Tag Archives: Turkey

Moving to Mersin?

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I get an incredible amount of emails from people thinking of moving to Mersin or Icel.  Apart from shaking my head in bewilderment at the idea (just joking.  I love it here … sometimes) living in Mersin or even living in Turkey offers you a good quality of life in a cultural hybrid of East and West.  It has its history, dramatic geography and frankly in Mersin it has pretty good weather virtually all year round.

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I usually write lengthy replies about the do’s and do not’s that I have experienced firsthand living in Mersin.  I think I’ve got my reply down to a fine art, with some slight modification as the need arises.  So what are my “do’s and do nots” for moving to Mersin?

DO think about your decision.

Why are you coming to Mersin?  Is it for adventure?  Is it for love?  Is it for money?  Moving to the other side of the world or even the other side of the State is a huge decision.  So many factors.  Short term or forever?  Rent/sell your home.  Give up your lease.  Pack your whole life into boxes.  Storage or cargo?  Pets?  Bring them or adopt them out?  (I obviously brought my two fur-babies with me and frankly could not of even imagined this move without them).  Kids?  Bring them or adopt them out?  I am just joking.  Seriously I am.  Remember though there are no hurdles too high.

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DO your research.

What area do you want to live?  Mezitli?  Pozcu?  Carsi?  Mersin is a large city and Icel is even larger (which includes Erdemli, Silifki, Anamur through to Tarsus).  There is a lot of choice.  Kiralama daire (renting an apartment) in the city of Mersin is quite cheap compared to many cities throughout Türkiye.  Do inspect before you sign anything as the quality may not be as high as you would be used to and check what outgoings are included.  Also remember that it is normal for you to purchase your own appliances (yes including your stove) and even light fittings.

What school okul do you want your children to go to?  There are some great özel okul (private schools) in Icel but they are hugely expensive so factor that cost in and mostly they will teach in Türk.  Originally we chose to put Daughter in a village school to give her an opportunity to learn the language by immersing herself in it.  The teachers at the village school were incredibly helpful.  I could not fault them at all and the children were incredibly generous and welcoming.  Daughter even had a nemesis which is, in her opinion, the ultimate show of acceptance.  After two years of learning Türk we moved her to an özel okul which gave us an entirely new set of challenges to overcome.

Where will you be working?  Are you allowed to work?  This is, of course, visa dependent.  Do not attempt to work without a visa.  It will bite you in the ass.  There is a desperate need for English speaking teachers in Mersin along with German and French.  English teachers seem to earn a good living so it can be quite lucrative if you have the right credentials.

DO get the right visa.

You will no doubt be scratching your head with the paperwork, fees, requirements and general stroke inducing migraines that a brought on while traversing the myriad of obtaining the correct visa.  There are different types of visas, short term (tourism), student visa and employment visa.  An employment visa will only be issued if you have a signed job contract and a work permit issued by Çalışma ve Sosyal Güvenlik Bakanlığı (Ministry of Labour and Social Security).  This application must be done in your country of residence.

You will also need a residence permit which must be applied for within 30 days of arrival.  This is issued from the Emniyet Müdürlüğü Yabancılar Şubesi Foreigner’s Division/Alien’s Branch of the Local Police Department and as I mentioned in a previous post entering this place is like entering Mordor.

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There is a lot of supporting documentation required as well so be prepared.  For example – proof of your financial situation, copies of rental agreements or ownership of your own property and (in my case) proof of marriage.  Do yourselves a favour and photocopy all your documents at least 10 times, more if you can.  Also ensure that all documents are translated into Turkish.  Do not believe the person on the street (or on this blog or that blog), you need everything translated into Turkish.  Birth Certificate – translate it.  Marriage Certificate – translate it.  If your child is to go to school you need a document from the school confirming enrolment stamped by the Turkish Consulate in your home country and then translated into Turkish.  Incidentally it was cheaper for us to translate here in Mersin at a Noter rather than back in Sydney.  Finally passport photos.  You have some?  Get more!

DO make friends – with both expats and locals.

I know, I know I do not always take my own advice but I did talk to an amazing amount of people before I moved here on various expat sites.  These guys are already living in Mersin or in Turkey and they will prepare you for the bumps in the road (there will be bumps, sinkholes and even a few bottomless pits before you begin to feel at home here).  Living here is a great experience but it’s not always easy being an immigrant.

DO learn the language.

I wish I had.  I blame The Turk.  Of course now I find myself without the benefit of language.  Paying a bill.  Difficult!  Shopping?  Difficult!  Doctor?  Dentist?  Government office?  Difficult!  Difficult! Difficult!!!  Do a course.  Try Babbel.  Do something so you are not drowning in the deep end.  Mersin is not particularly expat friendly so any attempt to speak the native language will put you in good stead with your landlord or employer or even that bored Government employee.

DO it.  Just do it!

As for the Do not’s I only have one –

DO NOT live with regret.

Oh wait one other piece of advice that will change your life – bring mosquito repellent!  It does not matter how much you have or what brand you have, bring more!  The mosquito’s here are the most desperate bloody suckers you will ever come across.  They may not sparkle in sunlight but they are lethal from dusk to dawn!

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Spring Action

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I’ve been incredibly busy the last few days, starting with giving the house a good scrub from top to toe.  It is always so dusty here in the Village, primarily caused by the surrounding farmland but couple this with the building work next door and we are constantly covered in a thin (or thick) layer of dust.  The Turk pulled the refrigerator out and behind it was a family of dust bunnies.  They were quite happy living behind the refrigerator but sadly they had to go as they were multiplying rapidly.  I am pretty sure I never ever cleaned behind my refrigerator in North Sydney but that was more likely because I am incredibly lazy and just assumed my cleaner (or perhaps The Turk) did it for me.  I cannot believe how much dust, fluff and general grubbery builds up here.  I am forever mopping the floor and forever exfoliating the grub from my skin. The house is looking schmick at the moment though, all shiny and dust free (for today anyway).

School finishes here in 3 weeks and Daughter and I am leaving for Sydney the next morning.  I love a countdown but this one is particularly exciting for me as I am going home to see my friends and family.  I am also incredibly excited about eating food.  Australian food.  Pub lunches.  Indian banquets.  Italian.  Thai.  Mexican.  Oh.  My.  God.  You name it, Imma gonna eat it!  Don’t get me wrong I love Turkish food too but here it is just food.  Every day.  God give me some pepper sauce.  I am drooling in anticipation of a good curry.  And then there is bacon.  I miss bacon.  I know, I know we’ve been over this already but I do.  I really, really do miss bacon.  A lot.

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I’ve also been helping The Turk in the garden.  Our spring garden is blooming.  Again no pesticides, we are being as organic as we can be.  Unfortunately we had a late rain last week and we lost some of our vegetables but our green beans are coming in nicely as are our summer lettuce and our corn.  The first strawberries have appeared and our tomatoes are flowering.  The Turk has had to ‘sex them up’ which for those of you who don’t know The Turk or I this is my explanation for him out in the garden violating the flowers with his finger to release their pollen.  He is adamant that this will ensure the flower will become a tomato.  Yes he has been doing this for years with both his tomatoes and his chilli plants.  He swears that it works every single time.  It does.

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Turkey has been in the press this past week.  The devastating loss of life in Soma and the subsequent protests and riots by the public is awful to witness.  The sadness I feel for the loss of life is overwhelmed by my anger eyeballing the behaviour of the politicians and their reactions.  I am sure that wherever it is that you are currently in the world whether it is Turkey or elsewhere you would no doubt have seen the footage of Yusef Yerkel kicking a grieving member of public last week in Soma.  Did you hear that he is now on sick leave as he injured his leg?  That poor man.  Injured while on the job.  Oh how I feel for him.  How lucky that he gets to sit at home and recuperate.  OMFG!  I am sorry but he should have been arrested for assault and fired immediately.  Did you also know that only a week before the Soma accident the political party CHP requested that the mine be investigated for work-related injuries and its safety record but the current ruling party AKP vetoed the request?  Yikes!  My heart goes out to the families of those who lost someone at Soma and my sincerest hope is that their deaths bring about reform within the Turkish mining industry which has an extremely poor record.

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I know I hopped onto my soap box again.  I know I promised I wouldn’t do it but sometimes its a little difficult for me to shut my mouth when an injustice is done.

Enough from me for now.  The Turk has just brought us freshly cooked corn straight from our garden.  A little butter, a little salt and pepper and this snack is fit for a queen – and her princess.

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Beauty is . . .

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It does not matter where you live in the world, the expectation and actualisation of beauty remains the same.  Us women suffer for our beauty.

Many of my personal friends are well aware that Daughter suffers from Alopecia Areata.  For those of you who do not know Alopecia Areata is a condition in which hair is lost from some or all areas of the body.  For Daughter it was her scalp. At one point she rocked a great punk-ish style but for most of the time there was a lot of tears, many trips to various doctors and failed treatments.  Finally I located a Chinese herb supplement which worked wonders and now nearly three years on her hair has, in my opinion, grown back quite well although she continues to take the hated herb supplement on a daily basis (I brought a year’s supply with me to Turkey).  It is still quite thin and gappy but I think we should be thankful that she has her father’s genes because otherwise she would probably be bald right now.

My last trip to the hairdresser resulted in my walking out with blonde hair.  Well after some tears it was brown hair with a lot of blonde highlights.  Now 5 weeks later I find that I am quite used to the blonde, in fact I kind of like it.  It still has its brown elements but coming into summer I like the lighter colour with my tan, and it hides my grey hair a little more than my brown hair did.

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Speaking of tans I am going to a wedding tomorrow night.  I have a gorgeous 1950’s inspired dress with a bolero jacket and shoes to match.  Very cute.  But.  My legs are the colour of freshly fallen snow.  They are white.  Beyaz.  They have not seen the sunlight for nearly a year now (seeing we arrived here in Mersin at the end of an Australian winter and went straight into a Turkish winter).  I tried going into an eczame (pharmacy) to purchase fake tan.  The words “fake tan” just do not compute in a country where everyone is naturally bronze.  While out with Alana last weekend (who incidentally is her very own shade of beyaz as she is Irish) we tried to explain fake tan or bronzer to a lady at a beautician’s shop near Alana’s house.  The woman was confused and perhaps wondered if we were a little deli (crazy).  She did tell Alana that she was cok beyaz (very, very white).  Nice.  Don’t hold back your thoughts love.  Finally I was with Daughter at Sephora and found fake tan but then decided I wanted to wear something different.  Hours of grief and I, of course, change my mind at the last minute.

Back to my original story.  I went for a cut today at the same hairdresser’s who blonded me.  Aziz is his name.  He recognised me immediately.  He was probably quaking in his boots.  “Crap it’s that bloody yabanci again.” He immediately settled me into his chair and got to work.  He has obviously been practicing his English because he was ready for me today.  “Cut yes?  No colour?  OK.  Tamam.  I do it good today.”  In the meantime the ladies in the shop were busy trying to convince me to have a manicure or a pedicure (10TL) and I even had one lady try to convince me that my “beard” needed to be epilated.  Thank you very much. I was very happy with the result.  The best part was the price 30TL (AU$15).  I arrived back home to lots of oohhs and aaahhs and then was informed that I paid too much.  You know how people tell you that you have done the wrong thing and then give you that pitied look.  That’s what I got today from the fam bam.  “Yes you paid too much. The lady across the street would do it for 10TL”.  I will just repeat that sentence – the lady across the street would do it for 10TL.  Yes the lady across the street is a beautician. It is not a shop, it is her spare bedroom.  Realistically 30TL is money well spent because it is in a shop – commercial premises with outgoings.  Incidentally the lady across the street does a great job threading (known as ip) on my eyebrows and my lip (which is a pain that I can only liken to child birth and no I am not being overdramatic).  She does Daughter’s eyebrow and lip as well but Daughter has it waxed not threaded – she can’t stand the pain but for whatever reason I don’t get an option, I am threaded.   Yes I am happy to let the woman across the street do my eyebrows but seriously my hair?  I am pretty sure the $15 I spend is well worth it.  I am pretty sure that I am not going to go broke going to the hairdresser in Carsi every eight weeks for a wash, a head massage (thank you God) and a blow dry for $15.

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I have melded into Turkish life pretty well.  I am becoming the epitome of a Turkish Housewife – this afternoon I made Dolma, blog to follow – but please let me have a few little luxuries, a few of the little things that remind me of just what it is to be a lady of leisure.  That head massage was the most divine head massage of my life.  It went for about 15 minutes and Aziz crooned away in Turkish as he did it.

Çok güzel!

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Soli Pompeiopolis

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I think we have already established that Mersin province is full of ancient sites.  On Saturday (and before the shite hit the fan at home) I went to Viranşehir (Ruined City) to meet with my friend Alana.

For me Viranşehir was a bit of a track from our home in the Village (probably about 60 minutes on public transport) but for anyone staying in Mersin it is located about 20 minutes from the Forum or 30 minutes from the Otogar (catch the Eğriçam bus).  It is quite central.  Viranşehir is a residential area jam packed with high rise apartments blocks and shopping centres so to discover the Roman ruins of Soli Pompeiopolis smack in the middle of this residential area is certainly a surprise.

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Sidenote – One of my main issues with Mersin Turizm is that they have virtually no information for a tourist visiting this city or the area.  If you are a history buff there is abundance of ruins and archaeological sites to explore but with little or no information it is incredibly difficult to visit or even to be aware of its existence and Soli Pompeiopolis is the perfect example.  The only reason I knew of it is that Alana had put some photos up on her FB page.

I digress though, let me talk about this site.

Soli Pompeiopolis was once a large town and a most important harbour.  It was the capital of a Persian province before succumbing to the Greeks, Alexander the Great and King Antiochus III.  After all this carnage Soli recovered with the arrival of Roman Pompey who renamed the town Pompeiopolis (because he was obviously full of himself) who, not only held off the Persian Army, also used it as a base for fighting the pirates that preyed on boats in the area.   In 527AD Pompeiopolis was flattened by an earthquake and eventually the town was left to disrepair.  Today the main, and frankly the only thing that you can view as the ruins are surrounded by wire fencing, is the Colonnaded Street (cardo maximum).  It is over 350m long with Corinthian columns and I imagine it would have been very grand in its time drawing you down towards the harbour.  There is also a theatre, harbour, a bath and the monumental tomb of Aratos currently under excavation.  Archaeologists have found many coins, pottery and other artefacts of interest which are currently on display at Mersin Museum.

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As mentioned the Turkish Government is currently undertaking excavations on the site and in fact there is talk of building an archaeology museum to incorporate the site nearby which, for a history buff like myself (yes little known fact), would be great.

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Worth visiting?

As you can only view the ruins from the street there is little to hold your interest.  If, however, you make a day of it and incorporate a pleasant walk along the promenade, visit a couple of the bars for an ice cold beer (which Alana and I did) or perhaps have a picnic at one of the many beaches then it is a day well spent.

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From Good to Bad

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How does a day go from being great to being absolutely shite?

Yesterday started as a great day.  Daughter had her math tutor come for an hour (thank you Capt. Awesome) and then I left to go and visit a friend on the absolute other side of Mersin.  Making this trip is like going from Palm Beach to Campbelltown but doing it on public transport.  I had a great day though, sitting in the sun, wandering past antiquities (I will get to that another day) before having a beer and nibblies on the beachfront.

Upon my return though I walked into absolute bedlam.  My sister in law had come from Adana for the weekend and brought her two kids with her.  Daughter has had a difficult time with connecting with these cousins but yesterday it seemed all the kids were playing together nicely until an older cousin turned up.  The first thing that came out of Miss Bitchy-pants mouth was a snide comment and it put Daughter’s back up.  Immediately the shite hit the fan.

Having a big family is really great for Daughter.  Being surrounded by people who love her (well except for Miss Bitchy-pants) is a good thing for a child who grew up with no extended family but I have got to be honest with you – it is doing my feking head in!  My frustration levels are going through the roof with the yelling and arguments, the trials and the tears but the worst part of the whole evening was The Turk.

The Turk gets agitated incredibly easily.  If things don’t go according to his thought pattern he can become quite the asshole.  I have come to recognise his moods and usually put him in his place quite quickly but unfortunately the rest of his family have not yet re-familiarised themselves with the warning signs.  Living here in Mersin there is always something that gets him agitated because he is surrounded by people all the time and frankly as much as I love living here the evenings have become quite unpleasant, to say the least.

My issue is that The Turk (other than his raging temper) is that always takes his family’s side on any issue with Daughter.  He never sticks up for her.  He never says, “it’s OK Daughter, I know you were not at fault.  I will speak to Miss Bitchy-pants parents or speak to Miss Bitchy-pants herself.”  Never.  It kills me.  Witnessing him take Miss Bitchy-pants side every single time over Daughters breaks my heart because it breaks her heart.

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I walked out last night.  We were supposed to have a BBQ (which was moved to Songul’s home due to the chaos that was taking place in our home).  I walked for quite some time.  I had nowhere to go but I knew if I stayed I was going to stay something that I would ultimately regret, and not to The Turk (I never regret anything I say to him).

This morning is a new day.  A bright day (well it is raining but my point remains the same).  Today I will not be drawn into the family drama.  I did make a suggestion to Daughter though, “Next time Miss Bitchy-pants says something nasty write it down and hand it back to her.  Every single time.  It might irritate her, she might screw it up and throw it at you but she might also read it and realise that she is being mean.  And remember Daughter – deep breaths, keep taking deep breaths.”

Icli Kofte

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Recently we walked down to visit the remaining Auntie Muriel at her home down by the deniz.  A pleasant walk on a beautiful spring day and all of us including My Hurley Dog enjoyed ourselves immensely.  A spot decision was also made to take My Hurley Dog to the beach so he could have a run and a splash (after all it is very much warm enough here).

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Arriving at Auntie Muriel’s I immediately realised we came on a good day.  Her son was returning to Germany the next morning and so she and her daughter were making Icli Kofte for his farewell party.

Icli Kofte (also known by Daughter and I as Nene Kofte) is Daughter’s absolute favourite meal.  They are bloody hard to make.  The few times The Turk and I tried they were dismal failures but everyone in the village seem to know how to make them and damn it they make it look so easy! 

Anyone who has been to a Middle Eastern or Lebanese Restaurant (or has been to the Middle East or Lebanon) would have tried the similarly made Kibbe but I know that Icli Kofte are just that little bit better (Daughter says its because it is made with love).

There is an awful lot to the recipe so if you want to give these a go I would suggest you try the recipe from Ozlem’s Turkish Table.  I have tried a few of her recipes and they always successful (well most of the time) and spot on for taste.

Referring to her recipe we do not put in walnuts at all.  We do use all the spices mentioned but we also add cumin and biber salcasi (pepper paste) to give the bulgur dough a tinge or glow. 

The dough needs to be perfect.  If it is not perfect it will be damn near impossible to make the little parcel and fill with the meat mixture.  To be honest I cannot do it.  It is bloody hard.  I sat there watching Auntie Muriel making these at such a speed all the while chatting and laughing, not a care in the world.  I tell you the last time The Turk and I tried to make them it nearly caused WWIII in our household (and it left a hell of a mess to clean up).  Oh also we add the pepper paste to the dough as well – obviously we like it spicy here in the village.

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After a couple of leisurely hours drinking cay and listening to Turkish chatter Auntie Muriel sent us on our way with a plate of her Icli Kofte for dinner.  I carried my precious cargo of kofte home and immediately started making the sauce which we add to pretty much everything.  I have mentioned the sauce before – pepper paste (yes again), garlic and oil, honestly it works with pretty much everything.

Ozlem bakes her Icli Kofte but here we either deep fry them, a favourite with the çocuklar (kids) or boil them (my favourite and obviously a lot healthier). 

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Served with a salad, for me this is a meal but to many this is merely an appetizer, either way I will finish with Afiyet Olsun or enjoy your meal.

Two Years Ago

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Two years ago today I sat in a doctor’s office with my father, his wife and my brother.  I sat there listening to a doctor tell my father that he had no time left, that the cancer was winning and to make arrangements for palliative care.

I had no idea.  I had no idea that he was sick.  I knew he had had surgery in January but he and his wife still travelled overseas in February.  They were even making plans to go away in July.  He was not sick.  He was fine. 

I had been in Mersin in April when I received an email from my brother telling me to come home, telling me that our Dad was ill.  No one told me.  Dad didn’t tell me.  His wife didn’t tell me.  I then got an email from my boss telling me to come home.  I was scared.  I tried to telephone my Dad and my brother but I could not get onto any of them as there had been a big storm in Mersin and it had knocked out all telephone and internet.  I finally got onto my Dad and he said he was fine.  His voice was cheerful, he was telling jokes.  My Dad always told jokes, legendary jokes.  He said that my brother was being overly concerned. 

It took days but I finally got onto my brother who told me to come home – now.

My next problem was getting a flight.  This is not always easy.  We had flights arranged for the next week.  I tried to change it.  It was difficult.

I finally got home.  I spoke to my brother.  I still remember it.  I arrived home at 11 pm and I rang my brother first thing the next morning.

“Jane, there is nothing they can do.”  I was at the shopping centre buying milk and bread for breakfast.  I collapsed on the floor and wept.  People walked around me, embarrassed by my outburst.  I did not care.

Two years ago today I sat in a doctor’s office with my dad, his wife and my brother.  Two years ago today I was told that my first love, my dad, was being taken from me forever.  Little did I know that it would be a mere 3 weeks before he left me.

Two years ago.

Double Barrel Post

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I woke quite early on Saturday morning – my nemesis has been cock-a-doo-a-doo-ing really, really early (yes my nemesis is my neighbour’s rooster).  I hate him.

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You might recall this post when My Hurley Dog took out one of his women, well I am quite sure that he holds me personally responsible for her assassination and he is now waking up even earlier to cock-a-doo-a-doo outside my window.  I hate him.

The only thing he is good for is a roast, or maybe fry up some pieces a-la KFC.  I hate him and I hate his women (of which there are many).

They cluck.  All day.  Cluck, cluck, cluck.  Clucking and cock-a-doo-a-doo-ing.  I hate them all.

A list of reasons to hate chickens:

They are dumb.  They eat everything including their own poop.  They are dumb.  They are ugly.  They smell bad.  They cannot even fly.  They are useless.  But they are pretty tasty.

I have suggested to My Hurley Dog that if the rooster gets into the garden he is to go for the jugular.  He doesn’t understand me but I know he will do it regardless.  He is like The Terminator without the accent.

The other part of my morning was taken up my My Kedi Cat’s bestie.  We have called him Evil (although by the end of this story you will know that ‘he’ is actually a ‘she’).  Evil was a wild little kitten when we first arrived 9 months ago.  He wouldn’t let you near him but through perseverance and a lot of luck I converted Evil into ‘my’ stray.  I always kept an eye out for him and he would always come running to me if he saw me in the street (actually all the Village Kedi’s do that. I am the Village Cat Lady) and, of course, he is my cat’s BFF.

Last Tuesday Evil was asleep in My Hurley Dog’s bed.  He seemed really dopey and quite sick.  I called him to the door to give him a little food and when he stood up there was blood running down his hind legs.  Worse still there was mucus (dare I call it a plug) on the bed.  Ewww.  I did not know what had happened but when I tried to examine him he ran off.  At this point I realised that Evil was in fact a ‘she’ and I expect that she was either in labour or had had a miscarriage.

Fast forward to Saturday morning and I poked my head out the window and saw Evil asleep in My Hurley Dog’s bed again with My Kedi Cat watching her intently.  She was a mess, the bed was a mess too but in the corner of the bed was a teeny, tiny little kitten.  Really tiny.  See, Evil did not look pregnant, even before the bloody incident of last Tuesday she did not look pregnant so to find this teeny, tiny kitten in the bed was quite a shock, particularly as this would indicate that she had been labour for 4 days.  This little guy or girl was quite a fighter though to have survived thus far.

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My Hurley Dog was a little put out by Evil dropping her bub in his bed so I transferred her and bub downstairs with a clean towel and box.  She’s turned out to be a good little mother too, very protective.

Finally and just because, here are some more photos of Nanu’s babies.  They are a bundle of crazy.

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Kittens make me happy.

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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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Regaip Kandili

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Yesterday 1 May 2014 is an important day to Muslim Turks as it is Regaip Kandili (the night of Muhammad’s conception).  A Kandili (candle) is a Mosque Festival called such as the mosques will be illuminated (no doubt originally by candles although today probably not).  Last night Muslims prayed for forgiveness and hope. 

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There are in fact five holy evenings over the course of the Turkish Muslim calendar year and these five dates will change dependent upon the revolution of the moon for example Regaip Kandili will be celebrated on 23 April 2015.  The five holy evenings are:

Mevlid Kandili – the birth of Prophet Mohammad (12 January 2014)                     Regaip Kandili – the night of Muhammad’s conception (today 1 May 2014)               Miraç Kandili – Prophet Mohammad’s rising to the sky (25 May 2014)               Berat Kandili – forgiveness of the sins (12 June 2014)                                             Kadir Gecesi – the first appearance of the Koran to Prophet Mohammad (23 July 2014)

The Turk and his family are not particularly religious (although they always seem to be sacrificing animals) and they did not attend at the mosque last night however those practicing Muslims that attended worshipped and sang Mevlit which is a poem written for the birth of Prophet Mohammad. 

The Turk warned me that there would be many visitors to our home last night as part of the tradition of Regaip Kandili and it is normal practice to give Kandil Simidi or Lokma Tatlisi to visitors so yesterday Daughter (with me as her sous chef) decided to attempt making the Lokma Tatlisi for the expected visitors. 

Lokma Tatlisi is a Turkish fried sweet dough that is covered in a simple syrup (basically it is a doughnut with a syrup rather than sugar or cinnamon). 

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Daughter made a simple dough, 1 cup of warm water, 1 teaspoon of sugar and 1 teaspoon of yeast.  Mixed together with a well-oiled wooden spoon (oiling the spoon is integral to the success of the Lokma).  She then left the dough for the length of the movie Mean Girls (firstly, how many times do I have to watch this movie?  Secondly, “That’s so fetch”.  Finally, it’s been 10 years since this movie was released?  What the hell happened to Lindsay Lohan?   Look at what drugs can do kiddies.) before getting back into it.

On our return Daughter prepared the syrup.  At this point I realised that we did not have enough sugar so Daughter sent her sous chef from house to house to get enough for the 3 cups required.  Most of the sugar is cubed so I was concerned that the syrup was not going to be successful.  Daughter added the sugar, 1 1/3 cups of water and 2 tablespoons of lemon juice. Mixed until boiling and then left to simmer for about 20 minutes.

Preheating the vegetable oil (sous chef was getting nervous at this point) she spooned the dough in by the tablespoon, 2 minutes each side until they were a golden brown colour.  Drizzle syrup over these strange lumps of dough and eat.

Our Lokma were not pretty, they were not little balls covered in syrup.  They were weird looking pieces of dough, in fact they looked like fish pieces, one looked like a chicken’s foot, others chicken nuggets or honey chicken but I swear covered in the syrup they were still pretty tasty.  Daughter made enough for all of the family plus expected visitors and she proudly delivered them to each house last night.

I was pretty impressed with Daughter’s cooking although I was less than impressed with the mess that was left.  Syrup from one end of the kitchen to the other, and on the stairwell outside.  Thank you very much you little grub!