My last night in Morocco, one of the last pictures I took of my dear Hassan and Petit Sayd. In this picture, he's singing the song, Sadie.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Hassan and Petit Sayd play and sing their hearts out
My last night in Morocco, one of the last pictures I took of my dear Hassan and Petit Sayd. In this picture, he's singing the song, Sadie.
It's Not Over Until Hassan Sings Sadie: The Last Entry, The Last Song
<-- my very last night in Essaouira, Morocco. Ma'alem Seddik, me, Petit Sayd and Mwedid Mwedid After over a year and quite a phenomenal journey, I am back in my home town, mostly moved into my familiar little house in Portland, Oregon and grappling with quite a spectrum of emotions. I feel like I'm sleepwalking; part of me is half waiting to wake up in Morocco to the sound of a donkey's torturous wheezing or the Muslim call to prayer... that being back here is the dream. This doesn't feel like my life. I recognize everything and it all feels distantly familiar but it doesn't register as my life. Not yet, anyway.
I've also been comparing these feelings to having stepped into a time machine and now I have suddenly popped back into Portland where everything is where it used to be, not much has changed but life *has* gone on.
I am noticing that my mind is secretly devising ways for me to get back to Morocco as soon as possible, wondering if I should just sell everything and move there permanently. It's a dramatic response to feeling so foreign *here*, like I'm observing everything around me but not participating. I feel out of place but I hope (and believe) that it will get better.
Out of all the journeys I had over this past year, there is no question that what I carry most in my heart are the dear, dear memories of Essaouira and my relationship with the boys and men at Ma'alem Seddik's house. And obviously, Hassan is in that picture, too. I came to love all of them so much, even if I didn't always understand them (in all senses of the word).
I want to end this blog with giving a link to the very last night I was in Morocco and to share a recording of Hassan singing one of my favorite Gnawa songs, Sadie (pronounced sah-dee-yay) but in a most gentle style. He does the call and Yassin responds. In places, I start singing along too. Later, it picks up into a more energetic song.
This particular performance has stuck with me and both touched me and panged my heart because it was the last song Hassan sang for me. When our eyes met that night as he was singing, both of our eyes were filled with tears.
What an incredible gift this year has been... I have such a profound sense of gratitude that I have not stopped saying, "thank you" to the universe, to God, to circumstance or whatever allowed me to not only discover the music that I want to study, live and breathe for the rest of my life (Gnawa music) but to develop such life-changing relationships and have a perspective on life now that will never leave me.
With that, I bow and say to you all,
May peace be upon you.
Assalama leykum.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Looking Deeply, Untying the Knots and Coming Home
After spending a week in the Colorado Rocky Mountains with my mother and sister at a Buddhist mindfulness retreat and a few days hiking in the mountains where I spent much of my childhood, I am feeling much more refreshed and relaxed and like myself again.
Not surprisingly, finally having the space and time to really pay close attention to my body and feel into it meant that my pain was more intense, especially during moments of meditation. I tried to take the standpoint of my pain as my teacher, to finally go into my pain (instead of try and tolerate it) and see what is there. There is no doubt in my mind that much of it is because of so many emotions and difficult situations I never was able to resolve over this past year. My physical body has always been my emotional/happiness barometer like that.
I don't consider myself a "Buddhist" but I get a lot out of the calming and mindfulness training. The most moving thing about the retreat for me was witnessing so many people who were all so dedicated to making peace in themselves and in the world. It was truly a community bonded through loving intent. Since I can tend to be a bit cynical about humanity, despite my idealistic personality, it was a relief to realize that if and when I start to get down on the state of the world, I can remember this community of 1000 people at this retreat who all were seeking a deeper, more meaningful and peaceful life for not just themselves but all humanity.
One of the phrases used at this retreat was to "look deeply" into our lives, into our hearts and selves for the wisdom and answers we need. Now, it is also my time to look deeply into this past year and tease out the gems of real beauty and wisdom from the hardships and emotional challenges. As I untie the emotional knots, which no doubt have caused the actual physical knots in my back, I hope to take lessons and gems of wisdom as well.
I know that it may take months, if not years, to fully understand and appreciate everything I learned this past year. In a way, I am still in a place of calming down and reminding myself, "You can let your guard down now, Tamara. You can smile at people on the street again, Tamara. You can take a deep breath, you are safe."
In two more weeks, I will be in Portland again and in my mind's eye, I am seeing myself walking through my front door again, into my little house that has always felt so cozy to me.
Boy, do I remember what it was like to shut that door behind me and drive away on that last day, August 24th 2008. Now, I am anticipating the emotions of walking back into that house that has been waiting for me, that house that symbolizes a lot of my life in Portland and what I left behind. That house symbolizes my roots and my place in the world here.
I am so grateful to have a home to come back to. Having my own space again, not living out of a backpack, even having a yard to clean up sounds wonderful right now. I tear up when I realize that I am ready to walk through that door again. I am ready to greet that part of me, that part of my life. I am ready to really be home again.
Not surprisingly, finally having the space and time to really pay close attention to my body and feel into it meant that my pain was more intense, especially during moments of meditation. I tried to take the standpoint of my pain as my teacher, to finally go into my pain (instead of try and tolerate it) and see what is there. There is no doubt in my mind that much of it is because of so many emotions and difficult situations I never was able to resolve over this past year. My physical body has always been my emotional/happiness barometer like that.
I don't consider myself a "Buddhist" but I get a lot out of the calming and mindfulness training. The most moving thing about the retreat for me was witnessing so many people who were all so dedicated to making peace in themselves and in the world. It was truly a community bonded through loving intent. Since I can tend to be a bit cynical about humanity, despite my idealistic personality, it was a relief to realize that if and when I start to get down on the state of the world, I can remember this community of 1000 people at this retreat who all were seeking a deeper, more meaningful and peaceful life for not just themselves but all humanity.
One of the phrases used at this retreat was to "look deeply" into our lives, into our hearts and selves for the wisdom and answers we need. Now, it is also my time to look deeply into this past year and tease out the gems of real beauty and wisdom from the hardships and emotional challenges. As I untie the emotional knots, which no doubt have caused the actual physical knots in my back, I hope to take lessons and gems of wisdom as well.
I know that it may take months, if not years, to fully understand and appreciate everything I learned this past year. In a way, I am still in a place of calming down and reminding myself, "You can let your guard down now, Tamara. You can smile at people on the street again, Tamara. You can take a deep breath, you are safe."
In two more weeks, I will be in Portland again and in my mind's eye, I am seeing myself walking through my front door again, into my little house that has always felt so cozy to me.
Boy, do I remember what it was like to shut that door behind me and drive away on that last day, August 24th 2008. Now, I am anticipating the emotions of walking back into that house that has been waiting for me, that house that symbolizes a lot of my life in Portland and what I left behind. That house symbolizes my roots and my place in the world here.
I am so grateful to have a home to come back to. Having my own space again, not living out of a backpack, even having a yard to clean up sounds wonderful right now. I tear up when I realize that I am ready to walk through that door again. I am ready to greet that part of me, that part of my life. I am ready to really be home again.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Images from Turkey
.jpg)
In the small mountain village of Bacheseray. Three adorable sisters I met and "chatted" with via my Turkish/English dictionary.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
The Nature of Generosity
When I was in Olympos on the Mediterranean coast of Turkey, I met a Dutch couple hanging around the tree house camp. The guy (whose name I have now forgotten) asked me what the single most "sticking" thing would be about my year of travel and living overseas. "Sticking?" I asked. "Yeah, like what really sticks to you," he clarified.
I thought for a second and despite being very tired of travel these days, the one thing that bubbled to the surface was this: the incredible generosity of people who have so little to share.
I explained how I marveled at how people struggled on a daily basis to feed themselves and yet, if a foreigner walked by, they would invite them into their home for tea and a meal. I was moved by, over and over, how when Hassan would finally get some cash in his pocket from his corrupt, thieving boss, how immediately he would give some to his sisters or to a friend who had even less. And if we were eating a tajine just made for the two of us and a friend of his walked by, he would invite them to join us. It was not right to eat in front of others without offering for them to join you, even if there was not enough food to go around.
The guy who had asked the question nodded adamantly and said that he had experienced much the same thing during his work in the military, meeting people in some countries who would give you their last scrap of food, even if they themselves were starving.
I asked him, "Why do you think this is so? Why does the more a person have, the less he wants to share? It is so opposite of how it should be! Why is it that the deeper the pocket, the smaller the heart?" We discussed this for some time, that maybe the mentality of generosity has to do with survival because in some of these places, if you don't share, everyone loses. Maybe there is no simple answer. Or maybe these people, having so little, haven't forgotten the real values in life of friendship, family and good will towards humanity. They aren't worried about keeping up with the Joneses because nobody has anything. Life is humble and still basically about survival and therefore, they aren't consumed by accummulating stuff? I don't know.
And we marveled at how people in the West have so much, more than they could ever realize and yet, will share so little with those around them.
But it is not just about money. It is also about the very human interactions between people who are still living a village sort of life where you don't "keep to yourself" but you take interest in those around you. I will never forget how I could get into a giant shared taxi in Morocco and everyone would start chatting up a storm and slapping each other on the back and calling each other huwya:"brother." Even when I was sure they all must know each other and would ask the answer would be, "nope."
I'll never forget the smiles and welcomes and "how are you doing?"s I would get from the little shop owners each time I would stop by to buy some eggs or yogurt. Moroccans are especially the masters of greeting each other; their greetings go on for many minutes. Boy, going to a regular grocery store when I get home is going to feel so cold and impersonal. :)
If I can pass on one thing I've learned and if there is one thing I hope I can embody as I return home, it's to carry this spirit of generosity with me: generosity of spirit and also of money or however else I can help those around me.
As Hassan had once explained to me when I asked how someone with so little can still give so much (and I will paraphrase):
"It's like there's a breadbasket that's going around. It's gets passed from person to person. It gets passed to you and you pass it along. You don't hang onto it because it will come back around again. It always comes back around."
I thought for a second and despite being very tired of travel these days, the one thing that bubbled to the surface was this: the incredible generosity of people who have so little to share.
I explained how I marveled at how people struggled on a daily basis to feed themselves and yet, if a foreigner walked by, they would invite them into their home for tea and a meal. I was moved by, over and over, how when Hassan would finally get some cash in his pocket from his corrupt, thieving boss, how immediately he would give some to his sisters or to a friend who had even less. And if we were eating a tajine just made for the two of us and a friend of his walked by, he would invite them to join us. It was not right to eat in front of others without offering for them to join you, even if there was not enough food to go around.
The guy who had asked the question nodded adamantly and said that he had experienced much the same thing during his work in the military, meeting people in some countries who would give you their last scrap of food, even if they themselves were starving.
I asked him, "Why do you think this is so? Why does the more a person have, the less he wants to share? It is so opposite of how it should be! Why is it that the deeper the pocket, the smaller the heart?" We discussed this for some time, that maybe the mentality of generosity has to do with survival because in some of these places, if you don't share, everyone loses. Maybe there is no simple answer. Or maybe these people, having so little, haven't forgotten the real values in life of friendship, family and good will towards humanity. They aren't worried about keeping up with the Joneses because nobody has anything. Life is humble and still basically about survival and therefore, they aren't consumed by accummulating stuff? I don't know.
And we marveled at how people in the West have so much, more than they could ever realize and yet, will share so little with those around them.
But it is not just about money. It is also about the very human interactions between people who are still living a village sort of life where you don't "keep to yourself" but you take interest in those around you. I will never forget how I could get into a giant shared taxi in Morocco and everyone would start chatting up a storm and slapping each other on the back and calling each other huwya:"brother." Even when I was sure they all must know each other and would ask the answer would be, "nope."
I'll never forget the smiles and welcomes and "how are you doing?"s I would get from the little shop owners each time I would stop by to buy some eggs or yogurt. Moroccans are especially the masters of greeting each other; their greetings go on for many minutes. Boy, going to a regular grocery store when I get home is going to feel so cold and impersonal. :)
If I can pass on one thing I've learned and if there is one thing I hope I can embody as I return home, it's to carry this spirit of generosity with me: generosity of spirit and also of money or however else I can help those around me.
As Hassan had once explained to me when I asked how someone with so little can still give so much (and I will paraphrase):
"It's like there's a breadbasket that's going around. It's gets passed from person to person. It gets passed to you and you pass it along. You don't hang onto it because it will come back around again. It always comes back around."
From "Allah Akbar" to "Ommmmmmm"
For the past year, five times a day I have heard the muezzin (caller to prayer) shout from the minarets of mosques,"Allah Akbar!": God is big. The muezzin goes on to sing, "There is only one God and Mohammed is his prophet." This ritual goes on for many minutes with many repeats and musical improvisation, depending on the town or city or the muezzin's taste.
Sometimes the call to prayer has been quite musical; other times, it has seemed as if there was a contest going on to see who could sound the most tortured and out of tune. In large cities, all of the mosques (which could be something like 20 mosques) start the call all at once or just a few seconds behind one another so it creates quite a chilling effect. It sounds as if the whole city is moaning. And I found it quite beautiful.
I have come to appreciate this ritual every day and I think I will actually miss it. I have even made recordings of various "Allah Akbar"s in various cities I visited to demonstrate how different they are. The one I recorded in Sanliurfa was the most musical and emotional. It sent chills up my spine.
But now, as I head back to the US, I will be entering a different realm of spirituality. As part of my cultural readjustment, my mother has offered to treat me to a Zen Buddhist meditation retreat up in the Rocky Mountains with Thitch Nhat Hanh. Although there is a fair amount of discipline involved, like a 5:30 AM wake-up call for meditation, I have a hunch that centering myself in this way is just what I need to soothe the state I am currently in: a state of having virtually no patience and waning energy. So within a few days of arriving back in the US, I will be headed to this retreat- some might say, quite an interesting contrast to a year of being surrounded by Islam.
Being surrounded by Islam for so long has stirred a new interest in religion and spirituality for me but it has also tired me of it in some ways, too. For that reason, also, spending time in quiet (and definitely in the mountains!) to reflect and process will be ideal. I hope to come back to Portland a peaceful, patient person. :)
Sometimes the call to prayer has been quite musical; other times, it has seemed as if there was a contest going on to see who could sound the most tortured and out of tune. In large cities, all of the mosques (which could be something like 20 mosques) start the call all at once or just a few seconds behind one another so it creates quite a chilling effect. It sounds as if the whole city is moaning. And I found it quite beautiful.
I have come to appreciate this ritual every day and I think I will actually miss it. I have even made recordings of various "Allah Akbar"s in various cities I visited to demonstrate how different they are. The one I recorded in Sanliurfa was the most musical and emotional. It sent chills up my spine.
But now, as I head back to the US, I will be entering a different realm of spirituality. As part of my cultural readjustment, my mother has offered to treat me to a Zen Buddhist meditation retreat up in the Rocky Mountains with Thitch Nhat Hanh. Although there is a fair amount of discipline involved, like a 5:30 AM wake-up call for meditation, I have a hunch that centering myself in this way is just what I need to soothe the state I am currently in: a state of having virtually no patience and waning energy. So within a few days of arriving back in the US, I will be headed to this retreat- some might say, quite an interesting contrast to a year of being surrounded by Islam.
Being surrounded by Islam for so long has stirred a new interest in religion and spirituality for me but it has also tired me of it in some ways, too. For that reason, also, spending time in quiet (and definitely in the mountains!) to reflect and process will be ideal. I hope to come back to Portland a peaceful, patient person. :)
Romancing Myself in Istanbul
Following the recommendation of a delectable restaurant "that the people-in-the-know go to," I found myself in a super chic place last night on the fifth floor of tall building in the Taskim part of Istanbul with a phenomenal view of the Bosphorus, with the ships coming in and out and the skyline of Istanbul all around. It was superbly romantic sitting on the terrace so I felt just a tad odd that I was the only person there alone, surrounded by beautiful couples, a mixture of sophisticated ex-pats and well-off Turks sipping cocktails.
When I saw the prices on the menu, I considered leaving but then thought: okay, Tamara, you have been living on 3-dollar sandwiches for the last 5 weeks. Go ahead and splurge a little. Splurging for me was ordering the appetizer plate of various kinds of pate and two bread rolls, and a small glass of wine for 18 dollars. But I considered it that I was taking myself on a date, although I suppose a real date would have bought me a proper dinner and not the appetizer plate! Ah well.
So there I was, twiddling my thumbs while beautiful couples around me flirted and got tipsy. To my entertainment, I was seated next to an American guy who was making quite an effort to hit on an English-speaking, gorgeous Turkish woman. It was a fascinating past-time listening in while he poured out his heart to her about his past relationships with the kind of honesty and sensitivity that only alcohol can provide. I smiled to myself and despite feeling a bit odd to be the only non-coupled person there, also found myself giving thanks for my solitude after listening to his history. ha
It did, however, make me miss going out with friends and having someone to chat with while looking out at a view like that. Unlike in other parts of Turkey, though, the clientele there was much more Western, meaning people keep to themselves and if you try and strike up a conversation or make too much eye contact, they act uncomfortable that you are invading their space. Sigh. It's an interesting cultural observation: the more people have, the more they tend to keep to themselves, even socially (although definitely financially) and often tend to be less willing to acknowledge strangers or reach out to those around them. That is something I have already started to miss about Eastern Turkey and Morocco. There, if someone sees that you are alone, they will invite you to join them and not in that "hassling" way that happens when I would be walking down the street but in a genuine "here's a person who might want to talk to someone" kind of way.
Anyhow, even though it might have been tacky at a chic place like that, I asked for a "doggie bag" to take home the surprisingly delicious pate, which made for a superb breakfast today.
When I saw the prices on the menu, I considered leaving but then thought: okay, Tamara, you have been living on 3-dollar sandwiches for the last 5 weeks. Go ahead and splurge a little. Splurging for me was ordering the appetizer plate of various kinds of pate and two bread rolls, and a small glass of wine for 18 dollars. But I considered it that I was taking myself on a date, although I suppose a real date would have bought me a proper dinner and not the appetizer plate! Ah well.
So there I was, twiddling my thumbs while beautiful couples around me flirted and got tipsy. To my entertainment, I was seated next to an American guy who was making quite an effort to hit on an English-speaking, gorgeous Turkish woman. It was a fascinating past-time listening in while he poured out his heart to her about his past relationships with the kind of honesty and sensitivity that only alcohol can provide. I smiled to myself and despite feeling a bit odd to be the only non-coupled person there, also found myself giving thanks for my solitude after listening to his history. ha
It did, however, make me miss going out with friends and having someone to chat with while looking out at a view like that. Unlike in other parts of Turkey, though, the clientele there was much more Western, meaning people keep to themselves and if you try and strike up a conversation or make too much eye contact, they act uncomfortable that you are invading their space. Sigh. It's an interesting cultural observation: the more people have, the more they tend to keep to themselves, even socially (although definitely financially) and often tend to be less willing to acknowledge strangers or reach out to those around them. That is something I have already started to miss about Eastern Turkey and Morocco. There, if someone sees that you are alone, they will invite you to join them and not in that "hassling" way that happens when I would be walking down the street but in a genuine "here's a person who might want to talk to someone" kind of way.
Anyhow, even though it might have been tacky at a chic place like that, I asked for a "doggie bag" to take home the surprisingly delicious pate, which made for a superb breakfast today.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Deep Thoughts A'Comin'
As my journey comes to an end in the next week and I recuperate in Colorado, I will have an enormous amount of reflecting to do. While I'm now just in the mind-set of getting through the next few days (because I am exhausted), I know that inspiration isn't too far off and I will be sharing my thoughts and passions about my year of travel.
A fellow traveler recently laughed at me after I commented on how tired I am, saying that my friends and family back home weren't going to be too sympathetic to me needing a vacation from taking a year off. ha
I answered, "Well, it's not like I went to the Bahamas or Hawaii for a year. I went to 'difficult' countries because I went to learn about myself, to learn about a culture so vastly different from mine, and because I wanted to push myself in an unusual way." So funny as it may be, yes, I will be recuperating in Colorado for about 3 weeks with my mom and sister before I fly back home to Portland, OR to begin my quest for a JOB (oh god!) and start recreating my space in my community again.
More to come soon...
A fellow traveler recently laughed at me after I commented on how tired I am, saying that my friends and family back home weren't going to be too sympathetic to me needing a vacation from taking a year off. ha
I answered, "Well, it's not like I went to the Bahamas or Hawaii for a year. I went to 'difficult' countries because I went to learn about myself, to learn about a culture so vastly different from mine, and because I wanted to push myself in an unusual way." So funny as it may be, yes, I will be recuperating in Colorado for about 3 weeks with my mom and sister before I fly back home to Portland, OR to begin my quest for a JOB (oh god!) and start recreating my space in my community again.
More to come soon...
Last 2 Days of Turkey: Trying Not to Kick Anyone in the Nuts
Phew. I made it to Istanbul on a 12 hour-long night bus from Antalya in the Western Mediterranean and arrived this morning at 7 AM, not as tired as I thought I would be, although I barely slept.
Anyhow! I am back and glad to be somewhere I have been before so that the amount of new input to take in is limited. My patience is waning to the point that today, I caught myself thinking, "the next guy who tries to comment on me, chat me up or hit on me is going to get kicked in the nuts."
Yes, that is a definite sign that I am ready to go. Not that society in the US is 100% fair between the sexes but it is still a lot more equal than Turkey or Morocco (so in-your-face male dominated) and I will be greatly relieved to be back in a place where I can have stress-free interactions with men and don't have to be completely rude to them in order to avoid annoying (and possibly worse) situations. Here, as soon as a guy tries and talk to me, I tense up and ready the defenses, my body flooding with adrenaline for fight or flight. I know I am probably over-reacting but it's just that it has been a whole YEAR of dealing with this kind of thing and I just can't take it anymore.
But I am going to try and relax, drink way too much tea and fill up with baklava in the next two days, peek in the Blue Mosque and see a few other things and then I will be pottering off to London town on Thursday to hang out with two of my crazy-fun guy friends whom I met in Mali, Ajeeth and Mark. They will take good care of me and be the first step back towards non-threatening, non-stress hormone-producing friendships with men. ha
I just gotta keep breathing deeply until then....
Anyhow! I am back and glad to be somewhere I have been before so that the amount of new input to take in is limited. My patience is waning to the point that today, I caught myself thinking, "the next guy who tries to comment on me, chat me up or hit on me is going to get kicked in the nuts."
Yes, that is a definite sign that I am ready to go. Not that society in the US is 100% fair between the sexes but it is still a lot more equal than Turkey or Morocco (so in-your-face male dominated) and I will be greatly relieved to be back in a place where I can have stress-free interactions with men and don't have to be completely rude to them in order to avoid annoying (and possibly worse) situations. Here, as soon as a guy tries and talk to me, I tense up and ready the defenses, my body flooding with adrenaline for fight or flight. I know I am probably over-reacting but it's just that it has been a whole YEAR of dealing with this kind of thing and I just can't take it anymore.
But I am going to try and relax, drink way too much tea and fill up with baklava in the next two days, peek in the Blue Mosque and see a few other things and then I will be pottering off to London town on Thursday to hang out with two of my crazy-fun guy friends whom I met in Mali, Ajeeth and Mark. They will take good care of me and be the first step back towards non-threatening, non-stress hormone-producing friendships with men. ha
I just gotta keep breathing deeply until then....
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Mediterranean Backdrop, Thinking of Home
I am on the Western Turkish Mediterranean and it is gorgeous but there are way too many people. I am reminded: this is why you mainly stuck to Eastern Turkey, Tamara.
I am not a crowd person, especially crowds of tourists with a party mentality. Something about it, about being around hoards of tourists, makes me awfully depressed about the state of humanity... especially when you see these amazing ancient cities and are surrounded by breathtaking nature. Yes, this is why I mostly avoided tourist Turkey.
In one way, I suppose it is another stepping stone to culture adjustment but ironically, the more people I am surrounded by, the more lonely I feel.
For the first time in my year long journey, I feel lonely, probably because I am surrounded by a billion tourists all rushing to the beach.
And at last, I really feel ready to come home. At last, my thoughts are turning towards home and there is no dread involved in those thoughts anymore... just a tiny bit of nervousness... but mostly craving the relief of the familiar.... and a culture where I can have a cup of tea without being stared at, walk down the street without (usually) comments being made.... and in general, a place I can absolutely and totally let my guard down. My god... I SO am looking forward to letting my guard down. It has been up for a year now and it is getting really worn down. As am I.
I am in the old ruined Lycian city of Olympos today (with a gorgeous beach and near other famous sites) and moving onto another place called Kaş tomorrow to maybe kayak over a sunken city, if my body will allow it. Then I am back in Istanbul on Tuesday night or Wednesday morning to fly out of Turkey Thursday, spend some lovely time with my friends in London again (no Gay Pride this time, though) and then back on US soil a week from today, Sunday August 16th.
It is still strange for me to think that I have not seen a familiar face in a whole year. The only familiar voices I have heard on the phone have been a few conversations with my mom and sister and only two others with friends from Portland. I am SO looking foward to being back with the people I love and care about and who love and care about me. I have missed regular hugs. I have missed laughing and talking with people close to me.
Maybe it is just now I am realizing what I have missed- maybe it is just now that I am feeling lonely for the first time, remembering what I have to look forward to.... one of the greatest gifts of life: our loved ones.
I am not a crowd person, especially crowds of tourists with a party mentality. Something about it, about being around hoards of tourists, makes me awfully depressed about the state of humanity... especially when you see these amazing ancient cities and are surrounded by breathtaking nature. Yes, this is why I mostly avoided tourist Turkey.
In one way, I suppose it is another stepping stone to culture adjustment but ironically, the more people I am surrounded by, the more lonely I feel.
For the first time in my year long journey, I feel lonely, probably because I am surrounded by a billion tourists all rushing to the beach.
And at last, I really feel ready to come home. At last, my thoughts are turning towards home and there is no dread involved in those thoughts anymore... just a tiny bit of nervousness... but mostly craving the relief of the familiar.... and a culture where I can have a cup of tea without being stared at, walk down the street without (usually) comments being made.... and in general, a place I can absolutely and totally let my guard down. My god... I SO am looking forward to letting my guard down. It has been up for a year now and it is getting really worn down. As am I.
I am in the old ruined Lycian city of Olympos today (with a gorgeous beach and near other famous sites) and moving onto another place called Kaş tomorrow to maybe kayak over a sunken city, if my body will allow it. Then I am back in Istanbul on Tuesday night or Wednesday morning to fly out of Turkey Thursday, spend some lovely time with my friends in London again (no Gay Pride this time, though) and then back on US soil a week from today, Sunday August 16th.
It is still strange for me to think that I have not seen a familiar face in a whole year. The only familiar voices I have heard on the phone have been a few conversations with my mom and sister and only two others with friends from Portland. I am SO looking foward to being back with the people I love and care about and who love and care about me. I have missed regular hugs. I have missed laughing and talking with people close to me.
Maybe it is just now I am realizing what I have missed- maybe it is just now that I am feeling lonely for the first time, remembering what I have to look forward to.... one of the greatest gifts of life: our loved ones.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Village life rocks
Well, I will say that the village life is where it`s at in Turkey. I have consistently had wonderful experiences in the smaller places; sometimes, the smaller the place, the better the experience.
I am in a small village called Ilhara. Tourists come here to walk part of a beautiful canyon filled with ancient Byzantine churches but few people actually stay here. Because I am fervently against taking tours and thus, just take minibuses and public transport wherever I go, I often end up staying in villages longer than most people would, waiting for the next bus. But it usually means I get to see something that most people do not.
After my beautiful 5 hour walk in the Ilhara valley, I stumbled upon a wedding in the village. For over an hour, I sat and watched the men and women dance. It was superb. Apparently, there are three weddings going on around the village today so I will probably get to see more festivities tonight. I am still technically in Cappadocia but sticking to the smaller villages, less visited by tourists, and this is proving to be a good formula.
Tomorrow, I head to the big city of Konya, the origin of the whirling dervishes and the home of Rumi. I am heading there precisely because after the concert I saw in Istanbul of the whirling dervishes, I am hooked. I am going to the source to seek more.
I have just about a week left and I will be ready to head home. Although I am still experiencing wonderful things, I have really had it up to my eyeballs with all the staring and comments. It will feel like such a relief to just have a cup of tea without being stared at. The problem is that women just do not go to cafes here so when I need to eat or want a cup of tea, I am literally the only woman in the joint. And this means that the crowds of men all turn to look and watch me drink my tea, not at all bashful about gawking. It is absolutely a man`s world here and therefore, not at all easy for me.
I think I have caught up on sleep, though and am drinking a lot more water so I am feeling a little bit more chipper than I did a couple days ago.
I am still fantasizing about various coffee drinks but honestly, I wonder what it is going to be like to suddenly NOT be traveling after a year of it. I wonder how weird it is going to feel to be in one place and with so much that is familiar and understandable to me.... I have kind of enjoyed the cluelessness of being in places where I understand little to nothing.
Ah but that is a week away....
I am in a small village called Ilhara. Tourists come here to walk part of a beautiful canyon filled with ancient Byzantine churches but few people actually stay here. Because I am fervently against taking tours and thus, just take minibuses and public transport wherever I go, I often end up staying in villages longer than most people would, waiting for the next bus. But it usually means I get to see something that most people do not.
After my beautiful 5 hour walk in the Ilhara valley, I stumbled upon a wedding in the village. For over an hour, I sat and watched the men and women dance. It was superb. Apparently, there are three weddings going on around the village today so I will probably get to see more festivities tonight. I am still technically in Cappadocia but sticking to the smaller villages, less visited by tourists, and this is proving to be a good formula.
Tomorrow, I head to the big city of Konya, the origin of the whirling dervishes and the home of Rumi. I am heading there precisely because after the concert I saw in Istanbul of the whirling dervishes, I am hooked. I am going to the source to seek more.
I have just about a week left and I will be ready to head home. Although I am still experiencing wonderful things, I have really had it up to my eyeballs with all the staring and comments. It will feel like such a relief to just have a cup of tea without being stared at. The problem is that women just do not go to cafes here so when I need to eat or want a cup of tea, I am literally the only woman in the joint. And this means that the crowds of men all turn to look and watch me drink my tea, not at all bashful about gawking. It is absolutely a man`s world here and therefore, not at all easy for me.
I think I have caught up on sleep, though and am drinking a lot more water so I am feeling a little bit more chipper than I did a couple days ago.
I am still fantasizing about various coffee drinks but honestly, I wonder what it is going to be like to suddenly NOT be traveling after a year of it. I wonder how weird it is going to feel to be in one place and with so much that is familiar and understandable to me.... I have kind of enjoyed the cluelessness of being in places where I understand little to nothing.
Ah but that is a week away....
10 Lessons Learned, Comments and Reminders From 1 Year of Travel
1. Be a nice person or you will surely come back in your next life as a donkey in Morocco or Mali.
2. People in vastly different cultures are more alike than different.
3. Human beings gravitate towards the familiar; therefore, it is necessary to be patient and understanding with that which is different.
4. If you repress something, you will make it stronger.
5. Having to pay to pee is wrong.
6. Soap operas all over the world consisently have terrible acting.
7. Every day, be grateful. You are more blessed than you know.
8. The simple, random fact of where a person is born and who their parents are has a profound effect on the course of their life. Do not take this for granted.
9. Be warm and gentle whenever possible but without letting others take advantage of it.
10. In order to grow, you must leave your safety net. Challenge yourself to step into the lives and shoes of others.
2. People in vastly different cultures are more alike than different.
3. Human beings gravitate towards the familiar; therefore, it is necessary to be patient and understanding with that which is different.
4. If you repress something, you will make it stronger.
5. Having to pay to pee is wrong.
6. Soap operas all over the world consisently have terrible acting.
7. Every day, be grateful. You are more blessed than you know.
8. The simple, random fact of where a person is born and who their parents are has a profound effect on the course of their life. Do not take this for granted.
9. Be warm and gentle whenever possible but without letting others take advantage of it.
10. In order to grow, you must leave your safety net. Challenge yourself to step into the lives and shoes of others.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Tired but trudging along
After 24 hours, I decided I'd had enough of the tourist buzz of Goreme and moved onto the village of Uchisar not far away but much more tranquil. I spent the morning walking around the Goreme Open Air Museum which is an area of rock-cut and frescoed Byzantine churches from the 10th and 11th centuries. They are quite phenomenal.
Today I am realizing the one benefit of having a travel partner; today is one of those days I could really use someone to tell me jokes, cheer me up, just help keep my spirits up. Today is one of those days I'm realizing how much the company of other people helps balance the tendency for our own thinking to spiral and go in circles. Humans needs other humans and being alone for too long without fresh perspective or someone to just rib you and tease you can get tiring.
But when I travel, I'm selfish about what I want to see and do so I figure it's just better to travel alone. There are great advantages to traveling solo like meeting lots of people and doing whatever your heart desires at the spur of the moment but the downsides include having no one to hang out with at night (unless you happen to meet someone on the road) and mainly, having no one to share the burden of making all the decisions, of taking care of all the necessities. There are times I'd just like to say, "Okay, where are we eating for dinner tonight? Could you please choose?"
Today, I need someone silly by my side to poke me. I'm not sure why but I feel like a ton of bricks. I'm dragging my feet and my head feels bloated and all I really want to do is eat something without having to try too hard and go back to my pretty room with pretty pillows and look out the windows for awhile and fall asleep.
I think part of what's wearing me down is that my back is STILL hurting and I don't want to take pain killers every single day so some days I go without and just bear it. So being in pain all day, even on the good days when it's just a dull pain, zaps my energy. Yep, I'm still doing stretching and watching my posture and I think I'm just going to have to wait until I'm back in the States and can get a chiropractor to snap it back into place. It feels like a disc is out.
My health is definitely going to be a top priority when I get home. My poor immune system has worked overtime. I'll probably need to do checks for parasites and get my teeth looked at after all that Moroccan sugary tea.
However, don't get me wrong: while I am tiring of travel and the constant decision making and constant change (unpacking and packing up every day) and while I am actually ready to come home (despite still being a bit anxious about my re-entry) where I can understand people and (enter the Cheers theme song) everybody knows (or at least can pronounce) my name, I am already planning my next trip.
I believe South America is what I will start saving for as soon as I can pay my mortgage and my other bills. :)
Today I am realizing the one benefit of having a travel partner; today is one of those days I could really use someone to tell me jokes, cheer me up, just help keep my spirits up. Today is one of those days I'm realizing how much the company of other people helps balance the tendency for our own thinking to spiral and go in circles. Humans needs other humans and being alone for too long without fresh perspective or someone to just rib you and tease you can get tiring.
But when I travel, I'm selfish about what I want to see and do so I figure it's just better to travel alone. There are great advantages to traveling solo like meeting lots of people and doing whatever your heart desires at the spur of the moment but the downsides include having no one to hang out with at night (unless you happen to meet someone on the road) and mainly, having no one to share the burden of making all the decisions, of taking care of all the necessities. There are times I'd just like to say, "Okay, where are we eating for dinner tonight? Could you please choose?"
Today, I need someone silly by my side to poke me. I'm not sure why but I feel like a ton of bricks. I'm dragging my feet and my head feels bloated and all I really want to do is eat something without having to try too hard and go back to my pretty room with pretty pillows and look out the windows for awhile and fall asleep.
I think part of what's wearing me down is that my back is STILL hurting and I don't want to take pain killers every single day so some days I go without and just bear it. So being in pain all day, even on the good days when it's just a dull pain, zaps my energy. Yep, I'm still doing stretching and watching my posture and I think I'm just going to have to wait until I'm back in the States and can get a chiropractor to snap it back into place. It feels like a disc is out.
My health is definitely going to be a top priority when I get home. My poor immune system has worked overtime. I'll probably need to do checks for parasites and get my teeth looked at after all that Moroccan sugary tea.
However, don't get me wrong: while I am tiring of travel and the constant decision making and constant change (unpacking and packing up every day) and while I am actually ready to come home (despite still being a bit anxious about my re-entry) where I can understand people and (enter the Cheers theme song) everybody knows (or at least can pronounce) my name, I am already planning my next trip.
I believe South America is what I will start saving for as soon as I can pay my mortgage and my other bills. :)
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Touristy Turkey
I am now officially in the touristy part of Turkey and trying to deal with the shock from 3 weeks of being in the east where I saw very few foreigners. I am in Cappadocia now, in the town of Goreme, probably the center of the tourism industry in this region but for a reason: it's gorgeous. It reminds me of Canyonlands in the States only with people living in the rocks and a layer of tourism smeared over the top... but beautiful. Like something out of a fairy tale.
After Gaziantep and the hunt for the perfect baklava, I dipped down to Antakya or as it is also called, Hatay (in the Bible, Antioch), an ancient city with a lot of religious significance. It's down on that little sliver of Turkey that dips into the very Western part of Syria so it's much more Arabic-feeling than Turkish (and people speak Arabic there. I enjoyed understanding bits of conversations around me for once!).
Antakya is one of those towns where you can tell that at one point in its history, it was really amazing and gorgeous but thanks to industry, the concrete eye-sores have largely taken over. Still, the one thing I really appreciated about Antakya is that Muslims, Jews and Christians all live together and are represented. ^You see women in head scarves but you also see very "Western" women wearing sexy clothes and high heels. I got the sense that there is much more personal and religious freedom there for still being close to the east.
I was actually glad to leave the heat of the south behind and had a stop over in Ala Daglar National Park yesterday before arriving in Cappadocia today. I will see what I can "pack in" in this region before I continue moving west. I am noticing that I am losing my enthusiam for traveling, though. When I see really gorgeous things, a part of me inside is saying, "yeah, yeah, yeah."
Anyway, I am bracing myself for the next 12 days as the rest of my itinerary in Turkey is inevitably in touristy parts of the country... and again, for good reason. At least I can get by on some English now and wear short sleeves.
And I had a latte today!! I didn't realize how much I have missed "real" coffee.
After Gaziantep and the hunt for the perfect baklava, I dipped down to Antakya or as it is also called, Hatay (in the Bible, Antioch), an ancient city with a lot of religious significance. It's down on that little sliver of Turkey that dips into the very Western part of Syria so it's much more Arabic-feeling than Turkish (and people speak Arabic there. I enjoyed understanding bits of conversations around me for once!).
Antakya is one of those towns where you can tell that at one point in its history, it was really amazing and gorgeous but thanks to industry, the concrete eye-sores have largely taken over. Still, the one thing I really appreciated about Antakya is that Muslims, Jews and Christians all live together and are represented. ^You see women in head scarves but you also see very "Western" women wearing sexy clothes and high heels. I got the sense that there is much more personal and religious freedom there for still being close to the east.
I was actually glad to leave the heat of the south behind and had a stop over in Ala Daglar National Park yesterday before arriving in Cappadocia today. I will see what I can "pack in" in this region before I continue moving west. I am noticing that I am losing my enthusiam for traveling, though. When I see really gorgeous things, a part of me inside is saying, "yeah, yeah, yeah."
Anyway, I am bracing myself for the next 12 days as the rest of my itinerary in Turkey is inevitably in touristy parts of the country... and again, for good reason. At least I can get by on some English now and wear short sleeves.
And I had a latte today!! I didn't realize how much I have missed "real" coffee.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Mumblings from Gaziantep
Today, I am in the large, modern city of Gaziantep on the Western side of South Eastern Anatolia. I was lured here for a single reason: to sample the best baklava in Turkey and thus, probably the world.
Gaziantep has a reputation for its baklava, particularly its pistachio baklava. And dessert is just as good a reason to visit a place as museums and archaeological ruins (I get this viewpoint from my mother who can find just about any excuse to partake of sweets). Here, in Gaziantep, the food is the real artistry.
I even took a picture of this baklava. It was, without a doubt, total bliss. Supposedly, the perfect baklava makes a kssshhhh sound when you bite down on it. And then you get to the nutty and gooey honey and buttery part.... oh my GOD. I washed it down with.... tea of course. Too bad it does not save well or I would be smuggling it home.
Gaziantep is nice enough for a very modern city... even with a mall! Oh lord! I accidentally stumbled onto the mall and as soon as I realized where I was, I spun around and walked right back out. I am definitely not prepared for malls yet (after a year of only open markets in the streets with donkeys everywhere). Still, the vibe here is decent but not especiallyTurkish-feeling except for the baklava cafes taking up every other storefront.
The last two days, I had a lovely time in Şanliurfa and totally fell in love with the city with its fountains and greenery and mosques and ancient buildings. I randomly met a very nice local guy, Yussef, who worked for the ministry of culture and in tourism and spoke great English. He showed me a few places and things I had not found. One was a live music scene which I could not resist last night, despite my usual rule to never leave my hotel past dark. This rule is partly for safety but also just because I get so many stares and gawking in daylight that me being out at night alone would probably cause even more cultural gurgling.
Anyway, Yussef said it would be no problem to walk to and from the hotel where I was staying. We ended up meeting at the restaurant and talking a bit more. It was fabulous folk music and dancing in a big open house much like a Moroccan riad. I was on cloud 9.
I also learned that Şanliurfa is the hottest city in Turkey so at least now I know that it cannot get any worse (like dripping in sweat by 7 in the morning).
One of the things I am feeling about Turkey is that I am really wracking up some karmic debt to pay back to travelers who visit the US. I have had so many people go out of their way to help me here, especially knowing that I do not speak the language. It is really making a big impression on me how important it is to reach out to travelers and those from other cultures who probably feel very isolated and disoriented. I am going to be keeping an eye out for those in need when I get home.
For example, today when I was trying to get to Gaziantep from Şanliurfa the conversation I was trying to have with the driver of the bus was getting confusing. I was trying to say that they should just drop me off at the bus station and I could get a local bus into the city center. But they kept asking me questions and trying to communicate something that I could not figure out for the life of me so finally they stopped the bus and one guy hopped out and personally put me on a bus going to town. He even waited with me and spoke to the next driver to tell them where I should get off (although that driver forgot about me and thankfully, my instinct was good and I got off just a hundred yards from my hotel). But the fact that the first bus driver waited while his helper got me on a bus and waited with me and tried as best he could to explain what I should do... I just really wonder if we treat foreigners with the same generosity back home.
Well, that is about all I can pick out of my brain for now. It is too damn hot. Although I am going super light on this trip and only packed a day bag for the 5 1/2 weeks, I finally broke down and bought some deodorant today. Something about Turkish food makes me stink.
Gaziantep has a reputation for its baklava, particularly its pistachio baklava. And dessert is just as good a reason to visit a place as museums and archaeological ruins (I get this viewpoint from my mother who can find just about any excuse to partake of sweets). Here, in Gaziantep, the food is the real artistry.
I even took a picture of this baklava. It was, without a doubt, total bliss. Supposedly, the perfect baklava makes a kssshhhh sound when you bite down on it. And then you get to the nutty and gooey honey and buttery part.... oh my GOD. I washed it down with.... tea of course. Too bad it does not save well or I would be smuggling it home.
Gaziantep is nice enough for a very modern city... even with a mall! Oh lord! I accidentally stumbled onto the mall and as soon as I realized where I was, I spun around and walked right back out. I am definitely not prepared for malls yet (after a year of only open markets in the streets with donkeys everywhere). Still, the vibe here is decent but not especiallyTurkish-feeling except for the baklava cafes taking up every other storefront.
The last two days, I had a lovely time in Şanliurfa and totally fell in love with the city with its fountains and greenery and mosques and ancient buildings. I randomly met a very nice local guy, Yussef, who worked for the ministry of culture and in tourism and spoke great English. He showed me a few places and things I had not found. One was a live music scene which I could not resist last night, despite my usual rule to never leave my hotel past dark. This rule is partly for safety but also just because I get so many stares and gawking in daylight that me being out at night alone would probably cause even more cultural gurgling.
Anyway, Yussef said it would be no problem to walk to and from the hotel where I was staying. We ended up meeting at the restaurant and talking a bit more. It was fabulous folk music and dancing in a big open house much like a Moroccan riad. I was on cloud 9.
I also learned that Şanliurfa is the hottest city in Turkey so at least now I know that it cannot get any worse (like dripping in sweat by 7 in the morning).
One of the things I am feeling about Turkey is that I am really wracking up some karmic debt to pay back to travelers who visit the US. I have had so many people go out of their way to help me here, especially knowing that I do not speak the language. It is really making a big impression on me how important it is to reach out to travelers and those from other cultures who probably feel very isolated and disoriented. I am going to be keeping an eye out for those in need when I get home.
For example, today when I was trying to get to Gaziantep from Şanliurfa the conversation I was trying to have with the driver of the bus was getting confusing. I was trying to say that they should just drop me off at the bus station and I could get a local bus into the city center. But they kept asking me questions and trying to communicate something that I could not figure out for the life of me so finally they stopped the bus and one guy hopped out and personally put me on a bus going to town. He even waited with me and spoke to the next driver to tell them where I should get off (although that driver forgot about me and thankfully, my instinct was good and I got off just a hundred yards from my hotel). But the fact that the first bus driver waited while his helper got me on a bus and waited with me and tried as best he could to explain what I should do... I just really wonder if we treat foreigners with the same generosity back home.
Well, that is about all I can pick out of my brain for now. It is too damn hot. Although I am going super light on this trip and only packed a day bag for the 5 1/2 weeks, I finally broke down and bought some deodorant today. Something about Turkish food makes me stink.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Medium-Crazy Man, Melike and a Megalomaniac`s Mountain
Phew! It has been a whirlwind since I last posted and I am going to have to leave some good parts out as there just isn`t time to write much before the sun goes down and I have to be back in my hotel- one of those drags of traveling alone as a woman here.
Anyway, from the last place I wrote, Mardin, I went to a little town in the backcountry and had a most wonderful time there. It is a sleepy little village-town with honey colored houses spilling down the mountainside. The people were amazingly friendly, the scenery wonderful, the atmosphere heavenly. I had several people invite me into their homes and ask me to stay with them but I was already staying at a museum-like guest house high on the hill- an old mansion. In this town, while I was eating lunch by a creek, I met a friendly Kurdish couple who were visiting from the city of Diyarbakir. Later that night, I met a super friendly family who invited me to see a wedding with them the next day.
However, to make a long story shorter, the son was latching onto me in a strange way and when he walked me back to the guest house he lingered for awhile in a red-flag kind of way (and this is still after me talking about my husband and wearing a mock wedding ring). One of the sons of the family who owned the mansion later told me that this boy was a problem. He pointed to the words crazy, and mad in my dictionary and waved his hand side to side and said this boy was medium crazy. His mother who spoke no English but knew what we were talking about nodded, pointed to her head and said problem (conveniently, the same word in Turkish as in English).
I had already agreed to stay with the family the next night and go to the wedding and I could not back out and go with someone else as the guy at the guest house recommended. My only option was to leave the town. I was alright with that because as much as I loved the place I was also itching to see more. But I was not too pleased that I was leaving for those reasons- because medium crazy boy had already been calling my cell phone and dropping by the guest house within an hour of dropping me off there. Ugh.
When I left the next day, I ran into that Kurdish couple again as we were both headed to Diyarbakir. They invited me to be their misafir, their guest, which is something taken quite seriously here. I accepted, thrilled for the opportunity to get to know them and see more of the inside life of people here.
For 2 days, they treated me like a queen. They would not let me even pay for a single cup of tea myself. They took me to meet all of their family, showered me with gifts (all having to do with Islam- like an English copy of the Koran and head scarves... all very beautiful and generous of them!) and took me to places that were important to them.
The wife, Melike, was just gorgeous and very young. We developed a sweet relationship of just communicating solely through the Turkish-English dictionary. We could point to three words in combination and usually figure out what the other was trying to say. It took forever to communicate that way but it worked and we enjoyed it.
Her husband spoke a little English but I tried not to interact with him too much or to initiate that as I got the feeling it was not appropriate.
Melike took me to her school, which turned out to be a Koranic school where she and many other girls and women go each day, dedicating themselves to learning the Koran by heart. I was treated like a celebrity by all of the girls of the Koranic school and they begged me to sing a song for them in English. I sung You Are My Sunshine and then they clapped wildly. They could not wait to hear all about me from Melike who introduced me and told them I had a Muslim boyfriend (speaking of Hassan, I used boyfriend ınstead of husband this time) which they were all super excited about (I think they saw me as fair game for converting to Islam since I already had that foot in the door). They were all lovely- they wanted their pictures with me and sang verses of the Koran for me.
But I began feeling really sad for them, knowing that they were forbidden an education, were not allowed to work and basically spent their days trying as best they could to be obedient girls and women. I also started to feel like I wanted to scream for all the ways their culture had pressed them down into subservience. Perhaps to them, they were perfectly happy with their reality. Perhaps my feeling badly for them is unnecessary and even condescending. But I feel that way because I know I could not survive in that culture being who I am. It would kill my spirit.
The more I got to know Melike, the more I felt the huge difference between our lives. Her whole life was basically being a servant to her husband and going to this school a couple hours a day to memorize the Koran. When we went out into public, the only part of her showing was her eyes and nose- and this was often in 40 degrees Celcius temperatures.
For the beautiful parts of Islam I have witnessed, spending time with the women here more than I was able to do in Morocco has started to take me to a new place with regards to the religion. I am finding myself more angry. For instance, I am feeling more angry about when I receive no respect like from young boys who hassle me and try to grab me. (This happened to me today and I was so angry I felt like I would easily hit the next person who tried to touch me)
Anyway, it was an amazing experience staying with the couple for two days and two nights and while Islam was pretty much all we talked about, at least they did point out a verse in the Koran which says that (technically) Muslims consider Jesus and Moses and all the other prophets as equal to Mohammed. They make no distinction between them, the Koran says.
I was very open to learning about what they think and believe and when Melike offered to teach me how the prayer is done, I agreed. I even let her tie headscarves on me and dress me in her clothes although that was a bit harder for me to swallow. My goal has been to stay as open-minded as I can as I have also had a lot of wonderfui experiences with Islam. But interestingly, this part of Turkey is remarkedly more conservative than Morocco and in ways that are very disturbing to me.
Anyway, after a couple days I was eager to be alone again. I was starting to feel stir-crazy and compressed, like I might explode. In the end, I wondered if Melike also felt some horror at my life as she learned more about me, too. I felt like I had to defend my life and my culture and Christianity (even though I do not consider myself as associating with any organized religion, I suppose Christianity was the easiest way to explain it to them). But I am incredibly grateful to the couple for taking me into their home and sharing their life with me. As I was leaving, Melike gave me her beautiful prayer rug which she used 5 times every day and she said (in Kurdish although I understood), God willing that you will one day perform the Muslim prayer and will need this.
After leaving them, I spent some time on my own in Diyarbakir and then somehow managed to get all the way up to Nemrut mountain last night, one of the greatest sites in Eastern Turkey. I recommend doing a Google search for Nemrut Dağ. It is difficult to describe how incredible this place is. Basically, a megalomaniac pre-Roman king built huge statues of himself and the Gods (whom he considered were his relatives) on the top of a mountain. The heads have since toppled down and left the bodies still high up on the hill- so there all these giant heads carved out of stone sitting everywhere.
Today, I am in a breathtaking city called Şanliurfa and I recommend to anyone going to Eastern Turkey not to miss it- I am awed by its beauty and Middle Eastern vibe, being so close to Syria.
I have a couple more places I want to see in this part of Turkey and then it is onward towards Central Anatolia- I think I will be ready for a break in the 35-40 degree Celcius weather and will also be ready for a less conservative atmosphere where I can wear shorts again and, just in general, not feel so completely out of place and sometimes unwelcome.
Anyway, from the last place I wrote, Mardin, I went to a little town in the backcountry and had a most wonderful time there. It is a sleepy little village-town with honey colored houses spilling down the mountainside. The people were amazingly friendly, the scenery wonderful, the atmosphere heavenly. I had several people invite me into their homes and ask me to stay with them but I was already staying at a museum-like guest house high on the hill- an old mansion. In this town, while I was eating lunch by a creek, I met a friendly Kurdish couple who were visiting from the city of Diyarbakir. Later that night, I met a super friendly family who invited me to see a wedding with them the next day.
However, to make a long story shorter, the son was latching onto me in a strange way and when he walked me back to the guest house he lingered for awhile in a red-flag kind of way (and this is still after me talking about my husband and wearing a mock wedding ring). One of the sons of the family who owned the mansion later told me that this boy was a problem. He pointed to the words crazy, and mad in my dictionary and waved his hand side to side and said this boy was medium crazy. His mother who spoke no English but knew what we were talking about nodded, pointed to her head and said problem (conveniently, the same word in Turkish as in English).
I had already agreed to stay with the family the next night and go to the wedding and I could not back out and go with someone else as the guy at the guest house recommended. My only option was to leave the town. I was alright with that because as much as I loved the place I was also itching to see more. But I was not too pleased that I was leaving for those reasons- because medium crazy boy had already been calling my cell phone and dropping by the guest house within an hour of dropping me off there. Ugh.
When I left the next day, I ran into that Kurdish couple again as we were both headed to Diyarbakir. They invited me to be their misafir, their guest, which is something taken quite seriously here. I accepted, thrilled for the opportunity to get to know them and see more of the inside life of people here.
For 2 days, they treated me like a queen. They would not let me even pay for a single cup of tea myself. They took me to meet all of their family, showered me with gifts (all having to do with Islam- like an English copy of the Koran and head scarves... all very beautiful and generous of them!) and took me to places that were important to them.
The wife, Melike, was just gorgeous and very young. We developed a sweet relationship of just communicating solely through the Turkish-English dictionary. We could point to three words in combination and usually figure out what the other was trying to say. It took forever to communicate that way but it worked and we enjoyed it.
Her husband spoke a little English but I tried not to interact with him too much or to initiate that as I got the feeling it was not appropriate.
Melike took me to her school, which turned out to be a Koranic school where she and many other girls and women go each day, dedicating themselves to learning the Koran by heart. I was treated like a celebrity by all of the girls of the Koranic school and they begged me to sing a song for them in English. I sung You Are My Sunshine and then they clapped wildly. They could not wait to hear all about me from Melike who introduced me and told them I had a Muslim boyfriend (speaking of Hassan, I used boyfriend ınstead of husband this time) which they were all super excited about (I think they saw me as fair game for converting to Islam since I already had that foot in the door). They were all lovely- they wanted their pictures with me and sang verses of the Koran for me.
But I began feeling really sad for them, knowing that they were forbidden an education, were not allowed to work and basically spent their days trying as best they could to be obedient girls and women. I also started to feel like I wanted to scream for all the ways their culture had pressed them down into subservience. Perhaps to them, they were perfectly happy with their reality. Perhaps my feeling badly for them is unnecessary and even condescending. But I feel that way because I know I could not survive in that culture being who I am. It would kill my spirit.
The more I got to know Melike, the more I felt the huge difference between our lives. Her whole life was basically being a servant to her husband and going to this school a couple hours a day to memorize the Koran. When we went out into public, the only part of her showing was her eyes and nose- and this was often in 40 degrees Celcius temperatures.
For the beautiful parts of Islam I have witnessed, spending time with the women here more than I was able to do in Morocco has started to take me to a new place with regards to the religion. I am finding myself more angry. For instance, I am feeling more angry about when I receive no respect like from young boys who hassle me and try to grab me. (This happened to me today and I was so angry I felt like I would easily hit the next person who tried to touch me)
Anyway, it was an amazing experience staying with the couple for two days and two nights and while Islam was pretty much all we talked about, at least they did point out a verse in the Koran which says that (technically) Muslims consider Jesus and Moses and all the other prophets as equal to Mohammed. They make no distinction between them, the Koran says.
I was very open to learning about what they think and believe and when Melike offered to teach me how the prayer is done, I agreed. I even let her tie headscarves on me and dress me in her clothes although that was a bit harder for me to swallow. My goal has been to stay as open-minded as I can as I have also had a lot of wonderfui experiences with Islam. But interestingly, this part of Turkey is remarkedly more conservative than Morocco and in ways that are very disturbing to me.
Anyway, after a couple days I was eager to be alone again. I was starting to feel stir-crazy and compressed, like I might explode. In the end, I wondered if Melike also felt some horror at my life as she learned more about me, too. I felt like I had to defend my life and my culture and Christianity (even though I do not consider myself as associating with any organized religion, I suppose Christianity was the easiest way to explain it to them). But I am incredibly grateful to the couple for taking me into their home and sharing their life with me. As I was leaving, Melike gave me her beautiful prayer rug which she used 5 times every day and she said (in Kurdish although I understood), God willing that you will one day perform the Muslim prayer and will need this.
After leaving them, I spent some time on my own in Diyarbakir and then somehow managed to get all the way up to Nemrut mountain last night, one of the greatest sites in Eastern Turkey. I recommend doing a Google search for Nemrut Dağ. It is difficult to describe how incredible this place is. Basically, a megalomaniac pre-Roman king built huge statues of himself and the Gods (whom he considered were his relatives) on the top of a mountain. The heads have since toppled down and left the bodies still high up on the hill- so there all these giant heads carved out of stone sitting everywhere.
Today, I am in a breathtaking city called Şanliurfa and I recommend to anyone going to Eastern Turkey not to miss it- I am awed by its beauty and Middle Eastern vibe, being so close to Syria.
I have a couple more places I want to see in this part of Turkey and then it is onward towards Central Anatolia- I think I will be ready for a break in the 35-40 degree Celcius weather and will also be ready for a less conservative atmosphere where I can wear shorts again and, just in general, not feel so completely out of place and sometimes unwelcome.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Humanity musings when it is too damn hot
I`m in a town called Mardin near the Turkish border with Syria. It is beautiful and really damn hot. So hot that I don`t have much energy to write but I am still drinking record amounts of tea and having some good adventures.
Yesterday, I was wondering if I was going to get stranded in a shitty big town, called Batman of all things, after the bus driver tried to let me off at a gas station nowhere near a bus stop. When I found myself in that position, it hit me how much trust I am putting in humanity these days... a woman traveling alone in a Muslim country where I don`t speak the language and no one speaks English. I just say the name of the town I want to go to and ask bus where? Then I just have to follow where they point me or lead me. While I have a sense of being vulnerable I actually don`t find myself too worried.
And while I have complained before about being tired of struggling to communicate, I have to take some of that back: there is actually something quite beautiful about trying to relate to someone when you do not share a language. Many times now- usually over a cup of tea- I will go through my phrase book and do all the introduction questions with people and then will soon reach a point where there is not much else we can talk about... so we will just sit there in silence and sip tea. It is a bit awkward and humbling and yet beautiful.
After all the time in Morocco, I am already used to the feeling of not understanding much that is going on around me and here, even more so. But again, there is something quieting and almost meditative about feeling so cut off from your surroundings and always being the observer, always on the outside. However, even while I am on the outside, I am engaging by putting so much trust in strangers every day.
I guess it just comes down the to fact that I have faith in humanity... I whole-heartedly believe that the majority of people out there are good and helpful. I try not to do stupid things but I like taking a bus to a strange city, seeing how I feel when I get off the bus and deciding whether to stay or keep going.... and then getting by with a handful of Turkish words.
It feels a bit like closing my eyes, spreading my arms and falling backwards, trusting that something will be there to catch me... but I can honestly say, I trust that I will be caught.
Tomorrow I think I will head to another remote village before I begin moving a bit more north and west, slowly working my way back west to eventually end up back in Istanbul in three weeks.
Yesterday, I was wondering if I was going to get stranded in a shitty big town, called Batman of all things, after the bus driver tried to let me off at a gas station nowhere near a bus stop. When I found myself in that position, it hit me how much trust I am putting in humanity these days... a woman traveling alone in a Muslim country where I don`t speak the language and no one speaks English. I just say the name of the town I want to go to and ask bus where? Then I just have to follow where they point me or lead me. While I have a sense of being vulnerable I actually don`t find myself too worried.
And while I have complained before about being tired of struggling to communicate, I have to take some of that back: there is actually something quite beautiful about trying to relate to someone when you do not share a language. Many times now- usually over a cup of tea- I will go through my phrase book and do all the introduction questions with people and then will soon reach a point where there is not much else we can talk about... so we will just sit there in silence and sip tea. It is a bit awkward and humbling and yet beautiful.
After all the time in Morocco, I am already used to the feeling of not understanding much that is going on around me and here, even more so. But again, there is something quieting and almost meditative about feeling so cut off from your surroundings and always being the observer, always on the outside. However, even while I am on the outside, I am engaging by putting so much trust in strangers every day.
I guess it just comes down the to fact that I have faith in humanity... I whole-heartedly believe that the majority of people out there are good and helpful. I try not to do stupid things but I like taking a bus to a strange city, seeing how I feel when I get off the bus and deciding whether to stay or keep going.... and then getting by with a handful of Turkish words.
It feels a bit like closing my eyes, spreading my arms and falling backwards, trusting that something will be there to catch me... but I can honestly say, I trust that I will be caught.
Tomorrow I think I will head to another remote village before I begin moving a bit more north and west, slowly working my way back west to eventually end up back in Istanbul in three weeks.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
A T-Tea adventure
The Turks seemed to be obsessed with drinking tea.
And it is quite charming but I have never drunk so many cups of tea in one day in my life, even in the nastiest, rainiest and coldest of winters. It is truly amazing where one can find tea and at all hours of the day.
For intance, I was on my way back from the mountains this morning after finding another delightful little village about 4 hours SE into the hills by local minibus from a city called Van. This particular road is under construction to make it wider and safer for all of the hairpin bends winding through the gorge. At one point, we had to stop and wait for close to an hour along with 6 other minibuses while a big digger was filling in a huge ditch in the middle of the road.
It seemed that every man on every minibus got out to watch and soon there was a crowd of 20 or so men, bending over the gıant ditch watching the construction workers in action- it was quite entertaining, actually. I was waiting for them to start giving advice to the workers.
I, too, had to get out of the van. Although all of the other women were staying put, my curiosity and boredom got the best of me and I had to at least see what was going on. I hung back a little from the men to respect the boundary of the sexes but at one point when a contruction worker on the other side of the ditch saw me, he started shouting at me...
He started shouting DO YOU WANT TEA?! WOULD YOU LİKE SOME TEA?! He scrambled across the ditch to where I was, offered his hand and helped me across the rubble to the other side where he and several of the other workers were standing around a big pot of tea in the middle of the road. They all seemed quite tickled that I was there.
So there I was, drinking tea in the middle of nowhere with some construction workers, nodding and smiling and miming to communicate (I have about 20 words of Turkish now!). While we were standing there trying to chat, the ditch had been filled in enough for the first of the vans to start across. My van was way at the back and I didn`t think I could scramble across the ditch in time to catch it so the men motioned for me to hop in the first van. That then created a new comical unfolding of events: me trying to find the right moment to hop out of the first van and run back to my van where my bags were without getting left behind or run over. The other trick was that all of the vans looked alike so I had to try and figure out which van was mine, wave down the driver and hop in... (all for a cup of tea)... But I pulled it off.
In any case, especially in the villages, I think someone offered me tea just about every hour, if not half hour. And what is especially sweet is that not one Turk has let me pay for a single cup of it. They always insist on getting it for me.
Once again, I have met some of the warmest and most open people here (particularly in the small villages) and often, it happens around a cup of tea.
And it is quite charming but I have never drunk so many cups of tea in one day in my life, even in the nastiest, rainiest and coldest of winters. It is truly amazing where one can find tea and at all hours of the day.
For intance, I was on my way back from the mountains this morning after finding another delightful little village about 4 hours SE into the hills by local minibus from a city called Van. This particular road is under construction to make it wider and safer for all of the hairpin bends winding through the gorge. At one point, we had to stop and wait for close to an hour along with 6 other minibuses while a big digger was filling in a huge ditch in the middle of the road.
It seemed that every man on every minibus got out to watch and soon there was a crowd of 20 or so men, bending over the gıant ditch watching the construction workers in action- it was quite entertaining, actually. I was waiting for them to start giving advice to the workers.
I, too, had to get out of the van. Although all of the other women were staying put, my curiosity and boredom got the best of me and I had to at least see what was going on. I hung back a little from the men to respect the boundary of the sexes but at one point when a contruction worker on the other side of the ditch saw me, he started shouting at me...
He started shouting DO YOU WANT TEA?! WOULD YOU LİKE SOME TEA?! He scrambled across the ditch to where I was, offered his hand and helped me across the rubble to the other side where he and several of the other workers were standing around a big pot of tea in the middle of the road. They all seemed quite tickled that I was there.
So there I was, drinking tea in the middle of nowhere with some construction workers, nodding and smiling and miming to communicate (I have about 20 words of Turkish now!). While we were standing there trying to chat, the ditch had been filled in enough for the first of the vans to start across. My van was way at the back and I didn`t think I could scramble across the ditch in time to catch it so the men motioned for me to hop in the first van. That then created a new comical unfolding of events: me trying to find the right moment to hop out of the first van and run back to my van where my bags were without getting left behind or run over. The other trick was that all of the vans looked alike so I had to try and figure out which van was mine, wave down the driver and hop in... (all for a cup of tea)... But I pulled it off.
In any case, especially in the villages, I think someone offered me tea just about every hour, if not half hour. And what is especially sweet is that not one Turk has let me pay for a single cup of it. They always insist on getting it for me.
Once again, I have met some of the warmest and most open people here (particularly in the small villages) and often, it happens around a cup of tea.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Mount Aramat
If you spell Mt. Ararat backwards, you get Tarara which is awfully close to Tamara.... So from now on, Mt. Ararat for me is going to be Mt. Aramat. Yes, I have had some time on my hands today: another 5 hours on minibuses from the town of Kars to the town of Doğubayazit following the Armenian and Iranian borders.
Wow... the mountain is just awe-inspiring!! It rises up out of seemingly nowhere- there aren`t really mountain ranges around it like the big mamas in the Pacific Northwest.
I got a seat by the window on the minibus and got some funny looks from the other passengers as I snapped pictures through the window and had my nose pressed against the glass. Man, how I want to climb that beauty! But for 350 Euros, a requıred guide company and a lot of red tape beaurocracy, I am going to pass.
Being close to the Iranian border now- only 35 kilometers- puts a little grin on my face. I would LOVE to see Iran. I really wanted to try and go there on this trip as I am fascinated by the music and have heard wonderful reports on how lovely the people are from other non-American travelers who have managed to get visas. So this is about as close as I can get for now...
... And it`s darn hot! I am having to pace myself, take naps so that I don`t pass out. Wearing all the long sleeves and pants makes it challenging, too.
On the way here, we went through a military checkpoint. This is the third one I have been through now since I have been close to Turkish borders. I will admit that it is a bit intimidating to see these young guys sporting machine guns in total camouflage and flipping through my passport. But one Dutch guy I met yesterday told me that the guns are not loaded and are just for show... he could tell by looking at them.
As I am getting closer to the SE of Turkey, it is feeling more like Morocco... or at least I am running into familiar situations. This is the first place I have been hassled by young boys (and some older ones), seen beggars and had people attaching themselves to me from the time I got off the bus.
And the stares are definitely more common. I knew that this was going to be the case in this part of the country but it is still annoying. It`s just that the stares aren`t exactly friendly although I guess they`re not hostile either... although sometimes I almost wonder if I sense disgust. A lot of the time they come from the women who stare at me (looking me up and down from head to toe) with no hesitation or embarassment. Today, when this happened, I just stared back. They stared at me, looked me up and down and I stared back. Even though I am used to it, it can still get to me.
In any case, this is a fascinating part of the country and I really feel like I am seeing Turkey, getting behind the scenes. That was my goal after all. Most tourists go to the beaches and Istanbul and Cappadocia and that`s it. Although I am seeing a handful of other travelers, I am eating up the isolation and even loving the sweltering, uncomfortable, strange, and challenging situations.
This is what I really love about traveling- and it is something that also makes me love climbing: it is the roughing it part that makes it a true adventure, that captivates me, that really makes me feel alive.
Wow... the mountain is just awe-inspiring!! It rises up out of seemingly nowhere- there aren`t really mountain ranges around it like the big mamas in the Pacific Northwest.
I got a seat by the window on the minibus and got some funny looks from the other passengers as I snapped pictures through the window and had my nose pressed against the glass. Man, how I want to climb that beauty! But for 350 Euros, a requıred guide company and a lot of red tape beaurocracy, I am going to pass.
Being close to the Iranian border now- only 35 kilometers- puts a little grin on my face. I would LOVE to see Iran. I really wanted to try and go there on this trip as I am fascinated by the music and have heard wonderful reports on how lovely the people are from other non-American travelers who have managed to get visas. So this is about as close as I can get for now...
... And it`s darn hot! I am having to pace myself, take naps so that I don`t pass out. Wearing all the long sleeves and pants makes it challenging, too.
On the way here, we went through a military checkpoint. This is the third one I have been through now since I have been close to Turkish borders. I will admit that it is a bit intimidating to see these young guys sporting machine guns in total camouflage and flipping through my passport. But one Dutch guy I met yesterday told me that the guns are not loaded and are just for show... he could tell by looking at them.
As I am getting closer to the SE of Turkey, it is feeling more like Morocco... or at least I am running into familiar situations. This is the first place I have been hassled by young boys (and some older ones), seen beggars and had people attaching themselves to me from the time I got off the bus.
And the stares are definitely more common. I knew that this was going to be the case in this part of the country but it is still annoying. It`s just that the stares aren`t exactly friendly although I guess they`re not hostile either... although sometimes I almost wonder if I sense disgust. A lot of the time they come from the women who stare at me (looking me up and down from head to toe) with no hesitation or embarassment. Today, when this happened, I just stared back. They stared at me, looked me up and down and I stared back. Even though I am used to it, it can still get to me.
In any case, this is a fascinating part of the country and I really feel like I am seeing Turkey, getting behind the scenes. That was my goal after all. Most tourists go to the beaches and Istanbul and Cappadocia and that`s it. Although I am seeing a handful of other travelers, I am eating up the isolation and even loving the sweltering, uncomfortable, strange, and challenging situations.
This is what I really love about traveling- and it is something that also makes me love climbing: it is the roughing it part that makes it a true adventure, that captivates me, that really makes me feel alive.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Turkey Tales Part 1
I am in the NE of Turkey near the Armenian border and tomorrow am heading down to Mt. Ararat to see if I can buy a piece of Noah´s Ark.... just kidding (although I won`t be surprised if someone is actually selling them).
I had a great time in Istanbul, looooved the whirling dervish sema ceremony and had a pleasant flight to Erzurum in the East where I begun my easterly travels. I was the only non-Turk on the flight which was a relief after the tourist hell of Istanbul. Immediately, I found the people so friendly and helpful.
The nice lady at the information desk at the airport (who only spoke a few words of English) walked me out to the bus that went into town and talked to the driver to help me get off at the right place. Then after that, about half of the bus got involved, passing my map around, in an effort to help me determine the best route to my hotel. One little old man kept staring at me and smiling so warmly that I couldn`t help but get sappy about the connectedness of the human spirit.
It is kind of ironic that I was saying how I am tired of struggling to communicate and then I came to a country where I have less than 15 vocabulary words total. The Turkish language is coming slowly and thankfully, there are a few Arabic words in common. My Turkish phrasebook has been a life-saver although more people speak English here than Morocco (except rural areas where I am spending most of my time).
I spent four amazing days up in the Kaçkar Mountains (not far south from the Black Sea and not far West from Georgia) last week where I found a little idyllic village about 45 kilometers from regular civilization... I was in heaven! There were female shepherds and their flocks of sheep high up on the lime-green pastures framed by jagged snow-capped peaks that reminded me a bit of the Northern Cascades except for the cows and sheep everywhere... and women in headscarves. I took some amazing day hikes in the area and breathed deeper than I have in a long time. It took about 4-5 hours by minibus on a combination of paved and dirt road to get there and it was worth every bumpy, vomit-inducing minute. I must have taken 100 photos in just 4 days.
While I was in these idyllic mountains, I also discovered there that there was a Queen Tamara of Georgia around the 10th century AD who built some impressive churches in the middle of nowhere. Naturally, I was quite pleased to learn that, as I had suspected previously, I am in the history books... or at least my fellow Tamaras are.
So I´m loving Turkey and the people but finding the keyboards very frustrating so I`m going to have to keep these entries short.
Today, I went to the famous ruins of Ani, the former Armenian stronghold. You can see right into Armenia. It was beautiful but one can only see so many ancient piles of rubble before it all starts to look alike. It reminded me of something a girl I met in Greece said about the ruins there: Now I understand why they call them ruins... they are pretty ruined, aren`t they?
Most of the really memorable parts of Turkey so far, other than the spectacular Kaçkar Mountains, are the people and their friendliness and warmth. The Turks seem really chill compared to the Moroccans... but then again, life here is a bit easier and people have more.
After Mt. Ararat I am headed down further south but staying far enough away from the Iraq border. However, I did buy a long skirt today and will cover my head as that area is much more conservative. I am very interested to get a feel for the more Kurdish areas there.
Love from Kars,
Queen Tamara
I had a great time in Istanbul, looooved the whirling dervish sema ceremony and had a pleasant flight to Erzurum in the East where I begun my easterly travels. I was the only non-Turk on the flight which was a relief after the tourist hell of Istanbul. Immediately, I found the people so friendly and helpful.
The nice lady at the information desk at the airport (who only spoke a few words of English) walked me out to the bus that went into town and talked to the driver to help me get off at the right place. Then after that, about half of the bus got involved, passing my map around, in an effort to help me determine the best route to my hotel. One little old man kept staring at me and smiling so warmly that I couldn`t help but get sappy about the connectedness of the human spirit.
It is kind of ironic that I was saying how I am tired of struggling to communicate and then I came to a country where I have less than 15 vocabulary words total. The Turkish language is coming slowly and thankfully, there are a few Arabic words in common. My Turkish phrasebook has been a life-saver although more people speak English here than Morocco (except rural areas where I am spending most of my time).
I spent four amazing days up in the Kaçkar Mountains (not far south from the Black Sea and not far West from Georgia) last week where I found a little idyllic village about 45 kilometers from regular civilization... I was in heaven! There were female shepherds and their flocks of sheep high up on the lime-green pastures framed by jagged snow-capped peaks that reminded me a bit of the Northern Cascades except for the cows and sheep everywhere... and women in headscarves. I took some amazing day hikes in the area and breathed deeper than I have in a long time. It took about 4-5 hours by minibus on a combination of paved and dirt road to get there and it was worth every bumpy, vomit-inducing minute. I must have taken 100 photos in just 4 days.
While I was in these idyllic mountains, I also discovered there that there was a Queen Tamara of Georgia around the 10th century AD who built some impressive churches in the middle of nowhere. Naturally, I was quite pleased to learn that, as I had suspected previously, I am in the history books... or at least my fellow Tamaras are.
So I´m loving Turkey and the people but finding the keyboards very frustrating so I`m going to have to keep these entries short.
Today, I went to the famous ruins of Ani, the former Armenian stronghold. You can see right into Armenia. It was beautiful but one can only see so many ancient piles of rubble before it all starts to look alike. It reminded me of something a girl I met in Greece said about the ruins there: Now I understand why they call them ruins... they are pretty ruined, aren`t they?
Most of the really memorable parts of Turkey so far, other than the spectacular Kaçkar Mountains, are the people and their friendliness and warmth. The Turks seem really chill compared to the Moroccans... but then again, life here is a bit easier and people have more.
After Mt. Ararat I am headed down further south but staying far enough away from the Iraq border. However, I did buy a long skirt today and will cover my head as that area is much more conservative. I am very interested to get a feel for the more Kurdish areas there.
Love from Kars,
Queen Tamara
Monday, July 6, 2009
Fourth of July Wıth Boy George
I made the most of my culture shock going from Allah Akbar in Morocco one morning to the next afternoon, July 4th, at Gay Pride in Leicester Square of London backstage with drag queens and, believe it or not, Boy George. Yes, one of my friends in London had connections and got us backstage passes where not only BG was hanging out but all kinds of half-naked characters. I chuckled at the fact that I had gone from backstage passes to the Gnawa Festival and famous maalemin singing about Allah to backstage with Boy George and folks singing, I can´t wait to give you Syphillis. But the most memorable of the performances at Gay Pride (and the most memorable lyrics) was the adaption of the song, I Wıll Follow Him to I Wıll Swallow Him.
Several times, my friends asked if I was okay... maybe my eyes were bugging out. It was definiıtely a hilarious but overwhelming shift, going from Allah Akbar to I Will Swallow Him... and then back to Allah Akbar when I arrived in Istanbul the next day.
The rest of the adventure here to Istanbul has been fine except for I was detained and questioned at Immigration in London for close to 45 minutes. I was a bit scared that I wasn´t going to be allowed into the country. In the end, when I started getting visibly frustrated with the Scary Intimidating Man´s questions. he let me go and said that my travel routine was suspicious... I guess meaning from two Muslim countries (Morocco and Mali) to the UK then onto another Muslim country.
The fact that I arrived in London at 11 PM meant that I was not really in the mood for all the questioning but my dear friend, Ajeeth, made up for all that when I finally got to his house, pampering me with hot tea, a fluffy bed to sleep in and an amazing breakfast the next day.
I love Istanbul. I usually do not like cities but I could definitely live here. I have had a good time walking around the city the last two days. Tomorrow, I am going to a whirling dervish sema ceremony and, possibly, taking a boat ride up the Bosphorus between the continents of Asia and Europe.
Still, I will also be glad to get away from the tourists when I fly to the NE on Wednesday.
I should say that my last day and night in Essaouira was very moving and tearful. A couple really interesting coincidences made me feel like there was something much bigger at work than just me and my plans. I will write about that later. I am still just trying to get my head around the fact that I won´t be seeing any of those beloved people again for a long, long time...
Several times, my friends asked if I was okay... maybe my eyes were bugging out. It was definiıtely a hilarious but overwhelming shift, going from Allah Akbar to I Will Swallow Him... and then back to Allah Akbar when I arrived in Istanbul the next day.
The rest of the adventure here to Istanbul has been fine except for I was detained and questioned at Immigration in London for close to 45 minutes. I was a bit scared that I wasn´t going to be allowed into the country. In the end, when I started getting visibly frustrated with the Scary Intimidating Man´s questions. he let me go and said that my travel routine was suspicious... I guess meaning from two Muslim countries (Morocco and Mali) to the UK then onto another Muslim country.
The fact that I arrived in London at 11 PM meant that I was not really in the mood for all the questioning but my dear friend, Ajeeth, made up for all that when I finally got to his house, pampering me with hot tea, a fluffy bed to sleep in and an amazing breakfast the next day.
I love Istanbul. I usually do not like cities but I could definitely live here. I have had a good time walking around the city the last two days. Tomorrow, I am going to a whirling dervish sema ceremony and, possibly, taking a boat ride up the Bosphorus between the continents of Asia and Europe.
Still, I will also be glad to get away from the tourists when I fly to the NE on Wednesday.
I should say that my last day and night in Essaouira was very moving and tearful. A couple really interesting coincidences made me feel like there was something much bigger at work than just me and my plans. I will write about that later. I am still just trying to get my head around the fact that I won´t be seeing any of those beloved people again for a long, long time...
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Favorite Image from the Gnawa Festival
Ma'alem Abdellatif Mahkzoumi from Marrakech, Gnawa Festival 2009
Last post of Morocco
Today is my last day in Morocco. Tomorrow at noon, I get on a bus to Marrakech where I will catch a plane to London, arriving late tomorrow night. I'll spend Saturday with friends there, drop off my laptop and then catch a plane to Istanbul early Sunday morning.
I haven't been doing a whole lot these last few days. My “to-do” list is empty now. I've just been spending time with Ma'alem Seddik and the gang and Hassan, walking on the beach and trying to breathe in Essaouira as much as I can.
The most eventful thing that has happened since the festival ended is that I met another woman here doing Gnawa research, an ethnomusicology Ph.D student from UBC (British Columbia). She's been here since February so it's a bit strange that we haven't crossed paths before now but she spends a lot of time in her apartment working on her dissertation. It was great talking with her, exchanging ideas and stories about our research experiences. I'm looking forward to staying in touch with her. There just aren't that many people conducting research on the Gnawa compared to other types of music.
I was really wanting to do something nice for Ma'alem Seddik, to somehow contribute to what has been playfully called (although really is) his University of Gnawa. Since he didn't have a working CD player and therefore, a way to listen to CDs I'd been making for him, I thought that would be a good addition. Ideally, the other students there can also use it to listen to their personal Cds.
I'm not sure how much blogging I'll be doing from now up until I get home. Since I'll be on the move quite a bit for the next 5 weeks, mostly seeking out smaller villages on the Eastern side of Turkey (avoiding the beaches, islands and touristy spots), I won't be hitting a lot of internet cafes. But we'll see.
I feel like I should say goodbye to my readers in a way because the majority of this trip is over and Turkey is a bit like the addendum for me. Other than my mother and a couple friends, I'm not entirely sure who has been following this blog all along but I realized awhile back that I needed to write just for myself, even if no one else was reading. I needed a way to process.
I realized that I need to change the subtitle to my blog- this didn't end up being "a trip around the world" but I certainly feel like I dove deep into the world of Morocco (with a touch of Mali, too).
I'm going to miss writing and telling stories and having new things to say, new adventures to regularly report. But what lies ahead of me is its own journey as well. Just like when I bought my one way ticket to Morocco and didn't know what awaited me here, I don't know what awaits me back home... except friends and family whom I am greatly looking forward to seeing.
I am already imagining the hugs I will give and receive.
I haven't been doing a whole lot these last few days. My “to-do” list is empty now. I've just been spending time with Ma'alem Seddik and the gang and Hassan, walking on the beach and trying to breathe in Essaouira as much as I can.
The most eventful thing that has happened since the festival ended is that I met another woman here doing Gnawa research, an ethnomusicology Ph.D student from UBC (British Columbia). She's been here since February so it's a bit strange that we haven't crossed paths before now but she spends a lot of time in her apartment working on her dissertation. It was great talking with her, exchanging ideas and stories about our research experiences. I'm looking forward to staying in touch with her. There just aren't that many people conducting research on the Gnawa compared to other types of music.
I was really wanting to do something nice for Ma'alem Seddik, to somehow contribute to what has been playfully called (although really is) his University of Gnawa. Since he didn't have a working CD player and therefore, a way to listen to CDs I'd been making for him, I thought that would be a good addition. Ideally, the other students there can also use it to listen to their personal Cds.
I'm not sure how much blogging I'll be doing from now up until I get home. Since I'll be on the move quite a bit for the next 5 weeks, mostly seeking out smaller villages on the Eastern side of Turkey (avoiding the beaches, islands and touristy spots), I won't be hitting a lot of internet cafes. But we'll see.
I feel like I should say goodbye to my readers in a way because the majority of this trip is over and Turkey is a bit like the addendum for me. Other than my mother and a couple friends, I'm not entirely sure who has been following this blog all along but I realized awhile back that I needed to write just for myself, even if no one else was reading. I needed a way to process.
I realized that I need to change the subtitle to my blog- this didn't end up being "a trip around the world" but I certainly feel like I dove deep into the world of Morocco (with a touch of Mali, too).
I'm going to miss writing and telling stories and having new things to say, new adventures to regularly report. But what lies ahead of me is its own journey as well. Just like when I bought my one way ticket to Morocco and didn't know what awaited me here, I don't know what awaits me back home... except friends and family whom I am greatly looking forward to seeing.
I am already imagining the hugs I will give and receive.
The security guard who touched my heart
I sent my last package home yesterday in an effort to lighten my backpack for my upcoming journeys (especially after my back problems) through London and onto Turkey. I've sent so many packages home from Essaouira now that the people at the main post office have come to recognize me.
Yesterday, when I entered the post office again, a very friendly security guard approached me, started shaking my hand and asking me questions I couldn't understand. When he made the motion of playing a guimbri, it dawned on me who he was: the very same security guard who, six months ago when I sent my guimbri home just before I was leaving for Mali, got down on the floor with me to help me wrap the guimbri in foam and bubble wrap and then spoke a blessing over the guimbri (“mismillah”), praying for its safe journey to the States (guimbris are often seen as sacred instruments here). I hadn't recognized him but he recognized me and treated me like an old friend.
I had been so touched by this man the first time I met him. You just don't find security guards like that back home. So it was equally touching when (here it was 6 months later!) he made an effort to greet me and ask if the guimbri had made it home safely, if all was well with me and my studies.
There was also something about this that gave everything a feeling of having come full circle. I remember how sad I was to leave Esssaouira last December and sending my guimbri home was a bit hard for me since I didn't know if I'd be returning. So seeing the security guard again while, once again, sending home my last package before leaving felt a bit synchronistic in a moving way.
It also sticks with me as one of those things I just love about Morocco- the fact that I've got a security guard buddy at the post office.
Yesterday, when I entered the post office again, a very friendly security guard approached me, started shaking my hand and asking me questions I couldn't understand. When he made the motion of playing a guimbri, it dawned on me who he was: the very same security guard who, six months ago when I sent my guimbri home just before I was leaving for Mali, got down on the floor with me to help me wrap the guimbri in foam and bubble wrap and then spoke a blessing over the guimbri (“mismillah”), praying for its safe journey to the States (guimbris are often seen as sacred instruments here). I hadn't recognized him but he recognized me and treated me like an old friend.
I had been so touched by this man the first time I met him. You just don't find security guards like that back home. So it was equally touching when (here it was 6 months later!) he made an effort to greet me and ask if the guimbri had made it home safely, if all was well with me and my studies.
There was also something about this that gave everything a feeling of having come full circle. I remember how sad I was to leave Esssaouira last December and sending my guimbri home was a bit hard for me since I didn't know if I'd be returning. So seeing the security guard again while, once again, sending home my last package before leaving felt a bit synchronistic in a moving way.
It also sticks with me as one of those things I just love about Morocco- the fact that I've got a security guard buddy at the post office.
Last images of Essaouira
The beach at Essaouira at night. A lonely tiki umbrella and the white line of surf coming in.
Free Hell
Those who have been reading the blog for awhile might remember when I first was getting to know Hassan late last November at Ma'alem Seddik's house and was cracked up by a sweater he had that read: Free Hell.Not really speaking much English, he had no idea what his sweater meant. He told me later that a friend gave it to him one time when he was cold. But he hadn't forgotten my questions about it and my laughing at it and he swore after that night that he'd never wear it again... awww. I HAD felt bad that night because I was trying to make a joke with him and be playful but all he really caught was that I was laughing at him.
As a very sweet souvenir, he recently gave me the sweater and essentially said, “I'll never wear it again- here.” I am thrilled. What a conversation piece! What an opportunity to engage people in thrilling conversation!
Is Hell indeed free (gratuit as I told Hassan) or is the sweater saying we should liberate all the condemned souls abiding there? Will we ever really learn the secrets of this puzzling sweater, maybe the greatest conversational piece of clothing on God's green earth?!
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
12th Annual Gnawa Festival
Ma'alem Abdelkebir Merchane (in the middle, in the solid red hat) of Marrakech during an intimate concert/almost-lila he played at the Essaouira Gnawa Festival. It was without a doubt, some of the most powerful music I've heard in my entire trip here.The festival was both good and a bit disappointing. Although I heard some of the best music yet of my trip, I saw much less than I was hoping to, mostly because everything started on “African Time” and therefore, although there were many acts lined up each night on various stages, it was really impossible to see more than one or two a night since in the end, they all started around the same time: midnight.
The other unfortunate thing is the amount of thieves, pickpockets and thugs that come into town to work the crowd. Two of my friends from London were victims of thieves and, on Saturday night for the biggest show, a knife fight broke out and many people ended up in the hospital.
I had been hearing from many locals here that the festival has really taken a turn for the worse lately, that the thugs that come into town and the kids doing who-knows-what drugs, drinking and freaking out is a change from the previous years where people actually came because they liked Gnawa music.
But on the upside, I had the great opportunity to see Ma'alem Abdelkebir Merchane from Marrakech play almost an entire lila repertoire in an intimate atmosphere and it was absolutely breathtaking: the crowd of mostly Moroccans got totally into it and were singing along. By mid-way through the night, people were trancing and the “concert/lila” went on until 4 AM. The other stunning performance was by Hassan Boussou, the son of the great Amida Boussou, one of the most revered ma'alemin in Morocco. Both of these performances were memorable and I found myself saying, “Wow! Yes! This is why I love Gnawa music” over and over.
It was good to see my friends from London and speak English, too. I am realizing how unworked that part of my brain is to where there are English words I haven't thought of for so long that retrieving some English vocabulary is actually surprisingly slow. I found myself saying, “What's that word that means....?”
The amount of people in Essaouira for the Festival was mind-boggling and at night for the concerts, sometimes very scary- especially Saturday night when a big star, Khaled, from Algeria played along with one of the more popular ma'alemin, Hamid El Kasri. It was dangerously packed with people (this is the same night a knife fight broke out) and so I didn't stay long for that. I also stayed indoors for a large part of the 4 days to avoid the insane crowds.
Thankfully, Hassan had got us some VIP badges and we were able to get into some restricted areas for most of the concerts which meant not having to worry about having our pockets picked, etc.. I only tried recording Hassan Boussou's group as I didn't want to be worried about gear all the time or thinking so much about making a recording that I wasn't actually just enjoying the Festival in “real time.”
It was enjoyable and I'm glad I saw it but it really is a shame that it has such a party atmosphere about it now, that it's really an excuse for a lot of young Moroccans to come and lose their heads, pop pills and go nuts for 4 days. It all makes me wish I'd discovered Gnawa music many years ago so I could have seen the Festival when it was more like a niche event.
In any case, although names won't mean much to most people, I got to see Ma'alem Brahim Belkani who I studied with in Marrakech, Mahmoud Guinea, Moktar Guinea (brothers of Abdellah Guinea whom I interviewed), Mustapha Baqbou (got to see a lila of his back in March), Said El Bourqui, Allal Soudani (whom I held and interview with), Abdelkebir Merchane, Abdeltif Makzoumi, Hassan Boussou (saw a lila that his father's group performed in March) and a couple other non-Gnawa fusion groups that were good. I missed many other concerts that I had planned on seeing due to everything starting late.
Anyway, now the next few days are just about wrapping things up and starting to say goodbyes. Ugh.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Ana Tabana
I think I'm actually ready to leave Morocco. Ana tabana means, "I'm tired" in Darija.
Maybe it's just that I KNOW I'm leaving so my internal clock is aligning to be ready, too. But nevertheless, like a sponge, I've soaked up as much as I can for now and can't really take in much more.
I've hit my saturation point.
And although I prefer to write about the positive experiences of this journey as to not spread 'bad news' or focus on the negative, it hasn't all been easy and wonderful. There have been plenty of challenges, not just the physical ones I've written about with my health but also emotional, cultural, philosophical and psychological challenges. I've laughed and smiled a lot but also cried and been frustrated a lot, too. I've kept most of that stuff to myself except for a few emails home to family and close friends so it's not surprising that holding in a lot of that has made me tired.
Largely, I'm tired of struggling to communicate, of speaking in broken French and Arabic. But I'm also tired sticking out. Blending in when I get home will feel like a relief.
What does this mean for my 5 weeks in Turkey? I don't know. I've heard Turkey is easier than Morocco for women traveling/being alone. I'm planning on staying away from the tourist spots for the most part (I'll mainly be in the NE near Armenia and the SE near Syria), hoping to get a lot of solitude. I think the new scenery, food, language and sights will inspire me.
I think I also just need to be alone again, the way I was alone on my 2-week trip recently- the way I was alone when I was officially single. This is probably also a symptom of utter saturation. A person can only absorb so much, have so much “foreignness” before needing the familiar.
The Gnawa festival (which starts today) will be a great finale for leaving Morocco. The stages and equipment have been going up around town for the past week and the excitement is already in the air. Hundreds of thousands of people come every year for the Gnawa festival and I will get to see some of the biggest names perform live, several which I had the wonderful opportunity to interview. I'm quite excited about that. Despite the fact that I hate crowds, especially crowds of tourists of all things, it will be a wonderful experience for me which will add to my research as well: seeing Gnawa music in the commercial context.
Gnawa music is unique in the way that it has captured the "world music" market while also still having a deep, spiritual tradition. I've spent all of my time here so far studying the tradition, the lila, and getting as deep as I can into the spirituality and sacred ways of the ceremonies. So now, seeing the festival which brings in loads of cash and flash will be quite fascinating. It all starts tonight! And I've been sleeping in until 10 or 11 each morning in order to store up energy for it.
Maybe it's just that I KNOW I'm leaving so my internal clock is aligning to be ready, too. But nevertheless, like a sponge, I've soaked up as much as I can for now and can't really take in much more.
I've hit my saturation point.
And although I prefer to write about the positive experiences of this journey as to not spread 'bad news' or focus on the negative, it hasn't all been easy and wonderful. There have been plenty of challenges, not just the physical ones I've written about with my health but also emotional, cultural, philosophical and psychological challenges. I've laughed and smiled a lot but also cried and been frustrated a lot, too. I've kept most of that stuff to myself except for a few emails home to family and close friends so it's not surprising that holding in a lot of that has made me tired.
Largely, I'm tired of struggling to communicate, of speaking in broken French and Arabic. But I'm also tired sticking out. Blending in when I get home will feel like a relief.
What does this mean for my 5 weeks in Turkey? I don't know. I've heard Turkey is easier than Morocco for women traveling/being alone. I'm planning on staying away from the tourist spots for the most part (I'll mainly be in the NE near Armenia and the SE near Syria), hoping to get a lot of solitude. I think the new scenery, food, language and sights will inspire me.
I think I also just need to be alone again, the way I was alone on my 2-week trip recently- the way I was alone when I was officially single. This is probably also a symptom of utter saturation. A person can only absorb so much, have so much “foreignness” before needing the familiar.
The Gnawa festival (which starts today) will be a great finale for leaving Morocco. The stages and equipment have been going up around town for the past week and the excitement is already in the air. Hundreds of thousands of people come every year for the Gnawa festival and I will get to see some of the biggest names perform live, several which I had the wonderful opportunity to interview. I'm quite excited about that. Despite the fact that I hate crowds, especially crowds of tourists of all things, it will be a wonderful experience for me which will add to my research as well: seeing Gnawa music in the commercial context.
Gnawa music is unique in the way that it has captured the "world music" market while also still having a deep, spiritual tradition. I've spent all of my time here so far studying the tradition, the lila, and getting as deep as I can into the spirituality and sacred ways of the ceremonies. So now, seeing the festival which brings in loads of cash and flash will be quite fascinating. It all starts tonight! And I've been sleeping in until 10 or 11 each morning in order to store up energy for it.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
The Last Voyage of Morocco
Hassan and I went on our last journey away from Essaouira and in Morocco last weekend; probably my last here until I come back who-knows-when). We went back to Imessouane (which I incorrectly spelled Imswan before since it's not listed on my map), where we took our very first journey together, just a couple weeks after meeting last December; back when we only shared a few words and phrases in common.Imessouane was just the medicine I needed. I wished I could have stayed a week there. It's a sleepy little village on the coast a couple hours south from here. There's very little to do there except swim or surf- which makes it the perfect spot to relax. Except for in the height of summer where every somewhat-surfing person comes to seek their surfing fortune, the place is super tranquil, beautiful and not quite so windy like Essaouira.
Hassan knows a guy who has an Auberge there with rooms that look out over the ocean. The place has no running water, no electricity and so everything is lit by candles at night and the only showers are cold bucket sloshes. But I love this place. I love falling alseep and waking up to the roar of the ocean. I love the big deck where you can sit and stare at the surf all day and night. And I love that the place is sort of secret and not many tourists know of it since it's the last building on the beach which has no signage.
We spent two days there just swimming, relaxing and eating. It was the best swimming I've had in years (very, very cold and salty and wonderful) and Hassan made probably his best tajine ever: squid. I wasn't so sure about it when he bought the squid at the tiny port (it was so ugly!) but it was so freaking delicious that I was almost kissing his feet and started thinking about flying him back to the States to open a restaurant.We brought a bottle of wine with us and ate that amazing tajine on the deck looking out at the ocean- siiigh.
The last evening, I swam a lot by myself while he cbatted with a friend. Even there, in the tiny village, when a Moroccan guy spotted me walking down the beach solo, he started hollering out to me, following me, saying things that would warrant the middle finger back home. It was all I could do to not turn around and yell at him, “sir fahalek!” which is a not-very-nice way to tell someone to “go away.” It was at this point, that I realized how tired I am. I'm losing my patience, big time.
Even despite that, it was a heavenly couple of days. I would have stayed longer but the big Gnawa festival starts today and time will go quickly. Four friends of mine from London are coming for the festival (the four characters I met and traveled with in Mali). Then I will have only a few days afterwards to tie up loose ends.
Although I'm feeling tired and saturated, there are still some small things that have been inspiring me and keeping me going. The other day, in the horse-drawn carriage I take between the apartment and the medina, a little Moroccan girl was sitting across from me. I was looking at her pretty hair and when she caught my eye, I smiled at her. The smile she gave back was especially touching and I can't exactly say why- it was a calm, confident and accepting smile of someone three times her age.
And then there was another night of amazing music at Ma'alem Seddik's house last night.... and I got to talking to French guy there and we started philosophizing about life here, the beauty of how life is lived in the moment, about how you have to FEEL the language as opposed to thinking about it, and how in general, you really have to let your mind relax and disengage to appreciate Africa: life is more about sensations and feelings and being present for life to unfold.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Phew... pictures
<-- A little mountain village called Oumesnat in the Ameln Valley near Tafroute which is in the Atlas mountains SE of Essaouira if you draw a line SE from the coast. It takes about 7 hours of taxi riding to get there.I finally finished uploading my pictures from the 2-week trip I took around the Atlas, desert and palm oases country within a day's (more or less) travel of Essaouira. As usual, sets of different areas are on my flickr site: flickr.com/tamaraturner
The next big hit on Moroccan radio!
I recently found a new English/Darija phrasebook in a tiny little beach town of all places, so I'm inspired again with Darija and thus, have been trying to learn a few new words each day.
One word that I recently learned and liked the sound of was “dababa,” which is cloud.
I was in a funny mood the other day and started making up a ridiculous song, trying to use a couple new words. The melody that came to me is really whiny and repetitive in that annoying “sticks in your head” kind of way. Perfect!
When Hassan was cooking dinner the other night I was in the other room making up this song and singing it to him as I went along. After awhile, he just started laughing and told me, quite honestly, what an ugly song it is: “Kheib! Kheib!” (bad, bad!). Now, I use it to torture him.
I call it Ka Nchuf Dababa ("I Can See Clouds") and it goes something like this (each time I sing it, it changes a little):
Ka nchuf dababa (I can see clouds!)
Ka nchuf dababa (I can see clouds!)
Yemken kayn shtah (Maybe there is rain)
Yemken shtah zhaeya (Maybe rain is coming!)
Fin habibi diali? (Where is my love?)
Meskin, Ma andoush kabut dialo (poor thing, he doesn't have his jacket)
Oh, habibi diali! (oh my love!)
Ash katdir?! Ash katdir?! Ash katdir daba?! (what are you going to do [now]?)
Ka nchuf dababa, makaynesh shemsh (I can see clouds, there is no sun)
Oh habibi, andi wahed mushkila (oh my love, I have a problem)
Ana touheshtek bazzeff, shtah zhaeya (I miss you so much, rain is coming)
Ka nchuf dababa, dababa kateera (I can see clouds, so many clouds!)
Lakin makaynesh shemsh, makaynsh shemsh (but there is no sun, there is no sun)
Ghrir kayna dababa, Ghrir kayn shtah (there are only clouds, there is only rain)
Hey! I thought it was kind of cleverly metaphorical with its double-meaning.
So now, whenever I want to tease him, all I have to do is say, “Hey Hassan, ka nchuf dababa!” and he groans, “La, la, la! Affeck!” (No, no, no! Please!)
As much as he hates my song, he did at least help me get some of the conjugations right.
One word that I recently learned and liked the sound of was “dababa,” which is cloud.
I was in a funny mood the other day and started making up a ridiculous song, trying to use a couple new words. The melody that came to me is really whiny and repetitive in that annoying “sticks in your head” kind of way. Perfect!
When Hassan was cooking dinner the other night I was in the other room making up this song and singing it to him as I went along. After awhile, he just started laughing and told me, quite honestly, what an ugly song it is: “Kheib! Kheib!” (bad, bad!). Now, I use it to torture him.
I call it Ka Nchuf Dababa ("I Can See Clouds") and it goes something like this (each time I sing it, it changes a little):
Ka nchuf dababa (I can see clouds!)
Ka nchuf dababa (I can see clouds!)
Yemken kayn shtah (Maybe there is rain)
Yemken shtah zhaeya (Maybe rain is coming!)
Fin habibi diali? (Where is my love?)
Meskin, Ma andoush kabut dialo (poor thing, he doesn't have his jacket)
Oh, habibi diali! (oh my love!)
Ash katdir?! Ash katdir?! Ash katdir daba?! (what are you going to do [now]?)
Ka nchuf dababa, makaynesh shemsh (I can see clouds, there is no sun)
Oh habibi, andi wahed mushkila (oh my love, I have a problem)
Ana touheshtek bazzeff, shtah zhaeya (I miss you so much, rain is coming)
Ka nchuf dababa, dababa kateera (I can see clouds, so many clouds!)
Lakin makaynesh shemsh, makaynsh shemsh (but there is no sun, there is no sun)
Ghrir kayna dababa, Ghrir kayn shtah (there are only clouds, there is only rain)
Hey! I thought it was kind of cleverly metaphorical with its double-meaning.
So now, whenever I want to tease him, all I have to do is say, “Hey Hassan, ka nchuf dababa!” and he groans, “La, la, la! Affeck!” (No, no, no! Please!)
As much as he hates my song, he did at least help me get some of the conjugations right.
Taking inventory
<-- mountains and palm trees, Ait Mansour palmerie about 7 hours SE of EssaouiraIt's definitely the small things in life that make it sweet. Traveling or living overseas is no different: the small things are what I will remember and miss most. There are probably many things I won't even realize how much I have come to love until they aren't there anymore.
I'm beginning to take stock of these things and count the blessings since I'm leaving Morocco two weeks from today.
Now that I'm staying with Hassan again until I leave Morocco (can't deal with the hassle of an apartment), I'm living on the edge of town in a simple neighborhood. I've never seen another Westerner out there and I quite like that it feels removed from the tourists and commercial side of Essaouira. Although all the action and convenience is really in the medina, I prefer living out of town.
I'm back to heating a large pot of water on the stove for a warm bucket bath, taking a horse-drawn carriage into town each morning for 25 cents (this is what a lot of the locals use too because horses are cheaper to run than cars) and, since Hassan lives within a stone's throw of a mosque, I'm once again much more aware of the calls to prayer- especially the one that blasts me awake at 4 AM. But it is these small things that give life color and which I really cherish.
Life is humble and simple here. As an English man I met put it, the beauty of living a life where not everything is always convenient and cushy is that you stay awake in your life- you aren't lulled into apathy with luxury. The other memorable thing about the neighborhood is that when I stop by the small food shops to pick up a few things, everyone is always so happy to see me; I'm a bit of a novelty out here.
There are so many other little general things I will miss, too: like listening in on conversations as a game to see how much I can figure out. I've come to really like Moroccan Arabic and a lot of the expressions which don't exist in English.
I'm also going to miss how many times a day I hear, “insha' Allah” and “mismillah,” too, which are both kinds of blessings based in Islam and which give interactions with people such a polite and respecful quality.
As a side note, the funniest part of “insha' Allah” for me is how people say this when getting into a taxi. The driver will ask where you would like to go, you state your destination and than either you or him or both of you will say, “Insha' Allah,” God willing. What makes this especially funny is that Moroccans are known for being horrible drivers. So essentially, it's like saying, “I'd like to go to such-and-such place, God willing (if we make it there alive).” hahaha
Obviously, I don't know how I'll survive without live, up close and personal Gnawa music several times a week. It's become my social scene there too. The gang at Ma'alem Seddik's is like my family here. I guess I'll be living off of my recordings from his house since pretty much all I listen to these days in Gnawa music.
I'm definitely going to miss the food, especially Hassan's cooking which is seriously the best food I've eaten in Morocco. And, sadly, it's going to be a long time before I see Hassan again (although I am confident that SOME day, I'll come back to Morocco- as soon as possible!) but we always knew this was coming. It's not like I live in France and can pop down to Morocco for the weekend on a cheap European airline. So that's going to be hard.
One of the most noticeable things about Morocco that I will miss is how the people generally interact with each other. Of course, there are the spats and sometimes emotional arguments in the streets, much more intense than what I've seen back home; but I must say, my experience of Moroccan people is that of touching generosity and just an incredibly humble and human way of interacting. It makes our culture in the West seem so cold and uncaring in a lot of ways.
At the same time I'm taking inventory of all the things I will miss (and so deeply appreciate about Morocco), I'm starting to think about what I'm looking forward to back home, too. First and foremost, of course, is seeing friends and family again- hard to believe it will have been a year of seeing any familiar faces whatsoever!
I've also started having food fantasies. Pancakes and waffles have been the first of these along with high quality cheeses (pepper jack and colby and mozarella!) and good quality black tea with milk (all you can buy here is Lipton). Other strange cravings have to do with clothing since I've been wearing the same 2-3 outfits (depending on how I combine one pair of pants with three shirts and a skirt) for a year now. A long hot bubble bath and sleeping in my own bed seem far away but are on the list as well.
In any case, although I'm leaving Morocco so soon, I've still got a little over 2 months left of traveling with, hopefully, some good adventures in Turkey to come.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Gnawa ambiance
A lovely picture from a lila that Hassan played last year with Amin on the right and out of the picture but playing qraqeb also is his friend, Fed.
Everywhere in the world, kids are kids
Kids I played with in the small Atlas mountain village of Amsouzart.
Village Adventures
<--- the road from Sidi Ifni on the Moroccan coast to Goulmime, "The Gateway to the Sahara." About half way through my recent 2-week trip, I found myself in a village called, “Ifrane of the Anti-Atlas;” as in the Atlas mountains. These mountains run the entire length of Morocco from north to south so that the regions are called the High, Middle and Lower Atlas with the Anti-Atlas being on the fringes where the mountains move into desert and sometimes palm oases.
By taking village transport and shared taxis, I reached this village which is probably big enough to call a 'town'. Despite what I'd read, there was no hotel, nothing for “strangers” to stay in. But when I asked around, a local guy found me a room above a cafe that the locals sometimes rent. So for 5 dollars, I slept there.
I was warmly welcomed at this cafe and in the village itself- so much so that it was hard to spend any time alone. Each time I walked through the cafe towards the stairs that went up to my room, the two owners of the cafe (and one persistent patron) kept asking me to sit down and talk with them, drink some tea, eat a tajine. I didn't want to be rude so I did sit down and drink tea with them but I'm still not always sure how to act in these situations since Moroccan females do not socialize with the men, especially in small villages where the customs are more traditional.
As I was walking around the village, a guy on a motorbike stopped to talk to me- he spoke some English and wanted to practice with me. He was so insistent that I come to his house and meet his family that I succumbed and told him I'd meet up with him later in the day after my walk.
Rather than go straight to his house, though, he ended up driving me around the village on the back of his motorbike... and after awhile, I started to feel a bit like I was being paraded around like show-and-tell, although he did show me some really beautiful spots. I made sure to mention my 'very jealous boyfriend' back in Essaouira and that helped seemed to ease things a bit.
I saw part of a wedding celebration in the village (where the staring became so intense, I asked him if we could go) and at sunset we were still riding around on the motorbike. I was 'saved' by the fact that the cafe where I was staying had an 8 PM curfew so I had a good excuse to get going after three hours of “seeing the village” with him. He told me that his brother was in law enforcement and that if I wanted to stay out later that his brother could intervene and arrange it. I adamantly refused, “Nooo, nooo, that's not necessary. I'm tired anyway.”
The next day was souk day in Ifrane- once a week, villagers from the region come to sell their wares, produce, herbs, livestock and various other goods. I got a kick out of visiting the livestock area which was pretty chaotic with screaming sheep, mooing cows and squawking chickens. The best part was the stares and smiles I got when I started petting the baby goats. I watched out of the corner of my eye as several of the older men gathered around me, smiling, to watch me pet the animals.
I chatted a little with them, complimented their nice-looking cows and so forth and got the feeling that it was a rare thing indeed to have a tourist in town, much less someone chatting them up about livestock, etc. I wanted to ask them how much a typical cow or donkey would cost, just out of curiosity, but I've learned that you can't really ask a price here without implying that you plan on buying and I certainly didn't want to get stuck with a cow for the rest of my trip. Anyway, the souk was a highlight.
Despite it being market day, I still found transportation options pretty scarce but I eventually managed to catch a local bus going west over the mountains to the coast and then jumped on another bus up north and east over to Talouine, a town in the Souss valley, south of the Atlas mountains and a region called Djebel Sirwa (djebel is 'mountain' in Arabic). Here, I found another souk.
The souk in Talouine was fairly big; there was a whole separate part of the village set aside just for the weekly souk. Again, I enjoyed stopping to converse with a few people: a butcher, a rug maker (got to watch them being made), a guy selling nuts. Each time, it made me feel really good just to make a few connections, be able to say a few words- the smiles I got, the words of welcome made my day.
At one point, a guy hollered out to me, “Hey, sir! Hey, sir!” to which I had a good laugh. That wasn't the first time Moroccans have been confused about my gender with my short hair and man-like clothes.
I only stayed in Talouine a day. In flipping through my book on Morocco, I spotted a tiny little village on the map not too far and deep into the Atlas mountains. I'd read that 2 years ago, it was possible to take a local mini-bus within 2-3 hour's walk of the village. To my delight, when I asked around, now the minibus goes all the way there: a beautiful little village called Amsouzart.
By the time we stopped at all the villages on the way, it was a 4-hour ride, much of it on a dirt road- but the scenery was breathtaking. I chatted quite a bit with a Moroccan woman sitting next to me and the driver who was very friendly. The two of them helped me find a place to stay when we got to the village: I had a big bedroom and salon overlooking the mountains for $4/night.
Amsouzart was probably my favorite spot of the two week trip. Since there was only one minibus coming and going each day, I stayed through the next day and made the hike to Lac d'Ifni which is just on the other side of the Atlas range from Djebel Toubkal. It was a mesmerizing hike through a few little villages (more conversations with people, invitations for tea, etc.) and then up into the hills.
While I was sitting by the lake, after my very cold dunk, I heard someone singing: it was a man traveling over the mountains with his donkey, singing in full voice as he went along, something in Berber. The song was haunting as it echoed off the canyon walls and bounced off of the surface of the lake. I quickly dug through my bag to grab my tape recorder and just caught ehe end of his song. As I sat there, I watched more people crossing the mountains with packs of donkeys, also singing in full voice, as if they were inviting the mountains to join in. It was magical.
I decided to follow one of these donkey tracks around the side of the lake and watched sheep and goats high up on the cliffs. I took a different path back down from the lake after several hours of exploring and arrived back at the auberge happy as a clam. I ate my specially-ordered chicken tajine, had a nice cold shower (no hot water there) and slept deeply. The next day, after a quick stop in Taroudannt (it was too hot to stay very long), I went back to Essaouira.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)