Tag Archives: life

Sometimes being an Expat Sux!

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I can probably count the number of close friends I have had in my life on two hands.  These are the friends that I know will be there for me through thick and thin.  They are the ones with a box of tissues or a bottle of wine and they are the ones that remind me that I can have a dream and turn it into a reality and they will be right beside me to cheer me on.  These friends, these soul mates, these are the people that I miss more than anything living here in Turkey.

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Sure I have The Turk’s family.  They have welcomed me with open arms but they are not my girlfriends, the ones you tell your deepest secrets to (although I think we can all agree my life is a pretty open book – or blog).  Plus that whole pesky issue of not speaking the language makes it tough to form close bonds.

With The Turk away I have become increasingly lonely and with the Daughter at school during the day I find myself mind numbly bored.  I have come to the realisation that I must actually like him (at least a little bit).  His health scare certainly scared the shit out of me and now I am just waiting for him to get the all-clear from his doctor before he can come home.

I am told that an overwhelming sense of emptiness and loneliness is normal for an expat and the waves of loneliness comes and goes leaving you either gutted or living on a high.  Being so far away from home the onset of depression can occur suddenly, the tiniest thing will set me off and when that happens the most I can hope for is to be left alone in my blackness until clarity re-sets.  I think if I lived in a more expat friendly city I would thrive but living here in Mersin it can be an incredibly hard slog.

It is my own fault you know.  Having this blog has opened up a huge window of contacts but I squandered the opportunities that I had and did not go out of my way to cultivate friendships and relationships with people.  I was always too busy and I know how difficult it can be to form friendships.  It can be a hard slog but do you know what else I have realised?  I realised that if I don’t make the effort then nothing in my life will change.  Deep I know.

So this is what I did.  I got off my ass.  I made contact with people.  Plans were made.  Dates were set and I can happily say that I now have a great little group of friends to play with.  I have learned that I am not the only one that suffers from the blues living so far away from home.  We are all missing our family and our friends.  A support system needs to be in place for us expats.  We need to be each other’s family and to step in and be that shoulder to lean on when needed.  Coffee in Carsi?  Sure.  BBQ in Yenikoy?  Definitely.  Drinks in Viransehir?  Of course!  Also I need to be friends with someone who can get me ham and yes there is such a person here in Mersin – hello Danny Boy!

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Like I said it can bloody difficult living here.

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The Return

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Daughter and I have finally settled back in from our holiday in Australia.  Visiting Australia.  I was a visitor, a tourist if you must, visiting the place of my birth and what I have learnt from this visit?  I learnt that Sydney and Australia is a fecking beaut place to live.

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Mother nature did us a major and the weather was sensational.  It didn’t rain.  It didn’t even think about raining.  Beautiful, albeit cold, winter days.  Every day.  Fresh air.  Lush gardens.  Grass.  GRASS!  We are the only people in the Village with grass in our garden.  Grass is, of course, seen as a luxury item as everyone else utilises every inch of their land.  Deli yabanciler (crazy foreigners).

It was nice to not be on the cusp of a war zone too staying in beachside Collaroy.  Yes I gloss over Syria and its issues but Mersin is approximately 150k from the Syrian border.  We are safe obviously or I would not even think about living here but there is always an underlying threat, the knowledge I guess, that we are not too far from an area of such unrest.  Plus there is the whole Israel-Palestinian issue, the Middle East is a powder keg ready to blow and even Ukraine to the north is a mess.  Bloody hell!

Friends and family of course.  Obviously Australia wins on this front as well.  I am blessed to have some of the best friends in the world.  Friends that are always there with open arms.  What I wouldn’t do for one more boozy lunch or one more hug from my girls.  Of course this is difficult for Daughter as she has her family, her cousins that she adores, in the Village.  She has many friends in the Village but for me Sydney and Australia will win every single time.

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Speaking of boozy lunches I don’t think you can beat an Aussie Red.  Australian wines really are some of the best in the world.  I would go so far as saying that Turkish wine is swill at best and really, really expensive!

Medical care wins in Australia over Turkey as well (well duh!).  Australia has Government facilitated Medicare and even though you pay through the tooth for many things (including the dentist) visiting the doctor here is a much easier process (mainly because everyone speaks English).  So I am now drugged up for the next 12 months (my medicine cabinet is overflowing) and I have been poked and prodded and given a clean bill of health.

Shopping was a bonus too for me in Sydney.  My Rubenesque physique is now adorned in new clothes.  Oodles of new clothes.  I no longer need to wear the same jeans every single day.  My credit card did take a beating and we did have to send home 10 kilos by post but at least I now have an outfit for any occasion which is a good thing as we have at least 4 weddings to go to over the coming weeks.  Daughter’s opinion differs on this front as well as the styles in Turkey are a lot more varied and on trend.  For Daughter clothing in Turkiye is also a LOT cheaper as well.

Bacon.  Ding!  Ding!  Ding!  Winner!!!  Lots of exclamation points here.  Yes.  Bacon.  That is all.

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Sydney did have a few downsides too.  It was so damn expensive.  Food was expensive.  Clothing was expensive.  Petrol was expensive (actually petrol is expensive in Turkey too).  I guess I have had it too cushy here in Turkey with 50 kuruş for 1 kilo of tomatoes (about AU$0.25) while they were AU$4.50 in Sydney (TL9).  Plus the fresh food is not particularly fresh.  Ick!

Peak hour traffic did my head in too.  What a bloody mess.  We had a few early morning starts and fighting my way from the Northern Beaches to the City was diabolical to say the least.  It was nice to be behind the wheel again although my first few attempts at parking were a little less than successful.  Daughter likened my parking skills to a Turkish person so I really have acclimated haven’t I?

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I think I can sum Sydney up as “Real Life”.  My friends are all working.  My family are all busy (some might say too busy to find the time to see me or even call).  The cost of living is high and the stress levels are even higher.  I know that if I too were living in Sydney I would be working.  My stress levels would be off the chart (visiting my old place of work proved that beyond the shadow of a doubt) and Daughter, The Turk and I would be miserable.  Real life sux!

The Village also has another bonus (well along with The Turk).  It has My Hurley Dog.  I love My Hurley Dog.  I missed My Hurley Dog and he missed me!

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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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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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Carl Fredricksen

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I don’t know the names of many people in the village.  I give them names, names that I can remember.  Today I want to introduce you to Carl Fredricksen.  You know, the guy from Up.

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Up was one of my favourite animated movies.  Generally I am not a fan of animation.  I am probably going to be vilified here by saying I did not like The Lion King.  No I did not.  But I enjoyed Up.  I cried in Up.  This movie is a good example of western society and our treatment of the elderly.  Too many of our elderly are discarded and forgotten in our rush to continue with our own selfish lives.  I find that in Turkey, society as a whole look after their elderly as is their tradition and custom. The majority of elderly live with their family, their children or their grandchildren.  They are looked after with love as it is the family’s duty to do so however even in Turkey some elderly fall through the cracks merely because they do not have any family.

Like Carl Fredricksen my “Carl” is a lonely old man.  I have met him many times, he used to be a regular visitor at my mother in law’s home.  She told me that he had few friends and no family so she always made him feel welcome in her home.  He cannot speak.  He has no tongue.  I do not know if it was removed for a medical reason or if it was removed for other reason.  He was a toy maker by trade.  He used to make toys for the village children and his house is, apparently, filled with the toys intended for his own children however this was not meant to be as he never married.  How sad is that?

He spends his days walking through the village and I would often see him while I am on my walks with My Hurley Dog.  He would stop and pat My Hurley Dog and give me a smile and a grunt when he sees me.

Daughter always makes a point of running up to him and calling him Dede (Grandfather).  Those of you who know us personally are aware of Daughter’s abilities and one of them is her ability to be empathetic.  She has always been able to channel other people’s feelings, whether it be tears of sadness or excitement and joy.  Since moving here I have witnessed her many times see Carl from our window and run downstairs to give him a hug.  She took this photo of Carl a few weeks back and he was so very excited to see himself on the screen.  We realised that he did not have a photo of himself so Daughter is waiting until she sees him next to take another photo of him, have it printed and present it to him in a photo frame.

We only have one life, one chance.  What we do with it is up to us isn’t it?

 

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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.

Lots of Love

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Yesterday morning I woke to the most fantastic news.  My amazing friend Mich and her partner P ran away together and got married.  Congratulations to my beautiful friend.  It was at this moment I realised just how far away I am from her.  I cannot give her a hug and a kiss.  I cannot raise my glass to her and her new husband.  I cannot blubber like a baby (I always blubber like a baby at weddings).  I miss her very much.

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I have known Mich for well over a quarter of a century but this does not make me feel old.  This means that I have laughed with her, loved with her, fought with her, lived with her and travelled with her for over half of my life.  Today I miss her more than ever.

All of my friends are a long way from here.  They are all busy with their lives, family, job, commitments.  I know how lucky I am to have this experience but how I want to be in Sydney right now.  I write this blog, mostly for me but also for my friends and family who are so far away but are still with me in my heart.  It is difficult today being here.

To Mich and P, you were meant to be.  A lifetime of happiness together.

(And yes I am blubbering right now).

Mamma Under The Shirley Valentine

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When I used to imagine my life in Turkey I likened it to a mixture of Under the Tuscan Sun and Shirley Valentine with maybe a bit of Mamma Mia thrown in.  I would have the provincial life of living in a small village in Turkey, interacting with the locals, learning the customs, massacring the language, singing Abba songs and all the while making passionate love in the Adriatic Sea with my very own Costas (The Turk).

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I realise that Turkey will never be Florence.  I am not walking through those lush fields of green or staring in awe at the beautiful buildings all the while eating delicious Italian food.  No I am wearing my gumboots while navigating muddy puddles while passing by dilapidated houses (old yes but not provincial).  I accept that Turkey will never be Italy nor with The Turk ever be Costas (and would be mortified if I suggested making love on the beach).  I do sing, especially after a few glasses of red, but I highly doubt I would sing an Abba song.

So instead of being Under the Shirley Valentine I need to make it my own story which is full of love, family and joy.  Years ago I attempted to write my autobiography for a writing course.  It was called “Memoirs of a Drama Queen” but that isn’t really who I am now.  I had excessive drama during my twenties, mainly caused by my Mr Mediocre although he is now a distant memory *cough cough*.  I am, however, enjoying the blogging.  It helps me analyse my thoughts and I appreciate the feedback that I have received over the past few months.  I often think my blabbing on about personal things to the world is oversharing to a completely unacceptable degree but then it becomes more of the case of “fuck it”.  I think I am humorous, sometimes, and I think I can be empathetic, sometimes.  I hope my stories are interesting and, on the occasion that I become opinionated, please take that opinion with a grain of salt.

I have a wonderful friend back home in Australia who rings me every couple of weeks and we chat about this and that.  She does, however, give me enough encouragement to continue to write.  She said that I should imagine that it is just her reading the blog – that I am writing just to her.  So to her I continue to write.  My daily happenings.  The silliness.  The sadness.  And the occasional rant.

I miss you my friend and hope that we chat again soon.

Forgotten Anniversary

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Lying in bed last night I was going over the day’s activities in my head when I realised the date.  2 February.  Crap!  The Turk and I were married 11 years ago today.  The fact that we are still married in itself is a miracle as I have wanted to divorce him or murder him or perhaps break one of his appendages at least once a week since 2 February 2003.  But the more important issue at hand is that both The Turk and I have forgotten our wedding anniversary yet again!

It really should not be that hard to remember an anniversary should it?  After all it happens yearly, that’s the point.  But without fail either I would forget (and am usually reminded by the Accountant at my office who is excellent with dates) or he would forget (maybe it is a cultural thing because anniversaries and birthdays do not seem to be particularly important to anyone in his family) but the fact of the matter is this time we both forgot.

I nudged The Turk a few times until he woke up, “It’s our wedding anniversary today.”

“Huh?”

“2 February.  It’s our wedding anniversary.”

He rolled over and looked at the time on his clock, “It’s after midnight.  Not 2 February anymore.”

And promptly fell back asleep.

A normal wife would probably have exploded or pulled out a voodoo doll with their husband’s DNA attached at this point but I am not a normal wife.  He’s right.  It’s not important.  I have never been one to remember anyway after all I always relied on Bez from the office to remind me (Bez why didn’t you remind me?!).

This morning I woke up and, remembering that I had forgotten my wedding anniversary (huh?), I set forth to make brunch for The Turk and Daughter.  The Turk had already left to go and help his brother deliver maydanoz (parsley) so I had plenty of time to prepare.  Daughter was happy – pancakes are always welcome for a breakfast treat.

10:00 am and my feast is ready to be consumed when there was a knock on the door.

“Kim o?” Who is it?

Unknown Turkish voice came from the other side of the door giving me a nonsensical Turkish reply.  Why do I bother asking?

I opened the door to discover a huge man standing in the doorway.  This man was seriously as large as the door itself wearing all black including a big, black, bushy beard.  He was no doubt a murderer or a terrorist or, well, I just did not have a clue but he scared the shit out of me!  I stepped backwards at the sight of him but then focused on what he was holding in his arms.  2 dozen perfect blue roses.  Blue roses!  I do not think I have ever seen a blue rose before!  The giant pushed the roses to me grunting some more nonsensical Turkish words at me and then disappeared down the stairs.  Daughter began squealing and jumping around and I was stood at the front door dumbfounded.

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By the time The Turk arrived home fifteen minutes later I had managed to regain my composure and locate/borrow enough vases to arrange my beautiful blue roses around our home.

“Darling.  Did you get my present?  Seni cok seviyorum.  And do you want to know the best part?”

“What?”

“They only cost 20 lira!”

Daughter threw the book that she was reading at The Turk, “Daddy!  Shhh!  How unromantic!  Jeeze!”

That’s my husband – always on the lookout for a bargain.  Happy (belated) Anniversary anyway.

Failing Religion

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It is now school holidays in Turkey which means that Daughter has survived her first term in the Turkish village school.  She has survived classes where no one speaks her language.  She has navigated the social minefields of school life and made friends with kids and teachers alike.  She has gotten in trouble for talking in class, picked a fight to protect a friend and even got called into the principal’s office on one occasion.  She has also received her first Ilkogretim Orgenci Karnesi.  Her Elementary Student Report Card.

How did Daughter do?

You have probably already guessed that I am not only of those mother’s who brag about how wonderful and talented and amazing their child is.  I would rather call a spade a spade.  I will merely say that for a kid who four months ago was coasting along in a suburban school in Sydney she did pretty well.  She got a Certificate for passing the term (which is a good thing apparently).  She received 4’s and 5’s for most subjects (highest is a 5).  She got a 4 in Turkce which is pretty good considering it is not her first language.  The only subject she got a “2” in is Din Kulturu ve anlak bilgisi also known as “Religion”.

Long ago I made the decision to allow Daughter to choose her own religion when she was old enough to make an informed determination.  It is not to me as the parent to force something as important as spirituality on my child.  I always gave her the information when requested.  I took her to Sunday school classes at our local church, arranged for her to meet other Muslim families in our area and even enrolled her in Buddhism classes at Bondi.  We often attended the Hari Krishna Centre at North Sydney (best vegetarian samosa’s around) and I even explained the religion of Jedism (alright so perhaps I made her watch Star Wars with me).  I gave her the tools to learn about spirituality in her own way – and she has.  This is why a double lesson of Din must send her closer to the edge and also explains why she hates her Friday’s so much.

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I have, however, made one suggestion to her –

“Please do not argue with the Din Ogretmeni (Religion Teacher) again about Islam as this causes him to go red in the face and gesticulate in a manner that made your father laugh and made me flinch.  It also means that we do not need to make another trip up to the Principal’s Office on your behalf.  Thank you.”