One thing never changes here – it’s hot. Around 36 degrees, sometimes peaking at 40 in the middle of the day. In the evening, though, there’s a nice cool breeze and it’s pleasant to sit on the balcony. Yesterday we all squeezed ourselves onto it – my grandparents, their three children and in-laws and us, the third generation – and there were so many conversations going on that Zorba, the family parrot, was in seventh heaven. He’s behind me right now, imitating every voice in the house, from Nana answering the phone to Grozney the cat mewing.

The city has been gripped by World Cup fever – many cars have national flags ranging from Iran to Brazil waving at the back, while some stores have suddenly converted into only selling football paraphernalia. Walking through one of the shopping areas today I got the impression some new stores have opened and there is more variety in Western clothing, especially shoes. There even is a Kentucky Fried Chicken (an original one, not fake “Kuwaiti Food Company” like some years ago) just next to our house.

However, Damascus still is a city where time seems to pass much slower than elsewhere in the world. Sure, the traffic is crazy and the people lively, but the streets look like they’re “straight from the stone ages” (quote from my uncle), a window pane on my grandparents’ balcony is still smashed because my mother hit it with her knee when she was five, and the shopkeeper across the street, where we go to get our groceries, has probably been there forever.

Started reading Murakami’s “Kafka on the Shore” and watched one and a half episodes of Lost today. We had lunch at my aunt’s: fantastic Indian food. Still haven’t made the traditional walk to the Old Town and back – but there’s still time for that. We’ve practically been here just over 24 hours. I’ll join the others on the balcony now. Have a good weekend!