Park Wife

So you sit and wonder how to follow up such a bitter post... then the answer falls into your lap.

A few days ago, the phone rang. It was my auntie's cleaner on the line. I've known this woman for many years and out of everyone I've met in this amazing country, she's the one I have most difficulty understanding. Though some may speak quickly, they speak simply. Others may speak slowly with complex vocabulary. The lovely Meral is both swift and complex in her communication.

So she called me to ask how I was and how the family was. I wasn't buying this. There had to be another motive for her call. Sure enough, it wasn't long before we got to the real reason. "I've found a girl for you. I will call you again". I uttered the appropriate string of convoluted 'thank you's and 'god bless you's before hanging up. I didn't take it too seriously because whenever any middle aged woman learns I'm single, she'll always suggest someone's daughter who would be perfect.

Well, true to her word, she called today.

Meral: "Hello Billy, it's Meral. Where are you?"
Me: "Hello Meral, I'm at home"
Meral: "Meet me in the park by the clinic as soon as possible"
Me: "But I'm still in my pajam..."
*click*

I pulled on some jeans and headed down to the rendezvous point. There sitting on a bench, her head covered with a scarf, was Meral.

I sat next to her and wondered for a while which salutation would be most appropriate. Do I use 'sen' (Turkish equivalent of the French 'tu') or the more formal 'siz'? Should I shake her hand? Should I kiss it? But if I kiss it, that might make her feel old. Should I kiss her cheeks? Is that too informal? Oh for fuck's sake! I nodded hello and smiled a lot.

After a few minutes of small talk about how sweet my parents are, we got down to business. She reached inside her handbag and brought out a handful of photos.

"I've known this family for 12 years", she said. "They're a wonderful family. There are two daughters. The one I'm talking about is the eldest. I've spoken to the mother and she agreed that I should show you some pictures of her. She chose these..."

With that, she started thumbing through the family shots stopping on each to indicate the girl in question, raising her eyebrows and smiling. I reciprocated with eyebrows raised, lots of smiles and the occasional 'masallah' (meaning 'wonderful', 'how amazing').

I sat looking at the pictures Meral had given me and was unsure what to say. Luckily Meral stepped in. "I'll arrange to meet her in a cafe with her family. You can be sitting at a different table. Then you can watch us and see what she's like. If you like her, you can come over and wish us a good day before going about your business".

I had images of a long raincoat, a trilby and a newspaper with eye holes cut into it. I also had images of tripping up when approaching the table, knocking over coffees and falling face first into her mother's lap (my cartoonist Grandfather's blood pumps through my veins).

Later, on explaining the events to my friend, he pointed out that maybe I had already been the subject of covert surveillance. Perhaps Meral had requested the meeting in the park deliberately. I hadn't properly scanned the area.

Meral then continued to talk about the girl and her qualifications and the fact that she'd cook and clean for me and that I wouldn't have to worry about the upbringing of my children- stuff that means very little to me. I was locked in full concentration to capture as many recognisable words as I could from Meral's excited monologue when, directly behind her, a man had just caught a pigeon with his bare hands. My focus suddenly switched to this fascinating spectacle of dexterity and agility as I fought the morbid curiosity of whether he was going to twat it on a rock and put it in his pocket.

Meral dragged my attention back by thrusting one of the pictures into my hand and telling me to take it home and think about it. Does that seem strange to anyone else? Just what was I supposed to do with it?

I walked away from the park clutching the photo, a little bemused by what had happened.

They say that if you want to up your chances of finding the 'marrying type' rather than 'good time type', get introduced by an older woman. It's an idea a few steps West of arranged marriages but I can see the logic. If the family is known, the daughter is known. Although I had to put my foot down when people started suggesting girls who already share my surname. I'm not quite ready to embrace incest yet.

So watch this space for updates on this particular covert operation and any other suitors who are led to my court. Do you think I should set them challenges or, perhaps, one big wrestling contest? Though I'm not sure I'd want to end up with a proficient wrestler.

Perhaps this is all going to my head a little. If you've ever seen me on a horse, you'd know I'm no Prince Charming. For now I'll concentrate on the blog and leave my love life to the Kusadasi Women's Institute.

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

I've always shied away from the subject of love and romance on this blog but I'd like to take this post to tell you what I've learned about love 'a la Turk'. I may be a little bitter from my experiences and I'm not saying that this is gospel or representative of the nation as a whole. This is just my learnings from my own personal experiences.

Today is my birthday. It was one year ago today that I sat on a secluded beach near the beautiful town of Agva on the Black Sea coast, a beer, some snacks, some candles, a sunset, a beautiful girlfriend and a marriage proposal.

Fast forward to September last year, me alone on the streets of Istanbul, a suitcase, a ripped t-shirt, a smashed mobile phone, a broken heart and the knowledge that I wasn't the only guy she was engaged to.

Turkish women, I'm told by friends and songs, are divided into two groups: the ones you have fun with and the ones you marry. Sometimes it's clear to see. There are those that play up to their roles with passion. But, for the vast majority, where they are on the scale is ambiguous and the trick is figuring out which type you've fallen for.

I chose the wrong type of girl and learned the hard way. Still somewhat dazed from the episode but, in the spirit of what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, I'm as strong as a lion though I may feel as weak as a kitten.

I was a rookie to Turkish relationships. I didn't know the game that had to be played, I didn't even have a chance to learn the rules.

Turkish women can be brutal in both their simplicity and their complexity. They want security and insecurity. You should always be telling them how amazing they are, yet always allowing them some doubt that you could be up to your wrist in a stranger.

They expect jealousy - both giving and receiving. They expect lies. They are expecting you to lie and, in order to maintain the image of the perfect girlfriend, they are also compelled to lie.

Expect to be the second person she's ever slept with. When it comes to previous sexual partners, 1 is the magic number. Any more and she'll appear a tart. Any less it'll appear she's holding onto her virginity and she'll worry you'll lose interest. Turkish girls have as much, if not more, sex than Brits though they'd never admit to it. Turks, generally, have a fiercer libido than any other nation I've met. But don't make the mistake of believing that it's just the guys.

On the plus side, if you choose correctly, expect affection. Expect to be cared for. Expect someone who'll put their head on your shoulder and expect to hear the poetic Turkish words of love: my lamb, my Turkish delight, my soul, my love, my pistachio nut, my honey, my baby. With Turks, 'I love you' can come startlingly quickly. Maybe because, as with French, there is no differentiation between the words 'I love you' and 'I like you'.

Also expect youth and beauty. Turks are an incredibly attractive race and, as I've mentioned many times, they take good care of themselves. When it comes to age, as my uncle said, "take your age, halve it and add 7. That's the perfect age of your wife". Anywhere between 2-10 years younger appears to be the norm. In the UK, this seems to be reversed.

This all works if you know the rules. A simple guy like me from the Suburbs of London, taking everything at face value, didn't stand a chance. The recovery from my last dabbling in love has left its mark. It took 6 months re-grouping in the UK and a CELTA course before I was ready to come back and face Turkey.

Relationships here can take people down. I know at least two who are still recovering after 10 years. Stories of driving the length of the country to confront cheating partners, guns and prison sentences. The penal system here goes easy on men who murder cheating girlfriends. "The prisons are full of men who've been wronged", I'm told.

A small part of me understood the pain that drives a man to such crimes. You can't be in a relationship with a Turk and play by British rules and it's easy to unintentionally misinterpret the game you're playing if it's not your culture.

So what do I do now? I learn the rules or find someone who plays my game.

If there's a next time, I hope she's the right type of girl. I'm not sure my British heart could take another Ottoman slap.

Well, as I said before, it's my birthday today. I knew the day was going to be full of mixed emotions but mum has flown in to help me celebrate so we're off to eat Turkish pizza by the ring road.