There are two Turkish worlds in Germany today. The first – the world of the old Turkish Gastarbeiter, ex-guest-workers who came to fuel the German Wirtschaftswunder, and who, for whatever reason, never left. They congregate in enigmatic, featureless Turkish social clubs and cafes, sipping tea and playing tavla (backgammon) while rehashing the politics of exile under framed portraits of Atatürk or Erdoğan ...

It’s a nice thing to be able to walk through the streets of a Turkish neighborhood and not have people stare at you all the time or mob you for autographs. David Bowie must have felt this way in Berlin in the seventies, alone and anonymous for a change – a bit like Ceza, (pronounced “Jeza”, and meaning “punishment”), the ...

Berlin is a swamp: literally, figuratively, and etymologically (Brlo - old Slavic for swamp). It will suck you down if you are not careful - and sometimes you just need to escape to save your soul.  I have been plotting my escape for a while now, even without knowing it. Sometimes I think Belgrade would be a nice place to get ...