Saturday, July 26, 2008
Sunset and Rhabob
As the sun set the thumping and tapping of tablahs began to reverberate through the outdoor restaurant accompanying the quick arpeggios of harmonium and Rhabob, filling the gaps left by the passionate singer. With the start of the music came an applause of approval from all present, the music was classical, the heart beat of this land. At one time music in public like this would never have been possible, but here, now it was perfect. All around men were greeting each other with hugs and kisses to the cheek, greetings are given to all that you know, seats are always offered with the invitation of joining the group. The strong sweet smells of fruit flavored tobacco drifts by, mixed with the rich savory smell that you can almost taste of khabobs, lamb, chicken, all passing on skewers of delicious meat. The air is warm, but the resturant is perched on a hillside and the cool mountain breeze passes through leaving a comfortable setting for relaxed evening. I get curious stares from all around, but I am always greeted as a friend. The revelation of my homeland is always a shock, not only am I the only foreigner in the place, but for many the first civilian American they have seen in public. I listen as my friend Tawab explains once again, who I am and what I am doing in this city. Then of course the usual questions of, What do you think of this city, are you married, how many girlfriends do I have, (not if, but how many), How old I am, and then shock at the fact that I am nearly 25 and not married, shock mixed with a bit of jealousy in some. I love nights as these. Here there is only one day for the weekend, Friday. The entire week is spent looking forward to this day of rest. The city is buzzing with activity, there are wedding caravans with horns honking and lights flashing, men on horses racing through the streets, every park is full of families, restaurants are packed with patrons, and it seems that at this moment, the worries of life are not paramount, but can be moved slightly behind the fore ground of thought.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)