Tag Archives: love

Weddings and Funerals

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In my pre-village life I could count the number of weddings that I had been to on one hand (including my own).  I could also count the number of funerals that I had been to on my other hand (including both of my parents).  Now since our move to Türkiye our life is inundated with them both and honestly, enough is enough!

wedding

Thankfully this year’s düğün (wedding) season has started to slow now that we have moved into autumn although I did come home to find yet another invitation on my door step yesterday afternoon.  This one is for The Turk’s second cousin’s daughter (for feck’s sake), yet another person that I have never met in my entire life.  That’s fine although as the yabancı I am usually dragged around the room like a trophy.  Between you and me I think having the yabancı at your wedding is a sign that you have really made it.  A yabancı is a real drawcard.  Regardless a Turkish wedding reception is great fun, whether you know the wedding party or not and usually the whole village turns out for the event.

Here in the village it is not uncommon for a wedding to go for two or three days not including the nikah.  There is the kina gecesi (bridal henna party) where all the bride’s female family members, friends and neighbours get together on the night before the wedding to paint the thick ochre paste on her hands and feet.  Then you have the traditional village reception usually held in the school grounds or on the bride’s street where jeans and t-shirts are acceptable attire and, finally if finances allow, the salon reception where you will find yourself dressed up like a starlet on Oscar night with more sparkle, makeup and hairspray than you thought you could wear in a lifetime.  The latter two nights are jammed packed with earth rattling Turkish müzik coupled with pounding drums, all night dancing, fireworks and tribal yelling  – after all the more noise you make, the happier you are.  The only downside to a Turkish wedding is they are generally alcohol free.  The Turk and I have taken to hiding the little baby bottles of Angora and an opener in my Fossil handbag so if you ever see me lugging around a huge handbag at a wedding don’t shake it too much.  Desperate measures people.

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Although most of the weddings are out of the way for the season a cenaze (funeral) can happen at any time of year; actually here in the Village they seem to happen all the time.  The first funeral I attended here was for my mother in law.  It was heartbreaking.  Since then, however, I seem to find myself constantly attending funerals from people in the village, again usually people that I have never met.  Of course I have to attend.  It is respectful to be seen by the side of The Turk at these events however personally I find funerals highly emotional and, even though I may not have known the person, I hide behind huge sunglasses teary eyed.  A funeral will also go on for days (7 days to be exact) and it is necessary to attend every single day, drink copious amounts of çay and, in my case anyway, burst into tears at every prayer.  Sadly I now know there is a funeral even before The Turk can open his mouth because I spot the dark blue jacket neatly hung over a chair ready to be slipped on.  At that point I usually blurt out, “Oh no!  Who’s died now!” because the dark blue jacket is his funeral jacket.

I’ve got to tell you, you run the whole gauntlet of emotions living here in the Village from the excitement of an over the top wedding, the comedy of a ridiculous family feud or the emotions of a neighbour’s death.  Even with all the drama that goes on around me I am incredibly happy with my life as it is right now – and I wouldn’t change it for the world.

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The One Where Everyone Finds Out

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I had been sitting on this post for a few weeks now.  I had to ensure that there was no potential to offend the family with this one.  After all I seem to offend everyone at every opportunity *waves hello to the Powers That Be*.

I hope you find it as amusing as I did … at the time.  Now it’s just old news.

aria shhh

So anyway … The family had been keeping a secret.  Oh I knew all about the secret but because it was a secret I kept it a secret.  I mean I still told my yabancı friends here in Mersin all about the secret and we giggled about the potential fallout but I kept it from you guys didn’t I?  I did not make it public because it was, after all, a secret.

But the secret is now public and it was monumental!  Families ripped apart.  Friendships destroyed.  Worlds colliding!  Not really, but whatever.

You’re chomping at the bit now aren’t you?  Tell us Janey!  What is the secret?

Well … you might recall this post I wrote about a year ago now about young love in the Village.  A bit of a Romeo and Juliet type sitch.  True love, blah blah blah denied to them by their heartless parents.  After a lot of tears and a lot of threats Romeo and Juliet finally got their parent’s blessing and they ran off and had their nikah.

For the uninitiated a nikah is a ceremony between the bride and groom and is performed before a state appointed bureaucrat or sometimes a religious leader.  It is a very simple ceremony.  No more than 10 minutes in total and then you are legally married.

Anyway the nikah took place and everyone was happy, everyone was in love.  Romeo returned to his family home and the Juliet to hers as is the custom here in the Village.  The wedding party (reception) would take place a few weeks later and at that time the newlyweds will live as husband and wife.

A few days after the nikah Juliet arrived to prepare their home.  They built right next door to us – and when I say right next door I mean RIGHT NEXT DOOR.  Their building is flat against our building – see my thoughts on this particular crapfest here.  God only knows what approvals (if any) were gotten for this building but it does again beg the question why were we fined for building a second storey when they (and fecking everyone else around us) have obviously built without approval.  OK I am getting a little off track here.

The newlyweds borrowed our car (yes we are officially known as a hire car/taksi service for half of the fecking Village) so they could go and purchase cleaning supplies.  When they returned a mere FIVE hours later (!!!) she was screaming.  She was crying.  She was calling him every name under the sun.  Senden nefret ediyorum!  I hate you.  I hate your mother. I hate your father.  I hate the world.  The wedding is off!

Hold on a minute.  The wedding has already happened hasn’t it?  Ugh why is everything so confusing in Türkiye?

She disappeared into the sunset and has yet to return BUT the family kept it a secret.  In fact they still handed out wedding invitations in the hope that she would come to her senses.   Romeo arrived on her doorstep and begged her to go through with the wedding.  Nope.  Vito arrived on her doorstep and begged her to go through with the wedding.  No way Jose!  Juliet was standing her ground and, to be honest, I was impressed that she held out when many others would have caved.  She cannot marry him.  She does not love him and, frankly, she hates Vito’s wife with the passion of a thousand fiery suns (at this point she got some brownie points from The Turk because he hates her too).

A few days later Juliet updated her Facebook status to single.  This shit is serious.  Social media serious!

But the family still continued with the farce of the wedding proceeding.  They went and paid for the wedding salon and for the DJ.  All was well.  The secret was still a secret.  There was a LOT of whispering in the village of course – gossip is pure gold to these people – but still the family forged ahead with the secret until the very end because that’s what families do.

Until the incident.  Yes there was an incident and it will probably not surprise you that The Turk is smack in the middle of it all.

For those of you who live in Türkiye you all would have been to the party where the furniture is delivered to the newlywed’s home.  It’s probably got an official name to the party but I dunno what it is.  It usually takes place a few days before the wedding and gives everyone a chance to bring presents and help them set up.  This is a huge deal in the Village and the neighbours all began to question when this was going to take place, after all the wedding party was on the weekend.  At this point I said to The Turk that they may as well come clean and get on with it.  The wedding is obviously not going to take place.  Hayir!  There is still a chance of reconciliation.  I rolled my eyes.  Ain’t gonna happen!

Three nights before the wedding date Juliet’s father and other various family members arrived outside with a large truck full of furniture that Vito had purchased for the newlyweds and unceremoniously deposited said furniture onto the driveway!  Well didn’t the shit hit the fan at this point!  All of the men in our family ran outside ready to fight (including The Turk who had had a few drinks and was feeling a little feisty).  About now Sensible Janey says,  “Go and stop this before someone gets hurt” but Fun Janey says “Relax.  Grab a bira and let’s watch the show.”  I went with the latter and in fact invited my sister in law to come up and watch with us from the terrace.

The outsiders

I just need to paint this picture for you.  Do you remember the rumble scene from The Outsiders. You know between the Greasers and the Socs. In the rain.  Patrick Swayze in a wet t-shirt?  Rob Lowe who seriously never ages?  Tom Cruise before he got his teeth (and his nose) fixed?  It was dramatic and very, very hot wasn’t it?  This was NOT that.  This was two groups of middle aged men, none of whom resembled Patrick Swayze or Tom Cruise, and all of them who, frankly, should know better.  We have The Turk who, of course, recently had heart surgery.  We have Vito who back in March fell down some stairs (while drunk) and ended up nearly breaking his back.  We have the older, slightly balding, brother who feels that negotiation is the key to any argument (although he is not very good at it) and we have the younger brother who, although I love him dearly, really is a bit of a simpleton.  Along with these four middle aged dumb asses we have Romeo and his brother.  On the other side of this tense situation was a truck, a load of furniture and four very much middle aged men.  Similarly these men would never be confused for Patrick Swayze or Tom Cruise and no doubt their own medical histories, but these four men were surly and grim, and oh so ready to protect their daughter/niece/cousin’s honour, if necessary.

SIL, Daughter and I took our seats on the terrace just in time to witness The Turk grab one of the surly, grim visitors by the face and physically push him away.  Yikes!  I know I should probably have run downstairs and pull the leash on The Turk’s behaviour but I knew better than to get involved.  Keep the feck away and get ready for the fallout!

The neighbours all started to arrive because The Turk’s foul temper is legendary and no doubt this was going to be some great entertainment for all.  There was a lot of yelling and hand gesturing.  There was the occasional jostling; a hell of a lot of swearing and “he said, she said” but by the end of it all the secret was no longer a secret and the wedding was officially canned.

Two weeks have now passed since the secret came out and Romeo doesn’t seem too distraught by the break up (although he does update his Facebook status with some very deep, quite disturbing statements).  He has already replaced Juliet with a newer model (who apparently is, in fact, a model) so kudos to him.  Juliet has been seen out and about (although she will no doubt never set foot anywhere near this place again).  The Turk sheepishly went to visit Juliet’s family and apologised for his unruly behaviour and the gossiping ladies of the Village have more than enough to keep them busy for the next few weeks.

I still bring up The Turk’s unruliness at any opportunity and he still tells me to get fecked regularly.  So all is good in the world.

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10 Things I Hate About The Turk

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Those of you who follow my blog will know that The Turk has been in Australia for a little over 3 months now.  His original plan of holidays and fun times down in Oz turned into a medical emergency and him being stuck in Australia until the Cardiologist gave him the all clear which, fortunately or unfortunately depending how you look at things, he got last Monday.  This means … yikes … he’s coming back in a few days!

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I have enjoyed my single life immensely over the past few months.  I have enjoyed not sharing my bed (and the earth trembling snoring).  I have enjoyed ignoring the housework (as a good Turkish housewife should).  I have enjoyed my nights out without him and I have enjoyed my nights in without him.

I now realise that I will not only have to return to a life shared with him I also get to experience his crazy ass, typically Turkish, male antics again and so, in celebration of The Turk’s forthcoming return, I give you  – 10 things I hate about The Turk:

  • His Big Fat Turkish Ego! I think this one covers everything else on the list but his ego is the largest thing about him *nudge, nudge*.  He knows everything.  He can do anything.  He spends more time in front of the mirror than I ever have and he is the total male package.  I am sooo lucky.  He tells me so every, single day!
  • His Turkish Compass. Being Turkish and a male (or maybe just male) he will never get lost.  It is unheard of.  Impossible!  Rubbish!  And yet despite this unique ability that is akin to a superpower he can never find his kimlik.  Or his mobile.  Or his bloody wallet.  He is like a Tyrannosaurus Rex – can’t see the shit right in front of him!
  • His love of stomach turning Turkish food. Ick!  Eep!  Yikes!  With The Turk returning he will bring with him the insane need to cook sheep’s head or brain or liver or kidney or tripe.  I just vomited into my mouth.
  • His ability to act like a four year old boy. Like all Turkish men when it comes to a confrontation with their wife, The Turk will run away with his tail between his legs. He will disappear for hours on end and turn his telephone off.  All this achieves is that I want to inflict permanent damage on his measly ass!  I blame his mother.
  • His coping mechanism. Due to his recent illness I will probably let this one go but it is still worth a mention.  When The Turk comes down with man-flu his ability to operate heavy machinery or even the television remote becomes non-existent.  The world, quite rightfully, comes to an end.  Full body aching or even a simple sniffle means that he has been struck down with nothing short of Ebola.  During this period of marriage I can usually be found yelling, “Just die already” but I guess I shouldn’t do that one anymore.  I am going to need a new catch phrase.
  • His penis. The Turk loves his ding-a-ling and re-arranges said ding-a-ling at least 500 times an hour. Just leave it alone for Christ’s sake. You don’t see me touching my boobs every few seconds.
  • His penis – take two! The Turk always has sex on his mind.  All the time.  He is so freakishly obsessed with it. Will he never get bored of being horny? And why is everything related to sex?!?!  When he rang to tell me he could fly his actual words were, “The doctor said I can have sex again … oh and I can fly home as well”.  *Sigh*
  • His ability to lie. To my face.  He does it all the time.  “Darling you sing like Madonna”.  “Darling no that does not make you look enormous” or what about the “I’ll be home in 5 minutes”.  The last one is the worst.  A Turkish 5 minutes could be 5 hours, hell it could be 5 days!  Shit just ain’t true!
  • His ability to help … others. It does not matter what needs to be done The Turk is there for you.  Your neighbour’s cousin’s, aunt is moving home?  Of course The Turk will singlehandedly carry her ugly Turkish furniture down 4 flights of stairs!  A problem with your toilet?  Bob the Builder ain’t got nothing on The Turk.  A nuclear reactor in meltdown?  The Turk is all over it but God forbid if I need a light bulb changed in the stairwell!  He is AWOL.  It’s never going to happen.
  • Not only he is always right – did I mention at any stage that he is a genius – his family is also always right. His brother is always right (did you see how I highlighted that?  Can you feel the tension?).  His sister is always right.  Everyone is always right except for me.  Even if I had made the suggestion two minutes earlier it is not right unless it has been said by a family member.  Aarrghhhh!?!?

Bonus reason:

  • The inevitable reverse culture shock that will hit The Turk as soon as he sets down his suitcase. I lived through it last year, hell I blogged through it last year! He will be grumpy.  He will no doubt sulk.  He will yell it to the world, “Coming back here was a huge mistake and we should move back to Oz as soon as possible”.  This line of behaviour will carry on for a few weeks until, like a puppy, he settles into his new home albeit with a few pee puddles along the way.

He does have his good points too you know.  I don’t know what they are right now but I am sure they will come clear once he has returned home – and tidied the house.

On reflection I realise that my “10 things” would not be limited to my Turk or to Turkish men in general but wow(!) I feel like a huge weight has just been lifted off my shoulder!  Now it’s your turn.  Spill the beans people, it’s cathartic.  What annoys you about your lesser half?

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Too Different

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I’ve talked before about holiday romances, Turkish men and the heartache that they can cause.  In fact my Love Rat post was, and still is, the post with the most views since I began this little blog.  I want to declare right here, right now, men are just men.  They are not from Mars.  They are not made up any differently to us they just have an extra chromosome (and an extra rib).  To put it simply: there are some good ones and there are some bad ones.  They can be your best friend but they can just as easily break your heart.

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With summer now at an end the Turkish forums are full of love rats and stories of woe.  Yes there are love rats here in Turkey but they are also located in France, Italy, the US, Australia – hell they are everywhere!  But this story is about my friend Evie who knows I am writing this.  She wants people to read it, to not make the same mistakes.  She has/had a love rat and and that love rat that just so happened to be … Turkish.

I met Evelyn (Evie) at a shopping centre here in Mersin about 6 months ago.  She had moved here from northern England to be with her handsome and *cough, cough* somewhat slightly younger man that she met whilst holidaying in Antalya in June last year.  After many emails, Skype dates and telephone calls Evie packed up her life and moved to Mersin.

It has not been easy for Evie.  She did not speak Turkish at all (I feel her pain).  She could not work as she did not have the right visa and she found it incredibly difficult to make friends here.  I totally related with her after all Mersin is definitely no tourist destination and expats are as scares as hen’s teeth.  As we were both in the same boat Evie and I quickly developed a close friendship and she became a frequent visitor to our home here in the Village and I at her home in Pozcu.  Her fiancé, Mehmet (name has been changed to protect the not so innocent), seemed nice enough I guess.  Definitely younger and it was clear to me that perhaps the infatuation did not run as deep as it did for Evie.  It certainly made for a difficult visit when she brought him over one night before The Turk left for Australia as The Turk is quite intuitive and could see right away that Mehmet was not deeply in love.  In fact when they went outside to smoke on our terrace their conversation that began in low voices quickly escalated loudly enough for me to go out and investigate.  Needless to say The Turk was not impressed with Mehmet.

Two nights ago Evi arrived on my doorstep unannounced.  It was pretty crazy at our house with The Turk having taken ill back in Sydney but Evi needed my help NOW!  Mehmet had gone.  Where?  She did not know.  All of his personal effects were gone, most of the furniture was gone and the rent had not been paid on their apartment for the past two months.  She had left that morning to go to the shops at Mehmet’s suggestion.  She had been gone no more than 3 hours.  How is this possible?  She was bereft.  Her heart was broken.

Right now I am steaming mad.  I am mad at myself for not saying something to Evie when I first had doubts.  I am devastated that my friend has had to find out that the man that she loved was not who he seemed and that the love that she thought they had meant little or perhaps nothing at all to him.  Evie was planning her wedding and Mehmet was planning his escape.

Over breakfast this morning she asked, “How could I not see him for who he was?”

It’s simple.  L.O.V.E.  We’ve all been there.  You meet someone.  He sweeps you off his feet with the romance that has been missing in your life.  Walks along the beach.  Whispering sweet nothings in your ear.  The best sex you have ever had!  Oh yeah!  Seni cok seviyorum.  I used to laugh at The Turk when he threw “I love you” at me every 5 minutes when we first got together.  But he still managed to cast his spell and I was smitten.

Two different cultures, two different countries.  Just too different.

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Kedilar Update

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Owning a pet in Turkey has just become considerably more difficult thanks to new laws that have recently come into effect.  Before you can purchase an animal you are now required to undergo training on how to look after the animal and also prove that you have suitable accommodation and means to look after your new addition before the final sale can proceed.  Oh the law also says that if you have sex with an animal you go to gaol.  Fair call.

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I love the idea of this law however I cannot imagine the difficulty in policing the law (the training before purchase law not the sex law although I expect the sex law would be difficult to police also unless you were caught in the act so to speak).  Anyone who has been to Turkey is well aware of the number of strays that roam the streets in any city or town and frankly pet food is so expensive I cannot imagine the average family being able to afford the weekly food bill for their pet (I often baulk when I see the cost of Whiskers or Pal here in Mersin).

In the Village there is a huge number of stray cats, in fact I am starting to think that people are depositing their strays at our house knowing that they will be fed as the number of kittens just seems to keep growing.  The Turk is literally having a breakdown every time he does a head count.   We have taken 4 females so far to the vet to be de-sexed but with the addition of at least 8 kittens in the garden and general vicinity I expect we will need to make a few more trips before all the females are sorted.  The vet that we have been using has been incredibly generous with his time.  He originally saw Stanley when he broke his tail and again when he broke his leg *sigh* plus the 4 females being fixed and a handful of kittens for shots.  I asked him if he could try and find good homes for the kittens but alas he cannot as the new laws make it too difficult for anyone to purchase an animal through the “usual means”.  Of course this means that the black market trade will begin to boom for animals trafficking which is incredibly sad to say as there is absolutely no control over this.

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There are also a large number of stray dogs (sometimes 5-10 strays) who seem to congregate in the maydanoz (parsley) across the street each morning.  This little gang of four legged friends meet just before dawn and frolic together for a good 30-40 minutes before returning to their respective homes, parks, beach or wherever it is that these dogs live during the day.  My Hurley Dog goes crazy when he sees them but I am unsure whether he wants to join in or kill them all (Small Dog Syndrome and all that).  There are a few good souls that feed the dogs but dog strays do not seem to last very long around here.  I don’t know whether they move on or pass away but there seems to be a large turnover in the stray dogs around the village.

We feed the cats each evening a concoction which I have christened the “Kedi Mix”.  It contains our left over dinner (and possibly our neighbour’s left overs as well) along with cat biscuits and the odd sachet of cat meat.  If The Turk is feeling generous he will go to the fish markets and purchase a kilo of their cheapest fish for 1-2TL.  This “Kedi-Mix” usually lasts a couple of days before we need to make more.

The Turk with his "Kedi Mix"

The Turk with his “Kedi Mix”

With Daughter and I leaving in two weeks The Turk will continue to look after the Village Kedi’s including my favourite stray “Evil” and her baby “Baby Evil”.  Evil is My Kedi Cat’s BFF and has been living in the stairwell with her baby but last night she moved out and they have now taken up residence in the chilli plants in our garden.

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Baby Evil is still incredibly tiny but seems healthy enough.  She is starting to play and toddle around but is very unsteady on her feet.  Hopefully when we return she will be running around with the other kittens and strong enough to survive on her own.

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Introducing The Turk

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He is part adult, part baby.  He is emotional, overly emotional, passionately emotional.  He can be selfish.  He is stubborn.  He smokes.  He drinks too much.  He is a terrible driver.  He is argumentative.  He is dedicated to his family – too much so.  His crazy antics are the reason why the grey hairs on my now blonde head appear more often than they ought.  Only him.

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On a good day he is an acceptable human being.  He likes to clean.  He likes to cook.  He likes me.  On a good day.

On a bad day it is clear that I have upset the Gods and they have sent this demon monster to me as punishment for my wrongdoing.  My mother in law had a ‘whacking stick’ that she used on the stray cats if they made their way a little too close to the front door of her house.  I had also seen her use her ‘whacking stick’ on both The Turk and his brothers more than one.  I have decided I need a ‘whacking stick’.  I will keep it next to the front door where I keep the slippers for visitors.  If The Turk gets a little out of control I can grab my ‘whacking stick’ and wield it around like a big ass shiny sword.

In case you are wondering my Dad actually did like The Turk.  Not at first.  Not when you get his only daughter “knocked up” but he came around eventually.  He didn’t love him but he liked him all the same.  He said we were “well matched” and “both as ridiculous as each other”.  There you have it.

Daughter has another ear infection.  Her own fault.  She runs around in mid riff tops and cut off shorts most of the time and she will not take the medicine prescribed by the Doctor.  Last night she was very, very sick.  Ear aches.  Stomach aches.  You name it, she was suffering from it.  The Turk aka the most childish, spoilt, overly emotional pain in my ass that every existed spent the night sitting next to Daughter’s bed.  If the blankets were pushed off he put them back on.  Is it too hot?  He adjusted the air con (incidentally it is too bloody hot).  When she woke uneasily after a disjointed dream he shushed her back to sleep.  He offered to sing to her at one point but I heard her shout “NO”, we only need one rock star in the family after all.

I still need a whacking stick but perhaps I will not need to use one today.  Not today.

I Am Switzerland

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It has come to my attention that my sisters in law are constantly in-fighting and I, being the newest addition to the clan, am Switzerland, always trying to broker peace between the warring parties (which is incredibly difficult to do when you do not speak Turkish).

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The battle is a 2 on 1 and every time I walk into anyone’s home I get a rundown of the most recent wrong that had been brought to pass.

Since Vito’s son’s return from the army Vito’s wife (The Onion) has been popping in with plates of food or inviting me down for cay or kahve.  This is a complete turnaround from her behaviour over the past 9 months and I put it down to me making that effort to attend at her son’s welcome home party.  As the cold war has been defrosted slightly I have decided to take this change of attitude in my stride and establish my role in this family as a NATO peacekeeper (which will be an incredibly difficult task believe me).

My first assignment as official conciliator took place on Sunday night.  Songul invited the family over for mangal (BBQ(.  Let me explain – Songul invited this family (The Turk, Daughter and I) and the upstairs sister in law and her family.  This also means that The Onion was and her family were NOT invited.  I suggested that we invite The Onion to dinner but I was shot down.  I explained with my limited vocabulary that it would be the right thing to do and, when this did not work, I said that if she invited The Onion and she said no then Songul was the bigger person and looked like she had made an effort.  Her eyes lit up at the thought of having one up on The Onion but still pride got the better of her so I took the initiative and sent Daughter down with an invite anyway.  The Onion did, as expected, say no to the invite which, of course, made Songul exceptionally happy.

I do understand there are hurt feelings on all sides, I really do, but I also would not want to go through life with such anger towards another person.  The Onion was, of course, incredibly angry at The Turk’s mother for butting in her intended marriage (you can read more about that incident here) and yes I can sympathize with the other sisters having such acrimony with The Onion’s behaviour over the past years.  I just wonder if it isn’t time to bury the hatchet, put aside any old grudge and just get on with it.

Incidentally last night The Onion and her son (who I have decided for the future to call Capt. Awesome) came to our house for drinks and nibblies while Songul was over.  Yep, this has never happened before either.  I am definitely Switzerland.

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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?

Don’t get shot!

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I am embarrassed to say this but Daughter is nearly 12 and never had a bike.  Living in North Sydney it was easier to walk everywhere and after moving to the suburbs our street was a cut through so was exceedingly busy.  Now living in the Village Daughter has the opportunity to ride until her hearts consent with only one little hiccup.  I had never taught Daughter how to ride a bike.  I am a terrible parent.  Parent failure 101.  I hang my head with parental shame.

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As you know yesterday The Turk surprised Daughter with an extremely early 12th birthday present (her birthday isn’t until June and we will be in Australia on the celebratory day of her birth) of a beautiful, shiny new bike.  She was a little worried about not being able to ride and also she didn’t want her cousins to see her potentially fail so Daughter and I walked right up to the other end of the village where we found a nice quiet lane and yavaş, yavaş (slowly, slowly) Daughter slowly but surely learnt the art of riding a bike.

Our first attempt was a bit of a failure.  A car turned down the street and scared Daughter witless.  She yelled at the car as it went past, “student driver, student driver”.  I was laughing as she yelled but then she started wobbling, lost control, lost confidence and stacked the bike into a wall.  I was still laughing but only on the inside.

On her second attempt I ran alongside her to give her the confidence to take off on her own.  She was doing ok.  She didn’t crash.  She kept it in a semi-straight line.  She had mastered bike riding in 15 minutes.  “Bloody kids a genius” and then “BANG”!  I heard the distinct sound of gunfire!  I ground to a halt but, of course, she kept going (having not used the brake before). “Don’t get shot” I yelled at her back as she worked the brakes.  Eventually coming to a stop at the end of the lane she fell off the bike and ran back to me.  I knew where the shot came from.  I knew which house it was.  I had seen them before with the rifle doing target practice in their yard.  I yelled through the wire fence – just to let them know that we were there.  The owner of the rifle waved hello and asked how I was.  Well you are randomly firing bullets as we are going past so I’m not that great at the moment thanks mate – and God help me he was carrying the rifle in one hand and his infant son in the other!  Daughter and I ran back to the bike and we waited a moment assessing whether the gunfire had stopped.  It had so she hopped back on the bike and again I ran alongside her until, finally, I let go.  As she rode off I yelled “Don’t get shot”.  Again excellent parenting skills.

She made it to the end of the lane when “bang” another shot ran out.  Phew we timed that well.  I ran passed the fence and back to Daughter.  Making a sound parental decision I suggested we choose another lane to ride in.  Daughter nodded in agreement and we continued down the street me walking and Daughter riding until we found an area that was a little less dangerous.

Daughter hopped back on the bike and with my catchcry “Don’t get shot” yelled after her she took off like a bull at a gate.  She didn’t look back.

Parental success.  Fist pump moment.  She had had a few stacks but there was no stopping her now – and she wasn’t shot which was good too.

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Good as Gold

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When I was pregnant with Daughter I attended at the local free hospital in Mersin for some blood work and a check up.  It was a dark, extremely dirty hospital where lines of people waited in various stages of injury or sickness.  I could not compare this hospital to anything I had ever experienced and I was so traumatized by the visit I left the country.  Yes I literally returned to Australia to have Daughter determined to never return to a Turkish hospital again.

Those who know me know my love of self-diagnosing ailments and self-medicating.  I hurt my back last week in the garden (I am getting old) and went upstairs to look through my various pills to find something to take away the ache.  As I rummaged through the plastic bottles and packages, some purchased here and others brought with us from Australia, I found some of The Turk’s pain medication that he used after an operation a year or so back.  Strong pain relief.  Still in date.  Let’s do it!  I took two pills and promptly passed out.  They were crazy strong.  I learned a valuable lesson that day.  Always be sitting down when self-medicating.  Nooooo! 

I did need to go to the doctor though has I had run out of my blood pressure tablets.  Again terror ran through my veins at the thought of going to a Turkish hospital but it had to be done.  Thankfully The Turk chose a ozel hastanasi (private hospital) which was not quite as frightening as my first foray into Turkish hospitals nor my most recent attendance at the local village hospital (another story in itself).  The doctor spoke English which was a bonus and happily told me my blood pressure was spot on.  Yah me!  The doctor also gave me a speech about “White Coat Syndrome”.  I laughed and told him every doctor I have ever met has given me the same speech.  The Turk mentioned me passing out to the Doctor who suggested that perhaps I shouldn’t self-medicate.  Seems like a good idea. 

Now it was Daughter’s turn.  In Australia I would take Daughter to the dentist every three months.  She would have a cleaning and a check-up.  It’s called preventative dental care people.  Preventative dental care.  Daughter has been complaining about a tooth for a couple of weeks and finally after my constant hounding The Turk arranged an appointment for yesterday afternoon.  Oh.  My.  God!

We walked into the dental hospital and I knew immediately that this was a mistake.  The building was dilapidated, not old actually dilapidated.  No paint, holes in the walls, dirty floors.  This is not what a dental hospital should look like.  There must have been 200 people waiting to be seen.  Daughter clung to me and whispered that she would probably end up with a highly contagious disease and started sprouting off various diseases that can be transmitted by unclean instruments.  I smiled and told her to relax but to be honest she was absolutely right. 

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On the bright side and despite the sheer volume of people there our appointment was on time.  Daughter entered the consultation room.  The Turk tried to come with her but was told to wait outside.  Less than one minute later the door opened and Daughter emerged.  What happened?

“She asked me to open my mouth.  I did.  She looked in and said there was nothing wrong with me.  She told me I was wasting her time.  So I left.”

No instruments.  No nothing just as cursory examination before sending her on her way.  The Turk blew a gasket at the doctor and she told him that you don’t come to a dentist unless you are in pain.  She said it was unnecessary to do a cleaning.  The doctor then suggested that if Daughter’s teeth seemed unclean we should buy a toothbrush.  Such an excellent suggestion!  Capital idea!  The Turk ushered Daughter out the door and threw some expletives at the doctor as we went.

But he made it up to her.  When she came home from school today he told her to get changed and meet him downstairs.

After spending a moment being loved up by Stanley and his sore leg she ran downstairs to find – a new bike!

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When The Turk asked Daughter how she was her reply to him was, “Good as gold Dad.  Good as gold!”

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