Last night we went out buy some furniture we fancied putting on our balcony. It's from a shop down the road and, through writing numbers on a piece of paper and the translation of a guy we think came over from the restaurant across the road to help, we finally negotiated a good price for two single seats, a double seat, and a little table.
Getting them back to the apartment was an adventure, as the shop guy flagged down a man in a van driving up the road, and persuaded him to load it all on the back and drop us off. Yet again my immense hatred of tipping came into play as I was offering him money for giving us the lift (he'd already been given something by the shop owner), and he kept taking offence, shoving the money back at me, and shouting a lot. I spoke to my dad on Skype last night who completely summed up the reason it gets me so angry - I don't feel in control of the situation, and have no real means of controlling it due to not speaking the language. You hit it right on the head, dad! Still, at least I now know that "ish-reen" is 20. I won't be forgetting that in a while.
Alice also rediscovered an envelope marked "Emergency rations - only to be opened after 40 days and 40 nights" that Jim gave us as we were packign our bags in London. Unfortunately we're a few days late opening it, but we love the contents! Check the vid to see what was inside :D
2 comments:
"marmite on falafells is the new cheesy peas"
Delia "let's be having ya" Smith
Lovely to see you open the emergency rations - I couldn't remember what was in them - so a surprise for us all!
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