Tag Archives: Australia

Rise and Shine

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School in Turkey is completely different to school in Australia.  In Australia school starts at the most civilised hour of 9 am and finishes at the very acceptable hour of 3 pm.  This allows you (and your brood) a decent sleep and leaving enough time for afternoon activities.  Here in Turkey Daughter starts school at the most uncivilised hour of 7 am and finishes at the completely unacceptable 12 noon.  This means I am dealing with a complete grump in the morning and, as for me, I can never get everything done in the few hours allocated as child free time.

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There are advantages to a Turkish education in Daughter’s mind.  Yes she loves the fact that she is at school for one hour less here in Turkey.  She now has a butt load of free time in the afternoon to run amok with her friends.  Another bonus in Daughter’s mind is the fact that each lesson seems to run for approximately 20 minutes with a 10 minute break for toilet or canteen visits (although the toilets are squat toilets and never seem to have any toilet paper which is more horrific to an 11 year old than anything she has gone through so far).

Returning to my point – Daughter has to get up at 5.40 am.  This ridiculously early start is required to give her enough time to get ready, whinge, drink a coffee(!), whinge, eat breakfast and whinge some more before her servis comes to collect her at 6.35 am.   The reality is that she whinges – a lot – in the morning.

I have tried lots of different tactics to make the morning starts a little easier on everyone.

Get her to bed early.  This is usually difficult as Turkey seems to be a country of night time frivolities.  Lots of visitors, loads of food, occasional dancing and music and Daughter being Daughter will not miss out on a party, even if she is the only one at the party.

Blackmail (also called Negotiation)

You’ve all done it – don’t lie.

Responsibility

I gave the responsibility to Daughter.  Brought her an alarm clock.  Set it and did not get out of bed to help her get ready for school.  This option failed dismally as she missed her servis three days in a row and in fact missed school twice!

H-e-e-l-l-l-p-p-p-p!

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I put it to you – how do you get your child up for school when it is pitch black outside.  How do you motivate them enough to get ready for school when they hate you or hate life or hate the world.  And finally, how do you get your child to stop hating you or hating life or hating the world!

No Touching Please – I’m Australian

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I have never been a big fan over overfamiliarity.  No unnecessary hugging or kissing or . . . look just get out of my dance space okay?

Here in Turkey it is in fact unusual to not be overly familiar with people.  A “gunaydin” (“Good morning”) is usually accompanied with a kiss on both cheeks and a hug for good measure.  The first time it happened I stiffened like a board but now I have come to accept (albeit reluctantly) that friends or strangers alike they will come at you whether you want them to or not.

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It is also absolutely acceptable to give a kiss or a hug to a stranger’s child, which would not only be be unheard of back in Australia., you would probably be arrested for it!

The first time I took Daughter to Turkey she was 10 weeks old.  The Turk did not yet have a visa and so I was taking her to meet her father.  It was a 27 hour flight from whoa to go – Sydney/Bangkok/Istanbul/Bodrum.  By the time I reached Istanbul I was haggard.  Travelling as a single mother was extremely challenging particularly with the precious little package that I had with me.  Arriving in Istanbul I had a 4 hour wait for my connection to Bodrum.  I sat with Daughter in my arms on a chair and promptly passed out from exhaustion.  When I awoke Daughter was no longer in my arms.  She had been kidnapped by the elderly Turkish lady sitting next to me who kept her for the whole flight and at one point I wondered if she was ever going to give her back.  Luckily The Turk was waiting and she reluctantly handed Daughter over to him but not before she kissed, cuddled and thoroughly examined her.

Daughter also has her own issue with the overfamiliarity.  It seems that not only do her friends in the village school greet each other every morning with kisses and hugs it is also not unusual for a teacher to hug or kiss a student – certainly not what this Aussie kid is used to and it made me say “Yikes” when I found out!

Over the past week I have probably kissed and hugged over 1000 people which, putting aside my non-touching issues also brings up my germaphobe issues.  People – keep your hands and lips to yourself.  It’s the flu season.  I have run out of my Dettol hand sanitizer and I am now having a general melt down.  The Turk is sick, Daughter sounds like she is hocking up a lung and I am running around with my Eucalyptus spray wiping down every hard surface that they touch.

Strike Two

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With Christmas (or Wednesday) out of the way I can now start to look forward to the future.  2014 is only a couple of days and The Turk has promised me a blow out New Year’s Eve party to make up for my crappy Christmas.

I am up early this morning for two reasons today.  Daughter has two weeks holiday in January so I have decided to book a week in Istanbul as a surprise.  It will coincide with Australia Day and I am certain that we can find some Aussie celebrations to join in on while we are there (after all I watched the Grand Final on the big screen at a pub in Istanbul in 2010 – Dragons and Roosters if I am correct).  I am also on the hunt for fireworks.  I am told you can buy them here and Daughter wants them.  A lot of them.  I am not sure if she has the potential to be a pyromaniac and this is something I will need to keep an eye on in the future.  She is drawn to fire like a moth . . . like a moth to a flame.  Just call her Moth from now on.

So The Turk and I went into the City this morning to his brother’s office so I can use the internet to book flights and accommodation (as we have no printer).  We also were on the hunt for the elusive fireworks shop.  The Turk’s brother works in an area of Mersin called Carsi.  Carsi means market or bazaar and this area forms part of the Old City.  I usually try and give Carsi a wide berth as this area always leaves my nerves shattered and my head aching as it is loud, frantic and obnoxious.  It is not my favourite part of the city however if you go early enough (as we did this morning) you can weave your way from Point A to Point B pretty easily (assuming you do not slip on the cobblestone streets).

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It’s nice to go out with The Turk without Daughter or associated family members.  Kind of like a date.  A day time date.  We start the morning with corba for breakfast.  I stick to my favourite Ezogelin Corbasi (Red Lentil Soup) while The Turk had Iskembe Corbasi (Tripe soup).  While we were having our soup the chef who happens to be The Turk’s arkadaş (friend) came over and told me the history of my soup.

Ezogelin Corbasi originates from the village of Dokuzyol where a beautiful girl by the name of Ezo was born in the early 1900’s.  Her black hair and rosy cheeks made her very popular with the camel riders who stopped for water while en-route along the Barak Plains.  Unfortunately her first marriage failed and she left this man for another.  She moved to Syria and re-married.  Her mother-in-law disliked her (probably because she was not a virgin when she married her baby boy) and in an attempt to please her mother-in-law she created this delicious soup.  The soup is now served to new brides, right before their wedding, to sustain them for what lies ahead (wink, wink).  And what happened to poor Ezo you wonder?  Well she died of tuberculosis so it isn’t a great ending but still it is a delicious soup.

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After our corba (which incidentally cost a total of 8TL or about AU$4.00 and this included two soups, bread and salad) we started through Carsi in an attempt to find the elusive fireworks shop.  I toddled along behind The Turk trying to keep up with him as he weaves his way through the streets when he suddenly spun a 180 and took off in the other direction.  I was unsure what was going on so I kept walking ahead thinking I would meet him at the end of the street.  Looking up the street I saw a crowd.  A large crowd.  As I got closer I saw police.  A lot of police.  Shit!  Some husband The Turk is.  Does a runner and leaves me in the middle of a protest.  So what does any quasi-tourist do when confronted with a newsworthy item?  Take photos of course!  I tried to get into the thick of things (safely of course) however the protest escalated quite quickly and when the Polis stepped in (who were waiting around the corner for the shit to hit the fan) I felt the best thing to do would be to get the hell out of dodge!  I spot The Turk pushing through the crowd, grabbed his hand and he propelled me down the street to safety.

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What are they protesting about?  The Turk does his usual “bilmiyorum” (“I do not know”) which does not surprise me as he only watches the futbol or the horses.  I will not even begin to say I understand Turkish politics – hell I never understood Australian politics so trying to get to the bottom of what is going on in Turkey is ridiculous.  I can say, however, that a political shit storm brewed when two Turkish cabinet ministers resigned on 25 December 2013 for taking and facilitating bribes.  From here there have been other resignations of high powered associates (including a Police Chief in Istanbul) and now a major reshuffle of ministers.  Corruption. This, coupled with the Gezi Protests in May, seems to be enough to tip Prime Minister Tayyip Erdogan’s out of office in the near future.  He has had a good run – 3 terms – and elections are expected in March.    I cannot see how anyone could recover from the accusations made against his party although at a speech made Friday afternoon he firmly pointed the finger at those accused and his deniability of the whole matter.  As you do.

Things are only going to get worse in Turkey, economically and politically, before they get better.

And no, I did not get the fireworks.  The Turk has promised he will go back into the city this evening and get them for me.  This is my Second Strike, having been late home last week and making The Turk “needlessly” worry about me.  He has now placed me on probation.  If I leave the house and get myself into trouble again who knows what he will do to me.

The opinion giving in this piece is my opinion only.  I am not a political commentator merely a spectator and layperson

Being Scrooged

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Today is Wednesday.  To many of you it is Christmas Day but here it is just Wednesday.  Daughter has been negotiating with The Turk all week to have the day off school and last night, finally, The Turk gave in.  No school on Christmas Day (sorry I mean Wednesday).

I woke up this morning (Wednesday) feeling grumpy.  This was my first Christmas away from Australia, away from my ancestral roots but, of course, I have had many Wednesday’s away from Australia so if I keep thinking about it that way it’s not so bad.  I intended today to be a day of wallowing in my grief, to lie on the couch and watch Christmas movies (having downloaded a plethora of choices for wallowing from Home Alone and Love Actually to It’s a Wonderful Life (“Teacher says, every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings”) however when I got up this morning the sky was the most glorious pembe (pink) and that glorious colour made it virtually impossible for me to wallow when the universe has been so good to me.

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Sure maybe there is no Christmas ham but today is Wednesday so perhaps I can make lamachun.

There are no Christmas carols but today is Wednesday and the ezan (Call to Prayer) will still summon the Muslim faithful 6 times a day.  A hauntingly beautiful sound that has become my alarm clock, so to speak.  I need to be up at 5:42 to get Daughter ready for school.  The 1:12 ezan reminds me to prepare lunch and the 5:07 means I can open a bottle of wine (although mildly inappropriate).  The 8:21 ezan is my Hurley Dog’s reminder for a quick walk before bed (yes he hears it and runs to the door).  The 10:08 tells me to get ready for bed and if I am awake at 3:38 it is like a lullaby to my ears I when hear the chant.

I may not be able to swim down at Manly Beach after a family Christmas banquet or go for a dip in the neighbour’s pool after a delicious BBQ but today is Wednesday so Daughter and I will go and spend some time with her Grandmother before taking my Hurley Dog for a walk through the village (maybe stopping by the butcher for a nice juicy Wednesday bone).  Today is a ‘balmy’ 17 degrees and although there has been a fresh fall of snow on the mountains behind us it is still rather pleasant for the middle of winter.

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So perhaps some might say I am being Scrooged by not having a Christmas celebration but do I miss the traffic on Christmas morning?  No.  Do I miss the potential for family drama?  Not at all.  Do I miss the commercialism of Christmas?  Bah humbug I say!  So what am I missing out on?  I’ve got The Turk and I’ve got Daughter.  I’ve got my Hurley Dog and my Kedi Cat and a bucket load of Turkish family.  Is not every day Christmas Day?

And yes as you can see Daughter did get to open a couple of little presents – even if my Hurley Dog tried to open them himself.

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So to my family and friends around the world have a wonderful day (Wednesday) and a Merry Christmas.  Enjoy the ham.

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The Little Things

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Since moving to Turkey and more particularly moving to The Village I (along with Daughter) am learning to appreciate the simple way of life and to, perhaps, disparage what we had and how we lived in Australia.  I have learnt to not complain about things that are not perfect and instead focus on the good things that we do have (unless you refer to those neighbours in which case – watch out!).

Living in Australia Daughter was always on the lookout for something new.  Shopping was a weekly event and clothes, computer games or gadgets were expected.  I was exactly the same.  Like mother, like daughter.  I used to sneak my purchases into the house so The Turk would not have a conniption, funny thing though – he would always find it no matter how well I hid things.  Bags hidden under the bed – he would find it.  Bags hidden in the garage – he would find them.  Hell he was like one of those dogs at the airport sniffing out contraband!  I could never hide anything from him and despite his terrible ability to read English he could read the credit card statement!

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Here in Karaduvar it is a little different.  Firstly we do not have two disposable incomes.  We must live on a budget and admittedly we are not doing a very good job of that.  We now need to be a little more stringent with our spending habits and that . . . well that definitely takes some getting used to!

The other reason Karaduvar is different is that our friends and neighbours do not have disposable incomes.  They work extremely hard and long hours to put food on their table and to ensure that their family and those around them are warm and happy.  I watch women arrive at the bache (farm) across the street before the sun has risen and they will work all day for approximately 30TL (AUD$15.00).   These women then return to their own homes and cook dinner for their family and, after the family have had their fill they will clean their homes until they shine.  If their neighbour needs anything they will give them theirs no questions asked even if this means they will go without. There is no jealousy, there is just caring and friendship.  Is this not what life should be about?

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I have begun to realise that I do not need all the material things that seemed necessary at home.  I look out my window where Daughter is playing with her cousins on the street with Hurley running after them.  I recall how her entire class came to check on her recently when she had a day off from school.  This would have never happened back in Sydney.

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I think our little family will be happier here with a simpler lifestyle.  Look at me – I am growing!    Who would have thunk it!

Having a Benjamin Button Moment

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“It’s a funny thing about comin’ home. Looks the same, smells the same, feels the same. You’ll realize what’s changed is you.”

Benjamin Button aka Brad Pitt aka My Second Husband

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Sidenote – I know I am referring to movies a lot at the moment.  Not sure why, have not even had time to watch television.  Bear with me.

The Turk seems to be having a Benjamin Button moment right now.  He has banged on about returning to The Village pretty much since arriving in Sydney 11 years ago but I think being home and knowing that this IS now his home is a hurdle that he is having difficulty traversing.

In the past he has visited.  His family have welcomed him with open arms.  His friends have slapped him on the back and drank cay with him at the local tea house or take him to the new club in the city and there are tears and hugs at the airport before he leaves them (yet again) to return to his life in Australia.  There was always the knowledge that he would return again in the future.

As happy as he is to be back with his family and friends he now has an opportunity to take off the rose coloured glasses and really look at where he now calls home and he has been very opinionated about its misgivings.  He can complain about the blackouts that seem to happen daily.  Thank you Benjamin Franklin.  He has complained about the water not being hot enough or the water pressure not being strong enough.  But today was my favourite.  He has had a hankering for Peking Duck.  Yep that’s right.  Peking Duck.

Now I do not want to sound like an unsupportive wife (really?) but come on sunshine – get over it!  He was born in this village (probably next door), he grew up here, went to school, made friends, loved and lost and, well, then he left, didn’t he?  He was conscripted into the army and after his service he went to Bodrum where he played around until he met me.  Holy shit!  He had no idea what he was getting himself into!  Other than fleeting visits he has not lived in this village since he was 18!  I know I am using a lot of exclamation points but this is an exclamation point kind of epiphany!!

Now I cannot help him with the Peking Duck (ewww) but I have an electrician coming today about our constant blackouts.  We have had an electric hot water service connected (how people live on solar hot water in winter is beyond me). The telephone is now operational (finally).  We’ve had satellite TV installed (because the 2000 Turkish channels that we had were apparently not the right ones).  The balcony is still under renovation (but will be finished shortly) and . . . well I am sure there are other problems that will come up but we can tackle each problem when it presents itself.

What an wonderful, sympathetic, kind, generous and hot wife I am (just go with me on this) and apparently when I sing I sound like Madonna.  I know my Second Husband aka Brad Pitt would show his appreciation.

Bad Hair Day?

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You are not the only one.  Everyone has them.  I have had one practically every day since I have arrived here.  But today is not about me.  It is about my Hurley dog. Hurley is a cross bichon / poodle.  Probably not the best designed dog for the Turkish lifestyle.  Regardless he is part of this family and is given a lot of love and affection from not just us but now his extended family here.

Here is a photo of my Hurley dog on any given day.  Looking a little shaggy, a little dishevelled and a little like he has been lost on a deserted island after a plane crashed and was chased by polar bears.  Wait!  Hold on a minute.  That is Hurley from the TV show Lost (which was who he was named after due to the fact that Daughter watches way too much television).  But they do look remarkably similar do they not?

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Before leaving on his journey to Turkey I had Hurley sent to the kuafor for a tidy up – does he not look fantastic!  A doggy day spa in Australia is a pampering for your doggy baby.  He is shampooed, mani/pedi and if you say you want an inch off all over – that is what you get!

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But in Turkey it is obviously a little bit different.

I had asked The Turkey (typo but now that it is written I think it should stay) to take Hurley for a tidy up as he spends his days running around in the mud on the roads and farms and, of course, we are having building work done so there is concrete and dust and, well, he just downright smelled!  So after some telephone calls The Turk and Hurley went to Mezitli (the “fancy” part of Mersin) for his doggy day spa. Should I have gone?  Perhaps.  Will I go next time?  For sure!

Here is my Hurley dog having a really bad hair day in all its glory.

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My beautiful boy has been butchered!  I should mention that it is getting colder as every day goes by and that of an evening it can get downright chilly.  So Hurley has now taken to jumping into bed with us and grabbing the blanket to make his own “nest” to keep warm.

I might need to buy him a jacket.

Land Down Under

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We all know the song and we sing it loudly when in a pub whether in Oz or anywhere else in the world.  If it comes on, you sing it loudly.  To an Aussie it is an anthem, to some more than Advance Australia Fair has ever been.  Back in Sydney during the 2000 Olympics I had a conversation with a bunch of tourists who were telling me how they were sick and tired of hearing Advance Australia Fair (jealously maybe).  I suggested Khe Sahn (thank you Don Walker and Cold Chisel) but they really couldn’t understand what Barney was saying let along what they unceremoniously called “caterwauling” by the lead singer!  Bastards!  During this conversation it turns out that everybody knows “Land Down Under” so it was agreed that evening at the pub that when an Aussie wins (which we did over and over again) then we would sing Land Down Under for the rest of the night!  I lost my voice!

For those of you who suddenly feel the need to sing I present –

Anyway coming from Australia I am now living in Karaduvar which is NOT the Land Down Under, it is the Land Of Confusion.  This morning my frustration with the language, with the everyday difficulties and with the sheer stupid is doing my head in!

The Turk has been here a week now, just one week.  Certainly not long enough to have made himself comfortable in his new home however within days (nay I mean hours) of arriving he has decided that our balcony is not large enough and he promptly instructed builders to start work to increase its size.  Oh and he also wants the garage changed.  Fuck!

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This morning I find myself making a butt load of cay (as part of your job as the property owner is to supply copious amounts of tea and water and anything else that the builder may desire (including extension cords and in this case a drill!).  I am listening to The Turk shout instructions to anyone who will listen and watch him feel very important.  I look out the window at the electrical wires that are mere metres from my outstretched arm.  With the balcony being widened I have suggested that these should be moved but have been told to “not touch them”.  Huh?

I cannot listen anymore.  I cannot question why they are using a jackhammer on my walkway nor why I keep losing electricity every 10 minutes (which is making this blog page interminably longer than necessary to complete).  I find it is better not to ask these questions.  I flip open my ipad and search through for a particular play list.  “Australia tunes” – there it is!  Glancing down at the list I find what I am looking for, hit play and wait for the chorus so I can sing at the top of my lungs:

“Do you come from a land down under?

Where women glow and men plunder?

Can’t you hear, can’t you hear the thunder?

You better run, you better take cover!

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/11/18/daily-prompt-confusion/

Life is a roller coaster, live it, be happy, enjoy life

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Our family has been riding an emotional rollercoaster for some time now.  As many of you know my beautiful Dad passed away last year and the heartbreak and loss that I have felt has dragged me down into an abyss of forlorn.  A few of you have pulled me aside and questioned the decision to go to Turkey was merely me running from the pain that I felt but after some soul searching I realised that I am not running away I am in fact coming home.  The Village is my home, at least it will be for now.

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So over the past few weeks I have strapped myself in and held on for the rollercoaster ride of a lifetime!

Like most rollercoaster rides it starts off pretty painlessly, and I found packing up our lives was actually the easy part (although the two box allowance blew out to about 10 boxes each!), however before too long the rollercoaster started to gain momentum and my life began to spiral out of control.  From changing schools to exporting live animals each morning brought me a new set of problems that had to be solved (and after I solved the problem it then had to be translated into Turkish). Family arguments have been of global proportions and on more than one occasion I have contemplated leaving both The Turk and my daughter in Sydney and escaping to Turkey (or anywhere) alone.  I have spent countless days running between the Turkish Consulate and various Australian departments in the puerile attempt to secure a Turkish passport for my daughter however this appears to be more elusive than a “hippogriff” and I am pretty sure that I will never see one of those either!

But rollercoasters are supposed to be fun aren’t they?  So rather than dwell on the crazy of the ride I celebrate the memories that I have created over the past few weeks.

I drank to my last day working in the best office in the world (although I imagine a few of you would not agree with that statement).  I have sung (yelled) Cold Chisel at the pub, visited my favourite haunts on the Northern Beaches and have even driven past my childhood home in Cromer bringing tears to my eyes with the memories.  I have had many farewell lunches and many more farewell evenings with wonderful friends that I will miss more than I can say.  And yes I know there are many more that I did not get to hug that one last time but I have not forgotten you and will write to each of you until we can have our next hug.

And in the blink of an eye the rollercoaster has come to a halt and it is time to leave Sydney.  Time to leave this beautiful city to begin again in the Village.

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You’re Moving Where???

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I have always detested New Years Eve.  There is such high expectation to revel with other revelers, rejoice in your tomfoolery and have oodles of casual sex as we come together as one to countdown and celebrate a new beginning.  Blah!  Yet every year I would dress up in my finery ready to revel, indulge and make general whoopee  when in fact I would rather be on my couch eating pizza and chatting to my cat about our plans for the coming year (and there would be some epic adventures involved).

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“It’s going to be the best night of your life”, THEY say.  Well who the feck are they because I have always found New Years Eve to be the suckiest night of the year.  Is “suckiest” a word?  If not, it should be.  New Years Eve always sucks balls! And New Years Eve 1999 proved to be exactly the same.

That fateful evening as we held our breath for the Y2K bug to implode our world and as Jennifer Lopez was Waiting for Tonight I was, yet again, breaking up with my “Mr Mediocre”.  Yes I am stealing the idea from S&TC but I think in this case the name given to my ex is insightful and, well, he really was  mediocre at everything that he did (nudge, nudge).  It is clear to me, probably also to you and almost certainly to a psychologist, that I still have some unresolved issues with him but Mr Mediocre is mentioned only briefly so I will now move on with the story.

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Anyway, Mr Mediocre had succeeded in letting me down for the tenth New Year in a row and I found myself sitting harbour side watching the Sydney fireworks alone – again.  Around me merry people applauded the year that had ended and rejoiced with their lovers celebrating the celebration of a new millennium.  A New Millennium!  It was kind of significant wasn’t it?  2000 years ago – or thereabouts – “a child was born”.  Obviously many children were born but this one was kind of important.  As I sat drowning my sorrows I decided that I needed to reconsider precisely what I was doing with my life as, after all, not only did I have issues regarding my relationships, I also was turning the dreaded 30 in eight days time.  Crap!

Within days I had rebounded into Mr Mediocre’s arms (like I said – issues) but had also made the fateful decision to embark on the holiday of a lifetime to find myself.  Perhaps have an epiphany that would change my life forever.  This holiday was going to be outstanding too as I had incorporated good friends with amazing destinations from the birthplace of the abovementioned significant child, camel riding to the Pyramids of Giza and a trip to Petra to re-live the final scenes from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Yes, I know that scene rocked!

Shortly before flying out my girlfriend rang from Londra and suggested a side trip to Türkiye – a chance to unwind.  “An excellent suggestion.” said I.  And by the time I arrived in Türkiye to meet my girlfriend those two weeks would be well earned as I was mentally and physically exhausted from the hieroglyphics and the craziness and the heat and well, I just needed to re-boot my system.Image

On our first night in Türkiye I met who I will forevermore call The Turk.  He suggested that we spend the day on his sailing boat.  He said that we would have a great laugh and enjoy good food and have a wonderful time swimming in the blue sea.  He promised us a day to remember.  Cheesy eh?

Well as cheesy as it was we did spent the next day enjoying his food and laughing out loud at his silly jokes.  We enjoyed swimming in the sea and it was indeed very blue, almost turquoise!  Upon arriving back to the jetty The Turk suggested meeting up again in the evening for drinks however as we had both had too much sunshine and perhaps a few too many beverages throughout the day my girlfriend and I fell asleep in our hotel room before the sun had even set over Bodrum Kalesi.  I didn’t see The Turk again before I left and frankly, didn’t really think about him either.  He was merely an anecdote when recalling my adventure to others.  (I know that my girlfriend will no doubt recall this day quite differently but I don’t really want you all to hate The Turk before you get to know him so this is the story I am going to stick to).

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I returned to Sydney in time for the 2000 Olympics and then it was New Years Eve again.  A full year!  Had I grown?  Had I learnt anything?  Did my life have new meaning?  Not really but I did, finally, end it with Mr Mediocre having finally realised that he would never mature into the man that I deserved.

Fast forward to June 2001 and I find myself with friends ready to indulge in the delight that is Türkiye once again.  Walking down the caddesi on my first night I bump into – wait for it – The Turk.  Kismet?  Destiny?  Inevitability?

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Well whatever it is I now find myself married to The Turk and we have been blessed with our one little darling, my baby, the ever wonderful, always beautiful, Daughter (who is currently morphing into an obstinate teenager) and we are ready for a new adventure.

Today surrounded by boxes we are preparing for the biggest move of our lives from Sydney, Australia to a small village on the outskirts of Mersin in Türkiye.  I don’t know how long we are going to last – could be 3 months or it could be forever.  Whatever happens I will keep you updated with my witty banter and hopefully not too much twaddle.

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