I’ve never had much difficulty finding something to say. In fact, sometimes Liam would rather I kept it buttoned once in a while. Today I received a copy of the April edition of Time Out, Istanbul, courtesy of Pat Yale which features a piece she’s written about expat books. Pat is one of the (if not the) pre-eminent resident travel writers in Turkey. She gave Perking the Pansies top billing. It made me feel like a sexy centrefold without the need to take my kit off (believe me, these days Jack in the flesh would put anyone off their Adana Kebab). Pat’s review is, well, see for yourself. I am speechless. Thank you, Pat. You managed to shut me up and Liam is at peace for once.
Category: Expats
Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines
To rescue me from a life of drudgery and chores, delicious vetpat Vicky invited me to brunch at Musto’s Restaurant, our favourite Bodrum eatery. We were joined by a retired thespian and impresario (who shall remain nameless to save his blushes) and his Turkish partner. They’d jetted down from Istanbul for the weekend. We took our ringside seats to watch the spills and thrills of the Turkish Air Force Aerobatics Team – the Turkish Stars – who performed their madcap supersonic routine above our heads. The low-rise, high-octane precision performance was loud and fabulous. The ear-splitting gig wasn’t entirely a surprise since the boys with their toys had spent a few days practising beforehand – clipping mobile phone masts and setting off car alarms. Catching a snap proved difficult as the magnificent men in their flying machines criss-crossed the firmament. The romantic finale was a hazy heart etched into the sky, a fitting tribute to the Istanbul lovers. After feasting on a delicious Turkish breakfast banquet that just kept on coming, we spent the sunny afternoon chatting and drinking in the magical stories of a thesp’s days treading the boards. Perfect.
Pictures courtesy of the Bodrum Bulletin
You might also like:
Tenko
I recently received glad tidings from Blighty, a welcome email providing light relief from my solitary confinement. Old friend, Ian and his partner, Matt, intend to join our extended leaving bash at the end of May. Ian was once my regular escort as we tripped the light fantastic across the sweaty dance floors of Europe during our misspent youth. It was he who accompanied me on my first trip to Istanbul in 2003. Our eyes popped at the dark and illicit underbelly of Turkish life. Oh, happy days.
Last year, Ian and I were summer-supping in the Duke of Wellington (the Wellie), our favourite Soho watering hole and pick up joint. He asked me what expat life was really like. This was the conversation.
It’s like Tenko.
Come again?
A great social leveller. People who, in any other situation, would neither meet nor mix are chucked together like prisoners of war.
I see. A bit like this place, then?
Precisely.
*Tenko was a BBC TV series of the early Eighties which dramatised the experiences of British, Australian and Dutch women imprisoned by the Japanese after the Fall of Singapore in 1942. Think ‘Bad Girls‘ in the tropics.
A Brilliant New Book
Ayak is a splendid British emikoy living in a small village in Turkey with her doting Turkish husband. See, sometimes it can work! Ayak writes a refreshingly honest account of her rural life called Ayak’s Turkish Delight which she describes as:
“The ups and down, the trials and tribulations, the happy and the sad…not to mention the often disastrous adventures of Mr Ayak.”
Ayak has written a wonderful review of my book. I’m touched and really grateful. You can read it here.
You might a
lso like:
The Male Trailing Spouse
Calling all men who have followed their working partners (male or female) to a foreign field. How is it for you?
Colleen Reichrath Writes:
If you are a male accompanying partner we would love to hear from you and include your insights and tips in the 4th edition of ‘A Career in Your Suitcase’ by Jo Parfitt. Send an email to me at cjscareers@gmail.com and I’ll send you a list of questions. Looking forward to sharing your stories and helping others of your kind to not feel so rare.
Please respond to this request by March 15, 2012.
And the Winners Are…
All medieval Gothic cathedrals look the same to me – all those lofty arches, graceful buttresses, elegant cloisters, grimacing gargoyles and more effigies of martyred saints than I could shake a stick at. Thank you to everyone who entered the spot the Goth competition. Some were stumped and plumped for Chichester, Durham, Oxford and second favourite, Salisbury. All fine buildings, but nil points to you lot. Yes, the next exciting whistle-stop on our pansy trail is the fair city of Norwich, the handsome capital of East Anglia and former home to the quiz of the week with Nicholas Parsons.
We decided to alter the competition rules a little (we can do that) and pick a couple of winners at random instead of just the one. Liam selected one and I chose the other. Congratulations to Niki Fowler and Paul Hard. A pristine copy of Perking the Pansies will be with you very soon, signed, sealed and delivered. We hope you enjoy it. And if you do, tell your family, your friends, strangers in the street, shout it from the rooftops and maybe add a review to Amazon. As they say at Tesco’s, every little helps.
Off to Norwich we shall plod and that’s where I’ll write the sequel. Emigreys beware. Just when you thought it was safe to dip your toes in the Ege, I’ll be tying up the loose ends of our extraordinary time in old Bodrum Town and moving the story along to its bitter end. I’ll also keep on blogging, reporting on the Motherland and our foster home through my veracious, liberal eyes. The uncensored safety of Blighty will allow me to write more honestly.
Have a look at No Going Back on Going Back for all the competition entries (those not published elsewhere). It’s my most commented on post.
Dumping Digiturk
We’re busy planning our repatriation to Blighty. We’re not actually leaving until June but it pays to start early. As my project guru, Liam has drawn up a long list of ‘must do’s’. Top of the agenda? Ditching our account with Digiturk, the national satellite TV broadcaster. We won’t miss it, not because it’s a bad service per se, but because more often than not we watch British TV through our VPN.
Liam rang Digiturk’s all singing, all dancing English Language call centre to cancel. The rude little runt on the end of the line was having none of it. Liam was given a cock and bull story about ‘applying’ to close our account by fax to Istanbul. We would need to provide another photocopy of my passport together with a notarised copy of my grandmother’s bra size. ‘You want to complain? Tough. My manager doesn’t speak English.’ Was the rude little runt having a bad day? Maybe he was fed up dealing with rude little emigreys. Liam rang a second time – different rude little runt, same rude little script. Digiturk’s tone deaf one-stop shop for expats seems to have developed two left feet. Liam kept his cool and thanked the brick wall for his help. There’s no point losing your rag with the hired help.
Eventually, we managed to close the account via an exchange of heated emails written in English and translated into Googled Turkish. Liam kept the message simple ‘I am moving to England. I am cancelling my service. You can’t stop me.’ It worked. Tick. Next?
You might also like:
Back to the Future
Liam and I were minding our own business in Tansaş. We were queuing up at the till, weighed down by a basket-full of cheap plonk. The lady in front of us turned towards me and smiled. “You’re Jack,” she said. “I love your book.” I blushed like a spotty teen and shifted uncomfortably from side to side. It was like being a z-list celeb, furtively emerging from a grubby massage parlour with my tail between my legs. Next time, I’ll don a floral headscarf and designer shades before I venture out.
I composed myself and we chatted over the veg and booze. It turns out that we’re near neighbours. My fellow shopper was a former Bodrum Belle of years long past and she recently returned to renew her club membership. As an old and new kid on the block, she has started her own blog, Back to Bodrum. The then and now observations offer a unique perspective of a town on the move. Take a look – fascinating stuff.
Our Man in Ankara
The British Embassy has just issued an update about the new Turkish health insurance regulations in relation to British emigreys. Essentially, we don’t have to join the scheme if we don’t want to. A storm in a çay cup?
Health Warning
I’m happy to report that it seems our man in Ankara has stepped up to the plate about the mandatory health insurance scheme for expats. Candid conversations in the corridors of power have resulted in a postponement of the scheme for the time being. According to the Voices Newspaper, we can all expect an official letter in the post (my face is straight as I type) about the scheme after which we will have a month to register. Panic over.
There are still a few other issues to work though like what residents who aren’t really residents because they actually reside in Blighty are to do, whether people with private health insurance can opt out and whether those who are retired (according to their permits) are exempt. The last is the most interesting point as I suspect most emigreys here are registered as retired regardless of their age (I know we are). It’ll all come out in the wash in the end.
Perking the Pansies 