Two versions of turkish culture

I cycle all day under an overcast sky feeling ready to jump off my bike and put on my rain suit. The animal kingdom around me doesn`t feel the need for protection against Mother Nature`s occasional bouts of pissing down her heavenly waters on us the mortal lower beings down on earth`s surface.

No, the animal kingdom is busy preparing for the fast approaching spring, the tradional mating season and reproduction time. All day I see male peacocks slashing it out with the competition meanwhile trying to herd together a flock of females.
Whenever the poor sod is distracted by females still on the loose or other males, someone or other will steal a few females out of his treasured flock.

Even in the peacock world all is square in love and war!

It is late afternoon when I decide to have my midday break in a small german village with the difficult to pronounce name of Pretzier. Cobble stone streets and old stone houses that date from well before the second war, I presume this place must have been too small for the Alleid Forces to bomb to pieces, mabye it was not even on their maps.

I enter a small turkish coffee house whose front window told me "Wir verkaufen Dönner und Bier".

Upon entering a wave of sweet nargileh tabbaco approaches me while I try to adjust my eyes to the dank and dark interior. Eight or nine tables are placed on each side of the small oblong room, a nargileh - turkish waterpipe - on each table.

detecting the sweet sugary smell of turkish mint tea among the nargileh odour I take a table at the window...yeah a turkish dönner kebab with beer and a mint tea to top it off.

A group of older turkish males in pale and dusty suits play cards at one table, each of them looking relaxed and occasionally talking a drag from the nargileh. Small cups of expresso and mint tea for them while soft chitchat rules the conversation at their table.

It is a bottle of Raki, the turkish version of the greek ouzou, on the other table that has customers, a group of rowdish young turkish males playing dominoe, no nargileh for them but a ashtray full to overflow with sigarette butts, no pale old suits for them but blue jeans and black leather coats.
Their banter is loud, excited and jumping from turkish to german and back again.

Interesting to see this complete change in culture in what are in essence one and the same people but different in age

written by  heraclio on August 4, 2000 from Berlin, Germany
from the travel blog: 600 km. to Berlin
tagged CycleTripAmsterdamBerlinForestWildCampingGermany
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