Forget double parking. Turkey does triple parking. Sometimes it's even quadruple parking which blocks the traffic, especially outside bread shops at 5.30pm.
'No u-turns' sign at the lights? Hahahahahahaha.
No overtaking double lines on the downhill side of the main road from Ovacik to Fethiye? (Or 'The Road of Doom' as I call it) You really are 'aving a larf, guvnor!
How fast can you pack your shopping into the carrier bags at the supermarket checkout before the next person's shopping is rolled down it? NOT FAST ENOUGH!
'Do you have any *insert whatever*?' you ask in the shop. No reply. Shopkeeper looks at you. You ask again this time in strained Turkish. He says nothing. That's because he almost impercetibly moved his eyebrows half a milimetre upwards. This is the unspoken Turkish for 'Yok' (no). You missed it though and left the shop feeling invisible.
I have had to get out of my car nearly every day to move the tortoise that insists on sunbathing right outside the drive gate just as I want to drive somewhere.
I have also learnt to swear in the same tone and language my neighbour uses when she is herding her goats. This is usually to get the very same goats out of my garden and down from my olive trees. And I have given up trying to trail the wisteria down the outside of my wall as it is obviously the goat equivalent of crack.
I have also stopped being helpful and pretending I'm all rural like. Apparently the 2 baby goats bleating outside the closed fence gate, which is just at the end of my drive, and that I shushed into the paddock after opening the gate, were not in fact my neighbours goats. The chap who owned the goats was taking them and the rest of his herd for a walk but was having a nap under a tree on the lane round the corner. He accused my neighbour of trying to steal them. Apparently there has been a feud between these families for many years but relations were improving .....
This happened a several weeks past and I only found out about it 3 days ago. My continuing efforts to confess, apologise and make up for my yabanciness are pitiful and cringeworthy.
The pavements are not meant for pedestrians. They are for tea house tables and chairs, directly-planted-in-the-middle-of-the-path trees and lamp posts and scooters.
Tarpaulined markets in the heat. Not recommended. Tarpaulined markets in the rain. Not recommended. Attending at either time will get you wet.
Although sitting in a gozleme cafe on a very rainy Tuesday Market day and watching your fellow shoppers partake unwittingly in Turkish Roulette is rather entertaining. Will it be the woman with the black headscarf who gets totally drenched when the awning can no longer hold the rainwater? Or that imperious looking fellow in a suit and holding prayer beads?
Pollen. On the windows. On the terrace. On the table and chairs. On the surface of the pool. On the sea in the harbour forming a scum. On my car EVERY DAY.
Dust. See above.
Insects as large as a toddler's hand. Freaky as hell looking insects. Insects you can HEAR landing. Insects you can hear flying towards you from many meters away. Insects that bite and sting and keep you awake at night as you scratch your skin off.
I will counteract these moany observations in my next post.
