So we go on a, summer holiday- pt. 1 Yahalla
This weekend, the administrative staff and professors in charge of us here at Lewis & Clark decided to take us camping, to the great pacific north-west coast.
I have stories to tell you, and pictures to show you- but having just returned today, these will build themselves into this goblin lair over the next couple of days.
But since a journey it was, I must start at the beginning. Which was a pit-stop for tobacco supplies for our hookah at our favourite lebanese restaurant here in Portland, called Ya-Halla. A beautiful little place, completely out of the way which still doesn't prevent it from being crowded all times of the day. Their makloubeh and hommus is some of the best I've had, and they serve Vimto- All gulf born/bred kiddies will know why I am kicked by that... Vimto is about as popular as Coke in Oman and other Gulf and Middle East states; it tastes of berries and was introduced by the British. Damn. Downer. Ah well.
But food wasn't our goal, as previously mentioned. Those of us with i.d's that said we were over 18 peered at different containers of frangrant jasmine, apple, lemon and bubblegum flavoured tobacco for our little orange hubbly-bubbly. Those of us without looked at olives and dried figs.
Walking by the olives-- For I, but of course, was one of those without an i.d card-- I got to peek into the main restaurant... my mind flew back a few months to the day when a huge group of us from L&C, as diverse as a W.T.O protest group, descended on Yahalla for dinner.
3 tables were joined. Bills seperated. Much food ordered. Hommus decimated. Languages spoken- At that gathering, there were people from Jordan, California, Eritrea, Syria, Bahrain, Morocco, India, Canada, South Korea, Japan, Idaho and Seattle. Those who knew what to order laughed at those who didn't, and good-naturedly helped them do so. Waitresses wilted, chefs fumed. Life was beautiful.
And this is what a pickle at Yahalla looks like.
That was a good night. Beyond all cynicism and tiredness, coming together will always be the most positive thing that humans can do.
Yahalla means hi!
The power of that word is underestimated. With it, loves and phone numbers have been won and lost.
We were soon on our way again, rolling towards the campsite, jasmine and apple flavoured baccy in a bag. More on the trip soon enough.
I have stories to tell you, and pictures to show you- but having just returned today, these will build themselves into this goblin lair over the next couple of days.
But since a journey it was, I must start at the beginning. Which was a pit-stop for tobacco supplies for our hookah at our favourite lebanese restaurant here in Portland, called Ya-Halla. A beautiful little place, completely out of the way which still doesn't prevent it from being crowded all times of the day. Their makloubeh and hommus is some of the best I've had, and they serve Vimto- All gulf born/bred kiddies will know why I am kicked by that... Vimto is about as popular as Coke in Oman and other Gulf and Middle East states; it tastes of berries and was introduced by the British. Damn. Downer. Ah well.
But food wasn't our goal, as previously mentioned. Those of us with i.d's that said we were over 18 peered at different containers of frangrant jasmine, apple, lemon and bubblegum flavoured tobacco for our little orange hubbly-bubbly. Those of us without looked at olives and dried figs.
Walking by the olives-- For I, but of course, was one of those without an i.d card-- I got to peek into the main restaurant... my mind flew back a few months to the day when a huge group of us from L&C, as diverse as a W.T.O protest group, descended on Yahalla for dinner.
3 tables were joined. Bills seperated. Much food ordered. Hommus decimated. Languages spoken- At that gathering, there were people from Jordan, California, Eritrea, Syria, Bahrain, Morocco, India, Canada, South Korea, Japan, Idaho and Seattle. Those who knew what to order laughed at those who didn't, and good-naturedly helped them do so. Waitresses wilted, chefs fumed. Life was beautiful.
And this is what a pickle at Yahalla looks like.
That was a good night. Beyond all cynicism and tiredness, coming together will always be the most positive thing that humans can do.
Yahalla means hi!
The power of that word is underestimated. With it, loves and phone numbers have been won and lost.
We were soon on our way again, rolling towards the campsite, jasmine and apple flavoured baccy in a bag. More on the trip soon enough.
posted by The Wizard of Odd at 12:21 AM
1 Comments:
can i just say.. cool hairdo!
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