I’m still feeling the jetlag. Norah was up for two hours again in the wee hours last night, much to my dad’s delight. He’s had trouble sleeping at night for a long time, so the company of his jet lagged grandchild is much welcome. Again, no time for all of the tales, but I don’t want to forget the story he told us last night about Jimmy the Greek at Cafe Coco threatening the Japanese businessman who wanted ketchup with his salmon.
Breakfast was ash sabzi, a vegetable soup, which we ate with naranj, sour orange. Naranj trees line almost every street in Shiraz and my dad’s courtyard is full of them, too. My dad says the smell of all of the blossoms is literally intoxicating in the Spring. You have to get up pretty early to get a bowl of Ash from the shop; yesterday, they were sold out by 7:30. Today, Elly got there by 6:30 to get us some. I also ate a bowl of the clotted cream (skimmed from the top of the fresh cows milk from yesterday after it was boiled) with honey.
I’m tired and my pregnant body is really feeling the time change and travel, but I want to say that being pregnant and jet lagged in Iran is five times more awesome than just being pregnant at home. I’m well fed and pampered and have not been allowed to lift a finger. I can only imagine how amazing the postpartum treatment would be here.