On Bicadilly, Bersil and Baking Bowder

Ever since the old aunt moved in, a new game has developed itself in our household. It’s called ‘spot the P.’

You see, the Arabic alphabet does not have the letter P. It has a letter very close to it however; the B. Foreign words that are used in Arabic, and that start with a P, are therefore pronounced with a B. Now most Lebanese are fluently bi-lingual if not tri-lingual, and they’ve simply added the P sound to their repertoire. But quite a few Lebanese are most comfortable with Arabic, and they still have the tendency to switch the P for a B. Pepsi becomes Bebsi, parking is barking, you have bassborts, you must bush the button, and the most famous one of them all is that Balestinian beoble want beace.

The elderly aunt is a native Arabic speaker, but Lebanon is a country full of foreign influences, our household adding yet another language/culture to the melange, and so she encounters all day long these foreign words. She sticks faithfully (and rightfully so, I might add) to Arabic, and ventures around the ‘strange words’ without much problem, except for those with that darn letter P.

It was the evil teenager in my house that noticed this peculiarity first. Leave it to a teenager to spot your weak point. Over dinner he would share with us in full color what word the poor aunt had massacred that day.

“Hahahaha, you know what she asked me today? If I could go and bring a bag of Bersil. Hahahaha, Bersil, you get it? Ber-sil!?”

The next day, he’d say: “I asked her if she had something for a headache, and she said; ‘Take a Banadol. Hahahaha, Banadol. That’s so funny.”

The dinner after it would be: "L saw a cockroach today, and she said' Where's the BifBaf? Hahaha, BibBaf, that's a good one, the best one yet. BibBaf!"

Now that the teenager had spotted it, other members in the household would pay attention to this habit as well, and soon a list was compiled. There was Bicadilly, baking bowder and bajamas, Baris and ‘jibneh Barmesan’, Bavarotti, combuter and BC.

The poor aunt, self-conscious as she is, figured out that she had to avoid the ridicule of this evil teenager, and decided to use the P’s. However, in her vigor, she also switched the B’s for P’s in words that actually did start with a B. Faster than a New York minute, the teenager was on it again.

“I was with L. today in a cab, and she told the driver to go by Pliss street. Hahahaha. Pliss street. The cab driver had to laugh too.“

And more words were added to the list. There was peach, Patman, and Pop’s

Sidani Street, Beirut. Monday morning, 7 o'clock

The old aunt was not born yesterday, however. And making fun of her has severe consequences. She has decided that whoever cracks so much as a smile over her speech during dinner has to clear the table. Keeping in mind that the dining room is down, and the kitchen up (don’t ask me), that’s going up and down the stairs with dishes and trays quite a number of times.

The teenager in my household has yet to figure out the scientific fact that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. He just cannot let any opportunity pass, and as a result has been clearing the table for the past 10 days.

I don’t mind. Only the first one who makes fun gets to work, the secondary laugher gets away with it. And the housekeeper is quite pleased with the arrangement as well.

Update: We just finished dinner. Bolice can now be added to the list, and my dear son is hauling dishes, once again.

Picnic on the Beach in Sour

Beaches of Sour. Behind that hill is Israel

It’s been a busy weekend. On Saturday I drove 80 kilometers up north, Sunday took me 90 kilometers down south, to Tyre (Sour). To the Deep South, you could almost say, because some 10 kilometers further, and you’re in Israel.



Sour in the background. What's galloping in our direction?

Even though it’s not that far really, getting there is really a feat. When going up north - although all of it high way - it’s the urban area of north Beirut and Jounieh that slows traffic down. But when going down south, there’s only bits and pieces of a highway. The highway sort of stops halfway. First in Saida, then it picks up again after town, and suddenly halfway between Saida and Sour, the highway is closed off. It seems a guy with a plantation does not like the idea of the highway continuing through his land, but I heard that like sixth-hand, so I don’t know if that’s true. And in Saida you have to swirl around some 99 roundabouts.

It's a horse! And a dog running after it. Wait! That's one of ours!

But it’s worth it. The beaches of Sour are wide and long and clean and public and empty. Most beaches in Lebanon posses some of these characteristics, but never all five at the same time. I’m not quite sure why there is no garbage. I think the sea current dumps it on land somewhere else. Probably Beirut. Or maybe the garbage landfill is not on the seaside, unlike the ones in Beirut and Sidon. What on earth are you thinking when you decide to make a garbage dump on the seaside? In Tripoli they’ve got quite a hand of it too. But in Sour, clean beaches. At least the part on which we had our picnic.

No picnic is complete with the strawberry tarts and chocolate eclairs of Paul's.

The beaches of Tyre are located on the south side of the city. The city has created the Tyre Beach Nature Reserve, an 8 square kilometer coastline protection zone. Halfway a Palestinian camp borders on the Mediterranean Sea. The northern portion of the reserve is open to the public for swimming. It seems these beaches are not only unique because they are so wide, but also because there are freshwater springs on the beaches (or right near it), which were used in ancient times as a water source.

There's that horse again. Oh no, it's a different one.

A friend brought a particular ferocious dog. So ferocious in fact that – whenever we organize picnics – other friends want to know in advance whether ‘she is taking that dog with her’. I think sometimes they organize picnics in secret, to make sure she doesn’t show up with that dog. Hahaha, that’s funny. Are you reading this, A? But then again, I cannot say anything, because I have dogs too, which I drag to every picnic. Now that the old bearded collie has gone blind and deaf, he doesn’t like to go outdoors very much anymore, and I am just stuck with that mutt I found on the road some years ago.



Another 'three-some' this time on a bike.



But on the beaches of Sour, nobody cares, because they come with their own dogs, and horses, and motorcycles and what not. A lovely day, and everyone got severely burnt, because after all, it isn’t summer yet, so nobody thought to bring the sunscreen.



Water was a little 'fresh', shall we say? Only the kids were willing to swim.



And now I need to recover from the weekend. Too bad I’ve got to show up for work.

Spring and Flowers

Well, I wasn’t wrong about spring. If you’re into flowers, and do not have some pollen allergy, the mountains is the place to be. I ended up in Ejd Ibrine (that’s what it said on the sign) if I remember correctly, which is of course unfindable on the map or GPS, as it is spelled in 5 different ways. Ijd Aabrine, for instance. Or Idjabrine. When googling it, Google suggested I try ‘idlebrain’. Interesting. If you’re familiar with the region, it’s somewhere near Btaaboura (Google Earth knows that one). And that is in the North of Lebanon, same height as Chekka, but more inland.

The region, a plateau overlooking the Mediterranean, is called Koura. Btaaboura is a Greek-orthodox village, but Ejd Ibrine was muslim. The very first book I ever read on Lebanon was ‘The Hills of Adonis' , by Colin Thubron .  It is about a journey the author made in 1966 through Lebanon, and he mentioned that in Lebanon the villages were separated by religion, and that between every christian and druze village, there was a muslim village if peace was to be kept. I know now that not to be completely accurate, but villages in the mountains often do tend to alternate each other in religion. It’s usually the church spire or the minaret that will tell you which is which.

FLying a kite in between the Marguerite/Daisies/Chamomilles ?

There aren’t a lot of trees in Koura. Pine trees are rare; you’ll see an occasional cypress. But the region is known for its olive orchards. Or is it olive groves? It’s a soft sloping landscape, all chalk hills, with terraces of olive trees alternate with newly planted wheat and other crops that I as a city girl do not recognize, other than that it is cultivated.

Picking flowers

 We ended up in one of those olive groves. They had burnt the undergrowth in the winter, and the result is an incredible wealth of flowers in spring. I have this book on flowers in Lebanon, but of course you don’t have It with you when you need it, and right now I cannot find it either, so here’s a website by the same author. But there were a lot of flowers, as you can see.

Here are some flowers I do know. Hana and a type of pink cyclamen.

Some of these flowers I recognized as the ones I always saw in potted versions on the window sills of grandmothers’ houses and old twice removed aunts in Holland. Definitely an old fashioned flower. Here they grow in the wild, and in abundance. There was some discussion as to whether we were lying in between the daisies, the marguerites or the chamomile. The funny thing is that flower names is something you only retain in your native language. And so my SIL can only give me the French names and BIL knows some of them in Arabic (boys don’t know their flowers!), others only in English. I am stuck with Dutch, which is not very helpful at this stage.

Threatening clouds over the Cedars

Today a picnic at the beach is planned. Whenever spring shows up, I always wonder why on Earth I ever wanted it to get winter. But then again, by the end of summer, we cannot wait for it to get cold. Ah, the grass is always greener on the other side.

You Know it is Spring When . . . .

. . . . . . . the backgammon players appear outdoors again.

Bikers in the Bekaa

Seven Estonian tourists have been kidnapped while cycling in the Bekaa Valley in eastern Lebanon. (source and source)

Or if you want it in Dutch:

Fietsende Europeanen ontvoerd in Libanon (source)

Now what do you think of this? Personally, I think it’s rather funny, but I have been often reprimanded for my strong sense of sarcasm (especially in the workplace). It’s a cultural thing. The Dutch are sarcastic. The British too. Americans are the opposite. The Lebanese? I don’t think sarcasm flows well within this society. Everyone’s rather sensitive.

But back to the topic. Now who would want a bunch of Estonian bikers? What were they thinking? Israeli invasion? Spies under cover? That they could make money out of them? I don’t think Estonia is a particularly wealthy nation. Maybe one of them ogled a roadside girl too openly? But really, if you’ve seen the girls in Estonia, why would you ogle girls in the Beqaa Vally.

They were kidnapped in Zahle. I thought Zahle was a Christian town? These guys are into the business as well these days?
I went biking in the Beqaa once. Last October, I believe. With another two 'Europeans', as the Dutch headline reads. Nobody wanted to kidnap us. You read that, Marijke? Ouch, that hurts. We're not THAT old.

Personally, I think that by the end of the day, this will turn out to be all a great misunderstanding. They went to the local Dunkin’ Donuts, someone found their bikes near a lamppost and raised the alarm. Or they’ve been tasting wine at one of the local wineries and things got out of hands. Being nationals from a former East Block country, they’re known for their strong taste for the hops and other related products.

We’ll see.

On Picnics by the Sea, and Things to Come

Is Yemen going to go? I say yes. Hubbie says no. Is Syria going to be next? I say ‘better not, or we’re going to end up with an Iraq next door,’ while hubbie says ‘only if the guy makes a deal regarding Israel.’ I’m willing to make a bet over that one. Is Bahrain going to go? We both think yes. No bet then. Libya? Well, I said no two weeks ago, hubbie said yes, but that was before the Americans got involved, so the stakes have changed. Not fair. Saudi Arabia? I say ‘yes’. Hubbie says ‘no way, Americans won’t allow it.’

When there's water, you need to throw a stone in it. That's the rule, when you're a child

Are you having conversations like this over dinner? I bet you do, but only if you live in Lebanon.

Things are moving in this part of the world. Except for Lebanon. Although it is an incredibly vibrant county, it’s got its slow and quiet moments too. We’re in a slow period right now. But we all know of course, that whatever happens outside, be it Syria, Bahrain or Saudi Arabia, the ripple effect will reach Lebanon. And then things won’t be so quiet anymore. 



How to fly a kite



So SIL thought – because of things that will inevitably come our way – that a picnic was a good thing to get the kids out of the house. I love picnics. So we piled kids, food and a large assortment of junk you need when you take kids (like ours) with you, into the car, and on the road we were. I don’t think our kids are that different from other people’s kids, but maybe it is because we are ‘odd’? Or we go to ‘odd’ places, maybe? Because somehow our kids always fall in the water, step in glass, tumble down rocks, find wood with rusty nails on the beach and then sit on it, or get tangled up in barbed wire. This picnic was a good one though, in terms of injuries. Just one kid scraped himself. 



Leave it to a teenager to fly a kite and BBM at the same time.

 We chose the coast. It was quite windy though on the seaside. Why don’t you go somewhere less windy, you say? Well, the cousins had kites, and kites need wind. It ended up being – what my SIL calls - a 'Syrian Picnic'; a picnic out of the back of the car. I’m not quite sure why she calls it a Syrian picnic; maybe because of the haphazard nature? It's a little improvised?

A Syrian picnic in the back of the truck

The Lebanese have an issue with the Syrians, pretty much the same the Dutch historically have an issue with the Germans, although these days that sentiment is pretty much gone. Mind you, I’ve got two Syrian colleagues. One is Syrian by marriage, the other Syrian by birth. They are well aware of the antics, and can laugh about them as well.

Spring is in the air; storks are flying north

But I wonder, if Syria is next in line, what is going to happen here?

All Zen Again

All Zen again, thanks to your kind reactions. No need to stalk someone's IP address. Except for the one that suggested I go back - with fowers - and apologize to the valet parking guy. I do not need to track that IP address down though, because I see the hand of my evil oldest brother in every single line, he, who himself is well-known  for anger managment issues. Need I remind him of that marathon one time with the policemen and the pilons? Or the tea at breakfast (which dripped from the ceiling for quite a while)? 

 And thank you Mrs. B for finding this wonderful link (which created my Zen heart!).

The Only Bitch in Line

I had one of my finer moments today. In Rue Jeanne d’Arc, West-Beirut. I guess now I will have to avoid this street for several months to come.

But this time I blame it on you, the Lebanese.

What is it with you people? Why do you accept treatment like this? Why do you allow yourselves to get shoved around like that? Why don’t you know your rights, and claim them? You’re normally an assertive people, so why is it always that I have to be the bitch in order to claim something that you all should be doing? Need some explanation? Here it goes.

I have to go and buy some flowers for a friend. I am in the car and I pass by Jeanne d’Arc street (known for its large number of flower and plant shops). It is rush hour, so it is difficult to find a parking. And indeed, most parking spots are taken, except for one that has these orange pillars on it, the kind you use when you’re working on the road.

There are some cars in front in me that obviously are also looking for a spot. They try to turn into that public parking spot with the orange pillars, but they are being turned away by a gentleman in a yellow plastic gillet.

When I get near that spot, I roll down my window, and ask, “I’d like to park here, what’s the problem.”

“Oh, this is for the restaurant.”

“Excuse me?”

“This place is reserved for the restaurant.”

Oh really? Well, it has one of those digital parking machines right next to it, so I sincerely doubt it. A restaurant is now claiming public parking spots, for which you have to pay, as their own? A public parking spot, on a public road? I don’t think so.

“Well, remove them please, because I need to park here, and it is a public spot.”

“No, I cannot do that.”

“Yes, you must. This is not your parking. It is a public road. You cannot claim public road as your own. Move.”

“The owner has a permit.”

Now really? Does he? We’ll see about that. I run over the orange pillars, and barge into the restaurant.

“Who’s the manager?”

“ I am.”

“You claim public parking as your own?”

“It is after four, I can do that.”

“You can do no such thing.”

“Maybe I have a license.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Whatever you say Madam.”

 

You bet your sorry ass it is whatever I say.

By this time, all his clientele is turning around to see what foreign bitch is making such a ruckus.

But what really gets me is that several cars in front of me all tried to park there, and each one of them accepted to be send away by some silly guy in a plastic orange jacket with the incredible claim that this is ‘his’ private spot, while you all know very well it is on a public road.

When I walk back, the valet guy says indignantly, “You could just have asked me nicely.”

Come again? I have to ask you nicely? Nicely? I have to ask a valet guy ‘nicely’ if I please can park in a public parking spot? It’s a good thing I’m not a black belt, because he’d be picking up his teeth all over the place.

 

But why do you Lebanese do that? Why do you let yourself be treated like that? Don’t you know the law? This is a public road. You cannot just ‘claim’ a public road as being your own for whatever purpose. Yet three cars in front of me all accepted that absolute ridiculous argument.

Of course, I’m the one complaining about it, so who gets the blame? Yep. The stupid foreigner.

Same thing happened last week in the ski lift. Most people line up reasonably well. There is some showing and pushing, but overall it is a very decent affair. Until last week. There was this one older gentleman – someone who should really know better - who really pushed ever possible button there is to push. He shoved, he pushed, he wiggled, he jabbed, and he’s so bad that he almost make me fall out of the line, and separates me from my daughter. And this is not a young man either, this is a (seemingly) respectable gentleman in his fifties. Expensive outfit, fancy sun glasses, clean shaven, sharp hair cut. Everyone gets pushed out of line, and he keeps shoving and wiggling.

“Excuse me sir, maybe it is better if you step on top of me, because somehow I see no way around me. So go ahead.”

“No, I’m fine,”

“No, you’re not, because you’re totally shoving me away, so if you could move backwards, I can stand up straight again.”

I get this dumb look, a bit of a sheepish smile. He tries to look the other way as if he hasn’t heard me. That is all right by me, pretending you don’t hear me, because I’ll just speak a little louder then.

“SIR, YOU ARE KIND OF PUSHING ME OVER, MAYBE YOU COULD JUST WAIT YOUR TURN AND THEN I WOULDN’T HAVE TO FALL OVER.”

At that point in time, other people in line agree. “Welcome to Lebanon, this is how they are here,” says a young man. A woman with child adds: “This is how they always do it here, it is terrible. Like a zoo. No discipline.” Other people nod in unison.

What do you mean; this is how they are here? This is not at all how most people here are. Only some people are like this. So say something! Get this old fart back in line, push him away, take some action. But no, everyone gets shoved and pushed around, and they shut up.

As always, I’m the only bitch in line.

Oh Lebanese from all corners of the country, please unite and claim your rights, don’t just mope around like meek sheep. Well, I guess I’m done with my diatribe. Got it out of my system again. You may now leave some nasty comment of how uptight I am. I'm keeping track of all your IP addresses.

On Nuclear Energy and Nothing

This is what Beirut & Mediterranean looked like on Friday afternoon at dusk.



Someone ( a commenter yesterday, actually) suggested that - due to the lack of intellectual content of my post(s) - maybe I should start a forum on nuclear energy.

wellicht is het tijd voor een discussie over kernenergie op dit forum, in plaats van gekeuvel, Siets?

I suspect Theo to be the culprit here. Or one of my brothers. Wouldn’t pass that by them. But gosh, if you expect any intellectual content here at all, I’m afraid you find yourself at the shallow end of the pool. You may have to adjust your expectations there a tad-bit. This is the blog of a journalist/housewife-with-a-hobby, although these days it’s more the other way around, and any intellectual material probably got here purely by mistake. Or was stolen from another blogger. And my only claim to fame is that I live I Beirut, one of the most glamorous and mind-boggling places on Earth. 

And this is what it looked like Saturday morning at 11 (same place but taken from the other side)

As you may have noticed, these days I totally refrain from commenting on politics. That’s a bit of an oxymoron though, because that would suggest that politics in this country is the domain of intellectuals, and I daresay that 65% of the MP’s in Lebanon did not get past a BA. I’d love to see the statistics on that. How many MP’s actually hold a Lebanese BAC? How many have a BA? How many have an MA? Any PhD material in the parliament? How many MP’s made it on their own, and how many came from money? How many MP actually held a JOB before they entered politics? Like in a REAL job.

A. diving

Hmmm, I’m swaying off topic. That's AAAD. We were discussing intellectualism. No, not here. I do not like to analyze things. I’m a lurker. I like to hang out, tag along, lounge and do nothing. Sniff the local atmosphere; listen in on other people’s conversations.



Alltogether in one picture,  H. W. and A; that doesn't happen very often.

So what did I do yesterday? (If you expect anything interesting, surf on) I hung around on a boat and floated in the Mediterranean Sea. The weather had shifted from Ice Age to Tropics in a matter of hours, and hubbie and son went diving. I had nothing else planned, so H. and I went along for the ride. A family day on the water. Now’s how’s that for intellectual content?

H and I

And now you may lurk. Or leave a comment. But don’t expect anything intellectual here. I work for a living. Actally, I open the floor for an intellectual forum in the comment section. Go ahead!

Where I Come From. . . . . . .

. . . . this is the way you transport a murder victim. Or a family member that died while you’re on holiday in another country, and you do not wish to deal with the border authorities. :)

For Moment . . . .

. . . . . I had sort of hoped that spring was announcing itself.

Apparently I was wrong. And I think a lightning strike just fried my TV. Well, my computer still seems to be operating.

Ooff!

The gas prices have dropped with 5,000 LBP, but there is no rest for the wicked. Look what the mailman brought by this morning. In person. With registered mail. They’re going through a great deal of motion for this one.

It’s my second speeding ticket, but the first one where I got caught by radar (in Lebanon, that is). I had sort of given up on those stories that the government had installed radar all over the place, because I hadn’t received a ticket. That was until today.

A 50,000 LBP fine for speeding on January 9, 2011. Where? I cannot quite figure it out. It says something about the main road (or is it public road?) in Jounieh. Was I in Jounieh on January 9? It was a Sunday, and I went skiing that day. My guess is, yes, I passed through Jounieh that day. Apparently I drove 90 kmph. I don’t doubt it for a minute, considering that that stretch of road is a highway.

Or is it? What’s the speed limit there anyway? Are there signs? Maybe I should check it out next time. It’s in a town, so maybe the speed limit is only 50 kmph?

Considering that it took almost 2 months before my January 9 ticket got in, my guess is – since I drive that stretch of road about once a week - I’ve got another two months of weekly '50,000 pound' speeding tickets coming my way.

Ooff. Maybe I should go for some overtime at work. 

The Last One For the Home Front

Inside the Temple of Niha

 We eventually did make it to the Beqaa Valley this week, as you may have figured out from the cedar forest. Our first stop was at Niha. I’ve been there before, and in order not to repeat myself, read it here. Destination Lebanon has a pamphlet on it as well

The place is easier to find since I was there last; there’s a big sign now on the main road.

What has become normal to me, is an amazement to a foreign visitor. You can just ‘walk’ inside a temple. Walk on the inside of the temple? Touch everything? Climb the stairs? Explore the passages under the temple? 

The temples of Baalbeck are literally in the center of the town. Wouldn't it be nice, to have a temple in your back yard?

When the cousin/niece visited temples in Athens, in Greece, she could not go inside any temple, but just walk around it. You were not around to touch anything, step on anything. And here we are like Indiana Jones, having the entire place for ourselves. 


Baalbeck

 The second stop was of course Baalbeck, which is the only temple in Lebanon that has a number of rather unsavory characters hanging around it. The fun in this place is that you can visit landmarks without being swamped by adhesive vendors of fake artifacts, caps, T-shirts, bracelets and what not, unlike in Egypt or Syria. Except for Baalbeck. The steady flow of tourists is undoubtfully the cause of this.


Climb on anything you like.

 And that will be it for the touristic posts for a while. The cousin/niece gets on the plane tomorrow, so you have been given a reprieve. And Blogger tells me that in another 16 posts, I will have written 1,000 in all since 2005.

The typical picture of Baalbeck (Temple of Bachus, I believe)

For the Home Front VII

The gas situation eventually solved itself. And with a full tank we drove to the Beqaa Valley this week. We tried to visit a cedar forest. After all, what’s a visit to Lebanon without a visit to a cedar tree? It is after all in the flag. 

A cedar forest in the mist

We couldn’t reach the cedar forest in el-Arz  from the Beqaa Valley side (where we were at that moment), as the mountain passage (that sounds very impressive; it’s more like a hill passage) is closed due to the snow. To get there from the other side would mean an extra 200 kilometer.
And so we went to the Barouq forest. It’s not as well-known, but definitely bigger. And just as impressive. Probably even more. But when we got there, the gate was closed.

But what’s a fence when you have driven some 180 kilometers that day already? It was worth the climb. No better time to visit this forest when it is empty, quiet and still. And dark and deep, and many miles before I go to sleep.

The fog swept silently through the trees, and Hana told us the script of a horror movie that she was writing, with an empty, dark and deep forest as a setting. What do you mean, unsettling?

Lovely, dark and deep . . .

I am probably teaching my daughter all kinds of wrong stuff, like breaking and entering. We didn’t steal anything though. Just the view. To share here with you.

What do you mean, closed?

For the Home Front VI

After Saida, we drove to Sour (Tyrus). I think I have never seen the Lebanese drive as sedated as that Saturday. It was clear to see who still had a full tank of gas, and who was running on empty. I had no one passing me at 175 km an hour. No idiots in BMW weaving through traffic as if they were Alberto Tomba . Everyone was cruising at a very steady, demure pace, very civilized, very relaxing. We need more of those ‘no gas at the gas station’ days. 

For a bigger view, click on the picture.



In Sour, we ‘did’ the Roman baths, the hippodrome, the Roman road, the triumphal arch, an aqueduct and the necropolis. There was probably more Roman stuff, but it was only after the very last ruin that a gentleman approached us with an interesting looking book on the history of Tyre. And so while on our way back to Beirut, we read about all kinds of other Roman things we had missed. Or we had walked past it, but we didn’t know what it was. Next time. (I’ve have another 2 nieces and 4 nephews.)  The Romans left their mark on this town, or maybe it was because they build on stone. But as you can Google plenty of these pictures, just a collage today (I love Picasa!)

A cotton candy seller on a motorcycle on the road to Sour (Tyrus)

The cousin/niece is due to fly out - to Australia - on Friday, where she will continue her world tour. Just a few more days of tourism (For those that have had it.)