The road back from Abbottabad yesterday afternoon, just outside Haripur, was flanked by little stalls selling oranges. Not just one or two stalls, but probably about 30 or so. This after all is orange season.
The chap at this stall cut one into quarters for me to try. Which I did. Leaving me with juice running down to my elbows. I bought a sack of 80 or so for about four quid. A bargain.
Then, presumably spotting a rich Westerner getting sentimental about small-time farmers and seasonal fruit the stallholder quickly cut me a piece of grapefruit too, but I managed to refrain from further citrus-based purchases.
But this is one of the joys of Pakistan – or anywhere else where they remember that fruit comes in seasons. I think next come mangoes in the summer, then pomegranates for the last couple of months. (I’ll assume the Brussel sprouts they had at Christmas in Khosar Market were imported for sad expats like me.)
And I swear that orange at the side of the road was the best orange I’ve ever tasted.