Jack and Liam move to Turkey

by Jack Scott

This is Jack’s début book and, as the title suggests, it’s an autobiographical account of Jack and his civil partner Liam’s move to Turkey. Bored with a life of suburban humdrum, stressful jobs, and a comfortably secure but passionately dissatisfying life, they decide on a new start in Turkey. And so their journey begins.

As expat stories go, this might seem straightforward enough – until you remember that Jack and Liam are openly gay and that Turkish society is overwhelmingly Muslim and can be very conservative and conventional.

A disaster waiting to happen? Well, I’m not going to spoil the story for you. But it certainly does add a certain frisson to the narrative. The book is quite a page-turner.

Jack is an expert people-watcher, and much of what makes this book enjoyable is his wry, witty and sometimes downright scathing observations of others. We all know the type of expats who huddle together in groups, with no interests other than reinforcing their superiority over the locals, slagging off their new country, bemoaning what’s become of their old one, and attending regular expat meetings. I’ve heard the type referred to before as [insert name of local British group here]-types. Jack refers to them as “emigreys”. Brilliant!

From grasping expats wanting to profit from other expats, to strange neighbours, to the self-superior and Blighty-hating emigreys, no one escapes Jack’s analysis and description.

Of course there are some very fine people too – among the locals, the expats, and the family and friends Jack and Liam left behind in the UK. And it’s not all laughs. In one or two places the mood turns very dark indeed. In others, there’s a sprinkling of pathos – some of it sad, some of it heartwarming. This adds balance and depth to what might otherwise be just a catalogue of accurately observed, witty and acerbic pen pictures.

It’s a good account of the light and shade of an off-the-wall expat lifestyle, told in a fast-paced and highly amusing way.

If you’d like to read it – and I recommend you do – it’s available from Amazon and other good bookshops. Amazon also sell a Kindle version.

Win a free copy of Perking the Pansies!

Would you like to win a Kindle version? Here’s what to do. Simply comment on this review and say why you would like to win a free copy.

The closing date for entries is 2359 GMT on Thursday 7 June 2012. After that, Jack will come along and choose one lucky winner according to what he thinks is the best comment.

Perking the Pansies

Jack Scott
Paperback, 244 pages
2011, Summertime Publishing
ISBN 978-1904881643
RRP: £9.99

(Or one lucky winner can receive a free copy by commenting below.)

Coffee World, Bodrum Marina

I was relaxing in Kahve Dünyası (Coffee World) enjoying an Americano under the welcome shade of an enormous parasol. It can be difficult to attract the attention of the waiters there. When you do, it’s better to speak in English than poorly pronounced Turkish as the lofty boys usually feign selective deafness. However, this minor irritant is worth it for the superior brew and the only place in town where a decent croissant is to be had (in fact a croissant of any sort, come to that). The complimentary chocolate spoon on the side is a nice touch as well.

The café is a prime location to people watch. The marina side of town is almost exclusively populated by visiting Turks. This is where the well-heeled come to get well-oiled and the young come to party. I studied the steady stream of strollers; all ages and all types gently ambled by.

As I watched, I wondered if there was such a thing as a typical Turkish type, akin to an English rose, Celtic redhead or blond Swede. What hit me was the rich diversity of Turks, a veritable United Nations of a people, from ginger to dusky, European to oriental.

It was silly of me to be surprised. Anatolia has been the crossroad of civilisations for millennia – settled, abandoned, won and lost countless times. Each phase of Anatolian history has left its DNA on the population, from the recently discovered 12,000 year old settlement at Göbekli Tepe in the East to the British yabancı marrying into the fold, and everything else in between.

No nation is racially pure. History teaches us that the invasions and migrations of the past rarely replaced the existing populations entirely. Ethnic cleansing is mostly a modern invention.

When the Germanic Angles, Saxons and Jutes settled in what was to become England, they replaced the Celtic elite, killed a few, displaced some and bred with the rest. The same phenomenon occurred during the Scandinavian invasions right across the British Isles. Yes, there was a bit of raping and pillaging but much less than comic books suggest. The process has been going on ever since. The truth is, we’re all mongrels really. I was left with the impression that to be Turkish is a state of mind, not a state of body.

As I pondered this question I completely forgot about the chocolate spoon that had melted all over my saucer and around the base of my coffee cup. A concerned waiter rushed over with extra serviettes and helped me clean up the gooey brown mess. Perhaps the waiters at Kahve Dünyası aren’t so bad after all.

For commercial convenience, the whole of Turkey is often classified as Europe for such things as travel insurance and flights. Lonely Planet lists Turkey under Eastern Europe and the Caucasus when it is part of neither (apart from Thrace).

Is Turkey also part of the Middle East? This is less clear. The Middle East is an ill-defined term that always includes Arabic countries, but may or may not include the nations of North Africa (who speak Arabic) and may or may not include non-Arabic Iran.

Where does Cyprus fit in? It’s closer to Asia than to Europe and the Greek side is part of the European Union (nominally on behalf of the whole island but that’s another story).

Does any of it matter? Certainly not to long-gone conquerors who marched across Asia Minor from all points of the compass at the drop of a helmet.

It only matters to me when trying to catch the weather forecast on BBC World. Auntie Beeb doesn’t seem to know where Turkey is either and generally ignores us altogether.

Consider this. Geologically, Europe isn’t a continent at all. It’s an appendage to Asia with an arbitrary border drawn along the Ural and Caucasus Mountains. Those in the know describe the entire landmass as Eurasia.

You see? We’re all Asians really.

Of course, there are major differences too. The liberal traditions that define a mature nation still have shallow roots in Turkey. Nevertheless, my foster home is changing and changing fast. Solid economic growth is establishing a burgeoning bourgeoisie that will alter Turkey forever. Socially and geographically mobile, well-educated consumers who want the best opportunities for themselves and their children, always affect change.

There is a demographic difference too. Britain is a country with an ageing population that needs a steady stream of young educated immigrants to function. Conversely, fifty per cent of Turkey’s population is under thirty and there are too few jobs to go around. Sooner or later, the EU will be forced to relax its stringent visa restrictions for Turks. Lonely ladies of London: be afraid, be very afraid.

Given the obvious connections between our pasts and our futures, we Brits really ought to do more to celebrate our ties with Turkey. Sure, bargain bucket resorts are all very well and vital to the Turkish economy. Double egg and chips with a side order of lascivious expat gossip can be a delicious (if emotionally calorific) tit-bit. However, there is so much more to discover than is to be found on the pages of a Thomas Cook brochure. I implore more of our compatriots to step off the sun-kissed beaches and out of the homogeneous Brit-bars. Let’s sober up and go exploring like the wandering Brits of our glorious past.

I live in Bodrum on the same street as one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World (a happy coincidence). The once magnificent Mausoleum of Halicarnassus (the ancient name for Bodrum) was constructed to inter the remains of King Mausolus in 350 BC (hence the origin of the word mausoleum). The building survived virtually intact for seventeen centuries before it was felled by an earthquake in the Middle Ages; what remained was plundered by the Knights of St John to build the imposing crusader castle that now dominates the town. That’s the mediæval Christians for you: no respect for ancient history.

It seems those naughty knights weren’t the only pilferers of antiquities, judging by the age-old dressed stones and fragments of an Ionian capital that litter our garden. This is just a tiny example of the wonder around us, a place where history lies casually underfoot and around every corner. Now, you don’t get that in Blackpool.

I can’t tell you precisely where I am. This isn’t a matter of secrecy. It’s a consequence of my overall unfamiliarity with the local geography and the fact that most of the road signs are in Turkish. I don’t know if they’re hoping to direct me to the next town or a golf course. We’re somewhere in Anatolia, but I never knew that referred to the entire Asiatic part of Turkey; about 97%. The only major resistance met when crossing the border was the requirement to queue for a visa at the airport. The woman behind the counter grimaced at New Turkish Lire and said she’d much prefer fifteen euros. We then overwhelmed passport control, found the troop transporter waiting in the car park and penetrated as far as a virtual place called Belek. As far as I understand it, the Mediterranean coast is a couple of miles south, the Taurus Mountains are shrouded in cloud to the north, and Cyprus is some distance east.

Our orders came in brochures, and one referred to Belek as a small village. As the place had never existed, this was somewhat misleading. Belek is both more virtual and larger than any village beyond the realms of complete fiction. It comes from the architects of incomplete fiction, and building work continues apace.

About fifteen years ago, the government decided mass tourism sounded like a good idea, and officially established the Turkish Riviera. An area starting around fifteen miles east of the city of Antalya was then predominantly an empty space on the map, and thus the perfect place to build forty or so large hotels. They added five golf courses and a gap in the middle was duly termed a village. That area began to attract various buildings and now declares itself to be the City Center.

Human settlements traditionally grow as a consequence of the available resources and needs of the local residents. I suppose Belek has done this too, if you appreciate that both the primary resources and the residents are in the hotels. In the modern world, people need to buy the essentials to sustain life, so shops were opened to sell leatherwear, jewellery and golf clubs. Restaurants and car rental were high on the agenda as well. The lack of local heritage was a blessing. It meant ruins and relics could be built from scratch.

The remains of a one-mile-long Roman aqueduct, which have never met any water apart from occasional winter rain, line the roadside and provide ancient gateways to nowhere in particular. These ruins were completed recently. The same is true for the one-eighth of an amphitheatre, which gives you somewhere to sit and admire the tasteful never-Greek non-temple to your left. On the right is a brand new limestone grotto, fitted with cascading waterfalls and containing public toilets. This is very convenient for the traditional-looking mosque behind; a building redolent with visual interest which has attracted faithful camera-clickers for perhaps a decade. Belek is generously endowed with historical architecture, none of which has had the opportunity to suffer from the ravages of much time at all. Every last moulded stone has been lovingly faked. And the same applies to the branded goods in most of the shops.

Much of the impetus behind the Turkish Riviera was provided by miles of Mediterranean beach backed by woods, forests and mountains. Personally, I’m not much of a fan of beaches unless they come with en-suite fossils. None are available here and, if it were otherwise, removing them from the country without a licence would be a crime punishable with imprisonment. Nevertheless, I forced myself onto a shady sun chair and even dared a dip into the warm water. This beach lacks other features besides fossils. You’d have to bring your own ice-cream, and seagulls and pigeons are conspicuous by their absence.

One unusual attraction is provided by the local police. When it comes to the beach, their main duty seems to be their discreet presence. Only unusually curious observers and wannabe terrorists are likely to notice them. On the first occasion, two officers were spotted strolling along the seafront. They then disappeared into the woods and returned a few minutes later armed with plastic chairs. After these were placed in the strategic shadow of a eucalyptus bush, the custodians of law sat down for a pleasant couple of hours. They were still contentedly chatting when we left.

On the next afternoon, which was a Sunday, only one officer was observed. He’d obviously learned from experience, as he walked along the front carrying a chair at the ready. Once it was correctly positioned, the policeman broke cover to attend to some pressing business on the beach. This involved drinking a quick cup of tea with some friends. Much refreshed, he returned to his seat with two bottles of mineral water and resumed work. Security is an important issue on the Turkish Riviera, and it’s best maintained while keeping out of the afternoon sun.