Thank you to one and all for the good luck messages from my loyal pansyfans. Liam and I are a little pre-occupied with nest building and kitchen reconstruction. Put two gay men in a room and witness the heated debate about where to place the Habitat vase. In the meantime sit back and enjoy a joyous discovery brought to you by You Tube and Yankee Istanbul blog Death by Dolmuş
Tag: Turkey
Any Port in a Storm
Bodrum is getting busier by the day as the town warms up with the weather. Works continues apace to complete the classy new streetscape before the summer rush. Contrary to my initial cynicism, a spacious new civic square is being laid out along the bar street rat run revealing a spectacular view of the crusader castle. It will be a place of sanctuary from the relentless hassle to come from the imported hawkers with their spring-loaded libidos. Whole villages in the East are being drained of their young men as they start their annual migration in search of casual employment and easy lays. We have a bird’s eye view of the caravan of young totty as they scamper past the house dragging their humble belongings behind them. The testosterone is palpable.
If At First You Don’t Succeed
Moving day arrived. We watched in amusement as the large removal van valiantly struggled to reverse up the steep road that leads to Tepe Houses. If at first you don’t succeed try, try again. And try, try our brave boys did. An hour of fevered debate, frantic gesticulation and trial and ample error later, the van finally made it onto the flat. Guided by four rowdy lads competing for attention the van gingerly manoeuvred backwards along the narrow access lane. Alas, a sharp bend was a bridge too far and the van became stubbornly stuck 50 metres from the house. Undeterred, our sweaty removers professionally stripped our house in record time, re-flatpacking our IKEA furniture, hand wrapping our knick-knacks and covering our delicates in protective blankets. The sight of a slight built young man hauling our fridge-freezer strapped to his back left us speechless. He returned to collect the washing machine. He’ll probably be crippled by the time he’s 40.
We moved from room to room saying our goodbyes in time honoured fashion and closed the door on Tepe House for the last time. Tariq the Toothed caretaker turned up to say farewell. He delivered one of his now infamous rib crushing bear hugs, picked me up and twirled me around. I swear I spotted a small tear in the corner of his eye.
Tuscan Turkey
Charlotte and Alan fancied a day trip and invited us along for the ride. We decided on a pilgrimage to The Virgin Mary’s House (or Meryemana – Mother Mary, in Turkish), near Ephesus followed by excursion to nearby Şirence. We travelled the now familiar Izmir road arriving at Selçuk for a tasty and inexpensive pide lunch. Replenished, we ascended the mountains to Meryemana (or Mary-enema, as Alan calls it).
Completed in 1950 in neo-Byzantine style on 7th century foundations, Mary’s gaff is a cute, unassuming little bungalow, now a consecrated church but with the character of a shrine. It’s the centre piece of well-tended park overlooking a pretty wooded valley. We entered the house reverentially and gazed upon the small effigy of Our Lady. It felt contrived to me. I have little time for religion and give more credence to the tooth fairy. Outside in the courtyard Liam lit a candle as is required of a fallen Catholic.
There is scant biblical evidence that Jesus’ mum found her last resting place there (before her Assumption, of course). This hasn’t stopped the place becoming a side show on the bible tours circuit or various popes cashing in on the act with papal sponsorship. Naturally, there’s the obligatory tacky gift shop selling Chinese made plaster figurines and vials of holy water. Liam procured a small woodblock icon of the Madonna and child that is now proudly displayed on a shelf in the loo.
Onwards to Şirence, a small village perched high on the hills above Selçuk. Surrounded by vineyards and orchards set within a serene Italianate landscape, Şirence had been a Greek populated settlement until 1923. During the exchange of populations between Greece and Turkey the inhabitants were told to pack their bags and leave for Athens. After being left to rot for decades, the village has re-emerged as a bolt hole for wealthy Turks attracted by the fine wood-framed stucco houses that clutch precariously to the hillside. Despite teeming hawkers serving the mob of tourists, both Turkish and foreign, the village retains a real appeal. We grazed at the stalls, drank beer, sampled wine and infused the charm.
We thought of dropping in on fellow jobbing blogger and good egg Kirazli Karyn who lives only a spitting distance away but we didn’t want to descend unannounced and mob handed.
The Perfidious Turk
Our fat perfidious landlord has unveiled his dastardly intention to evict us should he find a buyer for the house. This is in spite of our two year tenancy agreement and faultless payment history. We will jump before we are pushed. Our minds are now set on change and this is the opportunity to cast our net wider than sleepy Yalıkavak. We now know there is more to the Bodrum Peninsula than living in an igloo with a view on the edge of a ghost town populated by street dogs and feral felines. Besides, the vile Vikings are back for the spring and I don’t relish the prospect of enduring the whinging drivel from miserable Cnut or the sight of vapid Ragnild’s gravity ravaged baps. Despite the temporary bedlam, a Bodrum in shiny new livery looks promising.
My Golden Horn
We took an all too brief trip to Istanbul to celebrate our anniversary. We did the usual whistle-stop tour of Sultanahmet (the old city). Haghia Sophia still leaves me in speechless awe every time I gaze up towards the magnificent dome that seems to float effortlessly above. Onwards to the curvaceous Blue Mosque built a millennium later. Better outside than in, the seductive silhouette of mosque and minarets defines the famous city skyline. Domed out, we rested outside in the lovingly tended park and endured the call to prayer in thunderous surround sound.
We spent the evening in Beyoğlu, the increasingly hip shopping and entertainment district that looks proudly down on the old city from across the Golden Horn. We expensively dined along Istiklal Caddesi, the broad pedestrianised boulevard that runs like a spine through the area. After settling the extortionate hesap, we ventured out into the night in search of a minority interest inn to quench our thirsts and assess the locals. Unsurprisingly, the Byzantine gay scene is infinitely superior to any other in Turkey. We supped in a couple of minor league joints before ending the night in the appropriately named Tekyön (One Way), a large pulsating dance bar. It might have been London or Paris, except the disco tits on display were attached to young carefree Turks rather than cute Colombians. Discouragingly, you know you’re getting old when, like policemen, the competition is getting ever younger. We left the boys to their play and headed back to our hotel for a cocoa.
Bedlam in Bodrum
We took a sunny dolly ride to Bodrum to see how the ambitious townscape transformation is progressing. Much has been done since our last inspection but there’s still much to do and so little time. Work so far has revealed the grand plan. Tired old crazy-paving is being replaced by top-notch slabs and the marina road is being narrowed to a single lane to provide a broad costa-style esplanade to saunter along on balmy summer evenings. Nuisance parking will be banished and the pestering from the hassle bars should be reduced.
Only about a third of the new Iberianesque promenade is complete. The re-paving of Bar Street continues apace though side sokaks resemble the Gaza Strip. It’s still a mystery what is proposed for the main road into town which is being ripped apart by Caterpillar diggers leaving deep trenches in their mighty mechanical wake. I assume this is all part of the project to upgrade the water mains.
The start of the season ominously approaches. A legion of swarthy lads in cheap jeans, sweaty vests and rusty tools has been drafted in from the east in a frantic rush to complete the work on time. Already early bird visitors of the elderly Teutonic type in straw hats and socked sandals have landed. They waddle through the rubble in bemusement. Bedlam in Berlin? Unheard of. Finished by Easter? Not a hope.
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.
Gaygle It
Last December Perking the Pansies was permanently blocked by the Turkish internet police. I threw a hissy fit at the prospect of a firm hand on my door knob, a frisk by a frisky conscript and instant deportation. It all turned out to be a storm in a çay cup. My inconsequential contribution to the blogosphere was simply caught by lazy censorship that uses a scatter gun approach to punish the innocent and the guilty alike. Perking the Pansies became, as the Americans say, ‘collateral damage‘. I had to abandon my old site hosted by Google and move lock, stock and barrel to WordPress. A couple of days ago I noticed that the page hits on my new site overtook those of the old for the first time. Nowadays I need only the slightest excuse to make merry so I raised a glass in thanks.
I’m endlessly fascinated and bemused by the search terms that bring some surfers to my website. I’ve already mentioned ‘Yalikavak Sex’ and ‘Gay Hairy Turkish Men’ but there is also:
- Porn Torkish
- Gumbet porno
- Turk Gay Sitesi
- Thermal Bloomers
- Sex Sitesi
- Gay Calis Beach
- Middleaged Sexpats
- Gundogan Gay
- Lyrics to I’m as Gay as a Daisy
A definitive gay guide to Turkey for the curious traveller seeking a little relief in the sun is sorely needed. Sadly it would be a thin digest and probably banned.
Gone to the Dogs
I love dogs. We always had dogs at home. Petra, Pepe, Rocky and the rest were all emotionally interwoven into the rich tapestry of my family life. When they died, I cried. I even wept when my hamster, Goliath, performed a fatal somersault off the top of the freezer though I confess my pain was short lived and Goliath was quickly replaced by Samson.
After we migrated we were taken by surprise by the volume of stray and feral dogs sniffing aimlessly around the streets. Liam’s often waylaid by a wet snout playfully jammed into his groin and we are often tempted to take Rover home, hose him down and feed him up. I’m not at all surprised that animal welfare is an emigrey preoccupation. The story of an animal-lover leading her pack to a Bulgarian Promised Land like a modern day Moses is but an extreme example of the canine devotion that seems to dominate the humdrum lives of many.
Animal welfare is a noble cause but so too is the care and protection of children. It distresses me to hear and read so little about the plight of the thousands of children in our foster land who lead brutal and miserable lives, trapped within abusive families, rented out by the hour or thrown onto the streets to fend for themselves. Take a look at the following articles if you can bear to know more.
Istanbul home to 30,000 street children
Rise in sexual abuse of minors
It’s easy to think that the problem is overwhelming and nothing can be done, an all too comfortable mind-set that is underpinned by the apparent dearth of children’s charities and non-governmental organisations working within Turkey. However, it is possible make a difference no matter how small. Why not sponsor a child in Turkey or make a contribution to Unicef?
Care for the animals by all means but care for the children too.
Perking the Pansies 