A few weeks ago, a kebaberia opened just down the street-- very near to where we lived last year. Figuring that we should support local endeavors (and satisfy our curiosity) we went over there for dinner. It was amazing. Although they say that they sell kebabs, what they actually sell is called a "piadina". Think burrito with seasoned beef, tomatoes, lettuce, fries, onions, cucumber, and some delicious sauce-- not sure what. The lady who owned the place and the server were both delightful, so we've been stopping in for kebabs (and good company) quite often.
Kemal, the server, is seventeen and from Istanbul, while the proprietress is from Albania. A couple weeks ago we met her brother (twenty, I think) independently through my mother's knitting. Don't ask.
Anyhow, last night Ashley and I felt like stopping in for a chat so we sauntered over, planning to buy a soda as a pretext. We walked in, and as there was no other business, the owner and Kemal were hanging out on the bar stools chatting. They didn't get up, but did tell us to pull up a chair and describe our trip to Paris. We did and before long the brother (Bushi) showed up with his friend, also Albanian, who is fluent in English. We sat there talking, all of us immigrants. We spoke in a combination of English (Ashley, Friend, and I), Italian (Kemal, Friend, and I), and Albanian (Kemal, Friend, and Bushi). Sometimes we had to play "telephone" with the translations to get the point from one of us to another, but it was great fun.
Kemal brought out some fresh French fries and sauce for us to share, and thus we passed the time. Eventually, I looked at my clock, realized it was 12:30, and we headed home. We never did buy our soda.
Eleanor
I have to know about the knitting connection!...
ReplyDeleteAnd you must take us to the kebaberia (LOVE that name!) for a meal - sounds yummy.
Love
Vovo
Well, since you asked...
ReplyDeleteMy mother and Ashley and I were sitting on the steps of the Duomo during one of the spettacoli. My mother was, of course, knitting. Sitting nearby was a group of young men whom we had noticed around town but never spoken to.
During the course of the evening, Ashley looked over and started cracking up because our (now) friend was pretending to knit with his fingers and laughing hilariously with his friends. My mother, not being shy and retiring, held up the half-finished sock and asked whether they liked it and if it would fit them, amid howls of laughter. After the spettacolo was finished we went over and talked with them some more, and ever since we at least wave when we pass each other. And whenever our friend mentions my mother, he still holds up his hands and pretends to knit.
Eleanor
PS Turns out that one of the boys is our friend Klara's older brother! I just found this out today, after talking with Alessia.
Actually, I told the young men that if they were very, very nice, I would teach THEM how to make lacy socks. They were amused.
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