It is only a few steps in which languages, food and architecture suddenly change.

It is only a few steps in which languages, food and architecture suddenly change.

It is only a few steps in which languages, food and architecture suddenly change. “Little Istanbul”, the men in the “Buchenbeisl” sneer.

Here you can buy carpets, vegetables, new haircuts, cell phones, kebab and coffee. One store after the next, the facades are colorfully paneled, neon signs vie for attention. The shops are called “Orient Jeweler”, “Istanbul Hairdresser” or “Kebap Palace”.

© Heinz Stephan Tesarek / News Samil fell in love with an Austrian ten years ago. He recently started the baby shop. He wants to go back to Istanbul

Model dolls, wearing colorful headscarves, look out of some shop windows. The Billa is deserted, but the Turkish discounters are bursting with life.

Just a few meters from the Buchenbeisl, a staircase leads to a basement. “Members only,” it says on the door. You get into a wide room with dim light and soft, oriental music. Brick arches span the ceiling, and stucco decorations embellish the walls. Everywhere there are sofas covered with red patterned carpets around small tables. Here, too, there is a smell in the air – a spicy, sweet one. And here, too, the dice are rolled.

“We are a cultural association, not an inn,” says Haci-Etem Coskuner, 37, and serves Turkish tea. The son of Turkish immigrants and certified chief insurance inspector opened the shisha bar “Golden Apple” eleven years ago, an association for young migrants. No alcohol, no card games, just three chewing gum machines. Whoever enters here comes to chat and discuss. “We want to get young people off the streets, away from alcohol and drugs.” And then Coskuner says something that seems surprising in the shisha bar: “We want to attract them through football.” He once played for Rapid, but has now founded a club himself. The FC Golden Apple fighting team is currently ranked ten in the first class. Coskuner sighs. “It gets worse.” His windows were also thrown in and the facade was smeared.

© Heinz Stephan Tesarek / News

“It’s not against me, it’s just vandalism. They are insane.” While he is speaking, music videos from the channel Dream Türk, in which women loll around in circles, run on silent music videos on a flat screen. He has not even noticed that a possible underage Salafist was arrested around the corner.

Behind the veil

“I had to adapt to European culture,” says Coskuner: “Integration begins with education, clothing and language.” His mother still wore a headscarf, his sister no longer, and anyway not his children. But he observes: It will come back, stronger than ever. You don’t want to adapt, he whispers quietly. The message of the cover is clear: I am different. “To be honest,” he chews on his lip, “as an Austrian I would also think: out with them.” Then he sits down with the others, smokes, listens and talks.123 writings He does not get state support for his club.

A few streets away is the headquarters of the Turkish-Islamic Union ATIB, by far the largest Muslim association in Austria. It forms the umbrella organization for more than 60 mosque associations and 65 imams. The ATIB is bound by the instructions of the Turkish embassy, ​​is considered to be Erdoğan-related, and represents Sunni, conservative Islam.

The basement of the building was converted into a canteen. Above the food counter, the word “Welcome” is written on an oversized board in x languages. If you let your eyes wander around the room, you get the impression that maybe not everyone is welcome, women for example. Not a single one is present. For 7.90 euros you get the menu of the day, every table is occupied. Celal, 47, is sitting at one of them. The skin of his face suggests that he is used to hard work. He leaves the hood on while eating. Celal speaks very few words of German. He has been in Vienna since 1989.

© Heinz Stephan Tesarek / News The headquarters of the Turkish-Islamic Union in Favoriten sees itself as a “bridge builder”. Only men dine in the canteen

The building acts as a kind of all-round service office for the people of Turkish origin. In addition to the cafeteria, it houses a mosque, a kindergarten, a student residence, a doctor and an administrative wing. There is also a funeral department, which regulates the financing of funerals and repatriation to Turkey.

Yasar Ersoy, 35, heads this department. Under the strict supervision of security, we are shown into a room next to the canteen. Ersoy is a short man with watchful eyes. He too criticizes the integration policy: “There can be no either-or identity, it must be possible to be a proud Austrian and Muslim.” But the young people are losing confidence in the state. The policy is not sustainable. Solutions should be worked out together, not dictated from above, says Ersoy: “They talk about us, but not with us.” The thought of the future worries him: “If I can’t win the fourth or fifth generation now – because these young people will stay – then I don’t know what future it will be.”

Back on the road. Most of the passers-by would probably walk past the narrow, frosted-glass door. However, if you duck and open up, you will not only end up in what is probably the noblest boxing club in the whole city, but also in the one with the most national champion belts in the whole country: Box-Union favorites. This has been the training stable of star lawyer Rudi Mayer for decades. He knows the Grätzel and its problems. “You have to be honest: they are not challenges, they are difficulties,” he says, “and it is not about endangering people, but endangered ones!” Mayer almost sinks into a monstrous leather armchair when he draws analogies to boxing: the courage and will to fight are not bad, on the contrary, especially in a competitive society. “But we have to positively apply this quality to young migrants.” Everyone has to be taken care of: “Social support in Austria has to be increased a thousandfold. For this we have to take billions, not millions!”

© Heinz Stephan Tesarek / News Lawyer Rudi Mayer trains at the Boxing Union Favoriten. He knows the problems in the Gätzel

A week ago almost nobody knew Rotenhofgasse and the house in which Lorenz K. lived until the end. It is an inconspicuous 1960s building with green balconies. In front of the house there are countless pieces of dog debris and many more chick stumps. As we orientate ourselves in the stairwell, some residents join us. Some still don’t know that there was a raid on one of their neighbors on suspicion of terrorism. Some of them sat live in front of the TV, just each one in front of his own. They do not know each other, and they have probably never even spoken to each other. A young student says: “Argh, you live next door to door, and you don’t get anything from the others.” Inside K.’s mother’s apartment, a dog barks, the peephole lens slips a few times, but nobody opens it.

Behind the speechlessness

As different as the cultures in the Trieste Quarter are, they are actually not that dissimilar. Everywhere people smoke, roll cubes and drink coffee. But everyone, those who have always been there and those who have immigrated, is unified by dissatisfaction. They avoid the street and lock themselves in. And they are disaffected with politics. The old SPÖ bon mot “D’Leut zam come through talking” is nowhere in the blind spot of Favoriten. The population groups do not talk to each other, but to each other. And sometimes not even that anymore.

The sun has now set. In the “Rendezvous” café there is a pool table next to a jukebox on a tiled floor. There are dusty vases, yellowed ruffle curtains, a plastic skeleton dangles from the bar, and an old tube TV is on. “We’re multicultural anyway,” says the waitress, who has been working here for 13 years. As long as she doesn’t have to go outside, don’t be afraid. Only recently had a guest threatened her: “Paris is not far.” She’s still thinking about that today. Dozens of stickers are stuck to the back of the restaurant, one of which reads: “All politicians are assholes. Everywhere.” The waitress calls the café “Rendezvous” the “last bastion” on Quellenstrasse. “We can’t be crushed. But if we never exist then I don’t know either.”

© Heinz Stephan Tesarek / News The waitress has been working at Café Rendezvous for 13 years. Inside she is not afraid, but outside is “a hot pavement”

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vandergraaf Sun., Feb. 5th. 2017 7:58 pm


Orient in Vienna! Parallel society!

Henry Knuddi Mon., Feb. 06. 2017 00:10


Already existed * the orien begins on the country road * for many hundreds of years


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Brum Sun., 5th Feb. 2017 3:59 pm


Throwing it out, building the wall, away with the pack. The USA are living it to us …

Henry Knuddi Mon., Feb. 6th 2017 12:11 am


well then build a wall and the tunnel under your wall


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Wofgang Cernoch Sun., 5th Feb. 2017 3:30 pm



I have no problem with Quellenstrasse and Line 6. I live here and am still against racism! That doesn’t prevent me from recognizing right-wing idiots and Islamist idiots as such, and sometimes naming them.

Rigi999 Sun., Feb. 5, 2017 12:03 pm


Vienna is totally messed up and broken up! Thanks to Häupl. who does not dare to go out at night anyway and otherwise moves between house and parliament with the company scales !!

Wofgang Cernoch Sun., Feb. 5, 2017 3:33 pm


You should compare Vienna with other cities. What can Häupl do for the Turkish immigration, which began before his term in office and everyone believed that the Turks only came as guest workers – the Turks themselves!

Henry Knuddi Mon., Feb. 6th 2017 12:14 am


and before that it was the chushes (balkans)

Henry Knuddi Tue., Feb. 07. 2017 8:01 am


* Company scales between house and parliament are moving !! * since when has Häupl been in parliament? I didn’t even know, it’s new to me 🙂


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The bars that Robert, 58, handles are made of steel and a good five feet long. He has to hold them with both hands, they are so heavy. He reinforced every window with one, every entrance, including the one to the backyard. The windows are made of bulletproof glass. On the door to the street there are additional iron struts over the full length, everything is barred. “If someone sees that from the outside, they have to think that this is the most criminal hut here.”

It’s twelve noon, it smells like schnitzel, and there’s a beer on every table. Colorful carnival garlands and far too much cigarette smoke hang on the ceiling, colorful holiday postcards have been pinned to the bar, the walls have long since yellowed. Robert says, “We are the ones who want to exterminate them,” and a group of older men nods in agreement. “Usually you have to walk around here with a cannon in hand,” adds one. Then he takes a sip and goes back to playing dice on the table.

© Heinz Stephan Tesarek / News Many families are moving away. Elderly people remain and immigrants come

Behind the barricade

It is not a bunker in a war zone, but the “Buchenbeisl” in Karmarschgasse in Vienna-Favoriten. It wants to be the keeper of Viennese pub culture, can be read on the internet homepage. Only 200 meters away is the house in which 17-year-old Lorenz K. of Albanian origin lives, who was arrested a few days ago as a terrorist suspect.

© Heinz Stephan Tesarek / News The house in Rotenhofgasse is where Lorenz K. is said to have concocted his alleged terrorist plans

The guests in the Beisl no longer feel safe. “What’s going on here – none of that is in the newspaper.” Every day there is a police operation somewhere, the inn has been broken into 13 times alone, and the 6-person tram that runs across the nearby Quellenstrasse is no longer possible. “The biggest bugs sit in the 6er,” says Robert, “the whole street is a taboo zone.”

© Heinz Stephan Tesarek / News In the pub at the regulars’ table, the world still seems all right. But outside the men no longer feel at home. “Anyone who complains about racism should move here, then I’ll keep talking to them.”

Robert talks himself in a rage, everything breaks out of him, his voice grows louder. “The house on his mountain can of course shit with full pants.” He pulls on his chick. Yes, he says, he knows how to defend himself. With a “part” he would hit or take a knife. “Anyone who complains about racism should move here, then I’ll talk to them again.”

Favoriten is actually booming, especially around the new main train station. New Grätzel are emerging, such as the Sonnwendviertel or the “Biotope City” near Wienerberg. The area around the old anchor bread factory is developing into a hip quarter for social affairs, art and culture. But the Trieste district is one of the areas in which inner-city Viennese rarely get lost. One would almost like to believe that it has disappeared from the map.

This Grätzel in the most populous area of ​​the capital – with almost 195,000 inhabitants – borders directly on the neighboring districts of Meidling and Margareten, but the traffic intersection at Matzleinsdorfer Platz acts like an insurmountable barrier that one does not want to take: six lanes have to be crossed.

It’s one of the coldest days in thirty years, the toes are freezing in the shoes, the photographer has to get extra thermal socks. At a gas station on Triester Straße, the eastern gateway to the district, around 15 men are still standing waiting for a car to stop and pick them up. To earn a few euros on construction work – black, of course. In summer the city has the biggest “workers’ line” here.

From the hoods furrowed faces from the weather and hard work peek, from three of them boy’s faces stare stiffly and firmly claim to be “over 18 anyway”.