tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68874936349946355852024-11-01T13:38:30.894+03:00An Englishman (well half English, half Turkish) in Turkey. I've recently emigrated to the holiday resort of Kusadasi on the Aegean coast of Turkey. This blog is a way of capturing everything I'm learning along the way.Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.comBlogger203125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-88198502142281438482015-08-23T21:47:00.001+03:002015-08-23T21:47:32.395+03:00

Ovarian Cysts. Why do all Turkish women have them? And why had I never met a woman with one in the 31 years I lived in England?

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-77187719857065762652015-06-09T14:34:00.001+03:002015-06-09T14:58:24.776+03:00

Got a sodding cold. It's the weirdest June I can remember. Normally by mid-April the summer sets in and you can pack away your warm stuff for retrieval in November. Not this year mind, it's pissing down outside. Somewhere along the road, I picked up this sniffle. Been working a little too hard lately and I suppose my body just needed to shut down. I don't blame it and the last time it happened,

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-45659281872241219762014-08-02T22:02:00.000+03:002014-08-02T22:02:08.087+03:00

Allah'ın sopası yok - God doesn't have a stick. A beautiful expression used when someone does you wrong and then goes an injures themselves in some way. For example, when someone fucks you over and then ends up in hospital with a sprained ankle (to pick an example entirely at random). The underlying message is that they've injured themselves because God doesn't have a fucking great stick to beat

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-89262772839815207442013-10-03T01:28:00.001+03:002013-10-03T01:28:35.410+03:00

I was sitting in the barber's chair the other day and I thought to myself "I should probably blog this". It was one of those weird times. Not because of what I was doing, but the context in which I was doing it. I can't even say it was the weirdest or most bloggable thing I've done in the inexcusably long time since I last blogged something. But the blog crossed my mind. And so, I'm doing it.

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-86133847346935807082012-02-19T17:33:00.002+02:002012-02-20T11:36:46.636+02:00

I saw this ingenious invention in a friend's car the other day. For drivers who don't want to be disturbed by some pesky alarm warning you of your precarious position when you're not wearing your seat belt. I give you the danger neutraliser... Simply plug this device into your seat belt socket and cleverly fool your car into thinking you actually give a shit about

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-1691937781276570642012-02-09T13:23:00.000+02:002012-02-19T17:36:15.615+02:00

Karpuzun hamı. Topalın amı - A ripe watermelon. A lame girl's twat. Both extremely sweet apparently. The watermelon is fairly self-explanatory. The girl with a limp? Due to the fact she don't get out much, it is assumed she would be equipped with, what Mike Reid might describe as, a mouse's ear 'ole in her downstairs department. BTW... good to be back :)

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-42178324655075785252011-10-10T21:02:00.002+03:002012-02-19T17:38:38.786+02:00

Yes, it's that time of year again. I've got man-flu. And, as any woman will know, man-flu can seem to be almost life-threatening. When I was a child, my mother gave me a little bell that I would ring any time I needed something. She knew the power of man-flu. One thing that always trips me up linguistically is that, in the Turkish language, you don't 'have' an illness, you 'become' one. So,

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-71459294501031457952011-09-30T13:26:00.000+03:002012-02-19T17:39:18.220+02:00

I've just eaten 27 olives. I remember my auntie's rhyme of 'tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor' but it only goes up to 8. So I've come up with my own Turkish version: Tinker Tailor Soldier Sailor Rich man Poor man Beggar man Thief Shoe shiner Taxi driver Mussel seller Fez maker Raki drinker Tea bringer Ageing singer Cop Nut adjuster Goods duster Simit baker Watch maker Breast

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-188148763909001372011-09-27T01:40:00.000+03:002012-02-19T17:39:33.990+02:00

Can you find Tesco Value Doner meat.

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-34511374304263631772011-09-09T12:21:00.000+03:002012-02-19T17:40:29.116+02:00

On this day, 89 years ago, a surging Turkish army and mobs of Turkish citizens drove out the occupying Greek nation from Izmir. "The day we taught the Greeks to swim" I've heard uttered jokingly, referring to the way they were, allegedly, pushed into the gloomy waters of Izmir Bay. Reports say that during the initial invasion by the Greek military, "the [Turkish locals] are forced to tear the

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-38106260040911171432011-06-23T16:26:00.001+03:002011-06-23T16:26:54.954+03:00

Though this post may appear a little off topic, it is loosely related to living in Turkey and absolutely related to my life here ...or anywhere. It started about a month ago with a regular cough and cold. Something that I've become accustomed too since choosing a career as a school teacher. The cold came and went but I was left with a hacking cough that refused to budge. I decided, eventually,

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-78436252623850691662011-04-28T14:11:00.013+03:002011-04-29T12:51:03.059+03:00

At the end of March, a small city on the outskirts of Izmir hosts a rather unusual festival. Welcome to Manisa, known for mental hospitals and, possibly related, the craziest drivers in the Aegean region.The festival is a week-long celebration with appearances by minor celebrities and politicians. But the city is really celebrating another local claim to fame...On the last day of the festival at

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-84663653264731118692011-03-29T10:03:00.005+03:002011-03-29T10:27:28.431+03:00

I've never seen a postbox in Turkey. If you ever want to send a letter (which, in Turkey, is as good a communication tool as a Town Crier with Laryngitis), you should head down to your local post office and try to decipher which queue you ought to be standing in. Speaking of which, this seems to be one of the only places Turks form an orderly queue. I once saw two tourists jump a queue in a

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-77261602488207754602011-03-21T12:21:00.004+02:002011-03-21T12:41:45.257+02:00

I would have liked to have posted this on the day of publication so you could have had a chance to go and buy the paper, but I got interviewed for the Hurriyet Daily News (previously the Turkish Daily News).The fabulous Jane Akatay, wrote a super article on blogging in South West Turkey and I, along with Jack from Perking The Pansies, Karen from Being Koy, Julia and Barry from Turkey's For Life

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-10752089661827386242011-03-21T09:23:00.006+02:002011-03-21T12:15:24.929+02:00

You may have noticed a brief interlude in my posts... OK, you might not have; I'm not exactly the most prolific blogger. However, the most recent excuse is that Blogger.com has been banned in Turkey for the past month.The official reason is due to a Turkish Digital TV provider claiming that some bloggers are streaming live football via their blogs. Despite being impossible, this motive also seems

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-69726001633092026542011-02-18T14:51:00.003+02:002011-02-18T16:17:48.222+02:00

Go for a shave and accidentally become a Muslim.I was at the barber the other day. As always, the conversation of religion came up which, in term, leads to discussion of the health benefits of circumcision.During the rather heated debate (well, monologue really. I never get into a debate about religion with a Turk... especially one who's holding a razor to my neck), the barber asked me to try and

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-61242588865426311272011-02-17T14:44:00.002+02:002011-02-17T14:50:10.572+02:00

Turks have a strange habit of giving away the endings to movies they've seen to those who don't know. This also applies to Soap Operas (that are huge in Turkey).What is particularly interesting is that people actually seem to want to know the answers to the mysteries. Whereas in England, you might get a punch in the chops for giving away the plot twist, in Turkey, it seems to be part of the whole

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-18026265970486312562011-01-08T14:07:00.000+02:002011-01-08T14:07:00.274+02:00

Eceli gelen köpek cami duvarına işermiş - The dying dog pisses on the wall of the mosque.This takes me back to my New Year's Eve. We went to a lovely little village near Çeşme called Alaçatı. Every year, the town puts on a street party to welcome in the new year. This was my first visit and I'll give it a miss next year. It was absolutely heaving.Unfortunately, in Turkey, when there's a

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-47509497327478996692011-01-07T11:05:00.000+02:002011-01-07T11:05:00.320+02:00

Globally massive of course, Football is probably the most popular sport in Turkey. They're not half bad at it either. Reaching the semi-finals of the 2008 UEFA Cup, Turkey treated us to some spectacularly nail-biting matches. But, for some reason, they've not qualified for the World Cup since 2002, when they kicked ass all the way to 3rd place.National football is really a three horse race.

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-52409513500845188812011-01-06T11:00:00.001+02:002011-01-06T11:00:02.823+02:00

Ben diyorum hadımım sen diyorsun çoluk çocuk nasıl - I tell you I'm a Eunuch, you ask me how the wife and kids are.A lovely little expression to use when asked a stupid question.Michael: I'm flat broke.Janet: Oh, sorry to hear that ...can you lend me a fiver?

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-57717731460834940912011-01-05T11:58:00.001+02:002011-01-05T11:58:00.135+02:00

Known in Turkey as tavla, the rules of this board game are extremely simple yet take years to master. The aims are three-fold:Get your pieces round the board and 'home' before your opponent does.Moving a piece should be done with lightning speed and as loudly as possible ...and preferably while the other player is still finishing their move.The winner is the one who can most comprehensively

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-59240132086776619842011-01-04T13:30:00.002+02:002011-01-04T13:49:22.160+02:00

Ayranı yok içmeye, tahtırevanla gider sıçmaya - There's no yoghurt to drink but I'm carried to the shitter on a sedan chair.I guess the English would simply say "living beyond your means".

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-72051694579295643852010-12-31T07:06:00.002+02:002010-12-31T07:09:46.469+02:00

It's not what you think. Besides, I'm not sure a man would stand a chance against an angry camel. No, this is the winter pass-time of pitching two dromedaries against each other in a fight to the ...flee.It's not as bad as it sounds. Camels are fairly passive creatures. This isn't like cock or dog fighting. This is the blood sport equivalent of two kids shoving each other in the playground until

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-34259509477998052222010-12-30T14:03:00.004+02:002010-12-30T14:22:35.128+02:00

And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda - Eric BogleI first heard this performed by The Pogues at the end of another manic album. A spectacular song written by Eric Bogle. It tells the story of an Australian soldier being shipped off to Gallipoli. I wont go into the detail of the war; that deserves a much longer post. All I will say is that it's not something we learnt much about at school in the UK

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887493634994635585.post-24611736140793414452010-12-29T08:27:00.003+02:002010-12-29T08:42:18.745+02:00

Leather chaps with metal studding and muscular men dripping in oil and sweat ...it could only be one thing. Somewhere between Smackdown and a rub-down, we find the ancient sport of Turkish Oil Wrestling. Though, at first glance, it may appear akin to a street brawl in Soho, this challenging feat of endurance takes strength and stamina.Not being particularly au fait with the rules and regulations,

Billfredohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02629797188503331650noreply@blogger.com6