Turkish Adventure part 2

The rest of our car ride to hell was fairly eventless and if anything, a little slow. Because of this we were all the more eager to get to the beach and jump into the rolling waves that kiss the golden sands of Patara beach.

The last leg of this journey is a 6km single track road that passes through small rugged mountains, a village that nestles into the hills and lastly an array of roman ruins spread out in the narrow valley floor that leads to the beach. At the end of the road is a rough car park with bushes sitting in random places conveniently placed to give shade to the lucky few.
We parked our car on the outskirts of the car park and find enough of a bush to get the front windscreen covered. Having loaded up each person with enough bags to imitate a family of refugees we make our way to the beach and perhaps more importantly to the cafe that sits close to the water’s edge.

It was unfortunate but not altogether surprising that our time on the beach was short lived. An unusually strong southerly wind started to blow across the bay. it picks up into such gale proportions that bathers were sand blasted off the beach in to the comparative safety of the grass huts that made up the bar and cafe. I however decided to try and build our own huts with chairs towels and an abandoned boat. This was in the end a completely useless exercise but because of my pride I wouldn't abandon the plan until it had utterly failed. Meantime the entire family had been peppered with gritty golden sand so that not a nook or cranny or orifice was left unaffected.

While people ran for cover I looked up into the sky to see what at first appeared to be heavy storm clouds looming over the tree covered hills. It was with some shock when I realized that they were clouds of smoke from a forest fire which had surrounded the village of Patara and was racing toward the beach car park. At first there seemed to be confusion and doubt in the minds of my fellow tourists but when it became apparent this was a serious incident hundreds ran from the beach to save their cars. This was in my mind completely stupid as the fire was in the same direction as the road one needed to drive on to escape. We watched in disbelief as cars and coaches all tried to leave only to get stuck and return with their passengers choking from the smoke and fumes.

We spent the next 2 hours sipping lemon ice tea as we watch flames preceded by huge billowing clouds of black smoke roll toward us. Foxes and other wild life tore off the hill side and onto the beach caring little about human proximity. Their concern was much more dire than to worry about potential predators.

Meanwhile I was mildly amused at the prospect of my hire car being blown to pieces in a forest fire. It seemed the perfect end to such a dramatic day. However It was in this moment of contemplation a thought occurred to me that I will never be able to answer. The fire must have started only moments after we had driven through the village and onto the beach. Was my car which was covered in petrol fumes at all responsible....? Ah well, I shrug my shoulders, makes for a great story

Turkish Adventure

August 2008 A Turkish Adventure
The day started so well, it was 40 degrees and we were off to a remote turtle loving beech in turkey. We had packed the car with iced water and spare food ready for the 30 mile hike across the mountains. 3 miles out of our holiday villa we stumble across a newly laid tarmac road, which for Turkey is quite a surprise. Amazed at this new adventure we merrily trundle down the empty lanes looking forward to our time on the beach. All is well until a further 10 miles when I stop for petrol.
Buying anything in Turkey outside of the tourist routes involves a lot sticking your fingers up at the attendants and hope they understand your not gesticulating something offensive. While I stand next to my car and negotiate 50 Turkish lira of fuel I am distracted by another fuel attendant who is touching my car with a face that says ‘you are in so much trouble’.
Interestingly at this point I hadn’t actually looked at the car I had just got out of. It was a brand new gleaming white Renault Clio saloon with less than 500 Km on the clock. My eyes bulged with disbelief as I rotate my head down and sideways trying to make sense at what I was looking at. The car was from the windows down a browny black getting darker and thicker towards the seal with the wheels a jet tarmac black glistening in the sunlight as if this was what they were meant to look like. My gesticulating turns into a full on break dance lurching to and fro as I try and find out if they can rescue me from this disaster. They stare back at me in disbelief, eventually, my break dancing is understood as “where the hell can I get this cleaned off?” and I am sent off rather quickly to a local village. All I know is 3 km and roundabout. From there I have to work out the rest.
My 3km turned in to 15 but eventually I find a roundabout with an array of tractors and vans and what appear to be the remains of a garage that perhaps had been blown up during the war when the Ottoman Empire collapsed. I stop, get out and start my gesticulating all over again, this time I am persuaded to sit on a stool in the shade and wait. Cheryl and family were left in the car looking at me with those questioning faces where you disfigure your eyes and lips instead of using actual words. I look back at her shrugging my shoulders and return the ugly face look while I am surrounded by 6 or 7 Turks who seem content to simply wait. I have absolutely no idea why I am waiting, who for or what will happen? Everyone seems content to just sit.
I continually try to ask more questions like ‘why am I sitting here and what happened to the rest of the building?’ and ‘what do you think of Kurds?’ I am politely silenced and left with the distinct impression to shut up and wait. After what felt like the longest 25 minutes of my life the waiting comes to an end with the roar of a 40 year motorbike and rider. I wasn’t sure which one was older but they looked like they had been inseparable friends all their lives.
The Turkish language explodes in front of me as my waiting companions all try to negotiate some kind of business deal or another. There are lots more arm waving and head scratching as men and women hesitate over the transfers of money and work. Eventually my companions disappear seemingly happy with their negotiations into their own world leaving me with a rotund man graying a little early, his trusty motor bike and the remains of his garage.
Without any questions or price negotiation he instantly and almost supernaturally knows what to do. Pulling on a boiler suit possibly older than his grandmother he quickly and efficiently sprays petrol from a battered spray gun powered by an unseen compressor probably lost somewhere in the debris of the garage remains. I am a little horrified at the free use of petrol which is beginning to remind me of a scene from ‘Zoolander’ especially as the car engine is still running! Despite the alarm bells ringing in my head I am gladdened at the speed by which he is able to transfer this tar soaked wagon back into a respectable automobile.
Despite the fact that the shock absorbers are still and possibly permanently covered in road I am confident of the fact that the hire company won’t notice, so after generously tipping our Turkish saviour we set off again now two hours late for the beach. One would hope that our adventures are over but little did we know they had had only just begun…………..
The continuation of this story will be updated soon

The Kevin Upton Show

The Kevin Upton show is a half hour magazine radio broadcast designed to discuss serious issues in a Christian context but also ight hearted way. We were broadcasting on a local radio station that specializes in working with ethnic minorities that has about 10 listeners, 3 of whom understand English. Nevertheless, we decided that to get the best quality of broadcast we would pre-record the shows but put them out as if they were live. All I had to do was go into the station put in the CD and press play.
Tragically that is where the plan unraveled. It like was like the elastic waistband of an old pair of underpants loosing themselves from the slavery of their occupant. I was left proverbially naked as the CD failed to load. The deadening silence screamed at me as I gasped to find words of intelligence and value. Even saying my own name seemed to escaped my oratory skills as I found er and um my most favorite of words.
Having ironically found Kylie’s lucky song on the computer screen and managed to press play, I lean back and wipe my brow with the knowledge I have 3 minutes and 44 seconds to work out what the heck I’m going to do next. The answer came to me from one of my staff who also works part time with the radio station. She causally laughs her way in to the studio grabs the offending disc and disappears to burn a new one with the urgency of a Hawaiian surfer contemplating his next wave. Such a nonchalant attitude is obviously more frustrating to me than to everyone else at the station. They all appear completely unfazed by the chaos and vocally confidant of my ability to fill the time with useless and uninformative information while playing completely rubbish music. It is a confidence that concerns me; after all do they think that I speak rubbish all the time?

From the US to the Ukraine

June 2008 From the US to the Ukraine
My world is full of extremes. I came from the USA and was home for 4 days then left for the Ukraine. Now there is not a single thing about these two countries that are the same. Oh yes there is, I just remembered, the terrifyingly miserable security guards! They look like they are just about to haul you out of the queue, strip you naked and ask personal questions like “do you wax your chest?” To which, one would reply “er….yes… er no…no, defiantly no” from there they would beat you with electric probes and ask things like ‘Do you know Osama?’, while exerting something very painful in any orifice of their choice. Apart from that, it’s a very different country.
What is quite astonishing is the very truthful fact that in the Ukraine 80% of car drivers never actually passed a driving test but bribed an official. Now this is seen immediately at the point you find yourself hurtling down a under developed motorway system at 150k.
The hotel we stayed in was comfortable and close to the motorway and our conference was situated less than a 500m away on the other side of the road. It was the Getting picked up or taken back to our lodgings that scared the hell out of me.
To navigate from one side of the motor way to the other involved finding a gap in the barriers and doing a u turn while hoping that neither the oncoming traffic or cars racing up from behind take you out. We witnessed 3 accidents there in 3 days and I was in one of them! Other pastors who have been to the same place have seen children die here. Yet incredibly they keep on coming, throwing themselves along a road that was never built to take the volume of traffic and drivers who are not qualified to drive on them.
Ironically the most puzzling question I am left with as I leave the Ukraine is not about road safety but why when the Ukrainians have exchange most of their Lada rust buckets for new BMW’s Audi and Mercedes in the last 10 years could they not exchange there crap filled bog holes with cultured porcelain flushing toilets?

Guns and Bibles

May 2008 Guns and Bibles
I have just spent 3 days visiting the Lakeland revival in Florida with friends and pastors from the west coast. As most had not been to the USA before, part of the inauguration was a trip to the gun dept at Wal-mart. A place where Guns and Bibles can be purchased together along with your coffee and vegetables. Yee-hah!
You can almost feel the need to buy a pump action Beretta which has no sights massive bullets and is simply used for blowing living things away. Oh glory! My opinion on Guns and restraint changed in about the time it took me to lift up one of these machines and aim it at the sweets potatoes. The only things missing were the Stetson, rusty pickup truck parked out back with tobacco chewing wife and seven illiterate children sitting in the rear. My hound ‘Brutus’ would obviously be sitting up front with me, along with my grandmas bible and a large bottle of moonshine. Oh praise the Lord for the good ol’ US of A

Im a Looker!

I want it to be known that I’m a looker! No not a looker, as in I think I’m some sort of undiscovered beauty. No, I’m a looker, a person who looks at themselves while passing mirrors or reflective shop windows , in fact anything that involves the possibility of seeing myself looking back.
Now I know this seems a strange confession but I feel the need to come out, so that all the other lookers in the world do not feel ashamed of their obsession. I feel the need to liberate them to look, stare, smile and even wink at themselves without fear of being judged by those who consider such activity immoral.
This time has come because of family member reprimanded me one evening while I was trying to go to bed. Bed time in our house of adult size teenagers is fast becoming a mission in itself. When they were small you could just put them to bed. But no, these days now we have to run the gauntlet of them lying, hanging and generally lurking on our bed while we try and discreetly get undressed.
It was on this occasion that while we are talking and laughing together that I looked up at myself in the full length mirror. Now what is wrong with that? Why do I have to wait till everyone has left the room before I look? It’s not rude is it? It’s not like scratching your bum in public or picking your nose.
On one occasion one of my leaders became most offended with me because during a small prayer meeting I happened to be caught looking at myself in the lounge mirror. I wasn’t even standing staring; I just simply glanced at my reflection while pacing up and down. Has the world gone flippin’ mad? It’s my face and I like it! I will look, smile, peruse contemplate and generally take in the familiar lines and wrinkles any time I like be it in public or simply with friends and family.
No one has ever said why it’s wrong they just say you shouldn’t do it and tut at the people who do as if they had a STD and were utterly immoral. How did we raise a society to believe it’s wrong to look at your reflection or consider it to be vain or proud? The insanity and small mindedness of it all staggers me.
If you are a looker, look with pride. It’s your face so where ever there is a reflection take time to take it in and enjoy. Here’s looking at you kid!

The Right Thing

24th Feb 2008
Its Sunday afternoon and I sit here at home resting between services, we have just had 2 packed out morning meetings and by the time I manage to leave for some lunch the Chinese were already beginning to arrive for the afternoon service. I know I only have a couple of hours before I get ready for the evening service. But once again the quality of my personal life will be determined by the decisions I make after I have finished writing this blog.

You see Cheryl has been away in Denmark all weekend and is due home tonight at the same time the evening meeting starts. Now when the lady wife goes away, I, like all good mannered men know they want the place as neat and tidy as when they left it. Now what do you think? I’m not a flippin’ angel of course it’s a mess!

Cheryl has taken our daughterwith her leaving me at home with the 2 boys. So we spent the weekend male bonding by entering the world only real men and the insane would dare to enter. This dangerous concoction involved mixing toxic resins in sand to see what would happen. Unfortunately apart from the vapors that make the house smell like a an ICI chemical plant I have fine gritty sand spreading itself slowly but surely all over the house. If preventative measures are not taken soon the sand will eventually find itself deeply nestled in the crevices of my underpants where for some yet unknown reason all sand will inevitably end up.

Oh the pain of making a decision! I could go for a short power nap, I could tidy up or I could prepare in deep prayer for this evenings service. But the question remains, what Is the right thing to do?

Money for Lunch

13th Feb 2008
While walking the 5 - 600 yards uphill to the church I stumbled across a £5 note on the pavement. It was twitching in the wind all screwed up and worn out. It appeared the owner had been the type of person who was always in a hurry just throwing things into their pockets without taking any care as to their safety. In one thoughtless moment they put their hand in to pull out some keys and flicked out the money onto the pavement. Now one would think that I would be happy to find what the careless left behind but I hate finding money on the road. It takes me back to when I was a child and seeing my father lose a £5.00 note. I can still feel the panic and see the distress in his and my mother’s eyes as they tore around the house desperate to make it reappear. It was one of those moments where wish I could fix their troubles but I knew I was powerless to do anything about it.
So here I am looking for the owner of this rather sad and pathetic looking fiver with the same sense of loss and disappointment, knowing that at some point today they are going to reach into their pocket to pay for lunch or maybe a coffee and have the embarrassment of not having any money.
I keep the money clenched in my fist and begin to run up the hill hoping spot to someone who looked like a candidate for loosing something. In the distance there had been a man in a cream jacket with who was walking up toward the city centre. As I neared the top of the hill the man looking rather lost suddenly turned and came back toward me. I’m looking at him thinking he must be the one after all he wasn’t very neat and tidy. He passed by me back down the hill still looking a little lost so I gather the confidence to stop him in his tracks. Now at this point I’m not sure how to approach the matter. I mean if I say did you lose some money he might just think it’s his lucky day and say yes! So I plump for the more generic option and say "Did you lose something just now?” he turns toward me, an aging Indian or Pakistani with slightly wild hair going grey over the ears. Looking shocked and slightly confused he stutters "Er, no I don’t think so" now I’m caught, what do I do next? It’s getting a little awkward and I’m beginning to regret ever starting this conversation, so rather than pursuing the matter I let him go. Turning back up the hill I think to myself "oh well least I got a fiver for my lunch!