of a good red (which I certainly do not get here in Mersin) and chew the fat so to speak.  I want to listen to their stories.  I want to hear their laughter through good times and be there supporting them through their pain.  I miss my friends and I want to see them.  I miss my family and want to see them.

Don’t get me wrong I am not lonely.  I am very happy.  I spend my day’s blogging (which takes up an extraordinary amount of time) and when I am not blogging I make half assed attempts at writing my first novel, while taking the dog for a walk, visiting with neighbours, learning what is, in my opinion, the most difficult language in the world and being a wife to the Turk and mother to Daughter who is, right now, behaving like a pre-teen nightmare.  Although Turkey is definitely where I need to be right now and this experience is bringing me to where I will be in the future right now I realise just now much I miss my girls and as I frantically typed texts to them today, trying to get all my thoughts out in the space of a few moments between each text, I think about why each of these girls are so important to me.

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There is Ris – one of my oldest friends.  Do you remember the Blue Light Disco’s together (yes I am that old).  You were with me on that first infamous trip to Turkey when I met The Turk.  You was there for our first date that wasn’t a date – and our first fight.  You were so funny that night when we were running through the back streets thinking the Turk was chasing us.  I cannot wait until we can laugh the night away together.  You may not know just how much you encourage me, you keep going when I am down with your regular telephone calls and messages (I love it when the phone rings and you are on the line).  When we finished our text chat today you finished with the words “I expect to hear some kind of reference to this in your next blog janey xxx”.  Happy now Ris?

Then there is Mich – you went and got married without me.  Even though you eloped I wasn’t there for you and I feel like I have let you down and missed out on one of your most important life moments.  I want to hug you and spend time with your sweetness and your generous heart.  Do you remember when I saved you from Guilo by throwing you in my Datsun 200B and driving you home?  I drove so fast that my little 200B lifted onto 2 wheels.  How excellent was that!  No-one has your kindness or your heart.  I miss you terribly.

Finally there is Sash – married with kids she is the friend that has worked her ass off and finally the prize is within reach.  We did not speak for many years (thanks to an ex-boyfriend who definitely isn’t worth mentioning and no it is not Mr Mediocre) but I am glad that we re-connected and are a close as we are now.  When I think of you Sash I think of Flaming Lamborghini’s, the most potent drink that was available to us girls when we went dancing and to our late night dramas.  Currently studying law you have fought hard for all that you have.  You will finish it goddamn it and will finally get everything that you have ever dreamed of – for sure!

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And although not part of this texting party (she doesn’t do social networking) she still deserves a special mention – Carls is possibly one of my bestest buds.  She does so much for me although obviously she does not do any recent photos as that photo was taken 10 years ago.  She is my contact – she actually was my PA many moons ago – in Sydney.  She was my birthing partner, in fact she held Daughter before I did and she was the sponsor for The Turk when he first came to Sydney.  I can never repay her for her generosity giving me the life that I have right now (even though I may hate The Turk have the time).  The most generous, crazy so and so you would ever want to meet and who will give you more laughs than you could ever imagine.  This wonderful girl deserves all the happiness in the world.

God I miss my friends.

 Don’t hate me peeps if I haven’t mentioned you in person.  Each of you is equally important to me.  I know that when I see each of you I will laugh, cry, reminisce, listen to your stories, giggle at your expense – or at my expense – eat, drink and be merry before crying when I say goodbye again.

I cannot wait to get back to Sydney in June.  Although it is only for a fleeting moment I will take that time and treasure it in my heart.

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Turkish High Tea

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The first thing you need to know about Turkey is that Turkish people love their cay (tea).  Man or woman they have their own distinct way of enjoying a cay and whether you drink it or not you are going to learn to love it.

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The men can usually be found in a cay evi or tea house where they play cards, argue about futbol or politics and hide from their wives all the while drinking copious amounts of cay.  The women are usually too busy to spend their day in a cay evi as they have their chores around the home but once those chores are finished they can often be found getting together for a good gossip, cay and something delicious to nibble on.

On Monday I was informed that the neighbouring ladies wished to come to my house for gün.

Gün means day but it also has another meaning that you may not be so familar with. It is also the word for a home visit, where women visit one particular friend and eat pastries and drink cay. It is a very traditional custom here in the Village and it seemed it was going to be my turn next.

I kid you not when I tell you I almost shat myself at the idea.  Putting aside the fact that I don’t speak anywhere near enough Turkish to hold a social gathering I also make really crap cay.  The Turk arranged for my sister in law Songul to come and help host the get together (thankfully) so all I had to do was show up (and provide my home).

Thursday afternoon was chosen and sure enough at 1 pm my doorbell was ringing off the hook.  The Turk sensibly excused himself as soon as the first neighbour arrived and before I knew it there were 12 Turkish ladies from new mothers to a great, great grandmother arriving for cay and a good gossip.

As each lady arrived she handed over a plate of sweets or cakes and these were added to the biscuits I had purchased from the patisserie that morning along.  My kitchen was overflowing with food!

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Of course I had no idea what was going on most of the time and was so thankful that Songul was there to host the event.  I spent most of my time handing out kahve and cay, ensuring that everyone had enough to eat, giving tours of my home (as most of them had not been before and giving them something to gossip about next time they get together) and chasing My Hurley Dog away from the teyze (aunt) who was allergic to dogs.  I listened as they talked about their husbands, babies, neighbours, me, The Turk and just about anything else they could possibly gossip about.

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By 4:30 pm it was time for the ladies to be on their way as they needed to go and start dinner for their husbands, children, family, neighbour, friends, visitors, etc.  A final round of cay was drunk along with pieces of Turkish Delight before the ladies started for the door.  Lots of kisses and invites for visits before I could throw myself on the couch and process the afternoon.  It seems I now have to go and visit each of them and thank them for coming and have cay with them.  This Turkish socialising is exhausting.

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Turkish Passion

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It is with a heavy heart that I let you know that The Turk is a futbol hooligan.  Futbol or more eloquently known by us Australians as “soccer” is the primary sport in Turkey.  The Turk was ecstatic last year as our local team, Mersin, was in A League which meant of course that he could go and watch the big teams Fenerbache, Besiktas or Galatasaray.  Unfortunately for him Mersin dropped to the bottom of the table by the end of the season and fallen back to B League which brought howls from The Turk of the mistreatment done to him personally by their inability to keep above the red line.

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Since arriving The Turk has had LigTV installed and now weekends are centred on the television where The Turk can be found with his brothers and friends yelling or cheering as each situation presents itself.  The referee may be their best friend or worst enemy and each member of his team are champions amongst men or the dog shit that is currently being scraped off your shoe. 

Back in Australia I did not realise the extent of his crazy.  In Australia I did not see it but here, surrounded by his little gang he morphs into an absolute nutball.  His team, Fenerbache, is, as far as he is concerned, the closest thing to an almighty power, more amazing than the late Michael Jackson and, oh I don’t know, more sexy than Beyonce.  His behaviour is, to be honest, a little fucking crazy.  God help us, if they fell off the top of the league table, I will no doubt have to take a new name and run for the hills. 

A couple of weeks back Fenerbache played “the battle of the titans” – this was the heading in the newspaper – their most hated rival Trabzonspor.  The match was probably 30 minutes in when all hell broke loose.  Bottles, concrete (yes really concrete), smoke bombs, chairs and whatever else was lying around was thrown onto the field.  The referee had to cancel the match and awarded the 3 points to Fenerbache.  I sat watching the match with The Turk who spent the whole time screaming at the television, threatening the television (making me thankful that it is attached to the entertainment unit) and standing on the balcony yelling to his brothers (in case they were unaware of the travesty that was taking place).  Ridiculous, rabble mentality.

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Futbol really does bring the crazy out in the Turkish people – which is great to watch but perhaps not something I want to be in the middle of.

If winning isn’t everything why do they keep score?

Looking Beyond the Wall

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I have been looking at oversized wall art or posters to install in our window when the building work is completed next door.  Here is a shot of my current view – thank you very much Vito.

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And another shot with My Kedi Cat having a pow-wow with Evil from my window.

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Originally I was just going to paint the wall, keep the blinds down and try and ignore the fact that my window that originally had a pleasant village view is now a butt ugly blight but Daughter came up with the bright idea of installing a painting there.  That seemed a little excessive (cost wise) however as an alternative we found some amazing wallpaper that looks like a photograph.  I found this photograph wallpaper of Kalkan Harbour.

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Can you imagine this installed in the window?  I think it will rock.  The Turk wants a garden setting (of course) and Daughter wants Calum Hood (sigh) but right now I think Kalkan Harbour will be perfect and honestly a happy wife means a happy life.

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Nighttime snack in Adana

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The Turk and I went to Adana recently to watch a band.  I cannot remember the name of the band, it was a pretty OK band, but for the point of this story the band is irrelevant.  As we left The Turk suggested a quick meal before we trek back to Mersin.  I nodded and pictured an Adana Kebab with all the trimmings.  Yummo.  It’s probably the Turkish equivalent to stopping by Harry’s after a big night out in Sydney.

We walked for a couple of minutes before stopping at a likely looking little Esnaf Lokanta.  It was packed.  Ever table in the lokanta was full.  There were people sitting in the gutter eating from plastic containers and people in the park across the street enjoying a little outdoor picnic.  Yes this place definitely looks good plus I was starving so when The Turk pointed out a couple leaving in the corner I raced for a seat.  I was happily perusing the menu when The Turk started to get extremely excited.  He waved over a waiter ordered me a Kebab and then ordered something I had never heard of before – Şirdan. 

Our meals were placed before us and after one glance of The Turk’s dish I literally wanted to upchuck!  I didn’t have a camera with me so I had to google to get a suitable one (thank you tour gordon).  Get a gander at this.  Şirdan is either sheep or cow stomach stuffed with meat and rice.  Cooked up in a large pot and then served with cumin and pepper it is a delicacy here in Adana.  Had The Turk looked up from his dish of repulsion he would have seen I had turned a wicked shade of green – I had had too many red wines to watch him chow down on this particular meal.  I decided to wait outside breathing in the fresh air rather than the pungent smell of cooked intestine. 

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Where is Macca’s when you need it?

Mix in a little Indian

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Back in Sydney The Turk was a bit of a chef.  His pizza was legendary.  His BBQ’s were famous from Palm Beach to Penrith and his Turkish food was spectacular.  Since arriving in his homeland I hate to say it but he has become slack in his culinary efforts and has basically left it to me to do the cooking and remember I have said it before – I can’t cook!

When we packed up our lives to move here I slipped a couple of extras items into the moving boxes.  2 jars of Pataks Butter Chicken paste, 2 jars of Tandori paste and 2 boxes of pappadums.  I knew I would not be getting any Indian food in Turkey.  We went through those curry pastes pretty quickly and sadly found ourselves returning to Turkish cuisine.  Doesn’t that sound ridiculous?  I love Turkish food but here it is just food.  There are foods from home, foods that are uniquely Sydney that I craved.  Pub lunches – I craved these.  Bacon – well of course I craved bacon.  Sunday night pizza.  BBQ’s on a hot summer night.  Manly Italian with the girls.  Indian banquets with Carls and Tracy.  Damn but I drooled over those curry pastes.

While rummaging through the pantry the other night I found a jar of Pataks paste that hadn’t been opened!  A forgotten jar of Butter Chicken curry paste!  I nearly pee’d my pants I was so excited and, yes, we had Butter Chicken that night for dinner (with yogurt instead of cream).  I made a Garlic Naan (of sorts) using Pide bread, Indian onion salad (no coriander) and cucumber raita.  No pappadums sadly and of course it is a curry paste not real curry but after not having had Indian since September at my favourite Indian Restaurant in Epping my kitchen smelled divine, my tastebuds were excited and I was in foodie heaven.

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I have to say I offered my curry extravaganza to all my Turkish relo’s but none would partake.  They looked, sniffed and screwed up their noses left, right and centre.  Excellent – more for me!

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Don’t get shot!

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I am embarrassed to say this but Daughter is nearly 12 and never had a bike.  Living in North Sydney it was easier to walk everywhere and after moving to the suburbs our street was a cut through so was exceedingly busy.  Now living in the Village Daughter has the opportunity to ride until her hearts consent with only one little hiccup.  I had never taught Daughter how to ride a bike.  I am a terrible parent.  Parent failure 101.  I hang my head with parental shame.

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As you know yesterday The Turk surprised Daughter with an extremely early 12th birthday present (her birthday isn’t until June and we will be in Australia on the celebratory day of her birth) of a beautiful, shiny new bike.  She was a little worried about not being able to ride and also she didn’t want her cousins to see her potentially fail so Daughter and I walked right up to the other end of the village where we found a nice quiet lane and yavaş, yavaş (slowly, slowly) Daughter slowly but surely learnt the art of riding a bike.

Our first attempt was a bit of a failure.  A car turned down the street and scared Daughter witless.  She yelled at the car as it went past, “student driver, student driver”.  I was laughing as she yelled but then she started wobbling, lost control, lost confidence and stacked the bike into a wall.  I was still laughing but only on the inside.

On her second attempt I ran alongside her to give her the confidence to take off on her own.  She was doing ok.  She didn’t crash.  She kept it in a semi-straight line.  She had mastered bike riding in 15 minutes.  “Bloody kids a genius” and then “BANG”!  I heard the distinct sound of gunfire!  I ground to a halt but, of course, she kept going (having not used the brake before). “Don’t get shot” I yelled at her back as she worked the brakes.  Eventually coming to a stop at the end of the lane she fell off the bike and ran back to me.  I knew where the shot came from.  I knew which house it was.  I had seen them before with the rifle doing target practice in their yard.  I yelled through the wire fence – just to let them know that we were there.  The owner of the rifle waved hello and asked how I was.  Well you are randomly firing bullets as we are going past so I’m not that great at the moment thanks mate – and God help me he was carrying the rifle in one hand and his infant son in the other!  Daughter and I ran back to the bike and we waited a moment assessing whether the gunfire had stopped.  It had so she hopped back on the bike and again I ran alongside her until, finally, I let go.  As she rode off I yelled “Don’t get shot”.  Again excellent parenting skills.

She made it to the end of the lane when “bang” another shot ran out.  Phew we timed that well.  I ran passed the fence and back to Daughter.  Making a sound parental decision I suggested we choose another lane to ride in.  Daughter nodded in agreement and we continued down the street me walking and Daughter riding until we found an area that was a little less dangerous.

Daughter hopped back on the bike and with my catchcry “Don’t get shot” yelled after her she took off like a bull at a gate.  She didn’t look back.

Parental success.  Fist pump moment.  She had had a few stacks but there was no stopping her now – and she wasn’t shot which was good too.

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Good as Gold

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When I was pregnant with Daughter I attended at the local free hospital in Mersin for some blood work and a check up.  It was a dark, extremely dirty hospital where lines of people waited in various stages of injury or sickness.  I could not compare this hospital to anything I had ever experienced and I was so traumatized by the visit I left the country.  Yes I literally returned to Australia to have Daughter determined to never return to a Turkish hospital again.

Those who know me know my love of self-diagnosing ailments and self-medicating.  I hurt my back last week in the garden (I am getting old) and went upstairs to look through my various pills to find something to take away the ache.  As I rummaged through the plastic bottles and packages, some purchased here and others brought with us from Australia, I found some of The Turk’s pain medication that he used after an operation a year or so back.  Strong pain relief.  Still in date.  Let’s do it!  I took two pills and promptly passed out.  They were crazy strong.  I learned a valuable lesson that day.  Always be sitting down when self-medicating.  Nooooo! 

I did need to go to the doctor though has I had run out of my blood pressure tablets.  Again terror ran through my veins at the thought of going to a Turkish hospital but it had to be done.  Thankfully The Turk chose a ozel hastanasi (private hospital) which was not quite as frightening as my first foray into Turkish hospitals nor my most recent attendance at the local village hospital (another story in itself).  The doctor spoke English which was a bonus and happily told me my blood pressure was spot on.  Yah me!  The doctor also gave me a speech about “White Coat Syndrome”.  I laughed and told him every doctor I have ever met has given me the same speech.  The Turk mentioned me passing out to the Doctor who suggested that perhaps I shouldn’t self-medicate.  Seems like a good idea. 

Now it was Daughter’s turn.  In Australia I would take Daughter to the dentist every three months.  She would have a cleaning and a check-up.  It’s called preventative dental care people.  Preventative dental care.  Daughter has been complaining about a tooth for a couple of weeks and finally after my constant hounding The Turk arranged an appointment for yesterday afternoon.  Oh.  My.  God!

We walked into the dental hospital and I knew immediately that this was a mistake.  The building was dilapidated, not old actually dilapidated.  No paint, holes in the walls, dirty floors.  This is not what a dental hospital should look like.  There must have been 200 people waiting to be seen.  Daughter clung to me and whispered that she would probably end up with a highly contagious disease and started sprouting off various diseases that can be transmitted by unclean instruments.  I smiled and told her to relax but to be honest she was absolutely right. 

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On the bright side and despite the sheer volume of people there our appointment was on time.  Daughter entered the consultation room.  The Turk tried to come with her but was told to wait outside.  Less than one minute later the door opened and Daughter emerged.  What happened?

“She asked me to open my mouth.  I did.  She looked in and said there was nothing wrong with me.  She told me I was wasting her time.  So I left.”

No instruments.  No nothing just as cursory examination before sending her on her way.  The Turk blew a gasket at the doctor and she told him that you don’t come to a dentist unless you are in pain.  She said it was unnecessary to do a cleaning.  The doctor then suggested that if Daughter’s teeth seemed unclean we should buy a toothbrush.  Such an excellent suggestion!  Capital idea!  The Turk ushered Daughter out the door and threw some expletives at the doctor as we went.

But he made it up to her.  When she came home from school today he told her to get changed and meet him downstairs.

After spending a moment being loved up by Stanley and his sore leg she ran downstairs to find – a new bike!

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When The Turk asked Daughter how she was her reply to him was, “Good as gold Dad.  Good as gold!”

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My Turkish Auntie Muriel

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My mother in law had two sisters, both older than her and sadly the eldest sister passed away last Saturday afternoon.  It was expected in this case as she had been floundering for some time.  On each visit I could see she was becoming weaker and it seems that she had not been eating at all.  She was surrounded by her family and I imagine now she is with her sister watching over everyone while drinking cay and gossiping.

Again because I did not know her name (and I am quite embarrassed to say this) I called her Auntie Muriel.  In fact I call both sisters Auntie Muriel because they looked so similar.  Now both Daughter and The Turk call them Auntie Muriel too which is a little sad but I think as long as they are in their thoughts that is all that should matter isn’t it?  Perhaps not.

This time around I was prepared for the grief that was to follow.  It was still overwhelming but perhaps I was slightly removed or hardened to the reactions that followed.

I also paid more attention to the ritual of prayer which is fascinating.  I had The Turk translate a lot of what happened so forgive me if this is not spot on and other pieces I had to Google for correction.

When someone passes away in the Village they are returned to their home where the grieving family arrive to help bath and prepare the body for the afterlife.  Auntie Muriel was covered in a white cotton sheet called a kafan and everyone had an opportunity to say their goodbyes.  The Imam arrived and started the prayer Allahu Akbar (Allah is greatest).  He then proceeded to recite verses from the Koran.  I started to get lost at this point as it is all in Arabic.  The Turk (who is certainly not a religious scholar) said that the Imam did the Thana and Fatiha verses followed by part of the Tashahud verse.  He offered his D’ua which is a supplication followed by the fourth tekbir before it was concluded with a peace greeting.*

As expected Auntie Muriel was then taken by the men of the family to the cemetery for burial while the women waited back at the house.  On Sunday morning we travelled to the cemetery for another service by the Imam.

Like the call to prayer that drifts over the village 5 times a day the ceremony itself is very peaceful and beautiful to bare witness to.  Of course I do not have a great understanding of the religious aspect however it does not mean that did not appreciate the sentiment during the ceremony.  Auntie Muriel was a sweet little lady and like my mother in law she was definitely loved and respected as again there were hundreds who attended both at the house and at the cemetery for service.  Sadly I do not have a photo of Auntie Muriel on my computer but I do have a few in an old album somewhere.  I will definitely have to have a look for one so I will put up another of my favourite photos of my mother in law.  This photo was taken on New Years Eve – just a day before she passed away.

 

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I sat with the final Auntie Muriel yesterday and held her hand for some time.  She talks constantly to me and although I probably know 1 in 10 words I always smile and kiss her hand when I sit by her.  In all my years of visiting her I have yet to hear her raise her voice.  She knew how much my mother in law loved me and for this reason she is so kind, knowing that I have pretty much no clue what is going on, but she always ensures that I sit next to her as pride of place.

She is the only sister left now.

*This information was provided by my memory along with The Turk’s knowledge.  Anything posted today is posted with the utmost respect to Islam and its ceremonies. I appreciate your opinion and advice however I ask that you respect me if you feel the need to leave a post.