Squeaky Pai

Two new opportunities in Pai regarding squeaky doors and the machine oil I decided to bring along. (Not as daring as the sesame dressing and butter, though so far, no mess.)

It is rewarding to find a squeaky door. Not at first, because it’s so squeaky. Is squeaky onomatopoeia?

There’s my Airbnb front door, which will be so satisfying to oil. I wonder if the owner will notice? The other, the bathroom door at Barbari Bakery, which I never would’ve discovered were it not for my lingering and 2nd latte and water. (I’m alert to hydration when my pee tilts towards yellow.)

So there I was, looking for the bathroom, and I spotted it across the room. Then, when I went in, the squeak that turns all heads, which I suspect no one entering really wants to do. "I’ll fix that!” I think to myself. I wonder whether anyone will notice or question why it stopped squeaking.

—

A day full of exploration on foot, casing this small and infamous city. A nice come-down from the transportation stresses of yesterday (see blog). 

It was interesting to check out the hipster scene, the 20-something innocents. I had a late breakfast, a variation on Shakshuka, topped with crushed walnuts and a mint leaf. French-press coffee. Getting a few groceries, now stopping for a mango smoothie about 1/2-way home. It’s a 30-minute walk, just long enough to deserve a way station libation. 

So, a nice day; nicer still to be home. Overlooking pastureland with the range of mountains in the background.

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