We have established the five major food groups for Turks – in ascending order:

5 – Dairy – apart from yogurt and arayan -the yogurt drink and some goats’ cheese there is very little to be found.

4 – Meat – only seen lamb and chicken.  There is plenty of fresh fish.

3 – Bread – we have seen every sort of bread for sale – except Turkish!

2 – Fruit and Vegetables – actually vegetables and fruit

1 – Kebabs

This list doesn’t include beverages because there is only one beverage – tea, tea or tea.

The food is great – and very different from Italy.  Each morning for breakfast Linda and I head to a local bakery that only sells borek and backlava-ish things.  If any of you have known about borek and intentionally hidden this from me, I would find it a hard thing to forgive. I choose the spicy meat pastry, Linda the cheese, or cheese & spinach and with these delicacies, two cups of tea each. Our waiter Ali then says “Kacnhit cey nitchcel birogulu mish” then charges us a random amount.  For exactly the same order no two days have been the same price.  Good job Ali.

We have found Turkish wine from a wine shop just up the road – up being the operative word in the case of this hilly precinct. Turkish Sav Blanc is not NZ Sav Blanc – but it is OK.  The wine bar sells a wine that has been made in the same village for around 7000 years the archeologists think.  There were pottery shards found in caves there with wine stains through them, and carbon dating gives the age. You’d think that they’d have wine-making nailed after that amount of time – but I think there’s just a wee bit to go yet on the wine-making journey until their Old Caves Red makes it into the top 100 list.  Even the list of something you’d pay good Turkish lira for actually.

We haven’t yet seen Turkish bread, there is beautiful bread everywhere, but not Turkish bread!  Even doner kebabs are sold in crusty white rolls.  I think Turkish bread and Turkish wraps are  something invented by Coles.  The kebab shops are omnipresent, as are fresh fish restaurants in our part of the city.  The food on the Asian side seems cheaper and better, but who can really make a judgement after a few days?

We have just started to get our bearings, sorting out public transport and routines that fit studies with souvlaki.  We haven’t really started cooking. But when we do there will be no shortage of beautiful ingredients -tomatoes, capsicums, eggplants, nuts, cherries, fresh herbs and great yogurt and goats cheeses.  Just no Turkish bread – unless of course I happen to find a Coles or Woolies.

A number of historical figures have been sold in Turkey.  Miguel Cervantes was captured by pirates, then spent six years as a galley slave rowing a boat on a Turkish Mediterranean Cruise before obtaining his freedom.  Of course he went on to write Don Quixote – a series of sequential short stories, and by doing so is credited with inventing the format we now call ‘the novel’.  The fourth Pope was bought and sold by the Turks as were a number of Byzantine saints.  As were Linda and I yesterday.

We had asked for a driver to pick us up as we had read plenty of Turkish Taxi Terror yarns. When we stepped out of customs at the incredibly efficient Kemal Attaturk Airport, we were met by a man (I thought he said his name was ‘Sandshoe’ AND so did Linda) who told us to wait.  There was only four people on his list, so he sold us to another man (I though he said his name was ‘Sandal’, AND so did Linda.)  Sandal couldn’t put a group together, so he sold us to another bloke who was heading home from the airport and had his wife waiting for him outside in the car.  I won’t pretend his name was Slipper- that would be a silly name.  He and his wife drove us to Unpronouncable Street where we will be for the next three weeks.

Our apartment is wonderful on the inside, but my goodness the outside needs a bit of work Mr Ozturk. On the theme of novels, John Buchan’s ‘Thirty-nine Steps’ has nothing on Suite Home Galata.  It is seventy-two very steep steps up a spiralling, marble staircase.  My Children, how proudly your little hearts would beat if you could but see your father springing lightly up and down those stairs!   Your mother has christened me ‘The Gatton Gazelle’ – just to give you some idea of how elegant I look on that staircase.

First impressions of Istanbul itself? It is a great city and it will become even better as we become more familiar with the geography.  We have negotiated the public transport system to cross over the Golden Horn to the peninsula.  We have obviously walked extensively around this district – enough to get mildly lost but still manage to navigate our way home.  We have found some of the major tourism landmarks, but have not yet visited them as we are awaiting Mitch and Maryanne’s arrival.  We have found a place for breakfast, and we have located butchers, bakers, candle stick makers, etc.

Turkey will be NOTHING like Italy.  Despite the modern Kemal Attaturk Airport, the Kemal Attaturk freeways and bridges, the Kemal Attaturk schools and universities, there is only so much one Father of the Fatherland can do.  There isn’t a Kemal Attaturk garbage collection system, or a Kemal Attaturk – we’d-better-fix-that-one-last-pothole crew, or a Kemal Attaturk Are-you-certain-that-fish-meets-our-exacting-hygiene-standards?-inspector.  But that is what makes the next three weeks so exciting for the two of us.

Whenever Mitch or Nat ask us where we will go to in Europe next trip, five out of six times we have said ‘Florence’.  They think that means we are already boring, predictable, old farts. We think that means that we love Florence.

Our farewell dinner was at one of Florence’s better known places.  The food is all cooked according to Mediaeval recipes – honey instead of sugar, again lots of vegetables, very few spices and almost no salt.  At first taste it seemed quite bland- then the depth of flavours from slow, fire-cooked foods kicked in.  It does take a while for palates so used to salt and highly spiced foods to adjust, but all this month has all been simple flavours, perfectly cooked and beautifully presented. I am almost feeling sorry for visitors to our place when we get home  – they will feel like Evans kitchen guinea pigs!
(By the way Scotty, I have used brackets to tell you that the total meal – three courses, bread, wine etc. was about $70)
Better let you go Scotty.  We’ve got a plane to catch tomorrow.

We leave Margie and Celia’s people to go off to the land of Saracens!

Towards the end of last century Linda and I saw a movie – either with Scotty  or on his recommendation – Life is Beautiful. The plot is partly a biography of the father of the main actor, Roberto Benigni . The story was set in 1930’s- 1945 and is of an Italian Jew who was sent to an extermination camp with his family, but who is determined to keep his son alive.  It is a wonderful movie, one that won a large number of awards.  Most of the filming was done in a beautiful city called Arezzo. Yesterday we went to Arezzo.

The town has about 100,000 inhabitants and is about 1hr south of Florence by train.  It is one of the major Etruscan hilltop towns, the Etruscans predate the Romans and give Tuscany its name of course.  There are still remains of Etruscan walls in the town.  The town went through such a period of economic decline after the mid 16th century that not much in the centre was touched- and so it is still stunning.  It was also one of the cities aligned with Siena when Siena was a republic.  Florence and this part of Italy were at war for centuries without the Florentines having much luck in the invasion-of-their-near-neighbourhood project.

However in 1555 Philip of France owed so much money to Florence, originally borrowed from Cosimo de’ Medici, that he invaded and captured Siena, Arezzo and the rest, then sold it to the Medicis to help pay off his debt.  The Sienese and the Inhabitants of Arezzo STILL hate Florentines and French with a passion.  In another 500 years they may be able to begin the first tentative steps toward reconciliation.

The cathedral is beautiful.  I was brought up going to Congregational churches, – no hierarchy, no permanent officials, women in every role, very simple buildings.  This church wasn’t anything like that. It does have a plaque in memory of some members of the congregation who converted from Judaism, but were burned at the stake anyway – antisemitism goes back centuries in this part of the world.  They still run a tournament in Arezzo each Summer that features local ‘Knights’  from each of the major churches on real horses in competition to knock down a ‘Saracen’.  The festival finishes with a bonfire that burns figures representing a Saracen king and a Jewish moneylender.  Long memories.  I’m glad the locals here never had a problem with my Rosewood people.

There is also a Marconi museum in the town. The museum has the radio set that was set up on the local coastline that helped transmit the distress call from the Titanic, and one from the ship that went to the liner’s aid.  I know Marconi won the Nobel Prize for physics, I understand the countless lives saved by his invention.  But Marconi was a fanatical Fascist – Mussolini was best man at his wedding.  I think a better festival  for Arezzo would be an annual screening of Life is Beautiful, followed by knights jousting at a Mussolini figure.  I’d go to see that one, except it could take another 500 years –  and we leave for Turkey tomorrow.

Would we go back to Arezzo?  Linda has already looked up apartments in town.  It has great food, great coffee and 2500 yrs of history to be explored.  I’m already looking forward to that trip.

I have a dream. A transport dream. I know I will never be given the opportunity to ride a Vespa through the streets of Toowoomba with my grey locks flowing freely in the wind. I will never have Linda holding on to me tightly while the 100cc motor scooter transports us for an al fresco lunch at, say, Picnic Point or the Tallegallah Cemetery.  I have had to come up with an alternative strategy.

When the United Nations establish a willingness to negotiate, their fist position is always an ambit claim.  From there they work backwards. Natalie used the same tactic.

Dad, I’m thirsty, can I have a drink?
Yes
OK I’ll have a large chocolate thick shake
No
OK,  just a milk shake
No
OK, a soft drink
No!

But then, by doing this, Natalie would get herself an orange juice instead of some tap water from a plastic cup provided by a kind old dear who works behind the counter in a coffee shop.

I’m going to use the same tactics!

I don’t want to be limited to one of these:

I know I’ll never get to own one of these:

And this one’ll get knocked back for sure:

As will this little red baby:

Even I think this is stupid:

But with a bit of work – and support from friends,  I think Linda WOULD DEFINITELY settle for one of these:

In fact I can see a whole fleet of these three-wheelers in Fairholme colours!  They could be used for so many occasions.  Imagine the Fairholme Board and the guest speaker turning up to Presenting Fairholme in the back of a convoy of open tops!  With a bit of perspex work done by Pete Sutton even  a copy of the Pope Mobile is not impossible.  Imagine how Celia and Margie’s people would go for that!!!!

Hired out for the Formal, rides at the Spring Fair, Carnival of Flowers – how the list goes on.  We might need crowd funding, but I think if we all get behind the project it can happen.  Italy is, after all, the land of miracles.  There must be a St Piaggio or St Vespa here we can enlist for support?

It’s just one man’s dream – but with your help it could  happen!

Watch out Fairholme, I have just interrogated a 10 year old Italian boy and learned the secrets of schooling Firenze-style.

This afternoon Ross and I meandered our way to Via Giuseppe Garibaldi to share tea on the terrace top of our best (and only – the brackets are for you, Scotty) Italian friend’s apartment. Celia – you would have had marble envy climbing the 80 steps to the fourth floor. Here on the terrace of this beautifully renovated apartment were panoramic views of the Duomo, Basillica, Pitti Palace, the hills to the north- west – a very special glimpse of Tuscany.

We were treated to tea and biscuits with Philomenia who lectures in English at the Florence University and we shared the pleasure with her 10 year old son Luccia and 5 year old son, Orlando. For avid blog followers, you might remember that we met Philomenia early on in our stay, at the magic Cafe Rainer; the location of coffee and white chocolate pastries to dream about. Not backward in coming forward, we invited ourselves to tutor Philomenia’s First Year English group, that same afternoon. Fear not – we were invited to afternoon tea today, we did not invite ourselves, though with the Rossco that may have been a reasonable deduction by the presumptuous amongst you.

Some scene setting at this point ….. Philomenia is an Aussie, of Italian heritage – born and bred in Melbourne, her husband is Italian and she has lived in Florence for the last 18 years – with a short two year sojourn to Paris somewhere in that time. At such points in a conversation one can feel a little like a Philistine, though of course Ross can always boast a Rosewood heritage. I sense Philomenia craves a little for Australian company, so we were able to oblige most willingly.

Her boys are fascinating –the products of being truly bilingual and bicultural (just made that term up). Orlando commandeered Ross for a protracted game of Power Rangers Memory … Ross lost. He maintains that Orlando cheated but I wasn’t a witness to his defeat at the hands of a minor. While Ross was reacquainting himself with the might of the Power Rangers, Luccia was filling me in on Italian education – or certainly schooling for a 10 year old boy in Florence. His school day runs from 8:25 until 4:00 pm, he often has 2 hours of homework, study, projects and of course studies English, daily. Lengthen that school day Stewart! The clincher for me was the discussion about ‘the interrogation’. …. and I was seriously fascinated, once I recovered from the name of the process, that is.

Luccia was interrogated in Science yesterday. That means, he was randomly selected by his teacher to stand in his place whilst his 21 classmates listened intently (actually Luccia said it’s incredibly boring) to his responses to an interrogation on the reproduction system. He had studied but did not know the questions that would be asked. The level of questioning is determined by the depth of the answers and at the end of 10 minutes the teacher awards a result out of 10.

The result matters, it’s cumulative over the semester and will ultimately determine Luccia’s pathway into middle school. He said it’s a bit scary but he enjoys it. His mother says after some whole-hearted Aussie scepticism, she is sold on the benefits – Philomenia believes the depth of understanding required to do well is quite phenomenal and the fact that it’s oral makes it very challenging and very public! Sometimes the teacher seeks volunteers to be interrogated – Luccia says there are two girls who always get their hands up first, they are after the elusive 10 out of 10. Go the girls! Now we know why Italians are such good oral communicators. Yet if their education is so thorough and discerning why is their economy so dismal? Too much time spent talking perhaps?

Another magic Florentine day, the highlight was our rooftop experience; a small glimpse of life as a Florentine and of course, learning the art of a good interrogation … I’m sure Lyn will love it!

(Better let you go to your next interrogation, Scotty)
Ciao, Linda

Sometimes a traveller can miss a dog left at home.  Don’t think Charlie could live in an apartment though.

Is it A?

Or B?

Or C?

Or D?

or E?

The correct answer of course is E.  This is Francesca who makes our coffee every day.  All the rest are photos of Roman ruins.

The Tour Di Toscana enters its final stages, the Tour d’Turkey is about to commence!

Natalie and Mitchell are always telling me not to wear my hat strap done up under my chin.  They say that only my ASD boys wear a hat like that.  NOT TRUE MI BAMBINI!  I have seen quite a few middle-aged Japanese women who also wear their hat the same way.  So there!

And by the way children, yes they did like me getting up close to take these photos – even if they pretended not to, and then tried to scamper away. I know they were very comfortable and were laughing on the inside – totally inscrutable!

Sayonara