a taste like no other

Conundrum: a peacock's eye. Kisses so amateurish they resemble an early form of printing
Lawrence Durrell, Justine

14 years ago, all this was a dream over open space. Mitan, like Hashman, barely existed, just a collection of Bedouin tents scattered in the general area. Nomads in the area would travel four hours by camel to Habrut for supplies, the main town in its time, with date gardens and shops. The doctor would drive through the sand from one tent to the other, espousing his mantra of ‘medical aid at the doorstep.’ “There were no gas cylinders in those days, of course,” says Mansoor. “The Mahra would pour camel milk in a pot called tassa, heat a washed stone over the fire and drop it into the vessel. This would heat the milk – and give it a taste like nothing else.”

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