Yesterday was a crazy day around the house. It was a very somber day around the city, however, one of the instructors at The Training House had planned a big party with almost twenty Azeri's. Oh, by the way, the party was at my house.
It so happened that last week on Wednesday Manchester stopped in, she is a delightful young woman of British origin. She and the Coffeeman are great friends, and she fills us in that she has had numerous meetings of this Azerbaijani Students Club in the house that we are living in, Coffeeman's house.
So, about 11:30, Manchester arrived and began making preparations for the others to arrive. Shortly thereafter a young Azeri girl shows up, and there are two people now cutting the cakes and making the tea.
We visited for a few minutes, but soon decided that we might be in the way, so we left for the afternoon. It was a snowy, rainy, drizzly day, but we were together, Beloved and I. We needed to hit the ATM, "Bankomat" as it is known here, and we decided to visit Farshid at Ala Turka for lunch.
I am now accustomed to the locals throwing out a "Hello," every now and then, and occasionally the brave ones will move on to include, "How are you? Where are you from?" and so on. Today was the first time that I have had someone really try to converse with me in Azeri, and not give in to the fact that I don't speak the language. I don't know if this guys' elevator didn't go all the way to the top or what, but he was determined to get us to understand. (We didn't) He followed us. He talked louder. I turned around and tried to tell him that I don't speak the language. This guy was insistant, and it took over two minutes to get him to lay off. He wasn't overly rude or obnoxious, at one point we did recognize that he was introducing himself and we exchanged names, but in the end we smiled, shrugged our shoulders and walked away. "Goodbye!" He still followed after us for two blocks...
Lunch at Ala Turka was good, Farshid has wanted twice now to serve us "the Turkish Barbecue!" and he says it with such pride, so today we let him serve us. Most westerners would call it kabobs, it was meat on a skewer, and it was very tasty. Served with parsley greens, onions, shredded carrots and a grilled tomato wedge. Farshid always impresses me with his consumate desire to serve. He is always replacing our napkin and very quick to refill the tea or remove an empty plate. He always makes us feel welcome, even though his english is only fair. This is a picture of Farshid, our friend the waiter.
After lunch we slowly wandered back through the markets of the Bazaar, and we found a Bankomat that would dispense funds, so we headed back to the house. The party was over, Manchester and her sidekicks were cleaning up, the house was no worse for the wear.
Beloved cooked some steak that she had purchased on an experiment, and we are still experimenting. The funny thing about beef--perhaps because the cows are so thin here--the highest priced cuts are full of fat, the lean is actually cheaper than the fat. We'll keep trying to figure it out. The potatoes were good! We watched a movie and went to bed early.
It so happened that last week on Wednesday Manchester stopped in, she is a delightful young woman of British origin. She and the Coffeeman are great friends, and she fills us in that she has had numerous meetings of this Azerbaijani Students Club in the house that we are living in, Coffeeman's house.
So, about 11:30, Manchester arrived and began making preparations for the others to arrive. Shortly thereafter a young Azeri girl shows up, and there are two people now cutting the cakes and making the tea.
We visited for a few minutes, but soon decided that we might be in the way, so we left for the afternoon. It was a snowy, rainy, drizzly day, but we were together, Beloved and I. We needed to hit the ATM, "Bankomat" as it is known here, and we decided to visit Farshid at Ala Turka for lunch.
I am now accustomed to the locals throwing out a "Hello," every now and then, and occasionally the brave ones will move on to include, "How are you? Where are you from?" and so on. Today was the first time that I have had someone really try to converse with me in Azeri, and not give in to the fact that I don't speak the language. I don't know if this guys' elevator didn't go all the way to the top or what, but he was determined to get us to understand. (We didn't) He followed us. He talked louder. I turned around and tried to tell him that I don't speak the language. This guy was insistant, and it took over two minutes to get him to lay off. He wasn't overly rude or obnoxious, at one point we did recognize that he was introducing himself and we exchanged names, but in the end we smiled, shrugged our shoulders and walked away. "Goodbye!" He still followed after us for two blocks...
After lunch we slowly wandered back through the markets of the Bazaar, and we found a Bankomat that would dispense funds, so we headed back to the house. The party was over, Manchester and her sidekicks were cleaning up, the house was no worse for the wear.
Beloved cooked some steak that she had purchased on an experiment, and we are still experimenting. The funny thing about beef--perhaps because the cows are so thin here--the highest priced cuts are full of fat, the lean is actually cheaper than the fat. We'll keep trying to figure it out. The potatoes were good! We watched a movie and went to bed early.
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