[ The Old Groaner ] Türk Telekom wake up; Skype, Bell, take heed

To me the service seems as good and as reliable as most I know in Europe. Here in our valley, however, we have an even better service, though its use excludes European settlers. Our natives are trained from a very early age to develop lungs and vocal cords which enable them to communicate throughout the entire valley and beyond without the aid of any technology.

When our nearest neighbor Mustafa is working at his olive tree plantation, which is fully 2 kilometers from his home, he is perfectly capable of communicating with his wife back home. As lunchtime approaches their conversation might go something like this:

“AYŞA!” (The speed of sound is about 343 meters per second so there will be a delay of about 13 seconds before the reply arrives.) “YES, DEAR?” (I am restricted to writing in 12 point Times New Roman font and so cannot truly convey the volume of this exchange.) “WHAT’S FOR LUNCH?” (A silly question because it’s always the same, he’s really telling her that he’d like it to be prepared.) “BREAD, CHEESE AND OLIVES, MY POPPET.” (You will excuse my loose translation, I hope.) “OKEY-DOKEY DARLING; I’M ON MY WAY.”

I should further explain how these conversations are possible over such distances; the villagers are not only able to speak or shout at very high volumes but they also can do so at a much higher frequency than the likes of us, which I think affords them a greater range. I just spent a few minutes at the piano and have determined that I speak and shout using very few notes of a scale a full octave below middle C (just to the left of the lock escutcheon). Without having Mustafa here I can only estimate, with the use of the piano of course, his range. I think he’s in the middle of the major scale two octaves above middle C, probably near Celine Dion’s mid-range. His voice actually upsets the cats badly, as does Ms. Dion’s.

Over distances greater than about two kilometers, I think, there must be a relay system which will start with something like, “GÜL, MY FRIEND, PLEASE ASK AYŞA WHAT’S FOR DINNER?”, to which the answer arrives a little more than 10 minutes later, the ladies having enjoyed a few minutes of gossip between the asking of the question and the transmission of the answer. Is there an understood code of practice I wonder? Would a fourth party within range dare to shout out, “BACON SANDWICH,” for instance? I really don’t know.

Now, a far more sophisticated long distance communication system is also in operation and I honestly have no idea how it works. Two weeks ago I visited my little boat which lies at anchor some five miles away from our house and six miles from the village shop. I won’t attempt to explain the mechanics of me reaching the boat and subsequently returning to dry land; it suffices to say that I usually do so without getting wet. On this occasion, however, something went wrong and I ended up taking a rather undignified plunge into the sea, the water reaching my waist. On the shore were four young men, two of whom laughed loudly whilst the other two offered help. Somewhat embarrassed, I declined the help and waded to the shore. It is important to note that I did not know those chaps.

At my pick-up I waited until there was no traffic approaching and, doing my best to maintain modesty behind my car door, I took off my trousers and threw them into the back of the vehicle. Hoping not to be stopped by the police, I drove slowly home, still in my wet underpants but hardly exactly decent. When I arrived home I again waited for a good break in the traffic and sprinted for the shelter of the house where I dried off and put on a pair of dry trousers. (As I sprinted through the living room Frau continued typing without batting an eyelid but simply asked if I had enjoyed a pleasant afternoon.)

Having been unable to stop at a shop on my way home, now decently attired, I drove down to the village shop to buy my evening bottle of wine. At the back of the shop was a group of men watching the television and enthusiastically smoking and drinking tea. One of them addressed me with a long sentence which I didn’t understand so I went to the table and asked him to repeat himself slowly. This time I caught the word “araba” meaning “car” but the meaning of the full sentence still escaped me. After a further repetition I recognized that one another word was a noun and queried it so he repeated “pantalon” meaning, of course, “trousers” and that word was followed by “yok,” meaning “none” or “without.” My jaw dropped and the whole group burst into laughter; I believe I blushed

So by what mysterious way did news of my trouser-less trip travel six miles in a period of about 1.5 hours? Perhaps it is better not to investigate too closely as there may be dark and mysterious forces beyond our understanding at play.

I have experienced the mystery of this peasant communication system only once before and that was in Ireland. I had not visited that country before but after a long period overseas I was to visit my younger sister in County Kildare, a little west of Dublin. Having received extremely Irish directions to my sister’s remote house I was thoroughly lost in my rental car and from sis’s point of view was long overdue. When I eventually stopped to study the map and scratch my head a lady rushed out of a nearby house and proclaimed through my open window: “So you’ll be Barbara’s brother? Sure, you’re miles away.” She then directed me to my destination, which was a full 10 miles away and when I eventually arrived, my sister was able to recount my entire route from reports she had somehow been receiving through the ether.

Should the need ever arise for a hotline between the Turkish and the Irish governments then I would be more than willing to help set it up. I foresee that our valley will be an important component, my sister will be a consultant and our neighbor Mustafa will also have a key role.