More importantly, we picked so much fruit from the sides of the road! There were little orange-yellow plum tasting things, backberries, apples, figs (which I still haven’t eaten because none of the ones on trees are ripe yet), and other little guys that looked like cherries but tasted furry and dried your mouth out on first bite. I fully enjoyed and appreciated the bounties of Nature as I gave thanks for this food and munched away to my tummy’s content. I think that there were also some of those oval-plum things that are green inside, too. Mm, Mediterranean fruit…
Picking from the orange-yellow plum-tasting fruit tree:
Picking from apple trees:
An apple and an orange-yellow plum-tasting fruit:
Blackberry bushes! This is where they went from the pricker patch in the front yard!
Mmm... Thank you, Gaia.
Furry-tasting fruit in its tree:
More apples, this time little and green:
That night we all (save Tamoria, of course) went out as a group for the first time all trip. We thought that we were going to Angelique, but apparently that place was expensive, so we went somewhere else, and a curse upon whoever led. We went to a small open-aired place with a dance floor the size of the kitchen that was at the end of a little square with other shops and bars off it. We brought the party. Much drama ensued after the night was over, because the prick who works at the buffet across the street from where we get breakfast each morning ordered three completely unsolicited tables of alcohol and began to hand them out, and they just got passed around because no one wanted to drink what was there. People were also ordering their own from the bar, and a bunch of us left early because the place was really lame. I was having a good time with this kid Burak whom we had just met that day and who was living in our dorms.
So apparently, all told, this was all some elaborate scheme to take our money, because the tab was something like 1500 YTL at the end of the night (complete with double-charged things for which people had paid at the bar, as well as 2 300 YTL bottles of Absolut and 1 400 YTL Jack Daniels from the tables, as if any Turk would really be charged that for those--Americans, maybe, but Turks, no). Besides for their own drinks, no one paid, and this kid from across the street, who is our age, was all hounding after us. Well, don’t play the pimp if you aren’t. Much drama followed the other night, when this all came to a breaking point and the Turkish mob was apparently calling across the street.
First, the mafia doesn’t care about a few hundred lira.
Second, that would never be the tab.
Third, in the guileless words of gorgeous Gözde, Emre from across the street ‘Is all of the time speaking lies.’
People had just had water, and some people didn’t drink at all. Burak had even told Emre not to order anything, but alas. We ended up pow-wowing, and deciding to all chip in what we thought was fair, completely anonymously. We did this, and Alejandro and some other walked across the street to square it with the restaurant. All was good…
...until the next day after this drama (days: incident night, Sobie’s birthday day, nothing, drama, then present narrative day) when Jessica and I were walking with hocam and Defne, her daughter, and hocam received a call from the sister of Emre, who was their, and with whom no amount of money could persuade me to touch. She was flipping out about how the money wasn’t enough, and let me tell you, I can undertand only some Turkish, but hocam was kicking some serious conversational ass. We knew it was a scam when people who weren’t even involved were getting in on this, and she called the owner of the residence and threatened to report this to the university, who would on the spot terminate the contract, not to mention the fact that we’re tight with the university president in the first place.
And you know, I’ve definitely killed some karma repeating this, but I hope, I _hope_ that the Turkish mafia is after this Emre. I’m a good-natured person who’s normally quite happy and willing to do anything to make others happy (The night of all the drama, with the talk of how to pay and what to pay, we had went grocery shopping to cook, and I paid for everything with the understanding that people would pay me back, but as I cooked delicious omelets and ate Kristina’s yoghurt thing and Durán’s bruschetta and home fries, I refused to accept a cent from anyone, but demanded that everyone eat and be merry, because a few lira should never be an issue, and it’ just money after all. I was also giving gratuitous offers to sad faces, and hugs abounded. I hate drama.), but my hair is red, after all, and I am my Daddy’s girl. Once something sends me over that edge, all of the wrath that I can summon from the earth is expelled upon the object of my discontent, and let me tell you, were I to negotiate with this Emre kid, the first words out of my mouth wouldn’t be words, but a swift knee to the balls and then an elbow to the junction of the neck and shoulder. I’d probably poke his eyes, too, because I’ve developed nails this trip, so much that it’s a little hard to type at times. Perhaps at times I am not the most diplomatic choice of people. Ryan has seen me this angry once, and it terrified him, I think.
Anywho, story over. I hope that Emre has one of those little blue eyes on his person, is all that I can say. We all need to get over this, but it culminated right at the end of our trip, and it was not a pretty thing. The omelets were delicious, though, and we bought eksi sakar (aged cheese) that was 25 YTL a kilo and was SO WORTH IT. We also danced to Girl Talk whilst cooking, and I even rubbed some of the bruschetta with garlic like we did that one time, Ryan. And I got my sexy on while flipping those omelets (okay, so it wasn’t entirely pretty, but I did have a few nice flips).
I did make some people smile, though, and I was happy to tell that they were so amused and happy from my silly attempts and making some merry.
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