So much I don't know

December 20-January 6.

The plan: Cartagena, Valencia, Barcelona, Paris, London, Madrid, home.

It's amazing how daunting Western Europe and its cities are. I breathe easier imaging that I am going to Istanbul (metro, Sultanahmet, mercimek çorbasi, Galata Bridge) or Kathmandu (dhal bhat tarkari, my old 'hood at Ratopul, the German bakeries). In a few weeks, will I feel the same about these new destinations?

Ah-ha

The problem with relationships that are supported by the internet: when something happens in the real world, the real world always takes precedence. 

Ashara faqat

I told my Arabic teacher that I loved the "q" sound. It doesn't exist in English. It's the sound you make when you pretend you are drinking something--that glug glug glug sound in the back of your throat. Turkish translates it into a "k" sound.

daqiqa (minute) becomes dakika

faqat (only, just) becomes fakat

At the cafeteria around the corner (my favourite food source so far), I finally ordered the ubiquitous fava bean soup. A hearty bowl was delivered, topped with a layer of olive oil and a spoonful of cumin. Bread, too, and a mix of potato and green salad. It was the perfect meal. After, I went to the counter to pay and handed the boy a 20-dirham coin. He handed me back a 10-dirham coin.

Ashara faqat?

Ashara faqat.

Incredible. Ten dirhams is $1.50. I may never cook again.