On that same street (formerly called Shah Reza and now Engelob), an old Armenian sells spices and dried fruit. Because the inside of the shop is cramped and cluttered, he displays his goods on the sidewalk -- bags, baskets, and jars of raisins, almonds, dates, nuts, olives, ginger, pomegranates, plums, pepper, millet, and donzens of other delicacies with names and uses unknown to me.

Seen from a distance, against the background of crumbling gray plaster, they look like a rich and colorful palette, like a pinting of tasteful and imaginative composition.

Moreover, the shopkeeper changes the layout of the colours from day to day: Brown dates lie beside pastel pistachios and green olives -- and the next day, white almonds have taken the place of the fleshy dates, and a pile of pepper pods is burning scarlet where there has been golden millet.

Not only for the sake of the sensation do I visit this colouristic design. The daily fate of the exhibition is also a source of information about what is going to happen in politics, for Engelob is the boulevard of demonstrations.

If there is no sidewalk display in the morning, the Armenian is getting ready for a hot day -- there will be a demonstration. He would rather hide his fruits and spices than leave them out to be trampled by the crowd. This also means that I have to get down to work and establish who is going to demonstrate, and for what.

If, on the other hand, I can see the Armenian's variegated glowing palette from far down Engelob Street, then I know it's going to be an ordinary, peaceful, uneventful day, and I can go with easy conscience to Leon's for a glass of whiskey.

- Ryszard Kapuscinski, Shah of Shahs, New York: Vintage, 1982/1992.