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Iran, Nukes, America, Petrol & Bush:The True Tale Of The Wise Old Turkish Water Taxi Ticket Tout ...
The time:
Far off in the mists of a fortnight ago.
The Place:
'Land of Lights', ferry boat & water-taxi terminous, Fethiye quayside, Fethiye Bay, Mugla, Turkey, Asia Minor -- to mention but a few.
"Sod this," sez we, standing sizzling & sweating under the searing scorching sun.
"Let's ask if we can sit on that spare seat in the shade of the (open fronted), wooden shack of the old ticket seller while we wait for the ferry."
Then ... thereby hung this tale.
"English?" the elderly easterner enquired.
We told him we were.
"No problem. You very welcome."
He beamed as he beckoned and bade us sit beside him.
"Look," he said, and pointed to the old portable TV he was watching.
"American. Here. Ankara. Capital. Now. Today."
In spite of the pretty pathetic picture quality and seemingly, similarly sick sound system, we were soon able to see and hear that what he'd said was so.
It was one of Bush's blatant big fibber flunkies (we've forgotten already which one, but wtf anyway), doing what his arrogant awful ilk do best.
Talking a lying load of tripe-twaddle through his white plastic looking teeth. Oh, yeah, and the great goof of a goon had 'good hair' too. But being what and whohe was, he would have, wouldn't he? Well, don't they all;besides John Bolton?
Heh.
"Iran," the old fellow announced. "Nuclear, nuclear, nuclear. Bush crazy man want more war. Says Iran nukes, nukes, nukes. Iran, no nukes. No, sir.
Iran, petrol! Iran, petrol, petrol, petrol!"
"Exactly, " we exclaimed in agreement, and at this point were beaming as broadly as the super-sun-tanned, old Turkish ticket tout/seller himself.
He went on. "Bush lies, lies, lies. Ha! Yes! Every peoples knows. All the peoples everywhere knows. NOT Americans. American peoples believes George Bush."
Can you imagine it? Finding such an unexpected (foreign), kindred spirit? And so far away from home? Someone else who hadn't drunk the cool aid? Another old man who knew better? Somebody else with some sense?
Then the smiling ticket seller suddenly switched to smirk mode.
"Iran, not Iraq," he said. "Iran, big space. Iran, 160 million peoples. Iran, big military. Iran, stronger Iraq. Iran, no scared Bush. Russia help Iran."
The more the man said the more he made our day. Even all the way over there in Asia Minor we weren't alone. We weren't the only ones. We weren't simply a single small voice in the wilderness.
The old Turk continued.
"Me Turkish. We Turkey. We near Iran. We no problem, Iran. Me no problem, Iran. Me no scared, Iran.
America not near Iran. Bush, not near Iran. Bush, problem Iran. Bush want petrol, petrol, petrol. Iran, no nukes. Iran, petrol, petrol, petrol.
Big, big problem -- all peoples problems. World's peoples problems. Because, Bush crazy man."
Then, the ferry finally turned up.
We shook hands. He smiled again. He slapped our backs.
"Maybe meet again. Tomorrow. Enjoy holiday. Enjoy Turkey."
We thanked him. We called him 'old friend'.
Then we stepped aboard the tiny ferry boat and set sail for Calis beach -- on the far side of the breathtakingly beautiful Fethiye bay.
** We didn't see the old ticket seller the next day, by the way. But we did see, smile and speak with our newly found 'Old Turk' friend several more times during our stay. And the most genuine marvelously memorable times they turned out to be, too.
Far off in the mists of a fortnight ago.
The Place:
'Land of Lights', ferry boat & water-taxi terminous, Fethiye quayside, Fethiye Bay, Mugla, Turkey, Asia Minor -- to mention but a few.
"Let's ask if we can sit on that spare seat in the shade of the (open fronted), wooden shack of the old ticket seller while we wait for the ferry."
Then ... thereby hung this tale.
"English?" the elderly easterner enquired.
We told him we were.
"No problem. You very welcome."
He beamed as he beckoned and bade us sit beside him.
"Look," he said, and pointed to the old portable TV he was watching.
"American. Here. Ankara. Capital. Now. Today."
In spite of the pretty pathetic picture quality and seemingly, similarly sick sound system, we were soon able to see and hear that what he'd said was so.
It was one of Bush's blatant big fibber flunkies (we've forgotten already which one, but wtf anyway), doing what his arrogant awful ilk do best.
Talking a lying load of tripe-twaddle through his white plastic looking teeth. Oh, yeah, and the great goof of a goon had 'good hair' too. But being what and whohe was, he would have, wouldn't he? Well, don't they all;besides John Bolton?
Heh.
"Iran," the old fellow announced. "Nuclear, nuclear, nuclear. Bush crazy man want more war. Says Iran nukes, nukes, nukes. Iran, no nukes. No, sir.
Iran, petrol! Iran, petrol, petrol, petrol!"
"Exactly, " we exclaimed in agreement, and at this point were beaming as broadly as the super-sun-tanned, old Turkish ticket tout/seller himself.
He went on. "Bush lies, lies, lies. Ha! Yes! Every peoples knows. All the peoples everywhere knows. NOT Americans. American peoples believes George Bush."
Can you imagine it? Finding such an unexpected (foreign), kindred spirit? And so far away from home? Someone else who hadn't drunk the cool aid? Another old man who knew better? Somebody else with some sense?
Then the smiling ticket seller suddenly switched to smirk mode.
"Iran, not Iraq," he said. "Iran, big space. Iran, 160 million peoples. Iran, big military. Iran, stronger Iraq. Iran, no scared Bush. Russia help Iran."
The more the man said the more he made our day. Even all the way over there in Asia Minor we weren't alone. We weren't the only ones. We weren't simply a single small voice in the wilderness.
The old Turk continued.
"Me Turkish. We Turkey. We near Iran. We no problem, Iran. Me no problem, Iran. Me no scared, Iran.
America not near Iran. Bush, not near Iran. Bush, problem Iran. Bush want petrol, petrol, petrol. Iran, no nukes. Iran, petrol, petrol, petrol.
Big, big problem -- all peoples problems. World's peoples problems. Because, Bush crazy man."
Then, the ferry finally turned up.
We shook hands. He smiled again. He slapped our backs.
"Maybe meet again. Tomorrow. Enjoy holiday. Enjoy Turkey."
We thanked him. We called him 'old friend'.
Then we stepped aboard the tiny ferry boat and set sail for Calis beach -- on the far side of the breathtakingly beautiful Fethiye bay.
** We didn't see the old ticket seller the next day, by the way. But we did see, smile and speak with our newly found 'Old Turk' friend several more times during our stay. And the most genuine marvelously memorable times they turned out to be, too.
Labels: Ankara, Asia Minor, Calis, ferry, Fethiye, John Bolton, Mugla, Turkey, water taxi
posted by Richard at Wednesday, September 26, 2007
