It's a quiet friday night in Kaş. The tourists have left, Dave and Chris (Electric Monk) have left, John and Jenny (Blue Talisman) have left and Ingrid and Rolf (Mandara) have left. All back to Europe for family and Christmas. Just us and Rose and Brian (Alixora) left on B Pontoon.
In Kaş all the restaurants along the front are closed as families recover and take stock after the summer season. But hidden down an alley near the Internet cafe is Hanımeli, a tiny Turkish cafe with just three tables inside. Two are empty when we enter the other is occupied by a mixed group of Turks and Germans. In the corner the proprietress' husband is playing gentle traditional Turkish music with his friends - guitar, baglama, bass guitar and electric drum kit. We order double rakıs with water (su) and ice (buz) and chill out in the warm. Without asking, a segmented mandarin and later a slice of chocolate cake arrive. The cafe is like your grandma's front room. Photos on the wall, some old and faded mostly of Kaş and memorable evenings, advertisements for diving companies, a tiny TV (switched off), a shelf of CDs and another of LPs. Not much has changed here for 20 years.
The music warms up, the rakı flows and the Turkish men get up to dance. Bizarrely the band plays a Turkish adaptation of Happy Birthday for one of the Germans. And then it is time to leave. Iyi akşamlar and iyi geceler. Time for bed. This is what living away from home and out of your comfort zone is all about. It just happens.
In Kaş all the restaurants along the front are closed as families recover and take stock after the summer season. But hidden down an alley near the Internet cafe is Hanımeli, a tiny Turkish cafe with just three tables inside. Two are empty when we enter the other is occupied by a mixed group of Turks and Germans. In the corner the proprietress' husband is playing gentle traditional Turkish music with his friends - guitar, baglama, bass guitar and electric drum kit. We order double rakıs with water (su) and ice (buz) and chill out in the warm. Without asking, a segmented mandarin and later a slice of chocolate cake arrive. The cafe is like your grandma's front room. Photos on the wall, some old and faded mostly of Kaş and memorable evenings, advertisements for diving companies, a tiny TV (switched off), a shelf of CDs and another of LPs. Not much has changed here for 20 years.
The music warms up, the rakı flows and the Turkish men get up to dance. Bizarrely the band plays a Turkish adaptation of Happy Birthday for one of the Germans. And then it is time to leave. Iyi akşamlar and iyi geceler. Time for bed. This is what living away from home and out of your comfort zone is all about. It just happens.
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