Turkiye

A lot of you may not know this, but Germany is filled with Turks. In fact, there are an estimated three million brown, happy Turkish people living in Germany – making the largest non-German ethnic group (and the largest non-Christian group) in the country.

Much like history would predict, once the Turks come to a call a place home, they don’t want to leave. They came by the truckloads in the 1950s to be “guestworkers” in many of the factories that helped Germany become the economic wonder of Europe. Well, they never left. They set up a bazillion döner kebab restaurants (döner kebabs are the most popular fast food here - they're like gyros but better) and apparently found the better life they were looking for. There’s even a part of Wiesbaden that the locals like to call Little Istanbul.

Anyway, I went to the Mediterranean part of their ancestral homeland in late August for work to shoot some video for an upcoming Army Corps of Engineers commercial (yeah, life is hard). I was only there for a couple days, but I was able to get a glimpse at the culture of a people that now make up almost 4 percent of the entire German nation.

It all started with the flight. I realized I was landing in warmer climes when the applause broke out on the plane. It was loud and sudden, exactly when the wheels of the plane touched ground. It lasted for not more than seven seconds. Maybe less.

I was in Adana, the fourth largest city in Turkey – about 15 miles from the Mediterranean and about 70 miles from Syria. It was after 1:30 a.m. when I landed, but the plane was filled. When I stepped out on the tarmac, my glasses fogged immediately. Other than the stifling humidity, the first thing I noticed were the palm trees, alluding to weary travelers like myself the proximity of unseen – and probably alluring – beaches.

After getting my bags, I found my driver and was on my way to the U.S. Air Force’s Incirlik Air Base. Incirlik, pronounced Injurlik and literally meaning "place of fig orchard,” is about 5 miles east from Adana. On the way I passed the Sabancı Merkez Camii mosque – the second largest mosque in Turkey – located on the Seyhan River by a bridge that was built in the 6th Century under the reign of a certain Byzantine emperor named Justinian.

On the way, I noticed a pick-up truck coming toward a stoplight on the outside lane of a two-lane road. He came to the red light and made a complete stop next to a tractor trailer who had been waiting. But after standing there for a moment, the pick-up turned on his hazards, and proceeded to slowly make a U-turn around the tractor trailer. This was NOT Germany.

The next two days passed without incident. I did my job on the Air Base and ate some less-spicy-than-anticipated Turkish food. I’d been to Turkey once before, spending a few days in Istanbul – and really enjoyed the richness of the experience. The culture, cuisine, and coffee are so much different in the Arab world that it’s hard to get a good understanding in only a couple days. The best you can hope for is some bazaar bargain hunting and an iron gut.

I was able to tour around the city of Adana on my last afternoon in town, which was fun, but I didn’t see as much excitement as I’d hoped for. I just sweat under the sizzling sun (for more knowledge about my sweat, zoom in on the first picture of me with the camera).

A coworker who went with me said he had earlier seen a motorcycle with a sidecar going very slowly uphill. It wasn't until he took a second look that he noticed the sidecar contained a none-too-happy sheep. He also said he saw a moped going equally slowly – but this one was only carrying mother, father, child, and several bags of groceries. Just an average day, I guess.

My most memorable experience by far was my hair cut.

The barber's name, I found out while drinking the “Le Cola” he offered me, was Osman. He was short and dark, with big eyebrows. Probably about 20. This was no doubt his father's or grandfather's shop that he was looking over. But, what the hey, I thought. This could be a fun experience.

In fact, it was the most thorough hair cut I've ever received, complete with a straight razor cut on my sideburns, on top and behind my ears, and, of course, on my neck.

Osman was very organized, dividing each section of my head into thirds and analyzing the first sequence of cuts before he started the second.

Afterward, he offered a massage. He started with the hands, popping the knuckles on each one of my fingers and giving me a very masculine but gentle hand rub. Like something I would imagine David Hasselhof would give. That was followed by a neck, upper back, middle back, biceps, triceps, forearms, head (on top and on my temples), and face (between my eyes, for crying out loud) massage.

He also did something I've never seen nor heard of before: he popped my ears. I know it sounds crazy, but with the thumb and pointer finger of both of his hands, he pinched the top of my ear and lowered his head down to mine. Then, in one quick move, he pushed his head upward against mine and yanked the tip of my ear down, popping it. After doing the other ear, he moved to my neck. Now, I've gotten my neck cracked before by some Korean gentleman while I was living in Texas. But this was the Middle East. And I've seen too many Steven Segal movies, so I was admittedly apprehensive. But, I took a sip of my Le Cola, breathed deeply, and put faith in Osman. Osman akbar, I thought. Here goes nothing.

Well, I have to say, it was great. Orgasmic even. Like a chiropractor visit without the $200 bill. Afterward, I sorta felt like I was high – very lightheaded and peaceful. Mellow. Chill. Osman akbar, indeed.