Dangerously Good Ice Cream

So I visited Riza's ice cream shop, which Haitham claimed is the local's favorite ice cream parlor in Damascus. He also claimed that one of their ice cream bowls was worth three meals, to which I laughed. So I ate a quick lunch and headed over to get my ice cream cone.

I should not have.

It looked great, and it tasted like heaven. A swirl of fruit, caramel, and ice cream dissolved in my mouth to create what is hands down the best ice cream I have ever had, period.

For the next five minutes, angels danced, the Syrian military stopped following me, a train actually ran from Damscus to Amman, Salwa and family could speak perfect English, Erkan and Alia made Turkish coffee, etc.

And then, in a split second, the music stopped, and one of those dancing angels took a baseball bat to my utterly full stomach. I had to stop: I honestly thought I was going to vomit.

So ice cream in hand, I took a cramped minibus back to Haitham's apartment to save it in the fridge, only to get there and discover he had no fridge.

I sadly had to throw the best ice cream in the world away.

And then I slept, for a long, long time.