Category: Turkey & Turkish

The Sisterhood

Expat GlossaryI first compiled my expat glossary in 2011 as a tongue-in-cheek classification of the various expat types Liam and I encountered during our time in Turkey. The idea started with ‘emigrey’ to describe silver-haired retirees living out their dotage in the sun. It was a play on the English loan word from the French ‘émigré,’ the past participle of ‘émigrer’ – to emigrate. The glossary caused quite a stir at the time, striking a chord with most but hitting a nerve with the humourless. It’s remained a perennial favourite, often quoted and plagiarised, and not always with a credit – naughty, naughty. Over time, the lexicon has grown, with additions by me and suggestions from others. And now, I’ve added a new category. So, ladies and gents, I give you…

Turkey StreetThe Sisterhood

The antidote to the VOMITing sickness that afflicts the Shirley Valentines who wash up like driftwood on the beaches of Turkey. Many of the Sisters are reformed VOMITs who’ve been through the ringer, some more than once, but have emerged to tell the tale stronger and wiser. The Sisters stick together (like birds of a feather), because men are rubbish.

The Bodrum Chapter of the Sisterhood play a central role in Turkey Street, the sequel to Perking the Pansies, Jack and Liam move to Turkey, due out in the Summer of 2014.

Desperately Seeking Doreen

Desperately_Seeking_Doreen

A cursory glance at my stats shows that Perking the Pansies pops up on the internet in totally unexpected ways. My irreverent ramblings seem to attract the lost, the lustful, the inquisitive and the ignorant – and from the four corners of the world. These are a few of my favourite search terms:

  • Pussy lovers (for feline aficionados, obviously)
  • Gran Canarian Sex (for a bit of bump and grind in the sun)
  • Rent Boys (believe me, my street-walking days are over)
  • Hardon All Day (hit it with a stick)
  • Is Marti Pellow/Gary Lineker/Kate Adie gay (they seem happy enough to me)
  • Gumbet Love Rats (for the ladies who never learn)
  • The Turkish Living Forum (keeping my 2012 rant right up there in the rankings)

And then came:

  • Doreen Dowdall

Doreen Dowdall

Now that one completely threw me.  Dowdall was my old girl’s name before her soldier boy popped his ring on her finger. Who was the mysterious surfer?  I don’t know, but if s/he ever surfs back, do drop me a line and put me out of my curiosity. And yes, that is me in the picture (the one in shorts, not the fabulous Sixties frock). Bless.

P.S. It’s Doreen Dowdall’s 85th birthday tomorrow. Apart from being a bit mutton with a touch of arthritis and a dodgy hip, the old girl’s in fine fettle. I just hope I’ve inherited her genes.

Cold Calling

Cold Calling

cold callingWe got a whole load of cold calls when we lived in Turkey. We would just put the phone to the side and let them babble on in light-speed Turkish. They would soon get bored and hang up. As soon as we landed in Norwich, I registered our new phone numbers with the Telephone Preference Service, a nifty little operation that lets Joe Public opt out of unsolicited marketing calls. It works well and most reputable companies comply but there’s a bit of a weak link: it doesn’t stop those organisations we do deal with calling willy-nilly and usually at the most inconvenient times. Cue British Gas who have the uncanny knack of cold calling just when we’re a kissin’ and a cuddlin’, and cue my response:

“No, my equipment doesn’t need a service, thank you, how many more times? Look, shove this message into your computer, young man: don’t coitus interruptus me again.”

Then there was Richard Branson’s mob over at Virgin Mobile. Minding my own business and fingering the Pinot Grigio at our local Tesco’s, I got a call from the Indian Subcontinent. A disagreeable man called ‘Martin’ was absolutely determined to talk to me about my tariff (i.e. increasing it), despite my protestations to the contrary. When the penny finally dropped that I wasn’t interested, my emotional phone stalker seemed to take it personally:  

“But why don’t you want to talk to me?”

I’m afraid I was forced to use a ripe word or two to get rid of moody ‘Martin.’

Charities are no better these days. Last December, I made the mistake of donating a fiver by text to UNICEF. It was Christmas and it was for Syria, so why wouldn’t I? I received a thank you text in return and a promise to let me know all about their good work. I wish I’d replied telling them not to bother. Weeks later, and after several missed calls from an unknown number, I eventually answered the phone to a woman with a Julie Andrews accent and a Mary Poppins demeanour to match. She was rather put out that I didn’t want to listen to her well-rehearsed patter that, no doubt, would end with a request for my bank details. I stopped her in mid-pitch and, with as much officiousness as I could muster:

“I’m sorry, Mary, or whatever your name is, Cold calling damages UNICEF’s reputation and undermines its fund-raising activities. Take my number off your list and do not call me again. Do you understand?”

And what did she say?

“So you don’t want to hear all about UNICEF’s good work, then?”

That’s it. Not a penny more from me. It’s bad enough that I can’t go about my lawful business without being harassed by an Exocet student outside Tesco’s armed with a pushy smile, easy charm and a clipboard-full of standing order forms. Honestly!

 

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Tales from Turkey

Peoples_RepublicLast month I had the pleasure of being interviewed by the gorgeous Shelley Antscherl for the People’s Republic of South Devon, the premier online newspaper for that bejewelled corner of this sceptre’d isle.

“We’d both reached a professional impasse and thought it was high time to take a break from our labours while we still had our own teeth.”

Update – Friday 17th January

sad-face

I’ve just checked back with the People’s Republic of South Devon and my interview (and, the entire website, it seems) has disappeared from the ether.  That’s rather unfortunate. It was there yesterday. My witless words are now lost for all time. Sorry about that.

2013 in Review

Perking the Pansies recovered from a difficult birth at the murderous hands of the Turkish censors, thrived through the terrible twos and survived the transitional threes, ending the year with 60,000 hits for the last twelve months. Thank you to everyone and anyone who’s passed by and glanced at my random witterings. Most blogs burn out after two years so I must be living on borrowed time.

As the sun sets on 2013, in the best Hogmanay tradition, I give you the year’s top ten – a pick ‘n’mix treat of bum cleavage, Turks at the barricades, a shot in the arm, a tender coming out story, a sexy rugger bugger, a book to send you to sleep, an old-time boozer, an olive tree planted in a foreign field and a scratched itch.

Image courtesy of Occupy Gezi on Facebook.
One for the Ladies
The Art of Blogging at St Margaret’s Church of Art
Gareth Thomas likes Good Read
Best of Perking the Pansies Vol Two
Queen’s Head, Chelsea
Tulip Fields of Turkey
Image Courtesy of the Financial Times
Tom’s Posing Pouch

Plumber’s Bum

It was the picture wot won it.

Turkey Troubles

A revolution in the making?

Tom Daley: Something I Want to Say

Saying it before someone said it for him.

Gareth Thomas, Dancing on Ice Drama

Who said ice-prancing rugger buggers can’t read?

Life in the Old Blog Yet

With thanks to the nice people at WordPress who featured me on one of their big hitting sites.

Turkey, Surviving the Expats – Out Now!

Keeping me out the workhouse.

God Save the Queen’s Head

A Chelsea classic and old watering hole of mine.

From Little Acorns...

A small corner of Turkey that is forever John.

Seven Year Itch

A soppy tale from Liam.

Turkey, Who Will Blink First?

And we all know who did in the end, don’t we?

For some inexplicable reason, this was the most popular image of 2013, featured in Let’s Hear it for the Brides.

Nine Elms
The Thames at Nine Elms

And I shouldn’t forget the perennial favourites from previous years that keep coming back again and again like a bad case of thrush.

Gran Canaria Sex Emporium

Proving that ‘sex’ really is the most searched for word on Google.

Now That’s What I Call Old

A humble little post about a spectacular discovery in eastern Turkey that just keeps on giving while the archaeologists keep on digging  – 8,000 hits and climbing. Who would have thought?

Expat Glossary

Oft quoted and oft plagiarised (and not always with a credit, tut tut)

Goodbye to the Turkish Living Forum

The few spoiling it for the many. A real shame.

Turkey Street RecliningAnd what of 2014? All I know is that Turkey Street, Jack and Liam move to Bodrum will be out early in the year. Will it be as successful as the first one? Who knows? Not me. Whatever happens, come rain or shine, a happy and prosperous year to all my pansy fans. Thank you for staying the course and for your remarkable support. I’m touched but then, I have been for years.

A Turkish Love Letter

Turkish Men1There’s no doubt about it, if you fancy that swarthy look with a headstrong Mediterranean temperament, Turkish men have it in spades. But beware, my Shirley Valentines, the course of true love does not always run smooth. Having finally emerged from a painful divorce from her hunky Turkish beau sorer but much the wiser, the lovely Natalie from the Turkish Travel Blog is more than a match for the legions of Turkish Lotharios who shamelessly chase Western women with declarations of undying love and promises of unbridled passion. The street-wise scribe has written about it before (as have I here). Now Natalie faces an emotional dilemma, a romantic conundrum. The racy rebound with the come to bed eyes and talented hands who kept her warm during the separation has rather carelessly found himself banged up in a Turkish jail. Not the best move for a fine romance, I would say. Now he’s written her an over-wrought love letter from his overcrowded prison cell.  What is a girl to do? Can you help Natalie steer a steady course through the moral maze?

Find out more in her recent post A Turkish Love Letter

Apologies to subscribers for the ‘ghost post’ yesterday. I inadvertently pressed the wrong key and suffered a bad case of premature publication. Oops.

Turkey in Berlin

Today, I’m featuring a guest post from the gorgeous Marta López, a Spanish travel writer based in London. I rarely include guests posts on Perking the Pansies these days (and never for profit) but when Marta asked if I’d like to publish her article on the trendy Kreuzberg district of Berlin, serving up one of the coolest cities on the planet with an authentic Turkish twist, how could I refuse?

So ladies and gents, I give you…

Turkey in Berlin, Five Reasons to Visit Kreuzberg by Marta López

The German capital hides lots of history and monuments that you definitely should explore when visiting the city for the first time. Once you have done all those things mentioned in your travel guide, there’s still a stop for you at one of the coolest and more colourful districts in Berlin: The Kreuzberg or as it’s also called “the Turkish Berlin”; a very trendy quarter that houses the most alternative culture in the city. This is the home of anarchists, bohemian souls and of course the large Turkish community in Berlin.

These are my top 5 reasons to visit this district in the German capital. And remember, Kreuzberg feels neither East nor West!

1.      It’ s a very multicultural area

It used to be the black sheep of West Berlin (a sort of Bronx in Berlin) and now the truth is that it is the area with the most personality in town. 40 % of the population here is Turkish and the rest of the neighbours are immigrants, especially in the side known as “SO 36”. Every year there is a big festival called “The Carnival of Cultures”, a four day urban festival that reflects the quarter of different faces and cultures. Next year the celebration will take place on the 4th June. Do you fancy a bit of multicultural atmosphere?

2.      You’ll find the best kebabs ever!

Kreuzberg is far from picture pretty and perfect but it´s really cool! Thanks to its large Turkish community living in the area, when you visit the district you will find an endless list of local Turkish bars where you can taste authentic and spicy kebabs. Top tip: Pop in at Imren Grill (Boppstr 10, Berlin) and try their tasty and juicy meat! Did you know that the Donner Kebab was actually invented here? The inventor was a Turkish expat called Kadir Nurman who has just died last October in Berlin.

3.      It’s full of exotic markets

There are lots of colourful markets surrounding the district. Visiting the Turkish market in Maybachufer (note that the market closes on Mondays) means literally transporting yourself to the beautiful Mediterranean country. Here you’ll find exotic textiles, different kind of hummus and lots and lots of people searching for the best products at the best price. Top tip: Try the Turkish pizza; it is out of this world!

4.      You’ll find an alternative culture

It is the home to Berlin’s punk rock movement, as well as other alternative subcultures. From graffiti covered lanes to random museums and galleries like The Berlinische Galerie, which contains Berlin art dating from 1870. But it’s not all about underground art. The Kreuzberg district is also the Mecca for fashionistas! Here arrive all the up-and- coming designers, so if you fancy unique accessories, don’ t hesitate to visit High-Lite (Bergmannstraße 99, Berlin) -We could say it´s a bit like any Shoreditch store in London.

5.      Best nightlife atmosphere in the city

Who said that in Germany it’s not possible to go out until 6.00 am? In Kreuzberg the nightlife starts late and seems to end early in the morning! Most of bars here have that bohemian charm that will encourage you to stay for hours. Don’t miss out clubs such as Lido (Cuvrystraße 7, Berlin) which is in an old cinema from the fifties and runs parties on the weekend, or Monarch Club (Skalitzer Straße 134, Berlin) based in a building that offers amazing views and the best electronic music. If you are a young clubbing addicted adult, you can’t miss it!

Getting there

Transport

Berlin-Tegel Airport (TXL) is located only 8 km from the centre of the city so reaching the centre will take you around 20 minutes. The city buses are the best option. They stop at different points through the city; the main stop in the centre is Alexanderplatz, located in the heart of the Mitte area. If you need to travel from Berlín-Schönefel Airport (SXF) to the centre of Berlin, you can choose between three options: The regional train, the B-Bahn train and the bus that runs on a regular service.

Where to stay

If you are looking for accommodation and you want to stay closer to the alternative scene, you can search hotels in Berlin near Kreuzberg with Expedia. Remember this is probably the most budget-friendly side of the city!

Author Bio:

MartaMarta López is a travel writer based in London.  She loves travelling and discovering new cultures. When she isn’t writing on her laptop, she can be found around the city looking for the coolest urban art. Follow her adventures on twitter @Martazepol

Old Posts Never Die

tamponsReaders of Perking the Pansies tell me that I’ve laid down some vintage posts in my time. They very kindly don’t mention the dross. Search engines and their secret algorithms have also been generous and thankfully, the blog is up there in the rankings. Still, it was a surprise when I received an out-of-the-blue comment from Rhona who stumbled across a guest post from August 2011 called Turks and Tampons. Rhona was having a periodic Turkish crisis and wrote:

Jack, I thought you might be amused by the fact that I found your blog via this post. I was on my first trip to Turkey (Gulluk) with my daughters when without going into detail we found ourselves in need of tampons…..problem! I googled ‘tampons in Turkey’ and there you were lol. But there also was this: tamponcrafts. Enjoy!

I certainly did enjoy a deep trawl through the wonder that is Tampon Crafts – a thousand and one things to do with Lil-Lets. Who knew that Tampax Pearls was so versatile? As Christmas is coming up, I’ve got Liam knocking up a nativity scene for the mantle piece. The Baby Jesus has never looked so absorbent.

One Equal World

Flag and TulipsI’m always chuffed when I’m asked to write a few words about the bees in my bonnet.  One Equal World publishes thoughtful and thought-provoking articles about equalities issues and they asked me about our experiences of Turkey.  This was my two-penneth…

I have often been asked why we chose an Islamic country as a place to step off the treadmill for a while and rest our work-weary bones. It’s not quite that simple; too often, the casual observer will lump all Muslims together. In truth, the Islamic world is no more homogenous than the West. There’s little to distinguish a grandma on a donkey in Christian Greece or Bulgaria from one trotting through a Turkish village. More…

Beamed Back to Bodrum

TSDSTTR PA062The beauty of renting is that we’re not responsible for all those annoying little things that inevitably go wrong around the home. We had a dodgy boiler that refused to heat water (though it was more than happy to heat the radiators, even when not asked). Our friendly landlady despatched a boiler-suited chatty man with cute dimples. He installed a brand new heat exchanger (No idea? Me neither). I provided tea for his labours and listened intently to my boiler man recall his boiler tales. A dull date on a Saturday night, I thought. Despite the cute dimples.

Then we became undone by a temperamental washing machine that only spun when it could be arsed. The reluctant spin went on for weeks. We were seriously in danger of being buried under sopping piles of dripping undies. Our landlady dispatched a smiley man in baggy bottoms and a corporate polo top. I provided tea for his labours as he tried to wring a final spin out of the moody machine. “It’s knackered,” he concluded. His home-spun words were music to my ears. I almost invited him out for dinner.

A week later, our landlady despatched a replacement appliance escorted by a thick-set older man with an even thicker-set accent. He was accompanied by a spotty young apprentice. “Where’s it plugged in?” asked the old man. “Absolutely no idea,” I replied. After a lot of huffing and puffing, hauling and heaving, he found the socket behind the fridge. Then I watched him slice the live wire with a Stanley knife. The loud bang almost gave me a seizure. Unlike me, he wasn’t the least bit perturbed by the black flume and strong whiff of electrical burn or the fact that he’d blown all the sockets in the kitchen. The young spotty thing was shocked into silence. For one brief moment, I thought I’d been beamed back to Bodrum where all workers are fully qualified electricians/plumbers/carpenters/roofers/rocket scientists (delete as appropriate).

Laurel and Hardy didn’t get tea for their trouble, I can tell you. Well, the kettle wasn’t working.