Tag Archives: zero to hero

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.

The Village

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I have now been living in the Village for 10 months and have decided that it is not really a köyü (village) it is more of a şehir (town), in fact that way that it has been growing you could even say it is a suburb of Mersin proper, an outer suburb but a suburb nevertheless.

When I first started coming to the Village 13 years ago it really was a köyü.  There was more farmland than houses, more farm animals than people but in the following years the urban sprawl that is Mersin has spread and, like a disease, taking over the quaint köyü and turning it into part of a spreading metropolis.

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Although we are still surrounded by farms the view of the sea has disappeared behind apartment blocks 5 stories high.  There are still farm animals but they are a rarity now (except for my damn nemesis that lives behind us) and what was once grazing land just west of us is now streets full of little houses (and some not so little) being built at a speed that astounds me.

It is lovely and warm now (in fact I would go so far to say it is hot) which means I spend more time going on walks or riding my bike around in the köyü (or şehir).  I did not realise just how big the Village is.  To ride my bike around the whole köyü would take me a good hour or two and walking would probably take me a full day (taking into consideration stopping for chats).

I often ride my bike from Atasyolu to the north right around to the deserted beach east of the Village.  The Turk and I sit at this beach and dream (well he dreams and I lie on the sand and enjoy the sunshine).  He wants to win the lotto and buy the land here, turning it into a resort (so, you know, adding to the urban sprawl).  The beach really is exquisite, so clean and the sand is like soft, white snow.  This beach could give some of those resorts on the west coast a run for its money.  Again anyone who does eventually get their hands on this land (assuming we don’t win the lotto) would definitely be onto a winner particularly if the Council start to realise just what a beautiful spot it is and utilised the potential instead of squandering it by allowing industrial filth to be built there.

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Honestly just look at this beach!  It could be Fraser Island – in fact here is a photo of The Turk on Fraser Island a couple of years back.  Amazing!  This beach east of the Village is pristine beach.  Unpolluted.  Unsullied.  A dream come true.  The Turk and I can sit on this beach for hours and not see a soul.

Not Turkey I repeat not Turkey!

Not Turkey I repeat not Turkey!

 

Frankly it is a little sad that the modern world has caught up with my quaint köyü and tainted it (slightly) for me.  But such is life is it not?  If you don’t keep up you will only be left behind.

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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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Animal Farm

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It’s been a while since I have given an update on the strays around our home.

As you know Stanley has been in the wars recently and unfortunately it has not improved for him.  He is still an extremely loving little cat but we have had to ban him from the stairwell as he seems to have lost control of his bowel.  The vet suggested cat nappies which is just ridiculous so he now is chased out of the stairwell whenever we see him.

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We had a number of female cats pregnant and I mentioned the birth of some kittens a couple of weeks back.  Unfortunately none of those kittens survived but Nanu (my mother-in-law’s favourite cat) also had kittens around the same time and her 5 little ginger fluff balls are now strong enough to run around the back of my in-law’s garden.  It seems that all the other cats that were pregnant have lost their babies or perhaps they are extremely well hidden however none of the mothers seem to have any engorged breasts (is that the right terminology?).  I am really not sure what’s going on.

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The Turk and I are now starting to capture the female cats and take them to the vet for fixing but Nanu will need to wait until her babies are a little older.  We will also take her babies to the vet for a check-up and shots.

I have noticed that a lot of the cats are sneezing and have runny eyes at the moment so I guess a cat flu is rapidly spreading amongst them.  This is a problem as My Kedi Cat has befriended most of the Village Kedi’s and spends his nights out cruising the çiftlikleri (farms) with his akardasla (friends).  His bestie is often found waiting for him on our terrace while he finishes dinner and they swagger off together into the night – classic.  Thankfully he had all his shots before he came to Turkey but I think it may be time for a check-up for him in the coming weeks.  Sorry My Kedi Cat.

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Finally My Hurley Dog caught a chicken yesterday.  Bloody thing somehow ended up in our garden and My Hurley Dog had caught it in an instant.  In the blink of an eye.  Daughter was screaming, I was screaming, The Turk was laughing (and screaming at the dog).  Daughter and I ran out of the garden, across the driveway and was halfway down the street before we came to a screeching halt.  The Turk grabbed My Hurley Dog, forcefully took the carcass off him (he was not giving it up without a fight) and carried it around to show us.  Bastard!

It didn’t end that badly for My Hurley Dog though as Akan (The Turk’s youngest brother) brought half a feking sheep home (including the head) so he scored all the cut offs.  He was one happy little dog last night.

In case you are wondering where my two fur-friends are right now I can tell you.  My Hurley Dog has just come back from a walk with my niece Nisa and My Kedi Cat came wandering in about an hour ago, ate some biscuits and crawled into bed.  Literally crawled into my bed and is under the covers – we won’t see him again until after 6 tonight.  The Turk says it’s like living with a petulant teenager because now that we have giving him his freedom he has reverted to his pre-Sydney personality – that bloody cat or TBC for short!