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Archive for the ‘Middle East’ Category

Let’s Play "It’s Mumkin!!"

In Middle East, Syria on May 4, 2007 at 11:51 am

“Mumkin” is arabic for “possible”.  I’ve noticed an unusual number of people with their hands bandaged, splinted, or cast here, and thought it might be nice to see what other people notice.  So I’ve started a points-system game based on honesty and integrity, a strange concept in the Middle East.

Points are awarded as follows:

  • man/woman with bandaged/splinted/cast arm – 1 point
  • man/woman with cast on leg – 1 point
  • cast on both legs – 2 points (really, it’s mumkin!!)
  • man/woman with one leg – 2 points
  • orange pants – 1 point
  • orange shirt – 1 point
  • orange pants and shirt – 2 points (got points today for that)
  • woman with two black eyes, attributed to nose job – 2 points
  • cast on one leg and wearing orange pants – 3 points (i’ve already scored on this)

Automatic game winner:

  • woman wearing hejab and her bellybutton is exposed – 20 points

The Most Important Relationship

In Middle East, Syria on April 9, 2007 at 4:14 pm

The hardest person to meet in your new city of residence will be the most important one – your hairstylist. Forget doctors and dentists, these are the keepers and slayers of hair. Today I went to get my hair cut for the first time since moving to Syria and my apprehension grew larger after dreaming last night that I would leave the salon with – horror of horrors – female Syrian hair. This means layers and blow-outs so big they rival the miracles of women in Texas.

So I arrive and have the most beautiful thing done, someone else washes my hair, the best part of any haircut. Then the guy with the polyester track suit (opened halfway down his chest so I can admire his mat of curly chesthair) and attitude to match asks what I want done. I point to a picture of Charlize Theron with her delightful long, straight, minimally layered hair. He starts cutting and is done, umm, maybe 8 minutes later. Zero layers, nothing’s even but I think I have something resembling bangs again. You need to know that my stylist in Vancouver, Glen the Giver of Amazing Cuts and Colour (call him at One Salon on Burrard 604-733-3909), takes at least 30 minutes JUST TO CUT.

Then another guy slaps some weird paste on my hair (to ‘treatment it’) and wraps it (my head) in seran wrap and leaves me there for 20 minutes. After he takes it off and washes my head – again – another guy blow dries my hair. You know how in North America most hairdryers come with cool bursts to help the hair set? This one comes with bursts of… HAIRSPRAY! I’ve never seen or smelled anything like it before. Amazing.

And so I leave the salon with flipped hair smelling like bad aftershave. I don’t look too Syrian and thankfully my hair does not hold curl so by the time I get home, the walk and pollution have straightened it back to normal. I’m not crying so it must all be OK. We’ll see how I feel after one night of bedhead.

What Not to Do at a Shi’a Wedding

In Middle East, Syria on April 2, 2007 at 4:48 pm

1.  Do not try and shake the groom’s hand
2. Do not wear your Nine West sparkly gold heels, not because they’re inappropriate but because women are competitive, especially at weddings
3.  Do not make enemies with the bride
4.  Do not make enemies with the mother of the groom

I didn’t know the thing about shaking hands, but I was doing what we do in the West, shaking hands in congratulations.  Not until I put out my hand did I notice he was holding the Quran and figured he wasn’t supposed to touch another woman apart from his wife.  Mistake number 1.

Mistake number 2.  My friend who I went with told me to wear Western style dress because underneath the hejab the women are all hooched up.  They dress to compete with each other since no men are allowed at the bride’s party.  Then he saw what I was wearing and said that I was about to step into a viper’s den and would get bitten alive.  Apparently I looked too good and was therefore competition.  Competition for what????  No men were there!!!!!

Mistake number 3 was not my fault, the bride was not impressed with mistake number 1 which no one explained to me.

Mistake number 4 was also not my fault.  I was invited to the wedding by the father of the groom whom I met the week before.  After the wedding when I told my friend that the mother was NOT friendly to me, he explained that she was probably ticked off because her husband made a big deal of me being there.  Again, women are very competitive. WHAT IS OUR PROBLEM???????

I have many other observations about what I witnessed that evening but let’s leave it to this one: I think the Sunnis are hipper and more fun but I’m not sure I want to go to one of their weddings to confirm that.

Sorry, not a lot of pictures since I don’t want to post the women without their permission.

The father the groom, Abu Osama, and me. Wow, he looks really little.

Followed

In Middle East, Syria on March 26, 2007 at 7:07 pm

I’ve been checking out what the women wear here. For example, can I wear a short skirt, short being around the knee. The answer appears to be ‘yes’ as long as I wear black tights with it. So this is what I do last Thursday on a very warm day. In addition I wear my knee-high black boots. I’m wearing a loose-fitting black top and my leather jacket. I think I’m more conservative than some of the girls here. Not so decide the men in their trucks and cars on the main road by school. I got honked at, whistled at, yelled at. All because, I think, I’m not wearing a headscarf. I get on my service to head home and the driver wants me to sit beside him. I try explaining that I like my seat, this causes a commotion in the bus and the young guy beside me tries to calm the situation.

At last we get to my stop and I jump off as does the young guy. I’m going to the internet cafe, which happens to be closed, so I start walking home. Guys come out of their shops to tell me the internet cafe will open again in two hours. The young guy from the bus magically appears and starts following me around. I eventually tire of him and tell him to get lost which he does not do. He persists in following me around my neighbourhood while I buy groceries and try to lose him. I get to my apartment and make sure he can’t see that I’m going upstairs. He’s not there, at least I’m sure he’s not. I get to my apartment and start telling my roommate about this guy, who is maybe 19 or 20 years old. Ten minutes later my doorbell rings and it’s him, standing there asking for my phone number. So I walk out to where he is and give him an earful in mixed arabic and english. I’m yelling “memnua” (forbidden)and a whole host of other words that my neighbours might not like if they understood. I haven’t seen him since, I think he’s been scared into hiding, as well he should be.

I will NOT wear a headscarf. I know who and what I am and if I have to explain that, OK. Just don’t follow me home, you weirdo.

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A Few Days in Beirut

In Lebanon, Middle East on March 22, 2007 at 3:54 pm

Paris or Beirut? Beirut, Lebanon

Last week I had a break from school after exams so I finally headed back to Beirut after 4 years.  It looks so much like Vancouver that it felt like being at home at times.  It sits right between the ocean and the mountains and the sea breeze was soooo good to feel and smell again.   While I appreciated the cleanliness and a few familiar looking restaurants this is the number one reason why I prefer Syria – it’s not westernized and feels like I’m in a land far far away.  Syria is very much like Arabian Nights and that is what I wanted.  Plus I like the people there better, they are less fractured and complicated.  When you come visit Beirut you’ll see what I mean – nothing is simple in terms of relationships and everyone picks at the other.

Hezbollah supporters are trying to get more profile for their party and so there is a huge tent city outside parliament where everyone has been living for a few months now.  It was just down the road from our hotel so I took a stroll through it – it was very quiet.

It was the second anniversary of Hariri’s assassination on Wednesday and so I think the military were trying to keep things low-key.

Last time I was here the only military visible were there because of a Franco-nation summit which Chretien was attending.  Lots of high-profile political leaders were in attendance so of course security was high, but there weren’t any tanks anywhere and people were out and about.  This time the city was dead, no people anywhere, tanks and soldiers everywhere, a very different feeling.  I asked shopkeepers what was going on and they all said ‘it’s tense right now, hopefully it will be done by the end of the week’ but I got nothing more elaborate than that.  They also say they hope the ‘situation’ is fixed by summer, meaning the Syrians are gone and there’s a new map of the Middle East.  I saw this supposed map which is very different and more complex, I think, than the current one.  I tried to take a picture of it but the guy who showed it to me hid it under the table and said no one else should see it.  Secrecy and intrigue makes Beirut.  I also asked one of the guards who checked my purse one day how he knew for sure there weren’t any bombs in my bag as he only looked at the top.  He told me that he trusted me – how’s that for a very stupid question and benign answer?

I ended up walking everywhere since Lebanon is quite a bit more expensive than Syria and I didn’t want to waste my money on taxis and get marriage proposals from taxi drivers.  My feet were killing me by the time I left but I had seen a lot of the city.  Nowhere near all of it, it’s definitely a place I want to get back to and explore a lot more as it is utterly fascinating.  The American University of Beirut is stunning and the walk along the ocean is beautiful.  There were lots of bookstores with English literature so I was able to find a copy of People magazine and catch up on Britney Spear’s sad life.  I’m so glad to not have to see that stuff every day.   I also found a Cinnzeo and stuffed my face with a chocolate cinnamon bun, not as good as mom’s of course.  You don’t see the military after awhile and they leave you alone anyway. The shopping is very upscale and some of the restaurant neighbourhoods rival Yorkville in Toronto or Yaletown in Vancouver.  I saw at least 2 Lamborghinis and there are Armani, BCBG, and other high-end stores everywhere.  You forget you’re in the Middle East and think you might be somewhere in France.

The last day we were there it started raining the way it does in Vancouver and my shoes got soaked through.  I was, therefore, uncomfortable and decided to head back to Damascus a few hours earlier than planned.  It turned from spring to winter and as we passed through the Lebanese mountains on the way back to Syria it started snowing heavily. Absolutely beautiful but too cold for my little leather jacket.  I fell asleep after we passed the Syrian border and woke up in Damascus with the feeling that it was good to be home.  I knew I liked it here but I had to leave for a little bit to confirm that it is actually becoming home.

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The Best Bakery in the World

In Middle East, Syria on March 10, 2007 at 3:27 pm

I finally found loaves of bread!  Not Syrian flat bread, pita bread, naan bread, hard and brittle bread, but a real, bonafide loaf of soft, sliced bread.  Do you know what this means????  I can eat toast now!!!!!  I was so desperate for North American bread I would have gladly eaten stale Wonderbread sent by snail-mail from home.  Alison may not be able to live by bread alone, but at least it makes Alison very, very happy.

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First Visit to the Hammam

In Middle East, Syria on March 2, 2007 at 11:43 am

WARNING: there may be some content in here that makes people squeamish or they might take offense to.  This is my apology for any damage to your mental health.

I’m not a big fan of spas, I think it’s a little weird to spend a lot of money for people to slap seaweed on you or massage your face.  Nevertheless, the hammam (public bath) is a popular past time in the Middle East so I decided to go check it out.  I’d been once before in Turkey with a friend – we were the only ones in the hammam and I assumed I might encounter something similar here.  Not so…

Arab women have an aversion to hair anywhere on their body apart from the head so I thought I might get my hairy western arms waxed just to see what all the fuss is about.  The waxer looked as if she had just emerged from the steamroom, straggley hair plastered against her forehead, old track suit hanging yet clinging to her.  A cigarette dangled out of her mouth as she went to work on me, tut-tutting at the state I’d let myself get into.  They wax you in public, in front of everyone else who’s come in to hang out for the afternoon.  The portraits of the former and current presidents hang overhead staring down with creepy grins.  They don’t use hot wax here, instead it’s like a thick paste they rub between their hands to warm up.  Then they slap it on you and start ripping away again and again and again.  I’m gritting my teeth, the waxer grins and grunts with her cigarette lodged between the gap in her teeth where at least two other teeth should be but have fallen out.  She’s doing my forearms and then horror of horrors, she moves to my biceps and shoulders.  Now I know for certain that I do NOT have hairy upper arms and I try explaining this to her but she is convinced I must be cleansed.  Then she starts trying to rip it out of my underarms where the hair is too short.  I’m yelling “la la la la” (arabic for ‘no no no no’) but she must think I’m singing and makes it a mission to get rid of whatever is there.  Finally she quits and the next scary lady comes over and grabs my arm to lead me to the next stage of bathing…

She drags me through ancient hallways – this hammam is more than 800 years old – through the steamroom into the large hall where at least 40 women are lounging about in various stages of undress, throwing hot water on each other, washing their hair, and smoking.  This is where the women go to meet and talk, I assume they gossip and diss each other  but I’m not sure as I still only understand a few words.  Fruits and vegetables do not seem to be a popular topic.  I’m led to a smaller room where a young women is sitting with her mother and aunt.  They greet me with big smiles and begin to throw water on me.  Then one grabs my loofah from me and starts scrubbing my back with man-strength force.  After awhile the masseuse comes in to give me a massage.  This is no private room with pretty scented candles, Pachabel’s annoying Canon playing in the background accompanied by chirping whales, discreet and calm massaging of my back.  Instead I’m surrounded by chatty and yelling women, there is no music, the mother is still smoking, and I’m lying on my stomach while she pounds the crap out of my back.  I must point out, however, that this is the kind of massage I like, it actually feels like they’re doing something.  Then she starts yanking on my fingers, I don’t know why.  Then she pulls out my shampoo and starts washing my hair.  It smells nice when she’s done but it’s also in a billion knots.  Then some women from Lebanon try to take over our room and the aunt goes crazy on them.  You have to see a 70-something, toothless and topless woman running around tearing strips off people to know that this is not a North American spa.  So I took my leave and went out to change.

While I’m toweling off and putting my makeup on, the daughter comes out and we start talking in stilted English and Arabic.  Her mom also comes out and soon my purse is stuffed full of apples and oranges, and I’m drinking tea and eating pita with some olive spread on it.  I’m clean, smooth from finger to shoulder, I’ve made new friends, I’m fed, and I think I might just come back, minus the wax job.

Sandstorm

In Middle East, Syria on March 1, 2007 at 6:02 pm

Last Saturday the atmosphere started to get a little manic when a brown haze settled over the city.  At first I thought it was pollution but by mid-day the wind had picked up and sand was swirling all around.  The drivers were crazier than before, people were edgey, and the billion stray cats in the city decided to come out and sing in unison.  That evening I could barely see the green lights of the mosques as I was standing on my balcony and when I went to bed I could taste the sand in the air.

The next morning it started to rain – nice to make everything fresh but think about where all that floating sand is going to go.  This is the first time in my life when I didn’t wash just the fruits and vegetables I bought at the market, but also my bags of pasta, jars and cans of other stuff.  Before now I haven’t been a fan of vacuum wrapping everything but now I get the point.

Marriage Update

In Middle East, Syria on February 22, 2007 at 3:27 pm

My Iraqi suitor is out of the running.  He’s currently in jail where he’s been for the past week after it was discovered he was a bit of a thief – not of hearts but of cash.  His friends ratted him out after he “borrowed” money from them to buy an apartment and a business.  He never gave the money back.  I think my decision to wait and see if the camels came through was a wise one.

Bidding Wars

In Middle East, Syria on February 12, 2007 at 12:42 pm

The man who owns the hotel I’m staying at has a 95-year-old father who comes and sits at reception every day.  He challenges every guest to an arm wrestle – which he always wins – sometimes because people let him but most times because he is still tough as nails.  He has taken a shine to me and offered 12 camels and his house to marry me.  His son is concerned dad will throw in the hotel but I assure him this is not the case.  The daughters-in-law think it’s great and would love for me to marry their father-in-law and thereby secure the hotel for their sons when they grow up.  Abu Sameer also wants me to convert to Islam.

The Iraqi man who has the room next to mine says he’ll give me 15 camels and a donkey.  He’s said nothing about converting, he is already married.

Basil, the 22-year-old whose fiancee is 15, says he’ll give me one camel.  He’s not very wealthy.

No one else has entered the race yet, but I think I’m going to hold out for something better than old men, married men, poor men, and livestock.