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    The Turquoise Coast
    The Turquoise Coast
    The Turquoise Coast
    Ebook107 pages1 hour

    The Turquoise Coast

    By Joei Carlton Hossack

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Trying to clean up business deals in Toronto and experiencing a two month delay in leaving Canada author Joei Carlton Hossack returns to Turkey to write her memoir. In her own words "I have no idea what I was smoking when I came up with that hair brain idea."

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJoei Carlton Hossack
    Release dateAug 26, 2013
    ISBN9781301856862
    The Turquoise Coast
    Author

    Joei Carlton Hossack

    Joei Carlton Hossack is the author of 6 main stream travel books and produces her own line of books called Mini Reads. She is an entertaining and inspirational speaker, a travel-writing and memoir-writing teacher and an amateur photographer. She was born in Montreal and has traveled extensively. She has spent 25 years as an RVer and when not traveling she resides in British Columbia.

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      Book preview

      The Turquoise Coast - Joei Carlton Hossack

      The Turquoise Coast

      By:Joei Carlton Hossack

      Surrey, British Columbia

      Connect with Joei Carlton Hossack

      JoeiCarlton.H@gmail.com

      www.JoeiCarlton.Com

      www.facebook.com/JoeiCarlton

      www.twitter.com/JoeiCarlton

      www.smashwords.com/profile/view/JoeiCarltonHossack

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopy or any information storage or retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher, except for a reviewer who my quote brief passages.

      COPYRIGHT: 2006 Joei Carlton Hossack

      (Original title – Turkey in the Middle)

      Smashwords Edition

      Other books by the same author:

      Restless from the Start (Out of Print)

      Everyone’s Dream Everyone’s Nightmare

      Kiss This Florida, I’m Outta Here

      A Million Miles from Home

      Alaska Bound and Gagged

      Free Spirit – Born to Wander

      Chasing the Lost Dream

      Mini Reads by the same author:

      How I Lost 3 Pounds in 30 Years

      Down on the Farm

      Morocco – Without a Pit to Hiss In

      Stuck in –Grease— Greece

      e-Books

      How I Lost 3 Pounds in 30 Years

      Down on the Farm

      Morocco – Without a Pit to Hiss In

      Stuck in –Grease-- Greece

      My Life in Ruins

      Czeching Out – The Search for Kranz Kafka

      The Turquoise Coast

      Kiss This Florida I’m Outta Here

      A Million Miles from Home

      Alaska Bound and Gagged

      Free Spirit – Born to Wander

      Chapter 1:

      One Magic Place

      It really was not my intention to go back. The first trip to the land of enchantment had been marvelous beyond my wildest imagination. I discovered a place where strangers took you home to meet their family and you felt perfectly safe in going. I loved the exotic balalaika music that accompanied dancers who wore veils and colorful gauzy costumes while performing the seductive belly dance. It was a land where natives built their homes right into the side of a mountain and where sarcophagi lay in the middle of the road demanding that you go around them. For me, it had been magic and I knew that it was a trip that could never have been repeated no matter how hard I tried but I had no choice. I had to go back.

      * * * * *

      I was in my emerald green Ford escort wagon heading for Canada from my condo in Sarasota, Florida at a fairly good clip, driving the seventeen hundred miles in three days. I allowed my mind the luxury of daydreaming about the next six months that I would be spending wandering the villages, towns, cities and countryside of Southeast Asia. All I needed was a few days to take care of all the little incidentals that demanded my attention every year. Then I would be heading overseas to new and exotic places.

      I had read all the guidebooks that I found in the library. I exercised my mind by learning to convert Canadian and U.S. dollars into Vietnamese money and I must confess that I was getting pretty good at it. I didn’t want a repeat of my trip to Turkey where I sat paralyzed at the Dalaman airport trying to figure out what one hundred and eighteen thousand Turkish lira meant compared to the Canadian dollar or one hundred and twenty-seven thousand lira to the U.S. dollar.

      Once I arrived in Toronto I would be staying with my brother, Harry, and his significant other, Sandra, for about a week or so. I needed to have Phil, a good friend of my late husband’s, do my income tax. My teeth needed X-raying and a thorough cleaning. I needed a not-too-close eyeballing from my doctor and, most important; I had to renew the mortgage with the woman who had purchased our last home in the Beach area of downtown Toronto. I wanted to visit Sam, my next door neighbor at the wool store I closed in 1989, so I could get one last half-decent haircut. Last but not least I would check the prices of a return ticket to Great Britain and buy one of those last-minute flights that bounced you around all night. I couldn’t believe that I was doing that again but traveling all night was so much cheaper than traveling at more convenient times. I felt I had months to recuperate from jet lag.

      Every trip I had ever taken on my own started, and ended, with visiting my dear friends Bill and Jean Higgs in Temple Cloud, twelve miles south of Bristol. That part of my journey was a must. They prepared me for the outside world.

      Chapter 2:

      Day Two in Toronto

      On the first day, since I showed up late in the afternoon having gotten caught in early rush hour traffic, I celebrated my Toronto arrival with Harry and Sandra. The next morning I was up early, anxious to get my chores completed. I monopolized the phone from the instant the caffeine hit that perfect spot that engaged my brain and allowed my mouth to spew out pearls of wisdom. I called everyone I liked (friends) or needed (business associates) in my little black book to let them know that I was back in town temporarily and was ready for lunches and/or dinners out, coffee dates and/or shopping sprees, movies and/or just sitting around talking. Unfortunately before my social calendar was all organized for my week or ten-day stay my perfect world crumbled and ground into dust.

      The person, whose mortgage I held in my hot little hands, decided that instead of renewing the mortgage, which would have been a simple affair, she would pay me off. She decided that she wanted to deal with a bank close to home rather than with me who would be gallivanting halfway around the world.

      Our daily telephone conversations became unbearably tedious. Since she didn’t know with whom she could share the information she bored me to death with each decision. She had called all the different banks in her area, along with the credit union where she worked and over the next ten day period had appointments with all of them. She wanted the best possible deal because interest rates were on the way down and all the banks were willing to deal to get her as a new client.

      Blah, blah, blah…..her incessant chatter built up the earwax in both ears until I was totally deaf to her plight. All I wanted was to get out. I had been stuck in Florida all winter long dreaming about traveling the world like an heiress…..or at least like an aging hippy….whatever six dollars a day would get me. Whatever my plans had been, they were put on hold faster than flipping off a light switch. I had to wait until the payoff.

      I wanted to spit.

      * * * *

      After living alone for the past several years, life with Harry and Sandra was a teeth gnashing experience of trying to keep my temper in check and my mouth shut to the point of smoke coming out my ears. We three together were explosive; however, I must be fair.

      When my husband Paul had died in the campground in Northern Germany I lived with Harry and Sandra from mid-July to early November with only a three week break to return to Wales to make sure that my camper was secure. In the darkest months of my life and in the deepest depression imaginable they had both been the most kind and caring people on the face of the earth.

      The following year, when I returned from Florida before going back to England to spend my summer working on three archaeological digs, they had been very tolerant. In both cases my state of mind was extremely fragile. I knew it. They knew it. They treated me very kindly. Besides, in both instances, they knew and I knew that I definitely was not going to be staying long.

      I also had a short visit with them before spending five months

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