Culchuh injecshun

A few days into our studies at ACL, and any surviving notions of this being a year's holiday have been more or less stripped away. Long afternoons spent people-watching in cafes or channel-hopping have been replaced with homework sessions and the frantic production of pointless flashcards, or else have taken on an air of guilt that certainly wasn't there before - you know, when we were meant to be revising all summer. I scored fifty-two out of a hundred in our placement test and was at the higher end of the scale. Clearly we have a long way to go.

Our study of the Arabic language is divided into four unofficial modules - grammar, speaking, Egyptian colloquial ('aamaya) and 'everything else'. The teachers are all exceptional, and classes are about a quarter of the size they were last year, which is a huge help. For our grammar studies we have Gad, who bears a striking resemblance to the Rain Man and fiddles with his pens in a similar manner, but conveys in slow, methodical English a great enthusiasm for what is probably the least exciting aspect of the language - in explaining the verb forms he is "giving us the key" and "building the foundations... and you can now go as high... as you like." Cue big smile. All four are from Alexandria though one, Muhammad Ansary, has studied English literature and travelled extensively, and has given us Arabic nicknames for the year (the point being that the year abroad isn't about studying a language but cultural immersion, a term that would make me shudder had anyone else said it but in this instance we found ourselves nodding along). Mine remains Hannah though - as many grinning supermarket workers have been keen to point out, هنا is an Arabic name.

Homework assignments, as with all languages, look more time-consuming and blood-pressure-raising than they turn out to be, for the simple reason that you either know the answer or you don't. More often that not so far it's the latter.

On a more interesting note - today we took a brief detour on the way home after filling up on 80p shawarma to visit the French Institute, about fifteen minutes from Wabuur al Maya. This is the first time we've been out at this point in the day, when schools empty and many people go home from work - even if only to nap for a few hours before pouring back into the streets at night. It's almost unbearably hot, jam-packed, raucous and unsanitary but full of life and colour. And, as we then discover, second-hand books. The place is a goldmine.

What Deko happily refers to as 'literary jewels' cram the shelves of a line of stalls down the middle of the road, shoulder-to-shoulder with children's magazines, travel guides, mechanic's handbooks and religious texts in English, Arabic and French. I pick up The Poisonwood Bible for two English pounds and she buys six volumes for eight and a promise that we will be coming back. Some are pictured below along with some baklava that we assume is another impossible bargain (£3.40 for one kilo) but turns out to taste of cow ghee and disappointment.

Stay tuned for next Thursday though, as in the last few days we have also received this: