Bringing Summer to an End

I’m counting down the seconds. The plan was conceived as an idea thrown around while sitting around at a cafe. “What if we visited Europe at the end of summer?” I asked her, her reply was “I’m not sure if I can afford it.” A few weeks after the conversation, and in the way all good ideas materialize into reality, the seed grew in her head thoughts of the trip invaded her thoughts. She would day dream about it, and later tally up her funds to see if the trip could become reality. All the sudden she couldn’I wasn’t expecting the idea to materialize, but one day while on the phone she said we should look into flights, and that we did. Within a few days I had worked out an itinerary, and the bookings were finalized.

Ever since I got back from backpacking trip last summer, there isn’t a day goes by where I don’t remember an incident, a conversation, or a beautiful sight from the few months I spent in Europe. My ideal trip back to Europe would have been in concentrated on southern Spain, but she had always dreamed about seeing Paris, and Barcelona, and I couldn’t blame her. I only scratched the surface last time in Paris, and would not mind another trip to the elegant capital. Being an avid architecture admirer, how could I say no to Barcelona, home to Gaudi’s best works. In fact my only regret from my previous trip is not visiting every major Gaudi work in the city. But surely, since we’re making our way to the beautiful continent I had to visit something new, and the answer to my craving was in Portugal. She had me at Port Wine. The simple, picturesque city of Porto will be our second stop and our place of rest and relaxation of the trip. My argument for the visit... any city that has a wine named after it is worth a visit.

Departure is on Friday evening, and the duration is a mere 9 days. We land in Paris, spend a few days and from there fly to Porto. We spend two nights in Porto and finish the trip off in Barca. A proper trip would have been at least two weeks long, but the realities of working life creates limitations. For now I can get back to my day dreaming, and perhaps make some calls to Perimeter Institute to see if they had come up with a way to pause time.

Reminiscing Ramadan

So here I am jumping on the Ramadan post bandwagon, like any good blogger would do. In the few years I have been blogging I don’t think I ever posted something longer than a Happy Ramadan post. I think it’s because I’m never really that excited about the month, except for the odd Syrian drama that I look forward to.

My memories of Ramadan are from the time I lived back in Syria. Ramadan then came during the winter time, and this is the only way I can picture it. I remember going to school early in the morning with my friends, in the school yard we would all ask each other if we were fasting or not. The litmus test, if you will, to determine whether someone was lying is in the colour of their tongue. If it was white than you passed the test, otherwise you were taunted. Although there was always one annoying kid who related the white tongue to eating labneh (dried yogurt) in the morning.

At the time my grandparents lived one floor above us, and we would often join them along with my aunts and uncles to break the fast. We would have salads, soup, and all kind of delicacies just waiting to be devoured. The TV would be set to Syria Channel 1, and we would wait for the official call of prayer from the Omayad Mosque, and at that very moment you could hear the call of prayer from the myriad of mosques dotting Damascus. Usually my grandmother would be still busy in the kitchen even after the iftar, working on every last detail of the meal. On occasion, when I got back from school, I would be sent to the neighbourhood grocer, or produce shop to buy this or that. I would ride my bike, fully knowing that I’m going to have a few kilos hanging on each side of the handle bar. On the way I would see tens of other boys, and men running around from shop to another arranging those last minute details.

After Iftar the family would gather to watch a musalsal (Syrian drama), accompanied of course with a cup of hot tea, and any number of great deserts like knafeh, mshabbak, or bakalawa. The streets after Iftar are usually busy with people, some there simply to get out, others to shop for Eid. The atmosphere is more festive than I have ever experienced.

At night, about an hour before the break of dawn, I would get a call from my grandfather to go upstairs and join them for suhoor, the meal that’s supposed to give you that last push for the tough day ahead. On our street one man had stuck to old tradition and went through the alleys of the neighbourhood at night, repeating traditional phrases, while knocking on people’s doors, trying to wake them up for the all too important meal. Ramadan to me was the best time of the year, as I’m sure it is for most people in Syria.

Here in Canada the story is different as you can imagine. Celebrating Ramadan in Canada is like celebrating Christmas in Qatar. You might find people who follow traditions, people who are excited about the month, but the one thing you will never find is the atmosphere. I think this is why I love Christmas time so much. In a way it’s a replacement of the atmosphere I miss.

But I’m excited. Next year Ramadan will creep even closer into summer, and in a few years I will be able to experience the great atmosphere all over again during summer vacation. I will be experience Ramadan during the summer for the first time, and hopefully create great memories of a brand new Ramadan.

Summer finally started!

I woke up this morning to the sound of thunder in the sky. I am not the type who is scared by thunder, but today was a little different. I was certain the lightning bolts were arcing within a kilometre radius from my house. The sound was louder than I have ever heard. I got up, went through my morning routine and went back to video tape mother nature’s fine work. By then it had calmed down a bit, but as you can see it was still raining heavily.

Within an hour of what you saw above, the weather took a 180 degree turn as it often does. Summer has been greatly missed this year. The temperature barely made it above 25, and we were bombarded with rain weekly. As far as I‘m concerned today was the first day of summer, despite the little misbehaviour this morning. After it rained humidity soared to a 100%, the sun shined, and all the neighbours commenced working on their weekend projects. Having no weekend project to work on, the only logical alternative was a barbeque outside. Upon announcing the plan my mother worked quickly in preparing many delights including chicken breasts marinated with her secret marinate (let me know you if you’re interested), grilled vegetables dipped in an olive oil, balsamic vinegar, basil and garlic concoction, and Marina. Marina uses the same beef/onion/parsely/spices mixture used in Kebab but instead of cooking on a skewer it’s cooked inside a pita. And what better way to cool you down in this hot, humid weather than a cool Hoegaren.

While barbequing all of you guys really came to mind. How I wished we could all share the first day of summer together with good food, good drinks, and great weather. The best I could do is share a few visuals.

A better look at our attempt at making Marina

It was so humid the camera lense fogged up as soon as I stepped out

A healthy flame cooking the chicken

An Ingenious Idea

The scene: a busy classroom, students scattered everywhere, some busy putting the final touches on their projects, others nervously waiting their turn for testing. A carton of eggs is placed on the teacher’s desk, right next to a big plank of wood propped up from one side creating a slope. It’s noisy. There are some students checking out their peer’s work, others flirting with each other, and a teacher shouting instructions while holding a clipboard and standing authoritatively between the carton of eggs and the funny apparatus. In the middle of all the commotion a thump is heard intermittently.

It was testing day for our independent study unit for grade 12 physics. I had worked on my project for the past two days trying to come up with unique solution to the problem posed by the curriculum, as the teacher wasn’t creative enough to come up with her own idea. The problem was creating a device that would protect an egg from breaking, when dropped from 6 feet, on the ground and then on a slope. The marks were based on intactness of the egg, and weight of the device.

Most of the students used foam to cushion the fall, but I had something else up my sleeve. One night earlier I had sent my mom to the grocery store in search of a new type Ziploc bag, the type with a sliding zipper. I had intended on using two air filled bags to protect the egg, just like NASA does when they send missions to Mars. I tested my idea at home with great success. Next morning I went to the class with pride knowing that I had the lightest solution to the problem. Some students used straws, the prettiest girl in the class used...of all things...hand cream to slow down the egg. She commented after her successful trial “at least my egg smells the best!” Indeed it did, and I would have flirted with her some more, if my turn didn’t come up next. My first trial was successful, the air cushion took the impact without a problem. The second trial wasn’t as successful, as one of the zip lock bags lost lots air and the egg came smashing down. The teacher picked up the broken egg... “Eww!” she said, as she through my brainchild into the garbage with leaking egg stuck inside.

I was disappointed by I consoled myself by the fact that I had the lightest design. More trials go by and about half way into the class in walks Adam with a late slip. I had known Adam for a long time. He was in my grade 7 class, the first class I attended in Canada. We were good friends in grade 8, and continued to be friends into high school. Adam was very messy. He always had a zip-binder to contain his school notes, completely ignoring the fact that there were rings in binder to bind the papers together. He would often draw dragons, Metallica symbols, and the odd warrior in his notes during class. He usually came in to school with one blue pen, with a chewed top. It was probably a pen I had given him at one point when he forgot his at home. Adam didn’t only forget school supplies at home, he also forgot about test dates, and project deadlines... including the physics project I had just described.

Adam threw his bag in the floor, and began to curse about forgetting the important due date. There were only a few students left for the trial and Adams had to think of something fast. Eureka! Adam smirked, took his jacket off, grabbed an egg from the counter, and wrapped his jacket around it. He was so proud of himself, and I couldn’t help but laugh my ass off at his ingenious idea. His turn came up, and he went up to the front with a massive ball of down stuffed fabric, wrapped around a tiny egg. The teacher was obviously irritated at the lesson Adam was teaching us, especially when she knew the outcome of the test. The egg was intact after all the trials, and Adam couldn’t contain his giddiness. At the same time the teacher couldn’t contain he frustration and said angrily “Enough of that Adam...you have the heaviest apparatus anyway.” As you can imagine, Adam could care less.

Adam had spent a mere fraction of the effort all of us spent in the class, and scored a few point lower than the average. In his Adam’s mind he was the smartest guy in the class, and I couldn’t agree more.