Juggling pins flung through the hands of the others, and I spotted a unicycle propped against some suitcase of tricks. Lorena waltzed down the steps, took charge of a friend’s poi, and performed a few sequences, glowing, back in her natural habitat. Drums lined the steps, violinists and guitarists sprung up spontaneously, and Lorena gyrated through the motions of Flamenco.
Damascus: Part II
It was a crisp, cool morning, and Star Crossed Lovers café – where we had drunk our last chai the night before – was already awake. Wooden tree stumps were laid out in the spreading sunlight and the café’s dwarfish owner, wild curls on his balding head, noticed us immediately.
“Good morning!” he called, bustling about the café’s matchbox sized kitchen. “You take chai?” he offered, smiling at us.
“Well…” I looked at Iain. “We’re on our way to see Umayyad mosque,” I told the man, with purpose. He didn’t consider this an answer.
“No charge!” he said, his grin growing.
To refuse an offer of tea in Syria is considered strange, and decidedly antisocial.
“Well… we’ve got time for some chai Iain, don’t we?” Continue reading Damascus: Part II>>
