May 25th: Shukran

Today began at our usual leisurely pace; breakfast of kiwi and banana in lemon juice, bread and jam, and a steaming bowl of coffee… I could get used to this. The coffee my aunt drinks is a mix of coffee and chicory, just as I have at home. But hers is smooth and mellow, and delicious. I am not a coffee drinker; I require my cups of tea throughout the day, like a true Brit. However, when I do have coffee I prefer it to be Turkish, Irish, or a coffee & chicory blend. In that order. I first sampled Turkish coffee many years ago in a restaurant in Bayswater (London). I was smitten. Living in Dearborn (Michigan) gave me frequent access to it… Turkish coffee and baklava. That's a close definition of heaven!

My aunt had errands to run, leaving me to my own devices …

My aunt and I were last together approximately 25 years ago, but we remain in touch with occasional letters or phone calls, and now by Skype. She is not really my aunt, but given the title as a friend of the family, as is custom with Anglo-Indian families. Her husband, R, and my dad were school friends, many years ago in India. Although several years apart, they had established a friendship and were, by all accounts, quite the ne’er-do-wells. In an attempt to straighten him out and set him on the right track, R was sent to England by his family. The years went by, my dad and R lost touch ... my dad moved to England, my mother followed, I was born  and then my brother … and one day, quite by chance, the two men found themselves standing next to each other on the platform at a train station. I can only imagine how they felt; life as an immigrant can be quite lonely. No matter how full your life may become, a piece of you is irretrievably gone. For his part, R had also acquired a French wife and a child. This wife is the aunt with whom I am now staying. Our conversation covers the gamut from current events - watching the developing storms near Florida and Yemen - to relationships, and everything in between.

This afternoon I ventured out alone. I needed a haircut before I left Venice but thought I'd find time for such an activity whilst in Norwich. Now I was in dire need of both shampoo and haircut, so I decided to kill two birds with one stone. Speaking no Arabic and scant little French, I wasn't sure how this was going to go. But, success!!! My aunt and I had previously found a little shop whose owner professed to cut and style the hair of any gender. That seemed to include me. The price of 150 Dh ($15.) met my budget, and we set up an appointment. I came away with super shiny hair, blow dried and styled like it has never been before. That's not to say that it was anything glamorous or out of the ordinary, simply that my hair gets little ‘styling’ other than being threatened by the hairdryer, and a brush dragged through it! The vendors in the shops close to our apartment, having grown used to me by now, signalled their 'approval' by shouting “bella, bella” as I walked past them on my way home!

Lunch today was couscous, cooked with a vegetable stew (squash, courgettes/zucchini, chick peas/garbanzo beans  and carrots), all purchased for a ridiculously small sum in the medina, and a lamb curry that I had cooked. Our lazy dinner was shawarma and chips in the medina.

Today my aunt and I each learned one word; shawarma, and shukran. For the uninitiated, here's the wiki definition of shawarma. See if you can read it without salivating.

The vendors smile with their lips when I say ‘Merci,’ but they smile with their eyes when I say shukran.