Raqi

No, that's raqi. a.k.a. grappa.

Yours truly has been traversing the continent again; Nairobi,(twice) Cairo (twice) and Tirana in Albania--with a side trip to Elbasan, about an hour away up in the mountains.

Nairobi was, well, its usual chaos. Went to the famous 'Carnivore' restaurant; where one consumed such exotic delights as camel, (it does taste as you would imagine; tough and strangely salty) and crocodile. Think fish-flavoured chicken. Think there was some ostrich in there too, somewhere. Now that does taste like aggressive chicken, promise.

The main drag from the centre of town to the airport in Uhuru Highway. It's a disaster at the best of times. Three chaotic roundabouts (or traffic-circles, or whatever you call them there) So. Trying to get to the airport Friday night. Everybody and his brother and her dog were out. And there appeared from the horizon a thunderstorm such as which I've rarely seen, which promptly proceeded to precipitate on the assembled masses. Ye Gods; perhaps 6-7 inches in 20 minutes. The traffic ceased to flow entirely. I can't tell you the frustration. 90 minutes to do 10 miles? And I really, really needed to get home. However, happy ending; the plane was late in arriving, so after a near-coronary and a James Bond-like ejection from the taxi, we made it.

Egypt. Stayed in the Baron Hotel in Heliopolis as opposed to the Flamenco in Zamalek (about which I've opined before; right ON the Nile) Some looney Belgian Baron industrialist decided late 19th century to build a palace there. Before that factoid came to my attention, I wondered why there was a Buddhist temple in the middle of the city. Silly me.This 'temple' was the palace. There's a much less ornate building right across the street from the hotel. It's apparently President Mubarak's guest house for VVIP's; hence the 'no photographs' stickers on the hotel bedroom windows. I was moved to get a spot of fresh air one fine evening, and the guards who patrol the grounds made certain gestures suggesting that I was not welcome to take the Cairo late-evening air in that particular fashion. I duly desisted.

Albania. Distinctly weird. Enver Hoxha was a former dictator who made Stalin look conciliatory. The country is still struggling royally with the legacy of those times. I asked a colleague what it is that Albania exports, since we were sitting on the seashore near the main port at the time. Her dead-pan response was "Nothing except criminals, prostitutes and human traffic." The country is liberally scattered with the oddest concrete-lined, trash-can topped, one-man foxholes. They're everywhere; whole fields of them, near the coast, in the mountains, on the outskirts of the towns, all built by the Chinese apparently. The Soviets would have little if nothing to do with Hoxha--too revisionist--so he turned elsewhere.These to keep the impending invasion of somebody at bay. Who, I wonder; the Russians? The Americans? The Yugoslavs?

And speaking of the Chinese; we visited a small town in the mountains about an hour from the capital Tirana. Well, it would have been a small town apart from the semi-derelict and positively enormous steel mill also built by the Chinese, which reputedly has been the cause of many human birth defects due to the vast quantities of pollutants produced. We went further up into the hills to a small village where we visited a market-place constructed with the assistance of my employers, a schoolhouse (also a project) where I was entertained by the principal. (actually Direcktor, if you don't mind) Saw some very impressive agricultural projects and made all the right noises. No, really it was damn good. And was invited back to a local farmers house for coffee. Yeah, right. Coffee. (that glutinous, industrial strength Turkish stuff, served in a thimble.) And raqi, served in a shot-glass, locally produced grappa. This was the teeth-grinding, hissing, eye-watering, glass-slamming-on-the-bar moonshine that could--I well imagine--cause instant organ failure, terminal dandruff and premature ejaculation simultaneously with more delicate souls. However yours truly is made of sterner stuff; years of abuse, you understand. I seem to recall a pressurised "Ffffuckkkkk!" as it slid down, just before the narcotic effect took hold. I had two-and-a-half shots. Yes, I fell asleep on the drive back.

You remember the evil, gorgeous, Russian female spy from the Bond movies? Inevitably called Svetlana? Met her. Grey eyes, severe eyebrows, beautifully dressed, teased hair. Applied for a job with us. My other colleague, who is notorious with the ladies, was later treated for dehydration. He lost a lot of bodily fluid that hour. Most of it saliva.