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 26: A City That Kissed Me - 1

For all those people out there, reading these words with immense patience and graceful expectations, let me tell you a tale, a tale about a magical land filled with art and joyous music, far far away from the place where you sit. The tale starts on a fine Thursday morning from a beautiful park bench facing the majestic blue ocean. I was sitting on the bench, lost in my thoughts, deep down in my heart, feeling sad. I had some concerns which disturbed me frequently. I tried to move out of the place, where I'm staying for some reasons, but later I came to know that it is not possible to do that because of a contract. There was this loneliness, hectic college work and an argument with my close friend which I wish I could take back. I thought that I was in some kind of a cage, longing for freedom, freedom to fly away from the world I know, from all the sorrows and feelings. I was watching the seagulls flying high above the ocean, far away from the civilization and people. Watching them, for more than a hour, makes you want to fly, fly to a faraway place where everything is beautiful, peaceful and colorful. Obsessed with these dreamy thoughts, I decided to fly away!

 The bench from which the tale begins! 

 Fortunately the following day was a Good Friday. I only had the thought of flying far away, but I had no plans to execute. So when I started thinking about the possible destinations that I could go for and return back within three days, I came up with three options. Sudbury, Montreal and Niagara falls. After much thought, I eliminated Sudbury and Niagara since Sudbury required well laid plans as it is a northern part of the world and Niagara is too close from the place where I'm staying. It won't require three days. So, I made a tick on Montreal, not knowing the fact that the trip is going to change my life, forever! I heard some very simple expressions about Montreal, back when I was in India like 'It is a nice place with beautiful buildings', 'It is a cool place' etc. So I had no expectations about the place. Pictures in Google images and other sites weren't that impressive. I ticked this place because I had no other options. Within dusk, I had a slight idea of what the city has to offer, about the accommodation and the ride which is going to get me there. I decided to tell Dominic about my plan as we have photography and our cameras in common. Within that midnight, we made sure that we get a ride to Montreal. (thanks to kijiji.ca - the rideshare column.)

-Bright Dawn of the Good Friday- We didn't say a thing about the trip to our roommates. Before anyone woke up from their nice and cozy sleep we were standing near the "Gate 3" of Scarborough Town Center waiting for our ride to show up with packed bags in which there were only two T-shirts, brush, paste and some apples. This is an advantage I'm having right now. Nobody cares about me or asks questions about my whereabouts. Even if I'm gone for a week or two, nobody is going to shed a tear or worry about me. But the consequent loneliness is the price one has to pay. We were supposed to leave from Scarborough Town Center at 9 AM. But after three courses of betrayals from three different drivers we finally found a nice Arabic man who offered a ride to Montreal. There were already three people, sitting inside the car. One person, was sitting in front, near the driver. I swear I never had a chance to take a glimpse at him. All I know was that he had a long and weird hair. The other two people were a couple, in their fifties. Besides them the car was full of newspapers and I found a place to sit near a pile. The couple were kind enough to share the space at the back of the car for Dominic. Driver asked "Shall we?" After a nod of agreement the doors were locked and the engine was ignited. After a minute or two, that elegant vehicle geared up and found racing with all the other vehicles, in the neat and smooth 'Highway 401', North America's longest highway!

I never had a chance to travel outside Toronto, before Montreal. Toronto is just the exaggerated and organized version of Chennai, the city which I call home. So, nothing in Toronto, to this date, got my attention. In my opinion, everyone in Toronto are just surviving, nobody seems to be living. Life is so complicated! Nobody stops to hear and admire a musician in a subway or a baby's smile in a bus. Everything is organized and in a hurry. No one stops, not even for a second. So, more than the destination, I was excited about the six hour long drive. We slowly got out of Toronto, the rush, the hurry and the cluster of buildings. At last I saw the sign I was hoping to see. 'Thank You for visiting Toronto, Ontario's capital!' The vehicle reached a whooping speed of 120km/hr. We crossed that sign board and that's when we had our first conversation. I was sitting there with all the newspapers, not believing that we were officially out of Toronto. "So, what brings you to this road trip?" It was the husband. "Montreal! For the Easter holidays." Dominic replied with a smile. "That's amazing! I'm sure you guys are going to have a great time there." He then, introduced himself and his wife. "I'm John and this is my wife Jess."(Names changed) "Hello guys" this was Jess. She has an amazing voice, a right proportion of command and sweetness. We later found that John is from Poland and Jess is from Quebec. John is a traveller and has travelled to a countless number of countries in all the continents and surprisingly he knew a lot about India and Indian food, particularly Kerala. Jess is an intelligent woman, the one you could identify right after a single glimpse. Within an interesting hour, we had many set of conversations about India, Boat house, the name Madras, British rule, Kerala food, Elephants, Toronto zoo etc. By the time the car was passing by a beautiful quiet village. Once you set foot outside of Toronto, it's all about beautiful villages, blue lakes and farms. Most of the sights I saw, were nothing short of spectacular. There are some people in this world whom I love the most, the people who seem to enjoy the beauty of this world with me. I wished that they were there in that ride with me. I saw a narrow road in the middle of a barren field that ends in a magnificent blue ocean. No people, no noise except the hush of the winds and a beautiful wooden house in the middle of the same field, with ocean in the backdrop. The vehicle, in a constant speed, was crossing some peaceful villages, small yet dense woods, lagoons, streams, rivers, farms, barren lands and some roads to nowhere. Another hour later, we finally came to a halt. "Alright, break for 10 minutes" I heard the driver's voice. I was hoping for a break too because of a mighty natural phenomenon.

  There was a very small burger shop and a closed convenience store at that place. I couldn't see any other building, not even a house. It is a typical location for a sleazy Hollywood horror movie or maybe for a road trip genre. After a nice and smooth response for the nature's call I had a cheese burger. Not much to say about this part because nothing happened, maybe except for the cute country girl, who served me. I looked through the glass window of that shop, the mystery third man of our car was stretching his arms, facing the other side. Again, nothing about him, except for the weird hairstyle. Skipping some parts like 'shall we?, nod of agreement, engine ignition' we were back in the cozy car, racing again through the highway. I slept, I woke up, gazed through the window, passed through a city called Brockville, Thousand islands, saw the exit sign board of Ontario, welcome sign board of Quebec and finally we took a diversion, entered into another lane, the lane which read 'Montreal.' The initial few minutes into the outskirts of the city, failed to create an impression. Less than ordinary buildings, busy roads, Tim Hortons coffee shops (as common as sighting a car in a road). The car diverged from the road and threw us out near a subway station. "This is the Namur subway station and this would take you inside the city. Enjoy your visit." again it's the Driver's voice. We bid a reluctant goodbye to John and Jess. As the engine sound faded away, we realized that we were the two new strangers who knew nothing except the name of that mysterious and unknown city!

Namur Subway Station

(Note: There are two important notes in this post)
(Note 1: Keeping in mind that, the tale of Montreal is too long to wrap up in a single post, I have divided into two posts.)
(Note 2: Ted and Frenzie, I'm sure you guys are out there somewhere, reading this post, sitting in a cozy couch and tasting one of the finest wines ever made. This note is to say that it was my pleasure to meet you people. You guys are amazing!)