Paradox

A window on the tv; dark wood panelling, tall, Georgian;
A background row of semi-d's with neat gardens;
Familiarity a dagger, sending me slicing back,
On a blank-eyed trip to youth and freedom.

Creeping silent and subversive, sowing resentment and discontent,
The everyday moans screech like nails on a blackboard.
Housework - a curse; cooking - a torture;
Children - wild; no matter how well-behaved.

Spare me the daily effort of understanding.
Spare me the loneliness of a second culture.
Let me home to no need for translation.
Let me home to a break from being different.

Olive trees and hot sunshine, stuffed vine leaves and baklava,
Exotic to the girl I used to be,
The norm for the woman I have become.
Hard to renounce even for a brief hiatus.

It's arrived!

I've spent the last few months in a swelter of Rudalls, Roses, Prattens, Cotters, Doyles, Cronnollys, McGees, Burns, and a list of other names. These are not in fact a list of pubs I frequented in my youth, but flutemakers.

Sometime in the last six months or so, I realised how much I miss music. I don't listen to much, or rather don't pay attention to the music that's played around me. Himself generally listens to Turkish folk music, Turkish pop is played as background music everywhere and the occasional English pop song pops up now and again.

As a kid I played piano, not very well, but I enjoyed it. Actually I enjoyed it more once I gave up lessons and began to play from sheet music I bought myself. I had a tin whistle too, bought after hearing a concert given in the Old Head Hotel in Louisburgh, Co Mayo (unless my memory is playing tricks, always a possibility). I'm not sure who the player was but I was fascinated. In school I learned recorder.

When the idea of playing again came up, the instrument had to be portable. It would be preferable to be something I could play Irish music on, remembering sessions in Falcarragh and also thinking of introducing the kids to Irish music. The Irish flute seemed to fit the bill. The sound is terrific, haunting or lively as you wish. I could use it for trad, or for songs, or even possibly for Turkish folk music.

So after researching for months I finally bought an anonymous flute off ebay. It's not made in Pakistan which is a plus. And I have to wait a little longer. It has arrived...in my parents house, so I'll wait and research until they visit in a month's time.

Something to do in your spare time

Hobbies have always been important in my family. They’ve always been something worth the effort. So Dad played tennis, and now plays golf too. He also volunteered in the tennis club as a barman for years. He gave up Sunday mornings for league matches, played in the evenings with friends and took part in table quizzes in the club. Apart from helping keep him fit, he also amassed a range of Waterford Crystal, pewter mugs, tennis balls, golf balls, sport socks and the odd bottle of wine from various competitions and raffles. Mam didn’t do much when we were young but then started playing tennis again, took up golf and bridge, and joined two choirs. As kids we played tennis, then took up hockey in secondary school, were in the brigeens and guides, and also played the piano and tin whistle. The whole family also went swimming once a week. Being social and active was something encouraged.

But while my sister and brother took up kayaking and climbing in college, I gave up hockey after my second year. And since then I haven’t had any hobbies. It’s not to say I haven’t been busy but between moving to Turkey, learning the language, being pregnant and raising young kids I haven’t had much time to devote to myself. I did start yoga when I was pregnant and have continued it to an extent, but it’s all self-taught with books and DVD’s (much like my Turkish actually!). And now I’m going to learn to play the Irish flute (more on that soon).

There’s another factor at play here though. My in-laws don’t have hobbies either, unless you count crocheting trousseau for themselves or their daughters. Any hobby would have to be done in the slivers of time allowed by the hazelnut farm and running the shop. Some of them are hunt occasionally, my nieces and nephews did some sports in school and some learned instruments but I don’t think any have continued past school. There is a sense that in general hobbies are for kids, not for adults, which could be generalized to Turkey in general. Hobbies require money and time, both of which have been in scarce supply for a lot of the population in the past. When every hour must be worked to put food on the table, when you don't have any spare time, hobbies tend to be neglected. That is slowly changing now, but the proportion of adults with hobbies is still lower than Ireland by a long shot.

This all leads to a slightly skewed view of hobbies and their value. A hobby which produces something useful is valued far higher than one that ‘just’ makes an individual happy. The end product has a definite value which makes it easier to justify spending money and time on doing it. A set of shelves is more worth than a flute in that regard.

I have slipped into this mindset sometimes, even though I don’t agree with it. Any activity that increases a person’s peace of mind is worth it. Whether that’s meditation, playing music, skiing, tennis, golf, hunting, blogging or building something, doesn’t matter.

A hobby’s greatest value is the fact that it helps us cope with stress and that is definitely worth the effort.

New Year Blues

Well, the New Year is nearly a week old and it seems like a century! I've been struck by the sense of anticlimax that comes with the New Year. It leaves me feeling bored in spite of all the work to do, overwhelmed by the incredible distance between effort and reward. That distance may be as much as the ten minutes between putting on the kettle and drinking the cup of coffee, an unspeakably long time.

It hasn't been helped by the antics in Israel. I seem to find myself stuck on Al Jazeera watching rockets and explosions against the night sky, hypnotized by the pointlessness of it all.

The fact that we have all been hit by a persistent cold doesn't improve my frame of mind. The ache in my head and pain in my face cast a negative filter on everything. The weather is cold and damp, which makes me alternately homesick or SAD. And the bare house, stripped of it's cheerful tree, is just the icing on the cake.

Rereading the above makes me seem like a miserable old grouch. Perhaps I am...

The Heart of the House

When we bought this house there was no heating system installed. We considered lots of options from central heating to air conditioning with a heat pump. Then Himself came up with a terrific idea. I laughed at it - not possible I said how are you going to install a chimney!

But Himself has a stubborn streak which combined with the ability to research anything inside and out allowed him to find someone in the next county who could provide an enclosed fireplace, stainless steel chimney and build whatever surround you want. They arrived for a quote, measured, bargained and set a delivery date. So in spite of the usual delays, our fireplace was installed in the centre of the house, and provides heat in three directions; to the living room, bedroom and hall.

It does a terrific job of heating the whole house (I think our maximum record is 32 degrees). Himself regularly reminds me of my initial skepticisim, to which I praise his wonderful idea and give thanks for his stubborn perseverance.

And of course our chimney provides access for Santa Claus. The Brown-eyed Girl dismissed the idea of him being able to get past a locked door but was very taken with the image of him unhooking the fireplace door from the inside and climbing out to deposit the presents under the tree. It's an advantage I admit we overlooked in our research into fireplaces...

Christmas is coming....

Christmas arrived in our local supermarkets half way through Kurban Bayram last week. They cleared away the chocolates and butchers knives for the Sacrifice Festival and out came the Christmas trees, decorations and children's toys. As said supermarket is British-owned it may not seem that surprising that Christmas arrives but all of the shops do the same. (We know this, because alas there it little indoor amusement here so our week's holiday was spent doing a tour of retail establishments in between brisk walks on the seafront.)

Some very smart retailer had the bright idea at some point in the last twenty years or so, that if Turkey hijacked all the trimmings of Christmas, held them captive for a week and forced them to do overtime for New Year, he might make a fortune. So we have Christmas trees, gift-giving, house decorating, turkey-eating and even Santa Claus himself, in the guise of Noel Baba, all in aid of the New Year. This 'tradition' being relatively new it's not always upheld by everyone, so Noel Baba comes to some children, trees may go up but gifts aren't exchanged and so on. It was a cunning plan and is working terrifically.

It works great for me too, I get all the Christmas cheer, minus carol singing and nativity scenes, from the local shops. My mother, bless, sends the pudding and mince meat and this year I'm attempting a Christmas cake in addition to the usual turkey dinner and trifle.




There is only one small snag, it has created a tremendous mix up in the minds of many Turks, they don't know that Christmas is not New Year. This is aided by dodgy translation of movies and sitcoms where Yeni Yil is substituted for Christmas, causing me to jump up and down and rant at the television. (At which point the Brown-eyed Girl informs me that the television can't hear. Smart girl, a little too smart perhaps.)

So there will be a debate at some point about whether good Muslims should celebrate a Christian feast, regardless of the fact that New Year isn't a Christian feast and that the said Christian feast happened a week earlier. I wonder how they'd feel if they knew that celebrating the New Year has its roots in paganism before being fixed on January 1 by the Romans?

The Skaian Gates

Well here it is at last - The Skaian Gate



The Southern gate to Troy VI, also called the Dardanos Gate, is believed by some to be the Skaian gate mentioned in the Iliad. The remains of a tower are seen to the left with standing stones at its base. You can also see a drain running down the middle of the road capped by a single flagstone. The white tent in the background covers the partially reconstruction of some of the oldest remains found on the site and represents the level of the hilltop before excavations began.


The model of the Wooden Horse of Troy at the entrance to the site.

A Trojan Oak (Quercus Troias).