Sunday, 7 September 2003, Jaramana, Syria
70 degrees, SUNNY, pleasant
Wake up, breakfast on the terrace. This is a routine I could get used to. Naeif opts to spend the day at home with his family, and rest after the crazy Arak party, so we head off to the first destination of the day, the US Embassy. US registrants need to get to the embassy to register before 11 AM, and we're leaving at 10:30 AM, so I'm not too sanguine about our luck at completing this task. Sure enough, we get a clueless bus driver that succeeds in displaying an area of Damascus that I've never seen. We're taking an incredibly circuitous route, and then we're back by the automotive area, where the highway back to Jaramana starts. I start getting irritated, and repeat our destination, like this will help him navigate. Finally, we're on the right track, but by now it's 11 AM. I know that even if I see my "guy" at the Embassy, I can't fight the 11 AM deadline. We succeed in getting Jeremy and Diana's cards to register, but cannot submit them. Ah well, it's time for tea anyway.
Diana is slightly woozy today, so the garden at the Goethe Institute is a welcome stop. We greet my favorite cafe owner, and get tea and coffee and some croissants and juice. We spend awhile here, until we're feeling cooled off enough to continue. It's a day to walk, and walk we will. We leave the Goethe, and head down Al Malekee, the street where the Goethe is located.
When I walk thru Damascus, there's no real "route" that I take, I just sort of wander, and turn a corner if I see something interesting, heading in the general direction of the final destination - which in this case is Omayyad Mosque and Old Damascus. We walk thru the "lazy souk" that Naeif and I visited the other day, and through that to the area near Martyr's Square and the al Hejaz train station. While crossing the street in this area, my leg grazes a car fender in motion, and it catches one of the cargo pockets on the pants I'm wearing. I'm unharmed, but my entire thigh is now exposed from the enormous rip in my pants. Arf. At this time, we're in dire need of a hammam, so I herd us over to the tea shop near al Hejaz, which is slightly above the street, and a good place to stop. While we're enjoying our tea, a man comes over with a needle and thread. Syrians are nothing if not thoughtful.
Feeling strong again, we head down the street to Souk al Hamidiyyah. On this day, it is stuffed with people. We manage to crush our way through it, but after awhile, have to stop for refreshing orange sodas. While we're hanging out near the orange soda man, he suddenly walks up with two large safety pins - he's noticed my ripped pants plight. I gratefully accept his offer and pin up the pants - maybe I'll start a new trend here in al Sham - the name the locals use for Damascus.
Between where the mosque begins and the souk opens up are some handcraft shops with very nice things - Damask tablecloths, furniture, coffee pots and such. We browse around, looking at the silver hammam water pourers (soup bowl size with Arabic script on them - very cool looking), bad paintings and textiles. Finally the three of us buy some old drawings ripped out of a book of 1001 Arabian Nights for 350 S.L. each. We don't have our negotiator with us, but these are small ticket items, and I think we want to bust out on our own, and make a few purchases - besides, the shop owner is charming and speaks English fairly well. This store also has a tremendous selection of Damask tablecloths, which the owner begins spreading out on the counter.
A curious thing in Arabic culture, is their runaround way of handling transactions. You can go into a restaurant, say "I'd like eggs." and the owner is likely to say something like "Have some steak!" Diana needs a long, fairly thin tablecloth, and tries to translate this to the owner, but more and more square tablecloths come out. After that, we walk past Nofara and check out a few of the shops near there. One of them sucks us in, and displays a few beautiful Uzbekistan tablecloths. There is a lot of restating of the obvious when viewing the pieces "notice that this is handmade." or "notice that this is very beautiful."
After that, we meet Naeif at Vino Russo to have a beer or two, and some cheese and salami, then head to Barampkeh to meet one of Naeif's friends - he wants to get a new Nay to bring with us to Lattakia. While we're waiting on the corner, feeling like bright white tourists on display, a small boy manning a nut hut manages to begin torturing us. First I start saying some simple Arabic phrases to him, and he quickly exhausts my knowledge of the language and tries to pull us over to check out his wares, spread out in a tent absorbing car exhaust. We buy a miniscule bag of cornnuts for 10 S.L. and then he's shouting "I love you!". Thankfully, Naeif appears at this point, we've tired of the small boy and his game, and we're off to go back home.
I sleep early, because now I'm feeling quite sick and achy all over. Utterly exhausted and unable to deal with the crowd of people on the terrace. Argh.
Saturday, 6 September 2003, Jaramana, Syria
70 degrees, sunny, pleasant
Wake up, breakfast of olives, eggs, bread, tomatoes and tea. As we're eating on the terrace, the groom from last nights wedding returns for breakfast at his new wife's family next door. He seems to be walking with a slight swagger . . .
Next, to Naeif's school so Diana can meet his friend Issam, the "Wizard of Oud" who will arrange for her to buy an oud, and take a lesson - her new obsession. We listen to Issam and Kinan, a clarinetist, perform a duet, written by Issam, to be played at their upcoming concert. We've seen the posters, but sadly, we can't attend their concert, as we'll be on our way to Aleppo. Naeif shows us around the school a bit more, and we have some tea.
After that, we visit the National Museum of Damascus nearby. This is where we meet the man we refer to as "the Doctor", a Syrian man, professor of history, who gives us a tour of the Museum. He's very knowledgeable, and his English is excellent - he's also fluent in French. Next door is the silver souk, so we shop around for awhile and look at all the handcrafts, but rightly decide we'll find better stuff in Aleppo. Then, we head off to Old Damascus for some browsing around, and meet Naeif at Vino Russo for some beers. Then, we pop over to the train station to get our tickets to Palmyra.
We're invited over to the neighbor's after we get home, quite late. These are the neighbors on the next door terrace that we always see out on their porch too. We head over, and they have a tremendous spread of food, all delicious stuff. Stuffed grape leaves, two kinds of chicken, two kinds of baba ganouj, hummus, steak pieces with potatoes, fatoush, taboulleh, pickles and the lamb-peas-rice mixture. Jeremy digs in and bonds Syrian-style by eating like a locust. This endears him to our hosts, who egg him on and keep the Arak flowing. The Arak is flowing pretty freely for all of us, now. While sitting at the table, we occasionally burst into spontaneous bouts of clapping, dancing or singing. At one point, a crazy Debke winds it's way thru the dining room, into another salon and out onto the porch, the music now cranking. Jeremy learns what I dub the "Kleenex Dance", a sort of modified Debke dance while waving two tissues around.
We finally call it a night, tired, slightly drunk and stuffed with food around 3 AM.
Friday, 5 September 2003, Jaramana, Syria
80 degrees, sunny, pleasant
We all wake up around 9 AM, jet lag seemingly not kicking in, for a breakfast of eggs and olives and tomatoes. After that, everyone takes showers, while I smoke nargilah on the porch with Rebal and Rawal.
After that, a walk around Jaramana to change money, then we're off on a microbus to Bhab Touma. We walk around the shopping area and drink orange juice and hang out. Then, to Old Damascus to walk around Souk al Hamidiyyah - which is mostly closed on Friday. However, this is an excellent day for a first visit, as it's possible to get more of an idea of how the souk is arranged when it's not packed with people. The ice cream stores are open though, and we enjoy some delicious Syrian ice cream with pistachios. After that, out of the souk, past Omayyad Mosque and down the stairs to Nowfara for tea and nargilah. We stay there for awhile, smoking nargilah and drinking Zoughrat - a kind of tea made with hibiscus flowers.
Next on our marathon day of walking, we head towards al Hedjaz train station. Last year I'd spent many hours in the cafe in the back of al Hejaz, but now I see that the Sultans train cars (which housed a small bar) are no longer there. And neither is the bar, as it's a tea shop only now and seemingly in the midst of renovations. Since there is no opportunities for an aperitivo, we get in a cab back to Jaramana for dinner chez Rafeh.
We have dinner in courtyard and Lebanese beers. Naeif's mother cooks up a huge pile of rice, peas and chunks of lamb a popular dish - and it's really good. Jeremy has located a guy who sells beer that speaks English, his "beer friend", and he's brought back some quite tasty Lebanese beers.
We have a great dinner, change into dishdashis, and go back upstairs for a party at Ghazwans! A whole bunch of us sit on the terrace, drink beers, smoke nargilah and watch the festivities - a wedding next door! We can see the bride in her gorgeous huge white dress standing around with her family and looking somewhat morose - yet glamorous. Here, weddings are bittersweet - while the woman is glad to be married, she's sad to leave her family and home where she's lived all her life.
A whole crowd of women come over with drums, singing, led by the groom's mother who carries an enormous pole covered with flowers and a candle on top. One woman has a tabla (hand drum), beating out a doom TEK TEK doom TEK TEK, and they're singing and clapping like mad. They pause in front of the house, keeping up the singing. Meanwhile, I'm on the porch playing my zills wildly and we're all waving to the neighbors on the porch next door. The whole neighborhood is enjoying this wedding, everyone singing along and checking out the action. The women continue up the staircase into the brides apartment, singing up all three floors.
After awhile, we hear car horns and all kinds of noise - it's the groom and his friends. These guys have a tabla too, and they're singing away. They form a circle, and two guys dressed in black whip out large silver swords and start dancing with them. The swords get passed around and all the guys take turns dancing in the middle of the circle with them. Some guys get on other guys shoulders and wave around fake guns. Diana and I sort of cringe at this, until we're assured that they are, in fact, fake and will not be shooting off any bullets tonight. The sword guys are totally cool - hot Syrian men, though.
Finally, the bride and groom come down, get in a Mercedes that's all decked out in flowers and off to their wedding party. We're throwing rice wildly from upstairs on the porch and I'm ringing my zills again until everyone has driven off.
After all the excitement, Marlin drags me to the downstairs apartment for a hafla - a chick party! Ghazwan's wife, Amale's wife, Marlin, Surreya, Rama, the neighbor woman we hung out with the other night and the woman that lives in the apartment. Jeremy wanders down and tries to crash the party, but is booted out as the downstairs neighbor dives for her hijab - she's Muslim and must not be seen unveiled by any men not in her family.
But boy, can she dance. Under all the robes - once it's back to all women and she whips these off, she's wearing a white tube top with "69" (!!) printed on it and skintight white jeans. Ghazwan's wife, Masinah is wailing on the drum and everyone is singing and "lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-ing". I'm bellydancing with wild abandon, shaking my stuff Chicagostyle for everyone - and even Diana dances in her dishdashi!
After awhile, we're spent, so we go back up to the terrace, for whisky and shenglish. Walid arrives and we hang out for awhile longer, then finally sleep around 2 AM.
Thursday, 4 September 2003, Jaramana, Syria
90 degrees, SUNNY
Today is the day my brother, Jeremy and Diana arrive, and it's cleanup day! I better get into the "motbouch" (kitchen) and help.
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First I send Rebal out for cleanser, then start scrubbing the marble counter. Four kids in the kitchen now, I give them each a task and go drink tea. A few hours later, and 2 or 3 people drop in to visit the place is looking great. Marlin is actually doing most of the work. The house is now filled with a lot of people in ever room, so a retreat to one of the empty salons to read my book is in order. Naeif joins me, and we take a nap for an hour or two. Soon, it's almost time to sit around for a little while before we go to the airport. Change clothes, and we're in Hassan's van, then getting flowers, then off to airport.
Predictable boring waiting around at the airport, finally Jeremy and Diana are here! They look a little rumpled, but ready for fun. And fun they shall have. The kids rush them, offering flowers, and their practiced "Welcome to Syria, Jeremy and Diana"! Their bags are swept away and we pile into Naeif's uncle's car for the ride into Jaramana.
After we get to the house, we deposit the bags in a salon, and check out the courtyard. Rawal serves up the Barada and we have a snack. Then it's time to go to a wedding! We pile back into the van, and go back the same route towards the airport. There is a party for the brides' family at a large house outside Damascus complete with a swimming pool for the kids. A flurry of activity ensues - should we sit? should we stand? where should we sit? are they (my brother and sis in law) tired? are they hungry? are they thirsty? do they want to go up on the porch? We head up to a little terrace, then decide, this is ridiculous, we're going to get stared at no matter where we go, let's go back and hang out with everyone.
Ghazwan and Hassan are there, dancing and laughing and having a great time. They immediately adore Jeremy and out comes the Arak. Then, comes the kibbeh nayah and giant handfuls of raw meat are coming at us. My sister in laws grab me and we dash out onto the floor for a little Debke dancing.
This party is for the bride, thrown by her family. The groom is off having his own party, then the next will be the big day and the ensuing banquet. Weddings go for three or four days in this land of any excuse for a big party.
Finally, we decide we're all tired, and pile back into the van for singing all the way home. Naeif and I have moved upstairs to Ghazwan's apartment and have our own cool room with rugs and pillows - and sleeping on the terrace!
Wednesday, 3 September 2003, Jaramana, Syria
90 degrees, SUNNY
Today, it's all about swimming at the very swanky Elba Cham Palace outside Damascus.
Fourat comes to pick us up, and we're joined by Walid. We're going to the Elba Cham, outside Damascus. They have a very swank pool, you can get a day pass for US $8, which includes a towel and a lounge chair - and there is a bar with drinks and snacks.
We spent the entire day here, swimming, lounging, laughing a lot, drinking coffee, eating sandwiches and drinking orange juice. The guys are tanning, but I'm safely shielded under a shady cabana umbrella - yet with SPF 30 applied - observing the action when I'm not in the pool. For the Damascus sun, however - if you were actually so silly as to want to lay OUT in it - would require, I believe SPF 500. It's brutal. This swimming plan, however is great - an alternative to lounging and hiding from the sun. Plus, it's like a hammam - I think I finally got rid of all the dust and dirt I was constantly covered with in Jaramana.
After we get home, there is a commotion in the street - a wedding is taking place tomorrow, and today is the day that the brides family packs up her possessions, loads them into pickup trucks and drives thru Jaramana, followed by a couple buses filled with wedding guests.
After that, we're off to Naeif's uncle's house for a barbeque. Omar's sister and her husband, and also his brother and his wife - and the adorable new baby, Selma are there, as well as little Miera - the worlds cutest girl. A friend of Naeif's who lives in London is there also with his wife and twin daughters - a relief to find an English speaker! We sit around under an enormous grape arbor, heavy with grapes, and drink Arak, smoke nargilah and snack on mezzeh - cut up raw vegetables, kibbeh nayeh (delicious, made with more spices here), the nut/seed mixture, hummus and homemade french fries. It seems I'm exempt, as an arrajnabe (foreigner), from the flurry of activity by the women in the kitchen, as I always seem to end up hanging out with the men and Naeif, smoking nargilah.
Everyone here seems to have a large outdoor area - and huge grape arbors are quite common (and extremely coveted by me). People's porches are made for sitting in the evenings, drinking tea and chatting. Everyone is out at night, either running around in the street shopping or eating dessert or watching the action from the terraces above the street. Jaramana is a city of predominately 4 or 5 story buildings, one apartment per floor, and growing fast. People have babies like mad here - I think Jaramana may have a chaos problem looming. There are way too many people to keep the same "free for all" condition of the streets, and driving a few minutes on the outskirts of town will get you a whiff of some mighty aromatic open sewers.
Monday, 1 September 2003, Jaramana, Syria
90 degrees, SUNNY
We wake up surprisingly early around 9:30, and I decide it's finally time to go check in at the Safira Amerikee (American Embassy) since I've been here almost two weeks, and it's also about time for me to check in with Syrian immigration too. We get in a cab in Jaramana, and take the most circuitous route to the Embassy I've ever been on. We go thru Bhab Touma, then around on a highway - at which point I ask Naeif "the driver knows where the embassy is, right?" and Naeif gives me an exasperated look and has a few words in Arabic with the driver. I mean, I'm an arrajnabe and I know he's off on the wrong route. Finally, a 10 minute ride that has taken us almost a half hour, we get to the Embassy. I chat with the same guy who I saw last year, and he remembers me!
Unfortunately, the embassy only takes registrations before 11 AM, so I'll bring the card back with my information when Jeremy and Diana get here. We leave, and head towards the Goethe Institute, one of my main hangouts when I was here last. In the garden, the same bald guy is working, he remembers me and now I have Naeif to translate. We have breakfast, and a kahwa (coffee) and are on the move again - it's getting hot out. We get a cab back to Jaramana to hide from the sun.
At home, it's time for a nap in the courtyard. I alternate between dozing, and reading my book "Glamourama" by Bret Eason Ellis - the perfect antidote to the chaos here - a book about a different kind of chaos.
When I wake up, Naeif is chatting with his friend Fourat, a violin player. Soon, we're off to Fourat's parents house for dinner at their home in Mezzeh - a very nice neighborhood in Damascus. We spend an enjoyable couple of hours there, chatting, drinking whisky and eating sandwiches and salads. Fourat is a great guy - he also speaks English, which is a welcome relief for me, to have someone to talk to. He studied music in Russia for 11 years, so also speaks fluent Russian. On the bookshelves are books in English, Russian and Arabic - this seems utterly erudite to me!
Back home in Jaramana, there is no water to wash, drink or use the toilet. Ghazwan is on the job, but I opt to go to a neighbor's with Marlin to use their hammam, then go shopping for a bit. We go to the neighbor's house, a 40ish woman living alone (a rarity!) because her parents go to Arneh for the summer. She's an uncommon Syrian woman, never married (not for lack of proposals), works and is happily alone. We use her hammam, have a cup of coffee and she joins us for the shopping trip.
The three of us head off into Jaramana and almost immediately must visit a shoe shop. We need to escape the heat anyway. I spot a cool pair of blue shoes with a silver chain for $10. Sold! Then, we go to a Syrian dollar store (nothing over 100 S.L.!) and I get six Mate spoon/straws, some crazy Syrian deodorant, a Monopoly game in Arabic and a tiny nargilah - all for 200 S.L. (about US $4). We visit other stores, one has such great music, I bust out dancing which causes quite a commotion. Seems anything only slightly out of the ordinary causes tremendous turmoil.
We go home, I show Naeif my purchases, and we head off to the neighbors house for a hafla! Me, Marlin, Thuraiya and the neighbor sit around in our dishdashis and eat fruit, smoke nargilah and drink whisky and take turns dancing to the static-filled Syrian radio. At midnight, it's my birthday, so we light candles and sing - yay! Soon after, home for sleep.
Sunday, 31 August 2003, Jaramana, Syria
90 degrees, SUNNY
Wake up late, as usual. All the food in Ommee's kitchen now makes me wary especially when I peek in the bottom of the refrigerator, and see a jumble of pots and pans. Except food is included in these pans. Last winter, it seemed the cleanliness level was higher - I guess it's summer now, and there's more bacteria activity. I was happy to see the addition of a dishwasher, though, which makes dishes a lot more appetizing to eat from.
Today, I've agreed to a visit to Naeif's aunt's house for lunch. I adore this woman, and her food is always delicious, her kitchen spotless. We hang around until 3 or so, then go over for lunch. She's made cousa laban which I love. Cousa are similar to small zucchini, stuffed with lamb and rice and swimming in a tangy yoghurt sauce. Everyone is over there, Ommee, Ebbe, Ghazwan and a pile of kids - Naeif's aunt's daughters and their kids and husbands too. There are also new twin babies - Amjed and Jowad sporting cute baby dishdashis! Everyone is very amused with pointing out the baby dishdashis to me, knowing how attached I am to wearing mine. Rama is running around shrieking - last year's new baby. I mention to Naeif that they life of a "baby star" is short here when a new baby appears in the family every year. Rebal takes on the responsibility of pointing out each child, except the ones I know well, and telling me their names. After lunch, we sit in the garden, eat fruit and drink tea. It's not so utterly hot out anymore, and pleasant to be outside. Finally, Naeif and I leave for home, we've got a party to go to, and need naps!
Ghazwan takes us over to Naeif's friend Raji's party at his house. Raji got married last year, so we pick up a house plant as a gift since obviously we weren't able to attend the wedding. Weddings in Syria in the summer happen on average about three times a week, it seems, everyone noisily celebrating and dancing in the streets. Raji's wife, Alhem is really pretty - resembles J.Lo, and their new baby (everyone has a new baby right away) is cute. Their house is very cute and spotless. I forget that most of the houses in the Middle East ARE spotless - Naeif's, I think, gets dirty quickly because there are always so many people running in and out of it all day. We sit on the couches, and snack from a spread of food that is covering about three normal size cocktail tables. There is taboulleh (which turns out to be the most delicious I've ever eaten), tuna salad (with corn!), kibbeh nayeh (raw lamb with olive oil), baba ganouj, hummus (these two shaped into star patterns on the dish) and lots of cut up raw vegetables. Raji turns on his enormous TV, and plays a few music videos and we bust out the Arak and Barada beer. Then a program comes on which is the Arabic version of American Idol! There are men and women singers from Tunisia, Palestine, Syria, Jordan, Saudi Arabia and Lebanon competing. Even with the language barrier (mine) we all have a lot of fun approving or disapproving of the singers. There is a spectacular woman - Rouwah, Syrian, competing, and she's my pick, but she's beat out by a woman who is slightly heavy - sort of looks like Nancy Wilson in her fat days - but still beautiful and has a gorgeous voice. It seems this program - with the same theme music as the American version - is hugely popular with Syrians, and everyone watches it.
Speaking of gorgeous women, these Syrian babes slap me silly! There is one woman at the party, Naeif's friend Ossama's wife, Leyalh. She's quite tall, slim and has straight blonde hair - she looks like she could be an American supermodel, all dressed in black with super cool black mules with stiletto heels. They chat awhile, and Naeif then tells me that Leyalh is pregnant! I make a gesture, like "where is she keeping the baby?" This gets a lot of laughs and Ossama squeezes his wife until she jokingly slaps him to stop. They're a cute but unusual couple - she's gorgeous, and he's kind of a big lug guy. I wonder how a guy like him got a beautiful girl like that, and tease him (via Naeif) by asking - he says he put the ring on her finger quick before she could say no. After watching him, though, I can totally see the appeal - he's always laughing or singing, a really sweet, funny guy, and he gets cuter and cuter in my eyes. There is another couple, Abu Abdou (but his name is Samall) and his new fiancee (didn't get her name) another fabulous woman. Naeif's friend Weesam shows up, and gets teased unmercifully because he is the only single man in the bunch. He starts playing his oud, and Ossama plays the bouzouka, and we jam out to some Arabic tunes. I offer a slightly Arak-fueled version of "Ice, Ice, Baby" and as much of "Slim Shady" as I know bringing a culture I'm completely not a part of (rap) to a culture I'm only living on the fringes of. Around 3, Naeif and I stagger home.
Tuesday, 2 September 2003, Jaramana, Syria
90 degrees, SUNNY
Today is my birthday, Happy Birthday to meeeeee! I'm 42!
Wake up around 11 AM, breakfast of hardboiled eggs. We're meeting Walid, and going to Souk al Hamidiyyah for some hookah shopping - he wants to get two to bring home. We walk by stall after stall of hookah shops, every one packed with pipes and accessories. The shops outside the main souk are connected to the factories, and have a better selection and lower prices.
It's amazing how nothing really changes -with the people - in Syria - except for the addition of babies. This is only my observation over the span of a year, but Naeif has been away for five years and many of his friends have the same jobs. I can go to the coffeehouses and restaurants I liked last time I was here, and not only are the same people at work there, but they remember me. People do not switch jobs like they do in the US - it's debatable whether this is good or bad. Naeif has friends that have been working as waiters in the same restaurants for the last fifteen years.
Near Jamir Hamidiyyah (Omayyad Mosque) is a coffee shop - the scene of my near fainting incident when I first got here - called Nowfara. It's great for riding out that inevitable culture shock by drinking tea and smoking hookah. You can always see a few tourists stumbling around more, or wearing brighter clothing with more logos than yours that makes you feel like maybe you might just blend in one day, and not be stared at anymore. Another one of Naeif's friends joins us, and we leave Nowfara to go off through Old Damascus, then Bhab Touma in search of shwarma at Abu Romeh's shwarma stand. After that, home to Jaramana.
Disco naps go from 5 PM to around 7 PM.
Now it's time to put on a styling outfit and go to Le Piano bar in Bhab Sharki - the "West Gate" of Damascus. Le Piano bar seems to attract a latenight crowd. Naeif and I arrive around 9:30, and the place is empty except for one other couple. We sit down and order drinks - my vodka tonic is a glass with two thirds vodka, ice and a can of tonic water. The equivalent of two drinks. Naeif has a Black Label and I order a can of fizzy mineral water. Our entire bill, after we each have two drinks comes to US $10. Around 11 PM, we think maybe no one else is going to show up, so we leave to meet Ghazwan to go out in Jaramana. There is a new nightclub called "Al Arabe" (the Arab!) which seems quite dead. Luckily, while in the Arab, we get a call on Ghazwan's mobile phone - it's Raji and his wife, and Fourat - back at Le Piano Bar! We get back in a cab, leaving Ghazwan in Jaramama - he's got to work tomorrow, and return to the Piano Bar. Now the place is jumping. Fourat gives me flowers (sweet guy!) and Raji and his wife give me a cute turquoise bag with flowers on it. This is so great!
We stay here for hours, singing along to songs in Arabic and English. Then the famous Le Piano bar castanets descend in baskets suspended from the ceiling - we grab them and clatter them for the rest of the night.
3 AM, it's time to call it a night, and a cab swoops us back to Jaramana.