'Burası Türkiye!' 'This is Turkey!'

Out Of My Skull

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. . not in the ‘pissed as a newt’ sense but as in ‘my brain has gone walk-about’! On a personal level the days drift gently by and my only worry is finding something to waffle on about.

It’s not that I’m unaware or uncaring about the crap that is being dished out by the monsters who lord it over the huddled masses of the world. I do know that I am able to live the life I have in the way I choose because of privilege. The privilege of being born where and when I was.

What if . . ? It’s something I spend a lot of time thinking about.

A couple of days ago my dear neighbour Ramazan was spied up a tree at the bottom of our plot up here in the mountains. Curious, I picked up my camera and wandered down to see what was going on.

Ramazan is a retired policeman on a very small pension. He grows vegetables on his plot and keeps bees, not as some hobby but because he needs to subsist at a reasonable level. He’s very good at bee-keeping and has about 16 active hives! This is what he was after . .

His wife passed up a stick and a bucket on a rope . .

A quick tap and before you know it, ‘Ramazan’s your uncle’, and the swarm is in the bucket and transferred to its new home.

Now, my point about privilege is this; J and I are hobby gardeners, we do all this cleaning, weeding and planting because we enjoy it and because we can. Our neighbours do it because they have to! I know for a fact (because it happened last year) that some of Ramazan’s wonderful honey will come our way together with some cream from his goats and he would be mortally offended if we offered to pay for it. Privilege is a barrier to hide behind for those who choose to. Human kindness on the other hand . .

Privilege lets me have a vanity pond for no better reason than that I love the wildlife that it attracts. My neighbours need to channel their energy towards that which is productive. I, on the other hand, can sit on my arse, beer in hand and delight in the arrival of the first damselflies and dragonflies of the season . .

Libellula depressa – Broad-bodied Chaser (male)

Ischnura pumilio – Scarce Blue-tailed Damselfly

Whilst I sat around and communed with nature J was hard at it planting tobacco seeds in the nursery bed . .

. . and proselytising to our gorgeous İsparta roses.

actually labels for Goditia and Forget-Me-Not.

Privilege has its privileges but I hope I never lose sight of our commonalities or lose touch with our neighbours – whoever and wherever they are.

Alan, in a privileged place

'Burası Türkiye!' 'This is Turkey!'

Flushed!

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Yesterday, you may recall, ‘Shit Happened!‘ Today? Well, today is another day!

This morning we both felt a tad moribund. The need to go to the loo being counteracted by the chipped lip of the plastic paint bucket that was filling the toilet role (such a way with words). The garden beckoned but the prospect of no water for five days, and no rain forecast either, had us reluctant to plant seeds and, instead, wandering around the garden hacking viscously at baby thistles and the like!

Meanwhile, after the visit yesterday by the Forestry people and the Jandarma, all was quiet on the Western front. The monster was also moribund – but more so.

Five days was looking more like five months, five years or maybe never! The Forestry people were back in some force with much coming and going. Enveloped in our ever more dense cloud of pessimism a small miracle occurred. Our neighbour Sadık arrived in his battered old Tofaş (an old-style Lada by any other name) with a great coil of water pipe tied on the roof. Knowing our situation, and being our plumber, he had taken it upon himself to get us sorted one way or another. Within twenty minutes water was flowing!

Sadık, a true neighbour, a squire and a gentleman!

This wonderful fellow has sorted a temporary arrangement that will see us through until the situation at the source is finalised. And finalising it (to paraphrase Capt Oates) may be some time!

Once Sadık left, again refusing payment, ‘We can sort it all later.’ (you recall he repaired the ravages of winter on the watering system), the Big Nobs arrived in force. The Forestry Chief for our province arrived with various Deputy Chiefs in one of those very intimidating 4x4s. We haven’t seen him for over a year when he donated a wad of trees for our garden. It was great because he was so interested to see what we had achieved since his last visit. The pond was a smash hit as were all the trees and J’s garden and compost heaps got special attention. Then they were off to assess what our new neighbour had been up to with his hired digger. Such a site visit by such high-flyers does not auger well for him.

And so it proved. What he has ordered done is totally illegal and he must answer for it before a judge. The owner-driver of the digger machine has had his machine and low-loader impounded and it will be parked outside our village muhtar’s office until there is a resolution by the judge. I don’t know if the driver has been charged but the loss of income alone will be devastating. A clear warning to others to ensure that, before you half pull a mountain down and fill a ravine and water course, what you are doing is legal!

So, life is pretty much back to normal and our moribund has done a bunk!

Alan Fenn, flushed and showered too!

ps after 20 years and a lot of political upheaval folk still ask us what it is that binds us to Turkey – the answer is all around us – Turks!

pps the Forestry Dept has undertaken to gift us a bunch of lavender plants – special delivery expected some time soon.

'Burası Türkiye!' 'This is Turkey!'

Shit Happens

. . to misquote Donald Rumsfeld.

We wandered back up here to the cabin today. The plan was to catch up on how the garden has been doing since we were last here two weeks ago when J planted a whole load of stuff. It’s been cold up here, here is a photo posted by our neighbour yesterday.

Not only has it been snowing but there was the ominous sound of a digger at work near where we source our spring water for the cabin. We should have gone to check what was going on right away, but we didn’t. An hour later and all that was coming out of the taps was a gurgle!

We girded our loins and set off to investigate. Seems some local has bought this particular bit of ravine and decided to pull the mountainsides down to create a flat area. In the process the digger has ripped out our pipe, ‘disappeared’ the filtration system and may well have done in the water supply to the beach cafe and another of our neighbours.

It’s ironic really because over-winter the garden watering system suffered some freeze damage and had only just been repaired!

I know, I know! This is not how it is and it’s just some ‘cock-up’ pic from the internet that I’m using for effect. But you know and I know that when people hire in blokes with diggers there is a disaster just waiting to happen. Guaranteed!

Anyway, when we pointed out the end of our ripped up pipe the patron said he was just as shocked as we were. He has assured us that it will all be sorted and we’ll be back in business within five days! Well, that’s what he said!

I’m not so sure because a short while ago the Forestry Technical Services people arrived together with a minibus full of Jandarma. Work has now stopped and the technical guys are remeasuring to ensure that all is as it should be. Our plumbing neighbour is well on top of the job and says he’ll get us fixed up with a temporary arrangement until things are sorted properly.

Meanwhile, we are stocking up on big bottles of water from the spring around the lake and an old bucket has been pressed in to service as we revert to the time honoured boating practice of ‘bucket and chuck it’! Always remembering, of course, to empty the contents down wind!

a finely crafted example of the basic shipboard item

As it says in the header of this blog ‘Burası Türkiye! This Is Turkey!’

Alan Fenn, re-enacting the life style pre-Thomas Crapper.

 

 

'Burası Türkiye!' 'This is Turkey!'

Me Payamlı, You Jane!

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Our mountain plot is on the outskirts of our village in an area known locally as Payamlı (Pie-am-ler). Payam is the old name for the almond, badem in modern Turkish. The ‘lı’ bit on the end just means ‘with’ so Payamlı – with almonds. And with almonds we certainly are!

Yesterday friend Jane rang up about something totally unrelated but I was telling her about the almond blossom anyway. She got a little excited and wanted photos, then got mardy when she remembered that my phone hasn’t even got a camera let alone any ‘smarts’! So, using ‘other means’, here are some shoddy pics from my ancient compact camera to calm her down. The real thing is quite enchanting – like a pale pink haze over the whole area.

What is amazing is that, whilst there are a few cultivated areas planted up with almonds, the majority are just growing wild along the hedgerows and between the fields. Such is our delight in these beauties that we bought a couple today and planted them in our garden.

The thrill of arriving at our plot and immediately spotting that some of our very young trees are in leaf, in bud and in flower. J and I got a real kick out of that! In the main we haven’t a clue what we’ve planted, but with mixed nuts, raisins and assorted fruits our breakfasts are sorted!

So, Jane, this post is really for you. I hope it inspires you to drop by for a visit sometime soon. If you do it soon I won’t have to send more photos as the almonds turn more pink. That said, without television, what else would I be doing?

Alan Fenn, with Almonds up in the mountains.

'Burası Türkiye!' 'This is Turkey!'

Oh, Bugger!

I really hate this getting older stuff, I really do! Well, not actually getting older, that’s alright. It’s the decrepitude. It’s the chickens of misspent youth, the years of abuse in the gym and playing at being a parachute soldier coming home to roost that are the pits.

you’d never guess we were categorised as fast moving light infantry

Carrying loads like this is what started the rot. Followed by years of macho denial as tears and sprains in the gym took their toll on knees and back. (I’m only showing this to remind myself that I was once a fine young specimen)

‘You’re stubborn and stupid,’ J used to say (and still does) ‘and I have no sympathy for you! You never know when to stop!’ Which is only her opinion and not exactly true. Anyway, J is from Yorkshire and everyone from Yorkshire is opinionated. I mean, look at Geoffrey Boycott for one. I don’t know why there hasn’t long ago been an independence campaign so that England can detach itself from that lot. At least then we wouldn’t have had to put up with his boring cricket commentaries and his even more boring batting!

Watching Boycott ‘chase’ runs was on a par with watching paint dry!

But enough of all that, I need to get back on topic. Where was I? Oh, yes! Decrepitude!

One knee in particular has been pretty troublesome for a long time. It has a history of falling apart, being operated on, generally fiddled about with and dishing out some eye-wateringly painful reminders of its existence in my life. About a year ago it also decided that a bit of gout would look good on its résumé. My excellent bone  surgeon sorted it out with medication and all seemed well. Then about couple of months ago it started to make a comeback and so I started back on the medication. It had no effect. Zilch! It was back to the bone doctor.

What he soon discovered was that along with the gouty crystals there were deposits as a side effect of one of the heart medications that decrepitude requires I consume on a daily basis. So, that prescription has been changed and there are even more pills and creams to add to the cocktail and for three weeks there will be ‘WD40‘ injections into the knee.

Oh, bugger! would seem a pretty appropriate response to all this except for one thing. In the space of just a few days the pain has been relieved and last night I got the first decent night’s sleep in quite some time. Living here in Turkey means instant treatment and being contributors to the social insurance scheme the bulk of the costs are defrayed by the state health-care system. Beats the hell out of the UK and most any place else in the world if your chickens are coming home to roost and crapping all over the place!

Roll on Spring, and let me get at that patch of stony ground up there in the mountains!

Alan Fenn, grinning like a Cheshire Cat here in Turkey.