A good investment

Recently I got an invitation to a night out that had me raising my eyebrows: one of my girlfriends had decided it was time we all manned up and had a poker night in.

My imagination went into overdrive. Pictures flashed through my head of us all sitting in a dark smoke-filled room, cigars dangling from our lips and glasses of whisky in front if us as we muttered "I'll see your three and raise you five" in raspy voices while we casually tossed a few chips onto the pile in the middle.

Clearly I have no idea how to play poker.

The Boy, and many other people actually, have valiantly attempted to teach me but there's simply no teaching someone who has the attention span of a goldfish.

Ten minutes in I normally start to feel daring and throw everything I've got onto the pile on the back of the pair of threes I'm holding. Needless to say I then spend the next few hours watching someone else amass a nice pile of chips in front of them. I call this my 'blaze of glory' act. After a few attempts at playing I'd sworn I'd never play again.

Nevertheless I agreed to go to the game intending to heckle rather than play this time however through a series of circumstances - or more accurately a friend coercing me - I wound up with a pile of chips in front of me and cards dealt out.

I also was given a new name; investment. The friend with the coercive powers had also put my 'buy in' into the kitty in the hopes of a high return. Not a wise move as far as I was concerned but then again miracles do happen.

And they did, I lasted half an hour before I went all in, expecting to be the second person to bow out of the game. Instead I won my hand, a miracle which happened more than once during the course of the night.

Round after round I bet or sat out as the fancy took me, a cheat sheet spread out in front of me still failing to illuminate what I was doing. It also didn't help that two hours in I forgot which colour chip was worth what, making my betting even more erratic. But that still didn't stop me from staying the distance and as the night wore on person after person, including The Boy, bowed out. But somehow my little pile of chips and I stayed the course until the inevitable happened and I lived up to my threat and went out in a blaze of glory and my little pile went to a new home.

But as far as I'm concerned third place is still pretty damn good. And being declared a a good investment was just icing on the cake.

Technophobe? Moi?

Stepping back out into the boiling midday sun, I paused so I could heave my chunky camera bag back up onto my shoulder and utter for the millionth time "when I get back to Oz I'm getting a grown-up phone with a camera, that way I don't have to lug this one around".

The Boy, as ever, merely nodded, in a 'yes dear' kind of way and continued to walk on to the next place we'd marked down in our dog-eared copy of the Lonely Planet.

Once upon a time I had played owner to a pretty, petite camera but discovered the hard way that hostel rooms in Brussels aren't always as secure as they seem, when early one morning my camera made a quick getaway. Cranky and camera-less The Boy and I had decided to splurge on a decent camera. But what we hadn't factored in was that a decent camera also meant a decent size and an even more decently sized bag. Hence the grumbling when it could no longer be forced into the backpack for our daily ramblings.

So true to my word, a mere 24 hours after The Boy and I landed in Oz we found ourselves in a store full of very pretty, highly technical phones. I was half-heartedly listening to the assistant as he droned on, flicking his way through page after page of deals and plans while all that was reverberating around my head was one word - pretty! And as hard as I tried I couldn't make myself pay full attention to what was being said somewhere in the space between me and the pretty phones, or to contribute to the intelligent questions The Boy miraculously kept conjuring up. Rookie mistake I know.

But a few hours later I did walk out of that store with a pretty new phone- A Samsung Galaxy to be exact- clutched feverishly in my hands. Only to discover too late I had no idea how to use it. It's pretty screen made fun water-like noises as I touched it and colourful icons promised hours of procrastination-based fun. But that world remained firmly locked away from me, and I was left with just the basics of phone calls in my grasp.

Ten years ago, when I was just a wee lass of 17, I bought my first phone; a brick-like Nokia. Sturdy, reliable and capable only of performing the essentials like phone calls and text messages it was everything I needed. I turned it on in excitement one hot February afternoon and was easily welcomed with open arms into the world of permanent contact. I loved it unreservedly.

But with this new phone I initially felt conned. Despite all its allure it had thrust me into a world I did not know. I tapped the screen hoping to connect with The Bestie and was rewarded with an off-key blip. I gathered up my courage and hesitantly tried opening an application to see what it contained, all the while trying to ignore my three-year-old nephew who was running around my legs while playing with his grandmother's smart phone, blissfully opening games and playing music like there was no tomorrow.

It was official. I had become the old-fashioned person in the room who didn't know how to use modern technology. I was also facing the fact that I may have to ask a three-year-old child to show me how to use my phone.

Embarrassed I began to open more applications, eventually working out how to send a message (cue witty repartee with the Bestie), check my email and take a photo. Exhausted I turned the screen off.

What the hell had I done?

I did grow used to my new toy, and am now enjoying the world of grown-up phones. But after discovering I can, and often am, chatting to The Bestie simultaneously on three different apps I have to wonder: whatever was wrong with a simple phone with just the basics?

And so it ends...

They say everything has to come to an end, and no matter how much I fought it so did my Year of Madness.

After crawling my way through 20 countries; more bus, plane and train trips than I could count; bike rides at dawn through a sleeping Paris, the discovery of Long Drinks in Finland, wondering at the resilience of humans in Poland, eating my weight in delicious food daily in Turkey, pub-hopping in London and generally just marvelling at the beauty of this world of ours, The Boy and I had to face the fact last week that we were wrestling our backpacks closed and hauling them across Istanbul for the very last time. And we were we going home.

Home to family and friends and all kinds of lovelies, but also home to jobs and responsibilities and generally just being grown-ups. Not an easy concept to grasp when a few hours before I had been trying (in between courses and far too many drinks) to convince The Boy that he actually did want to dance with a belly dancer as we cruised the length of the Bosphorus River.

But now, a week later, I'm writing this ensconced at the library near The Parentals' home in Oz, attempting to escape the pre-summer humidity while beginning the Job Hunt and trying to decide if the past year has in fact been real.

But it's pretty hard to argue with the incredible thong tan on my feet. A lot of hard work went into creating those beauties.

A heart full of Turkey

Bus, train, bus, plane.

My Year of Madness was drawing to a close and I was madly rushing to get my fill of each country before The Boy and I forced our backpacks shut and stumbled onto the next.

But we did grow travel weary and struggled to keep our enthusiasm up, sometimes opting for exploring the food-and-drink side of the cities rather than the historical sides. Not a bad option though when you consider that we stumbled upon this fancy little restaurant/opera room while walking around Belgrade.

Little Bay restaurant, Belgrade, Serbia

But it was Turkey which succeeded in taking my breath away.

Not quite part of Europe and not quite part of Asia I wasn't sure about what to expect but had vague notions of a country with cities rapidly sprouting up everywhere and a chaotic Asia-like speed to it with cars and scooters racing around at break-neck speeds.

Emerging from Istanbul's Ataturk airport at 9pm I definitely wasn't expecting a modern city with a tranquil atmosphere. Breathtaking monuments in the distance were lit up with a soft golden light and the crowded streets and market places flashed by as I sat with my tired head resting against the window of the tram.

But even in the Friday night buzz Istanbul was still peaceful. And this peace permeated the entire country. What's more the people were kind, friendly and helpful and the country itself was stunning.

Anzac Cove, Gallipoli

The Boy at an ANZAC cemetery

Wooden horse of Troy, Troia

Trojan amphitheatre

Afternoon at Pergamon

Library façade at Ephesus

The mineral flats of Pamukkale

Two weeks of wandering and wondering, exclaiming, exploring and dreaming and I still wasn't done with the country which was tough luck for me because I had a mighty long plane ride booked in to take me back to the land of Oz.

Sunset in Cappadocia

Exploring

Fairy chimneys, Cappadocia

View from the top

Medusa eyes

Hagia Sofia

Inside the palace harem, Istanbul

Inside Hagia Sofia

The Blue Mosque

Istanbul Grand Bazaar

Spices

The throngs outside

It's been nearly a week since I left Turkey and I'm still at a loss for words about how to describe it beyond simply amazing, and I'm already imagining about what I would do with another two months there.

But that's the beauty of travel, isn't it?

You can now follow Red Robin Blue on Facebook, simply by clicking here