Somewhere in the noughties So I was on Potsdamer Straße after boxing, sitting in a Moroccan shisha bar, smoking a water pipe and drinking a Turkish tea with a shot of lemon. Turks, Arabs, Germans, Africans walked by dragging their kids in tow. I had been sitting here for a couple of weeks now after boxing and I was gradually beginning to  see the same faces – locals ...

It was 2004, and I decided to approach the Balkans from another end, this time through Bosnia. As I set forth from Berlin, I had a wavering vision of minarets and the old Turkish Baščaršija dreaming of Istanbul. I was impressed by the Bosnian notebooks of weird eastern motifs and secret Muslim villages  of Austrian artist and novelist,  Alfred Kubin. Prior to ...

One Friday not long ago I met with Ero Behrić and Alen Hebilović – two erstwhile figures in Berlin’s Balkan party scene –  in a Turkish café on Oranien Straße, half an hour before cuma – Friday prayers – at the Bosnian mosque on Adalbert Straße near Kotti. They always had cuma at two o’clock at the Bosnian mosque, which was a convenient thing for ...