Thursday, 28 June 2007
Wednesday, 27 June 2007
Holy mother of fuck, Spidey!
Last night I was just surfing YouTube when I saw something in the corner of my eye strolling across the wall. Something not dissimilar in size to a young camel.
Sometimes living on the edge of a forest can bring unwelcome guests. This little beauty decided to escape the bonkers heatwave and chill out in my air conditioned lounge for a while.
Now I have a terrible fear of spiders. I tried to conquer it by going to a course provided by London Zoo in which we were treated to hypnosis and flooding techniques to help us to become friends with these 8 legged bastards.
At the end of the day I had managed the following:
Not bad, but I'm not actually scared of tarantulas. They don't really fall into the spider category in my book. They're more of a rodent. What really makes my skin scrawl are those big old house spiders you get in England. The ones you find sitting in the bath.
So imagine my joy when I saw this mofo perched in the corner of my room last night...
Now, being a vegetarian and all round animal lover, I didn't want to give it a shoeing but rather do what we were taught on the course and to put a glass over it and remove it safely. Unfortunately there wasn't a glass big enough for this beast. It was also situated in the corner of the ceiling, meaning that it was almost impossible to perform my practiced maneuver. So I sat and watched and waited.
After 15 minutes I decided to be proactive and use the broom to nudge it to a more reasonable location. Well, one centimetre from it's body, it sprinted across the wall and I lost my mind.
I took a baseball-like swing at it with the broom but it caused no obvious injury. After two swings and a thorough spraying with mosquito repellent, there was no change to this monster's determination to scare the crap out of me. But luckily, by this time, it was scuttling along the floor.
Got it! A we had a picture for posterity. The next task was to heave it over the balcony where I clearly heard a thud as it hit the ground two storeys below.
Turns out, this is a fantastically poisonous little critter. One I hope has no homing instinct. But I now sleep with a gun under my pillow.
Sometimes living on the edge of a forest can bring unwelcome guests. This little beauty decided to escape the bonkers heatwave and chill out in my air conditioned lounge for a while.
Now I have a terrible fear of spiders. I tried to conquer it by going to a course provided by London Zoo in which we were treated to hypnosis and flooding techniques to help us to become friends with these 8 legged bastards.
At the end of the day I had managed the following:
Not bad, but I'm not actually scared of tarantulas. They don't really fall into the spider category in my book. They're more of a rodent. What really makes my skin scrawl are those big old house spiders you get in England. The ones you find sitting in the bath.
So imagine my joy when I saw this mofo perched in the corner of my room last night...
Now, being a vegetarian and all round animal lover, I didn't want to give it a shoeing but rather do what we were taught on the course and to put a glass over it and remove it safely. Unfortunately there wasn't a glass big enough for this beast. It was also situated in the corner of the ceiling, meaning that it was almost impossible to perform my practiced maneuver. So I sat and watched and waited.
After 15 minutes I decided to be proactive and use the broom to nudge it to a more reasonable location. Well, one centimetre from it's body, it sprinted across the wall and I lost my mind.
I took a baseball-like swing at it with the broom but it caused no obvious injury. After two swings and a thorough spraying with mosquito repellent, there was no change to this monster's determination to scare the crap out of me. But luckily, by this time, it was scuttling along the floor.
Got it! A we had a picture for posterity. The next task was to heave it over the balcony where I clearly heard a thud as it hit the ground two storeys below.
Turns out, this is a fantastically poisonous little critter. One I hope has no homing instinct. But I now sleep with a gun under my pillow.
Tuesday, 26 June 2007
Word up!
So what do you reckon these are all about? I saw them in the supermarket the other day and did a double take.
I'll give you a clue. They're to be worn after a certain ceremony. Something most little boys have here and something most people ask me about and try to convince me to have done. Not a fucking hope.
Yes, you've guessed it, they're to be worn after circumcision. Like a bizarre, crying Larry Blackmon the child dons these beauties to protect the newly shelled acorn. Then he's sat on a donkey and paraded through town. Personally I think a donkey ride would be the last thing on my mind if someone had just taken a knife to my Charlie.
Monday, 25 June 2007
Rude nan
I have to share something that made my laugh the other morning. My nan is 82 years old and lives in the next apartment. I go and visit her regularly though her memory loss means she doesn't believe that and chastises me for never visiting.
She has a live-in carer as she can no longer walk. A middle-aged woman from Turkmenistan called Suzanna with Turkish similar to mine but with a Russian accent.
A few days ago Suzanna's son came to visit her after almost 2 years of being apart. She asked him to bring a number of things from home that she's missed over the years.
To welcome him, I was invited to breakfast. After we had eaten, Suzanna grabs a can of something I can only compare to a thick, sweet condensed milk. She dips a spoon into the Turkmenistan gloop and proudly offer it to my nan to taste.
"We call this ........ Can I find this here?" Suzanna asks nan.
"Of course, we have everything in Turkey". A classic response from an aged Turk.
"Where can I find it?" Suzanna continued.
"In your mother's cunt" came the understated reply from the frail octogenarian. I dropped an olive.
She has a live-in carer as she can no longer walk. A middle-aged woman from Turkmenistan called Suzanna with Turkish similar to mine but with a Russian accent.
A few days ago Suzanna's son came to visit her after almost 2 years of being apart. She asked him to bring a number of things from home that she's missed over the years.
To welcome him, I was invited to breakfast. After we had eaten, Suzanna grabs a can of something I can only compare to a thick, sweet condensed milk. She dips a spoon into the Turkmenistan gloop and proudly offer it to my nan to taste.
"We call this ........ Can I find this here?" Suzanna asks nan.
"Of course, we have everything in Turkey". A classic response from an aged Turk.
"Where can I find it?" Suzanna continued.
"In your mother's cunt" came the understated reply from the frail octogenarian. I dropped an olive.
Unaccompanied and unnacustomed in Customs
So after 5 years my Minolta camera finally gives up the ghost and decides it doesn't want to take pictures in sunshine anymore. Not much use to me living in a country that sees little else. So I began my search last year for a replacement.
I'm a research maniac and spent months looking for the right camera for the job. Finally I settled on a Canon Ixus 850IS. A small, handy piece of work that was raved about in all the forums I came across.
So the I embarked upon the next stage of the research process; where to buy and how much to pay. I found a great company called DigitalRev based in Hong Kong. They promise swift delivery and no Customs headaches... well, at least, to the UK.
The package arrived swiftly, but unfortunately not to me. Customs in Istanbul (the only gateway for cargo into Turkey) took a fancy to the package and informed DHL to write me a letter about it. DHL did indeed send me a letter but my Turkish isn't quite up to scratch yet. I called DHL and asked what I had to do.
They informed me that in order to get my hands on my camera I would have to clear Istanbul Customs then forward the package to Izmir Customs where I could then collect. Unfortunately no one could give me a clear answer on how much this would cost. After a host of other calls, pulling in contacts and friends who might have an answer, I soon realised that no one could give me a clear answer. Well, actually there was one clear unanimous answer "why the hell did you buy from overseas?"
I called DHL Kusadasi and a very nice lady invited me to go down and she would read the letter and tell me what I needed to do. That I did.
The answer? 130YTL (about £45) to DHL to clear and send to Izmir plus 10% of the declared value to Customs. I could just about swallow that and went to make the bank transfer (everything is paid in bank transfers here, even ecommerce).
After giving DHL a few days to send the camera I made my way to Izmir. On arrival at the Customs Head Office in Izmir Airport I was met by a crowded reception of men generally hanging around and reading newspapers. I approached one and pointed at the letter from DHL and asked what I need to do. Suddenly all the other men got interested in my plight and I was taken by the hand and lead into the Customs Offices.
After a few minutes pinballing from one clerk to another, I was told that we had to go to see DHL.
"Have you got a car?" asked the man holding my hand. "Come on, let's go together."
OK I was now starting to get suspicious of this man's intentions. Nothing sexual, but after a year in Turkey you learn that you don't have to drop your trousers to get royally fucked. Usually in the wallet. Anyway, I was completely lost and needed the help.
When we arrived at DHL I was told that I needed to pay DHL another 130YTL for 'documentation'. I then spat the dummy and insisted that DHL Kusadasi had told me that all I had to pay was 130YTL lus 10%, nothing more. I had asked several times and they had made several phone calls to confirm.
"I'm sorry Sir but there's nothing we can do, you have to pay this money". I called Kusadasi and asked what the hell was going on. It would have been cheaper to go to Istanbul to collect this package. DHL had actually charged me the price of a return air fare for sending this parcel to Izmir.
Izmir DHL told me that it was getting late and that I would have to make a decision or it would have to wait until the next day. This wasn't an option as I had only hired a car for a day. I called Kusadasi again and was welcomed by a man screaming at me telling me that I had to pay or forget the parcel. That it was my stupid fault for buying a cheap camera from Hong Kong. OK, I may have been stupid but that's not his business.
People have certain weaknesses, things that send them crazy. I have only a few.
The man who had taken me to DHL had admitted that he was a broker and I realised that all the men hanging around the Custom's reception were all brokers looking for tourists to prey on. They would help you and take a commission. Which is fine but I wish they would tell these things up front rather than appear to be something they're not. Anyway, my work was proving lengthy and possibly fruitless so my broker friend headed back to Customs alone.
I realised that this battle wasn't going to won today and that at least I wanted to go home with my camera. So out came the wallet. I had no more Turkish money and had to start paying in Dollars. I made and headed back to Customs.
I decided to try and shake off this broker and deal with everything myself. I went from one clerk to another and finally found a middle aged, stony faced woman in a small room. This woman had a face that had seen action. That ex-prostitute numbness. The kind of woman you would meet on the prom at Southend and would greet you with "ello darlin".
I stood by her desk like a school boy waiting for his punishment while she looked through my papers. I smiled my best smile whenever she looked up. She said nothing. The only sound was the rustling of papers, the occasional cracking of her chewing gum and grating nails on skin as she scratched herself and uttered obscenities at the mosquito bites that freckled her person.
As I stood and waited for the verdict, my eyes wandered around the room. This room was full of mosquitoes. It was completely bizarre. Box files and mosquitoes. It was an open buffet for them, feeding on this poor aging dolly. No wonder she was pissed off.
After maybe 10 smiles, I finally broke through. She never returned a smile but she said softly "follow me". We went to another clerk and she was clearly begging him to do something to help me. He sent me off for photocopies and stamped them and we went back to her office.
"Now you've got to go and see the Head of Customs" she said and pointed me to a grand office across the hall.
I knocked and entered. There were two men sitting at desks. One was on the phone and the other clearly nodded "it's the other guy". The man on the phone (the boss) turned to look at me and to my horror, he was boss eyed. Boss eyed and even more stony faced.
"Go out and come back in 5 minutes" he said firmly. I did so swiftly.
After exactly 6 minutes I knocked and entered again. "What do you want?" he asked and I put the papers in front of him. He sighed and tutted and turned to me again. This time he launched into a frightening angry monologue. Clearly telling me something. Something I had no chance of understanding. The only thing I could understand was that he was angry, very angry. All hand gestures were being used and colourful language. I was petrified.
Then ever so softly I heard another voice to my left apologising. I hadn't noticed with all the panic but there was another man to my left. This was the real receiver of the abuse. The man who the bosses good eye was looking at. I was being stared at by the bad eye. Ah ha! Don't watch the right eye I said to myself, focus only on the left.
The boss signed and stamped the telephone directory of paperwork I had now acquired and I headed back to my old Doris.
Well this whole process took almost 4 hours. Going here and there and photocopying and paying money and back to the boss and back to Doris and avoiding Mr Broker. Finally I was clear of Customs. My last challenge was to find a depot on the out skirts of the airport to collect my prize.
After over 4 hours and a total of 390YTL I finally have my new camera. It's wonderful and I'm very happy. Although I am so protective of it. I wrap it in cloth and hold like a new born child. The fear of having to go through this process again fills me with dread.
The moral of this story is, when in Turkey, buy locally.
I'm a research maniac and spent months looking for the right camera for the job. Finally I settled on a Canon Ixus 850IS. A small, handy piece of work that was raved about in all the forums I came across.
So the I embarked upon the next stage of the research process; where to buy and how much to pay. I found a great company called DigitalRev based in Hong Kong. They promise swift delivery and no Customs headaches... well, at least, to the UK.
The package arrived swiftly, but unfortunately not to me. Customs in Istanbul (the only gateway for cargo into Turkey) took a fancy to the package and informed DHL to write me a letter about it. DHL did indeed send me a letter but my Turkish isn't quite up to scratch yet. I called DHL and asked what I had to do.
They informed me that in order to get my hands on my camera I would have to clear Istanbul Customs then forward the package to Izmir Customs where I could then collect. Unfortunately no one could give me a clear answer on how much this would cost. After a host of other calls, pulling in contacts and friends who might have an answer, I soon realised that no one could give me a clear answer. Well, actually there was one clear unanimous answer "why the hell did you buy from overseas?"
I called DHL Kusadasi and a very nice lady invited me to go down and she would read the letter and tell me what I needed to do. That I did.
The answer? 130YTL (about £45) to DHL to clear and send to Izmir plus 10% of the declared value to Customs. I could just about swallow that and went to make the bank transfer (everything is paid in bank transfers here, even ecommerce).
After giving DHL a few days to send the camera I made my way to Izmir. On arrival at the Customs Head Office in Izmir Airport I was met by a crowded reception of men generally hanging around and reading newspapers. I approached one and pointed at the letter from DHL and asked what I need to do. Suddenly all the other men got interested in my plight and I was taken by the hand and lead into the Customs Offices.
After a few minutes pinballing from one clerk to another, I was told that we had to go to see DHL.
"Have you got a car?" asked the man holding my hand. "Come on, let's go together."
OK I was now starting to get suspicious of this man's intentions. Nothing sexual, but after a year in Turkey you learn that you don't have to drop your trousers to get royally fucked. Usually in the wallet. Anyway, I was completely lost and needed the help.
When we arrived at DHL I was told that I needed to pay DHL another 130YTL for 'documentation'. I then spat the dummy and insisted that DHL Kusadasi had told me that all I had to pay was 130YTL lus 10%, nothing more. I had asked several times and they had made several phone calls to confirm.
"I'm sorry Sir but there's nothing we can do, you have to pay this money". I called Kusadasi and asked what the hell was going on. It would have been cheaper to go to Istanbul to collect this package. DHL had actually charged me the price of a return air fare for sending this parcel to Izmir.
Izmir DHL told me that it was getting late and that I would have to make a decision or it would have to wait until the next day. This wasn't an option as I had only hired a car for a day. I called Kusadasi again and was welcomed by a man screaming at me telling me that I had to pay or forget the parcel. That it was my stupid fault for buying a cheap camera from Hong Kong. OK, I may have been stupid but that's not his business.
People have certain weaknesses, things that send them crazy. I have only a few.
- People pinching my nose. This comes from being a child in Turkey where adoring bystanders love to squeeze the noses of children. Unfortunately my had a sensitive nose that would gush with blood at the first sign of a curl thumb and index finger.
- People that eat with their mouth open.
- Being made to look a fool.
- Being shouted at.
The man who had taken me to DHL had admitted that he was a broker and I realised that all the men hanging around the Custom's reception were all brokers looking for tourists to prey on. They would help you and take a commission. Which is fine but I wish they would tell these things up front rather than appear to be something they're not. Anyway, my work was proving lengthy and possibly fruitless so my broker friend headed back to Customs alone.
I realised that this battle wasn't going to won today and that at least I wanted to go home with my camera. So out came the wallet. I had no more Turkish money and had to start paying in Dollars. I made and headed back to Customs.
I decided to try and shake off this broker and deal with everything myself. I went from one clerk to another and finally found a middle aged, stony faced woman in a small room. This woman had a face that had seen action. That ex-prostitute numbness. The kind of woman you would meet on the prom at Southend and would greet you with "ello darlin".
I stood by her desk like a school boy waiting for his punishment while she looked through my papers. I smiled my best smile whenever she looked up. She said nothing. The only sound was the rustling of papers, the occasional cracking of her chewing gum and grating nails on skin as she scratched herself and uttered obscenities at the mosquito bites that freckled her person.
As I stood and waited for the verdict, my eyes wandered around the room. This room was full of mosquitoes. It was completely bizarre. Box files and mosquitoes. It was an open buffet for them, feeding on this poor aging dolly. No wonder she was pissed off.
After maybe 10 smiles, I finally broke through. She never returned a smile but she said softly "follow me". We went to another clerk and she was clearly begging him to do something to help me. He sent me off for photocopies and stamped them and we went back to her office.
"Now you've got to go and see the Head of Customs" she said and pointed me to a grand office across the hall.
I knocked and entered. There were two men sitting at desks. One was on the phone and the other clearly nodded "it's the other guy". The man on the phone (the boss) turned to look at me and to my horror, he was boss eyed. Boss eyed and even more stony faced.
"Go out and come back in 5 minutes" he said firmly. I did so swiftly.
After exactly 6 minutes I knocked and entered again. "What do you want?" he asked and I put the papers in front of him. He sighed and tutted and turned to me again. This time he launched into a frightening angry monologue. Clearly telling me something. Something I had no chance of understanding. The only thing I could understand was that he was angry, very angry. All hand gestures were being used and colourful language. I was petrified.
Then ever so softly I heard another voice to my left apologising. I hadn't noticed with all the panic but there was another man to my left. This was the real receiver of the abuse. The man who the bosses good eye was looking at. I was being stared at by the bad eye. Ah ha! Don't watch the right eye I said to myself, focus only on the left.
The boss signed and stamped the telephone directory of paperwork I had now acquired and I headed back to my old Doris.
Well this whole process took almost 4 hours. Going here and there and photocopying and paying money and back to the boss and back to Doris and avoiding Mr Broker. Finally I was clear of Customs. My last challenge was to find a depot on the out skirts of the airport to collect my prize.
After over 4 hours and a total of 390YTL I finally have my new camera. It's wonderful and I'm very happy. Although I am so protective of it. I wrap it in cloth and hold like a new born child. The fear of having to go through this process again fills me with dread.
The moral of this story is, when in Turkey, buy locally.
Saturday, 24 March 2007
Doesn't time fly?
I thought that it must have been about a week since my last post so I thought I'd better bring you all up to speed. Imagine my surprise when it appears it has been over a month. Every Friday I get emails from the brilliant B3ta and Holy Moly (although it is making less sense now I'm without idiot box). It seems like these emails are coming daily as the weeks are flying by.
The weather didn't really come to anything. We had a few drops of rain but not enough to protect us from a bastard of a summer. Water cuts are going to be continuous, I fear, through the hottest months of the year. We shall see how it unfolds.
My cats are doing fine. Elsie and Ceylin are plodding along nicely. I went down to the vets yesterday to pick up some more cat food. The problem with putting out food is that you get very popular with all the local cats and so there are constant screams and hisses as soon as I close the front door when all the other cats turn up and hell breaks loose.
As I went up the stairs to the vets, there was a chameleon sitting on the top step looking at me with one eye (the other looking for an escape route). I thought it was a statue and pointed at it and laughed, to which the vet replied "oh there it is!" and picked it up. It was real and someone had brought it in from the road after it got a little lost in the middle of town. This kind of thing happens quite a lot apparently. I showed interest and the vet wrapped it and handed it to me. After a brief fantasy of keeping it as a pet, I realised that the best thing to do would be to put it in the woods behind my house.
The life of a vet is hard here. Just as I was leaving, two men came in with a puppy they just ran over. It's good that people are stopping to help. But these problems are constant and the vets are trying their best to curb the number of animals on the road. I can't remember if I said before but if you see a cat with the left ear cut then it means that it's a female and she's been spayed.
By the time I got home it was dark and so I decided to look after my new friend, Karma, until the morning. At first light I put on my boots and marched up into the mountain. Now the problem with chameleons is that they need sunshine to move at any speed. Poor Karma could bearly summon the energy to hiss at me. He did have the energy to cling to the bars of the cat basket though and it was impossible to get him to release. All I could do was bring the cage near the branch of the tree and prod him gently in the genitals (which was the only way I found to get any kind of reaction out of him (or her)).
Finally he got on the branch and began to blend in with the background (literally). I then realised that he might not like pine trees and thought maybe I should put him on the ground and let him decide. I tried to get him off the branch but he had locked on again and wasnt having any of it. I took this as my cue to leave and waved goodbye to my latest friend.
The weather didn't really come to anything. We had a few drops of rain but not enough to protect us from a bastard of a summer. Water cuts are going to be continuous, I fear, through the hottest months of the year. We shall see how it unfolds.
My cats are doing fine. Elsie and Ceylin are plodding along nicely. I went down to the vets yesterday to pick up some more cat food. The problem with putting out food is that you get very popular with all the local cats and so there are constant screams and hisses as soon as I close the front door when all the other cats turn up and hell breaks loose.
As I went up the stairs to the vets, there was a chameleon sitting on the top step looking at me with one eye (the other looking for an escape route). I thought it was a statue and pointed at it and laughed, to which the vet replied "oh there it is!" and picked it up. It was real and someone had brought it in from the road after it got a little lost in the middle of town. This kind of thing happens quite a lot apparently. I showed interest and the vet wrapped it and handed it to me. After a brief fantasy of keeping it as a pet, I realised that the best thing to do would be to put it in the woods behind my house.
The life of a vet is hard here. Just as I was leaving, two men came in with a puppy they just ran over. It's good that people are stopping to help. But these problems are constant and the vets are trying their best to curb the number of animals on the road. I can't remember if I said before but if you see a cat with the left ear cut then it means that it's a female and she's been spayed.
By the time I got home it was dark and so I decided to look after my new friend, Karma, until the morning. At first light I put on my boots and marched up into the mountain. Now the problem with chameleons is that they need sunshine to move at any speed. Poor Karma could bearly summon the energy to hiss at me. He did have the energy to cling to the bars of the cat basket though and it was impossible to get him to release. All I could do was bring the cage near the branch of the tree and prod him gently in the genitals (which was the only way I found to get any kind of reaction out of him (or her)).
Finally he got on the branch and began to blend in with the background (literally). I then realised that he might not like pine trees and thought maybe I should put him on the ground and let him decide. I tried to get him off the branch but he had locked on again and wasnt having any of it. I took this as my cue to leave and waved goodbye to my latest friend.
Saturday, 17 February 2007
Laptops Schmaptops
Seems like it's the season to update technology. Friends and family are knocking on my door looking for answers. Everyone is looking for a new toy for the new year and being vaguely technical, I'm the fount of knowledge.
The word on the street is that someone is coming over from the States soon so let's put our orders in and give him enough hand luggage to make a pack horse wince.
My uncle and his friend's laptops were both killed in the same incident. Apparently his friend was showing one of his handguns to the Prince of Thailand when it accidentally went off and put holes through the screens of both machines. Luckily the Prince was fine after a glass of tea and change of underwear. Only in Turkey.
In the meantime, I scouting through all the UK websites trying to find the right technological bargain. "What about Harold's?" I was asked. It took me a while to work out we were talking about Harrods. I think a re-brand might be in order. I quite like the name.
So what else is new? I got an email from a friend back home the other day to say that an old Uni friend was doing rather well in the charts. Turns out my old mate Jack Allsop (now known as 'Just Jack' is all over the radio these days.
I've been a little out of touch with things since moving to Turkey. I have no TV or radio as I feel my view from the balcony is more than enough to occupy my mind. So I only get to hear about things when someone from home tells me.
It's nice to be out of touch. It's amazing how life goes on just fine without the usual shit we're fed through the idiot box. I remember when I lived back in Blighty, how I would flick between the hundreds of channels of toss spewed up by Telewest and always find something to kill the time. Hours upon hours of programs about nothing much. It seemed so important at the time but the reality was, it was just a way to waste my life.
I've become something of an anti-television evangelist. I strongly recommend you switch the box off and sit and talk with your family or get a hobby. Even something as 'important' as the news, really isn't so important. Most of what they churn out is meaningless bullshit about things that will never have any impact on our lives. If I want entertainment, I always have YouTube to surf.
OK that's enough ranting for one day. Until next time...
The word on the street is that someone is coming over from the States soon so let's put our orders in and give him enough hand luggage to make a pack horse wince.
My uncle and his friend's laptops were both killed in the same incident. Apparently his friend was showing one of his handguns to the Prince of Thailand when it accidentally went off and put holes through the screens of both machines. Luckily the Prince was fine after a glass of tea and change of underwear. Only in Turkey.
In the meantime, I scouting through all the UK websites trying to find the right technological bargain. "What about Harold's?" I was asked. It took me a while to work out we were talking about Harrods. I think a re-brand might be in order. I quite like the name.
So what else is new? I got an email from a friend back home the other day to say that an old Uni friend was doing rather well in the charts. Turns out my old mate Jack Allsop (now known as 'Just Jack' is all over the radio these days.
I've been a little out of touch with things since moving to Turkey. I have no TV or radio as I feel my view from the balcony is more than enough to occupy my mind. So I only get to hear about things when someone from home tells me.
It's nice to be out of touch. It's amazing how life goes on just fine without the usual shit we're fed through the idiot box. I remember when I lived back in Blighty, how I would flick between the hundreds of channels of toss spewed up by Telewest and always find something to kill the time. Hours upon hours of programs about nothing much. It seemed so important at the time but the reality was, it was just a way to waste my life.
I've become something of an anti-television evangelist. I strongly recommend you switch the box off and sit and talk with your family or get a hobby. Even something as 'important' as the news, really isn't so important. Most of what they churn out is meaningless bullshit about things that will never have any impact on our lives. If I want entertainment, I always have YouTube to surf.
OK that's enough ranting for one day. Until next time...
Monday, 22 January 2007
Lovely weather we're having
The other day I watched a documentary film that seems to be very successful at the moment. It's called 'An Inconvenient Truth' presented by Al Gore. It's absolutely fantastic and I recommend watching it. It will change your life.
The film focusses on global warming and what we should be doing to combat it. The effects of global warming were all too apparent yesterday.
I joined a walking group that meets evalternate Sundays to walk and hike in places of interest in the local area. Yesterday we went to a place called Karpuzlu (meaning 'with water melons') and hiked for 3 or 4 hours over 12km stopping at the top of the mountain for lunch. I find these walks are so good for the soul. It's a chance to meet interesting people and chat as you stroll through the wilderness.
On the way back a few knowledgable ones amongst us gave a brief lecture in the bus. The subject was global warming and how we are now starting to see the effects. It was clear that the weather shouldn't be this hot in January. In fact if was so hot we had to have the air conditioning on in the bus. I was walking up the mountain in a t-shirt and sweating. It was indeed strange weather. Today it's the same. The sun is out and if it weren't for the slight cold, you would think it was a summer's day.
Here are some pictures of the walk:
I had my own personal Carbon emmisions issue the other night. I was sitting working away when I started to realise I was feeling a little down. That emotion grew into deep depression in which I even began to cry. I became very tired and thought the best thing to do would be to go to bed and hope to sleep through whatever was wrong. Just at that moment, my dad called. I explained how I was feeling and he asked whether I was burning the coal burner. I said I was and he told me to immediately open the windows. I did and the change in my state was instant. Suddenly I felt fine and positive again. It seems that there was a problem with the chimney and the fumes were starting to get to work.
Thank god I didn't go to sleep. I don't think I would have woken again. Needless to say the coal burner is going in the sea at the first opportunity. Back to good old electric heaters for me.
The film focusses on global warming and what we should be doing to combat it. The effects of global warming were all too apparent yesterday.
I joined a walking group that meets evalternate Sundays to walk and hike in places of interest in the local area. Yesterday we went to a place called Karpuzlu (meaning 'with water melons') and hiked for 3 or 4 hours over 12km stopping at the top of the mountain for lunch. I find these walks are so good for the soul. It's a chance to meet interesting people and chat as you stroll through the wilderness.
On the way back a few knowledgable ones amongst us gave a brief lecture in the bus. The subject was global warming and how we are now starting to see the effects. It was clear that the weather shouldn't be this hot in January. In fact if was so hot we had to have the air conditioning on in the bus. I was walking up the mountain in a t-shirt and sweating. It was indeed strange weather. Today it's the same. The sun is out and if it weren't for the slight cold, you would think it was a summer's day.
Here are some pictures of the walk:
I had my own personal Carbon emmisions issue the other night. I was sitting working away when I started to realise I was feeling a little down. That emotion grew into deep depression in which I even began to cry. I became very tired and thought the best thing to do would be to go to bed and hope to sleep through whatever was wrong. Just at that moment, my dad called. I explained how I was feeling and he asked whether I was burning the coal burner. I said I was and he told me to immediately open the windows. I did and the change in my state was instant. Suddenly I felt fine and positive again. It seems that there was a problem with the chimney and the fumes were starting to get to work.
Thank god I didn't go to sleep. I don't think I would have woken again. Needless to say the coal burner is going in the sea at the first opportunity. Back to good old electric heaters for me.
Sunday, 14 January 2007
Billy's back
Here I am, back in Kusadasi. It feels like I've been away for an age. In fact I've been away for about a month.
The big change I noticed as I headed to the market on Friday was just how busy Kusadasi has become. What happened? Is everyone starting to get ready for the summer? Surely not. We're not even through the worst of the winter yet. Whatever it is, Kusadasi is absolutely buzzing with locals.
Christmas was a wonderful break. So nice to see everyone back at home and to see how my home town has changed. The funny thing was that this time, for the first time, I felt like a stranger. Somehow I was an observer rather than part of the community.
Well time to plug in the electric blanket I treated myself in the UK and snuggle down for the night.
The big change I noticed as I headed to the market on Friday was just how busy Kusadasi has become. What happened? Is everyone starting to get ready for the summer? Surely not. We're not even through the worst of the winter yet. Whatever it is, Kusadasi is absolutely buzzing with locals.
Christmas was a wonderful break. So nice to see everyone back at home and to see how my home town has changed. The funny thing was that this time, for the first time, I felt like a stranger. Somehow I was an observer rather than part of the community.
Well time to plug in the electric blanket I treated myself in the UK and snuggle down for the night.
Friday, 29 December 2006
Merry Christmas everyone!
OK, so I slipped a few days but, hey, it's Christmas and I'm allowed to.
The latest news is that I have returned to the UK to spend Christmas with my family. Having spent a couple of days in Istanbul, I caught the easyJet flight back into Luton to the welcome of a pea souper. The pilot had to radio in to check that we were OK to land and thankfully we were.
Being back is a little strange. I haven't been back since August and I'm not sure whether I've missed the UK or not. I've missed my family obviously but I'm not sure whether I've missed England and Englishness.
It seems, as I walk around my home town of Kingston, that consumerism is a little too much for me to handle now. The fighting for Christmas presents and stories of people queuing outside Selfridges from 5am to get the bargains in the sales is a little twisted. That's not to say that I'm not going to stuff my suitcase with sales bargains before I fly back to the safety of my balcony.
Well I must go and cram some more of the food I've missed over the past 4 months down my neck...
The latest news is that I have returned to the UK to spend Christmas with my family. Having spent a couple of days in Istanbul, I caught the easyJet flight back into Luton to the welcome of a pea souper. The pilot had to radio in to check that we were OK to land and thankfully we were.
Being back is a little strange. I haven't been back since August and I'm not sure whether I've missed the UK or not. I've missed my family obviously but I'm not sure whether I've missed England and Englishness.
It seems, as I walk around my home town of Kingston, that consumerism is a little too much for me to handle now. The fighting for Christmas presents and stories of people queuing outside Selfridges from 5am to get the bargains in the sales is a little twisted. That's not to say that I'm not going to stuff my suitcase with sales bargains before I fly back to the safety of my balcony.
Well I must go and cram some more of the food I've missed over the past 4 months down my neck...
Sunday, 17 December 2006
Masallah!
Well it seems to be working. Here I am obeying my diary and writing the next entry.
I had some good news this week. I finally found a good lead in my quest to learn Turkish.
It all started when some buttons fell off my coat and I needed to go find a seamstress. As with everything in Turkey, you don't just walk in to any old place. You need to ask the family and get recommendations. So having identified the family approved seamstress, I set off with anything and everything that was missing a button or coming loose.
I walked down the dark alley between the bakers and the Levi shop and found a small room with sewing machines. There was no one to be seen. "Hello? Hello?" I called but nothing. So I tried calling in Turkish. "Alo? Alo?". Still nothing.
As I turned to leave, a little boy came running up to me. The kid couldn't have been more than 3 or 4. "Can I help you?" he said confidently?
"Hello little man, is there no one around today?" I patronised.
"Yes, I'm looking after the place. What do you need doing?" he replied.
"Erm," I stumbled as the confusion grabbed my by the tongue "I've got some missing buttons and a little sewing needing doing".
"OK fine, do you still have the buttons?"
This was beginning to freak me out a little. Maybe he was a midget? But he was playing out the front with his friends when I came in, so he can't be. Weird. "Yes, I've got the buttons"
"Come back in 10 minutes and my mum will be here". He said finally to my relief. An English kid of his age would be licking windows and sitting in his own mess, but this kid was lining up business like a 40 year old.
Anyway, to cut this long story down a bit, the mother did turn up later on and I got everything sewn up (hurrah!) for about 30p. While sitting and sewing, she was telling me about her older son and how good his English was etc. I started to complain about the lack of Turkish language schools in Kusadasi when she replied "but there is. Just go to the Halk Eyetim". Now I still don't really know what the Halk Eyetim is but I went there.
Sure enough, all I need to do is get permission from the Vali (mayor-type figure) for the state of Aydin and I'll be on my way. It seems that I'm going to be learning Turkish along side other Turks. This is where my confusion lies at the moment. Why would I be learning along side other Turks? Why can't Turks speak Turkish? "Because it's the Halk Eyetim" is the reply I always get. From what I can gather the Halk Eyetim is the place where the poor and uneducated go to learn to read and write. I told them that I want to learn to speak as well and was told that I would.
I asked the Manager of the Halk Eyetim how much the course was. I true 'Two Ronnies' he replied "45 days". He's got his work cut out with me.
So there you have it. In the new year I will be starting my Turkish lessons. I'm looking forward to it. It'll be quite a life changing experience to talk to my grandmother fluently.
Until next week...
I had some good news this week. I finally found a good lead in my quest to learn Turkish.
It all started when some buttons fell off my coat and I needed to go find a seamstress. As with everything in Turkey, you don't just walk in to any old place. You need to ask the family and get recommendations. So having identified the family approved seamstress, I set off with anything and everything that was missing a button or coming loose.
I walked down the dark alley between the bakers and the Levi shop and found a small room with sewing machines. There was no one to be seen. "Hello? Hello?" I called but nothing. So I tried calling in Turkish. "Alo? Alo?". Still nothing.
As I turned to leave, a little boy came running up to me. The kid couldn't have been more than 3 or 4. "Can I help you?" he said confidently?
"Hello little man, is there no one around today?" I patronised.
"Yes, I'm looking after the place. What do you need doing?" he replied.
"Erm," I stumbled as the confusion grabbed my by the tongue "I've got some missing buttons and a little sewing needing doing".
"OK fine, do you still have the buttons?"
This was beginning to freak me out a little. Maybe he was a midget? But he was playing out the front with his friends when I came in, so he can't be. Weird. "Yes, I've got the buttons"
"Come back in 10 minutes and my mum will be here". He said finally to my relief. An English kid of his age would be licking windows and sitting in his own mess, but this kid was lining up business like a 40 year old.
Anyway, to cut this long story down a bit, the mother did turn up later on and I got everything sewn up (hurrah!) for about 30p. While sitting and sewing, she was telling me about her older son and how good his English was etc. I started to complain about the lack of Turkish language schools in Kusadasi when she replied "but there is. Just go to the Halk Eyetim". Now I still don't really know what the Halk Eyetim is but I went there.
Sure enough, all I need to do is get permission from the Vali (mayor-type figure) for the state of Aydin and I'll be on my way. It seems that I'm going to be learning Turkish along side other Turks. This is where my confusion lies at the moment. Why would I be learning along side other Turks? Why can't Turks speak Turkish? "Because it's the Halk Eyetim" is the reply I always get. From what I can gather the Halk Eyetim is the place where the poor and uneducated go to learn to read and write. I told them that I want to learn to speak as well and was told that I would.
I asked the Manager of the Halk Eyetim how much the course was. I true 'Two Ronnies' he replied "45 days". He's got his work cut out with me.
So there you have it. In the new year I will be starting my Turkish lessons. I'm looking forward to it. It'll be quite a life changing experience to talk to my grandmother fluently.
Until next week...
Sunday, 10 December 2006
Autumn or Winter?
Inevitably, writing this blog was overlooked as I got busy living. Adding a new post isn't an indication that I've stopped living, just that I'm trying to get some order to my existence and I've found a slot to keep this bad boy fresh. So the new plan is this:
6am-7am : Reading (currently Richard Branson's autobiography 'Losing my Virginity')
7am-8am : Personal Development (currently working on my handwriting which includes re-learning how to hold a pen. Not the easiest task at 31)
8am-9am : Exercise (I run every other day down to the Marti Hotel in Kadinlar Denizi and back. This is about 30 minutes. When I get back I start the weights and sit-ups etc)
9am-10am : Shit, shower, shave and breakfast.
10am-? : Working
But on Sunday's I've booked a slot for writing this blog. Let's see how long it lasts.
I figured that if I carry on waking at midday and generally milling about, I'm not going to get far in life. It could also be a combination of reading 'Getting things done' by David Allen (a fantastic book giving to me by my great friend Sam) and the wise words of Mr Branson. I find the Branson book inspiring but at the back of my mind I'm aware that he was a public school boy, born with a bank account at Coutts & Co. Oh well, between him and Alan Sugar, I'm sure there's room for me.
So apologies for the absence. What has changed since I last posted? The most noticeable thing was the abandonment of Kusadasi on the 1st November. I walked down into town that morning and it was like something out of the film '28 Days Later'. The shops were closed, the cars gone. There were no salesman muttering random English quips at me. Kusadasi had been deserted. Only the occasional ship comes to port now. So rarely that I forget the last time. Only then will you see a few shops opening and the vultures of taxi drivers and perfume sellers hovering around the port entrance. Apart from that, Kusadasi is resting for moment until the preparation for 2007 begins.
I saw the season start and end this year. By all accounts it was one of the worst seasons on record. A friend tells me that last year their hotel had nearly 7,000 room nights (how they measure success in the hotel business apparently), this year it was nearer 1,000. The prediction for next year is a lot worse. There are going to be lots of casualties in the Tourist industry.
I feel sad when I hear such things. Turkey has so much to offer but it's not communicated to potential holiday makers and those that actually come don't get a chance to see the right things. The complaint here is that as the prices of flights and holidays has gone down, so has the quality of tourist. It's very un-British to talk like this but the Turks are a little more honest. Years ago, Turkey was an unusual destination, something exotic. Now it's a cheap and cheerful alternative to Spain. Consider the work of a Turkish Carpet salesman trying and sell carpets worth thousands of pounds (and deservedly priced) to a working class family from England who are more used to car boot sales and Poundland. I don't want to sound like a snob, I'm just trying to highlight the change in Tourism and how it effects the local economy.
Even more hard work are the tourists coming from the Balkan region who are in real financial hardship. I hear stories of filling their pockets with salami from the breakfast buffet and cooking it on stoves in hotel rooms to avoid paying for lunch and dinner.
The hotel industry in Kusadasi is in a bad way. With 90% of the town taken up with hotels, the supply far outweighs the demand. The problem with the Turkish style of business is that if someone sees someone doing something successfully, the entire town will jump on the band wagon. So when hotels started to do well here, the world and his wife opened their own hotels. Unfortunately Kusadasi doesn't have the same building restrictions of prettier towns like Bodrum so every hotel adds to the concrete jungle. Before you know it, you have created a monster that is simply not appealing to tourists anymore.
OK enough already. I'm going to get off my high horse and tell you about something else I learned over the past months... Turkish coffee. Making a good Turkish coffee is a skill few people have. I am still training but I'm about 2nd dan now. The holy grail of Turkish coffee is the 'kopruk' or bubbles. Everyone wants bubbles on their coffee. The bubbles are so appealing with their technicolour sheen. So, anyway, how do you make a good Turkish coffee?
1. Start with your Turkish coffee pot (what, you haven't got one? Have a cup of tea then).
2. Add one level teaspoon of Turkish coffee for each cup. You can get Turkish coffee from most supermarkets in the UK, but if you want the best, go to the 'Little Hunter' in Izmir ;)
3. Use the coffee cups to measure the water needed. One cup per cup obviously.
4. Turkish coffee is drunk 'sade' (plain), 'orta' (medium sweet) or 'sekerli' (sweet). Plain has no sugar. For medium, add one cube of sugar and sweet add two per cup.
5. Put the coffee on a medium/low heat and don't stir. This is the secret to a bubble fest. Don't stir a thing. Just wait.
6. Be careful. I took my eyes off the pot for a moment while I sneezed and this was the result. Watch the bastard thing.
7. There you have it. A perfect Turkish coffee. Granted the bubbles should be in the cup and not on the worktop but that comes with my 3rd dan.
According to my schedule, I should be having my haircut. So, until next time...
6am-7am : Reading (currently Richard Branson's autobiography 'Losing my Virginity')
7am-8am : Personal Development (currently working on my handwriting which includes re-learning how to hold a pen. Not the easiest task at 31)
8am-9am : Exercise (I run every other day down to the Marti Hotel in Kadinlar Denizi and back. This is about 30 minutes. When I get back I start the weights and sit-ups etc)
9am-10am : Shit, shower, shave and breakfast.
10am-? : Working
But on Sunday's I've booked a slot for writing this blog. Let's see how long it lasts.
I figured that if I carry on waking at midday and generally milling about, I'm not going to get far in life. It could also be a combination of reading 'Getting things done' by David Allen (a fantastic book giving to me by my great friend Sam) and the wise words of Mr Branson. I find the Branson book inspiring but at the back of my mind I'm aware that he was a public school boy, born with a bank account at Coutts & Co. Oh well, between him and Alan Sugar, I'm sure there's room for me.
So apologies for the absence. What has changed since I last posted? The most noticeable thing was the abandonment of Kusadasi on the 1st November. I walked down into town that morning and it was like something out of the film '28 Days Later'. The shops were closed, the cars gone. There were no salesman muttering random English quips at me. Kusadasi had been deserted. Only the occasional ship comes to port now. So rarely that I forget the last time. Only then will you see a few shops opening and the vultures of taxi drivers and perfume sellers hovering around the port entrance. Apart from that, Kusadasi is resting for moment until the preparation for 2007 begins.
I saw the season start and end this year. By all accounts it was one of the worst seasons on record. A friend tells me that last year their hotel had nearly 7,000 room nights (how they measure success in the hotel business apparently), this year it was nearer 1,000. The prediction for next year is a lot worse. There are going to be lots of casualties in the Tourist industry.
I feel sad when I hear such things. Turkey has so much to offer but it's not communicated to potential holiday makers and those that actually come don't get a chance to see the right things. The complaint here is that as the prices of flights and holidays has gone down, so has the quality of tourist. It's very un-British to talk like this but the Turks are a little more honest. Years ago, Turkey was an unusual destination, something exotic. Now it's a cheap and cheerful alternative to Spain. Consider the work of a Turkish Carpet salesman trying and sell carpets worth thousands of pounds (and deservedly priced) to a working class family from England who are more used to car boot sales and Poundland. I don't want to sound like a snob, I'm just trying to highlight the change in Tourism and how it effects the local economy.
Even more hard work are the tourists coming from the Balkan region who are in real financial hardship. I hear stories of filling their pockets with salami from the breakfast buffet and cooking it on stoves in hotel rooms to avoid paying for lunch and dinner.
The hotel industry in Kusadasi is in a bad way. With 90% of the town taken up with hotels, the supply far outweighs the demand. The problem with the Turkish style of business is that if someone sees someone doing something successfully, the entire town will jump on the band wagon. So when hotels started to do well here, the world and his wife opened their own hotels. Unfortunately Kusadasi doesn't have the same building restrictions of prettier towns like Bodrum so every hotel adds to the concrete jungle. Before you know it, you have created a monster that is simply not appealing to tourists anymore.
OK enough already. I'm going to get off my high horse and tell you about something else I learned over the past months... Turkish coffee. Making a good Turkish coffee is a skill few people have. I am still training but I'm about 2nd dan now. The holy grail of Turkish coffee is the 'kopruk' or bubbles. Everyone wants bubbles on their coffee. The bubbles are so appealing with their technicolour sheen. So, anyway, how do you make a good Turkish coffee?
1. Start with your Turkish coffee pot (what, you haven't got one? Have a cup of tea then).
2. Add one level teaspoon of Turkish coffee for each cup. You can get Turkish coffee from most supermarkets in the UK, but if you want the best, go to the 'Little Hunter' in Izmir ;)
3. Use the coffee cups to measure the water needed. One cup per cup obviously.
4. Turkish coffee is drunk 'sade' (plain), 'orta' (medium sweet) or 'sekerli' (sweet). Plain has no sugar. For medium, add one cube of sugar and sweet add two per cup.
5. Put the coffee on a medium/low heat and don't stir. This is the secret to a bubble fest. Don't stir a thing. Just wait.
6. Be careful. I took my eyes off the pot for a moment while I sneezed and this was the result. Watch the bastard thing.
7. There you have it. A perfect Turkish coffee. Granted the bubbles should be in the cup and not on the worktop but that comes with my 3rd dan.
According to my schedule, I should be having my haircut. So, until next time...
Thursday, 28 September 2006
FIGHT!!!!!!!!
I heard a bit of a kerfuffle outside my flat last night. So like any self-respecting neighbour, I switched off the lights and started twitching the curtains.
Rumour is, the guy next door had decided to remove the bloke downstairs' solar panel from the roof. Why just remove someone's solar panel? What, they wont notice? A similar thing happened when my father arrived for his annual holiday out here to find that his television had stopped working. Turns out the bloke downstairs got onto the roof and unplugged my father's cables from the satellite and stuck his own in. Bargain!
Well anyway, I heard people screaming and shouting outside the window and the next thing I know, the police arrived and carted the blokes off as a knife had been pulled. Bonkers. These are 60+ old men street fighting. Mind you, the wives carried on after the husbands had been nicked.
But this is Turkey, and Turkey is a little rougher round the edges than the life I was used to back in Blighty. This had been proved one day when my cousin arrived at my doorstep looking a little angry about something. To cut a long story short, in a bout of road rage, someone had called him a cunt in front of his wife and child. This is bad form. Calling someone a cunt is generally bad form but in front of the family is plain unacceptable. My cousin had asked around and found out where the bloke worked and pursued it. "Billy," he said "be careful here. You can't just call someone a cunt and not expect them to follow it up".
So here he was sitting on my balcony, waiting for a call from the guy. He explained the procedure to me. "I go to see him. I then call him a cunt to his face. If he accepts that, we're even. If not, we fight." Now remember that this is an armed nation. Guns are around. It's not unusual. More than guns though, I've learned about something that has captured my curiosity. All Turks have the ability, though most don't know how. Someone unique to Turks that was once feared across the whole world. It's a martial art form that seems to be dead but can occasionally been seen to be used by masters. My step brother told me a story:
"A close friend was sitting in a doner kebab restaurant when 3 young men came in and started taunting the chef. Things were getting out of hand and it looked like the old man was in trouble ...when suddenly ...Bang! Bang! Bang! The three men hit the dust and scrambled away."
What happened to the young men? They messed with a master of the 'Osmanli Tokati' (The Ottoman Slap). When used correctly, the Ottoman Slap can knock a grown man straight down with one simple move. There are rumours as to how it's done, and my mission is to learn more. Some say it's the way the blow is delivered to the ear that sends the victim spiralling down as their sense flies out their other ear.
If you want to see an Osmanli Tokati in action, I have been told the best way is to head to the centre of town and to find the nearest man and insult his mother. You will see the start of the slap, you might not catch the end. Insulting a person's mother is apparently the worst possible thing in Turkey (even worse than questioning someones sexuality, and that's saying something). I'm sure I'll talk about swearing another time, as it deserves a whole post in itself.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and wax on, wax off.
Rumour is, the guy next door had decided to remove the bloke downstairs' solar panel from the roof. Why just remove someone's solar panel? What, they wont notice? A similar thing happened when my father arrived for his annual holiday out here to find that his television had stopped working. Turns out the bloke downstairs got onto the roof and unplugged my father's cables from the satellite and stuck his own in. Bargain!
Well anyway, I heard people screaming and shouting outside the window and the next thing I know, the police arrived and carted the blokes off as a knife had been pulled. Bonkers. These are 60+ old men street fighting. Mind you, the wives carried on after the husbands had been nicked.
But this is Turkey, and Turkey is a little rougher round the edges than the life I was used to back in Blighty. This had been proved one day when my cousin arrived at my doorstep looking a little angry about something. To cut a long story short, in a bout of road rage, someone had called him a cunt in front of his wife and child. This is bad form. Calling someone a cunt is generally bad form but in front of the family is plain unacceptable. My cousin had asked around and found out where the bloke worked and pursued it. "Billy," he said "be careful here. You can't just call someone a cunt and not expect them to follow it up".
So here he was sitting on my balcony, waiting for a call from the guy. He explained the procedure to me. "I go to see him. I then call him a cunt to his face. If he accepts that, we're even. If not, we fight." Now remember that this is an armed nation. Guns are around. It's not unusual. More than guns though, I've learned about something that has captured my curiosity. All Turks have the ability, though most don't know how. Someone unique to Turks that was once feared across the whole world. It's a martial art form that seems to be dead but can occasionally been seen to be used by masters. My step brother told me a story:
"A close friend was sitting in a doner kebab restaurant when 3 young men came in and started taunting the chef. Things were getting out of hand and it looked like the old man was in trouble ...when suddenly ...Bang! Bang! Bang! The three men hit the dust and scrambled away."
What happened to the young men? They messed with a master of the 'Osmanli Tokati' (The Ottoman Slap). When used correctly, the Ottoman Slap can knock a grown man straight down with one simple move. There are rumours as to how it's done, and my mission is to learn more. Some say it's the way the blow is delivered to the ear that sends the victim spiralling down as their sense flies out their other ear.
If you want to see an Osmanli Tokati in action, I have been told the best way is to head to the centre of town and to find the nearest man and insult his mother. You will see the start of the slap, you might not catch the end. Insulting a person's mother is apparently the worst possible thing in Turkey (even worse than questioning someones sexuality, and that's saying something). I'm sure I'll talk about swearing another time, as it deserves a whole post in itself.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and wax on, wax off.
Monday, 25 September 2006
Ramadan-a-ding-dong
Yesterday was the first day of Ramadan (or Ramazan as it's known here). I thought I'd get involved in my quest to become a fully qualified Turk.
The period of Ramazan starts with 30 days of fasting. Now my knowledge of this whole festival is almost nothing so I wont even attempt to speak about the ins and outs of it. All I know is that at 4am yesterday morning I was called for breakfast (seems strange to use that word as it should really be startfast). I woke and put on my glasses. I guess I must have fallen asleep again because next time I looked at my watch it was 5am and dangerously near to the start of the fasting which kicks off with a canon and the extinguishing of the mosque minaret lights at 5:30am.
I hot footed it down to my father's flat and passed a number of people along the way, in the dark, all rushing around to get ready for the hellish day ahead. The local policeman was taking out his rubbish from his little hut and said something to me and laughed as he saw me tripping over my slippers in an attempt to get eating as quickly as possible. I have no idea what he said but I replied "yes, that's absolutely right". Happy not to feel a bullet in my back, I continued up the stairs of my dad's block.
When I arrived, they had just finished putting the breakfast things away, but were so pleased that I was attempting to fast for the first time, they happily re-laid the table. And so, the feeding frenzy began. I was shovelling food into my mouth like a thing possessed. As the time ticked away, I had to find a efficient eating strategy. I discovered that black olives are quicker to de-stone in the mouth than green for example.
Before long the lights of the mosques went out and then ...silence. What happened to the cannon? I was all excited about that. Apparently non-fasters had complained about a cannon being fired in the early hours of the morning and the council decided to only fire the cannon the evening at the end of the day's fast.
So all was still and I headed back to bed.
I woke starving hungry at about 11am. I think that knowing you're not allowed to eat makes you hungry. Normally I wouldn't be hungry after such a large breakfast. But I pottered around the flat and tried to think of things to do to take my mind off the subject of food. By the way, there are other rules to fasting:
The period of Ramazan starts with 30 days of fasting. Now my knowledge of this whole festival is almost nothing so I wont even attempt to speak about the ins and outs of it. All I know is that at 4am yesterday morning I was called for breakfast (seems strange to use that word as it should really be startfast). I woke and put on my glasses. I guess I must have fallen asleep again because next time I looked at my watch it was 5am and dangerously near to the start of the fasting which kicks off with a canon and the extinguishing of the mosque minaret lights at 5:30am.
I hot footed it down to my father's flat and passed a number of people along the way, in the dark, all rushing around to get ready for the hellish day ahead. The local policeman was taking out his rubbish from his little hut and said something to me and laughed as he saw me tripping over my slippers in an attempt to get eating as quickly as possible. I have no idea what he said but I replied "yes, that's absolutely right". Happy not to feel a bullet in my back, I continued up the stairs of my dad's block.
When I arrived, they had just finished putting the breakfast things away, but were so pleased that I was attempting to fast for the first time, they happily re-laid the table. And so, the feeding frenzy began. I was shovelling food into my mouth like a thing possessed. As the time ticked away, I had to find a efficient eating strategy. I discovered that black olives are quicker to de-stone in the mouth than green for example.
Before long the lights of the mosques went out and then ...silence. What happened to the cannon? I was all excited about that. Apparently non-fasters had complained about a cannon being fired in the early hours of the morning and the council decided to only fire the cannon the evening at the end of the day's fast.
So all was still and I headed back to bed.
I woke starving hungry at about 11am. I think that knowing you're not allowed to eat makes you hungry. Normally I wouldn't be hungry after such a large breakfast. But I pottered around the flat and tried to think of things to do to take my mind off the subject of food. By the way, there are other rules to fasting:
- You are not allowed to eat
- You are not allowed to drink
- You are not allowed to kiss
- You are not allowed to have sex
- You are not allowed to have bad thoughts about anyone
- You are not allowed to swear
There are probably other things but this was enough for me.
My dad called at about 2pm and suggested we go into to town to take our mind off things and get some errands done. I had to take a fake watch back to a shop as it had broken (stop laughing) and I so I decided to go along.
On trying to return the watch, the salesman told me that I had shaken the watch too rigorously and that's why it had broken. Now, note to all out there; don't say something stupid like this to a man who is fasting. It was like I had been taken over by another animal. I launched an attack at the man that even surprised my father. The result was, however, a repaired watch and two broken vows.
The time then moved along pretty quickly and soon we were gathered at the dinner table waiting for the cannon to fire signifying the end of the fasting period. With a loud boom (which has actually just happened here again today and scared the bejesus out of me) we began eating. Traditionally, you break your fast with a date (not the romantic kind as that wouldn't be a good idea). So I tucked into the best tasting date I had ever eaten. We then ate in silence as the sound of cutlery clattering was too loud anyway.
Apparently I have to do another fast in a couple of weeks time and another at the end of the 30 days. I'm allowed to do this as they go easy on first-timers. I'm not sure if I will do it again. I'm pleased I did it but I found that it made me even less productive than usual as the sugar levels drop.
Now please excuse me as I have to go to dinner.
Thursday, 21 September 2006
Wet wipes
I called the plumber over the other day to fix a few things. While he was here I asked him to try and figure out why the toilet seat wouldn't stay up. Any male readers out there will know just how annoying this is. Trying to urinate with one hand whilst holding the seat up with the other less being circumcised by it can get tiresome.
He soon got to the root of the problem; a small copper tube sticking out the back of the toilet pointing into the bowl. Now I'd seen these in pretty much every toilet in Turkey and had no real idea what it was for. I asked the plumber to remove this pipe and so solve the problem. "Don't you use this???" he asked in a shocked tone. "Nope, never. We don't have these in England" I replied. "Offffff, how disgusting" he remarked as he twisted the pipe off.
Further enquiries provided me with my latest lesson in being a qualified Turk. Basically, post-defecation, one opens the tap and allows water to flow across the nipsy and is then used to wash ones backside before finally using toilet paper to simply dry.
I was intrigued and vowed to give it a try. Wow, what a difference a pipe makes. It's so easy and you feel so fresh. I can understand that it might not be such a nice experience in cold, wet England but over here a blast of cold water on the balloon knot sets you up for the day.
I now need to call the plumber back to reinstall the thing so I can enjoy the experience from either toilet.
My life is changed forever. Although I'm a little worried that I'll never be able to revert to the dry wipe.
He soon got to the root of the problem; a small copper tube sticking out the back of the toilet pointing into the bowl. Now I'd seen these in pretty much every toilet in Turkey and had no real idea what it was for. I asked the plumber to remove this pipe and so solve the problem. "Don't you use this???" he asked in a shocked tone. "Nope, never. We don't have these in England" I replied. "Offffff, how disgusting" he remarked as he twisted the pipe off.
Further enquiries provided me with my latest lesson in being a qualified Turk. Basically, post-defecation, one opens the tap and allows water to flow across the nipsy and is then used to wash ones backside before finally using toilet paper to simply dry.
I was intrigued and vowed to give it a try. Wow, what a difference a pipe makes. It's so easy and you feel so fresh. I can understand that it might not be such a nice experience in cold, wet England but over here a blast of cold water on the balloon knot sets you up for the day.
I now need to call the plumber back to reinstall the thing so I can enjoy the experience from either toilet.
My life is changed forever. Although I'm a little worried that I'll never be able to revert to the dry wipe.
Friday, 8 September 2006
Another Turkish brand that wouldn't do so well in the UK
You have to question the cleanliness of the clothes sold in this Izmir store.
Run Fezboy, Run!
Last month I signed up to RunLondon (the Nike 10K in London). I've run it for the past 3 years and I find it a good excuse to get out and get some exercise.
This year has brought a lot of upheaval in my life and so getting back into the routine of running has been the last thing on my mind. Well, this morning I woke up and realised that it's exactly one week until the event so I could postpone it no longer.
I was up at 8am and put on my running shoes. In Turkey, you have to run in the morning as the day's heat lasts well into the evening. This morning was still and fresh and so I headed down the steps to the sea front and slowly began to pick up speed.
OK, so I only ran for about 20 mins and walked the rest but it was a good start that gave me an instant change of mood and outlook. The is no other exercise quite like running for giving you a chance to think and clear your head.
The other advantage of running first thing in the morning is to see Kusadasi as the town gets ready for the day. The road sweepers are out, the leather shops are wheeling out the horrendous offerings and the taxi drivers are having their morning, cigarette induced, hockle. life is sweet.
Tonight we are having the first full family Reunion and for this a medium sized animal will pay the ultimate price and be lowered into a pit over a bowl of cracked wheat. Looks like I'm going to need another run tomorrow.
Until then...
Billfredo
This year has brought a lot of upheaval in my life and so getting back into the routine of running has been the last thing on my mind. Well, this morning I woke up and realised that it's exactly one week until the event so I could postpone it no longer.
I was up at 8am and put on my running shoes. In Turkey, you have to run in the morning as the day's heat lasts well into the evening. This morning was still and fresh and so I headed down the steps to the sea front and slowly began to pick up speed.
OK, so I only ran for about 20 mins and walked the rest but it was a good start that gave me an instant change of mood and outlook. The is no other exercise quite like running for giving you a chance to think and clear your head.
The other advantage of running first thing in the morning is to see Kusadasi as the town gets ready for the day. The road sweepers are out, the leather shops are wheeling out the horrendous offerings and the taxi drivers are having their morning, cigarette induced, hockle. life is sweet.
Tonight we are having the first full family Reunion and for this a medium sized animal will pay the ultimate price and be lowered into a pit over a bowl of cracked wheat. Looks like I'm going to need another run tomorrow.
Until then...
Billfredo
Thursday, 7 September 2006
Where've you been len?
I know, I know, you've been wondering where I've been. Well let me tell you a boring little Arlo Guthrie-esque story about Turkish bureaucracy. It all started a few weeks ago when my mobile phone refused to get reception...
I went to the Turkcell (one of the major Turkish mobile providers) shop to see whether they knew what might be going on with my reception. "Your phones been blocked, you'll have to buy a new one. Take a look at the Nokia 1100..." I thought this was strange and so I decided to explore a little further. Sure enough, my nan's Turkmenistani carer told me that after 3 months of being in the country, her phone had also been blocked too.
As I explored further it became clear that the problem was due to the Turkish Telecommunication Department, wanting to control the import of handsets, is blocking foreign mobiles using Turkish SIM cards. There is an official route to getting the phones unlocked and I decided to pursue this.
In the meantime, I went back the UK for a short break and brought back the receipts for both phones as this was important (apparently). On arriving in Izmir airport I asked if we could go to the customs office to register the phones. It was closed. So we headed back to Kusadasi.
The next day I went to the customs office here in Kusadasi. Arriving at the customs office I was met with a man waving me out again telling me that this was old news and that they weren't doing this anymore. I was then told by someone else that I needed to go to the Telecommunications head office in Izmir. So off I trotted.
I got the ferry across the bay of Izmir and made a beeline for the Telecom HQ. "I'm sorry, they have all gone for lunch". I decided to use the time to go to the post office to pay a bill that had come from Superonline (my ISP here in Turkey). The bill had arrived at my uncles hotel instead of my home, which was odd, but seeing as I'd never received mail to my home I didn't think much about it. The bill was overdue as the mail had arrived about a month late but I decided to get it paid ASAP.
Anyway, back to the Telecom HQ. I spoke to the security guard, a young woman, who was helping me go through the form and make sure I had everything I needed. My Turkish is pretty bad and there were a lot of "I'm sorry, I don't understand"'s on my part. In the end the security guard must have gotten sick of me and stepped in to tell me to sod off until the others come back from lunch. I went for lunch myself.
I sat in the cafe, eating my stuffed pepper, reading the form from the Telecom HQ. Picking out the word 'Fotokopi' a few times I decided to go and photocopy everything I was carrying. After lunch I headed back to the HQ. The kind female security guard went through all my paperwork and said that everything was in order to proceed upstairs. "Wait...." she said, looking again at the phone receipts. "You need to get these stamped by customs". My heart sank.
Somewhat disheartened and frankly fucked off by the whole deal, I headed to the airport to pick up my father who was flying that day. Whilst there I went back to the customs office ...and they were open. I saw the man in charge of stamping phone receipts. He looked at the receipt, raised his stamp and with it hovering above the paper he turned to me and asked "wait, did you arrive today?".
"No, two days ago" I replied.
"Sorry, you have to stamp this the day you arrive". Suppressing every urge in my being to vault the counter and stamp the fucker to death, I did the British thing and walked away fuming. In fact I was so angry I had to stop and offload my story to the security guard on the way out. He looked bemused.
Back to the airport to pick up my arriving father. "Hey dad, great to see you, how are you? Good trip? By the way, can you go back into the arrivals lounge and get this piece of paper stamped? Thanks dad." With that, my poor exhausted, slightly drunk (he hates flying) father had to prise the doors of the arrivals hall open while the police weren't looking and get back in to the arriving passenger's customs office. After 5 minutes he returned with a fully stamped receipt.
We didn't celebrate too long as I explained what was still left to do; going back to Izmir to the Telecom HQ, then to Turkcell to register the phone, then at least a 3 month wait while the form goes to Ankara etc etc. The Nokia 1100 was looking more and more attractive by the day.
We stayed in Izmir that night and I explain the story of the phone and the customs and the multiple suicide attempts along the way and my dad seemed unsurprised. "This is Turkey Billy. no one knows what you really have to do, they just want you out of their hair as soon as possible".
The next day we decided to go to Izmir centre to do some shopping. Passing a small phone shop (not really a shop as a hole in the wall with a young girl up to her elbows in Nokias). Dad turned to me "give me your phone" and disappeared into the shop. "We'll come back in an hour".
An hour later we returned, handed the girl 20YTL (about £8) and I was presented with my phone, unblocked and fully operational. "This is the Turkish way" my father told me. I guess I still have a lot to learn.
So what has this got to do with my absence from this blog? Well let me tell you about my run in with Superonline...
The day I arrived back in Kusadasi I discovered that my internet connection had been cut. I phoned Superonline to try to get to the bottom of the problem. Apparently I hadn't been paying my bills and they eventually cut my connection. "But I've not received any bills except the one which I paid immediately" I explained. It turns out that they had sent me a number of bills but none had arrived to my house. I started the long process of re-subscription with the ISP to get back online.
In the meantime I tried to get to the bottom of my mail problems. A couple of months before I had got a call from my nan to say that the postman was downstairs with a parcel for me. I hurried down to my nan to find her sitting drinking tea with said postman. "Good to meet you Billy, my name is Ali. I don't know where your house is so I'll just bring you mail to your nan". Not having the appropriate Turkish to argue, I agreed.
As the weeks and months have passed my mail was not arriving to my nan either and occasionally turning up to my uncle's hotel. I asked my dad to help me find out what was happening so we headed to the post office We met with the head of the post office and welcomed her on her first day on the job. Bugger.
We were told to come back at 4pm when Ali would be here and we could explain to him where we lived. In the meantime, my uncle called through to the post office and threw his weight around but nothing changed. To try and cut this long long story short, these were the problems:
So there you go. My internet returned today after approximately 50 phone calls. I still have no address. I've just sent the plumber down the road to get me a post box to fix to my nan's house. Don't ask why I've sent the plumber unless you want another story.
Now, this story has been cut down so I wont crash the internet but believe me when I say that this process has been un-fucking-believable. Really really amazing. So desperately ridiculous that I even questioned my staying in the country. I guess I have to relax a little and play by the rules. I'm learning still.
I maintain that the person who takes control of Turkish bureaucracy and official rubbishness will be seen as the next Ataturk.
As they say here, "offf bey, offf!"
Billfredo
I went to the Turkcell (one of the major Turkish mobile providers) shop to see whether they knew what might be going on with my reception. "Your phones been blocked, you'll have to buy a new one. Take a look at the Nokia 1100..." I thought this was strange and so I decided to explore a little further. Sure enough, my nan's Turkmenistani carer told me that after 3 months of being in the country, her phone had also been blocked too.
As I explored further it became clear that the problem was due to the Turkish Telecommunication Department, wanting to control the import of handsets, is blocking foreign mobiles using Turkish SIM cards. There is an official route to getting the phones unlocked and I decided to pursue this.
In the meantime, I went back the UK for a short break and brought back the receipts for both phones as this was important (apparently). On arriving in Izmir airport I asked if we could go to the customs office to register the phones. It was closed. So we headed back to Kusadasi.
The next day I went to the customs office here in Kusadasi. Arriving at the customs office I was met with a man waving me out again telling me that this was old news and that they weren't doing this anymore. I was then told by someone else that I needed to go to the Telecommunications head office in Izmir. So off I trotted.
I got the ferry across the bay of Izmir and made a beeline for the Telecom HQ. "I'm sorry, they have all gone for lunch". I decided to use the time to go to the post office to pay a bill that had come from Superonline (my ISP here in Turkey). The bill had arrived at my uncles hotel instead of my home, which was odd, but seeing as I'd never received mail to my home I didn't think much about it. The bill was overdue as the mail had arrived about a month late but I decided to get it paid ASAP.
Anyway, back to the Telecom HQ. I spoke to the security guard, a young woman, who was helping me go through the form and make sure I had everything I needed. My Turkish is pretty bad and there were a lot of "I'm sorry, I don't understand"'s on my part. In the end the security guard must have gotten sick of me and stepped in to tell me to sod off until the others come back from lunch. I went for lunch myself.
I sat in the cafe, eating my stuffed pepper, reading the form from the Telecom HQ. Picking out the word 'Fotokopi' a few times I decided to go and photocopy everything I was carrying. After lunch I headed back to the HQ. The kind female security guard went through all my paperwork and said that everything was in order to proceed upstairs. "Wait...." she said, looking again at the phone receipts. "You need to get these stamped by customs". My heart sank.
Somewhat disheartened and frankly fucked off by the whole deal, I headed to the airport to pick up my father who was flying that day. Whilst there I went back to the customs office ...and they were open. I saw the man in charge of stamping phone receipts. He looked at the receipt, raised his stamp and with it hovering above the paper he turned to me and asked "wait, did you arrive today?".
"No, two days ago" I replied.
"Sorry, you have to stamp this the day you arrive". Suppressing every urge in my being to vault the counter and stamp the fucker to death, I did the British thing and walked away fuming. In fact I was so angry I had to stop and offload my story to the security guard on the way out. He looked bemused.
Back to the airport to pick up my arriving father. "Hey dad, great to see you, how are you? Good trip? By the way, can you go back into the arrivals lounge and get this piece of paper stamped? Thanks dad." With that, my poor exhausted, slightly drunk (he hates flying) father had to prise the doors of the arrivals hall open while the police weren't looking and get back in to the arriving passenger's customs office. After 5 minutes he returned with a fully stamped receipt.
We didn't celebrate too long as I explained what was still left to do; going back to Izmir to the Telecom HQ, then to Turkcell to register the phone, then at least a 3 month wait while the form goes to Ankara etc etc. The Nokia 1100 was looking more and more attractive by the day.
We stayed in Izmir that night and I explain the story of the phone and the customs and the multiple suicide attempts along the way and my dad seemed unsurprised. "This is Turkey Billy. no one knows what you really have to do, they just want you out of their hair as soon as possible".
The next day we decided to go to Izmir centre to do some shopping. Passing a small phone shop (not really a shop as a hole in the wall with a young girl up to her elbows in Nokias). Dad turned to me "give me your phone" and disappeared into the shop. "We'll come back in an hour".
An hour later we returned, handed the girl 20YTL (about £8) and I was presented with my phone, unblocked and fully operational. "This is the Turkish way" my father told me. I guess I still have a lot to learn.
So what has this got to do with my absence from this blog? Well let me tell you about my run in with Superonline...
The day I arrived back in Kusadasi I discovered that my internet connection had been cut. I phoned Superonline to try to get to the bottom of the problem. Apparently I hadn't been paying my bills and they eventually cut my connection. "But I've not received any bills except the one which I paid immediately" I explained. It turns out that they had sent me a number of bills but none had arrived to my house. I started the long process of re-subscription with the ISP to get back online.
In the meantime I tried to get to the bottom of my mail problems. A couple of months before I had got a call from my nan to say that the postman was downstairs with a parcel for me. I hurried down to my nan to find her sitting drinking tea with said postman. "Good to meet you Billy, my name is Ali. I don't know where your house is so I'll just bring you mail to your nan". Not having the appropriate Turkish to argue, I agreed.
As the weeks and months have passed my mail was not arriving to my nan either and occasionally turning up to my uncle's hotel. I asked my dad to help me find out what was happening so we headed to the post office We met with the head of the post office and welcomed her on her first day on the job. Bugger.
We were told to come back at 4pm when Ali would be here and we could explain to him where we lived. In the meantime, my uncle called through to the post office and threw his weight around but nothing changed. To try and cut this long long story short, these were the problems:
- My street name I had been given, Susam Sokak - meaning Sesame Street, doesn't actually exist. So any mail coming through to my address was being thrown around until someone decided to send it to an address where the recipient has the same surname. Thank god my surname is fairly well known in Kusadasi.
- The postman can't be bothered to walk up the stairs to my house despite knowing where I live. "He's right, you know. Would you want to walk up those stairs?" My dad asked me. "I would if it was my fucking job" I felt obliged to respond.
- The postman wont come to my house because "there's a dog there". There isn't.
So there you go. My internet returned today after approximately 50 phone calls. I still have no address. I've just sent the plumber down the road to get me a post box to fix to my nan's house. Don't ask why I've sent the plumber unless you want another story.
Now, this story has been cut down so I wont crash the internet but believe me when I say that this process has been un-fucking-believable. Really really amazing. So desperately ridiculous that I even questioned my staying in the country. I guess I have to relax a little and play by the rules. I'm learning still.
I maintain that the person who takes control of Turkish bureaucracy and official rubbishness will be seen as the next Ataturk.
As they say here, "offf bey, offf!"
Billfredo
Tuesday, 29 August 2006
Scuba do
Whilst down in Bodrum, I had the chance to try scuba diving. I've noticed that diving seems to attract the same kind of passionate enthusiasm as golf, stamp collecting, cars or smack. As an outsider, it's hard to really appreciate what all the fuss is about.
So, anyway, a friend of a friend of a friend knew the owner of a diving boat and so off we went to join the throngs of English tourists crammed onto this small vessel.
We were each assigned a diving number and told we would each have an instructor to help us pop our scuba cherry. My main fear wasn't the claustrophobia or the normal dangers of being submerged under 6 metres of Aegean Ocean, but rather without my glasses I'm almost completely blind. Apparently you can get prescription goggles but it seemed a little OTT to splash out (excuse the pun) on something I might hate. My contact lenses are about 4 months out of date and so I had to rely on the promise that everything underwater is magnified by 25 (insert your own 'looking down the front of the trunks' gag here).
Soon we had arrived at our diving spot and were ushered down for a beginners briefing and readied ourselves for taking the plunge. We were past conveyor belt style from one man to another slowly adding to our kit piece by piece. You can see me getting lashed to my air tank in the picture below.
And so it was time to shuffle up to the edge of the boat to take the 'big step' into the sea. "Now why do we take a 'big step'?" They asked in an innocently patronising fashion. "So you don't hit your arse/tank on the edge of the boat and roll unconscious into the drink" I managed to restrain myself from answering.
My last words before I pushed off were "don't forget to tell the bloke I can't see". Once safely in the arms of instructor Ali, my first words were "did they tell you, I can't see?". Without reply he dragged me by the snorkel to the shallows and confirmed that I knew the appropriate sign language before shoving my regulator into my gaping mouth and pushing my head down into the water. Before I knew what was happening, we were at least a metre down and my ears were starting to ask questions. A brief twist of the nose and all was good as we continued our descent.
I could see surprisingly well underwater. My instructor pointed out a hermit crab as it scuttled along rocks. Ali, understanding that a short sighted diver might need assistance, pushed my head closer and closer toward the crab. Not knowing the hand signals for "it's OK I can actually see just fine down here", I simply had to relax as my nose eventually sandwiched poor crustacean to the rock.
Soon we were off again as Ali eased my descent down to 6 metres. There we met another Ali who's job was to sit at the bottom of the Ocean with a camera and a bag of bread. The fish were swarming as they gave me the hand signal to hold on tightly to a rock. This I did. The current seems tsunamic for a beginner and I was clinging on to anything I could find as my instructor released me for the first time to give the photographer some space.
Now I should really explain the photos below. I may look scared witless but there are two factors beyond my control you need to know about. 1. I was told not to smile as smiling would release my mask and allow water to pour in. 2. The mask was so tight, I had a permanent look of surprise/terror as my eyebrows were pushed up into my hairline. I was actually fairly relaxed. Not completely relaxed and there is a give away if you examine the pictures closely. ...Look at my right hand.
After the photo op, we continued the short dive but too soon it was time to head back to the surface. I can really now see the attraction in diving. The feeling of freedom (albeit with an instructor holding onto the scruff of my neck for the duration) was quite amazing. The fact that once submerged, the fish are perfectly comfortable with you swimming around them. I can see myself doing this again in the near future. Highly recommended.
Yours with a mild case of the bends.
Billfredo
So, anyway, a friend of a friend of a friend knew the owner of a diving boat and so off we went to join the throngs of English tourists crammed onto this small vessel.
We were each assigned a diving number and told we would each have an instructor to help us pop our scuba cherry. My main fear wasn't the claustrophobia or the normal dangers of being submerged under 6 metres of Aegean Ocean, but rather without my glasses I'm almost completely blind. Apparently you can get prescription goggles but it seemed a little OTT to splash out (excuse the pun) on something I might hate. My contact lenses are about 4 months out of date and so I had to rely on the promise that everything underwater is magnified by 25 (insert your own 'looking down the front of the trunks' gag here).
Soon we had arrived at our diving spot and were ushered down for a beginners briefing and readied ourselves for taking the plunge. We were past conveyor belt style from one man to another slowly adding to our kit piece by piece. You can see me getting lashed to my air tank in the picture below.
And so it was time to shuffle up to the edge of the boat to take the 'big step' into the sea. "Now why do we take a 'big step'?" They asked in an innocently patronising fashion. "So you don't hit your arse/tank on the edge of the boat and roll unconscious into the drink" I managed to restrain myself from answering.
My last words before I pushed off were "don't forget to tell the bloke I can't see". Once safely in the arms of instructor Ali, my first words were "did they tell you, I can't see?". Without reply he dragged me by the snorkel to the shallows and confirmed that I knew the appropriate sign language before shoving my regulator into my gaping mouth and pushing my head down into the water. Before I knew what was happening, we were at least a metre down and my ears were starting to ask questions. A brief twist of the nose and all was good as we continued our descent.
I could see surprisingly well underwater. My instructor pointed out a hermit crab as it scuttled along rocks. Ali, understanding that a short sighted diver might need assistance, pushed my head closer and closer toward the crab. Not knowing the hand signals for "it's OK I can actually see just fine down here", I simply had to relax as my nose eventually sandwiched poor crustacean to the rock.
Soon we were off again as Ali eased my descent down to 6 metres. There we met another Ali who's job was to sit at the bottom of the Ocean with a camera and a bag of bread. The fish were swarming as they gave me the hand signal to hold on tightly to a rock. This I did. The current seems tsunamic for a beginner and I was clinging on to anything I could find as my instructor released me for the first time to give the photographer some space.
Now I should really explain the photos below. I may look scared witless but there are two factors beyond my control you need to know about. 1. I was told not to smile as smiling would release my mask and allow water to pour in. 2. The mask was so tight, I had a permanent look of surprise/terror as my eyebrows were pushed up into my hairline. I was actually fairly relaxed. Not completely relaxed and there is a give away if you examine the pictures closely. ...Look at my right hand.
After the photo op, we continued the short dive but too soon it was time to head back to the surface. I can really now see the attraction in diving. The feeling of freedom (albeit with an instructor holding onto the scruff of my neck for the duration) was quite amazing. The fact that once submerged, the fish are perfectly comfortable with you swimming around them. I can see myself doing this again in the near future. Highly recommended.
Yours with a mild case of the bends.
Billfredo
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