Category Archives: Musings

200 (+ 2) stupendous posts!

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I have finally made it to the 200 post mark, well 202 because I hadn’t checked my stats recently.  Again I am amazed that I have kept this blog up, that my brain has had 200 (and 2) separate thoughts that I felt were interesting enough, or funny enough or important enough, to be immortalized for all to read.  Forever and ever.  On the internet.

200

So let’s talk about a few of these tremendous, colossal, amazing posts.

The most popular post was, as expected, My Letter to Özgecan.  I was amazed at the response that I received from everyone to this post. Özgecan’s death sparked a lot of debate here in Mersin and in Türkiye regarding violence against women.  Three men are currently on trial over Özgecan’s murder and will face a life sentence if convicted of charges including “murdering with a monstrous feeling”.  Türkiye does not have the death penalty (although perhaps it should).

The post that caused the most outrage (and had me forcibly removed from one of those Turkish groups on Facebook) was, 10 Things I Hate About The Turk.  Written in jest it seems that this post upset every Turk within 100 miles and perhaps it can be said that my sense of humor does not translate into all languages.

Yesterday’s most popular post is Satan Called.  I agree it is “kinda” hot here in Türkiye at the moment although perhaps not really as hot as Satan would like.

I got on my high horse quite a few times over the past 200 posts but I also fell of my throne more than once .  For a bit of toilet humor enjoy Rage Against The Latrine.

The post that made me giggle was To My No 1 Fan.  I am always so happy to hear from someone who has felt any emotion after reading one of my posts.  The fact that this particular fan was bat shit crazy only adds to my enjoyment of the whole thing.

So enough about the posts.  Now a quick rundown of other stats:

692 subscribers is amazing (a big thanks to each of you) and 738 ‘likers’ on my Facebook page (go on click on it people – you know you want to).

Over 100,000 page views is phenomenal!  I mean that’s a big number.  That’s a lot of people that either stumbled onto this blog or intentionally went out looking for it (which is nice).

I’ve had some crazy search terms as well including: “naked turkish moustache men”.  I like that one, in fact, I am going to Google that right now and see what comes up.  (Edit:  DON’T GOOGLE THAT!).  “I am selfish” – I think maybe this is a running theme with my blog.  How about “Let’s have sex tonight” – hey, I just met you, and this is crazy but here’s my number … um, no thank you but it is definitely nice to be asked.  “Ball busting bitch”.  The triple “B” threat.  This one is also obviously about me.  I don’t know how Google sends these people my way but my definite favourite search term would have to be “mersin hate sad cookies”.  This one just shouts out my name doesn’t it?  I did actually also Google “mersin hate sad cookies” and had to scroll through about 30 pages of rubbish before I found myself so whoever that searcher was must have really, really – REALLY – wanted to find me!  And anyway just who hates cookies in Mersin anyway and why would someone who hates cookies in Mersin want to Google it and make their way through pages of crap before coming across my page?  And just precisely why are the cookies sad?  Who made them sad?  Who the feck are these people that make the cookies sad?  To hell with them!

Finally I have received so many lovely messages from you guys.  I want to thank you all.  If you do ever find yourself in Mersin please look me up, well unless you were the one that Googled “mersin hate sad cookies” anyway.

Here’s to another 100!

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Do you ever shut up?

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You know that thing where you realize you are talking too much, but you can’t seem to stop yourself from talking, and then you just keep talking and talking and talking and in your head you keep telling yourself to shut the feck up but somehow your mouth doesn’t get the message and then you start to panic because you realize how annoying it must be for the other person but you just keep talking and talking and talking? Well this happens to me all the time and I really need to make it stop!

pap smear

This time my verbal diarrhoea happened while I was having my pap smear.  I hate having pap smears, every woman hates having pap smears.  It is a well-documented fact. I put them off as long as possible which is probably how I got myself into this mess in the first place.  Ladies – don’t neglect your pap smear!

Anyhow, so living in Mersin is, of course, difficult when there is no one who speaks your language so visiting my gynaecologist is a great excuse to blab away in my mother language and know that at least one person understands me.  My gyno was down the other end nodding his head so I think he was listening, actually I don’t even care if he was listening, but told him all about my trip to London and The Turk’s operation and even my dolmus ride into the city.  I was just about to start on my next topic of conversation (whether or not to change Daughter’s school) when he shot his head up over my flabby stomach and said, “Do you ever shut up?”

Oh my!

That seemed a little harsh from the man who sounds like a half crazed vampire when he laughs but … whatever.  I lay meekly in silence trying to wish myself away pretty much anywhere else while he finished up and wait for the order to hop off the examination table.

Dead set.  I swear.  This is exactly what he sounds like!

We left it with these words, “You are more difficult to examine than a Turkish woman”.  Well thank you sir, I take THAT as a compliment!

Oh and for those wondering, the tests came back fine.  I need to go back more frequently for check ups (and I will) but right now I am feeling fine.

The Turk really is a bit of a prenses!

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Back for less than a day and The Turk is already driving me to distraction.  For those of you who know The Turk personally know that he is one of those people who must be doing something – anything – constantly.  Being an invalid really doesn’t work for him HOWEVER being a fecking prenses when he is hasta is something that he does with great success.

Heart

So right now The Turk has a dilly of a predicament.  Daughter and I have arrived home from London with 3 suitcases that need to duly be unpacked, cleaned and then put away until next time.  So this is where the predicament comes in.  Does he tidy up the mess that Daughter and I leave in our wake or does he lie on the couch clutching his pillow to his chest and yelling “Allah” to anyone who will listen and let Daughter and I tidy up at our own pace?  The mess is sending him quite deli but as the doktor has told him he cannot carry anything more than 1 kilogram he is unable to really do anything about it – well other than complain that is – so the mess will need to wait until I have finished catching up on the finale of Game of Thrones. (Edit – Holy crap Jon Snow)!

He is working that 1 kilogram rule pretty well to his advantage as well.  He cannot carry any groceries.  He cannot pick up My Hurley Dog’s panda chew toy.  He cannot pick up that bread crumb that fell from his mouth.  Yes peeps literally everything falls under the 1 kilogram rule in accordance with his Doctor’s orders (and yet he still sneaks upstairs for a cigarette and thinks I don’t know).

For a bit of fun I am currently conducting an experiment of great scientific importance.  Currently residing on my bedroom floor is a small piece of paper, no more than about 3 centimetres in length.  This innocent piece of paper is literally driving The Turk quite insane.  He wants to pick it up.  He tries to pick it up.  He screams at the paper but the paper choses to wisely ignore his stream of insults.  I am taking bets as to how long that piece of paper lies on the floor before The Turk gets on his hands and knees and retrieves it.  I could, I mean I guess I could, you know, pick.it.up but … nah, it is definitely more entertaining this way.

With Daughter and I were away The Turk obviously drove the rest of the family up the wall with his demands as they were so happy to see us when we arrived home.  Last night my sister in law literally cried when she walked through the door!  I believe that he was quite the bastard to all of them and I must say that I was so glad that we have been away though the worst of it as I don’t think our relationship would ever have survived that kind of behaviour!  In case you are wondering I was with The Turk during his stay in the hospital but after discussions with both The Turk and his family (and taking into account our recent less than stellar relationship) we decided is was better for all concerned (and my sanity) that Daughter and I continued with our trip to Londra.

I have said before that The Turk is morphing into his father and now having spent the past 24 hours in his company I declare that I am absolutely right.  I remember watching my mother in law arguing with her husband and I used to think it was hilarious.  She would yell and he would ignore her.  Now I realise that what was really happening was that I was looking at my future.  I yell and The Turk ignores me.

Feck my life!

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Seriously speaking though The Turk had his by-pass surgery at Aci Badem Hastanesi in Adana.  The hospital was very clean, The Turk had a private room and he himself said that the standard of treatment was as good if not better than his stay in hospital in Sydney.  I understand (although you should confirm this yourself) that even though the hospital is ozel (Private) they will deal with cancer patients AND heart patients for next to nothing.  The Turk spent a grand total of 13TL for the initial appointment (yes we also have private cover).  There are Aci Badem hospitals all around Turkiye.

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*Knock, knock* Hello?

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You might not have noticed but I haven’t posted for a while.  Why have I been so neglectful?  Why, oh why, have I left you, my dear followers and friends, hanging for the next episode of action packed drama that is living in Mersin?  Well to be honest I haven’t been particularly happy recently.

The Turk and I have been fighting – a lot – and not just a little scrap here and there, no, we have been having a few smack down whoopings that a stoned Hulk Hogan atop a wrecking ball could be proud of.

hulk hogan

Yes.  Seriously.  This is the current synopsis of our relationship.  I am not sure if I am Hulk Hogan or perhaps the wrecking ball and I never thought I would see the day that I had to quote Miley Cyrus but over the past weeks and months all The Turk has really achieved is to “wreck me”.

I am not really sure where it all began but since The Turk returned from Australia (after his heart attack) he has had difficulty settling back into the village way of life.  He has found fault in everything and everyone (including me) and has made me feel that our relationship is irretrievably broken.  To add insult to injury, and despite the fact that the first heart attack should have scared him straight, he has not changed his diet or his habits and in early June was admitted into hospital to have a triple by-pass.  Officially he now resembles Frankenstein’s Monster.

Adding to these current woes and health issues is me being diagnosed with “abnormal cervical cells” which has required treatment.  My doctor speaks pretty good English, although when he laughs he sounds a little like a hyena on crack, but I am relatively confident with the treatment that I have had and I go back next week for another check.  Fingers crossed that the treatment destroyed all the cells and nice, happy, non-cancerous cells have grown in their place.

There have been a few moments over these months that I have sat on the couch in tears and a few moments where I have wanted to pack my bags and flee back to Australia but I cannot because Daughter is so happy here (although I need to update you guys on her most recent boy drama when I get a chance).  Being that I am officially (yes it is officially) the Best Mum In The World I also took her to Londra in June for her birthday to a “5SOS” concert.  For those of you who have no clue what a “5SOS” is you should Google them because apparently Daughter is going to marry either the Lead Singer (who I suspect could be a world class tool) or the Bass Player (who reminds me of a dopey puppy).  The concert itself wasn’t too shabby, they reminded me of a very young INXS, although a little more polished than the INXS that played at Manly Vale Hotel back in the 1980’s.  I also got some shopping done in Londra so it was a pretty successful trip for both of us.

5sos

We also chuffed off to Rome for a week which was lovely (although the restoration work on the Trevi Fountain is STILL NOT finished!  How fecking long does it take?) and finally for a break in Istanbul.

As you can see there should be quite a bit to blog about but my sadness and health concerns have unfortunately overtaken my mental functions and writing proved very difficult over the past weeks.  I will be back to writing a little more often and hopefully I will return to a more comedic writing style which is how I would normally feel.  I am also going to re-jiggy the blog a little bit as I have had a lot of requests for more touristic information on Mersin (as there is limited information out there) and its surrounds so if I go off-line in the near future don’t distress it is merely my ridiculous attempts of navigating the web page tools (which will no doubt prove to be a little difficult for my pea-sized intellect).

And in case you are wondering yes The Turk is still smoking!

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Oops I did it again

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It has been brought to my attention by you lovely people that I have not burdened you with my most recent exploits here in Mersin.  Honestly life has been busy and between the illegal building work, the constant rain, Daughter morphing into an obstinate teenager and The Turk driving me nuts I haven’t had a moment to sit down and write plus I am trying to concentrate on my novel – yes I am a frustrated (unpublished) author – perhaps the next J.K. Rowling – perhaps not.

In order to give you a quick Janey fix I will tell you about how I ended up (yet again) covered in shit after a night out in the Village.  This time it was cow shit not human shit but shit is shit and I am starting to question how these things happen to me – over and over again.

Last weekend the expats here in Mersin decided a get together was in order and a fish restaurant was chosen here in the Village as the venue.  I was ecstatic.  Not only did this mean that I was a hop, skip and jump from home it meant that I didn’t need to catch a dolmuş or two dolmuş or even three dolmuş (would that translate to dolmuşlar?) to get where I needed to go.  I merely had to walk less than 1 kilometre to the beachfront.  1 kilometre.  That’s all I had to do.  1 kilometre to the lokanta and 1 kilometre to get home.  I mean how hard could it be?

I guess it starts, as all good stories do, with alcohol.  Yes an expat night out means I go all out, so excited to be speaking English to a whole table of English speakers that I let my hair down and am out for a big night.  I was sensible though (in my own way) after all there was Raki (ick) as well as vodka jelly shots (and a vodka desert) but I stuck with my bottle of şarap (wine) that I brought with me.  Sadly though the first bottle was drained as was another … and another … and so by the end of the evening I was feeling very jolly indeed.

Walking home was very pleasant and one of the reasons why I love living here is walking through the village at night.  It is starting to warm up now, the stars were shining brightly and the smells through the village are just so delicious whether it be walking through a farm of freshly cut maydanoz or nane or passing a home where a family are listening to Turkish music as they enjoy the last of their mangal (bar-be-que).  The Turk decided to cut through one of the bahçeler (gardens) to speed up my drunken dawdling (and yes singing) and so we turned into a garden where they had recently tilled the soil for the next crop.

I have cut through this garden many times with My Hurley Dog and I am well aware of the cow shit that is piled high on the side of the grassy track.  In fact I have spent many an hour standing by the pile of cow shit as My Hurley Dog throws himself head first into it every. single. time.  What I did not know or perhaps had plum forgotten that the owners have dug a rather large hole in the grass immediately beside the poop.  On reflection I was bloody lucky I didn’t break my leg to be honest.  Anyway I turned to Daughter (who was feeling very jolly herself as she had enjoyed a sneaky vodka jelly) to watch out for the poop when all of a sudden the entire ground disappeared from under me.  It was as though I was being sucked into the vortex of a demon netherworld (which would make sense) but my fall was a slow one, slow enough for me to call out, “I think I’m falling” and for The Turk and Daughter to watch the collapse with glee.

As I fell I watched the pile of poop moving slowly towards me.  All I could say is, “Oh shit!”.  Yep it happened again although thankfully I am happy it was a dry poopy-poop not the human waste that chased me out of the long drop last time. Someone asked on FB whether Daughter captured this embarrassment on film and I am again happy to say no she did not for she is well aware of the unfortunate events that would occur if she ever crossed me publicly!  She and The Turk merely stood there laughing as I tried to roll out of the poop and the mud and pull myself back up.

hole 3

It took me 24 hours to recover from my night now and today I can examine my bruises that are forming a little more closely.  I am taking My Hurley Dog for a walk to the beach this morning however, honestly, I will not cut through the bahçe as a shortcut home.

Next time on Janey … in Mersin – my appointment with the Governor for my kimlik.  Stayed tuned.

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Enough is enough

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I feel like I have fallen down the rabbit hole here.  Writing this post took time but it also took a hell of a lot of research on my part and at each breath I found another shocking revelation regarding women’s rights here in Turkey.  I had no idea of the shocking statistics – 300 women were killed by men here in Turkey in 2014, an additional 100 more were raped.  Enough is enough.

skirts

My recent post drew such an amazing response from you but more importantly it has helped get the message out, not just here in Turkey, but all over the world.

With the hashtag #sendeanlat (tell me your story) trending on social media,  with over 800,000 hits, the message is simple – Turkish women have had enough. Enough of the innuendo by the young men who trail you home.  Enough of the man rubbing himself against you on the train (which happened to me recently in Istanbul).  Enough of the suggestion that you may have asked for it by your choice of dress.  Enough of an employer using his power to gain your favour and enough of your husband, your father, or even a complete stranger raising their hand for the slightest infraction.  Add to this the hashtag #ozgecanicinminietekgiy (wear a miniskirt for Özgecan) and you can see that Turkish people really do want their country to change.

With the heightened media attention spurring Turkish politicians into action with promises of harsher punishment against perpetrators here in Mersin billboards have begun to appear with Özgecan’s image asking the question ““Have you heard the screams of Özgecan?” This refers to the recent suggestion by Government officials that women should scream loudly if assaulted.  I just want to point out that Özgecan did shout, the authorities confirmed this.  She screamed.  She scratched.  She used pepper spray against her attacker but no one could help her.  The fact is that women should not need to scream.  Women should be safe to walk down the street, or catch a bus.  Rather than teaching women to scream or to protect themselves perhaps it would be better for men to be taught to respect women.

I have to ask myself if teaching respect is enough though as there has also been instances of shaming women in recent days.  The most public example was the host of Survivor All Stars Nihat Dogan who, rather than showing sympathy towards what happened to Özgecan he chose to make inappropriate remarks about her attire at the time of her death.  This eşek was put in his place pretty swiftly though and was fired from his hosting gig.  Good work Channel 8.

Change begins with the current Government.  With a little adjustment to their current attitude (do you remember when I wrote this President Erdogan’s recent perception on women’s equality back in November – yikes!) and with an acknowledgement of equality between women and men then lives will really change here for the better.  The next step is education which is crucial in the prevention of violence against women and that education needs to start in the schools.  Specialised training should be given to teachers to help them identify children at risk and also to teach awareness and behaviour towards not just women but to each other as a whole.  Teach children that raising your hand is not the answer and within one generation – only one generation – this antiquated behaviour will be wiped out.

Did you know that in January of this year 27 women were murdered by men here in Turkey.  Stop making excuses Turkey. There was no excuse for what happened to Özgecan.  There is nothing that can give back that young woman her life, to return her to her family and her friends.  Enough is enough.

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Normally here I would ask you to like my blog for all updates.  Today I am asking you to share this post.  The more people who spread the word the better.  x

My Letter to Özgecan

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I never had the pleasure of meeting you Özgecan.  I never had the chance to hear you laugh with your friends or sing along to your favorite tune.  No I did not know you at all but I know you now.  Your name will forever be etched into my heart and into the hearts of millions of others here in Turkey and around the world who woke on Valentine’s Day, the day of romance, to the sickening news of your death at the hands of a monster.  We are shocked beyond words hearing of your suffering and of knowing that the simple task of stepping on a bus is no longer safe here in Mersin.

Aslan

What happened to you happens to other women every day, all over the world.  Whether it is in New Delhi or Melbourne monsters can be found everywhere.  But with your death comes the news that tens of thousands of people are marching in cities all over Turkey angry for your pain and suffering.  They are angry that this has happened to you.  For too long women have not felt safe as they stand in their kitchen, walk down the street or even step onto a bus.  For too long society has looked the other way at certain behaviour but today it is time for Turkey to change and you are an important part of that change.  What happened to you Özgecan and the reactions of people here in Mersin and all around your beautiful country prove that they too want things to change.

I watched with tears of pride as your friends and family defied the imam as he told them to “let the men” carry your body.  Hayir.  They stood by you and helped you to your final resting place.  These women will never forget you Özgecan and they will stand up for you and yell your name with honour.

People no longer want to hear that women are secondary to men.  We no longer want to listen to politicians who outlandishly state that “violence against women is just about selective perception (thank you Fatma Şahin, AKP Family Minister)” or “equality between men and women is against nature” (thank you Recep Tayip Erdogan, President). No Özgecan we will no longer allow politicians to sprout nonsense that should be basic human rights.

Today people are calling for much needed change and, although you had to lose your life, I hope that the powers that be will realise that changes must be made to ensure that no one else must spend their last moments in fear at the hands of another.

Özgecan your soul is now soaring in the sunlight.  You have no more pain.  We will remember your name and we will remember you.

I am reminded of something Maya Angelou said, “History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again.”

Rest in peace Özgecan.

Let’s Pretend that Today Never Happened

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Everything I type in today’s post can be filed under the heading “Shit Happens”.  It does you know.  Shit really does happen. All the time.   To good people and to not so good people.  To people who, you might say, deserve a karmatic (this is a real word) explosion of diarrhetic (alright this may not be a real word) deuce and it also happens to people who are as heroic as Ghandi or as pious as the Pope.  But today I feel like I was handed a bucket load of bok and I am hovering pretty close to the edge right now.

Shit Happens

Let me set the scene.  Candles?  Romantic music?  No people, this scene requires more dark clouds and depressing music.  Possibly elevator muzak playing Depeche Mode.  Is it muzak or music?

Wait!

I was on the dolmuş yesterday when a tiny Turkish man with a rather hairy moustache sat down beside me … and sneezed.  All over me.  I felt his germ-filled gust of Turkish breath whoosh over me and I could feel his festering microbes invade my throat, my eyes and my nose.  Ick!  I wiped my face as he apologised but it was too late.  The damage was done and within 8 hours I was coughing and sneezing.  I was a Codral tablet away from death.  Bastard!  So now I have the dreaded grip.  Again.

Now you can imagine my state of mind when I woke this morning after a night of snot and phlegm.  Adding to the joy of the grip I awoke to the bonus of no electricity.  “Shit happens” I hear you cry.  Yes, too true but I won’t be beaten by the lack of electricity.  This is just a blip on my day.  Soldier on.

I made myself a cup of tea and opened the refrigerator to grab the milk.  No milk.  “Shit happens” the Gods from above declare.  Maybe, but maybe Daughter could have left me a mere drip for my tea this morning.  I made a mental note to pull out my voodoo doll with her name on it and I left the house to go to the market.

Of course it is pouring with rain and I cannot find my umbrella so I ran through the rain dodging the puddles only to find that … the market wasn’t open yet.  Yep, “Shit happens”.

My next “Shit happens” moment needs a little background – The Turk has arranged to build yet another apartment above ours (because you can never have too many apartments) however as one of our lovely neighbours complained about the building work the belediye (Council) recently handed us a stop work order.  We now have a partially built apartment above us but this isn’t the “Shit happens” moment, not for me anyway.  My “Shit happens” moment is the fact that because the building work has been cut short by this jealous, asshole neighbour today’s downpour is allowing a stream of water to pour into every room in the house through the partially built walls and holes in our ceiling.  As I run around placing buckets and pots to collect the rainwater I can be heard yelling, “Shit happens!”

So here I am, suffering from the grip with no electricity, no hope of a cup of tea and water pouring through the roof.  It’s not even 9am.  At that point I contemplated purchasing a hallucinogen, maybe I could find a Turkish equivalent to LSD or some mushrooms, to take me away from myself.  I could float off to my very own magical Willy Wonka-esque world filled with unicorns and fairy floss.  No, I cry, soldier on … plus the electricity came back on.  Bonus!

And can I just amend the above statement, thankfully the electricity came back on as Daughter came rushing down the hallway yelling that she needed to straighten her hair before school.  Oh the horror, the trauma, of leaving the house with frizzy hair!  It shall not be!

I finally got my cup of tea (with milk) when my father in law arrived at the door.  He arrives on my doorstep every – single – day.  Without fail.  From breakfast to dinner he is here.  Except Sundays.  On Sundays he can be found at my sister in law’s (SIL) home, after all her food is better than mine and she puts up with his crap.  Plus she bathes him.  I would rather eat my own toenails than bathe him.  Anyway my father in law arrives complaining.  Yagmur!  Really?  It’s raining?  I look out the window in feigned wonder.  Oh?!  It is raining?  Thank you for stating the obvious.  He then proceeds to tell me it is cold and that he needs a blanket.  And a cup of cay.  Drop everything folks.   Get Dede a blanket!  Get Dede cay!  Go on, say it – “You wanted this life.  Shit happens!”

Finally it is noon and Daughter leaves for school, with perfectly straight hair, but still complaining and my father in law is quietly snoring on the couch.  Finally.  Peace.

I grab the television remote and started flicking through the channels.  The telephone rings.  Oh no.  Please.  God no.  I looked at the ID on the telephone.  SIL’s work.  I contemplated not answering it.  I knew what would happen if I did.  I sighed as I reached for the telephone.  It seems that the Cabbage Patch Kid is crying – again – and her older sister has had enough of her whining.  Oh wonderful, so now I get to enjoy the whining!  “Shit happens”.

I am now sitting at my desk with my earphones on.  They are blasting Beyonce (don’t judge me) to drown out the crap going down behind me.  The Cabbage Patch Kid has thrown herself on the floor and is sulking – loudly.  Her sister Tatli is ignoring her and yelling down the telephone at her mother.  My father in law is asleep on my couch with Planet Turk blasting away and the bucket in the middle of the salon catching the dripping water is nearly full.

Yep.  It really is true – shit happens!

Addendum – I actually wrote this yesterday but after I finished tapping out the last exclamation point my SIL arrived on my doorstep.  She too had had a terrible day and she sat at my kitchen bench and cried.  She is tired.  Tired of working hard for little thanks, tired of her family (which probably includes me), of her children (which I for one totally understand) and definitely tired of her shitty life.  As I handed her a glass of cay I realised just how lucky I am.

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Loving this blog? Please help me build my audience and share with like minded people who, like you, have had enough of this crappy winter weather – oh and you love Turkey. You can also subscribe or like me on Facebook for all updates.

The Silence of the Lambs

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I don’t eat an awful lot of meat here in Turkiye.  It just doesn’t have the same taste and consistency and, frankly, my hips are thankful that I give meat a miss more often than not but the one thing I cannot avoid here in the village is my neighbours preparing a Feast of Thanks to Allah.

I always know when a neighbour is preparing a feast.  The huge pots are delivered early in the day to enable a thorough cleaning prior to cooking.  Then sheep, goats and even cows are delivered for inspection before a choice is made.  It is usually at that time I disappear and don’t come back out until morning although yesterday I walked straight past a sacrifice just as it started – devastation.  I understand why an animal is sacrificed.  I understand why it is important to the worshipper but I find the whole practice of an animal being put to death cruel and I choose to not take part in the preparation.  Before you cry “but you still eat meat” yes I do.  I am a hypocrite – I get it.

Bayram feast

The Turk’s family prepared a feast recently in memory of his mother’s passing.  This is called Yas Bayram (mourning bayram).  I know that two sheep lost their life in our driveway and I know that everyone in my family stayed up the whole night to prepare a meal of meat, rice (cous cous) and chickpeas that are then given to neighbours and the less fortunate in Refika’s memory.  I did not eat the meal that was prepared by the family and I apparently offended my sister in law in the process.  I do not regret this decision.  I miss The Turk’s mum a lot, she has a wonderful woman and think her fondly each and every day.  I do not need to take the life of an animal to remember her.

The Turk argues with me that I ate a butt load of meat back in Australia (which is why my butt is now a wide load) but more importantly I need to immerse myself in all aspects of the Turkish culture and take part in these village rituals.  I took part – I helped pay for the feast.  That is more than enough for me.

Growing up in the Sydney suburbs I was not privy to the inner workings of a farm or an abattoir.  Yes I am part of the meat and two veg lifestyle but the meat that I ate was purchased in packages and its blood isn’t staining my driveway.  An animal still died to feed me but not by my hand or by my husband’s hand or a neighbour and certainly not where I can see it die.  I guess you can ignore a lot when it is not in your face.

Daughter has often gone fought with her conscience about eating meat but here in Turkiye she pretty much has become a vegetarian.  She will not eat chicken (as she hears them clucking on every corner).  She will not eat cows or sheep (as they are often in the garden across the street although she will eat a hamburger – go figure) and she will never eat fish (more about the taste than anything else).  She is happy with her decision and I am quite proud of her for standing by her quasi morals (other than the hamburger that is).

I still love a steak and the next time I find myself at the Newport Arms Hotel (best pub lunch in Sydney) I will order the steak with pepper sauce and salad *drool* but here in Turkiye I will continue to maybe pass on the meat depending on each situation but what I wouldn’t do for a pub lunch.   Mmmmm.

My Mautaugh Realisation

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Does anyone remember that episode of “How I Met Your Mother” when Ted made a list of all the things that he and his friends were all too old to do?  Barney then ran out to prove Ted wrong putting himself through absolute misery only to be forced to accept the final reality that he is growing older.  Yep I am Barney.  I am Mautaugh.  I am me.

Mautaugh

Anyone who knows me personally knows that I am not a big fan of New Years Eve.  Highly overrated.  In fact my very first post all the way back here was about how my New Years Eve blew bat balls but that particular NYE brought me to Turkey and to my new life.  A  dramatic story.  This one – not so much.

We need to rewind a few weeks to really gain insight as to how My Mautaugh Realisation came into being.  We begin at an expat Christmas party where a party person (who shall remain nameless) told me I looked pretty good for 49!  What.  The.  Royal.  Feck!?!?!  Being full of the holiday spirit (which is pretty hard to locate in Mersin) I chose to take this backhanded compliment (was it a compliment?) with a grain of salt and party on regardless of my obviously (to everyone but me) aging and decrepit self.

Then last week I was on a dolmuş when an older lady (shall we say slightly older than me) offered me her seat.  This in itself is unusual as it is normally only boys or men that stand to offer a seat however in this instance she called me yenge (aunt).  Are.  You.  Shitting.  Me?!?!  Biytch you look more haggard that I have ever looked.  Please!

Which brings us to yesterday.  New Years Eve.  It started well.  I got interviewed by the local television station as an expat and what it was like to be in Mersin for New Years Eve.  I had lunch in my favourite café at Ataturk Park and it was playing all my favourite tunes.  From INXS to Rick Astley it was an actual dance party and I was loving life.  Then … I went to the hairdresser.

In Turkey you can go for a wash and style or blow dry for next to nix.  In fact 8TL or AU$4.00.  See – next to nix.  Anyway while there my usual hairdresser told me that she was going to curl my hair as it is way too thin to blow straight.  Excuse me?  She then handed me a little ball of my hair as a gift.  O.M.F.G!  What is going on?  First I am aged to 49, then suddenly I am a yengi to a haggard beast of a woman and now my hair is falling out like my grandmother (no I am not going to mention Daughter’s Alopecia although she took great pleasure in bringing it up and offering me her hair tonic) this morning.

Like my hair my good mood gurgled down the drain and I started my New Years Eve celebration slightly dark.  Arriving at our destination I perked up considerably (although when I found how much I was paying for a bottle of wine I felt slightly violated).  By midnight I had danced until I just could not dance any more.  I learned that he (or she) who holds the hankie wields a lot of power on the dance floor of a Turkish restaurant.  I drank more Raki than a sensible person should although I still detest the taste of Raki and finally I found myself running through a portakal grove throwing oranges at strangers while watching fireworks as the New Year rolled in.  By 2am I was knackered only to find out that there were no more dolmus and no taksiler to be found.  So no bus and no taxi.  Now what?  Hitchhike?  With my 12 year old?  No I had to wait for my brother in law (who was with the band) and so I found myself being the last people to leave the lokanta at 3.45 this morning – not bad for an apparent 49 year old!

I woke this morning covered in huge bruises (no doubt from an orange pummelling), a broken heel, makeup running down my face and not much memory of how I actually got home.  At that moment … I had … My Mautaugh Realisation.

I am definitely getting too old for this shit!

Herkesin yeni yıl kutlu olsun.  Happy New Year everyone.