Days are going by in Ramallah and I am slowly getting used to the pace of the city. I normally wake up around 5 a.m. when the first beams of sunlight make their way through the curtains in my window. There is no trafic, no music, no people in the street. The silence of these early hours is true magic.
Half awake and half asleep I listen to the sounds of Ramallah slowly emerging.
The first person in the street is the boy who sells bread. His nasal voice cuts through the silence like a razor blade and wakes up the whole neighbourhood. Very soon, the traffic follows and adds its noise, the rythm of buzzing engines with honking horns setting the beat.
The first person in the street is the boy who sells bread. His nasal voice cuts through the silence like a razor blade and wakes up the whole neighbourhood. Very soon, the traffic follows and adds its noise, the rythm of buzzing engines with honking horns setting the beat.
In the street you hear the sizzle of hot oil from the falafel shop, coffee boiling over the flames of a bunsen burner, and the tunes from Arabic songs mixing with an English version of Medina, and one of Aqua's golden oldies. Ramallah. A giant, musical melting pot.
In a few days, the Palestine Festival will begin. I am looking forward to add new sounds to my experiences in Ramallah.
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