The Word on the Street

Thank you to those who voted in my playful poll about proxy servers. Here are the results of the Perking the Pansies jury:

31% – Yes I use a proxy server in Turkey

28% – No I don’t use a proxy server

10% – I’ve no idea what you’re taking about!

31% – I don’t live in Turkey

For anyone interested, the way to access a proxy server is to sign up to a ‘Virtual Private Network’ (VPN). This handy service provides a gateway to British terrestrial TV and also circumvents internet restrictions by the Turkish authorities. We use my-private-network.co.uk. The service was easy to set up and costs about a fiver a month. This allows us to stream live TV and watch catch up services on our laptop. We also installed the BBC iPlayer to download BBC programmes to watch at our leisure. For an altogether better viewing experience, we connect the laptop to our TV and sound system.

The Downside

The process can be frustrating and unsatisfying. Live streaming and catch up needs a good internet speed. Ours is up and down like whore’s drawers. A variable picture quality, broadcasts that freeze then jump forward and endless buffering can irritatingly interrupt our  enjoyment. Downloading programmes using the iPlayer works really well as it saves a temporary copy on our computer but, of course, only applies to BBC broadcasts.

Doldrums in Bodrum

We bloggers are like rats. We get everywhere and Japan is no exception. Charles Ayres writes a deliciously over the top blog called Impossibly Fabulous from the Land of the Rising Sun offering camp agony uncle advice to the bewildered. It helps to keep him sane as an alien in the most homogenised nation on our diverse planet. I am concerned about Liam’s slow but certain slide towards the veil and sought Charles’ insight. These were his thoughts:

Doldrums in Bodrum

January 2015 Update: Unfortunately, Impossibly Fabulous is off the air these days so this link no longer works. 

Incidentally, the word Anatolia derives from the Greek Anatolē which means ‘sunrise’ so Charles and I are both bloggers from the land where the sun rises. A bit silly really as the sun rises everywhere eventually, even in Grey Britain.

Bursting into Life

The mould season is drying out. Spring is in the air and there is a spring in our step. The warming rays have stirred us from the benign boredom of our winter hibernation. Flowers are bursting into life, shorts are being aired and flip-flops dusted down. Alas, the mozzie season approaches alongside. Relentless and voracious, Turkish mozzies just love to feast on poor Liam. Dive bombing like kamikaze pilots they show him no mercy. At times he resembles a medieval pox victim. We’ve purchased several kegs of napalm and rinsed out the net as a precaution. Thank God that there is no malaria in our corner of the World.

Fire and Brimstone

Now Children, Behave

Forums provide an invaluable service to people living in a foreign land. Why re-invent the wheel when the ‘been there, done that’ brigade can help? The TLF is the largest and most active of all the forums in Turkey and long may it thrive. I usually read in passive amusement at the cut and thrust debate on the latest hot topic. Combatants engage in a war of attrition from the trenches lobbing their opinions, dressed up as fact, into no man’s land in the hope of scoring the last point. It can get quite heated at times but that’s the joy of free speech. I confess that I rarely contribute as I like to keep my blood pressure under control and I prefer to converse around a dinner table with people I actually know.

Sometimes, though, forum debates can get out of hand as it did recently. What started as a reasonable argument about the fairness of the court judgement preventing a couple from fostering because of their biblical views of homosexuality degenerated into an unseemly slanging match. It’s just the excuse some people need to emerge from their closets to vent their reactionary prejudices. Where were the moderators?

The Age of Enlightenment

I don’t have a fixed view about the topic. I don’t know the full facts and, unless those who commented were in court that day, I suspect they don’t either. What depressed me was that some people would prefer to place an already damaged child with fundamentalist Christians rather than a middle class, liberal lesbian couple from Islington. Homosexuality isn’t catching, religion is. Gay people don’t kill for their cause, religious zealots do. Gay people campaign for equal rights, religions demand to be above the Law. Enough said.

One Out, All Out

The internet police have been at it again in the continuing war between Google and Digiturk. As from the 1st of March Google Blogger in its entirety was banned in Turkey. The draconian censors are indifferent to the effect on millions of blogs, many of them small businesses trying to earn an honest crust in challenging times. Digiturk is acting like an overbearing corporate bully and Google just doesn’t give a toss about anything other the bottom line. There’s no profit in blogging as it’s a free service so why cause a fuss? The core of the dispute is infringement of broadcasting rights. This is laughable when you think that Turkey is flooded by counterfeit goods. Fancy a bootleg copy of the ‘King’s Speech’? No problem.

It’s relatively easy to get round the ban with a proxy server, an application that lets us pick up British TV. Please take a split second to complete the poll below. Don’t worry, you can’t be identified!

Tree Huggers Unite

We honeymooned in Kaş on the Turkuaz Coast. I was by then a seasoned Turkey traveller but Liam was an excitable novice. Kaş is a beguiling Bohemian jewel, surrounded by a pristine hinterland that has been mercifully spared the worst excesses of mass tourism. No expense was spared and we took a suite at the Deniz Feneri Lighthouse Hotel through Exclusive Escapes, an altogether superior hotel by an altogether superior travel company. No one star Gümbet with no star Thomas Cook for me on my first and final honeymoon. We bathed in the sparkling blue waters, strolled along the relaxed hassle-free promenade, feasted by candle-light and danced the night away with the locals in Bar Red Point, the best watering hole in town. I promised Liam the genuine Turkish shave experience and we got a lot more than just something for the weekend from the predatory married barbers on the pull. It put Liam off for life.

We hired a car and explored some of surrounding must sees in old Lycia. The area is stuffed with them. We lunched in pretty but twee Kalkan, meandered through the grand ruins of Patara, relaxing awhile on the adjacent beach – a stunning 18km protected stretch of soft white sand – and bathed in its shallow waters. We stumbled across the intimate ruins of the cult sanctuary of Letoon and watched turtles play in the warm pools. Letoon seduced us with its intimacy while nearby Xanthos, one-time capital of Lycia, awed us with its monumental scale and picture postcard aspect.

My first visit to Kaş was ten years earlier and it had hardly changed a bit. It was then that I met a middle-aged Scottish emigrey couple. They were ex-publicans with money to burn. The lazy town had worked its magic and they instantly decided to buy a house – no research, no cooling off, no going back. Prices were cheap and they visited a cashpoint machine each day to gather the deposit. I wonder if the dream lived up to the reality.

It was in Kaş that the seeds of our own change were sown though germination took another year. As we sipped chilled wine by the glorious infinity pool, we idly speculated about dropping out of the rat race and finding our place in the sun. We dreamed of Kaş and the Turkuaz Coast as if our lives could be one long honeymoon. Common sense prevailed as it must. Kaş is what it is because of its glorious isolation, protected by a wilting three hour drive from the nearest international airport. I hear talk of a new gateway to open up the coast. I would gladly chain myself to a tree like Swampy or pitch a tent like a Greenham Common lesbian to prevent it.

Second Time Around

We spent a chilly evening warmed by a blazing grate and a bottle of red romantically reminiscing about our civil partnership ceremony in 2008. It was a splendid festival of family and friends in the Sky Lounge at the City Inn Hotel, Westminster. We tied the knot silhouetted against a picture postcard backdrop of the Palace and Abbey. With the simple words “The relationship between you is now recognised in Law” ringing in our ears, we embraced to an ocean of beaming smiles, rapturous applause and a chorus of cheers. Blighty has come a long way since the awful Thatcher years.

A champagne reception was followed by an old routemaster red bus tour of London Town from the Abbey to St Paul’s. We crossed Old Father Thames by London Bridge onwards through Borough towards ‘Horse’ in Waterloo, the gastropub venue for our reception and evening knees up. Tables were dressed French bistro style with crisp white linen and porcelain contrasted with a single stem tulip of vivid red. We dined at a top table for two. Speeches were informal and unrehearsed. There were flowers for the seniors, toys for the juniors and posh chocolates and bubbly for significant others.

Liam said it all with a song called ‘Second Time Around’ which he composed covertly over many weeks. Vocals were supplied by Sally Rivers, a top-notch singer of enormous depth and experience with a rich, soulful voice. Fortified by a vat of Dutch courage, Liam nervously accompanied Sally’s recording live on the piano. I listened intently from a distance. It made me thankful he chose me. It was a sweet triumph without a drunken bum note that brought the crowd to its feet and had us sobbing in the aisles.

If you fancy a listen, click here.

The evening shindig brought in a bigger audience. I pre-mixed the music with old favourites, dance classics and pop standards – No ‘YMCA,’ ‘Agadoo’ or ‘the Birdie Song.’ The evening jolly was joyously punctuated by a big screen showing of a camp compilation of cleverly cut snippets from famous musicals synchronised to a soundtrack of  ‘I Just Wanna Dance.’

See how many musicals you can name but if you are offended by the word f*****g then you’d best not play it!

The evening was brought to a close by Petula Clark’s ‘The Show is Over Now,’ a fitting end to a momentous day.

Tomorrow’s post – The Honeymoon

Land of Confusion

Beats Me!

We’ve made the decadent choice to retire early before we start to feel our bones, against the better judgement of many. Nothing is going to compel us to return to the world of the waged. We’ve grown fond of our foster land but are constantly astonished by its many paradoxes. Turks are eager to please but slow to apologise, love their country but careless with the countryside, promote rigid social rules but tacitly accept our own rebellion against time-honoured conformity. Despite this confusing conundrum Turkey is a benign host for our leisure.

Wild About the Oscars

I lost Liam to a night at the Oscars on the CNBCe channel. He watched the entire back-slapping marathon from the glitzy red carpet entrée of fixed Hollywood smiles, borrowed frocks and asinine chatter right through to the tacky banquet of tearful and gushing OTT acceptance speeches. I awoke to find Liam asleep on the sofa wrapped like a babe in swaddling clothes. I went about my morning household chores silently. The washing machine on final spin finally roused him from his slumber.

‘The King’s Speech’ won Best Picture and Colin Firth who made his name wearing magnificent britches and a stiff upper lip was awarded the gong for Best Actor. We’ll take in the film when it’s released in Turkey. The multiplex at the Oasis Shopping Centre just outside Bodrum is cheap, comfortable and civilised, providing armchairs and a mid-screening fag break for the punters. Unfortunately, the entertainment can be rudely disrupted by a Turk shouting down a mobile.

Our Daily Bread

The momentous political upheavals in North Africa and the Middle East have prompted a number of concerned messages and calls from friends in Blighty thinking that the winds of change may blow next towards Turkey. After all Turkey does have an unenviable history of military coups. They needn’t worry. Whatever I may think of the current Government, my host country is a functioning democracy, not the personal fiefdom of some murderous dictator, mad mullah or medieval monarch. However, Turkey does share the same demographic time-bomb with her Arab neighbours. Half of the population is under 30 and with too few jobs to go round the Devil might make work for idle hands. Young people across the Middle East are fighting for their daily bread as much as for political freedom. Turkey mitigates the risk with strong economic growth, conscription to keep the restless boys onside, a rudimentary social security system to dodge destitution and European Union ambitions to export spring-loaded surplus labour. Lonely ladies of Europe be afraid.