Cats have taken to lying in the sun on our patio. Too hot for us midday.
Bayram week (called Eid Al-fitr in most Arab countries) is much like Christmas week at home. Here government offices - including municipal - are closed for the week. Private businesses close at their own discretion, much as a florist, say, in Canada might say well we’re super busy up until Christmas so we’re taking the next five days off. Though it seems here most supermarkets remain open on the feast day itself.
We had some photocopying that needed to be done, so I - less cleverly than I supposed - messaged the photography place to determine whether they were open Thursday and Friday. Answer, Friday but not Thursday. Fine. Then later message (on Friday) from PP asking when we planned to arrive.
Me: (picking randomly, taking into account that it’s no longer morning) About 2?
PP: Have photo shoot.
Me: Would later be better? Or tomorrow?
PP: Not open tomorrow. But “I have a friend in the shop next door, she’s a chicken seller, give it to her, I’ll print it, you can buy it from her, okay?”
Now thinking I’ve gone through the looking glass into some alternate reality. And not prepared to leave personal documents with unknown chicken seller, regardless of presumed sterling qualities. So assume that Monday it is, though less convenient for various reasons.
And today we are out on errands that take us fairly near photography place, so J suggests we check to see if it’s open. Assume it’s pointless, but only a few steps out of our way. And indeed it is open. Usual man can’t be correspondent of yesterday - he’s a charmer but with almost no English, though very quick on the uptake. Photocopies made cheerfully and efficiently.
Large colour photograph of a man with two small children. Man looks familiar. J says Ataturk. But it’s modern technique and in colour. J right of course. Ataturk with owner’s children photoshopped in.
And no sign of the chicken seller.
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