Road Nonsense

There’s been a fun discussion on Adventures in Ankara following a post about car parking in Turkey. I’ve written before about the sheer insanity of driving in Turkey as have many, many others. It’s a story that just runs and runs. It seems de riguer for death wish drivers to dart along pot-holed roads, jump lights and overtake on blind bends while happily playing with their overused horns. Indicating is for girls. This is all hard-wired into the Turkish macho psyche. The Adventures in Ankara post and ensuing debate reminded me of a recent conversation I had with Aziz, the owner of Jack’s Bar, a favourite watering hole of ours. We were supping and chewing the cud when a call came through to his head waiter. He was told he’d passed his driving test. Naturally, there was a round of rapturous applause, a celebratory jig, multiple back slapping and drinks all round (like I need an excuse). Aziz had been helping his young apprentice with driving lessons.

“Great news, ” I said to Aziz. “Now he can go out on his own.”

“No, Jack. He can’t drive yet,” came the inscrutable reply.

Says it all.

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Gentleman Jack

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A Bloggers’ Convention

Sarah from Was Constantinople recently attended a unique bloggers’ coffee shop convention in Istanbul featuring some of the most talented writers in the Turkey and travel blogosphere. The blogging stars were in perfect alignment for one day only. You can check out the illustrious list on Sarah’s commemorative post. Not to be outdone by our big city co-bloggers, we had our very own smaller but perfectly formed beano down here in old Bodrum Town. I spent a gossipy sunny few hours chewing the cud over a beer or two with the wonderful folk behind Pul Biber and Back to Bodrum.

What is the collective noun for bloggers, I wonder?  A gaggle of bloggers? A blagger of bloggers? A jobbing of bloggers? My personal favourite is a gobble of bloggers purely because it sounds a little naughty. I guess this could only apply to Turkey-baste blogs (pun intended). Answers on a postcard or leave a comment.

Perking the Pansies Book Giveaway

I’m plugging the book again. Hey, a boy’s gotta do what a boy’s gotta do. This time there’s something in it for you, though.

There are two chances to win a copy of Perking the Pansies. Firstly, I’ve offered Goodreads a couple of paperback books to give away to two lucky winners. The competition is open to any Goodreads member in the United Kingdom (sorry, but international postage from the Blighty is crippling). Simply provide your name and address by the end of the month (May) to be entered into the prize draw. Easy. Not a member of Goodreads? Why not join? It’s a great book lover’s site and it’s free.

Secondly, the wonderful Kay at British Expats has given the book a fab review. As a reward, I’m offering a free copy of the book for Kindle. All you need do is comment on the review and say why you’d like the book. Keep it clean, folks. The competition ends on the 7th June.

I know it’s not exactly the Lotto but it is something for nothing and the chance of winning is much better. You can always sell the paperback on Ebay when you’re done. And what do I ask in return? Well, nothing, of course, otherwise it wouldn’t be free. But, if you fancy adding a review to Goodreads or Amazon out the goodness of your heart, that would be nice. No pressure.

Click on the images below to find out more and enter. Good luck!

Bodrum Life

Bodrum’s radical urban overhaul is almost complete save for a few rough edges that will be completed next year (or sometime never). I took afternoon liquid refreshments at Bodrum’s organic deli, a great place from where to people watch. Their natural fare is even more delicious during happy hour when a glass of white costs only 4 lira a shot. The tubby waiter with precision hairdo, George Clooney eyes and Russell Crowe features serviced me silently with charm and grace.

I watched Bodrum life pass by in all its ambling majesty. The strolling likely lads with their grand gelled tresses and baffling stares promenaded along the promenade, stopping to check their reflections in the porthole mirrors of Helva Bar. I watched the Helva bar boys wash down the floors in anticipation of a profitable night’s innings from the urban elite and the Ukrainian prostitutes who silently ply their trade among them. A rainbow of cars cruised by from Nissan tanks to clapped-out Fiats. Happy-clappy kids played hide and seek in the play school playground opposite. Sunny Cabaret was provided by Bodrum’s resident drunk (I thought that was me), who frothed at the mouth, toyed with the traffic, harangued unsuspecting tourists and talked to the street animals like a modern day Dr Doolittle. I staggered home to the tune of the Hi-De-Hi public address system and another power cut in the full knowledge that our Turkish expedition would soon come to an end. To quote Old Blue Eyes, “Regrets, I have a few.”

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Unfinished Business

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Getting the Abbey Habit

West End super-hit Sister Act (developed from the Whoopi Goldberg movie) is on nationwide pilgrimage and arrived at the Theatre Royal, Norwich, in April. To celebrate this holy occasion, the theatre attempted to break the Guinness World Record for the most number of people dragged up as nuns in one place. Graham James, Bishop of Norwich, was ordained to judge the endeavour. The good Bishop was escorted by Jan McFarlane, Archdeacon of Norwich, who was dressed to impress in her big black dress. The Venerable Archdeacon said,

“It was frighteningly easy to find a habit. I thought about borrowing a real one but decided to get my own. I may have missed my true calling.”

Alas, the challenge fell rather short of the 251 needed to break the record. Liam was distraught at getting none of the nun fun. He was relishing the thought of running up a couple of habits on the old Singer.

Check out the video

Turkish Wrestling, Lube and Lederhosen

Turkish Wrestling, Lube and Lederhosen

The Turkish oil wrestling circus came to an ancient town. A picnic field near the obscure and little excavated Lelegian city of Pedasa, high in the hills above Bodrum, hosted a greasy competition of brute force and suspect hand insertions. The ancient smack down imported by the nomadic Turks from the windswept steppes of Central Asia was staged by the lubed-up lads in lederhosen (or kisbets as they’re correctly called) with enthusiasm and grunting gusto. Getting a slippery grip on a marinated boy basting in the midday sun would challenge the most dedicated follower of a bit of rough and tumble. It was an all-family affair with drums, horns and B-B-Q chicken. I’ll leave the last word to a Bodrum Belle of our acquaintance who supplied the snaps.

“Fat men getting feisty in flora! I even caught them having a soapy shower behind the fire engine afterwards but you will see that, for most of them, the greasy glory days are sadly over. Have you and Liam never fancied cavorting in Castrol?”

The answer’s no. We leave the homoerotic horseplay to the hetties. They do it so much better.

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Tales from the Harem

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A Perfect Holiday Read

3d with LogoEven if I do say so myself, Perking the Pansies, Jack and Liam move to Turkey is the perfect holiday accompaniment to a bottle of chilled white around a cool pool. Now it’s even better value at £9.99 ($16.00 across the pond). Waterstones deliver free to any UK address and the Book Depository deliver free to 120 countries and territories worldwide. A bargain, I say.

Check out buying options here. Not sure? Maybe the reviews will help you decide.

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

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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.

What Maketh the Man?

The call came and I’m home alone once more. Liam dashed back to Blighty strapped to a Sleazyjet plane. My mother-in-law’s not well and the family is rallying round to provide the kind of TLC that this kindly lady needs and deserves. His departure was heralded by an impromptu and ear-splitting display by (presumably) the Turkish Air Force Aerobatic Team who flew ultra-low to strafe the unsuspecting town. The vibration set off car alarms. Boys with their toys.

While I’m home alone, I’ve got plenty to occupy myself, including preparations for our own homecoming in June. I’ll be clearing out my mucky drawers and chucking out the chintz. Besides, the weather’s on the up; I’m sure our select group of Bodrum Belles and Gümbet Gals will keep me from crying into the bottom of my glass. Liam went without hesitation or resentment and he went with my blessing. Liam’s love and loyalty is second to none. That’s what maketh the man.

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