Hospitality of strangers

I'm finding it hard to keep up, working again full time and trying to spend as much time enjoying the city and the people as possible. I often don't have a chance to write, even in my little journal (thanx MC!). But I have to relate my most recent adventure. Ziad, my friend who picked me up my first day, asked me to join him and his wife at her cousin's for dinner last night. They picked me up again, and we drove a short ways into the main part of the city. The houses in the newer parts of Aleppo are often large stone buildings, beautifully designed, usually about three stories, with each story belonging to a different family. Zahar's cousin lives on the second floor with his wife, three of his daughters and one of his sons. An older son and daughter are living in the UK, going to college. They welcomed me graciously, and we proceeded to practice each others languages; they would ask me questions in English, I would attempt to answer with Arabic. Throughout the evening, Ziad acted as a translator, providing each side with words and giving me a running synopsis of the news we were watching in Arabic.

The food they served was wonderful, as it always is. A salad consisting mostly of carrots and radish, a soup of chickpeas and almonds in a creamy white sauce also made of chickpeas I think, and a dish I think was called hamil, though I may be mistaken. The last are something I've had multiple times, and they consist of rice and meat fried inside a breaded shell. These were arguably the best I've had to date, however, and included bits of walnuts. When the food was served, the father, Abu-Abuti, moved to my couch and sat next to me. His name, or rather his traditional nickname, means "father of Abuti", his oldest son. He pushed me to eat more and more, gesturing from his heart, to his stomach, and hugging himself while saying "how much you eat, how much you love." By this he meant that how much I ate was a show of how much I liked his family. I liked them very much, and the next morning, I still feel full.

After the meal, the daughters disappeared, and returned carrying water pipes (hubblebubbles is how they refer to them, though the traditional name is narghile or hookah). Like dinner my first night, these were grape flavored, and we spent the next couple of hours sharing the pipes and watching the news. When I commented on what my mother would think of the pipes, someone brought out a camera and Ziad took pictures for me to show her. We ended up taking pictures of much of the family, and the extravagant plates of fruit they brought out for dessert. One of the daughters, Alaa, set up a voice chat on the computer with their brother in the UK, and I talked to him for a while. They showed me family pictures, of the siblings living in the UK, and of a family trip the rest had taken recently to Palmyra. Palmyra is an ancient Roman city and one of the most famous sites in Syria. I plan to visit there myself.

At some point in the evening, I was presented with a beautiful pink rose from Abu-Abuti's garden, and when we left, Alaa presented me with a parting gift. They insisted I have to come back again, and I hope to do so. Back at my room, I checked out my gift. It consisted of a small box of rose shaped candles, and a small shiny silver and blue treasure chest wrapped in a pink bow. The box contained a silver bracelet and a necklace of silver and blue beads, which I'm wearing now. :) I'll get the rest of the pictures from Ziad soon, but he sent me this one by email this morning.