Turkish delights
While living in Paris in my younger days, I struck up a happy friendship with a Turkish lass called Ozlem who came from the city of Izmir. She had enormous, beautiful, green eyes in a face that one couldn't quite place squarely on the racial map. She looked neither European nor Arabic and was blessed with a complete lack of self consciousness. Ozlem did all she could to emphasise to me and anyone else who dared ask that every last bone in her elegant body was European, not Asian. She had a brazen, in-your-face way of doing so. An example of this which springs to mind was her fondness for not troubling herself with any items of clothing while indoors. This did not bother me in the slightest when we were alone in my flat but the trouble was that I did not live alone; I shared a poky little apartment in a seedy part of Paris with a German chap and a Welshman and often had a fight on my hands when requesting the excitable girl to exercise restraint.
Ozlem worked as an au pair and was away looking after the spoiled progeny of some wealthy Parisians for much of the time but she would come and visit me whenever she had time off. One Saturday morning, Ozlem turned up at my flat looking like death warmed up. The parents of the children she was paid to look after had gone away for a couple of days and the little terrors had conspired to make Ozlem's Friday night one never to be forgotten if she lived to see a hundred. Recognising her dire need of restorative rest, I suggested she slept, which she gratefully agreed to do, while I pottered about doing rewarding things like cleaning pots greased over with congealed lard. Ozlem was obviously very tired because I did not see her until later that evening. In the interim some friends turned up with enough Kronenbourg lager to float a small barge and we fell to putting it away in our usual appreciative style. Presently, my friend, Laurent, got up to go to the loo and was met by the sight of Ozlem emerging from my bedroom and walking down the corridor towards the bathroom.
Laurent returned to the living room and sank heavily into his chair with a deep sigh. Beads of sweat were visible on his forehead. He grabbed at his bottle of lager and hastily emptied it down his throat. When I asked what the matter was he gave me a distant look at first. At length he found the strength to say something.
"Gitau," Laurent gasped, "either I have died and gone to heaven or it is time for me to give up drinking. Please tell me it is the former. Please!"
"What's up?" I asked.
"I stepped in the corridor and this gorgeous tall girl with long hair was walking towards me," he said.
He reached for another Kronenbourg and took a healthy swig, shook his head as if to shake out cobwebs and resumed his story. "She was not wearing a stitch of clothing, my man. Not a stitch!"
"Oh," said I. "Most odd." I, to my shame, had failed to inform my friends that my bedroom was occupied.
"Odd! Odd? Is that all you can say? You are joking, aren't you?" Laurent exclaimed.
"Well," I said, "what did she do? Did she talk to you?"
"No," said Laurent. She swept past me, walked into the bathroom and sat on the loo without bothering to shut the door. It was as though I did not exist!"
"That's the reason I moved into this flat, mate," I said quietly and slowly. “What you saw was our resident ghost. She only comes out once in a while and is rarely seen, so consider yourself blessed, my friend."
Laurent took this in while nodding sagely. He spent the remainder of the afternoon in silence. The poor chap was never quite himself after that day.
If I was puzzled about Ozlem's ethnicity it was perhaps fitting. Turkey confuses the world because it is slap bang in the middle between Europe and Asia - hence the deliciously exotic nature of females like Ozlem. The predominant religion in Turkey is Islam but the country is fiercely secular and many of its nationals, like Ozlem, defy anything that places them in a religious box. Since 2005 Turkey has embraced the European motor racing tradition and run its own Grand Prix in Istanbul. Upon learning that there was to be a Turkish race introduced on the Formula One calendar, my first instinct was to sneer and cavil. "Pah!" I said, "the bastards have scratched the excellent A1 Ring in Austria from the calendar and gone to Turkey. No wonder the sport is going to the dogs." I was delighted to find that all my instincts were wrong. The racing in Istanbul has been magnificent for the two years we have been privileged to enjoy it. The circuit is simply marvellous - a true racer's circuit. Isn't it time someone gave a name to that notorious set of four corners known simply as "Turn 8"? The two most challenging corners in F1 racing are Eau Rouge in Belgium and Turn 8 in Turkey. The latter awaits our delectation this weekend.
So much heat and light has been generated by the arrival of young Lewis Hamilton into Formula One and the Ferrari/McLaren shenanigans that a newly arrived visitor from Mars would be forgiven for thinking that there are no other teams and no other drivers. I have (sometimes) noticed the others. For example, BMW have exceeded my expectations. I thought it would take more time for them to transform the old Sauber into a winning team but they haven't. BMW is the number three contender for the constructors' championship without a doubt. This puts to shame the more obvious also-rans like Renault, Toyota and Honda. Renault seem to have fallen off a cliff with the departure of Fernando Alonso. One could cut Heikki Kovalainen some slack because he is new to the team but not Giancarlo Fisichella who is both an F1 veteran and a seasoned Renault driver. There is clearly something lacking in car development at Renault this year. I think the smart money has to be on Fisichella getting the chop at the end of this year. I am also inclined to think that Renault will ditch their legendary parsimony and pay Fernando Alonso anything he wants if he will only come back.
The two big Japanese teams have bigger problems. Toyota are reputed to have a budget equalling that of the big boys but have indicated a clear desire to drive in reverse. You would have thought with money, a proven and experienced race winner like Ralf Schumacher - a chap who ought to be able to call upon the advice of the most successful driver of all time, his own brother! - and a skilled ex-Renault boy, Jarno Trulli, the team would be a class act. Far from it. I think the mistake was tying themselves to paying Ralf far too much money from the beginning. He didn't think he had to do an awful lot and his attitude seems to have affected the entire team. Things at Honda are not much better. Again money is not an issue and there should be no question marks about superlative chaps like Rubens Barrichello and Jenson Button but the team is sorely floundering. I think management is at fault personally and heads should be rolling soon. I mean to say, when was the last time you heard a team admit that the car was a mess because they had ballsed up the design of their wind tunnel?
We have seen emotion play with the results of races this season. Istanbul Park is not exactly the sort of place to drive at when a chap's emotions are running riot, though. Calm heads and steady hands are essential in Turkey. I have no doubt that it will be a brilliant race and trust that like me you will,
Enjoy Turkey!
Gitau
22 August 2007
Ozlem worked as an au pair and was away looking after the spoiled progeny of some wealthy Parisians for much of the time but she would come and visit me whenever she had time off. One Saturday morning, Ozlem turned up at my flat looking like death warmed up. The parents of the children she was paid to look after had gone away for a couple of days and the little terrors had conspired to make Ozlem's Friday night one never to be forgotten if she lived to see a hundred. Recognising her dire need of restorative rest, I suggested she slept, which she gratefully agreed to do, while I pottered about doing rewarding things like cleaning pots greased over with congealed lard. Ozlem was obviously very tired because I did not see her until later that evening. In the interim some friends turned up with enough Kronenbourg lager to float a small barge and we fell to putting it away in our usual appreciative style. Presently, my friend, Laurent, got up to go to the loo and was met by the sight of Ozlem emerging from my bedroom and walking down the corridor towards the bathroom.
Laurent returned to the living room and sank heavily into his chair with a deep sigh. Beads of sweat were visible on his forehead. He grabbed at his bottle of lager and hastily emptied it down his throat. When I asked what the matter was he gave me a distant look at first. At length he found the strength to say something.
"Gitau," Laurent gasped, "either I have died and gone to heaven or it is time for me to give up drinking. Please tell me it is the former. Please!"
"What's up?" I asked.
"I stepped in the corridor and this gorgeous tall girl with long hair was walking towards me," he said.
He reached for another Kronenbourg and took a healthy swig, shook his head as if to shake out cobwebs and resumed his story. "She was not wearing a stitch of clothing, my man. Not a stitch!"
"Oh," said I. "Most odd." I, to my shame, had failed to inform my friends that my bedroom was occupied.
"Odd! Odd? Is that all you can say? You are joking, aren't you?" Laurent exclaimed.
"Well," I said, "what did she do? Did she talk to you?"
"No," said Laurent. She swept past me, walked into the bathroom and sat on the loo without bothering to shut the door. It was as though I did not exist!"
"That's the reason I moved into this flat, mate," I said quietly and slowly. “What you saw was our resident ghost. She only comes out once in a while and is rarely seen, so consider yourself blessed, my friend."
Laurent took this in while nodding sagely. He spent the remainder of the afternoon in silence. The poor chap was never quite himself after that day.
If I was puzzled about Ozlem's ethnicity it was perhaps fitting. Turkey confuses the world because it is slap bang in the middle between Europe and Asia - hence the deliciously exotic nature of females like Ozlem. The predominant religion in Turkey is Islam but the country is fiercely secular and many of its nationals, like Ozlem, defy anything that places them in a religious box. Since 2005 Turkey has embraced the European motor racing tradition and run its own Grand Prix in Istanbul. Upon learning that there was to be a Turkish race introduced on the Formula One calendar, my first instinct was to sneer and cavil. "Pah!" I said, "the bastards have scratched the excellent A1 Ring in Austria from the calendar and gone to Turkey. No wonder the sport is going to the dogs." I was delighted to find that all my instincts were wrong. The racing in Istanbul has been magnificent for the two years we have been privileged to enjoy it. The circuit is simply marvellous - a true racer's circuit. Isn't it time someone gave a name to that notorious set of four corners known simply as "Turn 8"? The two most challenging corners in F1 racing are Eau Rouge in Belgium and Turn 8 in Turkey. The latter awaits our delectation this weekend.
So much heat and light has been generated by the arrival of young Lewis Hamilton into Formula One and the Ferrari/McLaren shenanigans that a newly arrived visitor from Mars would be forgiven for thinking that there are no other teams and no other drivers. I have (sometimes) noticed the others. For example, BMW have exceeded my expectations. I thought it would take more time for them to transform the old Sauber into a winning team but they haven't. BMW is the number three contender for the constructors' championship without a doubt. This puts to shame the more obvious also-rans like Renault, Toyota and Honda. Renault seem to have fallen off a cliff with the departure of Fernando Alonso. One could cut Heikki Kovalainen some slack because he is new to the team but not Giancarlo Fisichella who is both an F1 veteran and a seasoned Renault driver. There is clearly something lacking in car development at Renault this year. I think the smart money has to be on Fisichella getting the chop at the end of this year. I am also inclined to think that Renault will ditch their legendary parsimony and pay Fernando Alonso anything he wants if he will only come back.
The two big Japanese teams have bigger problems. Toyota are reputed to have a budget equalling that of the big boys but have indicated a clear desire to drive in reverse. You would have thought with money, a proven and experienced race winner like Ralf Schumacher - a chap who ought to be able to call upon the advice of the most successful driver of all time, his own brother! - and a skilled ex-Renault boy, Jarno Trulli, the team would be a class act. Far from it. I think the mistake was tying themselves to paying Ralf far too much money from the beginning. He didn't think he had to do an awful lot and his attitude seems to have affected the entire team. Things at Honda are not much better. Again money is not an issue and there should be no question marks about superlative chaps like Rubens Barrichello and Jenson Button but the team is sorely floundering. I think management is at fault personally and heads should be rolling soon. I mean to say, when was the last time you heard a team admit that the car was a mess because they had ballsed up the design of their wind tunnel?
We have seen emotion play with the results of races this season. Istanbul Park is not exactly the sort of place to drive at when a chap's emotions are running riot, though. Calm heads and steady hands are essential in Turkey. I have no doubt that it will be a brilliant race and trust that like me you will,
Enjoy Turkey!
Gitau
22 August 2007
posted by Gitau at 12:51 pm
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