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:

Ringing the Belles

Icing and Slicing

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.

You might also like:

Left to My Own Devices

Home Alone

Time Out, Istanbul

A tantalising glimpse at the April edition of Time Out, Istanbul. Right at the bottom there’s a tiny headline for Pat Yale’s article, the Best of Expat Literature. I’m in it. I don’t know what Pat has written as I haven’t yet got my grubby hands on a copy. I’m spending so much time hanging around my garden gate for the postie, passers-by think I’m soliciting. Well, if the book doesn’t sell…

From Frostbite to Heatstroke

The next door apartment block has just received an unusual spring makeover. Over a period of two weeks, we watched in bemused amusement as the entire building (excluding the roof) was clad in grey polystyrene tiles. These were eventually rendered then whitewashed to suit Bodrum’s standard livery. The re-modelling was watched from the opposite side of the street by one of the residents, a little old man wearing an embroidered pillbox* hat and an inscrutable perma-grin.

Buildings hereabouts are little more than simple concrete boxes and are notoriously difficult to keep warm in the winter or cool in the summer. They would also collapse like a pack of cards if an earthquake struck. So, is this some new and ingenious insulation technique – like a tea cosy or a padded jacket for a hot water tank? If so, let’s hope it breaks the time honoured annual cycle of frostbite and heatstroke. The unconventional wrap was completed just in the nick of time. The following day the mother of all storms lashed the coast. The rickety scaffolding would surely not have survived the tempest. Neither would the little old man.

*This type of hat is called a kufi kofi hat in parts of Africa but I don’t know what it’s called in Turkey – any ideas?

A Balcony with a View

Blessed (and gloriously noisy) are the children…

Children’s Day 2012

You might also like:

Turkey’s Got Talent

I Believe the Children Are Our Future

Bodrum Rocks

After a couple of false starts, the race towards summer is on. We feared the sun-kissed season had been cancelled this year. The starting pistol was an earthquake beneath our feet at 4am yesterday morning. Just a tiddler of a tremor at 3.1. Liam woke with a jolt and went in search of fault lines. I slept like a baby through the whole thing.

Wacky Weather

March winds are fashionably late this year. A few nights ago, Hurricane Hatice blew furiously over Bodrum. We were trapped in our bed by a creepy speedy wind that whistled through the narrow streets. Unfettered flying objects and the constant banging of a nearby metal gate kept us alert. Dogs were silenced and cocks kept their own counsel. Unhappy memories came flooding back of the infamous hurricane that hit southern England and northern France on the morning of my 27th birthday on the 16th October 1987. More about this here.

Talking of wacky birthday weather, Yankee Sarah from Was Constantinople recently celebrated her birthday with a friend from across the pond. She wrote:

“While we were catching up on Baltimore Ravens gossip over fried anchovies and mussels, 300 houses were losing their roofs, 5 people were dying, some building was falling over in Nisantisi, and a yacht was on fire. By the time we paid the bill, the seas were calm again. We opted for more chilling than sight seeing.”

You can read the full post here.

Happy birthday Sarah. One to remember.

You might also like:

Knots Landing

Jack Frost

200,000 Hits Plus

A few days ago, an obscure English language blog written by an ex-pretty boy reporting from a minor peninsula on the Aegean coast of Turkey, exceeded 200,000* page hits. My sincerest thanks go out to all those people who have popped by to show their support for Perking the Pansies. Are you all mad?

Other notable stats for cyber geeks include:

600 posts – 2,000 shares – 14,000 spam comments – 4,500 legit comments (not including Faceache and that tweety thingy).

Surprisingly, I’ve been little troubled by the angry little trolls who stalk cyberspace with impunity. I’ve only ever had to delete two vile comments from the faceless.

My parochial dispatches from the emigrey trenches (in the winter, I mean this literally) have been liberally sprinkled with liberal mutterings on selected events of the day. Sometimes, Perking the Pansies goes beyond these short-sighted shores and tackles issues that interest, amaze, amuse or concern me. Indeed, many of the posts with an international twist have been big hits. This gives me hope. Maybe Perking the Pansies can evolve from reflections on emigrey life to broader horizons – from fosterland to motherland. So, climb aboard the slow boat to Blighty. I hope you’ll stay on for the ride but feel free to jump ship at any sunny port en route. That’s what journeys are all about.

Next milestone? A quarter of a million. Imagine that?

Pansy Reach
Pansy Reach

*Combining page views on this site with my old Google blog blocked by the Turkish Authorities in December 2010).  

You might also like:

No Going Back on Going Back

Review of the Year 2011

Tweeting Turks

Naturally I tweet. Doesn’t everyone these days? Facebook and Twitter are the gruesome twosome of social media – the top of the pops. Got nothing interesting to say? Say it loudly and often on the tweety thing and faceache. For reasons unknown, I’m popular with tweeting Turks. I usually follow back even though I haven’t a clue what they’re tweeting about. It’s the polite thing to do. Distressingly, my popularity can be short lived and some of my new admirers quickly unfollow me, presumably after realising I am what I am. That’s not the polite thing to do. I unfollow in revenge, punishing them with my mouse. ‘Take that!’ I click. Disturbingly, I also seem to attract young Turkish men – really young. Obviously, I don’t follow them back. Youngsters really aren’t my thing and I don’t want to stand accused of grooming. It’s a funny old world.