Tag Archives: culture

Looking Beyond the Wall

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I have been looking at oversized wall art or posters to install in our window when the building work is completed next door.  Here is a shot of my current view – thank you very much Vito.

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And another shot with My Kedi Cat having a pow-wow with Evil from my window.

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Originally I was just going to paint the wall, keep the blinds down and try and ignore the fact that my window that originally had a pleasant village view is now a butt ugly blight but Daughter came up with the bright idea of installing a painting there.  That seemed a little excessive (cost wise) however as an alternative we found some amazing wallpaper that looks like a photograph.  I found this photograph wallpaper of Kalkan Harbour.

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Can you imagine this installed in the window?  I think it will rock.  The Turk wants a garden setting (of course) and Daughter wants Calum Hood (sigh) but right now I think Kalkan Harbour will be perfect and honestly a happy wife means a happy life.

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Nighttime snack in Adana

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The Turk and I went to Adana recently to watch a band.  I cannot remember the name of the band, it was a pretty OK band, but for the point of this story the band is irrelevant.  As we left The Turk suggested a quick meal before we trek back to Mersin.  I nodded and pictured an Adana Kebab with all the trimmings.  Yummo.  It’s probably the Turkish equivalent to stopping by Harry’s after a big night out in Sydney.

We walked for a couple of minutes before stopping at a likely looking little Esnaf Lokanta.  It was packed.  Ever table in the lokanta was full.  There were people sitting in the gutter eating from plastic containers and people in the park across the street enjoying a little outdoor picnic.  Yes this place definitely looks good plus I was starving so when The Turk pointed out a couple leaving in the corner I raced for a seat.  I was happily perusing the menu when The Turk started to get extremely excited.  He waved over a waiter ordered me a Kebab and then ordered something I had never heard of before – Şirdan. 

Our meals were placed before us and after one glance of The Turk’s dish I literally wanted to upchuck!  I didn’t have a camera with me so I had to google to get a suitable one (thank you tour gordon).  Get a gander at this.  Şirdan is either sheep or cow stomach stuffed with meat and rice.  Cooked up in a large pot and then served with cumin and pepper it is a delicacy here in Adana.  Had The Turk looked up from his dish of repulsion he would have seen I had turned a wicked shade of green – I had had too many red wines to watch him chow down on this particular meal.  I decided to wait outside breathing in the fresh air rather than the pungent smell of cooked intestine. 

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Where is Macca’s when you need it?

God I miss bacon

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Seriously.  I was sitting at my desk this morning writing an email and I swear I could smell bacon.  Thinking about bacon right now is making me drool.  Literally drool.  God I miss bacon.

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Bacon is without doubt the best food on earth.  There are not many foods that can evoke this type of enthusiasm from me this early in the morning but bacon definitely takes this prize.  So versatile that it can be used for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  It can be eaten on its own or adding it to anything else will only enhance the original dishes flavour.  Salad?  Yep throw in some bacon.  Roasts?  Spread bacon across that bad boy sizzling away.  Sandwiches?  Burgers?  Omelettes?  What can’t bacon improve?  God I miss bacon.

I don’t miss pork.  Never a big fan.  I do love crackling though.  God I miss bacon.

Ham.  I miss ham.  I miss The Turk’s pizza.  His pizza was seriously the best pizza in Sydney.  I miss ham and God I miss bacon.

I thought I had tracked down some ham at Migros a couple of days back.  They were selling Jambon which means ham in English.  Nearly wet myself.  After examining the packet I still thought it was ham.  I got it home.  I was wrong.  It was beef ham?  WTF??  God I miss ham and God I miss bacon.

There is a piggery in Antalya I could go to.  Antalya is, I think, a 6 hour drive from here (but 30 minutes on a plane).  Would that seem excessive?  To jump on a plane to purchase bacon?  Would I bring it back as hand luggage?  Would they even let me bring it on the plane?  God I miss bacon.

I hate bacon jokes.   I hate bacon meme’s.  They are cruel.  They are everywhere.  Every time I open any social media a joke or a photo of bacon appears.  It is akin to torture for a person in my peril.  God I miss bacon.

The Turk tells me I am being overly dramatic.  Yes, yes I am.  God I miss bacon.

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What on earth has Stanley been up to now?

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He has been at it again our Stanley.  This bloody cat appears to have used up another of his dokuz lives.  I found him, yet again, hidden away meowing at the top of his lungs, this time in our bodrum (basement).  What the bloody hell is wrong with him this time?  After a quick examination I could see he has broken little cat wrist.  This has got to be the clumsiest cat in the Village!

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I know how he did it too.  You may recall my brother in law Vito is building apartments that abut our home and all the Village Kediler have been climbing on the construction to gain access to our balcony.  They come sneaking into our house at all hours sending My Hurley Dog into a frenzied state leaving him dazed and confused (particularly if it is one of the cats he intensely dislikes).  I suspect Stanley was navigating across the construction work and without a tail to balance he has toppled over the side.

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Back to the vet for him today.  The Turk is going to be pissed – again.

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Vito Corleone

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A couple of weeks back The Turk and I had to make a trip to the okul (school) to have a chat with a bully on Daughter’s behalf.  He pulls her hair and pushes her around a little.  Generally if someone pushes her she will push straight back – no issue – but since she was diagnosed with alopecia areata the hair pulling freaks her out.  She is terrified that with one yank a large chunk of hair will fall out and then “I will have no option but to kill him” is muttered in a manner that, frankly, frightens me a little.

So before Daughter is charged with pre-meditated murder The Turk and I popped down to the school to have a chat with the young man in question.  As the bell rang Daughter’s classmates came out of the classroom and, if I gauged correctly, we were expected because they all surrounded us and pushed the boy into the centre of the circle.  He stood with his head down looking terrified while being surrounded by Daughter’s classmates all whispering to each other.  The Turk spoke to him quietly, assurances were given and the boy retreated down the stairs at breakneck speed.

Bittimi?  Finished?

Nope.

It seems that all we did was escalate the problem which came to a head yesterday with the boy in question smacking Daughter in the face.  So another trip to the okul this morning was deemed necessary.

The Turk and I went in ready for battle.  The headmaster was extremely helpful, took us to the classroom and called the boy in question out where he was berated, slapped across the back of the head with a ruler (!) and sent on his way.

Bittimi?  Finished?

Nope.

The Turk and I left the school feeling pretty comfortable that any issues can be put aside from that moment.  As we stepped out of the school gate The Turk’s brother appeared.  You may recall that this particular brother in law was the one who did not invite us (or my mother in law) to his son’s going away party and has had little to do with us since we arrived however now that The Turk is here he is as nice as cream puffs so I am going to refrain from bitching about him too much.  He is also the brother in law who is building a home attached to ours causing one of our windows to be bricked up but again I am going to refrain from bitching about him too much.  And just for a little bit more background information so you can truly judge his character he is the brother in law that runs a coffee shop / gambling house in the village.  Is it legal?  Bilmiyorum.  I just don’t know.  Basically he is a bit of a gangster in my eyes.

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Brother in law has heard about Daughter’s woes and decided that he should go and talk to the school as well just in case we were not forceful enough with our language.  I kid you not when I say he stepped out of the vehicle with his jacket over his shoulders, cigarette in hand, black hair slicked back.  He was a 1920’s gangster.  He was The Godfather.  I literally started laughing at this point as I realised he intended to go to the class room and push this poor kid around a bit (apparently you can do that kind of thing here).  Daughter was going to be mortified (or she was going to enjoy it a little too much).

The Turk and I stood outside the school waiting for either the polis to arrive and arrest him or us or Daughter or the poor boy.  Brother in law re-appeared at the school gates and said, “I have taken care of your problem”.  Yes he did say that!  He’s The Godfather!

When we arrived home I went about preparing Daughter’s lunch when brother in law telephoned and requested The Turk come to the coffee shop immediately.  It seems that brother in law contacted this poor boy’s father and the father was waiting in the back room to sit down with The Turk and his brother.  The Turk is down there now.  The last thing I said to him was, “Don’t rough him up too much”.

Oh shit!  I hope he knows I was joking.

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Oh God is she talking about the weather again???

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I had no plan to blog this morning but it is pouring outside and there is no way I am putting on my gumboots and venturing into the storm so forgive me as this post has been put together in haste.  In fact feel free to pass it over completely as all I am going to do is talk about the weather.  Quick rundown.  Rain, rain, weather, flood, weather.  There.  Thanks for stopping by.

Seriously though I know I have been banging on about the weather a lot – I am going to say it again – A LOT – but I deem it necessary.  I am amazed at how little it actually did rain here, I mean considering it was winter and all.  Arriving fresh from a Sydney winter (yes it has now been 6 months and I will get to that post another time) I had nightmares of having to live through another 3 months of cold and rain.

So I did what any google-loving person would do and searched “annual rainfall” in Mersin (why have I never done this before).  It seems that I have been incredibly lucky these past few months.  It should have rained in fact it should have been a “Noah’s Ark 2.0, grab your scuba gear and pray to whatever God it is that you pray to” kind of rain so I am grateful that my first northern hemisphere winter was not the blow-fest it could have been.

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But now it is spring – yahoo – and it is raining, in fact, Mersin has had a bit of a pounding the last few days.  Daughter came home from school yesterday with the news that the water in the playground came up to her knee (today she wore gumboots to school).  I saw a couple of photos on social media sites too where Mersin’s inadequate drainage is blatantly obvious.  The photo below is from The Forum which is my usual Sunday Funday haunt.  The Forum is actually the largest shopping centre along the Mediterranean coast and one would think that when it was being built the engineers would have taken inclement weather into consideration.  Perhaps not.

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Council elections are currently underway and I expect that drainage will become an issue of contention with members of the public in fact last night the local member came to the Village for a meet and greet and was inundated with supporters.  Here are a few photos from last night.  Crazy eh?  Could you imagine that many people turning up to support your local member?

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Love Rat

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The Turk could have been a love rat, in fact, I am sure there are people that read this blog that knew The Turk before me who are nodding their heads in agreement and coming up with examples to put in my comments.  I was merely in the right place at the right time.  I have no doubt at all that he was a “playa” pre-Janey although now he is better known as a marouk (old geezer).  He likes to think he could still pull them in if he got the chance.

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Over the past few days there has been a lot of talk about Turkish Love Rats (TLR) and Love Rats in general on the social media sites that I am connected with.  I am not going to get into a debate about what is or is not a love rat.  I am merely going to tell you a story.

*names have been changed to protect my beautiful friend

Amanda met this TLR while studying at college in her home town.  They had a wonderful romance that ended when he returned to Turkey.  Over the years they lost contact, she moved on, got married, had a beautiful little girl and subsequently divorced.  She would often think about that boy that she knew all those years ago and wonder what might have been had circumstances been different.  Thanks to Facebook they re-connected and their love affair was re-kindled.  She visited him once or twice in Mersin and they fell deeply in love.  Aahh romance is wonderful.  Seni cok seviyorum.

Promises are made.  Dates are set.  She packs up her life, kisses her family goodbye, leaves her job and her friends and she and her daughter move to this wonderful country for this wonderful man.  Her daughter is happy.  She loves it here.  She is happy.  She is in love.  He, however, the TLR, has decided that he does not want to be a father to her daughter, she is in fact not the girl for him and began to see another, one a little more suitable (read that as Turkish).  His friends knew and they did not tell her but instead continued to court her as his fiancé.  His family knew but they kept it a secret and still helped her pick out a wedding dress and a venue.  This woman was duped in the worst way possible.

As I write this I wonder what his family and friends actually think of him.  Right now.  Do they think a little less of him?  Do they wonder if he is really the man that they thought, whether he may one day betray them as he did to his fiancé?  Does his mother feel embarrassed by her son’s behaviour, after all as a parent she is his teacher?  Finally, what of the other woman?  Did she know?  Did she care?  What type of person must she be?

Love rats come in all shapes and sizes.  This one did not steal money from her – although she gave up a lucrative career and packed up her life to move to Turkey – this one did something that I consider a lot worse.  He broke her.  Not just her heart – her.  A strong independent woman was kicked to the kerb for having a strong, independent mind.  She had the audacity to question his opinions or decisions and he shot her down before turning and saying, “I do not want you.  I do not want your daughter.”  He left their apartment and did not return until she had packed up her things and left.  Not left the city.  No he did not return until she left the country!

I have said to my friend on many occasions he is not worth it.  They are not worth it.  You learn and you move on.  She is happy now with a wonderful job.  Her daughter took some time to re-adjust but is also happy thriving back with her extended family.  And as for the TLR – here’s hoping someone treats him with the same disrespect that he treated my friend!

Sadly I have some other examples and perhaps in the future (and with those friend’s blessings) I will tell their stories too.  With time comes healing.

Vegetable Patch

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Wow!  Spring has definitely started to show itself around these parts.  Aside from the sensational weather my vegetable patch has finally begun to reap reward. 

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While nosing around my little bache (farm) today with The Turk I found my broccoli sprouting along with cauliflower and lettuce.  I was so excited as honestly I have never grown anything before so I was pretty keen today to start bringing in my haul but The Turk wisely pointed out they are mere babies and with patience they will be much bigger in a week or so. Patience (which I have little of) is the key when you want to harvest your crop (imagine me using the word ‘harvest’). I think the best part of this story is that everything grown is organic.  No pesticides.  No chemicals.  Does that make it organic?  I am not sure but I will say that they have got to be better for you than what I would normally buy from the supermarket in Sydney.

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My nectarine tree has flowered and hopefully will start to bare fruit.  I am currently looking into a pesticide for my fruit trees because they definitely had some nasty looking insects buzzing around them the other day and I do not want to be stung by one of those buggers.  My neighbour suggested a spray of hot pepper and detergent (well that was as close as I could translate anyway) as a deterrent to the stingers.  I going to need to investigate this a little more before I start mushing up chilli. 

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Oh and finally our chilli plants are already flowering.  The Turk has been “sexing them up” so they start baring chilli.  So excited.

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Stanley

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The Turk has disclosed his deeply guarded secret.  It seems he is a bit of an old softie at heart.  As you know since my mother in law’s passing our family has taken over feeding the Village Kedi’s.  This has been generally successful ie My Hurley Dog has only chased the cats a few times, the Turk always buys extra cat biscuits (when they are on sale) and Daughter is happy that the cats have not been discarded by the family.

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Let me introduce you to Stanley.  Named by Daughter Stanley is a personable little beggar.  Has a very distinct meow you can hear two towns over and loves nothing more than to sit on your lap (or your shoulder).  I would often open my front door to find Stanley sitting patiently by the door in the hope of a feed or a pet and he would often walk around the block with My Hurley Dog and I (at a reasonable distance as My Hurley Dog would sometimes give chase).

When Daughter and I returned from Istanbul she did her usual head count of the Village Kedi’s and Stanley was missing.  “He’s probably just out in the garden somewhere,” was my suggestion.  Another couple of days passed and Stanley was still nowhere to be found, “Dead,” I whispered to The Turk out of Daughter’s earshot.  He would shrug and change the subject, after all he is not a fan of the Village Kedi’s.

Last Saturday night we were having a BBQ at my father in law’s house.  Suddenly Daughter screamed from the street out front.  I ran out to find her bent over what appeared to be a dead cat, “Mum, it’s Stanley.  Look at his tail!”

I looked.  Gangrene.  Yikes.  Poor buggar was probably hit by a car.  Probably about a week ago.  Frankly it was a miracle that it lasted this long.  I chased all the children away and ran to get a cage but by the time I returned Stanley had disappeared.  Daughter was distraught but The Turk and I got her off to bed and went back outside to search for him to no avail.

On Tuesday night I was taking My Hurley Dog for a walk when he started going crazy at an abandoned shop.  I stopped and stared at the door (must have looked like quite the goose).  I put my ear closer and could hear that distinct little meow albeit quite weak meow that belonged to Stanley.  I ran back home and grabbed the cage and The Turk.  He broke into the shop (“it’s ok it belongs to my cousin” was his reply when I questioned his breaking and entering) and searching through the darkness he finally found Stanley cowering in the corner.

With some BBQ chicken and a miracle Stanley came over to The Turk (still walking = good sign) and we got him into a cage.  Wednesday morning The Turk took Stanley to the vet and stayed with him most of the day (because he did not want him to be alone).  Stanley was operated on and unfortunately the gangrene was pretty bad.  He lost his tail but the vet was positive with the outcome of the operation.  Stanley should recover from this ordeal a little wiser (keep away from cars) and a little lighter (well he has lost his tail).

The Turk brought Stanley home last night and we moved the walking wounded in the empty apartment downstairs along with My Hurley Dog’s bed, more BBQ chicken, water and milk.  The Turk sat with him for a while “just to make sure he is alright”.

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When I woke this morning The Turk was not beside me.  I got up and, on a hunch, scooted downstairs.  Low and behold there he was on the floor with Stanley asleep beside him.  Yep it seems The Turk is a bit of a softie despite his gruffness to most of the world.  He had better watch out.  People are going to think he is nice or something.

40 days

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Yesterday marked 40 days since the death of my mother in law.  Another tough couple of days with tears flowing freely for Refika.  She was truly a remarkable woman and loved by so many people.

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Having never attended a Turkish funeral I really had no idea what was going to happen and due to the speed in which a funeral happens here (same day) I did not even have time to gather my thoughts or ask what to expect.

Refika had been feeling under the weather for some time.  She had had heart surgery 2 years earlier however the surgery was not a success and she had never really recovered.  She was still her welcoming and wonderful self to us when we arrived although it was obvious that she was not doing as well as she could have been.  Her death, however, was a complete shock.  I certainly did not anticipate it and when The Turk received a call from the hospital at 5 am requesting that the family attend I knew, as did he, that it was not going to be good news.

By 7 am two trucks arrived with chairs, apparently this funeral was going to be attended by hundreds of aile (family) and also her many friends that she had made over the years.  I am not exaggerating when I say there was over 400 chairs delivered and set up on the street.  A portable morgue, of sorts, was then delivered and set up in the driveway.  I was told that this was where Refika would be washed by a hodja (female washer) and prepared for her journey to paradise.

At this point I started to freak out a little as people were arriving in their droves and clearly I had no idea what was going on or what was expected of me.  Those who know me know that I am not really one to show emotion but the crying, nay wailing, that had already begun was the most awful thing I think I had ever heard in my life.  Of course I had been to funerals before.  My beloved parents, extended family members and also to support my friends in their time of grief.  I have not, however, been to anything like this.

When Refika was brought home absolute bedlam broke out.  There was a lot of screaming and wailing, a lot of tears.  The grief was almost too much for me to bear and I tried to keep out of everyone’s way but before I knew it Daughter and I were brought into the portable morgue to say goodbye.  Daughter was distraught – although I let her come to my father’s funeral two years ago that was a western funeral and quite sedate in comparison – in my mind I kept wishing she had gone to school that morning as her cousins had done to protect her from the emotion and grief.

After Refika had been washed and prepared for burial the imam (leader of Islamic community) arrived and gave a prayer.  The men then took her body and placed it in a casket where it was then settled onto the back of a truck and taken to the mezarlik (cemetery) for burial.  Interestingly women are not invited to attend at the burial.  They will attend the next morning to pay their respect.

There was a constant stream of family members attending over the next seven days.  From early morning through late in the evening there was visitors coming to pay their respects.  The mourning areas were separated – one for the men and one for the ladies.  This annoyed me as the men got to sit in the sunshine while us ladies were segregated to the rear of the property in the shade (and you wonder why people kept getting sick).  Cay was constantly being served and meals were delivered by neighbours for next seven days which is the first part of the mourning period.  By this stage I began to hide as between the tears and the stress of attending on a daily basis was beginning to take its toll on me.

On the seventh day the iman re-attended at our home and gave another prayer for Refika.  This was also the day that a sheep was sacrificed and meals were prepared for all of our neighbours and fellow mourners.  This now marked the end of the official seven days of mourning.

The next date of commemoration will be the 52nd day although again I am unsure exactly what this will entail.

I am glad that we were in Turkey before Refika passed away.  I am glad that Daughter spent at least some time every day with her.  I am glad that The Turk was able to be with her in the end and I am glad that I had met and loved this wonderful women.  She will be missed by me and missed by anyone who ever met her.

Başiniz sağ olsun (Let health be on your head)