The Week That Was

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There were still two things missing in our home in Mersin.  One was The Turk but he was arriving on Pazar (Sunday).  The other was our cargo and I was starting to think that it was never going to arrive.  The belief that it is available has been hanging in the air since the first week of October but between then and now we have had public holidays, a mountain load of paperwork and numerous other issues with customs so when my brother in law called me to come downstairs with my passport early on Monday morning, well, frankly I thought it was going to be another wasted day before I would return home angry and empty handed.

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Arriving at the Free Trade Zone (Mersin Harbour) to collect the cargo my brother in law was advised that I was unable to enter the area (presumably because I do not have a penis) so I waited outside the gate in a small metal cage a-la Berlin Wall pre-1989 while my brother in law disappeared behind the fence (the promised land?) to collect the cargo on my behalf.   The hot Turkish sun beat down on my brow . . . wait really?  Yes really!  I sat in this cell for two hours in the sun (the security guards did thoughtfully bring me a chair) waiting for my brother in law to return but when he did it was with a huge smile on his face.  We had our cargo!  The back of his truck was filled with boxes and suddenly my dehydration dissipated – we had our cargo!

The hard part was over – or so I thought.

I stared at the boxes on Monday afternoon but perhaps exhaustion (and heat stroke) got the better of me and I just could not face the daunting task of unpacking.  I would get it done on Tuesday.

Tuesday came a little too quickly and I felt my nemesis better known as procrastination tapping on my shoulder.  *Sigh*

Wednesday.  I opened the boxes – I know I am running out of time and The Turk will be here soon.  I have got to put everything away today!  My sister in law Songul offered to come and help me but I chased her out the door.  No, this is my job and I will get it done today!

I do not want to talk about Thursday.

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Today is Friday and Songul just could not take any more!  She and her sisters arrived and within an hour all 26 boxes were unpacked to the sounds of laughter and chatter.  It seems all I needed to get this done was a little motivation and a little help from my friends.  Eğer bayanlar teşekkür ederim (thank you ladies).

My kitchen cupboards are full.  Daughter has her clothes and games.  Hurley has his bed and Kedi is playing in the boxes.  So now the only thing missing is The Turk.

Bring on Sunday!!!

Everybody needs good neighbours

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I am going to have a little rant, just a little one.

I have never been a part of a very large family.  I am adopted and no I am not crippled with issues about being adopted.  I had a happy childhood with my adopted parents and brother.  They are my family.  In case you are wondering, yes I have met my natural mother (who is lovely) and my three natural brothers and sister.  I have been very lucky with my upbringing however it was and is a very small family.  I did not have cousins to run around with and family gatherings were always a very small affair.

Now I am part of a very large family with sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, distant cousins – I could go on.  Not only are they my family they are also my neighbours.  Next door is a three storey house with The Turk’s parents (at the rear), his older brother and family on level 3, his youngest brother and family on level 2 and another (estranged) brother on level 1.  It is the estranged brother on level 1 that I will have my little rant about now (thankful that he cannot read English I might add).

In Turkey military service is compulsory for all men aged between 20 and 40 years.  For those men without a university degree the service is 15 months and for those with a degree it is a six month service.  On Sunday night The Turk’s nephew was leaving home to spend the next six months to complete his conscription.  Like most Turkish families they threw a party and invited their nearest and dearest.  There was a lot of music, drums and dancing.  It was most likely a wonderful evening and I say most likely because we were not invited to this shindig and nor was anyone else in the family!  Frankly I was shocked at this blatant rebuff.  Daughter could not understand why she was not invited so she dragged me downstairs to watch the frivolities.  I stood with Hurley (should anyone ask I was waiting for my dog to pee) before moving to the shadows only to find my mother in law behind her gate standing alone watching her grandson dancing.  It nearly broke my heart (and it made me pretty darn angry).

The next morning I rang The Turk and yelled down the telephone at him.  Why would his mother not be invited to the farewell?  Actually why was no one invited to the farewell and while I am at it why have they not spoken to me since I arrived 8 weeks ago!  The Turk’s reply was simple but was definitely not an explanation, “Fuck them!”

I am sitting here thinking of my mum and dad, wishing I could just give them one more hug or talk to them just one more time and here is a family who have no idea just how lucky they are.

“Fuck them!”

Well no thank you.

 

Let’s talk about cheese

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My love of cheese is legend – wait for it – ary!  Legendary!  I will eat cheese anytime, anywhere and in any manner.  I will have it for breakfast, as a snack, as a main meal, hot, cold or even as a cake.  Cheese.  Peynir.  Nom, nom nom!

Last week I was called by my mother in law down to her kitchen.  Bubbling on the stove was a huge pot of milk (which I subsequently learned was in fact yogurt).  Once boiled she strained the yogurt (separating the whey) into three parcels wrapped in clean cloth, tied it up and let it hang in the kitchen.  Cheese!  She made cheese!

I returned to her kitchen yesterday afternoon to find her mixing the cheese with red pepper paste (which we had made a few weeks earlier), dried thyme and a butt load of salt.  She rolled the cheese into balls, placed them on a large metal plate and put them in the sun on top of my garage where they will stay until they dry.

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If I ignore the flies that are constantly congregating over the cheese at the moment I am sure it will taste delicious when ready.  This spicy cheese is usually eaten in the morning with ekmek (bread), domates (tomatoes) and a drizzle of yağ (oil).

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My mother in law tells me that she has made this cheese for The Turk as it is his favourite.  Yes the prodigal son will return to her next weekend and she is very excited!  I guess I am excited too.  Daughter is currently indifferent but will probably change her tune when he actually gets here.

It’s hard to get that real good feeling about festivals sometimes

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On Sunday Daughter and I were invited to a “festival” to celebrate Cumhuriyet Bayramı (Republic Day) which takes place on 29 October of each year. I have been to my fair share of festivals over the years however upon arriving at Mersin Stadium I couldn’t help but think that my sister in law and I had differing views on what a “festival” actually was. 

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After going through security (which included a pat down which I would normally reserve for the bedroom) I looked around at the “festival” that was just beginning as we arrived.  Yes there was a stage but I still had a niggling feeling that this festival was going to be slightly different – but hey, when in Rome.  Perhaps it would just be music (just as the festival gods would have intended).  I looked at the stage for instruments but these were also lacking. 

Oh dear.

Daughter did find fairy floss so all was good in the world of 11 year old girls but for me I started to think that perhaps this was going to be unlike any festival that I had been to before.

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The place was packed.  People were everywhere waving their flags and talking excitedly amongst themselves.  I mean these people were looking forward to whatever was about to happen so we sat down with my sister in law just as the Turkish National Anthem began to play.  Everyone jumped to attention and sang along – even Daughter knew the words having been at school now for nearly two months.

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The first speaker came on stage to speak.  Fair enough.  I mean it IS Turkey and I guess they really do like their speeches.  When his speech ended and the cheering dissipated another gentleman came on and gave another speech.  Then another.  And another.  What type of crazy arse festival is this?  Moreover I looked over at my sister in law and wondered what type of person would call THIS a festival?  This was no festival!  This was a political meeting and it did not look like it was going to end anytime soon.  It was a hot afternoon in the sun and thankfully I dozed off (which was a real skill considering the amount of cheering and flag waving around me).  When Daughter woke me I found out that I had been snoozing happily for about 2 hours and it was time to go home.  Thank goodness! 

I guess attending a political meeting in a Muslim country can be officially ticked off my Bucket List now . . .

Got milk?

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Yesterday afternoon I found myself searching fruitlessly for fresh milk or sut as it is known in Turkish.  Milk in Karaduvar is generally sold on the shelf (UHT) and it is rare that I can find a bottle of fresh milk in the cold aisle of the local supermarket so when I saw a display of ice cold bottles of “white gold” my heart skipped a beat.  I swung on my heels towards the milk nearly wiping out a little old Turkish lady who was skulking a little too close to my prize.  I slid to a halt next to evil granny and grabbed 2 bottles exalted knowing that tomorrow morning’s Cornflakes were going to be coated in fresh, full cream dairy milk.

So last night when Daughter asked for milk before bed I ceremoniously poured her a glass and placed it lovingly before her.  “How is it?” I asked with a grin.

“It’s milk mummy,” came the reply with a roll of the eyes.

“No, it’s more than that.  It’s fresh milk.  From the market.  It’s not from the box.  They had fresh milk at the market today!”  I found my voice rising in desperation, rejecting the notion that for Daughter it was merely milk and not the precious commodity that I believed it to be.

She finished her milk and placed the glass in the sink.  “Milk mummy.  Milk”.

With that final remark she hugged me, said goodnight and left the room.

I stared at that empty glass wondering if a punishment would be going overboard.

Sitting down to breakfast this morning I had my Cornflakes and, yes, I covered them with my prized milk.  Daughter entered the kitchen and, spying the Cornflakes box, grabbed a bowl and sat down next to me.  I watched her pour the milk over her flakes.  She turned to me, “Mmm good eh?”

It took all of my will power and motherly goodness to not roll my eyes at her and say, “It’s milk Daughter. Milk”.

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The Truth about Dogs and Cats

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As many of you know we couldn’t move to the other side of the world without bringing The Turk’s two favourite family members.  Hurley the dog and his best friend Kedi the cat.  There have been many times that Daughter and I have discussed the fact that The Turk loves his 4 legged family members more than the human variety.

When The Turk originally moved to Sydney he told me that I he hated animals (particularly cats) and that I had to “get rid” of my old boy Cosmo.  I promptly replied that I would be getting rid of him before I got rid of my old boy and over the years he grew somewhat affectionate towards Cosmo which accumulated into real tears when he passed away a few years ago.

Fast forward to now and we have Kedi and Hurley who have flown over in first class luxury and definitely not worse for wear (a big thanks to the staff at petfly.com.au).

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Hurley has settled in really well.  You can see his boisterous enthusiasm each morning knowing that there is so much to do with strange new things to sniff, strange new foods to taste and lots of new friends to meet.  As happy as he is being here I can see by the look on his face – he has an issue that cannot be resolved and that issue is – STRAY CATS!

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My mother in law tends to feed all the stray cats and she has accumulated 8 regulars that live in her yard.  My father in law likes to walk down to the fish market and purchase the left over fish and then brings them back for the strays (yet he, like The Turk, is the first to scream at the cats if they get under his feet).  So Hurley now has 8 cats to chase which initially was fun however the cats have banded together and started a systematic assault on Hurley.  If he doesn’t watch what he is doing, or where he is walking, or sitting, or sniffing, then a cat will throw itself kamikaze style at Hurley and the yelping by the poor dog would no doubt be heard on the other side of the Village!

Obviously a counter assault needs to take place however I do not think Hurley could undertake that by himself.  Even the neighbour’s dog is afraid of these monsters so . . . I think that counter assault is some time away.

And if you are wondering how the cat is?  Well the bloody thing spends his day sleeping wherever he may choose and then comes out at night where he makes as much noise and cause as much chaos as possible.  More than once I contemplated throwing the cat outside and let those crazy Village cats have him but, of course, I could never really do that even when its 4.00 a.m. and he is knocking all the glasses off the kitchen bench.

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The Art of Being Sick

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I should have realised that this was coming.  There were warning signs after all.  The hot days had become merely pleasant and the light breeze had become blustery. A couple of nights ago I was woken by a storm that came crashing over The Village and when I awoke the next morning could see the light scattering of snow that announced the change of season.

Yes, I should have realised that this was coming but I didn’t . . . and now . . . it’s too late!  I am sick and I am grouchy.  I have lost my voice and I have a runny nose.  My throat hurts and my headaches.  I have chills and they are multiplying (although I am yet to lose control).  I have named this concoction of evil – the Turkish Lurgy.  I have it and I am crabby. The Turkish Lurgy is ravaging my body and I am certain that I will never recover.

“Nasilsin?”  How am I?

Well, frankly I am shit!  I look like shit and I feel like shit!

Normally in Australia, I would fight through the shit (sick).  I would soldier on with Codral and go to work, drop Daughter off at school and get on with life (spreading germs as I go).  Now, in The Village, I have reverted to my alternative personality known by many as Princess Janey.  This particular personality rarely presents herself these days however if she does make an appearance people shake in their boots and run for the hills.  Daughter has lived through Princess Janey before so has sensibly decided to ignore me and went to her cousin’s house.  Hurley is sneaking around for fear of upsetting the person who feeds him and even Kedi has retreated to hiding in my wardrobe while I recuperate.

I am currently in bed surrounded by tissues and propped up by pillows.  The Turk’s mother has taken over my house and is whispering demands to family members who scuttle off to carry out her instructions post haste.  I can hear the sounds of my vacuum humming, my washing machine washing and I can detect (even with my stuffy nose) the distinct smell of chicken soup simmering on my cooktop.  Unfortunately, I am finding it increasingly difficult to be gracious, surrounded by all the kindness and it is just making Princess Janey even more grumpy.

I spoke with The Turk on the telephone, “I just want to be left alone”.  “No darling, they do this because they love you.  It is the Turkish way.”

Hmph!  And so I push Princess Janey back into the recess of my mind and I smile at my mother in law when a tray is placed on my lap.  I smile at my sister in law when she hands me some Turkish syrup with instructions to take it 3 times a day.  I smile at everyone who pops in to ask me Nasilsin? and I am thankful that they do not know the word “shit”.

I think I will throw my duvet over my head and hide under here until they leave.

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Why didn’t I realise this was coming?

Sunshine and the Old City

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The Festival of Kurban Bayran is finally coming to a close.  It has been a great couple of days visiting with family, lots of scrumptious banquets (I am pretty sure I have put back on the weight that I have lost over the past few weeks) and generally spending quality time with Daughter which has been lacking since we have arrived (mainly because she is zigging left with her cousins and new friends and I am zagging right attending Government offices and chasing down documents).

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So today we decided to travel by dolmus into the city of Mersin itself and spend the day exploring our new surrounds.  I have done this a few times while Daughter has been at school so I proudly asserted that I could find my way around without a map and that I would “NOT” get us lost!

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Mersin is sometimes known as the Pearl of the Mediterranean” (Akdeniz’in İncisi) although I would never call it that.  I have always been overwhelmed by Mersin with its noisy streets feeling somewhat claustrophobic with chaotic traffic and even more chaotic people rushing around to get to where they want to be but today, being the last day of Kurban Bayram, the city gave off a completely new vibe with most of the shops and businesses closed for the 4 day holiday.  I must say that I drank in the peace wandering through the alleys in the old city, passing through secret doors leading to cobbled passageways away from the main caddesi.  Unfortunately for me (and for my pride) it became quite apparent to Daughter that we were completely lost and, despite my objections to the contrary, she laughed loudly before pulling out her mobile and saving the day with Google maps!

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Even though many of the shops were closed the restaurants were all open for business so we stopped for chai before making our way to Ataturk Parki to soak up the sunshine and watch the endless parade of people passing by.  From men fishing, families picnicking and young lovers walking hand in hand it reminded me just a little of Manly Beach on a Sunday morning.  I felt a little bit homesick right then (or maybe I was hungry) so we crossed back near the mosque and found a small tantuni shop open for business with the waiters more than happy to practice their English on us both.

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Content with our day we returned home ready to spend the late afternoon on the couch, maybe dozing with a cat on my lap but as soon as we arrived Daughter was called to visit friends (zig) and I was called down to my mother in laws for cay and to chat about my day (zag).

I could definitely get used to this life!

Kurban Bayraminiz kutlu olsen!

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Today is the first day of Kurban Bayrami (or Eid al-Adha) here in Turkey which is one of the most important holidays in the Islamic calendar and is best likened to Christmas to us heathens.  I actually had to do some research to fully understand Kurban Bayrami and why it is so important to Muslims around the world and why there has been a flurry of activity in my neighbour’s homes over the past few days.

Simply put Kurban means festival or holiday and is used to describe all national or religious holidays here.  There are two major religious holidays here in Turkiye Seker Bayram and the festival that we are celebrating now Kurban Bayram.

Kurban Bayram is a 4 1/2 day festival which takes place 70 days after Ramazan has ended.  It is known as the Festival of Sacrifice referring to the story of Abraham who was willing to sacrifice his son Ismael at God’s bequest.  Pretty much the same deal as Abraham and Isaac if you are running in Christian circles.

The festival is all about charity and community.  Each family (who can afford to do so) will purchase an animal for the sacrifice and over the past few weeks there has been an abundance of animals to be found grazing on any spare parcel of land around the city.  After the animal has had its throat cut and the life-blood has drained away the meat is split into three – one third to your family, one third to your neighbour’s and one third to the poor.  It’s a lovely idea (well except for the sacrifice that is).  If you cannot afford to purchase an animal you can make a donation to an organization such as Türk Hava Kurumu and have animals slaughtered in your name. The organization will also make sure the food is correctly distributed to the poor.

I tried to find an image to add to my blog that reflected Kurban Bayram but to be honest most of the images made me a little sick and they were way too graphic for my PG brain so perhaps this cartoon will sum it up for you (although do not ask me to translate as the only thing I could understand was “Ipneye bak” which roughly means “Look at the asshole”).

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My first experience of Kurban Bayrami was many years ago when Daughter was quite young.  I remember all the wonderful cooking and the many visitors and parties.  There was a lot of love and a lot of laughter coming from all the homes you visited.  I also remember the sacrifices being made in the local park or in our case the front garden *sigh*.  My brother in law had purchased a sheep and brought it home ready for sacrifice however Daughter saw it and thought it was a pet so placed a large pink bow around its neck.  Here the sheep stayed for two days being fed and loved by Daughter.  On the third day she ran downstairs to feed her “Baa Baa” only to find it had disappeared bringing tears and tantrums by the 3 year old.  I, of course, had to explain that her pet had gone to stay on a friend’s farm although I knew full well that the sheep was currently sitting in the refrigerator upstairs in easy to handle pieces ready for his wife to package for family and friends that evening.  A word of advice for those of you visiting family during Bayram – if you are squeamish don’t open the refrigerator!

So here we are again dressed in our finest clothes (not really), ready to celebrate Kurban Bayrami with The Turk’s family.  I reminded Daughter of “Baa Baa” last night and horrified she informed me that she is not eating any meat for the next week (or possibly ever again!).  Having heard this statement a number of times in the past I merely smiled and nodded in agreement after all I can hear the preparations that are underway for tonight’s feast.  Someone remind me to go for a run tomorrow as I know I am going to eat way too much tonight – and this is just Day 1.  They will need to roll me home after 4 days of this!

During Bayram there will also be a lot of music and dancing in the streets.  From early morning until late evening men will walk through the village banging away on their davul (drum) and playing their ney (wooden flute).  If they come to your door give them a few lira.  Don’t make the same mistake I did during my first Bayram and give 10TL because they will never leave!  Similarly the local children will also visit your door during Bayram and wish you “Iyi Bayramlar” in the hope of getting some sweets so have a bag of sweeties handy for them when they knock.

Be aware that during any national holiday here in Turkey most shops, banks and government offices are closed.  Leading up to Bayrami the shopping centres are overflowing with people stocking up on everything they will need over the coming festival days.  There is also a lot of people on the roads with family members travelling great distances to visit loved ones.  Intercity buses are packed, flights are sold out and public transport operates on a holiday schedule so you may find yourself waiting some time for a dolmus (I know I did).

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