Gotta Cut Footloose

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I was wheeled into the ER where, in a scene reminiscent to Gone With The Wind, two nurses held me down while the doctor cut open my foot with a scalpel.

footloose

That is a very dramatic opening to this post isn’t it?  And it’s all true!

Let’s go back a few days shall we?

I had been a busy bee this past week.  Making sarma.  Family commitments.  Christmas shopping.  Lunch with the girls.  Busy.  Busy.  Busy.  I noticed I had a bit of a niggle in my foot but, thanks to Google, I quickly self-diagnosed as Athletes Foot and asked The Turk (aka My Ex-Husband) to get me some spray next time he went into the city.  Of course he forgot each and every time thus why he will forevermore be known as My Ex-Husband.

Thursday morning I thought I should perhaps take myself down to the local clinic in the village to have a squiz at my foot.  The happy little doctor there (whom My Ex-Husband calls ‘the amateur’) told me it was mantar which confused me greatly as this means mushroom in Türk but, as I now understand, also means fungus.  This is beginning to get a little gross isn’t it?  Anyway, he gave me a spray and sent me on my way.

I really wasn’t feeling too special by Friday.  Dropped Daughter at school.  Took My Hurley Dog for a walk and then came home and collapsed.  My foot was aching and had swollen to the size of a cantaloupe but I soldiered on with the spray and a few Panadol.  By 8pm it was clear that I was dying and was immediately bundled off to hospital.  The doctor diagnosed an abscess and immediately removed an excess of liquid (I refuse to use the word ‘pus’) and sent me home after a shot of the unknown mystical ‘serum’ into my ass and a bundle of pills to keep me happy.

By Saturday my foot was the size of a watermelon and a constant flow of pus (yes I am calling it pus now) was oozing from my now open (due to stitches popping) wound.  I also had a wonderful new symptom of a rash all over my body and a red streak running up my leg!  Feck!

Arriving back at the hospital The Turk (yes redeemed himself and is back to being The Turk rather than My Ex-Husband) went nuts getting immediate attention by staff and I was wheeled straight into the ER where a doctor with a fecking big scalpel set to work on my foot.

While I was being operated on a very nosy teyze (teyze means aunt but it is also used when you speak to any other older person even if you do not know them which was the case here) was nearby in the ER and she came over to examine my foot (as you do).  Like all teyze she was extremely vocal and helpful by letting me know that my foot was gangrene and that it would need to be amputated.  She knew this, of course, because her husband had just had his foot cut off and was in the bed down the row!  As I lay on my bed while the doctor continued to cut into my foot (without any anaesthetic mind you) I thanked teyze for her helpful advice and I updated my FB status thusly –

Screenshot

I obviously should have explained that this status update was made in jest because within minutes my phone blew up with messages and calls from friends both here and back in Oz worried that I really was going to lose my foot!   The doctor diligently working on me even stopped his very important work and watched me curiously as my mobile kept beeping and ringing with anxious queries from friends before shaking his head, calling me something under his breath (which included the word yabancı mind you) – and took my phone off me!!!

Now it is Sunday morning and my foot has receded back to a small cantaloupe.  The red streak seems to be disappearing however the rash is still covering my entire body.  On the bright side nosy teyze was completely wrong with her medical diagnosis – and I still have two feet!

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It’s Not Easy Being Yesil

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Following on from yesterday’s post about making sarma I thought I would dwell a little on yet another of my food fears  *deep breath*.

chard 4

When I was a kid I had a prejudice against anything yeşil (green).  It was never going to cross my lips.  It was poison I tell you – POISON!  A lot of my numerous food issues can be put down to the fact that my mum was a terrible cook.  Green beans were always brown.  Peas too.  Broccoli was just gross – who wants to eat miniature (brown) trees anyway?  And spinach?  Puke!  I also had my well known prejudice against domates and patlıcan but as we have already previously discussed my very obvious need for therapy I return to the story at hand.  Yes, a prejudice against anything yeşil.

Being my mother’s Daughter I too am no chef (and certainly not to the standard of a Turkish Housewife) so it was always going to be a trial living here in Mersin where home delivery is just about non-existent (although for some strange reason there is a home delivery service for Burger King and Macca’s).  So with my numerous and varied aversions to pretty much everything and the fact that I am a crap cook leaves my menu choices, well, I am going to say it, pretty limited.

Thankfully The Turk’s family took pity on me and fed us on a regular enough basis so that we didn’t starve as well as giving me a few cooking lessons so that I was self-sufficient (or perhaps because they were sick of feeding us).  Of course living in Mersin many of the meals are green based meaning I had to overcome my prejudices and learn to embrace yeşil.

In the first few months of winter many of the farms here in Mersin have a green leafy vegetable growing, so similar to spinach that I assumed that was what it was.  Naturally with my aversion to the colour of baby poop green I have never grabbed any but while visiting Auntie Muriel recently she gave me a big bunch of the ‘spinach’ to take home and cook for The Turk.  It will make his heart stronger she cries.  It turns out that the spinach was in fact not spinach it was something called pazı (Chard) which of course I had never heard of before but as The Turk is still feeling poorly I thought I should use some of this magical green stuff to help him spring back into health.

On the advice of Songul, SIL extraordinaire, she immediately gave me the secret recipe for chard – Kis sarmasi or stuffed winter greens!  Anything stuffed is delicious to be honest.  Having already mastered the art of the sarma I immediately knew what to do.  Stuff ‘em!

If you want to try your hand at Kis sarmasi let’s go:

20 piece pazı (chard) – cut into two or three size dependent

200gm kıyma (mince meat)

3 cups pirinç (rice)

2 finely diced soğan (onion)

2 grated domates (tomatoes)

2 tablespoon salca (biber paste)

1 bunch finey chopped maydanoz (parsley)

2 teaspoons dried nane (mint)

Cumin, tuz (salt), karabiber (pepper) for taste

Limon tuz (half cay glass mixed with water)

Zeytin yağı (olive oil)

From there it’s pretty simple; mix all the ingredients before slowly adding the olive oil.  You want the oil to cover everything but not get too sloppy.

Sear the chard leaves (or vine leaves) for about 30 seconds until they are semi-soft (soft enough to manipulate).  Then fill and roll.  And fill and roll.  And fill and roll.

Place the little parcel into a large pot and cover with water.  I pour in a little more olive oil and limon tuz (as needed) before placing a heavy plate over the sarma. Leave on medium simmer for 40-50 minutes.

This recipe made approximately 60 kis sarmasi, devoured by family in no more than 10 minutes.  Yah me!!!  _________________________________________________________________________

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December Shines

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My thoughts today are very cruisey and I certainly don’t want to be cooped up indoors on such a glorious day so this post will be short and sweet.

december

How’s your day faring?  Mine has, so far, been excellent.  Daughter is at school where she seems to be sitting a neverending run of exams, The Turk is taking the neighbour’s Rottweiler for a walk (because they keep him chained up all day long) and I find myself, yet again, on my terrace taking in the sunshine with My Kedi Cat.

I really should get off my bum and get a few things done, I haven’t even put up the Christmas tree yet or finished buying presents.  There has been some discussion that I am, perhaps, a Christmas lightweight although I think that was made abundantly clear last weekend with my dismal failure to keep up at the Köln Christmas markets.

Alright.  Up and at ’em.  I have been eyeing off the pazı (chard) growing in the bahçe opposite and am thinking a little sarma is on the cards for tonight’s dinner.  Yum.

So whereever you are today and whatever it is that you are doing have a great one!

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Köln

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I just got back from a sneaky girlie weekend in Köln (Cologne), Almanya (Germany).  I had the grip the whole time I was there which certainly put a bit of a dampener on things but still as it was my first time visiting I tried to get out and see as much as I could.

Cologne

So because I like my lists today’s list is 10 things I have learned about Almanya over my girlie weekend:

1. Alcohol is an acceptable bevy at any time of day. No shit.  I stepped out at 7 in the morning to go buy Starbucks and watched 4 well suited young men wandering down the street with a briefcase in one hand and a bier in the other.  I can only assume they worked in the financial district … or maybe they were lawyers.

2. Pork worship. Upfront I am ok with this type of worship.  Hallelujah and all that.  Bacon.  Ham.  Salami.  Jerky.  OMG – crackling!  Again any time of day is a good time for domuz (pork).  Why not start your day with a plate of bacon with crackling on the side before snacking on some jerky to tide you over until holy hell – just look at what they serve up for dinner!  Yikes.

Cologne 163. Köln Christmas markets are the place to be. Where else can you wear dancing tree hats or a Santa suit while drinking glühwein (red wine heated with spices) before munching down a sausage sanga and finishing it off with the more festive feuerzangenbowle (red wine infused with rum)?  It is all about Christmas and the more Christmassy you are the better!  If you are not into Christmas get the hell out of dodge ‘cause you are going to be the odd man (or woman) out!

4. Germans are tall! I mean freakishly tall.  How tall are these people?  I’m like a tiny little oompa loompa next to most of them.

5. The Gothic styled Cathedral in Koln is a treat to view and is monumental in stature. It can seat 40,000 people and took nearly 700 years to build.  That’s a really long time considering it was built by Germans who are renowned for their efficiency.  If it was built by the Turks we would still be arguing over the right paperwork before the first foundation could be laid.

cathedral

6. Back to food.  Sauerkraut and lahana (cabbage) are again an any time of day food.

7. More food. Deep fried camembert and maydanoz (parsley)!  Why is it deep fried?  Bilmiyorum but damn it was delicious!

8. Still on food. Ekmek (bread).  Did you know there are over 300 different types of bread in Germany?  That is all.

9. Everything is closed on a Sunday. Well not churches and probably not the brothels either (prostitution is legal in Germany) but shops are which kind of sucks.  Sundays are also known as a quiet day so no mowing of the lawns either.  I guess it’s so you can get over that monumental hangover that you have from all the bier and feuerzangenbowle that you have consumed.

10. David Hasslehoff! I already knew he was a thing over in Germany but to hear his music blasting through the speakers at our hostel on a constant loop was a little hard to handle.  Well done though David.  Well done.

hasslehoff

Prost!

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Generator Envy

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Anyone who currently lives or has ever lived in Türkiye will no doubt get a case of the feels while I tell this tale full of torment and of anguish, of anger and jealousy.  In fact this story has something for everyone but before we start – a warning.  There is a completely unacceptable level of swearing to be had.  So continue on at your own peril.

blackout 1

This is the story of darkness so black that it must come from the soul of the devil himself.  This is my story of no electricity – yet again!

Over the past week we have seem to have pulled the short straw here in the Village as we have lost power every single night.  It is usually cut around 4pm (just as night begins to creeps in) and it reconnects anywhere between 7pm and gelecek sabah (the next morning).

Last night I was on my terrace when I saw the dark clouds brewing over the deniz (sea).  Being totally psychic I knew it was going to happen and I ran inside to grab the lanterns before the storm hit – which it did – and the electric failed – which it did as well!

Me: Feck!

The Turk:  (sigh)

Daughter:  (distant wail of angst from her bedroom)

Me:  (fumbling through the darkness) Where the feck are the lanterns?  Who the feck moved the lanterns?

The Turk:  I put them upstairs.

Me:  Why the feck would you do that when we have fecking lost fecking electricity every fecking day!  What the feck is fecking wrong with you?  FECK!

The Turk goes off to find the lanterns and Daughter scuttles down the hall in the darkness protesting about the loss of her precious, precious Wi-Fi.

Daughter:  How do you expect me to live like this?  It’s not the Middle Ages!

Me:  (dripping with sarcasm) Yes it is, in fact I was invited to the signing of the Magna Carta last week.

Daughter:  Huh?

The Turk returns with the lanterns that have not been charged.  He turns them on and off and on and off and on and off … well, you get the drift.

The Turk:  They don’t work.

Me:  You think?

The Turk:  (turns them on and off again) Yes.  They don’t work.

The Turk leaves to go and buy candles while Daughter and I sat in the darkness.

Daughter:  So who is Magnus Carter?

Me:  (threw pillow at Daughter.  It missed).

The Turk returns with candles and the house takes on the romantic tinge of flicking light.

Daughter:  Welcome to hell.

The Turk:  You will survive this.

Daughter:  Even in hell they have Wi-Fi you know!

Me:  Yes but it will be forever slow.

Daughter:  Aarrgghhhh!!!

Some normalcy returns as I go about preparing köfte which is really the only thing I can make without electric and The Turk gets busy opening a bottle of red while we both commiserate with Daughter as she continues to make unnecessary but still witty remarks about the loss of her basic human rights.  It sucks to be her for sure!

And then we heard it.

Brrrrrrrrrrrr.  Brrrrrrrrrrrr.

A sound so foreign that The Turk and I tentatively stepped out onto the terrace.  The blackness enveloping us was overwhelming and we clung to each other in fear (not really) as we investigated the source of the sound.

And there it was.

A house.  A house filled with light.  A bright beaming light calling out to us in the darkness.  I stood there watching in awe as others too came out of their houses drawn towards the light like a moth – or a dead person.  You know what I’m going to say don’t you?  Can you feel my jealous rage?  Yes dear readers.  It is true.  My neighbour has a generator!  At that moment my head exploded.  I mean literally my brain went into an overload of emotions – and it blew it’s final gasket.

Me:  Do they have a generator?

The Turk:  (nodding too overwhelmed with emotion – or too fearful of my reaction – to speak)

Me:  Why the feck don’t we have a fecking generator?

Daughter:  I bet they have Wi-Fi!

Me:  We need a fecking generator!

Daughter:  Why is life so unfair?

Me:  Buy me a fecking generator!

The Turk:  *sigh*

Me:  (with the maturity level of a 13 year old) AAARRRGHGHHHH!!!!

Generator envy is a real thing people and I have it bad.  Not being able to cope with the amount of jealousy raging through my veins I had to have a lie down while The Turk finished preparing dinner and Daughter continued to complain to The Turk about her awful, abused life.

Incidentally the electricity came back about 15 minutes later but the damage was done.

BUY ME A FECKING GENERATOR!!!!!!!

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Waiting for the Tulips to Bloom

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These days you will find me on my terrace soaking in the last rays of sunshine before the grey of Mersin’s winter takes over.  I will no doubt have a cup of çay (sorry guys it’s not particularly Türk – white with two sugar) and, depending on the time of day, perhaps a biscuit (or two) to tide me over until akşam yemeği (dinner).  Basking in the sunshine is also the perfect time for me to catch up on my reading.

Tulips

As a blogger I am always on the hunt for fellow bloggers and writers that live in Türkiye, telling their own anecdotes of life, love and the numerous catastrophes that befall them living in this crazy country.  One of my favourite’s is fellow Aussie, Lisa Morrow, with her blog insideoutinIstanbul.  Her blog is filled with tales and photographs of her life living in one of the most incredible cities on earth – İstanbul – so when I received a copy of her most recent book, Waiting for the Tulips to Bloom, I knew that I needed to find a comfy spot in the sun where I would no doubt be entrenched until I had finished the very last line.

Lisa’s descriptive style captures the sights, sounds and even the smells (remind me to never catch the no. 2 bus with her) of modern day İstanbul, giving me, the reader, not only a personal tour of her favourite haunts but drawing me in with little known stories of what is, without doubt, one of the most amazing cities in the world.  Her anecdotes of language barriers and Government bureaucracy or even her partner’s difficulties with something as simple as his name (Who?) was something that any expat living in İstanbul (or any other city for that matter) will recognise.

To quote the wonderful Molly Meldrum (I am now picturing anyone who is not Australian googling “Molly Meldrum” right now), “Do yourselves a favour”.  With the Christmas season fast approaching this will make an excellent stocking stuffer, in fact, I can think of one particular friend back in Sydney will be receiving it in the mail very soon.

Does anyone else have any recommendations for good Türk inspired reading?  With winter fast approaching it is time for me to hibernate until spring so any suggestions to help pass the time while in my self imposed exile will be greatly appreciated.

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Time for Baba

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We have already delved into my childhood trauma of domates so today I thought I would open the door on my next therapy session – my complete retching disgust of patlıcan (aubergine or eggplant or just bleugh!).  I mean seriously even this photo of my finished recipe of Baba Ganoush cannot make it look even slightly appetizing!

babaganoush 2

Patlıcan is not a food that I would voluntarily consume.  It is slimy.  It is bitter.  Cooked it looks a bit goopy.  All black and weird and just ugh!  And just who would want to eat something that is named after an egg but is a plant?  Does that even make sense?  And while I am at it where did the name pineapple come from?  Practically everyone else in the world calls them ananas (including here in Türkiye) but again some crazy person came up with the idea of calling it a pineapple.  Salak!

The fact is that as a kid (and a teenager and even an adult) I hated patlıcan and refused to eat it.  It was running a very close second to domates as my most hated food and I was thankful that my mother did not cook anything “foreign”.  Just to clarify “foreign” also included Spaghetti Bolognese so the idea of anything really weird like eggplant in our evening meal would be practically unheard of (although I do have hazy memories of sitting down to liver or kidneys in our little orange Formica kitchen on more than one occasion).

The first time I came to Türkiye I tried “Baba” for the first time.  Wary (as it was made from a most hated vegetable) but surprised.  I loved it.  Back in Sydney I would have never made it.  I mean why bother to prepare it from scratch when you can get it home delivered by practically any Turkish or Middle Eastern restaurant for a reasonable price – and it would no doubt taste better too.  Here in the Village though home delivery is scarce (although not unheard of) but regardless I love “Baba” here because I get to make it myself – any excuse to mangal.  The Turk has questioned before whether Daughter and I are pyromaniacs.  Whenever anyone in the family is thinking about having a barbeque we are there chomping at the bit to get around the flames.  Me for “Baba” and Daughter … well I actually DO think she might be a pyromaniac but that’s for another day.

Like most of my recipes they were passed on to me by either my darling mother in law (who I still miss every single day) or my sister in law Songul.  I do not use specific quantities or measurements I just keep adding ingredients until it tastes pretty damn good.

baba

So what you need:

2 patlıcan (aubergine), 2 biber (pepper), as many yeşil biber (green chilli) as you can handle and 3-4 domates (tomato)

4 sarımsak (garlic) cloves

Limon (lemon) juice

A good dollop of nar eksisi (pomegranate molasses) and another good dollop of zeytin yağı (olive oil).

Tuz (salt) and karabiber (pepper) to taste

To make “the Baba” you toss the patlıcan, biber and domates onto the coals of your mangal to chargrill them.

Once they are charred and soft through I peel off the skin (usually burning my fingers in the process) before cutting them up.  Some people mash or use a blender on the vegetables but I prefer a more rustic Baba plus the quicker it is finished the quicker I can consume it.  Before you go any further let the patlıcan drain for a little while to remove some of the excess juice that they build up during cooking.  Once drained I add way too much sarımsak (garlic) as well as the juice of one limon, and nar eksisi.  I season with tuz ve karabiber and finally add the zeytin yağı (olive oil) – check the consistency as it can get a little runny if there is too much olive oil.  Some people use tahini in their “Baba” but not me.  I am not a huge fan of it at any time (unless I am making hummus of course but that recipe is yet another therapy inspired post).

This recipe is so simple and I try to make it at least once a week (like I said any excuse to mangal).  If there is no mangal going on outside I can make “the Baba” by cooking the vegetables in the oven (cut a few slices into the vegetable to speed up the cooking time) or sometimes I cook it using a közmatik (a great little Türk invention to cook your patlıcan perfectly on the stovetop) but I prefer the really smoky taste that they take on when cooked on the mangal plus the flames that draw me in like a Siren calling a sailor to his death – OMG maybe I am a pyromaniac!

This, yoğurtlu patlican and acile ezme always makes up part of my meze when barbequing.  A night with the family just isn’t complete without it on the table.  I can’t get enough of it!

Afiyet olsun!

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Weddings and Funerals

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In my pre-village life I could count the number of weddings that I had been to on one hand (including my own).  I could also count the number of funerals that I had been to on my other hand (including both of my parents).  Now since our move to Türkiye our life is inundated with them both and honestly, enough is enough!

wedding

Thankfully this year’s düğün (wedding) season has started to slow now that we have moved into autumn although I did come home to find yet another invitation on my door step yesterday afternoon.  This one is for The Turk’s second cousin’s daughter (for feck’s sake), yet another person that I have never met in my entire life.  That’s fine although as the yabancı I am usually dragged around the room like a trophy.  Between you and me I think having the yabancı at your wedding is a sign that you have really made it.  A yabancı is a real drawcard.  Regardless a Turkish wedding reception is great fun, whether you know the wedding party or not and usually the whole village turns out for the event.

Here in the village it is not uncommon for a wedding to go for two or three days not including the nikah.  There is the kina gecesi (bridal henna party) where all the bride’s female family members, friends and neighbours get together on the night before the wedding to paint the thick ochre paste on her hands and feet.  Then you have the traditional village reception usually held in the school grounds or on the bride’s street where jeans and t-shirts are acceptable attire and, finally if finances allow, the salon reception where you will find yourself dressed up like a starlet on Oscar night with more sparkle, makeup and hairspray than you thought you could wear in a lifetime.  The latter two nights are jammed packed with earth rattling Turkish müzik coupled with pounding drums, all night dancing, fireworks and tribal yelling  – after all the more noise you make, the happier you are.  The only downside to a Turkish wedding is they are generally alcohol free.  The Turk and I have taken to hiding the little baby bottles of Angora and an opener in my Fossil handbag so if you ever see me lugging around a huge handbag at a wedding don’t shake it too much.  Desperate measures people.

cenaze-islemleri

Although most of the weddings are out of the way for the season a cenaze (funeral) can happen at any time of year; actually here in the Village they seem to happen all the time.  The first funeral I attended here was for my mother in law.  It was heartbreaking.  Since then, however, I seem to find myself constantly attending funerals from people in the village, again usually people that I have never met.  Of course I have to attend.  It is respectful to be seen by the side of The Turk at these events however personally I find funerals highly emotional and, even though I may not have known the person, I hide behind huge sunglasses teary eyed.  A funeral will also go on for days (7 days to be exact) and it is necessary to attend every single day, drink copious amounts of çay and, in my case anyway, burst into tears at every prayer.  Sadly I now know there is a funeral even before The Turk can open his mouth because I spot the dark blue jacket neatly hung over a chair ready to be slipped on.  At that point I usually blurt out, “Oh no!  Who’s died now!” because the dark blue jacket is his funeral jacket.

I’ve got to tell you, you run the whole gauntlet of emotions living here in the Village from the excitement of an over the top wedding, the comedy of a ridiculous family feud or the emotions of a neighbour’s death.  Even with all the drama that goes on around me I am incredibly happy with my life as it is right now – and I wouldn’t change it for the world.

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I am Human

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This morning my heart weeps; the world has again been struck by tragedy. Over 150 victims killed in six separate terrorist attacks in and around Paris, France with IS apparently taking responsibility for these attacks.

Paris

As you all know I live in a country that is 98% Muslim.  Most Muslims are ordinary, peace-loving people with their own set of dreams and problems and should be treated with the same respect we give to any other fellow human being.  I live in a real community where love and support is evident wherever you go.  These are not people bred with hatred.

What many of you may not have known (due mainly to the fact that news coverage was nearly non-existent in other countries) is that only yesterday there was two suicide bombings attributed to IS killing 43 people in Beirut.  Another incident in Baghdad with 18 victims.  Türkiye also recently suffered at the hands of IS with an attack that killed nearly 100 people and injured over 400 more at a peace rally in Ankara.  I chose not to write about that terrorist attack in an attempt to fill my feed with only positive stories but I guess I can’t keep myself quiet today.  These attacks are not solely being directed at you or at me.  These attacks by IS are indiscriminate.  We are all targets – Muslim, Christian or other.

Today my social media newsfeed is filled with putrid spewings of hatred from people who I have long considered friends.  I have been shocked by some of the statements made.  Do you feel that way about all Muslims?  What about The Turk?  Do you feel that way about him as well?  Should he be vilified for his religion.  Of course not.  To one particular person who wrote on their Facebook that “all terrorists are Muslim” I say this to you – hate is born by people exactly like you.  You are no better than a terrorist with your rabid hatred.

Throughout history religion has been used as an excuse, or driving force, for some of the worst atrocities imaginable. From pre-history to modern history, religion is, for many people, just an excuse to kill other people. Not post 9/11.  We can go throughout history and talk of religious atrocities.  I shall name a few although honestly I shouldn’t need to.  We all learnt about them at school.  Does the Inquisition ring a bell to you?  How about those witch hunts in Massachusetts?  All about religion.  Let’s go further back in history to Roman times with Nero persecuting all Christians.  And what about Jesus?  He was persecuted for his religion as well.  Maybe we should consider the Aztecs who killed tens of thousands a year to appease the Gods.  I could continue but I won’t.

Your religion (if you have one) is only one part of who you are.  I cannot understand why we have so much hatred and violence.  The perception that people of one nationality, political affiliation, religion, or colour of skin are more superior or inferior than another. We are one people. We are all humans trying to get through this thing called LIFE. It is hard, unfair, and trying – but we all deserve a chance to live it. No one’s life should be taken by another for any reason. No one’s life is more valuable than another’s.

To those in Paris, and those affected by this horrible massacre, my thoughts are with you today.

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Looking for Lychee

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Driving in Mersin is a bit of a hit and miss situation for me most of the time and I don’t mean being hit or missing other cars, dolmuş or pedestrians.  This is more of a situation where trying to find where you are going is literally impossible.  Street maps just don’t exist.  Directions are either shouted at you by a crazed local or at best scribbled on the back of napkins and my GPS in the car spends most of its time telling me I am either driving in the deniz or going through a fecking mountain.  The city itself isn’t very wide, you can drive from the beach to the foot of the hills in probably 15 minutes but to drive the length of the city can take you a good two hours from go to woe!

Mersin city

Right now our little expat group is in the midst of arranging our Christmas party and in order to do so we have been zipping around checking out a few different restaurants.  This week we went to check a relatively new restaurant named Lychee.

Lychee should have – SHOULD HAVE – been relatively easy for me to find.  It was on a main road, a road that I travelled regularly, and the restaurant looked huge so common sense tells me that it will be pretty easy to locate.  Yes?  NO!

When I say that this restaurant is located in a vortex or perhaps a black hole, you need to believe me.  When I also say that I could never go on The Amazing Race because I can get lost in the confines of a paper bag you should believe that too.  No really. My body has no internal GPS system actually I have no sense of direction at all.  This could possibly be a chronic medical condition.  It will be named “NoSense-itus”.  It is definitely hereditary and although I don’t know who precisely I can blame (being adopted and all that) but I think its a condition that should be researched so future generations are saved from this affliction.

The plan was to go to Lychee for lunch on Wednesday and me, being terribly efficient, thought I should locate the restaurant to ensure that I will have no problems finding it on the day (as I do tend to misplace myself on a regular basis).  I looked up its website.  A bit confusing, not really about the restaurant, more about some kind of food consultancy group.  What the what?  So I went to my backup plan of Facebook.  Facebook really can be considered the new Google for Mersin restaurants.  Google may not have the information (as restaurants here rarely have websites) but Facebook bloody well will because everyone loves to ‘check in’.  But on their Facebook page the restaurant’s address is noted as “centre”.  Centre?  Centre of the city?  Centre of the universe?  Centre of the vortex? What the feck is centre?

My first attempt to locate the restaurant was a complete failure.  After punching in the address into my GPS in the car I arrived at vacant land about 4 blocks from where the actual restaurant was finally located.  My second attempt, using Google maps, was more successful.  I made it to the location but still couldn’t find the restaurant.  I parked my car and even walked up and down the block but the restaurant still remained hidden in the vortex opening only to those who are worthy.

Feck my life!

“This place does not exist!” I shouted for the world to hear.

“Ummm yes it does stupid Aussie girl.”

*Sigh*

And of course the masses were right.  After standing on the street and calling out “Abracadabra” the restaurant appeared before me, like the Room of Requirement (Muggle nerd alert).

Lychee collage

Having finally found it I just want to say, the restaurant was lovely.  The service was good, although initially the waiter was slightly traumatized by my wanting a bottle of wine with only one glass (in fact the waiter sent the manager over to check that it was my intention to drink the bottle myself.  Really?  You will consume all of this?  Ummm don’t judge me mate just bring me the bottle!).  The food was European cuisine and delicious, in fact there were way too many options for just one visit!  The cocktail list was as long as my arm and (apparently) sensational.  The prices were spot on, in fact they were downright reasonable compared to the prices at Marina (just saying).

Updated: Sadly the restaurant has now changed hands and is part to the “Yasmine” chain. This means that it no longer serves alcohol (instead it has nargile or Turkish water pipes up the wazoo) and that the quality of food has dropped dramatically. It does, however, have a huge play area for the kiddie-winks.

The search continues for our Christmas party destination but Lychee is definitely now on rotation and will be visited by us ladies again soon (again assuming the vortex opens for me).

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