at the chip shop last night ...

I went to the chip shop late, near 10, though it was still light. Hungry cause it was a long day yesterday at Writer's Day, and our dinner was tapas, which never satisfies, unless you're willing to spend a ridiculous amount of money. Anyway, the guy at the counter, (young, perhaps in his late 20's, dark hair with a very conservative cut, dark eyes, olive skin, could be middle eastern, greek ...?) is the one who gave me extra chips last time and we had shared a quick knowing smile when he added another scoop. I came in, smiling, flirting my way into extra chips. But of course this time somehow instead of just saying "large chips, salt", a pantomine of customer and clerk, I repeated myself, stumbled, spoke the words over twice. A dead give-away. He said, "Where are you from?" "America" I said, already deflating, but still playing along with this game that is starting to become familiar. His hand, hovering, let's go of the scoop, he starts to wrap up the normal ration of chips. "Where do you think I am from?" A minefield. He gives a half-smile, looks at me narrowly. A horrid and terrible minefield I refuse to step in. If I say Greek he could be Turkish, (and they are enemies from way back), if I say Syrian or just Middle Eastern, Iranian? I keep repeating "I don't know" lightly, as he keeps saying, "Guess...", insistent now, and with a look in his eye that is not joking. Finally he says, "Iraq". I only hear the hard "kk" at the end, "Where?" "I'm from Iraq", he repeats. His eyes are intent, are asking me to answer some other question--not the one he just asked. No I am not making that up, it is not just a poetic or metaphoric device. There is a whole volume of words behind his look, just as there is when I turn to look back up at him again, flirtation over, thinking like a flash, "I'm so sorry," but biting my words down because this is a chip shop and he and I are just two people, and I have no idea what his life is or who his people are ... I can guess that with deaths from the war estimated at over 1 million in a country with a population of about 30 million, with 1 in 30 dead he knows someone, some friend or relative or colleague, who died due to the war, the violence, the starvation. And he says, "One pound seventy five" and I hand him 2 quid and he gives me my change. And I leave the shop with my wrapped packet of chips, and walk the alley back home, as the twilight turns the sky purple, streaked with red.

market day

Market day today, which means a walk down the 60% grade of Bryn-y-mor Crescent to Saint Helen's Ave. past 3 charity shops (ie, thrift stores), the Uplands Diner with its windows open and the smell of ketchup and eggs, past the posh new Noah's Yard--which is apparently a bar and live Jazz venue, but it has the oddest hours and we still are not quite sure of its real purpose in life, past sad, empty Mr. D's our favorite Chip shop that closed a couple months ago when Mr. D got sick--it's been cleaned out of its fridge full of sodas and squash ... so I am afraid he is not coming back, down past Eaton Crescent which for some reason we think of as the Bank's street (from Mary Poppins), and the tiny little corner coffee and panini shop on Kind Edward's Rd., and the pubs down on the flat part of Bryn-y-mor, and the Chinese grocery with its bright red-painted door and unreadable (to me) signs, where sometimes I get tofu, bok choy, bean sprouts, or rice noodles, on past the pickled eggs in the window of the chip shop at the corner of Bryn-y-mor and St. Helen's and left, past "Serenity" where they offer ear candling and aromatherapy sessions, to my favorite grocery shop, Exotica--which always has pallets of produce out front being unloaded. Have you ever seen 3 dozen flats of cilantro (or rather Coriander as its called here)? Exotica is filled and piled and stuffed with asian goods. I wouldn't know what to do with half the veg and fruit--but I want to. There are at least a dozen kinds of chilies. And where else can you get 3 tins of tomatoes for only 1 pound? I am always tempted to get something new ... chutney or lichee's or something ... but usually I don't. Meanwhile Christien is off to the enormous Tesco downtown for our more "English" staples: oatcakes, pasta, treacle (ie molasses), and salted peanuts.

And not a bad day for it, high 60's and the sun is shining. And now I am hungry ... hmmm, what's for lunch?

May, oops, I mean June ...

May was busy, but in a marvelous way--Kirsti & Chris came to visit! We had an amazing time touring around Wales. We took two lovely coastal hikes on the Gower, walked down to Mumbles to see the Castle and the cemetery, and have a pint at the White Rose, went to a couple films at the Swansea Film Festival, hiked up Corn Du during a icey dagger rain storm, stayed in a lovely B&B on the Wye River at Hay and marched through a dozen or so used book shops. And then we had a great time in London, ate Ethiopian and saw St Pauls, and wandered around the streets. Busy and wonderful and much much too short. Who's next? And when are K & C coming back?

A couple pics from the visit.