You are a certain animal in Chinese astrology. However, unless you are a tiger, of course you would like to be like one of us. Tigers are most wonderful creatures, no question about it.
One option is to dress up in a tiger suit, but another, much more meaningful one is to take a rigourous programme of courses and obtain certification. There's probably an international school for this in a city near you.
Courses include:
- Basic Tiger Survival Skills - in Zoos, Forests, and on urban outskirts
- Advanced Tiger Grammar and Phonetics - Rar! in Practice and Theory
- How to Love another Tiger - Safe and Non-destructive Nibbling Techniques
- Practical Tiger Grooming - Common Hammam Practices for the Very Hairy
- Tiger Cuisine - New Explorations in Raw Meat
Upon completion you get a nice flea collar with a gold name tag. You then have the privilege of learning the secret tiger purr as well as a song which describes how fabulous and amazing tigers are - and this you need to sing 5 times a day in order to maintain your certification of practice.
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It is my last week in Damascus. I am keeping to a similar schedule as usual - a blend of Arabic, cooking, reading, exploring - but there's more gift-giving just now as I lighten up my load, and a bit more personal admin as I organize my next few weeks as I go on the road again.
My Arabic is just getting good. I have been verbing so much that I long to be an adjective again. I have learnt to phonetically approximate the secret code for "Can you give me a discount" - a sentence complex enough that I don't quiet know what the structure is yet, but it apparently impresses shopowners enough to reduce whatever I am buying by a dollar or so. Arabic is slowly paying off.
It has been a very Christian week for me the past week. Last Friday was a short day trip to Seidnayya, a town just 1/2 hour away. An important pilgrimage town in the Middle Ages, second only to Jerusalem. The main monastery was spatially amazing - stairs, courtyards, balconies, terraces in a full 3D labyrinth. Tough to say how old it was - like most buildings here there is a lot of ongoing rebuilding. On Sunday I went to the Armenian Orthodox Church for service, which lasted 2 hours. They also have a curtain, like the Armenian Catholic Church. But here it was always drawn. Full Mystery. Like coming to a theatre to see a play, but the curtains remained closed.
Also finally went to a hammam here. "Only" 12th century - the oldest here is 9th century but that is only for men. The one I went to was really nice, a good honest scrub in very nice surroundings with a couple of friends. There is one in Aleppo that I hope to try too.
Looking forward to Aleppo. One book says there are 10km of souq, another says 30km. Probably a truly delightful commercial experience, however long it is. Due to its location, one book says that they really had to work to get people to come to Aleppo, as it is not a natural crossroads. And because it has been so ignored for the past hundred years it has not been modernized - so pretty ideal for the modern tourist now. A very old city, and it will probably look it, much more than Damascus. Even the Jdeide Quarter or "New Quarter" refers to an area that began in the 15th century.
Also gearing up for the route afterwards. I am languishing for rice rolls and jook, so have already made arrangements to go to Crispy Duck Restaurant with some friends in London. I'm just there for a night, after which I am off to Muscat for the last 2 weeks in March, and then Melbourne for April to visit family.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Friday, February 12, 2010
Breakfast with Pigeons
It's 9am. It's beautiful and warm on the roof terrace, where I have my breakfast. Slow enough to enjoy the sunrays, just barely fast enough so that the pancakes and coffee can be enjoyed warm. Such is the timing of living.
The sound of the pigeons here will forever bind me to the sound of the Institute. And then again, it's not so much that - it is the quiet. Resonating beyond their feathery fluff, the muted sound of their inner organs fills the morning stillness of the courtyard with wholeness and grace. It is a fine way to begin the day.
Two pigeons on the other side of the courtyard, above the director's residence, inspect the roof and scuffle around back and forth. A little bit beyond is a minaret, one of the many pieces that create the roof landscape here. If maps and streets don't have much to say with one another here, it is even more so with the random assortment of roof bits. Like heaven, the roofscape bears little with what is on the ground. In the summer, it is a cat's playground as they ransack one kitchen to another via roof access. In the winter, it is a wonderland of buildings that have the appearance, strength and protection of a wheaties biscuit. Their defiant existance during the rains is an act of faith on borrowed time.
Far off towards the east, church bells ring. They sound old, I imagine they are older.
I went to the Armenian Catholic Church for service once. (I can't remember if I wrote about this - in any case I can't read my blog in Syria). I think I remember reading somewhere that Armenia was the first state to be Christian. I went there at 8am, and sat until 10am when service started. A wonderful old man welcomed me, gave me water and sweets his wife had baked. It is a renovated church, white and bright, with modern frescos, electricity, and heating. Drapes cover the front part, and were drawn in and out throughout the service. Mystery is a beautiful thing. The music, as I remember it now, seemed to have a common refrain, and hauntingly, achingly gorgeous. Slow and minor.
And recently I went to the Armenian Orthodox Church one evening to see a film called Phoenix and Ashes, on the work of German Johannes Lepsius during the Armenian genocide of 1915. 1.5 million died, many in Syria where they tried to escape to from Turkey. The evening was frigid. Cold wind blew through the front doors of the church and bit through thick coats, as if to give sensual effect to the subject matter. At one point the film showed a regular gas/petrol station. Cars going in and out as usual. And then a map, which showed that it lay on top of a mass grave. Where the bones of 300 Armenians lay, those that went to find refuge from persecution in their church, but found themselves locked in and gassed.
Yesterday there was a "workshop" at the Danish Institute, on the secular state and religion in the Levant. It was to be a full weekend conference with free public admission at the Damascus University, but because we are in Syria, it was cancelled the day before. I only went to one session, as it was partly in Arabic and I am not that good yet. It was interesting to hear about Turkey as a possible model as an "Islamic-but-secular-state", where Islam is good for business and good for EU. But Turkey still does not recognize that the genocide occurred.
I have 2 weeks left in Damascus, after which I abandon it for Aleppo. People don't believe me when I say that it will be so incredibly difficult to leave Damascus, but it's mostly because I haven't had to deal with the bureaucracy that much here. But I am so looking forward to Aleppo. I have saved it to last, for the good weather of March (though we are already in the low/mid-20s), and a friend from Berlin is coming especially to join me in my last 2 weeks in Syria. I love the idea of staying at the Baron Hotel - how often is a hotel listed in wikipedia?
Like my breakfast, it will all be about timing these next 2 weeks - wanting it to be savoured but at the same time impatient to explore Aleppo's 10km of souqs.
The sound of the pigeons here will forever bind me to the sound of the Institute. And then again, it's not so much that - it is the quiet. Resonating beyond their feathery fluff, the muted sound of their inner organs fills the morning stillness of the courtyard with wholeness and grace. It is a fine way to begin the day.
Two pigeons on the other side of the courtyard, above the director's residence, inspect the roof and scuffle around back and forth. A little bit beyond is a minaret, one of the many pieces that create the roof landscape here. If maps and streets don't have much to say with one another here, it is even more so with the random assortment of roof bits. Like heaven, the roofscape bears little with what is on the ground. In the summer, it is a cat's playground as they ransack one kitchen to another via roof access. In the winter, it is a wonderland of buildings that have the appearance, strength and protection of a wheaties biscuit. Their defiant existance during the rains is an act of faith on borrowed time.
Far off towards the east, church bells ring. They sound old, I imagine they are older.
I went to the Armenian Catholic Church for service once. (I can't remember if I wrote about this - in any case I can't read my blog in Syria). I think I remember reading somewhere that Armenia was the first state to be Christian. I went there at 8am, and sat until 10am when service started. A wonderful old man welcomed me, gave me water and sweets his wife had baked. It is a renovated church, white and bright, with modern frescos, electricity, and heating. Drapes cover the front part, and were drawn in and out throughout the service. Mystery is a beautiful thing. The music, as I remember it now, seemed to have a common refrain, and hauntingly, achingly gorgeous. Slow and minor.
And recently I went to the Armenian Orthodox Church one evening to see a film called Phoenix and Ashes, on the work of German Johannes Lepsius during the Armenian genocide of 1915. 1.5 million died, many in Syria where they tried to escape to from Turkey. The evening was frigid. Cold wind blew through the front doors of the church and bit through thick coats, as if to give sensual effect to the subject matter. At one point the film showed a regular gas/petrol station. Cars going in and out as usual. And then a map, which showed that it lay on top of a mass grave. Where the bones of 300 Armenians lay, those that went to find refuge from persecution in their church, but found themselves locked in and gassed.
Yesterday there was a "workshop" at the Danish Institute, on the secular state and religion in the Levant. It was to be a full weekend conference with free public admission at the Damascus University, but because we are in Syria, it was cancelled the day before. I only went to one session, as it was partly in Arabic and I am not that good yet. It was interesting to hear about Turkey as a possible model as an "Islamic-but-secular-state", where Islam is good for business and good for EU. But Turkey still does not recognize that the genocide occurred.
I have 2 weeks left in Damascus, after which I abandon it for Aleppo. People don't believe me when I say that it will be so incredibly difficult to leave Damascus, but it's mostly because I haven't had to deal with the bureaucracy that much here. But I am so looking forward to Aleppo. I have saved it to last, for the good weather of March (though we are already in the low/mid-20s), and a friend from Berlin is coming especially to join me in my last 2 weeks in Syria. I love the idea of staying at the Baron Hotel - how often is a hotel listed in wikipedia?
Like my breakfast, it will all be about timing these next 2 weeks - wanting it to be savoured but at the same time impatient to explore Aleppo's 10km of souqs.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Bits of Bliss
Apologies for the cryptic posting last time! But words hardly do justice to describing Beirut. They say that it is / was the "Paris of the East" but honestly, I think it would be better if Paris was more like Beirut. And let us say that it is everything that Vancouver is not, but there are the snow-capped mountains and the ocean that make it otherwise seem so much like home.
I have to admit that in Beirut I surrendered to bliss. There is also a Rue Bliss there but I was only close to it. I spoke English the entire time. I don't think we saw more than 2 tourists as we blissfully wandered around the beautiful streets (Syria on the other hand gets 6 million tourists a year). No one asked, "Yabani?". I had a burger and fries, and noted that if this was Lebanese food, they should export it around the world, it would be a hit.
We treated ourselves to a chic place called Eatalian, a place where the waiter asked how our food was a few minutes after serving us. I don't think I recall the last time this occurred. I had risotto fruitti di mare, which was very good. It came with a little surprise in the bottom of it - a small but entire octopus, which is apparently a Beirut "thing". Unfortunately I did not try a single traditional Lebanese-food restaurant, but next time I will order a M'louchie at Le Chef on rue Gourand. Another place I would like to visit is B018, a bomb-shelter-now-bar designed by Bernard Khoury. He spoke at one of the Vancouver architecture lectures a few years ago.
The bliss has continued here, as recently I went to Cham City Centre, a new mall which is about 2-3 years old. This is where the expensive supermarket is with foreign foods. I am not unfamiliar with this sort of institution, having stocked up with 6 jars of pesto when I went to Amman. I go all out and buy meusli, flour (for pancakes!), pesto, and digestives coated one side with chocolate. The latter has not been to satisfaction. At some point in the shipment and/or storage, the chocolate melted and has resulted in a kind of a crumbly digestive cylinder that is a complete mess to eat and transforms me into a 2 year-old.
If you recall, I attended a conference in October here. One of the speakers was Robert Irwin, who I knew nothing about. Indeed, I knew nothing about the Middle East, and he rightly asked me, "What are you doing here?" as we spoke during one dinner. As I was apparently a complete question mark. I am reading now his most recent "For Lust of Knowing", which by force of his knowledge of the Middle East he comes head-on against Said's Orientalism. I hope he answered his question; I hope that a Danish-speaking Chinese-Canadian can also learn about the Middle East.
I'm on page 48. How it was difficult for Christians to learn Arabic and translate the Qur'an, and not so much to learn about Islam per se but in order to refute it. There were no Arabic university courses; it was dicey to hire an Arab teacher because he might kill you (see Ramon Lull, p. 44), and so they go at it on their own, probably with some difficulty. But still, when John of Segovia (c. 1400-1458) wrote a refutation, he was "promptly attacked ... for having given publicity to the doctrines of an abominable heresy. "
This continues to the present day. The presence of Arabic language learning in a public place in Europe or North America hits the nerves like the thought of an unwanted accupuncture appointment. I can't open my Arabic textbook on a trans-Atlantic flight. Nor on the train that went from Brussels to London on Sept. 11th. So the one great thing here in Syria is that learning Arabic is supported. The director keeps asking me, how's the Arabic going?
I've been, of course, working on my talk so the Arabic has actually been set on the back burner. Sort of -though every time I go out and buy things I have to remember certain words. "Walnut" or "cardamom". I keep forgetting "green" although it's a very simple word. I also have to figure out how my visa is to be extended. The process is as transparent as homous and I have all but avoided thinking about it. Who knows, I may need to go to Lebanon to get a visa, which would not be a bad thing. Mali / Burkina is coming back in rounds - I am urged to show my pictures, and Christmas cards sent from Burkina on Dec. 14th and finally arriving now to their respective recipients.
More unrelated bits: Just discovered the existance of Yarmouk via two couchsurfers living there. Yarmouk is a 50-year-old "camp" where 350,000 Palestinian refugees live in Damascus. On the same topic, I recently met Peter Reidlinger, passing through the Danish Institute. He has an exhibition of photographs documenting the ongoing Israeli settlement activity. On at the Goethe Institute which ends soon but is going onwards to other places (he doesn't know yet).
Current residents here at the Institute are all women just now, and include the former Minister for Culture in Denmark, a retired schoolteacher, and a PhD student who is studying Syrian soap operas. If you have heard about the Danish cartoon incidents (which led to the burning of the Embassy here and in Beirut and the shutting down of the Institute), there is a popular Syrian soap opera based on it, where I believe Syrians help Danes learn about the Islamic world. And if you recall my travels to Holkham up in Norfolk "in search of" Jane Digby, there's also a Ramadan soap (a soap that is viewed during Ramadan) based on her story too.
As you can read, things are coming round in full circle. Next week: off to find Jane's grave maybe!
I have to admit that in Beirut I surrendered to bliss. There is also a Rue Bliss there but I was only close to it. I spoke English the entire time. I don't think we saw more than 2 tourists as we blissfully wandered around the beautiful streets (Syria on the other hand gets 6 million tourists a year). No one asked, "Yabani?". I had a burger and fries, and noted that if this was Lebanese food, they should export it around the world, it would be a hit.
We treated ourselves to a chic place called Eatalian, a place where the waiter asked how our food was a few minutes after serving us. I don't think I recall the last time this occurred. I had risotto fruitti di mare, which was very good. It came with a little surprise in the bottom of it - a small but entire octopus, which is apparently a Beirut "thing". Unfortunately I did not try a single traditional Lebanese-food restaurant, but next time I will order a M'louchie at Le Chef on rue Gourand. Another place I would like to visit is B018, a bomb-shelter-now-bar designed by Bernard Khoury. He spoke at one of the Vancouver architecture lectures a few years ago.
The bliss has continued here, as recently I went to Cham City Centre, a new mall which is about 2-3 years old. This is where the expensive supermarket is with foreign foods. I am not unfamiliar with this sort of institution, having stocked up with 6 jars of pesto when I went to Amman. I go all out and buy meusli, flour (for pancakes!), pesto, and digestives coated one side with chocolate. The latter has not been to satisfaction. At some point in the shipment and/or storage, the chocolate melted and has resulted in a kind of a crumbly digestive cylinder that is a complete mess to eat and transforms me into a 2 year-old.
If you recall, I attended a conference in October here. One of the speakers was Robert Irwin, who I knew nothing about. Indeed, I knew nothing about the Middle East, and he rightly asked me, "What are you doing here?" as we spoke during one dinner. As I was apparently a complete question mark. I am reading now his most recent "For Lust of Knowing", which by force of his knowledge of the Middle East he comes head-on against Said's Orientalism. I hope he answered his question; I hope that a Danish-speaking Chinese-Canadian can also learn about the Middle East.
I'm on page 48. How it was difficult for Christians to learn Arabic and translate the Qur'an, and not so much to learn about Islam per se but in order to refute it. There were no Arabic university courses; it was dicey to hire an Arab teacher because he might kill you (see Ramon Lull, p. 44), and so they go at it on their own, probably with some difficulty. But still, when John of Segovia (c. 1400-1458) wrote a refutation, he was "promptly attacked ... for having given publicity to the doctrines of an abominable heresy. "
This continues to the present day. The presence of Arabic language learning in a public place in Europe or North America hits the nerves like the thought of an unwanted accupuncture appointment. I can't open my Arabic textbook on a trans-Atlantic flight. Nor on the train that went from Brussels to London on Sept. 11th. So the one great thing here in Syria is that learning Arabic is supported. The director keeps asking me, how's the Arabic going?
I've been, of course, working on my talk so the Arabic has actually been set on the back burner. Sort of -though every time I go out and buy things I have to remember certain words. "Walnut" or "cardamom". I keep forgetting "green" although it's a very simple word. I also have to figure out how my visa is to be extended. The process is as transparent as homous and I have all but avoided thinking about it. Who knows, I may need to go to Lebanon to get a visa, which would not be a bad thing. Mali / Burkina is coming back in rounds - I am urged to show my pictures, and Christmas cards sent from Burkina on Dec. 14th and finally arriving now to their respective recipients.
More unrelated bits: Just discovered the existance of Yarmouk via two couchsurfers living there. Yarmouk is a 50-year-old "camp" where 350,000 Palestinian refugees live in Damascus. On the same topic, I recently met Peter Reidlinger, passing through the Danish Institute. He has an exhibition of photographs documenting the ongoing Israeli settlement activity. On at the Goethe Institute which ends soon but is going onwards to other places (he doesn't know yet).
Current residents here at the Institute are all women just now, and include the former Minister for Culture in Denmark, a retired schoolteacher, and a PhD student who is studying Syrian soap operas. If you have heard about the Danish cartoon incidents (which led to the burning of the Embassy here and in Beirut and the shutting down of the Institute), there is a popular Syrian soap opera based on it, where I believe Syrians help Danes learn about the Islamic world. And if you recall my travels to Holkham up in Norfolk "in search of" Jane Digby, there's also a Ramadan soap (a soap that is viewed during Ramadan) based on her story too.
As you can read, things are coming round in full circle. Next week: off to find Jane's grave maybe!
Friday, January 22, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Further Chronicles
I feel like I am having an Anne of Green Gables day.
First was the feeling of almost having an original thought. I thought that I had made a small breakthrough / discovery this morning, and the caffeine level of my coffee tripled. Essentially I thought that the person who translated Euclid's Elements into Arabic, Al-Hajjaj bin Yusuf, was the same person that was an influential governor during the period when the Omayyad Mosque (in which, I think, the first geometric patterns were used in then-to-be-conceived Islamic architecture) was being built.
I suppose the second 'event' of the day was continuing the research and seeing that my source (wikipedia) was partly correct in names but entirely wrong in the actual individuals.
The handy dandy, reasonably reliable Encyclopedia of Islam clarifies:
Al-Hadjdjadj bin Yusuf bin Al-Hakam bin Akil al-Thakafi, Abu Muhammad is the governor.
Al-Hadjdjadj bin Yusuf bin Matar Al-Hasib is the translator.
I am making headway everyday nonetheless. I present work in progress on February 2nd at the "Tuesday Seminar" at the Danish Institute and I may well post a synopsis here.
And just now I have discovered that I have been given full financial support from the Institute for my residency here.
A big day!
First was the feeling of almost having an original thought. I thought that I had made a small breakthrough / discovery this morning, and the caffeine level of my coffee tripled. Essentially I thought that the person who translated Euclid's Elements into Arabic, Al-Hajjaj bin Yusuf, was the same person that was an influential governor during the period when the Omayyad Mosque (in which, I think, the first geometric patterns were used in then-to-be-conceived Islamic architecture) was being built.
I suppose the second 'event' of the day was continuing the research and seeing that my source (wikipedia) was partly correct in names but entirely wrong in the actual individuals.
The handy dandy, reasonably reliable Encyclopedia of Islam clarifies:
Al-Hadjdjadj bin Yusuf bin Al-Hakam bin Akil al-Thakafi, Abu Muhammad is the governor.
Al-Hadjdjadj bin Yusuf bin Matar Al-Hasib is the translator.
I am making headway everyday nonetheless. I present work in progress on February 2nd at the "Tuesday Seminar" at the Danish Institute and I may well post a synopsis here.
And just now I have discovered that I have been given full financial support from the Institute for my residency here.
A big day!
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Looming
I have just returned from a couple days in Hama (pronounced H'maah), about 3 hours north of Damascus. It's not exactly a backwater town - it has the full flow of the Orontes River running through it, a river which transforms this almost foreign portion of Syria to a moist and verdant valley. My nose was twitching with memories of humidity past. It had rained in the days previous to our arrival, and the roads there were wet and gray. I have succumbed to thinking that rain doesn't exist anymore; this is a false thought.
We were, however, the most exciting event to roll into town. Children all around were crying out HELLO!! to us, probably in exactly the same way they learnt the word in their classroom, in orchestra with 30 other smurfs on a sugar high. For this is also what Hama has a lot of: sweets. It is known for a particular kind of sweet, halawat al-jibne - something that didn't quite fall from heaven; more like an attempt the other way around. But it is the sheer quantity of shops selling sweets - candies, pastries, halawat al-jibne - that staggers the mind. Ten percent of all shops would sound about right (even if I'm wrong). And anywhere we went we would be offered a sample of some sweet something with no name. We brushed our teeth thoroughly in the evenings.
Perhaps it had something to do with the Hama Massacre of 1982. Perhaps the government said, "pour sugar into this city."
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The fields were shrouded in mist as we made our way to Afamea / Apamea. We are the only ones there apart from another couple of tourists, and we wander through the area, the mist revealing or enclosing each section in silence. However, quite unexpectedly, a bus soon comes along and unloads an energetic Syrian boy scout marching band. They duly practice between the ancient fluted columns.
We actually intended see the remains of this ancient Roman city, but in the end, having tea with 3 separate inhabitants of the neighbouring town Qala'at Mudiq was by far the highlight. And buying towels. I have known about Syrian towels for years, and here in Damascus discovered that it is in the Hama area where they make them. We visit an artisinal workshop of Al-Madani where 4 generations of weavers haved created beautiful, hand-made towels since 1853. After an extended review of their textiles I come out more poor and more wealthy at the same time.
Now back in Damascus. I actually have a talk scheduled rather soon, but despite that plans are underway for a flippant weekend trip to Beirut - rue Bliss and Corniche and all that.
Completely unrelated and this perhaps not being the best way to exit a blog entry, last Thursday we went to see the Sufi-inspired / classical Arabic music group Bab Assalam at the Dar Al-Assad / Opera House. Stunningly beautiful music. It does not sound very polite but my highest appreciation for such sweet music was to want to fall asleep.
We were, however, the most exciting event to roll into town. Children all around were crying out HELLO!! to us, probably in exactly the same way they learnt the word in their classroom, in orchestra with 30 other smurfs on a sugar high. For this is also what Hama has a lot of: sweets. It is known for a particular kind of sweet, halawat al-jibne - something that didn't quite fall from heaven; more like an attempt the other way around. But it is the sheer quantity of shops selling sweets - candies, pastries, halawat al-jibne - that staggers the mind. Ten percent of all shops would sound about right (even if I'm wrong). And anywhere we went we would be offered a sample of some sweet something with no name. We brushed our teeth thoroughly in the evenings.
Perhaps it had something to do with the Hama Massacre of 1982. Perhaps the government said, "pour sugar into this city."
-----------------------------
The fields were shrouded in mist as we made our way to Afamea / Apamea. We are the only ones there apart from another couple of tourists, and we wander through the area, the mist revealing or enclosing each section in silence. However, quite unexpectedly, a bus soon comes along and unloads an energetic Syrian boy scout marching band. They duly practice between the ancient fluted columns.
We actually intended see the remains of this ancient Roman city, but in the end, having tea with 3 separate inhabitants of the neighbouring town Qala'at Mudiq was by far the highlight. And buying towels. I have known about Syrian towels for years, and here in Damascus discovered that it is in the Hama area where they make them. We visit an artisinal workshop of Al-Madani where 4 generations of weavers haved created beautiful, hand-made towels since 1853. After an extended review of their textiles I come out more poor and more wealthy at the same time.
Now back in Damascus. I actually have a talk scheduled rather soon, but despite that plans are underway for a flippant weekend trip to Beirut - rue Bliss and Corniche and all that.
Completely unrelated and this perhaps not being the best way to exit a blog entry, last Thursday we went to see the Sufi-inspired / classical Arabic music group Bab Assalam at the Dar Al-Assad / Opera House. Stunningly beautiful music. It does not sound very polite but my highest appreciation for such sweet music was to want to fall asleep.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Return to Damascus
It is a balmy 15 degrees here. I'm not sure if it is normal, but I am far from complaining. The director here at the Danish Institute said that it has been cold in previous years - down to minus 11, with the fountain here completely frozen.
I am here at the Institute for the next 2 months, studying Arabic and also the mosaics at the Omayyad Mosque. The Institute is about as close to heaven as one can get - or at least a separation bubble - in this bustling city. Whereas before I was neighbour to two, 4-lane highways that were running 24 hours a day, here it is the eye of the hurricane, so quiet you could hear the echo of a pin drop. And whereas before I got up an hour before taking my morning shower to heat up the water, I now have the daily luxury of pre-warmed water. However, the illusion of normality only cushions the reality of my surrounding conditions. There are water restrictions here in this refuge of the desert, and government turns off the taps between noon and 5 am every day. All houses have water tanks, but I wonder how the hospitals and the hospitality industry survive, unless they have very large tanks.
New Year's Eve was good here. I had dinner with two other residents here in our kitchen, as we were naive enougth to make reservations at a restaurant on and for that evening (Thursday, and New Year's Eve). We had a delightful meal on a brand new tablecloth, one which was sold with a soulful recitation of the Koran. The meal included camel meat, lahme jamal, prepared with onions, cumin, and unseeded raisins. Camels are somewhat common in these parts as well as in Mali, although you don't see them everywhere. I have now camel bone jewellery from here and there, and also bags made of camel leather. But for the meat, like fish, we had it with lemon juice, which made it surprisingly very good if you ever get the opportunity. After dinner we joined the rest of the house - the director's family and their guests - for drinks in the winter qa'a (a kind of room). And we saw the partial lunar eclipse of the blue moon as it rose over the courtyard.
Generally it has been very easy to live in Damascus again, particularly shopping-wise. Although I momentarily forgot the word for "green olives", my pantry and fridge shelves reflect my food vocabularly as well as the bounty of Syria. It is amazing that Syria produces almost all of its fruits and vegetables. One day however, I may have to take a taxi out to Cham City Centre Mall to get some pesto. It's one of those things that Syria has all the ingredients for, but doesn't think or want to blend together. I have though still a few jars from my trip to Amman.
I have access to computers here at the Institute, which is great as now I am sifting through 9GB of photos. I also have a landline, which is a new development in my life here. I don't have a mobile phone here, which is fine. However it has been inconvenient a couple of times, as I had no access to a landline; landlines cannot call mobile phones (which all have); and there are no pay phones. I know someone that bought their very first mobile in Syria due to this hassle. But no, not me. Essentially I had to start up a Skype account to call friends in minor emergencies.
Now if Skype was not banned in Syria life would be easier, but anyways ...
I am here at the Institute for the next 2 months, studying Arabic and also the mosaics at the Omayyad Mosque. The Institute is about as close to heaven as one can get - or at least a separation bubble - in this bustling city. Whereas before I was neighbour to two, 4-lane highways that were running 24 hours a day, here it is the eye of the hurricane, so quiet you could hear the echo of a pin drop. And whereas before I got up an hour before taking my morning shower to heat up the water, I now have the daily luxury of pre-warmed water. However, the illusion of normality only cushions the reality of my surrounding conditions. There are water restrictions here in this refuge of the desert, and government turns off the taps between noon and 5 am every day. All houses have water tanks, but I wonder how the hospitals and the hospitality industry survive, unless they have very large tanks.
New Year's Eve was good here. I had dinner with two other residents here in our kitchen, as we were naive enougth to make reservations at a restaurant on and for that evening (Thursday, and New Year's Eve). We had a delightful meal on a brand new tablecloth, one which was sold with a soulful recitation of the Koran. The meal included camel meat, lahme jamal, prepared with onions, cumin, and unseeded raisins. Camels are somewhat common in these parts as well as in Mali, although you don't see them everywhere. I have now camel bone jewellery from here and there, and also bags made of camel leather. But for the meat, like fish, we had it with lemon juice, which made it surprisingly very good if you ever get the opportunity. After dinner we joined the rest of the house - the director's family and their guests - for drinks in the winter qa'a (a kind of room). And we saw the partial lunar eclipse of the blue moon as it rose over the courtyard.
Generally it has been very easy to live in Damascus again, particularly shopping-wise. Although I momentarily forgot the word for "green olives", my pantry and fridge shelves reflect my food vocabularly as well as the bounty of Syria. It is amazing that Syria produces almost all of its fruits and vegetables. One day however, I may have to take a taxi out to Cham City Centre Mall to get some pesto. It's one of those things that Syria has all the ingredients for, but doesn't think or want to blend together. I have though still a few jars from my trip to Amman.
I have access to computers here at the Institute, which is great as now I am sifting through 9GB of photos. I also have a landline, which is a new development in my life here. I don't have a mobile phone here, which is fine. However it has been inconvenient a couple of times, as I had no access to a landline; landlines cannot call mobile phones (which all have); and there are no pay phones. I know someone that bought their very first mobile in Syria due to this hassle. But no, not me. Essentially I had to start up a Skype account to call friends in minor emergencies.
Now if Skype was not banned in Syria life would be easier, but anyways ...
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