Min tyrkiske grønthandler
For et par år siden forsvandt han, uden jeg bemærkede
det og blev erstattet af endnu en af de restauranter og cafeer, som langsomt
overtager Istedgade. Ikke at jeg beklager restauranterne og cafeerne - jeg
ærgrer mig nok mest over, at han sådan pludselig bare var væk. Han og hans
butik hørte til i gadebilledet, havde til huse i en af gamle, smukke klassiske
bygninger, Istedgaarden, midt på Istedgade.
Han var der, da jeg flyttede til Vesterbro og jeg kom
der flere gange ugentlig. Så begyndte jeg at få bragt økologisk grønt og frugt
til døren og jeg kom der mindre og mindre. De seneste år var mine indkøb hos
ham hovedsageligt samosa, oliven og humus – og til sidst nok kun en liter mælk
i ny og næ, når jeg lige stod og manglede. Så ja, det var måske nok mig og
ligesindede, der var medvirkende årsag til, at han lukkede. Mest håber jeg, det
var fordi, han valgte at gå på velfortjent pension.
Mit bedste minde med min tyrkiske grønthandler var
følgende ordveksling – en ældre tyrker foran mig pegede på en melon og spurgte:
“Ne kadar?”
“Yirmi kr.”
“Ah, on bes kr.”
“Tamam”,
hvorpå jeg brød ind: “Kan jeg også få den til den
pris?”
Der blev stille i butikken, overraskelsen i min
grønthandlers ansigt var frydefuld at iagttage. “Du kan tyrkisk”, udbrød han.
“Ah”, svarede jeg “ikke meget, men det forstod jeg”. Efter den episode havde
jeg en særlig status, altid var han lidt forsigtig, i tvivl om, hvor meget
tyrkisk jeg egentlig kunne, men også tydeligt steget i graderne, netop fordi
jeg kunne sproget.
My Turkish greengrocer
A couple of years ago, he
disappeared without me noticing it and was replaced by another of the many
restaurants and cafés that are slowly taking over Istedgade. Not that I have
anything against the restaurants and the cafés - I'm mostly annoyed that he
just suddenly left. He and his shop belonged to the street scene, housed in one
of the beautiful old classical buildings, Istedgaarden, in the middle of
Istedgade.
He was there when I moved to
Vesterbro and I came there several times a week. Then I began to buy organic
vegetables and fruit, brought to the door and I came there less and less. In
recent years, my purchases with him were mainly samosa, olives and humus - and
finally only a liter of milk now and then, when I had run out. So yes, maybe it
was me and my kind, that was the reason he closed. I hope though, it was
because he chose to go on a well-deserved retirement.
My best memory with my Turkish
greengrocer was the following word exchange - an older turk in front of me in
the queue, pointed to a melon and asked:
"Ne kadar?"
"Yirmi kr."
"Ah, on bes kr."
"Tamam",
on which I broke in, "Can
I also buy it for that price?"
There was suddenly silent in
the shop, the surprise in my greengrocer's face was delightful to observe.
"You understand Turkish," he exclaimed. "Well" I replied
"not much, but that I understood." After that episode, I had a
special status, he was always a little cautious, in doubt how much Turkish I
really could, but I clearly acquired a special position, because I could speak
the language.
