Tag Archives: culture

Ancient Wonders

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Daughter and I went walkabout last weekend and ended up about 2 hours west of Mersin in the small village of Kizkalesi.  Most of you who know Turkey or more particularly know Mersin will no doubt already know about this little spot along the Mediterranean but for those of you who are yet to visit this area Kizkalesi should definitely be on your list. kiz 3

Once out of Mersin the bus ride is enchanting was we passed through small villages, a scatterings of ruins and the never ending blue ocean.  The town itself is really nothing to write home about with its extraordinary number of pensions and holiday apartments that have built along the shoreline and on the lower slopes of Tarsus Mountains but our reason for visiting last weekend is to wonder at the majesty that is Deniz Kalesi also known as the Maiden’s Castle floating in the blue water of the Mediterranean.  Set on a small island just 400 metres off the mainland the island (The Turk tells me he used to swim over to it as a child although I call balderdash on that statement) was built sometime in the 1st century and has been rebuilt many times over the following centuries. Like most things in Turkey there is a legend that is attached to Deniz Kalesi.  It is said that a fortune teller told the King that his beautiful daughter will be poisoned by a snake.  Shocked by the fortune teller’s words, the King tries to change her fate by building a castle on an island where no snakes live.  He sends his daughter to live in the castle.  But a snake hides in a grape basket sent from the mainland and poisons the princess.  Definitely a bit of bad luck for her – maybe the King should have sent the Princess to Ireland.  Incidentally there are hundreds of little lizards on the island sending Daughter into screams of terror at every turn – so that’s definitely a bonus *sigh*. Image Daughter and I took a paddleboat over to the island (which really means I had to paddle both of us over to the island while she hung her legs into the water) to explore before returning back to the mainland (which also meant I had to paddle us both back while she complained about being cold even though it was 30 degrees and I was sweating bullets).  If you don’t want to paddle (or know that you are going to get stuck doing all the work) you can take one of the tourist boats over for 10TL. Exploring the ruins takes time and as Daughter and I had all the time in the world we enjoyed wandering around the base, climbing up and down its high walls and examining the mosaics. Image The mainland also has its fair share of ruins to explore as well and Daughter and I spent a good few hours wandering along in the sunshine traversing the ruins along the shore including Korykos Castle (above) which is directly opposite Maiden’s Castle and then a quick dolmus to Elaiussa-Sebaste (below) ruins which are only a few kilometres east of Kizkalesi.  If you have a few days you should also explore the Roman-Byzantine cities of Kanlidivane and Kanytelis also has a wonderful example of Roman necropolis. Image In summer Kizkalesi is packed, mostly with German tourists, but right now it is just a sleepy village and definitely no crowds – the beach was just pristine and it was all ours. _________________________________________________________________________ Loving this blog? Please help me build my audience and share with like minded people who, like you, love to travel and love Turkey. You can also subscribe or like me on Facebook for all updates.

Standing on the Peninsular

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For many of us Aussies a pilgrimage to Gelibolu or Gallipoli is a must do in our lifetime.  The area is steeped in history, an ancient history, a pained history and a history of heroism by the boys and men who left home yearning for adventure, ready to fight for their King and country only to lose their lives and lay buried far from home.

Looking across Gelibolu Peninsular

Looking across Gelibolu Peninsular

Daughter and I travelled to the Gallipoli peninsular a few years back and had the good fortune of being shown the area by a Turkish author whose books explored the history in a Turkish light.  Slightly different to the stories that I had grown up with but the one thing that stood out to me was the number of young men who died on both sides.  Australia lost over 8000 men at Gallipoli however there were over 18,000 Australian casualties in all.  Turkey, on the other hand, were fighting beside Russia and sent a huge contingent to protect the peninsular from the British Empire.  Over 57,000 Turkish men were killed with over 100,000 casualties.  These are some pretty daunting numbers in anyone’s books.

One of the many trenches

One of the many trenches

Visiting Gelibolu and the surrounding areas of ANZAC Cove, Lone Pine, The Nek (chilling) and all too many cemeteries was one of the most spiritual experiences of my life.  There are no words to explain my emotions sitting on the beach and looking up at those ominous cliffs.  The enormity of what these boys were sent to do is astounding and although the campaign failed in its objective of knocking the Ottoman Empire out of the war the actions of our brave soldiers gave us the Anzac legacy that we are so proud of today.

Daughter at Simpson's Grave

Daughter at Simpson’s Grave

“Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives…
You are now living in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours…
You, the mothers, who sent their sons from faraway countries wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace, after having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well.”
Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, 1934

Anzac Day

I can see why the people in Turkey give such high esteem to this man amongst men – I cannot imagine the British Prime Minister or even our own Australian Prime Minister ever being so gracious.

There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets.

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Why Are You Here?

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Daughter has fallen victim to the dreaded Grip.  It sounds quite ominous doesn’t it?  It sounds as though we need to send out a bat signal or Spider Man needs to come to her rescue but in fact the Grip is better known as simply the flu.  Yes Daughter has the flu and a little ear infection so I took her to the village doctor for a check-up and perhaps some antibiotics if deemed necessary.

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The rest of this story is not about Daughter.  She has had a day off school and is on the mend.  The rest of this story is a bit of a tantrum by me so if you are not in the mood for my drama then close the page because here we go:

Imagine a doctor’s office or a government office or a bank or a post office or, well imagine bloody well near anywhere in Mersin.  Imagine me.  Imagine The Turk.  Imagine an obnoxious Turkish doctor, government official, office worker or man on the street.  And.  Action!

“Yes we moved here from Sydney, Australia.”                                                                “Sydney, Australia?  Why would you come here?  There is nothing here.”              “We came here to give Daughter a family and for her to learn Turkish.”            “You have made a mistake.  You should go back to where you are from.”

This is the conversation that The Turk and I have had about 100 times since arriving in Mersin.  The confusion and hysteria that we imbibe from the everyday man when we say that we live here makes me want to throw something at them.  I find that it is usually the professional Turk that cannot understand our decision to move here the ones who think that they are smarter than we are.  The Doctor or Government official.  I always roll my eyes and turn away while The Turk goes into the usual speech about family, lifestyle, culture, language, blah, blah, blah.

Frankly it is none of your effing business why we have moved to Mersin, just stamp the document or give me the prescription and we will be on our way.  Yes we have moved to a small village.  Yes it is extraordinary and yes you can think it is crazy but you need to try and look at it from our side.

We lived in Sydney and believe me I love Sydney.  Best city in the best country in the world but Mersin and more specifically the Village has one things that Sydney does not.  Aile (family).  A huge family that has been so very welcoming to me and to Daughter.  Kuzlener (cousins) that want to play with her.  Kuzlener that love her (and some that do not).  Teyzer and yenge (aunts) that give her hugs when she is sad and yell at her when she is naughty.  Amcalar (uncles) that slip her 5 lira or take her to the market for icecream and a Anne and Baba who are at home when she finishes school and can spend quality time with her rather than coming home exhausted and stressed from a day’s work.

I know that not everybody can have this opportunity, it is unique to us, but when Daughter was diagnosed with Alopecia Areata I realised that something had to change.  I realised that our lifestyle, running from pillar to post, was damaging her psychologically and if ever an opportunity for a seachange came up I would jump at the chance.  Yes we could have moved to Queensland or even to a small town in rural New South Wales but all that would have achieved is that we would have alienated ourselves even more.  Moving away from friends, no I do not think this would have been the solution.

Moving to Turkey has taken a big chunk of our savings and frankly has put us under a financial strain (The Turk and I are terrible with a budget) but Daughter is blossoming from a stressed little girl who had lost most of her hair into a wonderful young lady who is doing remarkably well at school even though it is in a second language and has made some great friends along the way.

This is the right decision for our family – for now.

Seasonal Fruits

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Spring has, of course, sprung which means all the farms and gardens around the village are abundant with new, fresh and usually unknown to me fruits.

When The Turk arrived he planted trees around the garden but they are still very young and so far only our nectarine (which is a sad looking young sapling) has borne fruit.

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I have however been thieving fruit from the neighbour’s trees to taste and to introduce to you today.

The first fruit that I have never seen (or tasted) before is called as Yeni Dünya (New World) but you may know the fruit as a loquat.  There are so many trees groaning under the weight of these little beauties that I am clearly doing their owners a favour when I steal them.   I am told that you should never buy them from the market and if you cannot eat them straight from the tree don’t bother as you are wasting your time.  They do not keep well, even in the refrigerator, and can bruise very easily.  They are succulent, tangy and sweet.  Delicious.

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Another seasonal fruit in Mersin at the moment is an Erik, a super crunchy little fruit that you need to eat it now – before it ripens.  They are quite tart or sour in taste but they are very moreish.  The Turk has them with salt which I believe can soften the taste a little.  Can anyone tell me if eating unripened fruit is problematic to the digestive system?  I remember from science class (all those millennia ago) that unripened fruit is very acidic but honestly I just cannot stop eating them.  As they ripen the Erik fruit loses its zing.

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There are so many fruits currently burdening the trees and gardens around the village (mulberries, apricots, nectarines) that I now take a basket with me when I go on pilfering so that I can pick at the branches as I go by – and I am not the only one who does it as I helped an elderly lady fill a plastic bag with Kayisi  (unripened apricots) this morning.  When she had had her fill she patted my face and said “sus” which basically means keep quiet or hush.  We are now partners in crime.

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Asker

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“Every Turk is born a soldier”

This is a well known saying in Turkey however every asker (soldier) needs a little training and it is compulsory for every Turkish male between the ages of 20 and 41 to undergo military service in order to protect their homeland if deemed necessary.Image

The Turk’s nephew left for his training last November and yesterday returned home after completing his service to much fanfare and excitement.  For those of you who have been reading my blog for a while would be well aware of the family feud between Vito’s wife and the rest of the family resulting in no one from the family being invited to the nephew’s farewell shindig last year.

I debated with myself whether I should go and enjoy the frivolities or whether I should stay hidden behind my blinds and extend the feud to a new family line.  In the end I realised that ultimately I would only be doing myself an injustice festering alone in my living room as I am quite sure no one else would really care if I attended or not – plus I felt like going to a party.

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It does not matter where you are in the village when one returns from asker because you can hear the horns and the drumming heralding his return at least 5 minutes before the glorious arrival.

As soon as he sets foot on the ground the dancing begins immediately.  I find it quite strange that people just get crazy in the street but that is exactly what you do, young or old, throw out your arms and go for it in wild abandon.

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The beating of the drum and the dancing went on for some time until it stopped for the next part of the party.  The sacrifice.

I chose to take Daughter and her young cousins upstairs at this point as I just cannot fecking believe how many fecking sheep have been killed since I arrived.  I get that it’s a religious thing but for feck’s sake – enough!

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I think making the effort to attend yesterday was the right choice as last night, yet again, the shit hit the fan with The Turk losing it at the other two sisters in law that did not attend.  I wasn’t there, thankfully, as I was still at the party however when I tried to make The Turk understand their feelings, particularly taking into consideration the recent death of his mother, he put their behaviour down to being a “female thing”.  Internally I exploded at this point but again being the good Turkish housewife I chose to keep my mouth shut.

Kaboom!

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Coucous Kofte

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My next couple of posts may or may not be about food.  My sister in law has been home the last few days so I’ve been going backwards and forwards between houses drinking copious amounts of çay while watching and attempting to learn how to make a few different Turkish dishes.

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In Mersin most of the meals are simple and grain based so I’ve been cooking a lot of couscous, boreks, pirinç (rice) and the like as well as finishing off the last of the Swedish chard.  Daughter loves my sister in law’s kofte (I call them balls) made from couscous and because they are so simple I thought I would take a crack at it myself and you know what?  It really was that easy.

To start I made the couscous.  I used 3 cay cups of bulgur and 1 cup of warm water and then put it aside.  I would say that was the equivalent to 1 metric cup of coucous.

My sister in law’s recipe calls for a couple of large bunches (2) of maydanoz (parsley) and one large bunch of nane (mint).  I chopped them up quite finely and then put them aside.  I also boiled two potatoes and left them to cool.

I think the important part of the dish is the sauce.  A good serving of vegetable oil along with two soğan (onion) kimyon (cumin) for taste, and my mother in law’s chilli paste which we made last spring.  Once all are in the pot I left them to simmer for a good 15 minutes.  I added sarimsak (garlic) into my recipe (I add garlic into everything).  My sister in law was horrified but I don’t think it took away any of the flavour in fact I think it probably made it richer.

Once that sauce has simmered I add the maydanoz and nane and mix it well while it was still on the stove.  The aroma was sensational (I think it was adding the garlic).  I was feeling pretty good at this point, nothing was going to stop this from being a success.

Now it was down to mixing all the ingredients together.  It was hot and messy work and it took some time to ensure that everything did mix sufficiently well.  Once mixed I rolled them into balls and threw them on a plate. 

I had kept a small amount of the sauce aside and added some chilli powder and put it on top to finish the dish.  With a Turkish salad dinner was served. 

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To finish off this post I just want to say that my father in law (famous or infamous for hating my cooking) ate a huge plate and gave me the two thumbs up.  Progress!

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The Demise of the Horse and Cart

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One of the most unique aspects of living in the Village is knowing that the freshest of fruit and vegetables, straight from the farm, can be found just by walking out my front door.  Yes the horse and cart is a mainstay of village life here in the Village and each day I am inundated with vendor’s selling everything from fruit and vegetables and fresh milk (yes I have found a supplier) as well as being utilised to transfer firewood and charcoal, agricultural day workers, and even, on occasion, kids to and from school.  Basically, the horse and cart are an integral part of my life.

For us Turkish housewives (which I am calling myself now despite not being Turkish nor a particularly good housewife) having the vendors come to you door means that we, who are extremely busy keeping our homes spotless, working in the farms and feeding our families (none of which I am doing but I stand by my statement that I am a Turkish housewife), do not need to leave our homes to shop and everything will come past at some stage over the course of the week.  This means I get the freshest of fruit and vegetables while practicing my inadequate Turkish on the vendor.  I am a source of amusement for the vendors too as I try and purchase their goods and negotiate the price all the while trying to control My Hurley Dog who, due to the fact that he has Small Dog Syndrome, hates every animal on site that is bigger than him.  I am quite sure I am one of the highlights of their day.

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With the change of Government from CHP to MHP in Mersin one of the first laws brought in by the new Government is outlawing the horse and cart as the Government body believe that they are inhumane and outdated (and they poop everywhere).  Sure no one likes horse poop outside their front door but what happens to the horses I questioned?  Sadly (and definitely even more inhumane) many of them have been sold for food but a few others are put out to pasture to live the rest of their life peacefully after all they have worked hard every day pulling their owner’s cart through rain, hail, snow and extreme heat.

And what are out options now for daily deliveries?  This morning a small tractor pulled up outside with a cart attached with fruit and vegetables.  The vendor tells me (via a lot of hand gestures and laughter) that the cost is higher now (as I found when I purchased some muz) as he has to pay for diesel.  Also stopping by was the vendor that usually sells kitchen and household goods.  He has purchased an old motorbike with a cart on the back.  It was apparently very expensive to purchase and sadly he had to sell his old horse to pay for it.  Poor thing.

 

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Desperately Seeking Kramer

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Kramer – noun – meaning a social gathering, a group gathered for a social event , a group of persons with a common interest.  A Kramer for me is meeting up with some of my closest friends for lunch or dinner or drinks or whatever reason at all and having an absolutely wonderful time!

Today I had a 4 way texting conversation with my friends in Sydney.  What started with a bit of a giggle over social media brought me to the realisation of just how much I want to sit with my friends over a glass or three of a good red (which I certainly do not get here in Mersin) and chew the fat so to speak.  I want to listen to their stories.  I want to hear their laughter through good times and be there supporting them through their pain.  I miss my friends and I want to see them.  I miss my family and want to see them.

Don’t get me wrong I am not lonely.  I am very happy.  I spend my day’s blogging (which takes up an extraordinary amount of time) and when I am not blogging I make half assed attempts at writing my first novel, while taking the dog for a walk, visiting with neighbours, learning what is, in my opinion, the most difficult language in the world and being a wife to the Turk and mother to Daughter who is, right now, behaving like a pre-teen nightmare.  Although Turkey is definitely where I need to be right now and this experience is bringing me to where I will be in the future right now I realise just now much I miss my girls and as I frantically typed texts to them today, trying to get all my thoughts out in the space of a few moments between each text, I think about why each of these girls are so important to me.

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There is Ris – one of my oldest friends.  Do you remember the Blue Light Disco’s together (yes I am that old).  You were with me on that first infamous trip to Turkey when I met The Turk.  You was there for our first date that wasn’t a date – and our first fight.  You were so funny that night when we were running through the back streets thinking the Turk was chasing us.  I cannot wait until we can laugh the night away together.  You may not know just how much you encourage me, you keep going when I am down with your regular telephone calls and messages (I love it when the phone rings and you are on the line).  When we finished our text chat today you finished with the words “I expect to hear some kind of reference to this in your next blog janey xxx”.  Happy now Ris?

Then there is Mich – you went and got married without me.  Even though you eloped I wasn’t there for you and I feel like I have let you down and missed out on one of your most important life moments.  I want to hug you and spend time with your sweetness and your generous heart.  Do you remember when I saved you from Guilo by throwing you in my Datsun 200B and driving you home?  I drove so fast that my little 200B lifted onto 2 wheels.  How excellent was that!  No-one has your kindness or your heart.  I miss you terribly.

Finally there is Sash – married with kids she is the friend that has worked her ass off and finally the prize is within reach.  We did not speak for many years (thanks to an ex-boyfriend who definitely isn’t worth mentioning and no it is not Mr Mediocre) but I am glad that we re-connected and are a close as we are now.  When I think of you Sash I think of Flaming Lamborghini’s, the most potent drink that was available to us girls when we went dancing and to our late night dramas.  Currently studying law you have fought hard for all that you have.  You will finish it goddamn it and will finally get everything that you have ever dreamed of – for sure!

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And although not part of this texting party (she doesn’t do social networking) she still deserves a special mention – Carls is possibly one of my bestest buds.  She does so much for me although obviously she does not do any recent photos as that photo was taken 10 years ago.  She is my contact – she actually was my PA many moons ago – in Sydney.  She was my birthing partner, in fact she held Daughter before I did and she was the sponsor for The Turk when he first came to Sydney.  I can never repay her for her generosity giving me the life that I have right now (even though I may hate The Turk have the time).  The most generous, crazy so and so you would ever want to meet and who will give you more laughs than you could ever imagine.  This wonderful girl deserves all the happiness in the world.

God I miss my friends.

 Don’t hate me peeps if I haven’t mentioned you in person.  Each of you is equally important to me.  I know that when I see each of you I will laugh, cry, reminisce, listen to your stories, giggle at your expense – or at my expense – eat, drink and be merry before crying when I say goodbye again.

I cannot wait to get back to Sydney in June.  Although it is only for a fleeting moment I will take that time and treasure it in my heart.

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Turkish High Tea

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The first thing you need to know about Turkey is that Turkish people love their cay (tea).  Man or woman they have their own distinct way of enjoying a cay and whether you drink it or not you are going to learn to love it.

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The men can usually be found in a cay evi or tea house where they play cards, argue about futbol or politics and hide from their wives all the while drinking copious amounts of cay.  The women are usually too busy to spend their day in a cay evi as they have their chores around the home but once those chores are finished they can often be found getting together for a good gossip, cay and something delicious to nibble on.

On Monday I was informed that the neighbouring ladies wished to come to my house for gün.

Gün means day but it also has another meaning that you may not be so familar with. It is also the word for a home visit, where women visit one particular friend and eat pastries and drink cay. It is a very traditional custom here in the Village and it seemed it was going to be my turn next.

I kid you not when I tell you I almost shat myself at the idea.  Putting aside the fact that I don’t speak anywhere near enough Turkish to hold a social gathering I also make really crap cay.  The Turk arranged for my sister in law Songul to come and help host the get together (thankfully) so all I had to do was show up (and provide my home).

Thursday afternoon was chosen and sure enough at 1 pm my doorbell was ringing off the hook.  The Turk sensibly excused himself as soon as the first neighbour arrived and before I knew it there were 12 Turkish ladies from new mothers to a great, great grandmother arriving for cay and a good gossip.

As each lady arrived she handed over a plate of sweets or cakes and these were added to the biscuits I had purchased from the patisserie that morning along.  My kitchen was overflowing with food!

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Of course I had no idea what was going on most of the time and was so thankful that Songul was there to host the event.  I spent most of my time handing out kahve and cay, ensuring that everyone had enough to eat, giving tours of my home (as most of them had not been before and giving them something to gossip about next time they get together) and chasing My Hurley Dog away from the teyze (aunt) who was allergic to dogs.  I listened as they talked about their husbands, babies, neighbours, me, The Turk and just about anything else they could possibly gossip about.

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By 4:30 pm it was time for the ladies to be on their way as they needed to go and start dinner for their husbands, children, family, neighbour, friends, visitors, etc.  A final round of cay was drunk along with pieces of Turkish Delight before the ladies started for the door.  Lots of kisses and invites for visits before I could throw myself on the couch and process the afternoon.  It seems I now have to go and visit each of them and thank them for coming and have cay with them.  This Turkish socialising is exhausting.

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Turkish Passion

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It is with a heavy heart that I let you know that The Turk is a futbol hooligan.  Futbol or more eloquently known by us Australians as “soccer” is the primary sport in Turkey.  The Turk was ecstatic last year as our local team, Mersin, was in A League which meant of course that he could go and watch the big teams Fenerbache, Besiktas or Galatasaray.  Unfortunately for him Mersin dropped to the bottom of the table by the end of the season and fallen back to B League which brought howls from The Turk of the mistreatment done to him personally by their inability to keep above the red line.

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Since arriving The Turk has had LigTV installed and now weekends are centred on the television where The Turk can be found with his brothers and friends yelling or cheering as each situation presents itself.  The referee may be their best friend or worst enemy and each member of his team are champions amongst men or the dog shit that is currently being scraped off your shoe. 

Back in Australia I did not realise the extent of his crazy.  In Australia I did not see it but here, surrounded by his little gang he morphs into an absolute nutball.  His team, Fenerbache, is, as far as he is concerned, the closest thing to an almighty power, more amazing than the late Michael Jackson and, oh I don’t know, more sexy than Beyonce.  His behaviour is, to be honest, a little fucking crazy.  God help us, if they fell off the top of the league table, I will no doubt have to take a new name and run for the hills. 

A couple of weeks back Fenerbache played “the battle of the titans” – this was the heading in the newspaper – their most hated rival Trabzonspor.  The match was probably 30 minutes in when all hell broke loose.  Bottles, concrete (yes really concrete), smoke bombs, chairs and whatever else was lying around was thrown onto the field.  The referee had to cancel the match and awarded the 3 points to Fenerbache.  I sat watching the match with The Turk who spent the whole time screaming at the television, threatening the television (making me thankful that it is attached to the entertainment unit) and standing on the balcony yelling to his brothers (in case they were unaware of the travesty that was taking place).  Ridiculous, rabble mentality.

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Futbol really does bring the crazy out in the Turkish people – which is great to watch but perhaps not something I want to be in the middle of.

If winning isn’t everything why do they keep score?