The dream of a Porsche 911
As a native Swabian Turk, it has always been my dream to drive a Porsche 911 one day. Even during driving school, I dreamed of this perfectly designed, iconic vehicle. Later, I had a friend who first drove an old 964 and then a 993. Only he never allowed me to drive it for fear that I would wreck it. Not entirely unjustified, because I actually had a lot of respect for driving such a fast and "heavy" car. So this wish remained deep in my mind for many years. hidden from my heart, and I drove rather boring but practical Swabian cars like a Smart or a Mercedes B-Class called "Bobby".

The Manifestation of a Dream
But what you carry in your heart with love will one day manifest itself. I have had this wonderful experience several times in my life. And so I will soon no longer have to be ashamed of my "pensioner's car", as my customer Christine recently called my "Bobby".
Luckily, I found Karel, who is just as big a car fan as I am, and he is also convinced of my driving talent. Admittedly, after many years on the streets of Istanbul, with its extreme traffic and very specific traffic rules, in Mustafa's wife Nur's rudimentary vehicle, or in Kaş with its steep slopes and serpentines, in my old open-roof Suzuki SJ Samurai, I definitely have more driving experience than I did 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 lovingly named it "the tin can" to underline the contrast to the iconic design of a 911. But that's not all... For almost a year, I spammed Karel with Porsche books, a miniature model to build yourself, anecdotes, Instagram and Pinterest posts, etc., until he slowly but surely developed a love for the 911, or rather, he had no other choice with so much unavoidable marketing.

From Running Gag to Reality
It was definitely a very funny time, and I knew how to bring the Porsche into the conversation in every possible situation. In the end, I even traded my "freedom" and shook Karel's hand and promised that one day we would move to Cornwall instead of Turkey, if only we could get a 911.
What seemed like a running joke and a dream for a long time has actually become more and more of a reality. Since my love is obviously not only for vintage cars, but also for vintage carpets, these two passions naturally had to be interwoven. After various "Kilimization" projects such as Kilim cushions, Kilim shoes, Kilim bags and other Kilim accessories, it was almost obvious that a car would be next. But not just any car, but of course the object of desire: a vintage Porsche 911.
The connection between 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 passed down through generations, but also a connection between my two origins: Born and raised in the Stuttgart region as the daughter of guest workers who, if they were lucky, were allowed to work on the assembly line at Porsche, but driving and owning a Porsche was considered almost unattainable, and my Turkish roots and my current profession as a carpet dealer.
The challenge of restoration
The restoration and customization of the iconic 911 was intended to become an absolute cult object and also a showcase for successful integration. (Sorry, that last joke just had to be made.)
After a lot of research into the right car and options for how to best integrate the kilim and what kind of restoration work can be done, e.g. touching up the paint, original Fuchs rims, stylish roof racks and a custom-made trunk lid in the kilim pattern, the long wait and dreaming should finally come to an end in February.
A 1984 911 G model, imported from California, was spotted at a Dutch car dealer and, without having seen it in person beforehand, was simply ordered online and delivered to our doorstep five days later on a tow truck. What we didn't know at the time was that the Porsche had probably been registered in the Netherlands before, but of course different rules apply in bureaucratic Germany. And without the necessary "data sheet", registration in Germany was not possible. This meant that insuring it was no easy undertaking either. In other words, after arriving we had to deal with a lot of paperwork and phone calls and plan for a long wait.

The search for a saddler
But the real fun only began when we were looking for a skilled saddler who was able and keen to work a vintage kilim with the leather interior of our beloved 911. Admittedly, the 911 was a bit of a "bargain" (well, that's in the eye of the beholder), but the condition was accordingly. The roof was leaking and the damp had caused the entire fake leather trim of the rear seats, the belts, the carpet and the center console to become completely moldy. Karel and I spent the first few days sitting in the underground car park for hours trying to remove as much as possible with anti-mold agent (which corroded the skin of our hands through our gloves) so that we could even sit in the car without poisoning our lungs with mold spores. What we didn't know until then was that it was actually a waste of time because in the end we had to have everything completely gutted and reupholstered anyway. And because there was no registration, a joyride beforehand was out of the question anyway.
Well, we wanted a project and that's what we got.
The breakthrough with Ferdi
After at least 30 rejections from saddlers in Berlin and the surrounding area, we were in despair. The common reason given was that a "carpet" was too thick as a material and could not 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 exactly the problem: the saddlers here were not familiar with the material “Kelim” and did not dare to use it.
For a short time, we had the enthusiastic idea of taking the Porsche to Istanbul to find a mechanic there who would take care of us. Mustafa was looking forward to it. But the reality check brought us back down to earth. We didn't even want to imagine what it would cost to transport it to Turkey, and Karel was not comfortable with "driving it down" - especially not in the condition our 911 was in. Not to mention the issue mentioned above - no registration means no license plate and no insurance.
And so Karel was almost on his way to a saddler in Bielefeld, who had half agreed to work with us but wanted to see the kilim first, when I had a brilliant idea: if we couldn't go to Istanbul, then we had to find a saddler of Turkish origin in Berlin. And as is sometimes the case with flashes of inspiration, this savior in need, named Ferdi, was found quicker than expected. One phone call, one visit and the matter was settled. Ferdi happily accepted our kilim challenge and impressed us with his expertise and passion. I also always think of the Turkish singer Ferdi Tayfur when I hear his name.
Choosing the right kilim
Sattler: check! Next challenge: choosing the right kilim. Not an easy task either. Anyone who knows me knows how nerdy I am and that my perfectionist, detail-loving streak can sometimes get in the way. So it couldn't be just any kilim, it had to fit perfectly with the spirit of our 911: a California import, a coastal baby, with faded, ruby-red paint with clear sun spots and a dark brown interior, just like our sun-kissed kilims and the goat hair of the nomads.
The kilim also had to be functional, durable and not too scratchy. But what was most important to me 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 big enough to cover all the seats, plus there would have been extra material left over for sun visors and door panels. We had already taped the runner for cutting the seats and we were ready to get started. Until my gut feeling intervened.
It wasn't yet THE KELIM that made my heart spark and that I could completely identify with. Yes, women aren't as pragmatic as men can be - and that's a good thing!

The decision for the kilim out of courage
After much deliberation, trial and error and some discussions (much to Ferdi's chagrin), we finally chose a 90-year-old kilim from Mut, a tranquil, rural area at the foot of the Sertavul Pass. This region, which lies on the way from Konya over the Taurus Mountains to the Mediterranean, is particularly dear to my heart as my family on my father's side comes from nearby Karaman and it combines both mountain and coastal landscapes.
This Mut Kelim is an original nomadic kilim from the Taurus Mountains, woven from fine sheep's wool and goat hair, and decorated 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
In the meantime, Ferdi and his master have started the Kilimization process in the workshop. The front and rear 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 have to decide on a carpet for the footwell. To be honest, we are not entirely happy with the idea of using an artificial material that has a very unnatural shine and doesn't really match the high-quality leather and the beautiful kilim. Actually, a single-colored goat hair kilim like the one used in the Kara Cadir (black) nomad tents would be perfect for this. Let's see what else I can find in Turkey...
In any case, we can hardly wait to drive with THE NOMAD over European and Anatolian mountains and along the Turkish Riviera, hopefully this summer.
The journey continues. To be continued...
#TheNomad #KilimPorsche #Kilim911 #WildHeartFreeSoul


