döner and beer

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Leaving Iran meant missing my friends and the fantastic stew dishes. But it also meant being finally able to legally drink again.

With this in mind, I had purchased a bottle of local vodka that had looked at me and said “buy me, Chris, look at how pretty I am, Chris, buy me, buy me, buy me!”:

It was called Orel (Орёл), which meant “eagle”, and I will post a detailed review over at SlowerPulse at a later date.

Besides the occasional sip from the V, I would also have beers. Not many, though. I would wait until the sun had gone down, and then I would go to the roundabout with the cars and the shops:

There, I would turn into a pedestrian zone and go to a döner takeaway:

The food was good, and the takeaway was connected to a sort of beer garden:

Every night I would get the same:

One beer, one döner.

The good life.

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