Category Archives: Village Life

When Animals Attack

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I had my first run in with a scorpion early this morning.  At least I think it was a scorpion.  It certainly looked like one.  It might have been a mutant crab but I am going with my first choice which was scorpion. 

My Hurley Dog and I were walking along a rocky outcrop near the deniz when he started crazily barking in one spot.  Me being me and incredibly stupid gave the rocks a nudge (which on reflection is possibly not the best thing to do in a pair of thongs) and out popped this weird-ass looking mutant waving its nasty-ass looking tail stinger thingy and snap snappy claw thingys which makes me think it was a scorpion.  I jumped out of the way pretty quickly and it skedaddled in the opposite direction from the screaming Aussie and her half crazed Hurley Dog. 

I got home and reported my near death experience to The Turk who pointed out that within a week of arriving in Australia he was nearly bitten by a Red Belly Black Snake and had been bitten by more spiders, ticks, snakes and other various insects while living in Australia than he had in the 40 years of living in Turkey.  Furthermore he had been chased by an emu, kicked in the stomach by a wallaby, stung by a jellyfish and he was pretty sure that a drop bear was conspiring against him while at the koala park.  He said that if Steve Irwin wasn’t safe in Australia then nobody is safe in Australia so I need to stop whinging about one measely little scorpion – the one thing in Turkey that could (maybe) kill you! 

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I agree that The Turk copped a bit of a beating from the natives during his 12 years living in “Strayla” but does that mean that I am going to cop the equivalent while living here in Turkey?  Crikey!

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Oh No!

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Last night I woke at 1:30, rolled over and saw The Turk was missing from his usual spot.  I padded down the hallway to find him asleep in front of the television which was blasting a Turkish soap (no wonder I couldn’t sleep).  I switched off the television but left him there – bugger him for waking me up – and got back into bed.

Still sleep alluded me.  I could hear a puppy whimpering outside.  I got up again and opened my balcony door to investigate.  As expected the boy that lives over the stone fence has brought home yet another puppy.  In the past 4 weeks he has brought home 5 dogs.  His first effort was 3 puppies that cried all night and his mother no doubt made him get rid of them.  The second effort was a boxer dog – nice looking dog – fully grown.  It jumped the fence and disappeared sometime in the night.  This third effort is a German Shepherd puppy.  It cried most of the night and will no doubt jump the fence when he is older but perhaps the boy has learnt from his mistakes and will ensure the garden is secure.

Again I climbed back into bed.  I looked at the clock – now 3:00.  I must have dozed because I woke again at 4:15 to the distorted sounds of a cat in agony.  Holy crap!  I jumped up and spotted Kedi at the end of the bed.  He heard it too because he was standing ramrod straight trying to pinpoint the sound.  “Murroooeewwww”.  Bloody hell!  It sounded like it was dying.  I opened the back balcony door and looked over – nothing.  I went to the front balcony and looked over – nothing.  Crikey!

I was obviously making too much noise and I woke The Turk who growled at me and went to bed.  I was standing at the front door when I heard the sound again.  It was coming from right outside!  I learnt my lesson with the Village Kedi’s and I always make sure that the downstairs door is locked – no more sex in the stairwell thank you very much – but obviously one of them got past me.  Opening the door I find Stanley standing in the stairwell crying.  “Shush,” I whisper to him.  I ushered him down the stairs and out the front door.  He was a little put out and sat there with his back to me.  I shut the door and walked back upstairs when “Murroooeewwww” again.  Shit!  I ran up the stairs, past my front door to the roof.  Nothing up there but some boxes.  I stare at them.  Shit!  Shit!  Shit!

After a little investigation this is what I found –

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This little guy and another 4 like him along with mama hiding upstairs in a box.  Stanley must be the father as they all have similar gingery markings.  Obviously the loss of his tail did little to subdue his manhood.

The Turk is going to be pissed when he gets up.  Why?  The bloody cat had its litter in The Turk’s toolbox – he is going to lose his shit!  He is not a fan of the cats at the best of times but when he makes this discovery – yikes !

I think I might grab the dog and make a run for it.

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Contradictions (and a bit of a recap)

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I wrote this a little over a week ago but due to some personal issues with my father in law as well as the current tensions in Turkey I felt it more appropriate to not post this at that time.  Turkey is in upheaval, yet again, and although tension is high I feel completely safe here in Mersin although there have been recent protests.  With elections looming all parties are throwing heated comments at each other and with the recent death of 15 year old Berkin Elvan it has become a travesty to bear witness to.

Officially it has been six months since we uprooted our lives and moved to Mersin.  Since I first met The Turk we would fantasise about moving to Turkey, whether it is for one year or forever but that fantasy was always put on the backburner as real life would interfere with our dream.  When my beautiful Dad passed away from that evil bastard that is cancer the dream of moving to Turkey was put back on the table but this time it was Daughter’s idea.  Having just lost her Granddad she wanted to spend as much time as possible with her other grandparents before they were taken from her too.  Her thoughts were, understandably, a little morbid but on reflection perfectly timed and we were all grateful to have had time with her grandmother, my mother in law, before she passed away in January.

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As an expat Turkey is a country of contradictions.  We live in a luxurious apartment with every modern convenience (just don’t mention toilet paper to me) but right next door my sister in law and her family make their bread over an open flame. Contradictions.

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We shop at Zara and TopShop, we get our coffee from Starbucks and we eat in nice restaurants.  We are surrounded by all our electronics to make life easier too from flat screen televisions, iPods and iPads meanwhile from my balcony I can watch the local women working on the farm across the lane for 30TL a day or witness children begging in the streets.  Contradictions.

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I smile at the faces of people around me.  These people are my family now but there are times I want to throw a brick at the shopkeepers who are so unhelpful as I am a yabanci or to the strangers who watch me as I walk by in my western clothes.  Yes I wear jeans and a t-shirt; no I am not a whore.  No I do not wear a head scarf; yes I have the utmost respect for your religion although I wonder do you have any respect for mine?  Before you ask, no I do not want to pay twice as much because I am a yabanci and just for the record I am not your ATM machine.  Contradictions.

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Adjustments were made by all of us over the past six months.  I think I have had it the easiest (well if you put aside the fact that I had no Turkish and now six months later I have little Turkish).  I had no expectations.  I know that things will not work the way that they did in Sydney and I was ready to accept this although I do get mighty peeved when the rubbish internet dies.  I think it has been The Turk who has had the most difficulty in adjusting – or should I say re-adjusting – to life in Turkey.  Having had the luxury of living in Sydney with its first world conveniences the littlest molehill can quickly escalate to the largest mountain.  I cannot tell you the number of times The Turk has said he wants to go back “home” to Sydney.  I guarantee before this day is over I will hear it yet again.  Cry me a river mate.

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Daughter is very content.  She has made some good friends, she has quickly learnt conversational Turkish (although apparently has a funny accent).  She is getting by at school and although she now has a nemesis she considers this means she is truly accepted by her class mates.  Her adjustments were mostly first world problems too.  Disappointments when things don’t go according to plan and realising just how damn lucky she is compared to so many.  Contradictions.

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Last Friday I had to return to the Emniyet yet again but I won’t bore you with that story today.  Anyway, while we were waiting to be interviewed I watched group after group of Syrian refugees lining up to speak to officials, to update their living arrangements or to ask for assistance.  I was shocked by the sheer volume of refugees coming through the door but The Turk has little sympathy for them.  I recently watched on the haber that there have been a few instances of racism against refugees in Turkey with most of Turkish society considering the refugees “temporary” in that they will return to their own country in due course.  There are in fact a few Syrian families that have settled into the village however The Turk does not interact with them in any way.  Recently a Syrian mother came to our door asking for a small donation and The Turk sent her on her way without a kurus.  Why?  What’s a few lira?  “If you give them an inch they will take a mile”.  His behaviour completely floored me firstly because he used one of my mother’s favourite sayings (a saying I have used on Daughter many, many times) and secondly because usually The Turk is the most generous person I know.  Contradictions.

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Turkey can be, and should be, extremely confronting, full of contradictions.  I have difficulties in accepting these contradictions at times and I guess this is a good thing.  I should never accept these differences.  I should ensure that Daughter never accepts these differences because once you have acceptance then you will never help change what is to come.

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Vito Corleone

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A couple of weeks back The Turk and I had to make a trip to the okul (school) to have a chat with a bully on Daughter’s behalf.  He pulls her hair and pushes her around a little.  Generally if someone pushes her she will push straight back – no issue – but since she was diagnosed with alopecia areata the hair pulling freaks her out.  She is terrified that with one yank a large chunk of hair will fall out and then “I will have no option but to kill him” is muttered in a manner that, frankly, frightens me a little.

So before Daughter is charged with pre-meditated murder The Turk and I popped down to the school to have a chat with the young man in question.  As the bell rang Daughter’s classmates came out of the classroom and, if I gauged correctly, we were expected because they all surrounded us and pushed the boy into the centre of the circle.  He stood with his head down looking terrified while being surrounded by Daughter’s classmates all whispering to each other.  The Turk spoke to him quietly, assurances were given and the boy retreated down the stairs at breakneck speed.

Bittimi?  Finished?

Nope.

It seems that all we did was escalate the problem which came to a head yesterday with the boy in question smacking Daughter in the face.  So another trip to the okul this morning was deemed necessary.

The Turk and I went in ready for battle.  The headmaster was extremely helpful, took us to the classroom and called the boy in question out where he was berated, slapped across the back of the head with a ruler (!) and sent on his way.

Bittimi?  Finished?

Nope.

The Turk and I left the school feeling pretty comfortable that any issues can be put aside from that moment.  As we stepped out of the school gate The Turk’s brother appeared.  You may recall that this particular brother in law was the one who did not invite us (or my mother in law) to his son’s going away party and has had little to do with us since we arrived however now that The Turk is here he is as nice as cream puffs so I am going to refrain from bitching about him too much.  He is also the brother in law who is building a home attached to ours causing one of our windows to be bricked up but again I am going to refrain from bitching about him too much.  And just for a little bit more background information so you can truly judge his character he is the brother in law that runs a coffee shop / gambling house in the village.  Is it legal?  Bilmiyorum.  I just don’t know.  Basically he is a bit of a gangster in my eyes.

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Brother in law has heard about Daughter’s woes and decided that he should go and talk to the school as well just in case we were not forceful enough with our language.  I kid you not when I say he stepped out of the vehicle with his jacket over his shoulders, cigarette in hand, black hair slicked back.  He was a 1920’s gangster.  He was The Godfather.  I literally started laughing at this point as I realised he intended to go to the class room and push this poor kid around a bit (apparently you can do that kind of thing here).  Daughter was going to be mortified (or she was going to enjoy it a little too much).

The Turk and I stood outside the school waiting for either the polis to arrive and arrest him or us or Daughter or the poor boy.  Brother in law re-appeared at the school gates and said, “I have taken care of your problem”.  Yes he did say that!  He’s The Godfather!

When we arrived home I went about preparing Daughter’s lunch when brother in law telephoned and requested The Turk come to the coffee shop immediately.  It seems that brother in law contacted this poor boy’s father and the father was waiting in the back room to sit down with The Turk and his brother.  The Turk is down there now.  The last thing I said to him was, “Don’t rough him up too much”.

Oh shit!  I hope he knows I was joking.

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Carl Fredricksen

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I don’t know the names of many people in the village.  I give them names, names that I can remember.  Today I want to introduce you to Carl Fredricksen.  You know, the guy from Up.

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Up was one of my favourite animated movies.  Generally I am not a fan of animation.  I am probably going to be vilified here by saying I did not like The Lion King.  No I did not.  But I enjoyed Up.  I cried in Up.  This movie is a good example of western society and our treatment of the elderly.  Too many of our elderly are discarded and forgotten in our rush to continue with our own selfish lives.  I find that in Turkey, society as a whole look after their elderly as is their tradition and custom. The majority of elderly live with their family, their children or their grandchildren.  They are looked after with love as it is the family’s duty to do so however even in Turkey some elderly fall through the cracks merely because they do not have any family.

Like Carl Fredricksen my “Carl” is a lonely old man.  I have met him many times, he used to be a regular visitor at my mother in law’s home.  She told me that he had few friends and no family so she always made him feel welcome in her home.  He cannot speak.  He has no tongue.  I do not know if it was removed for a medical reason or if it was removed for other reason.  He was a toy maker by trade.  He used to make toys for the village children and his house is, apparently, filled with the toys intended for his own children however this was not meant to be as he never married.  How sad is that?

He spends his days walking through the village and I would often see him while I am on my walks with My Hurley Dog.  He would stop and pat My Hurley Dog and give me a smile and a grunt when he sees me.

Daughter always makes a point of running up to him and calling him Dede (Grandfather).  Those of you who know us personally are aware of Daughter’s abilities and one of them is her ability to be empathetic.  She has always been able to channel other people’s feelings, whether it be tears of sadness or excitement and joy.  Since moving here I have witnessed her many times see Carl from our window and run downstairs to give him a hug.  She took this photo of Carl a few weeks back and he was so very excited to see himself on the screen.  We realised that he did not have a photo of himself so Daughter is waiting until she sees him next to take another photo of him, have it printed and present it to him in a photo frame.

We only have one life, one chance.  What we do with it is up to us isn’t it?

 

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Thunder Struck

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A clap of thunder just tore through my quiet this morning followed by the irregular, staccato beat of a dozen heavy raindrops clattering on my rooftop.  Moments later the clouds unleashed an assault of such ferocity that I ran to the balcony to witness what I thought would surely be the end of the world as we know it.  Excessive rain.  Major thunderstorm. 

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It’s raining.  It’s pouring.  It’s still warm though.  I sat on my comfy day bed on my beautiful (and 10 weeks later finally completed) balcony and watch the storm pounding the village around me.  I am glad to see the rain too but my reason is a little more selfish.  I love the sound of rain.  I love the smell of rain as it clears away the dust.  I particularly love the smell of rain here as it lands on the mint crop across from my house.  The scent of mint wafts up to the balcony and makes everything smell of toothpaste minty freshness.

I sit with my cup of tea and my Hurley Dog sleeping next to me and enjoy the sounds and smell.  My Hurley Dog is dreaming I think because he growled in his sleep.  Maybe he is having a nightmare about the rain.  My love is his hate because when it rains it gets muddy – really, really muddy – and this means baths, lots of baths.

Vegetable Patch

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Wow!  Spring has definitely started to show itself around these parts.  Aside from the sensational weather my vegetable patch has finally begun to reap reward. 

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While nosing around my little bache (farm) today with The Turk I found my broccoli sprouting along with cauliflower and lettuce.  I was so excited as honestly I have never grown anything before so I was pretty keen today to start bringing in my haul but The Turk wisely pointed out they are mere babies and with patience they will be much bigger in a week or so. Patience (which I have little of) is the key when you want to harvest your crop (imagine me using the word ‘harvest’). I think the best part of this story is that everything grown is organic.  No pesticides.  No chemicals.  Does that make it organic?  I am not sure but I will say that they have got to be better for you than what I would normally buy from the supermarket in Sydney.

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My nectarine tree has flowered and hopefully will start to bare fruit.  I am currently looking into a pesticide for my fruit trees because they definitely had some nasty looking insects buzzing around them the other day and I do not want to be stung by one of those buggers.  My neighbour suggested a spray of hot pepper and detergent (well that was as close as I could translate anyway) as a deterrent to the stingers.  I going to need to investigate this a little more before I start mushing up chilli. 

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Oh and finally our chilli plants are already flowering.  The Turk has been “sexing them up” so they start baring chilli.  So excited.

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40 days

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Yesterday marked 40 days since the death of my mother in law.  Another tough couple of days with tears flowing freely for Refika.  She was truly a remarkable woman and loved by so many people.

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Having never attended a Turkish funeral I really had no idea what was going to happen and due to the speed in which a funeral happens here (same day) I did not even have time to gather my thoughts or ask what to expect.

Refika had been feeling under the weather for some time.  She had had heart surgery 2 years earlier however the surgery was not a success and she had never really recovered.  She was still her welcoming and wonderful self to us when we arrived although it was obvious that she was not doing as well as she could have been.  Her death, however, was a complete shock.  I certainly did not anticipate it and when The Turk received a call from the hospital at 5 am requesting that the family attend I knew, as did he, that it was not going to be good news.

By 7 am two trucks arrived with chairs, apparently this funeral was going to be attended by hundreds of aile (family) and also her many friends that she had made over the years.  I am not exaggerating when I say there was over 400 chairs delivered and set up on the street.  A portable morgue, of sorts, was then delivered and set up in the driveway.  I was told that this was where Refika would be washed by a hodja (female washer) and prepared for her journey to paradise.

At this point I started to freak out a little as people were arriving in their droves and clearly I had no idea what was going on or what was expected of me.  Those who know me know that I am not really one to show emotion but the crying, nay wailing, that had already begun was the most awful thing I think I had ever heard in my life.  Of course I had been to funerals before.  My beloved parents, extended family members and also to support my friends in their time of grief.  I have not, however, been to anything like this.

When Refika was brought home absolute bedlam broke out.  There was a lot of screaming and wailing, a lot of tears.  The grief was almost too much for me to bear and I tried to keep out of everyone’s way but before I knew it Daughter and I were brought into the portable morgue to say goodbye.  Daughter was distraught – although I let her come to my father’s funeral two years ago that was a western funeral and quite sedate in comparison – in my mind I kept wishing she had gone to school that morning as her cousins had done to protect her from the emotion and grief.

After Refika had been washed and prepared for burial the imam (leader of Islamic community) arrived and gave a prayer.  The men then took her body and placed it in a casket where it was then settled onto the back of a truck and taken to the mezarlik (cemetery) for burial.  Interestingly women are not invited to attend at the burial.  They will attend the next morning to pay their respect.

There was a constant stream of family members attending over the next seven days.  From early morning through late in the evening there was visitors coming to pay their respects.  The mourning areas were separated – one for the men and one for the ladies.  This annoyed me as the men got to sit in the sunshine while us ladies were segregated to the rear of the property in the shade (and you wonder why people kept getting sick).  Cay was constantly being served and meals were delivered by neighbours for next seven days which is the first part of the mourning period.  By this stage I began to hide as between the tears and the stress of attending on a daily basis was beginning to take its toll on me.

On the seventh day the iman re-attended at our home and gave another prayer for Refika.  This was also the day that a sheep was sacrificed and meals were prepared for all of our neighbours and fellow mourners.  This now marked the end of the official seven days of mourning.

The next date of commemoration will be the 52nd day although again I am unsure exactly what this will entail.

I am glad that we were in Turkey before Refika passed away.  I am glad that Daughter spent at least some time every day with her.  I am glad that The Turk was able to be with her in the end and I am glad that I had met and loved this wonderful women.  She will be missed by me and missed by anyone who ever met her.

Başiniz sağ olsun (Let health be on your head)

Weather Update

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As you all know I have been keeping you abreast of the lack of rain in Mersin.  I think at last check it was 4 rainy days in 138 days.  That’s a lot of sunny days!  Anyhow, Daughter and I went to Istanbul last weekend for a little holiday and, on the way to Adana, our rain free run came to an end.  Yes it rained.  Daughter was excited.  Me?  I was more concerned about the weather in Istanbul.  I googled it that morning and saw a high of 3 degrees Celsius.  That falls under a huge “Yikes” for me.

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In the six days that Daughter and I were in Istanbul it rained in Mersin – a lot.  There was some localised flooding (not in the Village thankfully) heavy rain and strong winds.  Since our return yesterday it has been sunny and rather pleasant, in fact I managed to get a little pink while sitting on my newly completely (finally) balcony this morning.

And Istanbul?  Yes it was cold.  Really cold in fact.  But despite the zero degrees and the occasional snowflakes that turned the city a dreary grey we had a great week away from Mersin.  Daughter did a lot of shopping (she “discovered” Topshop while wandering down Istiklal Caddesi) and we visited our usual haunts including the Basilica Cistern, Sultan Ahmet Camii and Hagia Sophia.

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Will blog more about Istanbul soon but right now I have a lot of laundry to get on the line.  Just before I sign off I just want to add one more thing.  Away for a week and The Turk is unable to do the washing despite the fact that I have showed him a dozen times how to use the washing machine AND the fact that the instruction manual is in Turkish AND who uses a clean towel every – single – day?  Clean undies – yes – but clean towels???

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Gunaydin

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I pretty much track the same steps every day when I leave the house in the morning.  First is a walk with My Hurley Dog.  I go wherever he chooses – he is in control of the walk.  The one certain on our early morning walk is that we stop for fresh bread.  One loaf for The Turk and I and the other for his father.  After I drop off the bread at home My Hurley Dog and I make our way down to the deniz (sea) for a pleasant stroll.

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I wave and call “Gunaydin” to those I know as we wander down towards the water.   I occasionally stop to have a chat (with my limited Turkish) if anyone calls me over.  As I walk down the main road I can see Daughter’s school in the distance.  She is no doubt daydreaming at her desk, pretending to learn but most likely thinking of Calum Hood or chatting with her friends.

I always stop by the vegetable market to have a quick look.  Always fresh and always delicious I might make a quick purchase before dodging may way through the fish markets.  Although the Village is predominantly a farming community it also has a large harbour and fishing industry and many of the restaurants in Mersin purchase their fish from these markets.  You need to be there early though – really early.  By the time I get there a little after 7:30 most of the best fish has already been sold leaving the lesser quality for us slowpokes.

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When I finally arrive at the waterfront I always pause for a moment.  With the early morning sun shining on the water it is a sight to behold.  No matter how crappy I feel or how down I am at the world in general looking at this scene always perks me right up.  Gorgeous water, gorgeous sunrise – unfortunately, however, the beachfront itself is not as attractive to the eye.  It is a garbage dump.

The Village is the closest beach area to the city of Mersin itself.  It’s potential as a destination for day visits by the “city dwellers”, particularly in summer.  I recently read that the Council is looking into rezoning the area for tourism but that is, I imagine, some years away.  It is disappointing that the locals do not realise the little gem that they have here under their noses and the literal goldmine that they are sitting on.

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In the meantime My Hurley Dog and I love our morning walks in the sunshine – I say sunshine as I am still waiting for rain.  The rain count since we arrived still stands at only 3 times.  Yes that’s right 3 times in 132 days although it is little a little overcast today so we might get something.  Finger’s crossed.  Maybe.

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