The Dream of a Porsche 911
As a Swabian Turk by birth, it had always been my dream to one day drive a Porsche 911. Even during driving school, I dreamed of this perfectly formed, iconic vehicle. Later, I had a friend who first drove an old 964 and then a 993. But he never allowed me to drive it, fearing I might wreck it. Not entirely unfounded, as I genuinely had great respect for driving such a fast and "heavy" car. So this wish remained hidden deep in my heart for many years, and I drove rather boring, but practical Swabian cars like a Smart or a Mercedes B-Class named "Bobby."
The Manifestation of a Dream
But what you carry with much love in your heart will one day manifest. I've had the pleasure of experiencing this wonderful phenomenon several times in my life. And so, soon I won't have to be ashamed of my "retiree car," as my customer Christine recently called my "Bobby."
Fortunately, in Karel, I found an equally passionate car enthusiast, and he's also convinced of my driving talent. Admittedly, after many years on the streets of Istanbul, with its extreme traffic and very peculiar traffic rules, in the rudimentary vehicle of Mustafa's wife Nur, or in Kaş with its steep slopes and winding roads in my old open-roof Suzuki SJ Samurai, I definitely have more driving experience than back then. Because if you can drive there, you can drive anywhere!
The Comparison with "the Tin Can"
A year ago, Karel fulfilled his childhood dream and treated himself to a Lancia Delta Integrale. I affectionately christened it "the tin can" to highlight the contrast to the iconic design of a 911. But that's not all... For almost a year, I bombarded Karel with Porsche books, a miniature self-assembly model, anecdotes, Instagram and Pinterest posts, etc., until slowly but surely a love for the 911 also awakened in him, or rather, he had no choice given so much inescapable marketing.
From Running Gag to Reality
It was certainly a very amusing time, during which I managed to weave the Porsche into conversations at every possible opportunity. In the end, I even traded my "freedom" and shook hands with Karel on the agreement that one day we would move to Cornwall instead of Turkey, if only we could get a 911 for it.
What for a long time seemed like just a running gag and a pipe dream, actually manifested into reality more and more. Since my love obviously extends not only to vintage cars but also to vintage carpets, these two passions naturally had to be intertwined. After various "Kilimization" projects such as Kilim cushions, Kilim shoes, Kilim bags, and other Kilim accessories, it was almost a given that a car would be next. But not just any car, of course, but the object of desire: a vintage Porsche 911.
The Connection of Two Cultures
What appealed to me was not only the combination of the timeless design of the Swabian car manufacturer and the beauty of Anatolian hand-woven kilims, which has also been valid for generations, but also a connection of my two origins: born and raised in the Stuttgart region as the daughter of guest workers, who, if they were lucky, could work on the assembly line at Porsche, but driving and owning a Porsche was considered almost unattainable, and my Turkish roots as well as my current profession as a carpet dealer.
The Challenge of Restoration
The iconic 911 was to become an absolute cult object through restoration and Kilimization, and also a showcase for successful integration. (Sorry, that last joke just had to be made.)
After much research for the right car and possibilities on how best to integrate the kilim and what else could be done in terms of restoration, e.g., paint refurbishment, original Fuchs rims, stylish roof rack, and a custom-made rear lid with a kilim pattern, the long wait and dreaming were finally supposed to end in February.
A 1984 911 G-model, imported from California, was spotted at a Dutch car dealer and, without seeing it live first, was simply ordered online and delivered to our doorstep on a tow truck five days later. What we didn't know at the time was that the Porsche had probably been registered in the Netherlands before, but in bureaucratic Germany, different rules apply, of course. And without the necessary "data sheet," registration in Germany was not possible. Thus, insuring it was also not an easy undertaking. In short, after its arrival, we first had to deal with a lot of paperwork and phone calls and plan for a long waiting period.
The Search for an Upholsterer
But the real fun only began with the search for a capable upholsterer who was able and willing to work a vintage kilim with the leather interior of our beloved 911. Admittedly, the 911 was practically a "bargain" (well, that's in the eye of the beholder), but the condition was accordingly. The roof was leaky, and due to the moisture, the entire fake leather upholstery of the back seats, seat belts, carpet, and center console was completely moldy. Karel and I spent hours in the underground garage the first few days, trying to remove as much as possible with anti-mold agents (which ate away the skin of our hands through the gloves), so that one could even sit in the car without poisoning one's lungs with mold spores. What we didn't know until then was that it was actually all for nothing, because in the end, we had to completely gut and re-upholster everything anyway. And since there was no registration, a joyride beforehand was out of the question anyway.
Well, we wanted a project, and we got one.
The Breakthrough with Ferdi
After at least 30 rejections from upholsterers in Berlin and the surrounding area, despair was great. A common reason given was that a "carpet" was too thick a material and couldn't be integrated into a car seat. Of course, we knew that was nonsense; after all, we had already had handmade shoes made from real kilims in Turkey.
And that was probably the problem: the upholsterers here didn't know the material "kilim" and were hesitant to take it on.
For a short time, the enthusiastic idea came up to take the Porsche to Istanbul to find a master there who would take care of us... Mustafa was already looking forward to it. But the reality check brought us back down to earth. We didn't even want to imagine what a transfer to Turkey would cost, and "driving down" was not something Karel was comfortable with - especially not in the condition our 911 was in. Not to mention the aforementioned issue of no license plate and no insurance without registration.
And so Karel was almost on his way to an upholsterer in Bielefeld, who had half-agreed but first wanted to see the kilim, when the glorious idea struck me: if we couldn't go to Istanbul, we had to find a Turkish-born upholsterer in Berlin. And as it sometimes happens with flashes of genius, this savior in need, named Ferdi, was found faster than expected. A phone call, a visit, and the matter was underway. Ferdi joyfully accepted our kilim challenge and impressed us with his expertise and passion. Besides, every time I hear his name, I think of the Turkish singer Ferdi Tayfur.
Choosing the Right Kilim
Upholsterer: check! Next challenge: selecting the right kilim. Not an easy task either. Anyone who knows me knows how nerdy I am and that my perfectionist, detail-oriented streak can sometimes get in my way. So it couldn't be just any kilim, it had to perfectly match the spirit of our 911: a California import, so a coastal baby, with faded, ruby-red paint with clear sunspots and dark brown interior, just like our sun-kissed kilims and the goat hair of the nomads.
Furthermore, the kilim had to be functional, durable, and not too scratchy. Most important to me, however, was the personal connection to its region of origin and the meaning of the symbols.
Our first favorite was a long vintage kilim runner from Kars from 1961. The colors matched well and it was large enough to cover all the seats, plus there would have been extra material for sun visors and door panels. We had already taped the runner for cutting the seats, and it was about to begin. Until my gut feeling intervened.
It wasn't yet THE KILIM that made sparks fly from my heart and with which I could fully identify. Yes, women are not as pragmatic as men can be - and that's a good thing!
The Decision for the Kilim from Mut
After long deliberation, trying out different options, and some discussions (much to Ferdi's chagrin), our choice finally fell on a 90-year-old kilim from Mut, a tranquil, rural area at the foot of the Sertavul Pass. This region, located on the road from Konya across the Taurus Mountains to the Mediterranean, is particularly close to my heart, as my paternal family comes from nearby Karaman, and it combines both mountains and coastal landscapes.
This Mut kilim is an original nomadic kilim from the Taurus Mountains, woven from fine sheep's wool and goat hair, and adorned with the Elibelinde motif in faded red, apricot, and brown tones - the perfect color combination for our 911. The Elibelinde motif represents the mother goddess or earth mother and symbolizes the continuity of life, the connection between earth, nature, and the spiritual power of creation.
And so, from the womb of the great mother, the name for our baby was born: "THE NOMAD."
Progress and Outlook
Meanwhile, Ferdi and his master have begun the Kilimization process in the workshop. The front and back seats, the dashboard, and the door panels are already finished. The headliner, center console, and the large rear cover are in progress, and we still need to decide on a carpet for the footwell. Honestly, we are not yet entirely happy with the idea of using a synthetic material that has a very unnatural shine and doesn't really match the high-quality leather and the beautiful kilim. Actually, a plain goat hair kilim like those of the Kara Cadir (black) nomadic tents would be perfect for it. Let's see what else I can find in Turkey...
In any case, we can hardly wait to hopefully drive THE NOMAD across European and Anatolian mountains and along the Turkish Riviera this summer.
The journey continues. To be continued...
#TheNomad #KilimPorsche #Kilim911 #WildHeartFreeSoul
