Revenge of the Fez

On this day, 89 years ago, a surging Turkish army and mobs of Turkish citizens drove out the occupying Greek nation from Izmir. "The day we taught the Greeks to swim" I've heard uttered jokingly, referring to the way they were, allegedly, pushed into the gloomy waters of Izmir Bay.

Reports say that during the initial invasion by the Greek military, "the [Turkish locals] are forced to tear the fezes from their heads and trample them underfoot". In return, during the war of independence, anyone wearing a hat other than a fez was forced to go for a swim.

All rather confused considering the Fez apparently originates from the Greek islands of the Aegean. Even Ataturk himself referred to it as "the head-covering of Greeks" before outlawing it.

Anyway, tonight there will be fireworks along Kordon (the bar-lined promenade central to Izmir's social scene). A boat with the words "Happy 9th September" will crawl up and down the bay. It's also the time of the great Izmir Fair (think The Ideal Home Exhibition but with more gypos and mosquitoes).

In other news, I moved job, moved house, went on 4 holidays, grew 2 moustaches, 1 massive beard, attended 1 funeral, 0 weddings and haven't written anything on this blog for close to 3 months. For that, I apologise. Thank you to Burak for the kind email that gave me a kick up the arse needed to write something.

Also, a massive thank you to Danny for the iPhone which should help me to take snapshots and post them directly whenever and wherever. Thank you for Peter for jumping on Danny and asking him to give me the iPhone. Thank you to O2 for unlocking it for a mere £15 (gypo cunts).

Thank you to Turkish Telecom, in advance, for shutting my iPhone down in a few weeks until I can have it registered on my passport, which I can't do until the visas come through, which I can't do until the Ministry of Education decides I'm still OK to teach English. Thank you to Turkcell for stealing two of my lunch breaks while I waited to speak to some miserable moron who had no fucking clue about the necessary procedure for registering a foreign mobile yet spoke with unwavering authority.

Until next time...

Fair! ...Enough!

Every year, Izmir hosts the oldest tradeshow in Turkey. Known simply as Izmir International Fair, its venue is the Kulturpark in the heart of the city. Running for a week from morning until way passed midnight, it swarms with locals as well as out of towners. This year, I decided to head down to see what all the fuss is about.

The first thing you notice is how incredibly busy it is. This is obviously a massive event in the Izmir calendar and people from all walks of life turn out to pay their 2TL to be a part of it.

The exhibitors range from TV channels to car manufacturers to olive oil wholesalers. Dolly birds trip around showing off mopeds to young couples, while slick businessmen eat waffles and ponder audio visual equipment.

After a walk through the trade section, we made a dash for the 'World Food' area. At first glance, it appeared a misnomer as the food stalls were divided into the famous cities of Turkey. There was food from Mersin, Gaziantep and even Aydin. I thought the world was bigger than this.

On closer inspection, however, I found Romanian, Bulgarian, Mexican, Italian and Chinese stands. Tucking into my Chinese noodles and fajitas, I started to get into the swing of the blaring music while food sellers danced waving paper napkins. 

After a few stuffed mussels, my friends convinced me to make the next stop the amusement park.

As a child I would visit Hampton Court fair with my friends every Bank Holiday. But, being a complete coward, I would always be the one holding the coats for my friends as they crammed themselves into gypsy-powered waltzers.

It wasn't until a 4-day motivational seminar that I had enough fire in my belly to try a rollercoaster for the first time. I headed to Euro Disney with some friends and boarded the scariest ride on offer. Despite screaming like a resident of Brokeback Mountain, this then paved the way for me to climb Kilimanjaro and, ultimately, sky-diving over Las Vegas. Nothing, however, had prepared me for the Izmir funfair.

This was where the action really was. I stood in awe as I watched scarved families barge their way through the crowds to fulfil the death wishes of their offspring. The greased pikeys who'd been lapdancing foreign pensioners in the tourist towns only days before were finally letting off steam on some of the most horrifying rides I'd ever laid my eyes on.

A friend pointed out a truth I'd been unable to admit to myself. "When you look at those responsible for your safety and the way the machinery rattles and rocks, the excitement is a very real sense that you may be propelled, waltzer and all, into a pomegranate tree."

Before long I was strapped into a ride and back to my camp YeeHawwing. Not satisfied, we got in line for the Magic Carpet ride. I watched the controller with a psychotic intensity as he pressed one button then the next, stopping only to take puffs on his cigarette.

We boarded and pulled the metal bar down over our laps. Soon we were off, swinging back and then forth. As my 95 kilo frame was ridiculed by the immense contraption as it jarred us higher and higher. A glance to my friends confirmed that we were all now in a state of silent terror. Gone were the smiles and the woops. We were now all clinging on for dear life and waiting for the ride to end.

Desperately trying to find something to anchor my obese frame, I lodged my shins under a metal bar. Though excruciatingly painful, it did offer a vague hint of security. The bruising on my lower extremities, however, is still a reminder of just how scared and desperate I was.

With all the poise and grace of four Parkinson's victims, we slowly trembled over to the Big Wheel to round off our evening with spectacular views over Turkey's 3rd largest city.

Yes, that's right. Forget the chocolate cigarettes of Hampton Court, this is Hoop-la for real packs of Marlboro Reds. I love Turkish funfairs.

Clever dick!

I think I'll try and get down there again before it ends for another year.

Izmir International Fair ...recommended!

Camel Cock

I regret the words I spoke last night to my friends in Ankara. "Oh Turkish buses are the best in the world. They make up for the trains. If only England blah blah blah..."

These words were uttered just minutes before boarding a Kamil Koc service from Ankara to Izmir. It was going to be my second experience (counting the trip out there on Friday) of a long-haul bus ride.

So why the regret? Let's start at the beginning...

Some friends were getting married in the Nation's Capital and we needed a way to travel the 579km. I'd driven before but I no longer have a car and, if I did, I fancied a more relaxing means of transportation.

The planes were expensive because we were booking late. So ruling out trains (which are never considered anyway) the only other option was the bus.

Unlike the UK, 8 hours on a bus isn't a big deal to Turks. Izmir to Istanbul or Ankara is a perfectly acceptable alternative.

We headed down to the Kamil Koc ticket office here in Hatay and spoke to the young chap behind the desk. He made me wary from the outset by talking about how "everyone will tell you that Kamil Koc is the best". So why do you need to tell me?

"Oh you're better off coming back at 1am and you'll arrive 10! Lovely!"

Fuck you, that's the middle of the day as far as the thermometre is concerned and I'd rather be safely at home by then. I know your game, mate. You want me to get on the shit-mobile because you can't sell those ungodly tickets. The 10pm bus is going to get people in to work on time and is a breeze to sell. Shove it, I want the 10pm.

"These are techno-seats! There's a TV with lots of different films. USB slots for your movie-filled flash disks. So much leg room, you can do your morning pilates..."

Oooooo USB. Now you've got my attention!

"Coming back, I'm going to give you the best seats on the bus. These two at the back, recline like a bitch and you'll not be disturbed by anyone. You'll sleep like babies until you reach Izmir."

Oooooo USB! OK just give me the tickets!

Boarding the bus to Ankara, we were sat just in front of the middle stair well. Not bad at all. The leg room wasn't amazing. The USB port was... well you know when you buy the cheaper model of something and they annoyingly use the same template for all so you can see where all the better functions should sit but they're blocked off? That was the USB port. Blocked off.

I did the British thing and kept quiet and tried to doze off. Not a chance. I don't sleep on vehicles unfortunately. My girlfriend, however, could sleep on a bike so I watched her instead.

After 4 hours, we arrived at Afyon; the home of sucuk (Turkish garlic sausage) and marijuana. We had a glass of tea and got back on the bus. We arrived, we went to the wedding. Lovely.

Coming back was a different matter. There was a bomb scare at Ankara bus station which meant nothing more than people were running around like headless chickens.

We made our bus with no time to spare and climbed on board. The time is 10pm. The World Cup Final started at 9:30pm. Now, I'm not a football fan but I do like the World Cup and I was hoping to fucking watch it on the bus!

"No signal" came a message on my screen. I called the teenager who serves tea and asked what was going on.

"No football, sorry" I nearly threw my undrinkably hot Nescafe over him.

Then a nudge from my girlfriend and she points to the screen. Game on! We've got signal and we've got a final and we've got ...half time. Bollocks. Oh well, at least we've got something.

Spain wins. Hurrah! That'll teach Robben to run around crying about every little knock.

Time for a doze but ...wait ...it's really hot in here! My legs are burning. There is also a strong smell of burning.

We call the spotty bastard back. "What's going on, why is it so hot?"

"Well, you're sitting on the engine." came his patronisingly obvious reply.

"But they told us these were the most comfortable seats on the bus!"

"Nooooo, you'll never be comfortable at the back". Duh!

Oh jesus no! You mean, I've got 7 more hours of this hamam?

The USB didn't work again. The stupid tart in front of me kept her seat reclined so the table was at a slant, making it necessary to hold my red hot Nescafe with tears in my eyes. My TV was the only one that I could see that was not getting a clear signal. And our seats didn't fully recline.

By the time we reached our half-way break, I had taken off my shoes and socks, rolled my trousers up to my knees and lifted my t-shirt into a crop-top yet the sweat was still pouring off me.

My shoes had almost melted, the packed lunch we'd brought most certainly had. The tepid fart coming out of the aircon could not be directed usefully. All this combined with a lack of sleep, didn't make for a pleasant journey.

By 6am, we were in Izmir Bus Station looking for the service bus home. "We're not going where you want because of road works". But you picked me up from there didn't you? "You'll have to get on this one and make your own way from there". Anything else your company wants to do to us today?

We struggle on with our luggage and sit down and wait a long 15 minutes for the smelly, sweaty transit van to cough into life. "Just so there's no mistakes, this bus is going to Bornova". Mistake!!!!

The git had put us on the wrong bus. "Oh you want the service bus  just pulling out there". STOP THAT BUS!

Throwing our bags out of one and onto another, whilst ignoring the tuts from idiots, we were finally going home.

We get off at the last stop and hail a cab. "We're going to Hatay". We say exhausted but relieved.

"Where's that then?" Are you serious? Oh god, this is never-ending.

"It's back over there!" I say frustrated. He then proceeds to reverse us into a ridiculously busy roundabout. Only milimetres away from a fatal collision with a local bus, he decides that reversing is too dangerous and opts for driving forwards ...the wrong way round the roundabout.

Here I am, finally. Sleepless and furious. I'm writing this publicly to spread the word that, based on this one experience, Kamil Koc are a shower of shit and should be avoided at all costs. They are rude, useless, ignorant, have no desire to please the customer, lie to get custom, leave their passengers stranded and are generally an enormous pile of shit.

If I can be bothered to ever take a bus again, I'll try someone else. Any recommendations welcome.

Thank you for reading and remember:

Famous Turks #4

Alec Issigonis



Date of birth: 18 November 1906
Died: 2 October 1988
Place of Birth: Izmir, Turkey (OK he was from a Greek community, but it still counts!)
Famous for: Inventing the mini!

Barberian

Since relocating to Izmir, I've had to source a new barber. My current find is a 17 year old called Ahmet who's been working in the same place since he was 11.

Today was only the second time I've been to see him.

After giving me a mullet and waxing my nose, he slapped me on the back and said "the missus will love it!"

Well worth £5, I reckon.

A shoe shop with attitude

Don't even try taking anything back to this shop I saw in Izmir...