The Mother Clucker

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Some people just like to ruffle feathers.  I get that.  Not me though.  I’m definitely a “keep it cool” kind of gal but every once in a while I am pushed just that little bit too far and then BAM! feathers are flying like there is a fox running amock in the henhouse.  When these BAM! moments do happen I believe they are moments that should be captured for future generations to study and enjoy (even if I do say so myself)!

hen and chicks

We recently changed Daughter’s school from the local village school to a private school in Mersin.  Although not the point of this story but changing schools in itself has caused a plethora of problems for us starting with the fact that Daughter now has a kimlik and her original yabancı number can no longer be used when dealing with Government departments.  Seems simple enough eh?  In fact shouldn’t it be an automatic update?  Perhaps, but it is Türkiye so it did prove to be three times more difficult that it needs be.  The Turk has spent the past two weeks getting her ID number changed which encompassed 2 trips to the village school, 4 trips to the özel school, 3 trips to the Nufus and one set of paperwork to Ankara!  And even today Daughter’s information is still wrong as it still shows that she has been absent for the first 10 days of school!  Ugh!

But that is not the BAM! moment.  This is the BAM! moment.

I went to a Parent/Teacher Meet and Greet recently at the new school.  This means that all the parents sit at his or her child’s desks and each teacher comes into the room and spends 10 minutes introducing themselves and giving us a little bit of information about their lesson plans before we have a mingle and introduce ourselves.  Seems pretty simple right?

Wrong!

And let me tell you why it is not simple.  Let me tell you why these things always end in tears, or with a head on a stick.  It is because of that one particular parent and it doesnt matter whether you are living in Sydney or Mersin, there is always that one particular parent that sends you closer to the edge than you have ever been before.  That one particular parent that is now and shall be forevermore known as – The Mother Clucker.

The Mother Clucker is usually female and can be easily spotted when you enter a room.  She will be that one parent smiling brightly at the teacher from prime position, pen in hand ready to make notes.  There are different levels of Mother Cluckers too.  There is a lower level Mother Clucker who has not yet found her wings (so to speak) but what you really need to be fearful of is the top tier Mother Clucker.  These Mother Cluckers will have already made copious notes to discuss with each and every teacher and even before the Meet and Greet begins she can be heard cluck, cluck, clucking her important opinions to gain support from anyone who glances sideways at her.  She will, of course, volunteer to be the Class Parent and she will, no doubt, want to discuss every insignificant detail because even the little things are important too.

This year’s Mother Clucker was, once upon a time, a school teacher so obviously she knows how things should be done.  She has an opinion on every single subject and she wants her voice heard, in both Türkçe and English.  Cluck.  Cluck.  Cluck.  So what should have been a 1 hour Meet and Greet became a 2½ hour battle of wits between this obnoxious, know it all, top tier Mother Clucker and the poor teachers who, one at a time, were put through their paces, whether they wanted to be or not.

I sat throughout most of the cluck, cluck, clucking quietly.  A lot of it was in Türkçe so I was oblivious to her clucking but every now and then she would speak in English (teacher dependent), to show off her language skills no less.  I laughed once at the look on the poor Music teacher’s face when the Mother Clucker explained that her child did not want to play the particular instrument that he was assigned (well either does my kid lady but shut the feck up!).  I rolled my eyes when she wanted to discuss how Din (religious studies) should be taught (Daughter will no doubt dramatically fail that subject again this year too) but I had to step up when she started having an opinion on how English should be taught.

Here’s how it went down –

Mother Clucker:  You need to teach the children songs.  Like Old Mcdonald Had a Farm.  I was taught Old McDonald Had a Farm.

Me:  (Cackle)

English Teacher:  (American accent) We have a great program laid out but no I do not think that is the way to go.  Children today do not relate to that type of teaching.

Me:  Seriously?  Old Mcdonald?  You’d be better off teaching them Beyonce!

(Every single set of eyes are turned towards me)

Mother Clucker:  Ah, you must be Daughter’s mother.

Me:  (Nodding).

Mother Clucker:  (the underlining does not quite put enough emphasis on Mother Clucker’s true tone of bitchy but just go with it) Your Daughter obviously knows English.  You should sit outside.  Your opinion is not valid.

Me:  Sit outside?  You didn’t sit outside when the Turkish teacher was speaking and honestly I’d much rather be sitting at home but I can’t because you won’t SHUT UP!

Like I said I’m definitely a keep it cool kind of gal.  Aren’t I?  Hello?  HELLO???

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Silifke Kalesi

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Why does every archaeological site have a tale of woe overflowing with horrendous suffering and devious behaviour?  Yes, yes I realise that most archaeological sites have been there for eons and so, of course something resembling the Red Wedding would have happened at some point over the course of thousands of years, but after visiting Silifke (ancient name: Seleucia) I realise that this little town, apart from being as dull as dishwater today, seemed to have had more than its fair share of woe in its many years of existence.

Silifike 1

I had passed through the town many times over the years but have never been tempted to stay for more than a toilet break or a glass of cáy and so, after reading up on its gruesome history, it was decided that a trip to Silifke to explore would be a great day trip from Mersin with just the right amount of gore to keep Daughter (growing up in an age of The Walking Dead) interested.

The town’s main attraction is Silifke Kalesi (Silifke Castle), an imposing structure atop a hill allowing a 360 degree view of the surrounding valley.  The Kalesi dates back to Byzantine times and was used as a defence and garrison against the Arabs before it was passed through the hands of many including the Armenians, the Cypriotes and finally the Ottomans in the late 1400’s.  It has been attacked many times, destroyed and re-built but the walls and some of its towers remain today as an example of Byzantine architecture coupled with 13th century Armenian influences.

silifike 2

Historical tale of woe No 1:

In 1226, Philip of Antioch, was murdered while imprisoned at Sis Kalesi (near Adana). His distraught (and no doubt traumatized by the fact that she was married off at the tender age of 12) widow, Isabella I, Queen of Armenia, sought refuge in the Kalesi. The regent for the Armenian kingdom, Constantine of Barbaron, arranged for his own son, Hethum, to marry Isabella (poor underaged girl cannot even grieve in peace before being married off again) and demanded that Bertrand de Thessy, the castellan of Silifke Kalesi, return her at once. The Hospitallers, who would not suffer the humiliation of surrendering Isabella, nor dare to fight the assembled troops of Constantine, eased their conscience by selling him the Kalesi with Isabella in it.

It makes it kind of hard to want to aspire to be Queen.  I think I am quite happy to be a pleb, thank you very much.

Archeologically speaking the outer walls of the Kalesi are in really good shape but inside has been reduced to rubble.  Daughter enjoyed terrorizing me by climbing the walls and hanging over the edge taking ridiculously dangerous selfies and I admit that the view from the top, overlooking the town and valley, was gorgeous, but is it worth driving all the way to Silifke?  Meh.

Silifike 3

The town of Silifke itself also does not warrant spending any of your precious time.  The otels are mostly old and not particularly welcoming so no need to stay the night and there is not a lot of activities for the visitor after you have explored the Kalesi.  There is a small museum which is filled with sculptures, coins and other artefacts. There is also an ancient church by the name of Ayatekla just south of Silifke in the small village of Burunucu.

Historical tale of woe No. 2:

St. Thecla was the first women to convert to Christianity by St. Paul (who you may recall originated from the town of Tarsus, east of Mersin).  She took refuge in a cave before simply vanishing into thin air.  Poof!  Was she simply murdered or was she afforded a miracle and ascended straight to heaven’s door?  We shall never know.  A shrine was built to remember her on the site and then the basilica was added in the 5th century.    There are also several cisterns cut into the rock which suggests that there was probably a sizeable settlement in the past.

Ayatekla Church

There are many hiking trails outside of Silifke following the Göksu Nehri (Blue Water river) and many little picnic spots to while away the hours.  You can go white water rafting on the river in the mountains outside the town although I believe from my nephew it is more of a relaxing jaunt rather than a thrill seeking white knuckle ride.

Historical tale of woe No 3:

Emperor Frederick Barbarossa, the Saleph of the Armenian Kingdom, drowned while either trying to cross in the strong current or while taking a bath.  There are two stories going round, I kind of like the idea of him drowning while bathing.  It’s definitely more amusing to me at least.

silifke 4

Having now visited Silifke can I give you an honest opinion?  Yeah?  Don’t hate me Silifke lovers but honestly spend an hour, photograph the view and the walls and then hop back in your car.  Either continue on the D400 towards Taşuscu (where you can catch the ferry to Northern Cyprus) or further on to Antalya (becoming a lot easier now with the tunnels slowly being completed) or perhaps hop on the D715 up into the mountains to visit the waterfalls at Mut (they also have their very own fortress and even a monastery further up the road at Karaman).  Don’t get me wrong it is definitely an interesting day trip and for the history buff there will be more than enough to keep you engrossed but for the average Joe (or in this case Janey) it didn’t hold my interest for too long.  Perhaps I am a simpleton.

For those of you wanting your fill of castles and archeological sites but still within a day’s drive of Mersin you can visit the famous Maiden’s Castle Kiz Kalesi or Korykos Kalesi and, coupled with Elaiussa-Sebaste and Cennet ve Cehennem, you will definitely have a full couple of days exploring without the need to travel quitte so far outside of the city.

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Need to Know:

Silifke Kalesi is off the D400 three hours west of Mersin.  There are no buses to the site itself so you will need to either drive or walk.  If you intend on walking it is almost 86 metres above sea level so good hiking shoes are a must.

Entry is free.

There is a small café at the bottom entrance of the Kalesi although it was closed when we visited.

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The Art of Salça

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When I first arrived here in Mersin I threw myself into Village life.  I helped harvest the nane and maydanoz from the bahçe.  I helped make the peynir (which was a story in itself) and I helped my mother in law make the salça.

Making salça (paste) is a bit of a pain in the ass to be honest.  It is messy work – so messy – but the end result is rewarding to say the least.

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Since my mother in law passed away making the salça is the one thing I continue to do each year as a bit of a celebration of her life.  I remember how happy she was that first year with me and my SIL sitting together, covered in flies and literally surrounded by kırmızı biber (red capsicum).  I remember my BIL delivering the 100kg of biber that morning and me going “seriously?”.  It was a very long day (and half of a very long night) cutting and cleaning the kırmızı biber before making the paste.  The next three weeks were spent checking my precious biber that had been mulched to ensure that they dried sufficiently to make the paste and finally salting to ensure perfection.

I have continued with the tradition for the past two years since my MIL’s passing.  This year was a little different however.  This year my SIL’s family decided to ‘help’ me and so, without my knowledge, set about preparing the biber for me.  I was devastated.  They don’t get that of course.  They were merely being helpful but to me they ruined the one piece of my mother in law that was something I treasured.

The Turk gets so frustrated with me each year and can usually be heard yelling “why don’t you just buy it at Migros?”.  Yes it is messy and a little smelly.  Yes my clothes are ruined (in fact I have a salça making outfit) which is stained a very attractive red colour and yes the roof top is also stained from an initial overflow of mulched biber but the end result is totally worth the hassle.

bbiber

Here is a shot of my MIL that first year.  She was one happy lady with the end result.

I have been asked for a receipe but I really don’t have a one to provide to you.  Like most of my recipes it relies on knowledge handed down by my MIL (or SIL) to me.  Basically we get a butt-load of bibers (photo 1) which are then cleaned and cut up (keep the seeds in unless they are seriously rotten).  A little old lady will then magically appears with a machine (seriously every year this woman arrives on my doorstep – the biber faerie – as if by magic) and all our bibers (or domates) are put though the machine to mulch them.  We then transfer the liquid up to our roof where it is salted and mixed.  It will stay in the first receptacle (photo 3) which is basically for pieces of wood with covered in plastic.  Once the liquid is partially dried (usually takes about a week) it is swapped into the huge plastic bowls (photo 4) where it stays for 2-3 weeks and is mixed 5 times a day to ensure it doesn’t burn in the sun.  100 kilos of biber make about 15 kilograms of salça which is about 5 containers which, of course, you then give to your numerous family members leaving you with two jars.  These will last me 12 months.

A recent incident with an overturned horse cart filled with domates also enabled me to use my salça skills to make some top notch tomato salça.  Double high fives for me today!  The final salça still to be completed is my hot chillies.  They are still drying (a longer process to ensure that they are as spicy as feck) but should be ready next week (if the weather stays warm – which it will after all it is Mersin).

The memory of my MIL will continue to live on in our meals with her salça – also known by me as Nene Salça.  It didnt matter what she cooked it was always superb – no doubt thanks to her salça.

Quick addition to this post – for those of you wanting to see my salça pants (also known as village pants) this is the only photo I could find.  They are now put away until next year but perhaps a sneaky paparazzi can crack a few shots before my security guards chase them away LMAO!  I did learn that day why I should wear long sleeves AND long pants when cutting up the biber.  I was literally covered in bites so now I’ve got a very attractive top that in no way matches my pants but works just fine.  Thank you to Daughter for showing my how to copy my Instagram photo – I am so computer illiterate.  I put this photo on Instagram because I thought it was hilarious.  The men sit there drinking their cay while the women work their asses off.

biber pants

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The One Where Everyone Finds Out

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I had been sitting on this post for a few weeks now.  I had to ensure that there was no potential to offend the family with this one.  After all I seem to offend everyone at every opportunity *waves hello to the Powers That Be*.

I hope you find it as amusing as I did … at the time.  Now it’s just old news.

aria shhh

So anyway … The family had been keeping a secret.  Oh I knew all about the secret but because it was a secret I kept it a secret.  I mean I still told my yabancı friends here in Mersin all about the secret and we giggled about the potential fallout but I kept it from you guys didn’t I?  I did not make it public because it was, after all, a secret.

But the secret is now public and it was monumental!  Families ripped apart.  Friendships destroyed.  Worlds colliding!  Not really, but whatever.

You’re chomping at the bit now aren’t you?  Tell us Janey!  What is the secret?

Well … you might recall this post I wrote about a year ago now about young love in the Village.  A bit of a Romeo and Juliet type sitch.  True love, blah blah blah denied to them by their heartless parents.  After a lot of tears and a lot of threats Romeo and Juliet finally got their parent’s blessing and they ran off and had their nikah.

For the uninitiated a nikah is a ceremony between the bride and groom and is performed before a state appointed bureaucrat or sometimes a religious leader.  It is a very simple ceremony.  No more than 10 minutes in total and then you are legally married.

Anyway the nikah took place and everyone was happy, everyone was in love.  Romeo returned to his family home and the Juliet to hers as is the custom here in the Village.  The wedding party (reception) would take place a few weeks later and at that time the newlyweds will live as husband and wife.

A few days after the nikah Juliet arrived to prepare their home.  They built right next door to us – and when I say right next door I mean RIGHT NEXT DOOR.  Their building is flat against our building – see my thoughts on this particular crapfest here.  God only knows what approvals (if any) were gotten for this building but it does again beg the question why were we fined for building a second storey when they (and fecking everyone else around us) have obviously built without approval.  OK I am getting a little off track here.

The newlyweds borrowed our car (yes we are officially known as a hire car/taksi service for half of the fecking Village) so they could go and purchase cleaning supplies.  When they returned a mere FIVE hours later (!!!) she was screaming.  She was crying.  She was calling him every name under the sun.  Senden nefret ediyorum!  I hate you.  I hate your mother. I hate your father.  I hate the world.  The wedding is off!

Hold on a minute.  The wedding has already happened hasn’t it?  Ugh why is everything so confusing in Türkiye?

She disappeared into the sunset and has yet to return BUT the family kept it a secret.  In fact they still handed out wedding invitations in the hope that she would come to her senses.   Romeo arrived on her doorstep and begged her to go through with the wedding.  Nope.  Vito arrived on her doorstep and begged her to go through with the wedding.  No way Jose!  Juliet was standing her ground and, to be honest, I was impressed that she held out when many others would have caved.  She cannot marry him.  She does not love him and, frankly, she hates Vito’s wife with the passion of a thousand fiery suns (at this point she got some brownie points from The Turk because he hates her too).

A few days later Juliet updated her Facebook status to single.  This shit is serious.  Social media serious!

But the family still continued with the farce of the wedding proceeding.  They went and paid for the wedding salon and for the DJ.  All was well.  The secret was still a secret.  There was a LOT of whispering in the village of course – gossip is pure gold to these people – but still the family forged ahead with the secret until the very end because that’s what families do.

Until the incident.  Yes there was an incident and it will probably not surprise you that The Turk is smack in the middle of it all.

For those of you who live in Türkiye you all would have been to the party where the furniture is delivered to the newlywed’s home.  It’s probably got an official name to the party but I dunno what it is.  It usually takes place a few days before the wedding and gives everyone a chance to bring presents and help them set up.  This is a huge deal in the Village and the neighbours all began to question when this was going to take place, after all the wedding party was on the weekend.  At this point I said to The Turk that they may as well come clean and get on with it.  The wedding is obviously not going to take place.  Hayir!  There is still a chance of reconciliation.  I rolled my eyes.  Ain’t gonna happen!

Three nights before the wedding date Juliet’s father and other various family members arrived outside with a large truck full of furniture that Vito had purchased for the newlyweds and unceremoniously deposited said furniture onto the driveway!  Well didn’t the shit hit the fan at this point!  All of the men in our family ran outside ready to fight (including The Turk who had had a few drinks and was feeling a little feisty).  About now Sensible Janey says,  “Go and stop this before someone gets hurt” but Fun Janey says “Relax.  Grab a bira and let’s watch the show.”  I went with the latter and in fact invited my sister in law to come up and watch with us from the terrace.

The outsiders

I just need to paint this picture for you.  Do you remember the rumble scene from The Outsiders. You know between the Greasers and the Socs. In the rain.  Patrick Swayze in a wet t-shirt?  Rob Lowe who seriously never ages?  Tom Cruise before he got his teeth (and his nose) fixed?  It was dramatic and very, very hot wasn’t it?  This was NOT that.  This was two groups of middle aged men, none of whom resembled Patrick Swayze or Tom Cruise, and all of them who, frankly, should know better.  We have The Turk who, of course, recently had heart surgery.  We have Vito who back in March fell down some stairs (while drunk) and ended up nearly breaking his back.  We have the older, slightly balding, brother who feels that negotiation is the key to any argument (although he is not very good at it) and we have the younger brother who, although I love him dearly, really is a bit of a simpleton.  Along with these four middle aged dumb asses we have Romeo and his brother.  On the other side of this tense situation was a truck, a load of furniture and four very much middle aged men.  Similarly these men would never be confused for Patrick Swayze or Tom Cruise and no doubt their own medical histories, but these four men were surly and grim, and oh so ready to protect their daughter/niece/cousin’s honour, if necessary.

SIL, Daughter and I took our seats on the terrace just in time to witness The Turk grab one of the surly, grim visitors by the face and physically push him away.  Yikes!  I know I should probably have run downstairs and pull the leash on The Turk’s behaviour but I knew better than to get involved.  Keep the feck away and get ready for the fallout!

The neighbours all started to arrive because The Turk’s foul temper is legendary and no doubt this was going to be some great entertainment for all.  There was a lot of yelling and hand gesturing.  There was the occasional jostling; a hell of a lot of swearing and “he said, she said” but by the end of it all the secret was no longer a secret and the wedding was officially canned.

Two weeks have now passed since the secret came out and Romeo doesn’t seem too distraught by the break up (although he does update his Facebook status with some very deep, quite disturbing statements).  He has already replaced Juliet with a newer model (who apparently is, in fact, a model) so kudos to him.  Juliet has been seen out and about (although she will no doubt never set foot anywhere near this place again).  The Turk sheepishly went to visit Juliet’s family and apologised for his unruly behaviour and the gossiping ladies of the Village have more than enough to keep them busy for the next few weeks.

I still bring up The Turk’s unruliness at any opportunity and he still tells me to get fecked regularly.  So all is good in the world.

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My Kedi Cat and My Hurley Dog

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Two years ago today my SIL and I travelled to Istanbul to collect two of my most precious family members – My Hurley Dog and My Kedi Cat.  They had just flown 29 hours from Sydney to Istanbul via Malaysia.  Like all long haul travellers they were tired and grumpy and the last thing they wanted to do is spend the next 11 hours sitting in customs in Istanbul while we fought to get them released.

This is their story.

Kedi 3

I have mentioned before that both of my pets were rescue animals and I had no intention of leaving my fur-babies behind when we moved to Türkiye (well I had half a mind to leave My Kedi Cat behind but that’s because he hates me).  I spent many hours dealing with both Australian customs and Turkish customs ensuring I had covered every base before I finally arranged for them to be flown over. I wanted them to have an easy flight and a simple transfer into my custody at Istanbul Customs.  I was certain I had crossed every “T” and dotted every single “I” but when arriving at customs in Istanbul it was, as expected, a fecking nightmare!

My SIL and I arrived in Istanbul from Adana at 6.30am and I had arranged a return flight for 5pm.  I assumed that this would be more than enough time to collect my two fur-babies, do all the custom rigmarole and have heaps of time to get our flight home with my fur-babies in tow.

Nope!

Every single thing that could have gone wrong did go wrong.  It began with the Veterinarian not arriving to sign my babies off.  Why didn’t he arrive you wonder?  It was raining.  Poor love.  After a lot of yelling by my SIL (God bless my SIL) he was finally roused into work but did not arrive until after 3pm so basically we sat in customs for nearly 9 hours.  We weren’t allowed to leave, even a toilet break was frowned on.  We had to sit there in case the Vet arrived so we could point out our pets.  They were the only two fecking animals in customs so obviously they were fecking mine!!!!!  I spent a lot of that time in tears.  I could hear My Hurley Dog howling through the customs door but I wasn’t allowed to see him.

After being examined the Vet then questioned whether My Kedi Cat had rabies as he was vicious.  In fact the Customs officers back in Sydney had put a sticker on the cage – “Handle with Caution.  Dangerous Animal”.  After I explained that My Kedi Cat was always vicious – frankly the cat is a bit of a shit – and finally they were signed off.  But that wasn’t the end of it. There was still more paperwork and more money handed over (grease the wheels guys) before finally my two fur-babies were released into my custody.

I know a lot of expats bring their pets with them and I wonder whether flying into the more regional airports would be an easier option.  I expect that if I had taken a direct flight from the UK and arriving into, say Bodrum, then the customs guys would be quite used to nervous yabanci and would deal with them swiftly.  Perhaps but then really Istanbul is one of the biggest airports in the world.  They really should have their shit together!  It’s a domestic cat and a fecking poodle for Christ’s sake!  I know I should be thankful that my babies arrived safely because many do not.  While arranging for my babies to travel I read of many cases where domestic animals pass away en-route due to the stress and being mistreated by airport staff.  The thing is that flying is stressful for us humans I can only imagine what my fur-babies throught was going on.  Being put in cages and stuffed into a very noisy, very cold cargo hold before finally being delivered into my very relieved arms.

After collection we made our way to Domestic to catch our flight to Adana which, of course, we missed thanks to the lazy Vet.  The following flight was already booked with animals and they too would not let us on.  Finally a flight was made available at 11.30 that night that would allow My Hurley Dog in cargo and I would carry My Kedi Cat on my lap in the cabin.

Got home at 3am the following day.  My Hurley Dog was ecstatic and showed his excitement freely.  My Kedi Cat bit me and hid under the bed.  I chose to sleep on the couch for the next few days – just in case the cat tried to kill me in my sleep!

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Two years on and My Hurley Dog and My Kedi Cat have settled into life in a Turkish village.  My Hurley Dog has not made many friends with the village dogs as they are all a lot larger than him.  They are farm dogs and not prepared to deal with My Hurley Dog’s precious, precious ways but he does have lots of people to hang around with.  He gets fed at every door (although not usually allowed in every door) and more often than not gets a pat on the head from visitors.  On the other hand My Kedi Cat who, back in Sydney, was a very high maintenance cat seems to fit right now.  He disappears each evening with Evil, My Stairwell Cat, and returns the next morning covered in dirt, mud, thistles, whatever.  He drags himself onto the bed and sleeps until evening.  In fact the other night I was taking My Hurley Dog for a walk and I found him in a dumpster.  So yeah – he is now a Turkish Cat.  It’s called assimulation people!

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A Little Bit of Everything – and a lot of Nothing!

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I have found it difficult to blog recently.  I didn’t want to jump straight back into my usual humour after the last few posts about the refugee crisis.  It seemed rather insensitive.  So I gave it a little rest and for those of you who ‘like’ my FB page I have just been putting up some political and humorous links about Türkiye.

So I will ease into it and just spit out a few little tit bits to get us started.  Is it ‘tit bits’ or ‘tid bits’?  ‘Tit bits’ sounds wrong.

First up, it is Bayram right now.  For those of you who don’t know what Bayram is here is some lay person information.  Think of it as Bayram for Dummies.  When I was pregnant I brought Pregnancy for Dummies and it was extremely helpful.  Thankfully so far this year it has been a quiet one.  Do you remember when you were kids and you would have one Christmas at home and then the next at some other relo’s house?  This is what appears to have happened so far this year.  Everyone in the family has disappeared – except my father in law.  Never my father in law.  We still have to make the obligatory trips to extended family members and, of course, there are the constant trips to the fecking cemetery, but I think I am going to get through this Bayram stress free!  Finger’s crossed though as I don’t want to jinx myself.  Iyi Bayramlar!

baby goat

Next up on my list is this – I don’t think it is every going to rain in Mersin again.  EVER!  There is the potential for a good rain.  There are dark clouds, really ominous clouds.  There is even excitement but, sadly, no follow through.  The sun comes out again and the never ending heat continues to taunt us.  LIKE A BITCH!  And it’s been raining fecking everywhere in Turkey right now.  Bodrum has had flooding.  Marmaris has storms.  Even Adana has had some crazy downpours.  Don’t get me wrong.  I am still a summer girl.  I hate the cold and generally I hate the rain as well but after a rain free zone of some 120+ days I really need a downpour to take the edge off.  I need a fix.  Yes, yes I know we had a storm after that recent earthquake but that was more of an addendum to the earthquake and, anyway, that was more wind than anything else so it doesn’t count.

So I am still waiting.  And it is still motza hot here.  And I am kinda over it.  And of course I will complain about the cold soon enough but right now – I just want a little rain!

On the bright side school goes back on Monday after 8,765 days off (well it seems like it anyway).  That is 8,765 days of Daughter loving Calum Hood (from 5SOS), dreaming about Calum Hood, talking about Calum Hood and hating absolutely everyone and absolutely everything else.  That means you!  And me!  And definitely The Turk!  When I was 13 I was going to marry George Michael.  I didn’t.  But I am holding out that Daughter gets her dream wedding to her dream man.  I mean they both love Hawaiian Pizza so it looks like they could be a perfect match!  So if any of you happen to know Mr Calum Hood let me know would you.

calum 2

Finally I am still holding onto my dream of becoming the next J.K. Rowling (or more correctly a Turkish-inspired Jackie Collins – ooh la la!) and have been plugging away on completing my first novel.  I start.  I stop.  I delete.  I start again.  But I am pushing myself this time thanks to a little bit of encouragement from a friend here in Mersin.  So if I disappear I will be back.  I should probably keep going while I have the enthusiasm.

Oh and speaking of my blog I was recently contacted by a mainstream news channel to give an opinion on the freedom of press in Türkiye.  Thank you very much but I as I said to them I am merely a little blogger and not nearly as knowledgable as I could be or should be to give an opinion on pretty much anything.  Plus I kind of like being anonymous (I know I am not really anonymous) but I don’t want to get blocked (or worse) so I’ll just keep smiling and writing about kittens and unicorns! I was totally chuffed at being noticed by them though.  For those of you interested in seeing the report the link is here.

So that’s it for now.

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My New Motto

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I am going to try and keep my posts nice and light for the next few weeks.  There is so much going on over here right now with protests, bombings, the parliamentary elections and the humanitarian crisis so rather than focus on the negative and start sprouting off about things that I cannot possibly fully understand I will move forth with this motto – “If I don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say anything at all”.

This will have a two-fold effect on my life (and my sanity).  I won’t get grey hairs (read that as more grey hairs) and also I won’t have the internet trolls pestering me anymore.

So watch out for my next uplifting post on unicorns, kittens, ridiculous happenings in the village or perhaps another expose on the Turkish moustache.  To give testament to my new motto I have included this photo of a kitten to give you a clear indication of what will be posted in the future – unfollow me now.  You have been warned.

 

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An Update

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I know a lot of you are hoping for more information on the refugee situation here in Mersin and Adana.  Right now I don’t have any new information regarding support or assistance required.  I have referred most of you onto groups in Bodrum who are giving support on the ground there but here in Mersin I have had quite a bit of difficulty finding someone who can provide me with more details.

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A big thank you to all of you who have shown support to the refugees.  There has been a lot of action in and around the refugee centres and it makes my dark, mangled heart a little brighter to see how much is going on, and how much you guys care.  Around the world there have been protests, there have been a huge influx of donations and there has been a lot of amazing humans coming together to help those who really need it.  Right now.

I will give you more information about Mersin and Adana when, and if, it comes available to me.

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Now what Gentlemen?

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Yesterday the world was introduced to a little boy named Aylan Kurdi.  We have learnt a lot about Aylan in the past 24 hours.  We learned that he was born in Damascus and grew up in Kobani.  We learned that he and his family were fleeing their home (Kobani is currently under the control of ISIS) and were attempting to make their way to Canada where Aylan’s aunt had emigrated twenty years earlier.  We also learned that sadly he, along with his mother and his brother, perished in the waters off Türkiye while attempting the dangerous crossing to Greece in a small dingy.

aylan 2

The outcome to this tragic story is a positive one.  The world has finally opened their eyes and their hearts and acknowledged the plight of the Syrian refugees here in Türkiye and the neighbouring countries of Jordan and Lebanon.  We, the people, want to see changes made and we are pointing our finger’s at the leaders of those countries with closed doors.  Yes that is you Mr Tony Abbott with your “Stop The Boats” policy.  And you too Mr David Cameron calling these refugees “pests”.  Finally I have not forgotten Mr Barack Obama.  How much blame can we put squarely on his, and his predecessors, shoulders?  A lot I would wager.  Do not stand idly by.  Open your doors to those in desperate need of help.

To these three men (and to the leaders of all countries unwilling to help in this world crisis), I want you to do something for me – close your eyes.  Just do it.  Close them.

Think of your family.  Tony with your daughters, you too Barack.  You both have amazing girls, so beautiful, smart and strong.  David I don’t know too much about your family but I bet they are tucked away somewhere.  Imagine you are sitting with your wife and your children at the dinner table, or watching television, or perhaps playing in the garden with your pet dog.  Without warning gunfire is heard and you yell to your family to take cover.  The smell of tear gas is wafting through your open windows.  In the distance you can hear the sound of mortar shells exploding and the screams of terrified people as they run to safety.  Your daughters rush to their mother and begin weeping.  Your wife tries to console them but she too is shaking with fear.

You receive a text message.  A friend has sent you a warning.  You need to leave.  There are bad men coming.

You and your family are on the run now.  You don’t have time to collect your belonging.  You leave your home with the just the clothes on your back to keep you warm.  You keep moving.

Not everybody was able to escape in time.  Stories of those left behind filter through the throne of people also leaving the city. Stories of savage rapes, of massacres, much worse than you had dared to fear.  You pass decapitated bodies discarded on the streets.  You can still hear the bullets and the mortar shells in the distance.  Keep moving Tony!  For your children!  Keep moving Barack!  David!

You cannot go home but, for now, you and your children are safe.

What do you do gentlemen?  Do you look to your neighbours to help you?  Do you hope that they will give you food and a warm bed?  Of course they will.  We are all human.  We help our neighbours in a time of need.

You stand at the door to your neighbour’s home.  The door is bolted.  Your wife is crying, tears streaming down her grimy face.  Your daughter’s are terrified.  Afraid that they will be sold into slavery or worse.  You bang on your neighbour’s door.

“Please let me in.”

“Nope.  Sorry.  We don’t want you.”

“But I have nowhere else to go.”

“Tough”.

Now what?

Hug your daughter’s tonight gentlemen.  Kiss your amazing wives.  Know that they are safe with you living in a country that has so much to offer and maybe, just maybe, think of Aylan and the thousands of children just like him.

Open your doors gentlemen and let these poor souls in.  They just want to be safe, for their families to be safe.  Just like you.

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Humanity is Lost

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I had an early dinner last night with some friends high in the hills behind Mersin.  In our group were 3 little boys who ran around having fun and just being kids.  They laughed, they played, they ate a hearty meal and then they left with their families to return to their warm, safe homes.

Aylan

I too returned to my warm, safe home where I sat on my terrace and opened my social media.  The one photo that was shared over and over again, the photo that filled my newsfeed was of a young boy, in a neat red shirt, blue pants and tiny, tiny shoes, no older than those that I shared my dinner with, lying dead on the beach in Bodrum.  It seems that humanity has lost folks.  This is it for all of us.

Just take a moment to look at the photo.  Really look at it.  This is the world we live in.  This little boy has been identified as Aylan Kurdi and right now should be safe in the bosom of his family and not lying in a body bag waiting to be expatriated back to his homeland for burial.

Aylan along with his mother and his brother perished as they attempted to cross the Mediterranean Sea between Bodrum (Türkiye) and Kos (Greece) in a small dingy.  They have become a statistic, one of more than 2,600 people who have died trying to cross to Europe from Türkiye in 2015.  This is the most deadly migrant crossing point in the world and this figure is only going to get higher.  Those who do make it across to Greece then find themselves in another country that is unable to cope with the sheer volume arriving on its shores – let’s not forget that Greece is in the midst of an economic crisis.  But they are still the lucky ones as they are in Europe now and their dream for a new, better life for them and their family is possible.

In Türkiye there are over 1.7 million Syrian refugees currently seeking asylum.  When the fighting in Syria began Türkiye opened its borders with the expectation that the conflict would be short lived and the refugees would return to their homeland.  Five years on and the conflict is ongoing, if not worse, and each day brings more waves of people fleeing for safety.  The Turkish Government is working furiously to support the refugees but the huge cost is taking a toll on the country with resentment building between the Turkish people and the Syrian refugees.  Turkish people are well known for their generosity but with so many Turkish families living below the poverty line there is building anger that any Government funding be directed towards helping their own people and not those who should not be living here in the first instance. Türkiye also has the constant struggle with maintaining its borders, ongoing issues with its neighbours, the very real threat of terrorism and the recent disruption to the cease fire with the PKK.

I have always been quite opinionated about refugees and asylum seekers in Australia.  The Turk had to jump through some pretty big hoops before he got residency and I believed that anyone wishing to enter Australia should jump through those same hoops but since living in Mersin my eyes have been opened to the suffering of these people running for their lives.  My selfish behaviour, and the behaviour of so many of us all over the world, is the reason that little Aylan Kurdi lost his life yesterday.

Did you know that in Australia boats filled with refugees can be towed back into international waters by the Australian coastguard?  How about the fact that David Cameron has said that the UK cannot take in any more refugees?  Is Aylan one of your “pests” David?  Probably not eh?  Did you hear that in Germany a planned asylum centre was burnt down?  In Macedonia there has been fighting at the border crossings.  In the Czech Republic police have been marking and numbering the refugees with washable ink (hello WW2) and, of course, in the Mediterranean the bodies of baby boys are being washed up on Turkish beaches.

Feck people.  We are all living on this earth.  Together.  What is wrong with all of us?  We failed this little boy and we failed his family.  He is lost to the world now but perhaps with this sad photograph doing the rounds on social media the doors will be opened for others that are running for their lives.  I know my opinion has changed.  Perhaps yours will change too.

For those of you who want to help the Migrant Offshore Aid Station is dedicated to preventing migrant deaths at sea and Save the Children is distributing essential items such as nappies, hygiene kits and food.  Give what you can.

From Save Kobane: Even the sea could not carry the heavy burden of this child’s lifeless body, so she returned him to us, to be a testimony of our failure as human beings.  

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