Side

Can I Have Fries With That?

Forget the bazaars, the mosques, the language, and the heat. What's gonna shock-the-hell-outa-ya is the myriad of choices of what to eat.

Not only that, but as well as a huge range of options, you're gonna be amazed by how many of them you've never seen nor heard of before.

What follows is a tiny one minute clip of a typical street in İstanbul, which just happens to be near my sister-in-laws house.

Underneath the vid are details of what's on offer. Enjoy.

Çiğköfte

I'm still to sample the 'real McCoy' as the raw meat variety has been 'outlawed'.

Börek

And so many kinds - all superb.

Kedi

Compulsory near any foodshop.

Kokoreç

Think haggis. However, for my feeble stomach, much less palatable.

Scooter

Not normally edible, but hey, they're everywhere for that super quick delivery.

Turşu

You can choose from a ridiculously large variety of pickles and such-like.

Kebap

If you don't know about these, you've probably been living under a rock.

Lahmacun

Think mini-pizza, but better.

Ekmek

This quite simply translates to 'bread'. But this is no ordinary bread. This is something you will become addicted to in just the same manner as Coke. Directly from the oven, hot and delicious!

Baklava

Sugar heaven.

And there's so much more than this tiny snippet...

Welcome to 2016

It's been some time since I've "seen in" the new year.

After having a full Turkish spread, which curiously included turkey, we played a few card games and watched Avatar.

A great night was had by all.

Treat Others As...

I will always treat others the way I want to be treated.

I live my life in the following way. 

This is so that everyone can benefit the most from my actions.

For my own physical and mental health it's important to put me first. However, this doesn't mean at the expense of someone else.

To give an example: We have a cat and I dearly love her and enjoy her company. For me, however, the most important thing is her life. How is she? Is she really happy? What can I do to help her get the most from life?

I know that cat's are very independent animals and they love to play outside. Currently our cat is very small and most of the time we keep her inside away from dangers. I think this isn't so fun for her, especially when we leave her inside all day by herself. Think of a lion in a cage at the zoo. They often go crazy or get very depressed about life.

So every now-and-then I go outside with her and let her run around. As she's getting older and I want her to learn about the outside world so she can stay out there by herself. Thus I am now starting to let her be out for much longer times and by herself.

There is a chance I might not find her again if she wanders off somewhere else. But by letting her go outside like this I'm saying that her enjoyment of her life is more important than my enjoyment of her.

There is also a chance something bad might happen to her, but this is karma and up to a higher being - not up to me - I don't own her - she's not mine. I guess that this is exactly the same approach as dealing with a child. Parents protect and educate them, but eventually they have to let them go and discover life's adventures by themselves.

Unfortunately, I see some people work the other way. They are more interested in using animals and people for their own benefit.

Rather than thinking about what's best for the other person, or considering their needs, they think only of themselves. They usually want to control the other persons actions and are regularly telling others what to do.

It's very common for these kinds of people to be bad listeners. This is because they aren't interested in what others want or feel. They're mainly thinking only of themselves.

This is very sad, because ultimately they are not only controlling other people, but they are also limiting their own lives. They become dependant on this control.

I believe it's fairly obvious that this kind of attitude is against the Bible, Koran, Buddhist thinking etc.


Essentially we're talking about givers and takers.

~//~

One of those nights

It was “One of these those nights”

You know the kind… when you stay up later than you should, drink more caffeine than you should, and then try to get to sleep at 1am.

Come 3am you’re still wide awake and your brain is running at 110kph.

I don’t know what you do in these difficult situations, but I usually face the reality that it ‘ain’t gonna happen and get up to do something semi-productive rather than continue monotonously staring at my eyelids.

After completing my daily dose of online Turkish lessons, I decided that, although I was dead-dog-tired, I still wasn’t going to get any shut-eye any time soon.

In the wee hours of the morning, knowing that I’ll be up for at least another 4 or so hours, I often dive into my TV series folder and dig something out.

Having just recently updated said folder, I was delighted to recommence watching a superb series called Mr. Robot.

A considerable time ago I watched the first episode as it happened. That is to say that I usually watch TV series omnibus style (think Eastenders or Corry), meaning 2 or three at a time. But in this case, as it had just started ‘in real life’ as it were, I couldn’t do my usual trick.

Three brilliant viewings later it was approaching 8am and I wearily headed to bed again.

Usually this does the trick and I’m sound asleep until around 2pm. Last night however, was One of those Nights when nothing was going to work.

Thus I got up for the second time at 11am realizing that I was still exhausted, and no matter how long I doggedly kept myself horizontal in the tropical heat of our bedroom, sleep was going to continue to elude me.

One of These Nights - The Eagles

Loopy Loo

One of my best friends feels there’s some truth in the belief that our lives are driven by fear and embarrassment. There’s definitely some merit to this in my eyes too…

☪

It’s fair to say, I believe, that in the arena of waiting in the public toilets for a cubicle to become free, men differ greatly from women, although less so in Turkey than my country of birth New Zealand. For womenfolk it seems this is a sometimes frustrating, yet necessary, part of life. For the other species of humankind however, it falls under the category of “I’d rather not, thanks.”

Somehow it’s not ‘cool’ for the fellas to be seen loitering in the bathroom. There’s the off chance that someone might mistake you for being there for some reason other than nature’s calling.

And so there I was in my office, which just happens to be a café in a shopping mall, needing to relieve myself of excess energy supplies. To which end I abandoned my computer, bag and notes to make the fifty metre journey to the local facilities, knowing full well that ‘my’ staff, who just happen to be the waiters and waitresses of said café, would look after my belongings for me.

Once I made the mistake of actually asking them if they would kindly look after my things, to which they simply responded, “We’re here aren’t we?”. Thereby seeming to imply that whether they wanted to or not, they couldn’t help but do it.

Getting back to the main theme: I arrived at the WC to find the 4 ‘büyükler için’ (for big people) lavatories were occupied. Pressing the door to the ‘küçükler için’ one (smaller folk), even though the red sign indicated that it was in use, I happily found it to be empty.

Not fancying being ‘that guy’ that’s waiting for a free cubicle, I sauntered in and proceeded about my business. To get an idea of it’s ridiculously petite size you’ll need to appreciate that the height of the wee potty was decidedly below one’s knee. Thus even getting down there, for someone of my seniority (should I have said maturity?), required avid use of the walls for support.

Having plonked my delicate posterior on the potty I discovered to my dismay that it was worse that it looked at first glance. My little appendage belonging solely to the males of the species was sadly hanging over the edge due to the fact that not only was the height an issue, but indeed, so was the circumference.

Feeling that my need was greater than my will (to relocate) I convinced myself that a #1 wasn’t required and in this instance a #2 would suffice.

Taking enjoyment in the … (sometimes too much is too much).

As some other chaps of a gentile persuasion can attend, we aren’t always in full control of all that matters…

Suddenly the unbelievable happened.

Almost with an evil desire, the ‘little brain’ decided that in actual fact a #1 was on the cards (and why hadn’t you realised that in the first place?).

As quickly as humanly possible, following the supposedly minor accident, the valve was shut off. Quite convinced that it really was a mere sprinkling I was unpleasantly shocked to observe a ‘dark patch’ the size of my hand.

Of course the immediate – albeit internal - cry was “Damage control!”

Unfortunately no amount of patting with paper towels made any noticeable difference, and so I had to face the music and beat a weary path back to the ‘office’.

In an emergency being embarrassed in the presence of complete strangers can be managed knowing that in all likelihood you’ll never see them again.

On the other hand, when it comes to the ‘office staff’, the unimaginable loss of street-cred that might come with the revelation that one isn’t in full control of one’s organs…well!

Hence, prior to walking out into the mall with great trepidation, I attempted to do the best I could to visibly hide the ‘unmentionable’.

Pulling my shorts up as high as possible (imagine a reduction in the ability to breath) together with stretching my t-shirt as slow as possible, whilst not really achieving a lot, managed to minimise some of potentially irreparable embarrassment.

My brain had provided the following rescue scenario: cover up as much as possible, head out whilst avoiding eye contact, and sit in a chair for as long as possible in the hope that humid air would turn the dark patch into a lighter shade that hopefully would better resemble its original colour (ignoring the fact that the café was air conditioned).

Two hours later, without actually checking (although desperately wanting to), I paid, left, and using the only thing available, covered the whole she-bang with my red over-the-shoulder bag.

Needless to say the walk home wasn’t the most enjoyable I ever encountered.

Later, I pondered what others might have done: bought new clothes, called the wife, slept in the bathroom…?

☪

If you can’t laugh at yourself, what’s the point?

The Morning

Just having woken and risen, he was on his way to the bathroom when his father appeared. This in itself was odd, but what was even more bizarre was that they were at his beloved grandmother’s house.

Thus he had envisioned having a makeshift shower in the huge white cast iron bath with magnificent lions feet at each corner. Grandma, more accustomed to washing in a bath, had erected a long rubber hose with a shower nozzle at one end especially for him. The other end had cups that attached to the bath taps, much like how plungers fit to a cow’s teats when the farmer collects the daily milk.

The only problem was that as the pressure on the taps increased the plungers often decided they would part from the taps and burst either extremely hot or freezing cold water on your feet. Having a shower at Grandma’s was a risky business.

Without saying anything it was clear that he should follow his father. He lead him to the spare room, the one that was in between his and his grandmother’s. No one ever used this room, since his mother and uncle had grown up. It used to be his uncle’s room. The smallest of all three.

He recalled stories his mother used to tell him of how she and her brother used to play chess through the wall when they should have been sleeping at night. Each had their own complete chess board and they whispered the moves to each other through the wall. Fights invariably broke out as “Bishop to E5 takes queen” resulted in “But my queen isn’t there!”

As they entered the bedroom he noticed the man waiting inside. He had a mixture of grey and white hair with a beard of the same makeup. What was striking, however, was his size. Although not particularly tall, he seemed so. His body was also of a size and yet he wasn’t overweight. It was one of those situations where you could say, “He had a presence.”

Upon entering his father turned and disappeared leaving him alone with the old stranger who took his hand into his big warm palm. There was something familiar about him that wasn’t as yet identifiable.

“You didn’t answer me,” he opened with. His voice was deep and soft. It was a warm expression rather than an accusation.

“I asked you about your future.”

It was only then that the young boy remembered meeting a man on the street. Being weary of strangers he hadn’t answered the question and had hurried on with his business. Now, in the company of said man, it seemed as though he’d erred. He felt he could have at least courteously replied, instead of simple walking away. A guilty feeling crept over him.

Before having a chance to say anything his father returned and lay down on the bed next to them. At that precise moment a small knowing smile crept across both their faces. In that instant the young boy knew who the older man was. The giveaway was how the left side of their mouths curled in exactly the same way when they smiled presenting a small friendly grin.

His grandfather hugged his father who had started to cry. They young boy felt strange and at peace. Strange because his father never cried. At peace because of the love emanating from his grandfather.

It was then that I awoke. Feeling shaken and disturbed I wondered - Who was this man? If he was my father’s father then who was my grandfather? I was left with a burning desire to find out more.

'Twas the Night Before Christmas

24.12.14 .. more commonly referred to as Christmas in my neck of the woods.

Being married to a family oriented person has many benefits.

Even though it was a very un-Muslim-like-eve the spirit was there thanks to Hanife, and with a bit of arm-twisting I ended up having lovely conversations with a range of relatives across the globe: Sweden, England, and New Zealand.

And thanks to my lovely cousin Anna we had a present - a big box of chocolates. Which I proceeded to devour (well half of it) by myself, resulting in feeling hyper until 2am when I went to bed... and played games until 4am when sleep beckoned.

4pm the next day I finally got up and here we are :)

Have a great Xmas and New Years!

 

Bir anne ve Bir oğlu

Working in D&R Marmara Forum I noticed 'anne' (mother in Turkish) sitting at the next table. On her table lay her old style simple mobile phone and a little coloured note book.

She was facing the wall so wasn't able to watch the passers by and soon fell asleep.

By-and-by an Iranian family of father, mother, daughter, and son came and sat next to her. Actually they occupied the space that was hers really, but as she was straddling between two tables they appeared to feel it was ok to effectively "move her over".

Well.. she didn't move at all. She was asleep after all. However, due to the newcomers commotions she woke and noticed the young children. She took particular interest in the young boy who was about 5 years old. Dark haired and handsome like his father.

As is the custom she grabbed hold of his partly flabby arm and squeezed it gently conveying her love for him. At first the mother looked a little alarmed, but soon relaxed as people often interact with children in this way here and she could clearly see the older lady, who herself was about 65, meant no harm.

Now awake the lovely bespectacled elder lady simply sat in her chair not moving. She'd decided that she'd become part of the Iranian soirée. She made an effort to communicate in Turkish to which the mother replied in clear English, "I'm sorry I don't understand you."

That didn't prevent further discussions as they developed their own system of raising eye-brows, waving hands, smiling and pointing.

When the conversation petered out anne relaxed back into herself and resumed her vigil. 

Minutes became hours and she seemed concerned that her expected guest might not arrive. I was myself getting worried for her and wondered why she didn't use her mobile phone to connect and ask what the delay was due to. It's quite customary for the younger generation to call and chase whomever immediately upon the arrival of the agreed time.

By now she'd been waiting for over 2 hours which resulted in her previously calm manner becoming one more akin to refrained stress. She started to regularly turn around to survey the bookstore entrance and as she turned back the frown on face grew.

Finally, I was put out of my suspense and discovered who she had so patiently been sitting for. Her son.

As he sat down next to her he presented her with a calculator that he'd just bought. A little discourse ensued whereby she initially protested and then after his explanation she quietly, resignedly said, "Tamam" (ok).

She stretched out for his shirt collar and busily tidied it up even though there was nothing obviously awry with it. Then she with great love and kindness stroked his sleeveless arm. Nay, she caressed his arm as though he were a beloved pet.

As sons are want to do he paid little attention and proceeded to talk about his own business.

A discussion soon followed between all parties in English with the son occasionally translating for his mother. The Iranian visitors left. The mother sat revelling in the presence of her son and looked as though this was the maximum happiness she might attain in life.

As a bystander it was a beautiful thing to watch...

The love that only a mother can have for her son.

SuperMark's Exercise/Life Tip Number 346

I’d like to tell you a story from my university days.

At university I used to go to the gym every day and either practice my shots or play pick-up games with whoever was in the gym at the same time. I loved it.

I was also a member of a division three team so played competitively. The team was middle to bottom of the league. I hated it.

Why?

Well, even though I knew that my shooting percentage was much higher than my teammates, in a game I didn’t have enough energy to perform at a good enough level to maintain said shooting percentage.

I really wanted the coach to choose me to go onto the court, and yet at the same time, I dreaded going onto the court and just passing the ball to someone else or playing defence.

Why?

Because I didn’t prepare enough. I simply wasn’t fit enough to focus on what I wanted to do. Rather I focused on conserving my energy on offense, so that I wouldn’t embarrass myself on defence.

The simple proof of this is that when I was training to do a half marathon I found that I had limitless energy on the basketball court and my focus was on a completely different part of my game.

Lesson?

The results you achieve in any part of your life are not a reflection of what you produce on the day, but the culmination of all the hard work you put into achieving your goals before putting your basketball shoes on or go for the cheese..