Category: Expats

The Next Big Thing

The Next Big Thing

I’ve never been a big reader. It’s amazing I managed to pick up the writing thing at all. But these days, I get asked to review quite a few books and I’m rather surprised by how much I’m enjoying the experience. My current read is ‘Sleeping People Lie,’ by Jae de Wylde. It’s a love story with an iron grip and bitter-chocolate taste. I’m a little bit addicted.  The fragrant Jae dropped me a line to ask me if I’d like to participate in The Next Big Thing, a blog hop in the best tradition of ‘you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.’ I’m a sucker for these things. Before passing the baton onto me and four others, Jae wrote her own take on the title which you can read here.

Jack’s Next Big Thing

What is the working title of your book?

I’m currently compiling the best bits from Perking the Pansies, the Turkey years, into an uncensored two volume e-book coming to a Kindle near you very soon. The first volume is called Turkey, the Raw Guide and the second is called Turkey, Surviving the Expats. Taken together, the boxed set will be a spruced up director’s cut of our time in a Muslim land with added bite, previously unreleased material and additional features.

Where did the idea come from for the book?

When I read back through the blog, I was amazed about how much I’d written. Most of it was never included in my debut book (and, being different animals entirely, much of book was never included in the blog). The trouble with most blog posts is that once they’re read they’re dead. I thought bringing it all together would be a satisfying way to draw a line under our Anatolian Adventure and now I’m back in Blighty, I can be a little more honest.

What is the genre?

The mini-series is an easy-to-digest guide to Turkey with a tasty hard centre of memoir.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

Believe me, this has been the cause of much drunken speculation among the Bodrum Belles and Gumbet Gals. Liam is rather taken with the idea of Jude Law playing him. Now that poor Jude is losing his hair, the cap really fits. As for me, well it has been cruelly suggested that Danny DeVito would be ideal in the part of Jack, the rotund, drunken short-arse. If he wasn’t so creepy, I’d probably go for Tom Cruise. He’s about the right height.

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

Have you ever wondered what it’s really like to live in a foreign field, particularly a Muslim one?  To get a real feel, you need to ask someone who’s been there, done that and bought all the fake t-shirts. (Okay this is two sentences. So shoot me.)

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

It’s virtually impossible to get agent representation. Trying to get one is a bruising and expensive business, best avoided by the thin-skinned. I’m self-publishing the e-books through Kindle and pricing them competitively to see how they fly. My first book was published through Summertime Publishing and they’ve agreed to publish the sequel which should be out in early 2013. The e-books are something that lie in between, a kind of bridge between the two.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

It’s taken us (Liam is my whip-cracking editor) about two months so far to revise the flabby grammar, edit the material down into a believable whole and decide what tasty extras to include.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

A difficult one. I’d say Perking the Pansies has the feel of Bridget Jones with a pink twist and an injection of pathos.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

I’m hoping the unreleased material and some solid old-fashioned advice about the reality of living in Turkey will grab the imagination. I’d like to be functional as well as decorative.

Now it’s time for me to pass on the poisoned chalice. In no particular order (as they say on Strictly Come Dancing), let’s hear it from …

David Gee, author of Shaikh-Down – a delicious, randy romp through the myopic and bawdy world of Gulf expatriate life set against the chilling winds of change.

Deborah Fletcher, author of Bitten by Spain – a very funny, beautifully descriptive and endearingly frank account of building the dream in Murcia.

Jo Parfitt, multi-tasker extraordinaire and author of Sunshine Soup – a hugely enjoyable tale of loss, intrigue and redemption.

Maggie Myklebust, author of Fly Away Home – a heartfelt book written with searing honesty that covers the push-pull effect of growing up in two cultures.

Laura J Stephens, author of An Inconvenient Posting – an agonisingly candid and raw account of loss and transition.

No pressure.

Suited and Booted

Now that our frivolous semi-retired life among the lotus-eating emigreys of the Aegean is behind us, I thought I’d mark the transition with a major makeover. Not me, of course (far too late for that). Regular readers will have noticed that the blog is now dressed in more sober attire. Backtobodrum commented:

“I have to comment that your blog now looks very organized and serious. Have you two gone back to wearing suits and ties?”

It’s an interesting observation because, in a way, we have. Liam’s got himself a part time job doing something with data. So much for giving up the wicked world of the waged but needs must when the Devil drives. The demon in this case is the continuing slide in Turkish interest rates. It’s a pre-emptive strike. We’re spending more or less the same here as we did in Bodrum, but we need to stitch the little hole that first appeared in the family purse a couple of years back. Working part time enables Liam to plug the gap and to meet his family obligations (the main reason we came back to Blighty). It also enables me to make a proper go at this writing lark (the other reason). When I get the film deal, Liam will be released from paid labours and return to his main function in life – sorting me out and peeling me grapes.

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Forced to Fly

Many years ago, I had a family of blue tits nesting in a bird box nailed to the back wall of my inner city garden. It was a one egg family. For weeks, I watched chick tit spend its formative days with its tiny beak permanently poking out of the little round hole as Mummy tit and Daddy tit embarked on a never-ending feeding frenzy of tit bits. Eventually, chick tit grew into a fattened teenage tit. I was lucky enough to be working at home on the day it got its wings and I watched the launch from the window of my back bedroom. The doting parents took up position on opposite fences, tweeting melodiously to lure their offspring from the warm comfort of the nest. Now and again, they would show off with a cocky cabaret of aerial acrobatics. Teenage tit tentatively balanced its body on the ledge of the box to watch the flypast, nervously flapping its wings and preening its new-season plumage. After an agonising wait – which had me with my nose pressed hard up against the pane – teenage tit took the plunge, firing itself into the air like a rogue missile. I swear that its eyes must have been firmly shut; it shot straight towards me and slammed into the window like a bullet, just inches from my face. I got quite a start. Unfazed by its unguided maiden flight, teenage tit flew off into sky, never to be seen again.

You may wonder why I mention this tit chick flick, tender and delightful though it is. Well, we’re all forced to fly at some time in our lives, none more so than the courageous souls who migrate to greener pastures. Some stay the course and some don’t, but all have a tale to tell. Those who have tried know that it’s not all wine and song. The best of us brave the blunders with humour and insight. Ladies and Gentleman, I give you Forced to Fly, a delicious compilation of wit and wisdom from those in the know. And, I’m not just saying that because I’m in it. As writer and editor-in-chief, Jo Parfitt, says:

 “Everyone knows that laughter is the best medicine, but Forced to Fly is more than a collection of funny stories about seeing the funny side of the day-to-day blunders we all make. It is packed with stories that resonate with anyone who has lived abroad. Its opening chapters, written by experts, counsellors and real-life expats who have struggled with culture shock, will provide support and advice to guide you through any dark patches.”

You can pick up your copy at Amazon.co.uk or Amazon.com. While you’re thinking about it, why not take a look at the book trailer?

Expat Quotes

Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to the latest glossy offering from the Easyexpat stable of top of the range emigrey websites. It’s called Expat Quotes and aims to take some of the stress out of settling in a foreign field. The site…

…connects expatriates and future expats to services in the categories of:

Visa & Permits, Moving Jobs, Housing, Finance, Education, Health, Shop &
Telecom, & Tourism. The listings provide an ever-growing directory with
the ability to get free quotes. Whether you are looking for an
international removal company, medical insurance, or expat banking service
– you will find it there. In addition, a series of country guides provide
information directly from expats and experts in immigrating to a new
country.

I’ve been asked to write a word or two so expect to read my irreverent ramblings very soon. Don’t let that put you off.

School’s Out

Travel may well broaden the mind but upping sticks and relocating to a foreign field can blow it completely. The best laid plans may not prepare you for having the cultural rug pulled from under your feet, something that can throw the most balanced person off kilter. Becoming a novice expat is like the first day of school. All those childhood fears come flooding back. Will I fit in? Will people like me? Am I wearing the right kind of kit? Am I as good as them?

As the naïve new kids on the block, we made the classic mistake of chucking ourselves into the well-rooted and largely insular expat community that clung to the iridescent coast of Aegean Turkey. We didn’t dip our toes into the water to test the temperature. Oh no. We leapt in with eyes slammed shut, noses held and hopes raised. It was a salutary lesson in what not to do. The emigrey soap opera was, at times, a life-sapping experience and negativity stalked the smoky bars and over-crowded beaches. We spent the first six months trying to get to know people and the next six months trying to get rid of many of them. In retrospect, I don’t know why I expected a disparate group of people thrown together purely by chance to be our cup of tea. Four years down the line our burnt fingers had healed and we started to enjoy the sparkling company of a small cohort of like-minded people. As with many things in life, less is more. Ironically, just as we reserved our own corner of the playground with a hand-picked gang, we returned back to Blighty to be grown-ups again.

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We’re All Immigrants Really

I recently tuned in to a debate on BBC Radio Norwich. It was about immigration, something of a national obsession in Britain.  Some of the comments were intelligent and thoughtful, others were plain stupid. It made me think. How is it that, in general, relatively rich people from the West who move abroad are described as ‘expats’ whereas relatively poor people settling in the West are classed as ‘immigrants’?  Perhaps this is because ‘immigrant’ is a dirty word these days, laced with nasty undertones of freeloading and coloured by thinly veiled racism. The threat of the UK or anywhere else being swamped with lazy foreign devils sponging off the state and plotting a new world order is a tad exaggerated in my experience. Where would the National Health Service or the care sector be without imported labour? It’s also worth bearing in mind the United Nations of young people who greet the commuting worker bees of London at the Pret a Manger* counter each morning are there because they’re eager, committed and willing – not a scrounger among them. This is an attitude that some British youths would do well to emulate.

The smug, self-congratulatory term ‘expat’ does have more than a hint of the British Raj about it (or any colonial raj come to that) – people who move away for a sea-view room or a tax-free dream job but who maintain their cultural and language separateness in various expat ghettos across the globe. The word also suggests a sense of impermanence. Interestingly though, many foreign nationals I know in Turkey have no intention of moving back to their home countries. Some have even acquired Turkish citizenship (though I suspect few have relinquished their original passports. It pays to have a plan B, just in case). If expat life is transitory does this mean that immigration is permanent? This doesn’t explain the huge influx of Poles who moved to Britain in the 90’s looking for work, many of whom have since moved back to Poland because the work dried up. They are called immigrants (and less savoury words by some). Clearly, quite a few have no wish to stay longer than necessary. Perhaps it really is all to do with the filthy lucre.

It’s certainly true that expats tend to be more financially self-sufficient than those who move in search of a better economic life, but nothing is that simple. In Turkey, plunging interest rates in recent years have presented quite a fiscal challenge to those trying to maintain a hedonistic lifestyle on dwindling assets. I wonder how many will survive? In the end, some may have to head home anyway, kicking and screaming. Expat? Immigrant? You say tomayto, I say tomarto.

*Pret is very successful British coffee and sandwich chain. I recommend their breakfast baguette – delish!

Essential Lessons for Expat Living

Pat Yale (she who put the pat into expat), has been writing for the Today’s Zaman, one of two Turkish national newspapers published in English. She asked me (he who put the grey into emigrey) what I thought were the essential lessons for expat living in Turkey (or anywhere else, for that matter). This is what I had to say:

  • Be prepared for a culture shock and show respect for the country you have chosen to move to.
  • Do what you can to integrate and engage your hosts. Learning the lingo, at least conversationally, will really help (here I failed miserably).
  • Understand where you are: learn a little history and if there are English language newspapers, read them.
  • Keep the brain cells active: if you don’t have a job, develop some interests to fill your days.
  • Leave the whitewashed ghettos and go explore your new country.
  • Don’t rush into instant, life-sapping friendships with other expats; think emotional resilience and choose carefully.
  • Stay sober, at least part of the time.

And finally, a prerequisite for every expatriate…

  • …the wisdom of Solomon and the patience of a saint.

What’s on your list?

Hit the Road, Jack

Hit the Road, Jack

The show is over and the curtain has fallen on our final Anatolian performance. It’s been a long and successful run but they’ll be no ovation or encore. As we said goodbye to Gümbet, Liam and I reflected on our time in this ancient land of paradoxes and plenty. Turkey has provided a restful respite for our weary bones and taught us that we can live differently and work with less. This is a profound lesson that many would be wise to copy. We don’t regret a single second of it.

We’ve both enjoyed and endured some extraordinary exploits with some extraordinary people. From the outset I called our cast ‘the mad, the sad, the bad and the glad’. This epitaph was no less true in Bodrum than it was in Yalıkavak three years before. From our first encounter with the pretentious expat rat pack to the Bodrum Belles, the Gümbet Gals and the Bitez Babes all sorts – the ladies of this small corner of Asia Minor do what they can to live their lives in dignity and grace. Many succeed. Many don’t. Listen up, ladies. Take a little advice from an old pro. When your ship is holed beneath the waterline, head for the lifeboat. Don’t flounder about like flotsam just because the sea looks inviting.

We’re not looking forward to the downside of Blighty life – the unpredictable weather, the fretful recession or the endless whinging. Let’s face it, some of our compatriots, whatever shore they wash up on, have turned whinging into a class act. Nevertheless, our course is set and it is a step forward, not a step back. But, there’s a sadness in my soul. I shall greatly miss our entertaining encounters with the hopeless, the hapless and, yes, the happy go lucky. So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, adieu to the emigreys, vetpats, semigreys, VOMITs, MADs, Emiköys, and sexpats. You gave me an unexpected tale to tell and for this I thank you. The next instalment is on the story drawing board.

The Beau Belles

When we decided to jump the good ship Blighty, we enjoyed an extraordinary run of good luck. Our neighbour bought our house and its contents. IKEA-chic (or is that shit?) was clearly to his liking. We hauled over just 17 boxes of our precious personal possessions (aka old crap we couldn’t give away). Our extraordinary run of good luck has continued. Thanks to a select group of Bodrum Belles, we’ve flogged off our house contents all over again. We’ve hauled back to Blighty just 17 boxes plus Liam’s beloved Roland keyboard and our marvellous Samsung flat screen TV (miraculously still working; most of our other electrical goodies have malfunctioned). I love this recycling lark. No need to re-flat-pack the flat pack. So, a massive hand to the Beau Belles of Bodrum.

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In the Beginning

The P-Day Landings

We took time out from our packing, sorting and chucking (how did we manage to accumulate such a vast collection of crap in just four short years?) to have a tipple or three with the winners of the ‘Spot the Gothic Pile’ competition that I ran in March. The winning pansy fans were chosen at random from two stacks of correct answers identifying Norwich Cathedral – one for Blighty and one for Turkey. Imagine my surprise when I learned that Niki from Suffolk (Norfolk’s southern sister) and Paul from just outside Kuşadası (but originally from Suffolk) knew each other? “Fix! Fix!” I hear you cry. Believe it or not, it was a complete co-incidence – honest gov’nor.

I had simply intended to post signed copies but Niki and Paul had bolder ideas. They had a pansy summit in mind, a liquid convention on our home turf. The dastardly plot was hatched and P-Day was planned. We met at Café S Bar, an unpretentious watering hole along Bodrum’s town beach where the rainbow flag flutters in the breeze next to the flags of all nations. Ozzie, the seriously fit convivial host dispenses charm and flirtatiousness in equal doses. At the height of the summer he strips down to his speedos and plunges headlong into the bay, tackle in hand, to spear the catch of the day. It’s done more to impress the mixed mob than to put food on the table. Alas, we’ll miss the brawny burlesque this year.

We made a good-humoured bunch – me and Liam, Niki and her beau, James, Paul and his beau, Nigel and their best Blighty Pal, Kiwi Cheryll. Kiwi Cheryll is a licensed sex therapist with a fruity tale to tell (just don’t ask her about the chocky-wocky do da story). Sensible Nigel and Cheryll sipped the soft stuff while the rest of us hit the sauce. What splendid people. After a jar or two, I signed copies of the book. Sadly, by that late stage in the game my scriblings had degenerated to illegible doctor’s scrawl and I’ve no recollection of what I actually wrote. Cheryll kindly bought the very last copy in my possession – another tenner for our half-empty purse. Four hours in the making, the P-Day Landings were a fun-filled finale to an epoch of epic proportions. Have we made the right decision? We think so but, watch out, one day Jack will be back.

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