Tag Archives: summer

Caretta Caretta

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For anyone travelling to Mersin over the next few days why not head to the beach around sunset for the chance of witnessing one of nature’s miracles.  Right now in Mersin the baby loggerhead turtles also known as Caretta Caretta have begun to hatch and can be found early evening making their journey towards the sea.  The turtles were on the decline but with conservation efforts by the local belediyi their numbers have increased and this year there was over 530 nests found in the area.

"Caretta caretta yavrularını elinize almayın"

Just remember to keep your distance and please don’t pick them up as they can become disorientated and the walk to the ocean is actually a way for these little guys to strengthen their muscles.

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Satan called. He wants his weather back!

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It is seriously 10,000 degrees here in Mersin at the moment.  I am trapped in hell, sitting in my underwear right in front of my air conditioner which is about to pack it in under the pressure.  It is trying to give me what I want.  I need it.  I want it.  I feel like it is nearly there then – nothing.  It packs it in.  Someone came too soon and it wasn’t me!

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Loyal followers of this blog (and personal friends) will know that I pretty much spend all my winter months whinging about the damn cold.  I complained like a whingy feck.  “I can’t wait until summer,” I cried.  “I’m going to swim.  I’m going to swim at the beach every damn day”.  Well no I’m fecking not swimming in that cesspool that is the Village beach and no I am not taking 3 buses to get to the first clean beach outside of Mersin.  Feck my life!

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I definitely did not sign up for this kind of heat.  This day in and day out never ending hell that is the Village in the middle of summer.  You can’t go outside.  The sun will turn you into ash.  Armageddon heat.  Fire ants on crack heat.  I am thinking of spraying “Norsca” in my stairwell turning it into a Swedish sauna because that’s what it fecking feels like when I walk out my front door!  Don’t get me wrong.  I do make an effort to get out of the house.  All the time but then I step out into the Swedish sauna that is my stairwell, my brain starts to swell, my shoes start to melt and when I come to I find myself lying on the couch watching an episode of Ellen – the same episode of Ellen.  Very Groundhog Day.  Am I going to be forced to relive this hellfire summer until I do it right, Groundhog style?  I bloody hope not.

Incidentally there are a few shows here in English with Turkish subtitles but can someone tell me why I seem to watch the same show of Ellen every couple of weeks.  It’s got those two extremely obnoxious little English girls “Fatty and Rosie”.  I don’t know their names – wait I lie.  The little blonde girl is named Rosie.  She is the cute one that lip syncs or mimes.  She is the one that won’t need therapy while the other one who I have called Fatty sings, or tries to sing.  When she is older and realises how her parents have exploited her – she will definitely be spending her earnings in therapy.  How is this entertainment?  My mind tends to block it all out but they are on the show with Vince Vaughan who is probably trying to contact his agent to scream, “Why the feck am I on with these two fecking brats?  How low have I fallen down the ladder of Hollywood power?”  He is also probably wondering why he has never won an Oscar.

Back to my story.  Yes the heat.  Its fecked!

Too hot to sleep at night so I find that I have become a night crawler.  I leave the house around 10 pm with My Hurley Dog (aka The Terminator) and we troll the streets, waving to people we know and hoping to not draw attention to myself to those that we do not (after all the heat does bring the crazy out in most people).  It’s too hot for My Hurley Dog to walk throughout the day anyway.  He would rather hold his poop in until November than go outside and poop with the hot sun beating down on him.  I mean it, literally plug his butt than walk outside in this white scalding heat.  He was not designed to live in this relentless, torturous, horrid heat.  He has had yet another terrible haircut which he is totally embarrassed about.  To top it off he was attacked yesterday by two – yes two – mamma cats who ganged up on him when he went over to congratulate them on the birth of their babies.  Those bitches!  The Turk was so angry that he threw a bucket of water on the mamma cats but missed and mostly the water landed on My Hurley Dog.  I don’t think he minded though because it’s too feking hot!

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Speaking of The Turk, he has taken to sleeping on the tiled terrace in his underwear.  Daughter went out there a couple of nights ago to find him stark naked.  She came running in shielding her eyes and squealing, “What has been seen, cannot be unseen!”  Once I convinced her to not gouge out her eyes she returned to her bedroom to sleep.  A new house rule is that the Turk will always wear his underwear now.

The only one of us to doesn’t seem to give a shit about the heat is My Kedi Cat.  He no longer lives with us.  He lives in the front garden or by the front door with Evil, only coming in to eat.  He refuses to eat cat food and so I find myself cutting up pieces of steak or chicken to satisfy this bitch cat that I dragged all the way from Australia who hates my guts!  My Kedi Cat spends his days being primped by Evil (his only love) and attacking other cats who venture too close to our front door.  I sometimes see him when I am on my late night walk a couple of blocks away wandering around looking for something to kill.  He ignores me though.  Hate that cat!

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So that is today’s rant.  I am supposed to go downstairs and help make bread with the ladies.  I don’t want to unless I can go down there in my underwear but The Turk vetoed that idea.  Well if I cannot go down there in my underwear then I want to stay right where I am in front of my poor, groaning air conditioner until either it or I give up for good!

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Another Storm Post

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Over the past few days social media has gone a little crazy in Turkey talking about the crap weather.  A lot of people have, of course, started to take their vacations and have arrived for some sun and fun in the numerous Turkish hotspots, Marmaris, Bodrum, Fethiye, etc, only to be on the receiving end of some very nasty weather.

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I knew a storm was brewing today because my hair was incredibly frizzy.  I cannot control my hair anymore.  Between the bleaching and the weather it has a life of its own.  I have decided to just let it have its way with me and do whatever it likes.  I don’t really care after all I don’t have to impress anyone.  In fact The Turk told me I smelt this morning (I had just gotten back from a jog – and it was 30 degrees!).  I admit that I did smell but the point that I am trying to make is I don’t need to impress him anymore.  Do I sound selfish?  Are you all going “eewwww”.  Don’t think like that people.  I still shave my legs.  I just don’t need to go through all the crap anymore to impress The Turk.  He wakes up every morning amazed that I am still with him and counts his lucky stars every day lol!  Call me Miss Conceited!  I am just joking of course.

In past years I would travel to Mersin in either September or April.  This would give me the sunshine that I love but without the intense heat that can send me close to the edge.  I would often mention to friends that I knew that summer was coming or going in Mersin because of one crazy storm.  The storm to end all storms, dare I say it, the “perfect storm”.  No I won’t say that.  Let’s just say a bloody big storm.  And today is the day (albeit a little late).

Bang!  Crash!  There are not enough words that would properly describe the storm that we are experiencing right now.  It has been incredibly humid today.  The humidity that tells you bigger things are coming.  The humidity that tells you to batten down the hatches and hold on for the ride.

Back to the storm – I am sitting through it right now.  The weather deteriorated rapidly starting with a slow pitter-patter of rain which bounced off the roof and caused puddles.  The puddles quickly became rivers rushing into the çiftlik across the street and a waterfall broke through the half made wall on the construction site next door.  There was no thunder, just an avalanche of water threatening to drown us all.

The hava (wind) became harder, stronger and the rain was more powerful.  This was getting good.  Then it happened.  A crashing sound unlike any I had ever heard before and one, two.  Lightening!  Unrelenting.  One after the other.  Crackling thunder and a mighty flash, one after the other.

What an excellent storm.

Plus size beauty

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Here in Turkey there are two types of women, actually three types but we will get to that another day so just go with two types.  Those who are fashionable and those who are not.

Back in Sydney I had a plethora of choices for shopping.  My cup runneth over so to speak.  But here in Mersin my cup is so dry it has cracked and turned to dust and I find myself wearing the same jeans day after day.  After day.  Why?  Because I am a Rubenesque beauty.  I am of abundance.  I have a banging body and can shimmy like a star.  Actually the real reason I am wearing the same pair of jeans day after day after day is because I am fat.  Overweight.  Plus + size and all that.  I can say it.  I am not proud of it but I will yell it from the roof top because that is me.  I have boobs.  They are good boobs.  I have an ass.  It is a fine ass.  The Turk loves my fine ass but back to the problem at hand.

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In Turkey fashion is designed for those women who are itsy-bitsy teen-weeny stick figurines (which I am not).  Daughter can walk into pretty much every trendy shop in Mersin and find herself something amazing to wear.  She hits Mavi, Berska, Pull & Bear or Zara with frequency and comes out with bags of items.  I can wander around a shopping centre all day and find . . . nothing.  It seems that if you are not the aforementioned stick creature then you should not be shopping at all.  You should begin to purchase those baggy harem pants that elderly Turkish women wear (yes I own a pair).

Last weekend I went to The Forum with Daughter where I found myself sitting outside in the sunshine while Daughter went from shop to shop looking for the perfect outfit for her birthday party this weekend.  Sure I could go with her but frankly it does my head in.  I do not love shopping.  I go shopping to purchase something and then I leave.  The wandering up and down aisles and trying on dozens of items does not thrill me – at all.  I am happy to sit outside in my jeans in the sunshine and people watch.  Since it is now summer the young women of Mersin have thrown away their dignity and their modesty and are out and about in just about flipping anything.  Tight jeans are a thing here now (actually they have always been a thing but I swear they are tighter than before).  Denim on denim is a thing.  Twinsies is a thing.  Oh wait!  Side boob is a thing here now.  I don’t think side boob should be a thing at any time but nevertheless.  Boob tubes, navel rings, inappropriately tight singlets.  Boobs!  Perky young boobs everywhere.  Yikes!  I spend all my time trying to teach Daughter that modesty and respecting your body is important and every single teenage girl is dressing like a hooker!

Jeeze I went off on a tangent again didn’t I?  OK I am back.  After Daughter finished we started to search for a few items for me.  Actually just one item.  A pair of jeans is all I am after.  I am told by helpful skinny people that there are a few shops at The Forum that caters to us plus size beauties including Mango and W.C. Waikiki so Daughter and I visited a few of these shops in the hope of me grabbing a pair of jeans for my return trip Down Under.  OMFG!  It is obvious that designers in Turkey or perhaps Europe believe that plus size beauties do not deserve to be fashionable or perhaps plus size beauties deserve to pay three times as much as itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny women for the luxury of purchasing their items which are, honestly, less than stellar to begin with.  I tried on at least five pairs of jeans in three different shops.  Generally the jeans were uglier, baggier, hanging low in the crotch and saggy in the ass.  I found a yellow pair that actually fitted me but they were yellow.  Yellow!  No one should ever wear yellow unless it is a safety vest!

*Sigh*

So I will continue to live with my one pair of jeans for the next two weeks until I get back to Sydney.  Once there, I will shop (and eat bacon).

That time our dolmus driver went bat shit crazy

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Yesterday our dolmuş driver lost his cool.  Postal.  I get it, I really do.  It’s hot here in Mersin and it is only going to get hotter.  It was 35 in the shade yesterday afternoon and when it gets hot people lose their shit but this guy was one sandwich short of a picnic crazy and I did start to worry about our safety (you will understand as the story goes on).

Just to remind you or for the uninitiated a dolmuş is a shared taxi that runs along a set route.  It is usually quite civilised.  They come along every few minutes.  There are signs on the dolmuş so you know where they are going and it is easy enough to wave them down or ask them to stop when you want to get off.  If you are lucky you will get an air conditioned dolmuş which is a blessing in this heat but if they are not air conditioned then it is a little like being stuffed into a sauna with 30 other unlucky souls.

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(Stock photo – not dolmus in question)

Up to speed so back to my story.

It all started with the driver receiving a telephone call.  Now I know I do not have enough Turkish to give you a rundown of the conversation but I can tell you that he was obviously not on time (the drivers have a very tight schedule to keep and if they run late or run early they are fined) and his boss telephoned him wanting to know where he was.  He pretty much told his boss to get f*cked and he would get there when he got there.  I had a big grin on my face at this point after all who hasn’t wanted to tell their boss to get f*cked at one stage or another.

He then lit up a cigarette.  No you are not allowed to smoke on a bus in Turkey but the sign above his head “Sigara içilmez” or “no smoking” meant nothing to him at this point after all he had already told his boss where to go.  An elderly lady complained about the cigarette so in reply he flicked it at her feet.  She got out of the dolmuş.

At the next block a young mother hopped on with two children.  She handed over 50TL to the driver for payment and this was the catalyst to the next fifteen minutes of crazy.  The explosion of expletives being thrown around the dolmuş by the driver was astounding and he wasn’t discriminating, he was screaming at everyone.  Daughter (who is well versed in expletives) was gawking at the driver with her mouth wide open.  “I think we need to get off this bus,” she whispered.  I nodded in agreement and was about to ask the driver to stop when his telephone rang again.  The driver looked at the telephone, pulled the dolmuş over, turned the engine off, got out and shut the doors behind him.  At this point I began to wonder if we were being held hostage.

A man stood up and started trying to open the door but he was unable to so he hung out the window and abused the driver who turned around and started kicking the side of the bus.  This was sensational, well except for being held hostage and all that.  The mother that the driver had abused moments earlier started crying and another passenger was comforting her.  I started to giggle (which is what I normally do when I am nervous) and I wondered if the other passengers thought I would lose my shit next.

A couple of minutes later the Polis arrived and the driver immediately opened the door.  The driver was yelling at the Polis, the passengers started to get off the dolmuş and began yelling at the driver and the Polis while Daughter and I stealthy snuck off the dolmuş and backed away from the scene.  Once we were clear we stopped and stared at each other.  WTF???

When we got home Daughter called out to The Turk, “Daddy we just got kidnapped!  Really!”

He is never going to let us out by ourselves again.

Gunaydin

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I pretty much track the same steps every day when I leave the house in the morning.  First is a walk with My Hurley Dog.  I go wherever he chooses – he is in control of the walk.  The one certain on our early morning walk is that we stop for fresh bread.  One loaf for The Turk and I and the other for his father.  After I drop off the bread at home My Hurley Dog and I make our way down to the deniz (sea) for a pleasant stroll.

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I wave and call “Gunaydin” to those I know as we wander down towards the water.   I occasionally stop to have a chat (with my limited Turkish) if anyone calls me over.  As I walk down the main road I can see Daughter’s school in the distance.  She is no doubt daydreaming at her desk, pretending to learn but most likely thinking of Calum Hood or chatting with her friends.

I always stop by the vegetable market to have a quick look.  Always fresh and always delicious I might make a quick purchase before dodging may way through the fish markets.  Although the Village is predominantly a farming community it also has a large harbour and fishing industry and many of the restaurants in Mersin purchase their fish from these markets.  You need to be there early though – really early.  By the time I get there a little after 7:30 most of the best fish has already been sold leaving the lesser quality for us slowpokes.

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When I finally arrive at the waterfront I always pause for a moment.  With the early morning sun shining on the water it is a sight to behold.  No matter how crappy I feel or how down I am at the world in general looking at this scene always perks me right up.  Gorgeous water, gorgeous sunrise – unfortunately, however, the beachfront itself is not as attractive to the eye.  It is a garbage dump.

The Village is the closest beach area to the city of Mersin itself.  It’s potential as a destination for day visits by the “city dwellers”, particularly in summer.  I recently read that the Council is looking into rezoning the area for tourism but that is, I imagine, some years away.  It is disappointing that the locals do not realise the little gem that they have here under their noses and the literal goldmine that they are sitting on.

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In the meantime My Hurley Dog and I love our morning walks in the sunshine – I say sunshine as I am still waiting for rain.  The rain count since we arrived still stands at only 3 times.  Yes that’s right 3 times in 132 days although it is little a little overcast today so we might get something.  Finger’s crossed.  Maybe.

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