Linda

The past week was a mess, hence why my blog posts abruptly vanished and I just relied on the automatic posting feature to finish up telling the temple stories. I had a workshop to finish and kids not ready to perform on Thursday for a Friday show, I crashed my bike, and wasn't home any evening.

Instead, I was out on Pub Street, usually at the same bar or somewhere close, with a 50 cent draft beer and the free popcorn. I didn't go there to drink, as drinking alone is sad, and I could have easily just gone back to my hotel after dinner.

In being there alone, of course, I always started talking to the people around me and made some excellent friends, but that is not why I was there.

I was there to see Linda, the flower girl I talked about in the dinner post. When she said goodbye to our group, she said to me, "I see you every day." I took her seriously, and besides, I wanted to see her. I didn't see her over dinner, and so went to the bar in the hopes of catching her -- and did, every night.

Some days she would just sit and play games on my cellphone. One day she was selling some plastic snakes, and sat in my lap to recount an incredibly detailed story with each snake as a character, further astounding everyone in the vicinity with her grasp of English. Some days she would try to sell to whoever I was sitting with. On one occasion, when the monsoons hit, she came inside with me and sat, playing with my cell until the rains stopped.

I gave her my card with my email and phone, and made sure she had it before I left. On my last day, she begged me not to go. She said she was only here until next week, and then back to her country (province), some eight hours away. When she comes back, she said, maybe I sell, maybe not.

I promised her we would see each other again, and she made me hook our pinkies and swear, which I said. And when at last we hugged goodbye, she couldn't let go, and cried as I held her.

The sound you hear is my heart breaking into pieces. I dried her tears, promised again to find her, and then before either of us could fall apart anymore she left, and I ran.

I don't know what I did. She never tried to sell me anything, and I never asked to buy. We just understood each other perfectly, and since I left, I can't stop thinking about her, and spent most of yesterday completely broken-hearted. I'm going to find her again -- somehow. I'm already planning to make a dance about her, and call it Linda, and whenever I do find her -- show her, or have her dance it (she's a fantastic dancer.)

In any case, if you see her -- tell her I'm looking for her.

A night of three: part 4

By the time I arrived, there were five of us, though shortly after to be four, as one of the three German guys headed out. Sometime during the evening, the Dutch girls joined us, bringing the number to six. 

It was a restaurant down one of the alleys from Pub Street, which is exactly what it sounds like, and loud and crowded to boot. But down the alleys, it’s calmer and very nice, the restaurants packed one next to the other.

The dinner itself was not particularly special – in fact, most of them were just drinking, it was just my friend Paulo and I eating, beef lok lak. For the rest, draft beer, only 50 cents per. 

No, what was fascinating were the visitors. 

The first was perhaps the most broken woman I have ever seen. I don't know how old she was, but not very. She was wearing a dress, if you can all it that, sagging down to show her bra. She wore no shoes, and stumbled, clearly drunk. 

She came to the table. At this point, it was raining, and the four of us had moved under the eaves, leaving one side of the table empty, where she was standing. She was carrying a small plastic cup and placed it on the table, not looking at us. Randomly, she moved things around. Paulo gave her what little remained of his drink, which she took, then mimed a smoke. In one of her hands, she was clutching a lighter. 

The German guys both smoked, and one passed a cigarette over. She had a bit of trouble lighting it. Paulo, pretending not to watch by covering his eyes with the coasters, made her laugh, a brief thing, but beautiful. She took a long, grateful drag. She at last met my eyes, and I offered her a smile, the only thing I could think of. She returned it, offering a small thumbs up, and then stumbled away. 

We noticed later she had taken a headband from the disabled vendor across the way, so Paulo went over to pay for it. By that time, she was long gone. 

The second was a young girl, a vendor, 10 years old as we later learned. Her name was Linda, and we had met her the night previously, at another bar. She spoke excellent English and hung around our table for a long time, even after she knew we weren't buying, to talk. Both Paulo and I have Maori fish hooks, and she did as well, a topic to be much discussed. 

She was around a lot during Monday evening. She was clearly exhausted, but refused to say so. She was eating fruit and tried to explain that on Mondays, she only wants fruit. The guys tried to get her to eat more, but she refused. Still, she kept coming back. The previous night, she had just been talking to the guys, and again this time. And yet, one time when she came back, she came over to me, threw her arms around my shoulders, and kissed my cheek, and remained there for several seconds. 

With several more kisses and another squeeze, she was off, leaving me stunned and touched, totally melted and totally heartbroken. She said at one point she was staying with a friend and I wondered where her parents were, if at all. She kept coming back, at one point quite firmly removing Paulo's hand from my knee, where it had been resting, and sitting in my lap herself. Later on, the waitress -- a relative, or a friend -- brought her a plate of watermelon, which we shared, though mostly tried to get her to eat, and Paulo paid for it. 

At the end, she was drawing something, and I asked her if I could draw something for her, drawing the little rose I always doodle. The others added their little drawings. Everyone in the group but me was leaving the next day, and she gave them all hugs, at last putting her fist in the middle. I joined first, and everyone else put their fists in. "Friends forever!" she declared, wishing the rest of them luck and saying to me, "I see you every day!"

As she left, the third and final visitor appeared, watching this exchange with wide eyes. He was a street child, wide, hungry eyes. He looked no more than eight, but when we asked, said he was twelve. He didn't speak any English. He was clutching an empty water bottle and a can to his chest, probably to exchange for a few riel. 

We had a half empty water bottle on the table, and gave it to him, which he took. The waitress came with a new plate of popcorn, and was going to put it in his shirt, but we found an extra bag and filled it for him. He took it gratefully. When she came with a new plate for us, we gave that to him as well. I think Paulo slipped him a dollar or two as well, and he went off, one arm clutching the bottles, and one stuffing popcorn into his mouth. I wondered when the last time he had eaten was. 

Three visitors. It was like a myth, like each needed something specifically from us. I don't know if we gave them that, but hopefully. 

But it didn't really hit until today, when I was telling my sister about the temples, and the blessings, and said that my favorite was from the three ancient women. Three, and then I looked down and realized I was wearing three blessing bracelets. 

Three blessings, three women, three visitors. 

I don't think it was a coincidence. 

The bike, the heat, and the blessings: part 3

I got a late start on Sunday.

It was overcast when I set out, my bike clanking away as it does and me wondering if it would last the day. It’s not a very long ride to the archeological park, to Angkor Wat a bit further, and from there another few minutes to Angkor Thom.

I could have started at Angkor Wat, but had discovered sometime during the week they had elephant rides in Angkor Thom, and I thought only in the morning. They normally go from the south gate of the city to the east gate of Bayon temple, but when I got there they had moved up to the east gate already, and so just cycled the rest of the way.

They were now doing loops around the temple, and I parked my bike. The people running the rides were very friendly. They can’t do rides for just one person, but quite fortunately there was a friendly Malaysian guy who was also by himself, and so it worked out perfectly. We waited for the elephants to come back and chatted amiably.

I bought a pineapple to give to the elephant, and they cut it up into three pieces for me. Most people seemed to be afraid of the elephants, kind of dropping the fruit and running, but I know they’re very gentle and tried to wait while the trunk – so delicate for such a big creature – wrapped around the fruit.

The ride itself was bumpy, the little platform to hold us rocking back and forth as the elephant shifted its weight, and not entirely comfortable. But it was really cool. Afterwards, I set off to the temple, which turned into a much longer adventure as I realized there were many more – Angkor Thom was, in fact, a whole city – and it was going to take a lot more exploring than just checking out Bayon.

The adventure took me the entire morning, each again totally different from the previous day and from each other, today an experiment in climbing very steep stairs. The clouds had gone away, and the day was sweltering hot. The shade – wherever I found it – was welcome, and by the time I started trying to find my way back to Bayon, I realized I’d wandered very far.

There was one thing of special note in this adventure, a stop by one of the huge shrines surrounding the temple with the enormous statues of Buddha. I found one empty, three ancient women sitting around with shaved heads and a great lack of teeth. They smiled at me and waved me over, and I came gladly. I took the incense and one showed me how to do the three bows, which I already knew, but let her show. Then, she pointed me to her two colleagues, and one tied another bracelet around my wrist. As she did so, all three came over, touching my hand with theirs, and intoned the blessing together.

At the end, the one put my hand to my head. They pointed me on to the next temple, and I went, feeling quite touched.

When I finally found my way back to my bike – taking a wrong turn and unnecessarily wandering around the entire dang Bayon temple – I found the elephants gone, the table gone, and a small plastic bag with some mysterious foodstuffs in my bike basket. Wondering if they had been thrown there or left for me purposefully, I headed off to the next stop, Ta Prohm, stopping to buy a one dollar pate sandwich along the way.

Curiosity killed the cat, and however much I had no clue what was in the bag, I had to try it, finding it to be something fried, with some veggies in the middle. I didn’t trust it, but had a few bites, and went off to explore.

By the time I was on the road to Angkor Wat, I wasn’t feeling very well, though whether or not that was the heat, a lack of water, the sun, or the mysterious foodstuff, I’m still not sure. It was a full 7km to return to Angkor Wat and by the time I got there I was seriously dragging. The sun was really overwhelming.

I parked the bike and bought a cold water. I didn’t stay long. The temple looks like it does in the picture, and is impressive for its sheer size – and I guess the bas-reliefs, which I said I wasn’t much interested in. It was crowded, and under construction, and I stayed long enough to feel the stones and then went off in search of a rest and water.

Following this, and feeling a bit better, though still hotter than I’ve ever been in my life, I got back on the bike and dragged myself home, my body protesting the entire way, and wasted no time in cranking the AC and going to bed.

Traveling alone was nice for the freedom I had, though the day was a bit of a struggle, most for the heat. I suppose I could have spent more time everywhere, but I just didn’t feel the need. It was enough, as I said, to see them, and to feel the stones.

By the evening when the rains came, they were heartily welcome, and I again had dinner with my new friends, this time joined by a couple of Dutch girls, as they were sitting next to us and we just started chatting.

It set the stage for Monday dinner, which is currently one of the fascinating experiences I have ever had, and I guess that’s saying a lot. To be continued…

The temples, a lot of incense, and not seeing the bas-reliefs

The first day, I took a tuktuk. I had been planning to go on a moto, but was convinced otherwise, and was very grateful for it. The main attractions -- Angkor Wat, Angkor Thom, and Ta Prohm -- I decided to leave for the following day as they are in cycling distance, and took advantage  of having the tuktuk to go around the "big circuit," with the more distant temples, including one, Banteay Srey, which is about 37 km away.

I met my driver at eight, and we hashed out the itinerary and then headed out. We saw around eight temples that day, quite enough for one day I think. Although some of them are classed as 'minor ruins' by the maps, they are still all equally impressive.

I don't know how to really talk about them. It's hard to get your mind around how old they are, or that they were once the foundations of an Empire and not the ruins they are today, that people walked through them. They are all, for the most part, enormous, huge monuments to power -- some are religious, some are residences, some are capitals.

The stones are colorful. I guess I hadn't expected that, but in this tropical climate the lichen and moss covers the stones and they are splattered with color. There are different kinds of stone, from the porous, sponge-like, to the black and white streaked sandstone (my guess is sandstone, at least), to the regular blocks of grey rock. Each temple is a different color -- for example, Preah Khan, the first I saw and one of the biggest, more of a grey streaked with pink and green lichen, versus Banteay Srey, a rich red sandstone.

If you like, the guidebooks or the guides will tell you what exactly are the carvings, what each room is for. They will show the bas-reliefs and the sculptures and tell you the stories behind them. I guess that's interesting enough, however --

It's not why I was there. Sure, I could have spent more time at each temple, could have hired a guide, could have checked the sculptures against the book. But I didn't, and didn't want to. I came to feel the stones, the energy. I wanted to know what the temples felt like, if they still carried the history with their stones. Just to spend some time in them.

They are starting to crumble now. The plants are taking over -- the trees too, roots dripping over walls and worming through the cracks. Some hallways are blocked with the huge stones, tumbling down like waterfalls. Almost all of the statues are missing their heads, thanks to some enterprising vandals. Can't take the statue, so take the head, I guess.

But the history is still there, like it could ever escape. In each temple, often in more than one place, there is a center area, darker than the rest, with a monument. To the King, or to the Buddha. The statues are draped in bright fabrics, little shrines set up in front with some offerings. Some have donation boxes, and some have watchful guardians, but some don't, just a lighter, some incense sticks and a bowl to stick them, and the statue. I liked these latter the best, but lit incense at all kinds, kneeling to pay my respects to the past. Not to the Buddha, but the ancestors, the history.

Often, by these shrines, there's a mat and some ancient person, men and women, crouching. With them is a bowl full of donations and little string bracelets. Maybe they were monks, or maybe not. Maybe they just know a few Sanskrit blessings, or maybe it's not Sanskrit at all.

It didn't matter to me. The first blessing I received was at the temple Banteay Sampré, just before lunch on Saturday. The man wasn't a monk, because he were he wouldn't have been allowed to touch me, but he took my hand as I sat next to him. He tied the bracelet around my wrist, murmuring a new blessing with each knot. He then gave me a flashlight and told me to go into the darkest, center room, I think a tomb for the King or at the very least a very sacred place.

I did -- it was creepy, and looked around at the fallen stones, broken in pieces on the floor. The ceiling of the pagoda went very high, and I offered a last sompiah before returning to the old monk. He asked me to sit again and tied another bracelet around my wrist, this time sprinkling it with water. He put my hand to his head and murmured, some in English and some in his own language, and then at last released it.

Who knows if it was a real Sanskrit blessing, and honestly, I didn't, and don't, care. The blessing, and the sentiment, were honest, and he wished luck and long life for the both of us. I thought, hey, you know what, I'll take it.

The other thing about the first day was the long trip up to Banteay Srey, a full forty five minutes drive each way. I sat back in the tuktuk, very happy for the roof as it was raining, and watched the countryside go by. Here, as I said before, the children play in the rivers along the road, brown water and god knows what inside, but they shriek and hang onto logs and play. The countryside is beautiful, and so green.

By the time we got to the last temple for the day, Pre Rup, which was really cool, and so big, I was getting really very tired, the early morning wake up really starting to get to me, and all the exploring.

My tuktuk driver, a very friendly guy named Rob who spoke English pretty well, explained the basics of each temple as we arrived -- when it was built, what the name meant, and a few other factoids. Some, he would meet me on the other side, or back at the parking. It was really such a privilege to have the tuktuk, after each temple to settle into the back, slip off my shoes, and watch the jungle go by.

I spent much of Saturday evening hanging out with some new friends, some people who had been on the same temple circuit as me -- a couple of German guys and a Brazilian guy -- and we met for dinner and drinks. After the long day, it was really nice to kick back and chat.

Sunday was something else, as I decided to take the bicycle and go alone. That is for part three, and part four is now reserved for dinner last night, which turned out to be one of the crazier experiences I've had here, and that is saying something.

Temple hopping: Part 1

Strap in. This is gonna take awhile. After two days and --- (pause to count and while I try to relocate my map, without which this latter task will be impossible) --- eleven temples, there's a lot to recount. I'm not going to go temple by temple -- check out the pictures on Facebook for each -- but talk about the adventure, the experience, and all the fun Things Of Note.

While at a certain point you have seen so many temples that your eyes are crossing, it is not true that once you've seen one temple you've seen them all. And while sometimes it is tempting -- read, on the last temples when you are dying from the heat and exhaustion -- to be like, yeah so it's a bunch of old rocks, you never quite get there, because they are all so impressive in their own ways.

They are, however, a bunch of old rocks. A bunch of really really old rocks. I was talked into buying a guide book -- hey, it'll make a good present when I go home -- and the most recent dates are eight hundred years ago, some into the 9th century.

A note on the book: I bought it to shut up the vendors offering it and give a really good excuse why I didn't want to pay some random friendly guy to tell me about the temple history, however interesting it was. The guy I bought it from was very nice, but scalped me for 12 bucks -- though in all fairness in the bookshop it's 28 -- and my tuktuk driver later informed me Cambodians get for 6, and I'm pretty sure I heard other vendors later offering it for that. So whoops, my bad. I wasn't pleased to discover this, but like I said, it'll make a good souvenir.

And the vendors, by the way, are everywhere. They of course congregate at the entrances and exits and gather by each temple. They are loud, persistent, and "if you buy you buy from me." They range from very young -- I saw a girl not much more than three, heartbreakingly, waving a postcard in the direction of a guy -- to middle age. Many very young, and many teenager/young adult.

One of them, particularly persistent and friendly -- she was admiring my white skin, and discussing how the rich Cambodians make their skin white, but all she could do was wear long sleeves and a hat -- finally convinced me to buy a scarf. It was only because she sold one to my tuktuk driver for 2000 riel and then asked 1 dollar for me, but apparently they're friends. Either way, at least she was honest enough to laugh about it, and I picked out a beautiful blue cotton scarf.

They are all friendly, of course, but annoying, though I learned if you talk to them in Khmer they leave pretty quick, if you say 'I'm sorry' and whatever word is appropriate for their age -- it all mean "sister" or "brother", but varies according to age. For the little kids, who hang around for ages by the hapless tourists with frustrated looks on their faces, I noticed if I just say, "Sum tow own," (sorry, younger sister/brother), they headed off quick enough.

I am also really getting tired of being called "Lady." I greatly prefer "sister", and actually really like it whenever anyone calls me that.

While I'm on the subject of the vendors, it should be noted that it's a particularly sad story -- my tuktuk driver explained that of all the money that people pay just to get into the park (20 for one day, 40 for three days, maybe 60 for the full week), exactly none of it goes to the Cambodian people who really need it, and instead just fatten the pockets of the foreign companies that run the park. For the vendors, they must pay three dollars a day just to be there.

If you'll excuse a bit of a diversion from the temples -- it is incredibly sad to see so many young children selling and not going to school. But unlike in the cities, out there it is the countryside, and I got a chance to see a lot of it. It is remote, and there are no schools anywhere close. They certainly can't afford to have a driver, even tuktuk or moto, and the kids will probably make more money selling. It's a vicious cycle.

And about the remoteness -- no, seriously. The roads are paved, ish, for the tourists, but they are still filled with potholes and issues, and in between the temples, there is just jungle, and people living. It was not unusual to see children playing in the rivers and streams, swimming around, shrieking and laughing as children do. The water has been god knows where, but they don't mind.

The temples are enormous, but the jungle hides them, such that you can't see them until you're literally standing in front of them -- except for Angkor Wat, which was built to be seen as far as I can tell. The plants and the green is everywhere, insidious and beautiful. The trees are if not as old as the temples, in the range of two or three hundred years, and are ridiculously tall and have the craziest roots. They drape themselves like lounging gods, in the most improbable ways. I never knew trees were able to grow like that.

The ruins, however, are everywhere. I'm sure just going to see the main temples you see the merest fraction of what's out there. Home to the Khmer Empire during the Angkorian and pre-Angkorian eras, and filled with Kings, whose names all end in -man for whatever reason, who liked moving the courts and the capitals around, each move -- with each new King -- bringing more building. You can see them sometimes, tucked into the jungle -- these days, maybe someone's house, or where the children play.

So here is the picture you start with: tourists, from everywhere, the jungle, and a whole bunch of really impressive old rocks, the brain-children of some really powerful dudes a really really long time ago, and masses of Cambodians with every kind of useless trinket imaginable, swarming the tuktuks as they arrive like carriages to the ball.

Got it?

Okay, now we can start exploring...

A moto ride to the middle of nowhere

It's been a challenging week, for a lot of reasons. I was never intending this to be a vacation but it's been more of a struggle than anticipated, part of that for reasons I can do absolutely nothing about. Either way, I'm pretty happy to see the weekend, and have decided to take it completely as a vacation.

My workshop finished at five. At six, the organizer of the club here came by the guesthouse on his moto to take me to see this stage where he wants to do the showing next week -- something I hadn't really thought about, but it is better than the huge, hot room on the second floor of the hotel we've been using.

Dusk was gathering as we headed out, the crescent moon high in the sky. I, as I have said already on this blog, adore riding on the back of motos, and I sat back to enjoy as we left the main town. Heading to where cars stop for cows crossing the road and sometimes the concrete cuts out into small lakes from all the rain. Where the shanties line the street and the jungle creeps up to the side of the road, insatiable green.

We went even past the local restaurants, the markets filled with Khmer people getting food for dinner, soups in two plastic bags and sitting in those colorful plastic chairs, big open houses and restaurants. We turned down a side road, and then onto a dirt road, fine red dirt.

The place was just there, in the middle of nowhere. A few friendly children opened the gate for us. It was a small collection of huts, with tin sides and roofs. In one, a small stage, painted green, with a few large amplifiers and maybe five small lights arranged at the front of the stage. A couple other buildings, and on the right, built on stilts, what must have been a dormitory, where the children were gathered. Steep steps -- more of a ladder -- led to the ground, now flooded, and they splashed through ankle deep water to investigate us.

Across the way, a tiny playground -- a seesaw, and a slide, in teetering, rusty blue metal. A pile of logs, and then the gate. A few of the mean, rangy dogs that are everywhere were running around.

"What is this NGO?" I asked, turning around, and finding a sign. "Cambodia Orphan Family Center Organization." Suddenly, it made sense that the kids were gathered there so late, and the dormitories. Oh, I thought, suddenly speechless. They teach traditional arts here, my friend explained. Every Saturday and Sunday during the high season -- not now -- they have shows.

The kids happily bid us goodbye, and the night was good and truly falling, the sky the shade of blue I can't ever get enough of. The frogs were singing their hearts out, and I sat on the back of the moto, in just absolute peace.

I had dinner at a place called Butterflies Garden, though the butterflies are only around in the daytime. Either way, I had a traditional Khmer dish -- yellow beans and pork wrapped in sticky rice and steamed in a banana leaf, a shrimp salad -- which was excellent, and I'm not usually a shrimp fan -- and some fresh veggies. I had a fresh coconut to drink.

I treated myself to ice cream at Swensen's afterwards, and decided to splurge and get whipped cream with, not really realizing I was going to be giving a full mountain of the stuff. But it was lovely, anyway, and now I'm so full I can barely move. But --- it was so worth it.

Check out the pics and a bonus vid from the back of the moto...

The lobby of my guesthouse. So pretty! 

The NGO. 

Sunset. 

Coconut with dinner! 

Er...have a little ice cream with your whipped cream??

Stumbling in on sacred ceremonies: with photos

It just so happened that today, of all the days I might have chosen to check out the School of Fine Arts here in Siem Reap, they had invited a couple old masters to work with the kids and to honor their presence, decided to do a whole ceremony, honoring the spirits of the dance. 

The set up is quite extravagant: at the head a table with the mask for the giant role and a bunch of apsara headresses, then a line of candles on either side, in descending height - but not ordinary candles, towers of greens and wax, with cones at the top, an egg, and then the smaller candle - and then the offerings, mostly bananas and other fruit. One plate -- all gold and ornately carved -- held a cooked chicken. In between the line and by the table, a bowl of water and a coconut. Finally, a giant pot of incense sticks, and a plate with many candles stuck on it. 

They were in the process of setting this all up when I arrived. Sitting and waiting were the students, in their uniforms. There were perhaps fifty in total, though my estimating skills are a bit iffy. The boys - maybe the music students? - in yellow. All the girls in the traditional tightly buttoned top and wrapped pants -- the very young in light blue shirts and green pants, the mid age in red pants and white tops, and the older in the colors of their choosing. 

Bustling around the offerings, lighting candles, were the older girls, the teachers watching with a close eye. At last, with everything lit and the room filling with incense smoke, the orchestra took their places, a mix of young students and older masters. 

The first song, everyone in the room began to bow, the traditional hands to head and then to floor three times, then bent over. After that, they just remained sitting, hands in the 'sompiah' or namaste position. After a few songs, six girls got up, each taking one offering, and then performing the basic apsara gestures (which, happily, I've learned to recognize) -- and in fact, as I've been told, this is what apsara was created for, rituals and ceremonies only, not shows. 

They put the offerings back after that, and -- my goodness, I thought, this is a LONG ceremony -- five other girls got up and performed a full apsara dance, five or ten minutes long. I don't know what it was about, though I assume it is to pay homage to the ancestors. 

With that, the incense almost burnt out and the candles dripping wax everywhere, the fruits of the offerings were broken open, a banana or two unpeeled, the eggs opened, and the orchestra played a final song, everyone repeating the bowing sequence from earlier (including me, I was doing my best to follow). 

The ceremony at last closed, everyone began to split up the offerings, happily eating them. I guess the ancestors had had their fill, and food does not go to waste here. One of the old masters offered me a bunch of longan, one of my favorite fruits here. I took it with both hands -- I'm learning the gestures of respect -- and ate them, thinking to have fruit touched by the spirits of the dance is pretty darn cool. 

I had some time to kill after that and made friends with a kitten, who kept trying to attack my hands, but adorably sat on my lap for awhile -- cats always seem to understand I love them. The rest of the day was just a nice lunch with a couple of friendly elder British guys who are apparently launching a theater company in town, teaching, and dinner at a off-the-beaten-path falafel place, which may or may not have been a bad idea on a still tender stomach. But I wanted to, so that's just me thumbing my nose at whatever bacteria I picked up...

Here are some pictures of the past days' adventures...

Falafel for lunch the other day. I've been in a mood for it I guess.

The School of Arts. 

The offerings. 

The headresses. 

My new friend. :)