Chapter 32: Turkish Coffee

Have you ever had Turkish coffee?

You know, the dark coffee which comes in a minuscule cup, embossed with medieval Persian art. No?

You should try it sometime.

Why?

Oh, why not? That’s why.

I didn't know I was going to have a Turkish coffee yesterday, when I was waiting for a friend, camouflaged with the drizzle and darkness of the night at midtown Toronto. I was hungry. My friend was supposed to meet me at Donlands subway station at 9 pm. I was sitting on the stone bench opposite to the station, around 8:45 pm. That’s how punctual I am, or some might say, jobless. Do you think I was thinking about Turkish coffee at that time? No sir! Not even about a regular coffee which comes in a paper cup. I’m not an avid coffee drinker, you see.

But how did I end up drinking a Turkish coffee?

I don’t know. Things happen.

But the thing is, there weren’t any Turkish coffee shops in that area. As a matter of fact, there weren’t Turkish anything.

I continued to sit there, not minding the fact that I was completely drenched in that supposed drizzle. Minutes passed, but nothing happened.

“Selam dostum! Nasilsin? the sudden loud voice, so close to me and an unknown language made me jump.

“Huh?” I looked around to find a slim man in his late twenties, with a pony tail and a complete smile.

“Nasilsin?” he repeated the last word again.

What, did he expect me to understand him?

“What? No Turkish? It’s OK. Unlike other people here, I know English, you see” his big smile again. His foreign accent was unmistakable. He stressed on the r more than necessary and usedth instead of t. For instance, he said ‘whath’ instead of ‘what’. Not that there was anything wrong with his spelling. It actually sounded musical.

“I saw you from my shop. You didn’t move for a long time. I thought, ‘wait, something’s wrong’ so I came to check up on you. Are you OK?” he asked in a concerned voice.

“You’re welcome to come into my shop and sit there for a while, until it stops raining” he added.

I was sitting there for a long time and I could swear I didn’t see any shop in front of me. There was an abandoned parking lot and the subway station. “Thanks! But what shop?” I stopped before completing the sentence as I saw that small coffee shop behind him as he moved. My jaw dropped when I first saw that coffee shop. It wasn’t anything extraordinary. It was just a small dark shop with green glowing sign which said ‘Gizemli Şeyler – قهوةc (Coffee)’. My jaw dropped because it was now sitting in the place where, minutes ago, there was an abandoned parking lot. I looked around, there was no parking lot to be found.

“Hey” I yelled suspiciously “where did the parking lot go?”

“What parking lot?”

“The abandoned one. Near the station”  I looked at him for answers.

“What station? What’re you talking about man?” he tried to sound clueless but it was obvious that he knew something. 

I looked around, once again, to show him the station. Then I realized I was inside the actual coffee shop. “Are you OK man”  he gently touched my shoulder.

I tried to say something, but only ‘ugh’ came out. When did I enter the coffee shop. I was sitting on a stone bench outside the Donlands subway station. I saw the abandoned parking lot next to it. Then I was listening to the music. Drizzle turned into a rain. I continued sitting there. I heard a voice. That middle eastern looking man spoke to me. He invited me to his coffee shop. Up until that point, I didn’t see any coffee shop in that area, not when I was walking around and definitely not when I was sitting. Then the coffee shop appeared, out of thin air, where the parking lot was! Then, in a blink of an eye, I was inside the coffee shop, without my knowledge of actually going in. My head started to hurt. I repeatedly tried to sequence the events, but it made no sense. It left me confused yet dazzled.

“You look tired my friend, what you need is a good, hot cup of coffee … huh? how about one?”I nodded. “This is a first rate coffee shop man. My father opened it in 1954. Only few people know about this place. But my father liked it like that. I like it like that.” he spoke as he seamlessly moved behind the counter, cleaning and collecting utensils and an old copper pot to make that coffee he promised. I regained my senses, just a little bit, to look around, but still perplexed. His coffee shop was so unique, unlike any other I’ve ever been to. It had beautiful rugs full of intriguing art, the seating area, the doors, the ceiling and the counter top, everything was covered with intricate Persian designs. The place was sophisticated. You know, the kind of sophistication that comes with ancient things.

‘I must have traveled back in time or traveled so far away’ I thought.

“So, you like this place?” his back was facing me as he was making the coffee.

“Yeah, It is beautiful”  I replied. I walked around the shop, exploring the wall paintings and the few books that were purposely scattered on the floor. Finally I settled beside the counter to watch the elaborate coffee preparation. Million questions were boiling in my mind, ready to come oozing out of my mouth in the first glance of opportunity. But the opportunity never came. Maybe I just didn’t care. Maybe there were two me’s at that point. One was the logical one, who always sought answers and thrived in progression. The other me, never asked any questions, probably because he knew all the answers to every question there is. Or maybe, he didn’t want to know any answers. Maybe he knew answers always spoiled the fun of a good mystery.

The man worked hard for a long time to make that single cup. He carefully roasted and ground the beans and then boiled it with filtered water in the copper pot. It was mesmerizing to watch him make that coffee; to watch his long hands performing different activities which were required to make that cup, such as adding sugar cubes to the pot, stirring the pot and adding crushed spices in the boiling coffee.

“What kind of coffee is this?” my voice sounded calm. I felt calm, actually.

“A Turkish kind, of course. It is so good to have one during rainy times”  his reply didn’t interrupt his focus.

He took the pot out of the stove and placed it in the counter. He took out a fine porcelain cup out of the cupboard. It was small yet stunning. I’m not usually the one to marvel at the designs and patterns in vessels and rugs. But that cup, the entire shop for that matter, was ensorcelling. There was an underlying faint green glow in that shop. It somehow seems important to describe. But I’m not sure why.

He poured the hot coffee into the cup. The dark coffee filled the room with a pleasant aroma.

“Enjoy my friend” 

I took a small sip. It filled my insides with warmth and asserted a certain sense of calmness. A forceful assurance, an understanding that everything is just fine.

“Mmm” I let out an involuntary moan as the taste of pure coffee took over my throat.

“Glad you like it” he smiled from behind the counter. 

“The party is not over yet. I also have Semolina cookies, Aşure, Zerde, Sultac, Tavuk Göğsü, Keşkül, Pişmaniye … you name it, I have it.”  His face was unusually bright with delight. He looked so pleased as if serving me fulfilled his life’s purpose.

“They all sound so good. But I don’t know what any of those means” I confessed.

“What?” he yelled in surprise. He was taken aback. “How come? I know you are not familiar with the language. But you are here now. Haven’t you tasted any of these? These are tasty Turkish delights” he pointed me towards a clean glass case underneath the counter. It was filled with delicious looking flavorful desserts and snacks. But I’m sure those desserts, the glass counter, even the coffee shop, for that matter, weren’t actually there or maybe invisible to my eyes until he pointed them to me. I was starting to understand the existence of that Turkish coffee place.     

“No” I nodded. “I’ve never heard about any of these desserts. Sorry” I thought of explaining the oddity of my situation. But then I thought ‘what’s the point. I’m here now. I’ll taste every single one of those now’. I did … and I’m glad I did.

After all those buttery-sugary treats, I still felt light, like a feather floating aimlessly with the wind. But my hunger had vanished.

“Ah, that was good. Thank you so much” I voiced my gratitude.

“Don’t mention it. I saw you, out in the rain, completely drenched. You looked cold but calm. I liked it. So, I thought ‘well, if anyone deserved a hot cup of coffee, it’s you’. It is Turkish hospitality my friend.” he concluded.

“Listen, I only have three dollars on me.” before I finished saying what I have to say, I was interrupted.

“Dollars huh?, keep it. You need it more than me.” he rejected my offer.

“But I insist. Otherwise I will feel bad. “He thought about it for awhile. Reaching to a conclusion, he said “mm, we don’t want that. Do we? … OK, give me fifty cents “I searched my pocket and collected two twenty five cents and gave it to him. “Here you go”

“Thanks you sir” he bowed.

“Thank YOU. This was amazing. I’ll definitely visit again.”

“Don’t worry about it. Whenever you NEED a coffee, I’ll pay you a visit.” he replied. Somehow that reply wasn’t as mysterious as it should have been.

He walked with me to the exit. He opened the front door for me. Outside the door, I saw the wet stone bench facing the station. Rain soaked road was reflecting the street lights. The street was empty except for the parked cars and mopeds. I thanked him once again and started walking towards the bench without looking back.

“There you are” I heard my friend’s voice from behind. I looked around. She was standing at the corner of the subway station. “I was waiting here for ten minutes. Where were you?”  She questioned me. I sensed that she was angry. “I was … “ I struggled not knowing what to say “You just walked out of that abandoned parking lot. How come? What were you doing inside?” she kept asking questions relentlessly.

“Drinking coffee” I said calmly. 

“There? At this time? Nobody goes in there” she looked at the parking lot in disbelief. It was just an empty ground with yellow stripes indicating that it once used to be a parking lot. There was a beautiful Turkish coffee shop, minutes ago where the open parking ground, now stood. I can’t say that I was surprised.

I shrugged and said “It was raining. That’s why”

“You do this every time, you make me wait. It’s not cool” she looked angry still.

“You know what. I’ll make it up for you.” I said 

“How?” she asked, annoyed but interested. 

“Have you ever had a Turkish coffee?” I asked.

“No” I somehow expected that reply.

“I heard somewhere that Turkish coffee is so good for this cold weather. I have $2.50. I’ll buy one for you. I know a place” I winked at her. 

I thought she would protest at this strange suggestion, but thankfully, she didn’t.

“OK” she said. I put my arms around her. She gave me a warm smile as a response and wrapped her arms around my waist. We started to walk on that rain drenched road in search of a hot Turkish coffee.

Chapter 29: Coffee Culture

 ‘Coffee Culture’ is an elegant yet a ‘not so famous’ coffee shop which lies in the eastern corner of Scarborough, a suburban town of Toronto. It has a warm fireplace corner, it is spacious with large French windows unlike other indie coffee shops in town, it has many old Victorian gas lamps, mild soothing jazz music oozing across the hall and a flawless Asian waitress with a constant and beautiful smile. These are some of the reasons for which I visit the place almost every day at late evenings when the sky gives out some of its last pink shades. Rain or shine! Nothing would stop my visit. But for some weird reasons, I’ve never seen the place closed for any holidays. It stayed open until midnight for New Year, Christmas and even for Thanksgiving, while most shops in the town were closed. I’ve seen the place in all four seasons.  I’ve been there on a cold snowy winter night, a hottest summer afternoon, a misty spring morning and also on a breezy fall evening. It never changed; even the smile on the waitress' face stayed the same. Thelonious Monk, Charles Mingus and Art Blakey restlessly played their jazz instruments every day. I kept seeing the same faces again and again. An old fighting Polish couple, a sad loner with a four day beard and a rugged suit, a gang of young Italian men, playing board game, two college girls who don’t know the purpose of the word ‘like’. But I never got bored. In fact the place grew on me.

I’ll sit by the window corner and browse the internet or read a good book or just create some pencil sketches. Occasionally the waitress would look up and smile at me which usually would cheer me up, to say the least, even if I’m in an extremely lousy mood. For the past six months, I’m planning to ask her name and then to ask her out. I can’t seem to find the right reason, but whenever I try, I usually end up in asking for a double-double brewed coffee which I absolutely hate, by the way. It’s one of their worst! I understand why I’m so scared to ask her out, that’s because I’ve never asked a girl out. But why am I asking for a double-double every time? Why not, a mocha or an iced coffee? I could ask her out whenever I see her outside the shop, whenever she is not working. That would be great! But the problem is that I’ve never seen the girl anywhere outside the shop.
If you ever lived in Scarborough, you’d know that it’s impossible to not see a person anywhere outside. We have a town center court which is a huge mall for the town. It also has a theater, a school, a college and an Old Catholic church. If you live in Scarborough for just six months, you would have seen every single face in this town including the faces of our town’s official serial killer and the proud raccoon rapist!
But I swear, I've never seen the girl anywhere outside the shop. I often imagine that she is some kind of an artificial intelligent robot, who is programmed just to smile. Late at night, when everyone leaves, the bald owner of the coffee shop deactivates and carries her to the dark basement. My theory just doesn't fit. But I’d like to give it some ‘benefit of the doubt’.

-Someday, Late at night-

It was way past midnight. The shop usually closes exactly at midnight. But exception occurs, just for me, when she’s working late. When she’s sweeping the floor, clearing the tables or wiping the glass doors and when she’s finally done with everything she’d give me a complete ‘smile of the day’ with a pleading request in her eyes for me to leave. I’d do my best in smiling back, not as pretty as hers and I’d leave. That day was one of those exceptional days, just me and her! I was sitting at one of the corners reading a book called ‘Galileo and the Roman inquisition’. I've already made up my mind! Today, I decided, I’m going to talk to her, at least to make sure that she’s not a robot. I was waiting for her request to leave. Moments later, the jazz music was turned off and I could sense that she’s approaching me. I didn't look up as if I’m so into the book, honestly I didn't understand a single word!
“Ahem” she cleared her throat.
I looked up! “Oh, is it time already, I didn't know, sorry”
She graciously smiled. That was a ‘that’s okay, now get out’ smile!
I closed the book, zipped my bag and prepared to leave. “Nice night today, huh?”
She nodded and smiled.
“Huh, what’s the time now?” I tried harder.
She pointed at a big old European wooden clock, above the fireplace.
“Sorry, probably I shouldn't ask you this, but can you talk?” that was my last arrow.
“Yeah, of course, I can” that was not the best voice I've ever heard, but it was good enough!
I was so glad, that I finally heard her voice. No one would understand how happy I was. That cleared everything. She’s not a robot who is programmed just to smile. Bald owner doesn't deactivate and carry her to the basement every day. Like me, she is a human, just a human.
“Don’t mistake me, I've been coming to this place for over a year, but I've never heard your voice.”
She smiled again!
“It’s already half past midnight! I should be going, so…”
When I sensed that she’s politely kicking me out, I was walking outside. I didn't ask her name. But I talked to her. That was a giant leap. ‘Anyway’, I thought, ‘I’m going to be coming here every day, I’ll ask her tomorrow!’
But for the next few days, I tried my best! I couldn't even ask for my usual coffee. The place was crowded; she was busy the whole time, making coffee, smoothies, sandwiches and plain cream cheese bagels. She was always making something and the owner served everyone. He gave my coffee in a paper cup. I missed her! She knows that I prefer the white plaster mug. She never serves in a paper cup. She knows me. I even compromised my ‘window-corner’ seat, just to have a glimpse of her. For the next few days, I sat in one of the small brown rusty wooden chairs that were lined, in front of the toaster, where she usually prepares bagels. I never had a chance to talk to her after that night. She was leaving the shop, early. She never worked late after that night. No exceptional nights. I didn't know why. I even thought that it was because of me. I made her talk. The shop’s owner stayed late every day and would just shout “Time to leave, 12am”
I hated him because he was not her. He never smiles, even if he does, it turns out to be a sarcastic smile criticizing my daily visit. Slowly, I started to like her, more than the shop. I stopped noticing all those strangers, and I stopped caring for the gas lamps and the jazz flute. I started going to the place, just to see her working and her occasional smile. I wanted to ask her the reason for which she stopped working late. I just wanted to ask ‘Is it me? If so, I’d never try to talk to you again, just work at late nights, so that it would be me and you again! I don’t like your owner’

Suddenly I started to feel so lonely. I never felt this way, before that night. Whenever I see a perfect couple, a passionate kiss, two holding hands, I couldn't stop but feel envious about it. I even replace the couples with me and her in my mind. I lived with her in my dreams. I go for long walks, holding her tender hands, in an endless road, I kissed her soft pale pink lips, passionately, whenever she smiled and she always smiled. I never asked her name even in my dreams.

One day, after a long time, I decided to stay at the shop, late at night. There was no crowd at the place. It was ‘Nuit-Blanche’ night in Toronto. Nuit-Blanche is a French all-night festival for celebrating contemporary arts and to welcome the fall. Each year, almost everyone in the city gathers at downtown and goes wicked. This year is no exception. But I stayed in Scarborough and the place stayed open. I expected her to leave early, but to my surprise, she stayed late while the owner started early to attend ‘Nuit Blanche’, to go wicked. Exactly at midnight, the remaining few left the place. I was sitting still, looking out of the window. The street was empty and the place was so quiet except for the clinging sound of the glasses which indicated that she was cleaning them. The dancing flames in the fireplace and the nineteenth century sax, made her look more beautiful. ‘Even I couldn't forgive me, if I didn't ask her name, everything is perfect now’ I thought!

I stood up, I made up my mind, I walked towards the desk. She was now cleaning the toaster. I was so confident. I've never felt that way, in my entire life. I didn't know what made me so optimistic. It must be the environment. It was perfect. It was just me and her, like the old days, with romantic sax music in the background.

“Hi, how are you doing?” I asked her in a cheerful tone.
“Good! How about you?” she replied with one of her special smiles.
“Yeah, same here … listen…” something interrupted me!
It was a bright yellow pair of headlights shining out of the window.
“He’s here!” she joyously shouted.
“Who?”
“My boyfriend, he is picking me up today, we are going for a candle light, isn’t he amazing?”
“...Yeah, he is!” I stammered while he barged in. He was in his early thirties. He was bald. He was wearing a pure white suit and a pair of expensive black framed glasses. He must be a businessman of some sort.

She was so excited, that she ran past me and hugged him. She gave him all kinds of her smiles. It took me one whole year to collect all of her smiles, but he's getting them in an instant. She kissed him with passion. He didn't seem to be excited. But he kissed in her lips, while she smiled. It happened for about five minutes.
“Ahem…” I cleared my throat. “Sorry, to interrupt you guys, I must be going, so...”
“Oh! So sorry!” she said, as if she just noticed! I paid for my double-double brewed coffee and I left the place. It was drizzling outside. The rain drenched road seemed to be endless. I couldn't spot anyone. Each and everyone in the town would be at the festival, dancing and screaming. Scarborough looked soulless that night. Slowly, came the fall winds from nowhere and announced an end to the summer. I noticed that the leaves were turning into a pale and a pleasant orange. The night was getting colder. I took my jacket out. The neon sign board which said ‘Coffee Culture’ was still glowing. I looked back at the place for one last time and started walking.