We ventured out for dinner in our “happening” neighborhood called Shmeisani and ate at a restaurant called Lebnani Snack. Dinner each night has been a little intimidating. We don’t know if the waiters will speak English or if we’ll understad the menu or where to pay the check. We don’t even know whether to seat ourselves or wait. And the first waiter we asked at Lebnani Snack was decidedly not the warm and fuzzy type. We sat down at a table, even though I was frightened of the “mean” man, and had a great dinner. Our non-English-speaking waiter was always smiling and we had great juices and sandwiches. The juices are so fresh there are chunks of actual fruit in the glass. Paul ordered shwarma al sajj and I ordered kebab barsha al sajj, even though neither of us were quite sure what we would be eating. I liked my kebab barsha, although I still don’t know exactly what that is.
Dinner each night here has emphasized the fact that Paul and I have two completely different methods for communicating with the local people. Paul speaks English as he normally does during any conversation and assumes (or hopes?) that the local people understand. I, on the other hand, assume no one speaks English and use an elegant combination of hand gestures and head shaking while shouting key English words (I can’t seem to keep a single Arabic word in my head) as if I were speaking to a deaf person. Then I pause and open my eyes as wide as possible, waiting to see whether I have been understood. And that look of confusion/fear stays pasted on my face, even if I hear English words in return. I guess Paul has the better method. I’ll have to work on my technique in the next few days.
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