I write all of the time. It’s how I stay sane. Sadly little of it has made it on to here – as my recent writing has all been short stories for me or for my store opening soon. I am writing a blog there on coffee, the store and our vendors which you can follow at www.respitecafe.com but I promise to be better in the new year with updating regarding my thoughts on the insanity of our times and fun recipies. who knows – I may start earlier with the short ribs making friday or the cake i will make for my grandfather’s upcoming birthday!
Senator Richard Burr
217 Russell Senate Office Building
Washington, DC 20510
Senator Kay Hagan
521 Dirksen Senate Office Building
Washington, DC 20510
Representative David Price
U.S. House of Representatives
2162 Rayburn Building
Washington, DC 20515
Dear Senator Burr, Senator Hagan and Representative Price:
I understand that you all are in the midst of important budgetary discussions for continuing this fiscal year and for the next one. I do not want you take this letter as a call for the status quo, or for a call for us not to reexamine the way we fund defense, other agencies and how we fund and what cuts are needed to entitlement programs. These are important discussions we need to have, and while difficult, they need to be addressed rationally. At the same time, there are many policy riders and issues that should not be a part of this debate as their importance to actual budgetary problems is miniscule there are a few things that I would like you, my elected representatives to know my stance on as these items come up for debate again.
1) Planned Parenthood
Planned Parenthood, whose name is culturally tied to the abortion debate, offers a lot more then low cost abortions.
While the abortion debate may not be able to be solved today, as there is little to know middle ground on the extremes on either side, most Americas stand in favor of some constraints on extremely late term abortion unless the life of the mother is at stake. Most of us realize this is a complex issue, one that will not be solved easily. There are health reasons to get abortions, there are religious reasons not to. Abortions, in some form or another have been around since the beginning of time, and they will continue to be, even if they were made illegal they would continue and we would return to conditions where people desperate for this risk their lives. It is a private decision.
Regardless, no federal money goes to fund abortions done at Planned Parenthood. It goes to education. To screen women’s health (and men’s) for those who either can’t afford insurance, don’t have access to reproductive health insurance, or don’t have doctors available to them on their plan or in their locality. It teaches reproductive issues, health issues, and educates, it covers contraception for teens scared to see their parents. In short it addresses a need in society, and the federal dollars don’t support the controversial portion of the mission (for better written information see this site).
To claim that all money is fungible opens up a lot of other issues for debate. For example – we fund certain religiously affiliated institutions for charities, school lunches, scientific research, etc. The money is specifically not to be used for religious teaching, but if all money is fungible isn’t it being done so; doesn’t’ this raise issues. All sides can, I am sure, point to a many examples like this, why not avoid the argument in the future, acknowledge the good Planned Parenthood does, and continue to fund it, with the restriction on abortion in place for years remaining in place.
2) Funding for the Arts and NPR
Studies have shown that the arts enrich us, they lead to innovation, and I even recall one that said that countries that stop funding the arts in support of defense are on the road to collapse (I believe it was focused on Rome). All of this may be true. It may also be true that promotion of the arts leads to tourism, and other forms of spending money that lead to other economic gains (For example see here for a piece on arts and crime rates see here). Even so there are other reasons to support the arts.
The arts, and arts education, enrich and reflect us. By this I mean contemporary arts preserve our culture for the future, while exposing it back to others and ourselves around the world. They reflect the communities we live in the, the people we are and our values as well as our challenges. Arts offer tangible rallying points in times of hardships, as people look to symbols of ourselves to cling to, and and they challenge us to live up to the values we aspire to and to examine what those values are. As one professor I had in college put it, when describing how art can move us, Norman Rockwell a sentimental painter who depicted our values as we wanted them to be, also challenges us and reflected problems back to us in ways that make avoiding issues no longer possible (see for example his Murder in Mississippi (Sothern Justice) done after the murders of three civil rights workers in 1965 or his The Problem We all Live With a picture, unlike many contemporaneous photographs, told from the height of the six year old girl being escorted to school in New Orleans by police due to fears of violence as desegregation was ordered).
Arts challenge us and they open us to new perspectives. A play by Shakespeare, a poetry slam, modern music they all tell who we are, who we were, and expose us to new viewpoints. Without the arts this dialogue may be lost, and without arts education it surely will be. While I agree that arts funding should go to all forms of political dialogue, it should not be limited to just those, or to just high art or just to the NEA, promoting and supporting the arts is important to a vibrant society, and this should be done federally, state wide, locally, corporately and individually. An active arts scene is paramount to have a functioning democracy.
As for NPR – it provides more in-depth reporting then most private news organizations can afford to. Its arts and cultural reporting are vital, and local coverage for weather, traffic and news is unbiased and necessary. I have driven through areas of the South where NPR is only news radio I can find, and without federal funding, those communities would lose it entirely. Thus losing access to great, mostly unbiased reporting (regardless of their private opinions) and access to the world. This is a service, like the arts that is promotes our culture to ourselves and to the world – and one which we must support.
3) Cuts in Environmental Regulations
Unlike the previous two examples, I am not going to go to far in depth here. The environment is being harmed; science has proven this. Businesses, to their credit, are typically out to maximize their own profit, but sometimes this maximization comes at the harm of future generations. Regulation helps to check this, allowing them to maximize profits while hurting us less. This is good for all. Without the EPA and its air quality regulations, I for one would be unable to breathe as I learned during a trip abroad to a city without similar air regulations. All individuals deserve the right to breathe, drink clean water and go outside without being harmed by pollutants. Right now we mostly can let’s keep it that way.
This is an issue that affects us, and affects the world. We need incentives to
reduce consumption; we need to work with other countries for standards and protocols and to help the whole world thrive in harmony. Part of this includes eliminating our current farm subsidy program, cutting back on major agriculture fertilizers, and increasing mileage per gallon. Other parts are retrofitting older homes, reducing and reusing. All agencies of the government have work to do.
There are areas here that, I am sure are redundant; others that may be right for budget cuts, but hamstringing the EPA when it works to counterbalance problems that harm the health and safety of us all I s not the solution. This one is pure common sense – regulate to help the future.
4) Foreign Aid
Foreign aid comprises a tiny portion of the budget – and yet its affect is massive. We promote humanitarian causes that save lives and promote basic health and hygiene aboard. We respond, as most people in America want us to, to disasters abroad like the Haitian Earthquake or the Japanese Tsunami. Not only do these reflect our values of aiding others and promoting human rights around the world and respecting our common humanity but also these programs help to build good will. This good will is sorely needed when we face so much turbulence abroad. The aid work we do in areas like Pakistan and Afghanistan aids our military mission there and good will around the world in general aids our national security.
Again, of course there are bureaucratic inefficiencies, redundancies and the like, and these should be rooted out – but the overall funding should not be reduced. The money can be used to father the mission, our values, and safety and promote our culture and good name worldwide.
5) A Balanced Budget Amendment
This is an issue that sounds great in a sound bite but is unrealistic. While I know we need to respond to the current crisis, and reduce spending while increasing revenue (hard for someone who thinks taxation is high already to admit, though there are many, many corporate loopholes) a balanced budget amendment hamstrings us too much in the future (for more on the current budget proposals see here). We do not know what, if any crisis will arise in the future – but we need to have the flexibility to respond to it, and unfortunately that may mean debts. That may mean we spend more then we take in, while also having to pay off old debts and fund other areas of government. We should work to reduce the deficit, pay as we go, and all but do so without a modification to the Constitution in this instance.
6) A Taxpayer Receipt.
I recently used the Third Way’s taxpayer receipt, which attempts to show how much various federal programs and agencies get of what I paid this year per dollar. This was enlightening, to me, and I follow politics closely. I think that if people had a sense of the proportional spending, it may make the debate more about the real problems and issues and less about these small policy programs, like NPR, foreign aid, and Planned Parenthood who make up a minuscule portion of the budget (for more on this see here).
As I am posting this, a Republican amendment to the House’s proposed 2011 budget has passed which defunds Planned Parenthood has passed the House and will be sent when the Continuing Resolution bill is sent to the Senate. This debate to me is ludicrous and shows that for all of the talk about the economy and jobs the debates are on cultural issues, particularly those related to culture and women’s health issues.[1] I admit upfront that I don’t like this debate and that it sickens me that we are discussing defunding Planned Parenthood, which provides basic healthcare to many people, especially women in this country, and does far more then just providing abortions (and remember no Federal money is used for the abortion portion of the clinics as called for by the Hyde amendment) at a time when we need to discuss economic policy and jobs. Cuts in entitlements, benefits for employees all do need to be discussed and debated, right now the culture wars don’t. That said if we are going to debate the culture wars again – let’s do it honestly without a distortion of the facts, conflation of issues, or manufacturing of hysteria. It seems unlikely I will get this wish, given the virulent emails members of my family gets or the status updates I often see on Facebook and Twitter. What follows is my reaction to some of the news developments and status updates I have seen.
Recently, amidst all of the Martin Luther King Day tributes on Facebook, I came across one that purported to be in the spirit of this man’s wishes. It was one of the more disturbing things I have ever read, full of half trust and misunderstood facts causing the person and her research to sound believable to those not informed on this particular issue. Predictably, this status update, and the comments that followed it, touched on race, and less predictably on abortion. Unlike Rick Santorum, this person did not try to appeal to reason, however flawed his argument.[2] Instead this person, much like Sarah Palin apparently did with feminist authors in her latest book, distorted historical quotes and facts, in order to back her opinion (for a great take down of Palin’s misunderstanding of the early Feminists see “How Palin Flunks Feminism” by Michelle Goldberg on The Daily Beast here). As Goldberg notes, Palin, and many others look Margaret Sanger as a proponent of eugenics, and extrapolate from that that her creation, Planned Parenthood is part of a plot to rid America of African Americans.
This status update starts and concludes with a bunch of facts and attributions, which in her mind go to prove that abortion toady is linked closely to eugenics. These facts, which for the purpose of this piece I will accept, without doing my own research include the idea that school based Planned parenthoods are only in minority schools, that African-Americans are 12% of the population but 38% of the abortions, that blacks are three times more likely to have abortions then whites, and finally that 15 million blacks have been aborted and 1300 are aborted daily, that 78% of Planned parenthoods are in black communities. Mixed in are three fact not related to race – namely that 80% of babies with down syndrome are aborted, that the drug company that invited Zyklon B a drug used by Nazis to gas Jews invented RU-486 the abortion pill and that there are 45% more sterilizations among African Americans then among white women. [3]
Daniel Patrick Moynihan has a great quote attributed to him “Everyone is entitled to his own opinion, but not his own facts.” There should be a corollary – the facts have to be understood in context and cannot be pulled out of the blue to support opinions without regards to reality. This was a tactic employed in the past with some success by participants of both parties, and it is sad to see conservatives are still attempting to pull the wool over peoples’ eyes by using statistics and quotes to give untenable statements a veneer of authority.
Given this quote – let’s examine these same facts from a different perspective, one that does not seek to prove that Planned Parenthood is part of a eugenic plot to get rid of African – Americans. What if instead these statics, again operating under the assumption that they are true, reflect a variety of socio-economic realities? For example, not as many people in poorer communities have access to the excellent health insurance that I do that allows me to prevent pregnancy. Therefore there is a greater chance that an unplanned pregnancy will happen. Planned Parenthood, which offers affordable abortions without insurance, or an appointment with an OBGYN, makes sense for those whose insurance does not cover the procedure, or who may not have insurance at all. A person who has insurance may be more likely to go to their doctor and may have less need of a clinic like Planned Parenthood.
If this theory is correct the status quoted have less to do with eugenics, then where the service is needed, my guess is statically there are more Planned Parenthoods in depressed urban areas and poor rural ones then upper class suburbs. If this is true, then may the stats have less to do with perceived race, but economic realties, and therefore might then the stats simply reflect placing a clinic where it is most likely to be used in obtaining a legal service.
More troubling then these stats are the quotations attributed to Margaret Sanger, the founder of Planned Parenthood, and therefore carry the tacit implication that those who advocate for abortion rights today agree with the statements. First of all, while Sanger did advocate for a type of eugenics, as did many of her time, she also advocated for all races, and partnered with W.E.B. DuBuois to open Planned Parenthood in Harlem. This does not ameliorate her call for eugenically actions against those less intelligent, but her position while nauseating today was not unique in its time and we cannot expect historical figures to complete be uninflected by the times they lived in, even as they help them progress towards the society we have today. Sanger was admired by those who worked for Civil Rights and against Poverty in the 1960s, including the Rev. Martin Luther King.
Yet even if Sanger were, as is implied in the updates, creating Planned Parenthood to rid the world of minorities this makes two assumptions that seem ludicrous. It implies that those who work at and run Planed Parenthood today are racists who are following this same path, generations after Sanger’s death. In going to the Planned Parenthood website today, the Vice President of Medical Affairs is an African American woman, it does not seem likely she is advocating for the destruction of her people, as opposed to safe medical procedures for those who take advantage of a legal service. (As opposed to back ally abortions, or the horrific unsterile clinics such as the one recently in the news from PA). IT also makes the assumption that it will be successful – and therefore that eventually for Planned Parenthood to succeed in its mission, and minorities, especially African-Americans, will eventually undergo abortions rather then reproduce. When no one is being forced to have abortions, many chose, as evidenced by the stats quoted, to have their baby. This may be for moral or religious reasons, others, shocking as it may sound may have planned and wanted the baby. In other words, many if not most people will chose to have their children.
Additionally we all must remember in this debate that Planned Parenthood does much more then provide abortions. According to a Politico article “Planned Parenthood estimates it received a quarter of the $317 million in Title X funds appropriated last year. They use the money for pelvic exams, breast exams, safer-sex counseling and basic infertility counseling, among other things.” These health tests, including annual physicals, are affordable and available to those who may not have insurance or a doctor. To imply that all Planned Parenthood does is offer abortions is wrong. It’s mission also includes advocacy about sexual health and educational outreach.
I am trying hard to not judge either side of the abortion debate as I write this. It is hard, as I am firmly pro-choice, but I respect that this woman has a right to believe that abortion should not be legal, and while I am dismayed that abortion is becoming the topic detour of the Right again, I hope that it can be based on facts, not on misleading science on fetus and pain, life out of the womb or wrongful interoperation of history.[4]
What she does not have a right to do is use facts to create impressions of racism in current abortion providers. She does not have the right to mistake socio-economic causes for the abolition increase in minorities with a desire for eugenics. She does not have the right to conflate the implied thoughts of people who lived decades ago with those who run organizations today, otherwise we would have to assume that all who run institutions today believe in all the ideals of its founders, regardless of their statements to the contrary or the changing of the times.
What she, Palin (at least according to the implication in Goldberg’s piece) and Santorum in a different way are attempting to do is link the pro-life side with the cause of civil rights, making all others racists. This is dissentious and morally wrong. It conflates to unrelated issues, and inflames tempers. By using coloring facts and shading arguments, conflating timelines, she creates a situation in which the lazy or uneducated become soldiers in a cause, but only because they were feed untruths.
Racial issues and abortion are two political issues almost guaranteed to have inflamed debates. The abortion issues is one where people are philosophically unlikely to ever come to a consensus – hopefully we will one day agree to disagree, but if one side truly sees it as murder this is unlikely.
Today, we can barely have a civil dialogue on how much racism is part of today’s society as opposed to a socio-economic culture of oppression on lower classes. What we have seemed to agree on is it is irresponsible to call someone a racist who is not one. Similarly to make issues about race and eugenics when it is not makes it impossible to have an honest discussion about the facts and issues that lead people to seek abortions in the first place. Instead, it will make the issues more heated, more incendiary and cause those on each side of the issue to feel to conflate already heated issues into a cultural war of the highest order. The debate is bad enough now – but can you imagine it when it is racist baby-killers vs. illiterate and crazy religious freaks?
[1] The debate on the Pence Amendment became quite emotional, with Rep. Jackie Speier D-CA going on to decry the trivialization of a procedure she herself underwent instead of debating jobs. (The link takes you to a Washington Post blog on the debate – here is a video of the Congresswoman discussing her abortion and the culture debate).
And here is another Congresswoman, Rep. Gwen Moore D-WI, powerfully and personally describing why Planned Parenthood is necessary after having an unplanned baby at age 18 as part of the same debate.
Hopefully these two women, along with those from Wyoming shown in footnote four can help us have a more open and honest debate about Planned Parenthood, abortion, women’s health and family planning.
[3] To take just one of these facts and dispute it. According to Wikipedia, Zylkon B was disturbed by a company called Degussa and made by one called Degesch. Degesch was a partly owned by a German Pharmaceutical company called IG Farben, this company in 1997 bought the French company that created and first sold RU-486 years earlier. So yes there is a link – though the machinations of corporate buyouts. The creators of Zyklon B in the 20 did not authorize its use on Jews in World War II and then push to create a drug to induce abortions, in the 90s thereby furthering their Eugenic goals without War. Neither the timeline nor logic make this possible.
[4] For a great take down on the divisions within conservatism regarding fiscal and social conservatives and where and when government can be allowed to regulate a person’s private life see this Rachel Maddow piece from 2/8/11 in which small government conservatives (those who oppose the government’s intrusion into our public life) argued on the floor of the state house of Wyoming with social conservatives who sought to put pseudo-scientific restrictions on abortion.
Breakfast is a meal I both love and am not interested in. I love eggs, and grits, toasts, jams, and sausage bacon. But those are not daily meals. I love grapefruit, but can’t eat it daily for lack of variety, even though my version of Heaven is not complete without fresh squeezed orange or orange/grapefruit juice. I have little to no interest in cereal. This most likely stems from my dislike of all dairy products (except small amounts of butter), and my hatred of hearing other or myself people chewing combined with a dislike of mushy foods thus making it impossible to eat all but hot cereals without hearing chewing, and therefore I eat it only a handful (literally) of times a year. So most days I don’t eat much more then a piece of whole wheat toast, a piece of fruit or have more then a coke zero (odd choice I know for one looking at starting a coffee shop). Hell pancakes and waffles are actually more of a dinner for breakfast thing to me then an actual breakfast meal. I mean who really wants to clean a kitchen first thing in the morning.
But I love eggs, and probably have some version of an egg breakfast without or without toast once a week. My go-tos and lifetime favorites are baked eggs, poached; low heat slow cooked scrambled, French toast, or soft boiled (with the first two eaten most frequently). On rare occasions at a brunch I will venture into Eggs Benedict, cheeseless omelets, or fried eggs. Maybe once a year I make a large frittata with spinach, tomato, and onions and eat it over a week. But now I have found, or more accurately been given something that is filling, rich, healthy. It may not be as easy poached eggs and toast, and more savory then good French Toast (which I love).
This dish is my interoperation of a birthday gift from my brother. Currently stationed in Afghanistan, he, through his 40-year-old translator, has been reaching out a lot to local people there and learning a lot about their foods, customs and culture. Being in the midst of the war, and often on the move leading convoys, I am amazed he remembered at all, but he did remember and he knew of my love of different cultures, cooking and food. Thus he sent me two recipes from his translator, I assume, for my birthday (I am still trying to work out the kinks on the lamb dish – hopefully will post on that later). But here is what he sent, word for word, after which I will explain how I interpreted it.
“Please imagine this is dictated with a soft afghan accent a little broken English” (I can try and make it more intelligible)
Breakfast:
Put oil in pan
When warm
2 onion (slived) when yellow/red
Tomato on top
Green pepper (very spicy and they are called goat horns here no idea where you would get these)
Leave it melted/mixed water be dried
Become like grilled
Add eggs scrambled
Cover it/shake it until sticky
Serve with naan (buy from Arabian or Iranian store)”
Having recently been to a Chinese market, I knew they were likely to have the Goat Horn pepper (though I have made it since with Serrano pepper), along with some good brown rice, Kim Chi. I also knew that whole foods had a passable whole wheat naan that came in four packets, which while not the best it would do. The rest of the ingredients seemed fairly basic pantry items so I felt good to go.
Goat Horn Peppers
On medium heat, I put about a tablespoon of olive oil into a flat pan. While that was heating I sliced a 1 yellow onion and ¾ of a large white onion (I did not want the sweet or red onions but I think they would work well). I put the onion slices into the heated oil, and stirred. While the onion bits started to cook I cut a tomato into eight parts. After placing the tomato onto of the onion and I tackled the pepper, of which I used the red variety. After first removing the seeds I chopped the pepper into little bits and through them onto the onion mix.
This was then allowed to caramelize (melt) and I continued to cook it until most of the released moisture had evaporated and grill charring began to appear on the onion. While I did stir this occasionally, I also cracked the eggs into a ramekin and scrambled them. Once the char marks appeared I threw the eggs in added the eggs and cooked until the eggs were done and all had been stirred (shaken) together and it appeared not wet or dry but done (I assume this is what they meant by stick).
I did not find this mixture needed much – maybe a dash of salt or pepper could be added to taste, but the caramelized onions and fresh tomatoes and peppers add a lot of flavor to the dish, making it hot and savory while still tasting richly seasoned and fresh. Serving it with warmed up naan was a treat, only topped today when I made hot Hibiscus Tea (or Karkaday as it is called in Egypt) with some honey – truly richly flavored nectar of the gods. It kept me full well beyond lunch without being too much food, was flavorful, spicy, and just plain good. And guess what, the eggs, tomato, and onion were local.
Thanks brother, appreciate your thinking of me, and sharing this – hope you don’t mind I passed it on!
Below is not my writing but, an interview with Wael Ghonim the Google Exec who admined a Facebook page that helped inspire Egyptian protesters, upon his release after 12 days in captivity. (All copyrights retained by translators at Alive in Egypt and DreamTV). According to what I am currently seeing on the news, this interview helped reinvigorate the movement. Even if not true, and the people were planing to come out en mas today anyway, it is quite moving, the end is a bit manipulative and almost cruel on the part of the interviewer , but the principles espoused and actions demonstrated below are strong, honorable, and depict a love for country and the desire to be free to participate in the country we should all wish to share.
Here is an Al Jazeera English article on the piece and one from the Christian Science Monitor‘s reporter on the ground in Cairo. Even NPR and ForeignPolicy (a great piece on the complexity of the movement) are in on the action. Finally here is a piece and blog (including the same video links I used) from the New York Times on today’s protests and the impact of this interview on the populace.
UPDATED: The Wall Street Journal has two pieces on today’s protest that are nice as well here and here.
I know I owe a lot of writing. In fact I write a bit each, but little of it makes it here, as some is too personal to share, and some to fanciful. But in the form of a brief update and apology here it is (unproofread for syntax and grammar – apologies in advance).
I am still waiting. I have contacted people re my potential business had meetings and as recently as last Friday was told we are making decisions and will be back to you soon. It feels a lot like college.
In the mean time, I have been applying to jobs, and even had some interviews set up which is nice.
All of this is a great improvement over last year, which ended on down swing.
Two days before Christmas my house was broken into, somehow hitting the one defective (but now reminded) portion of my alarm, allowing thieves to take my television, a netbook and my checks before triggering the motion detector. This involved three sleepless nights dealing with police calls at 4 am, and 2 am, leading to me breaking down in my mothers Florida house at 4am on the 23rd as the initial reports came (which lead to three hours of phone calls with the alarm company and police and very little shopping done) and a 2am call from the police on the 24, as they thought they had recovered my TV in the thief’s attic (they had) and wanted me to give them the serial number form Florida at 2am. They were not polite about either waking me up, or understanding of my not carrying my electronic serial number around with me over vacation, but the daytime staff I spoke to and the initial officers on the scene were polite, professional, and seem ot have found the robber. Probably this lack of sleep is what trigger the stomach flu I got right after Christmas. (On an up-note my family all got a long and we had nice updates from my brother in Afghanistan).
After returning to Durham, I waited around for the police for three days before and after new years, as they recovered the TV, dealt with the broken window, the alarm, and a busted pipe. During this period I was averaging about three hours straight sleep night.
In fact it was not until Sunday that I had slept 7 hours straight two nights in a row. A fact, which helps explain why I have felt exhausted and out of it for weeks. That and as anyone who follows me on facebook or twitter knows, I have been watching the news out of the Middle East round the clock as should we all be.
I had a great couple of days around my birthday earlier this month, and some great times with a friend who was here a few days before returning to Cairo (she has since been evacuated out again). So it has been busy. Things are looking up and I am rested and job stuff seems to be moving forward. After the way last year ended this year has no choice but to be better. And thus far it has been.
Hopefully, I will put together a normal post soon, as I am almost recovered from anxiety and sleeplessness. until then pray for Egypt.
All of last year, I found myself conflicted. I could not stand watching the Republicans hold the Senate hostage by saying “no” to everything, even things some of them agreed with. At the same time, watching people far more liberal then I complain because progressivism was not being pushed far enough for them – although at times it appeared likely to go far to far for me.
This has come to a head this week with the fight over the tax bill. This bill would help a lot of people – unemployed benefits, payroll tax cuts etc, the extension of lower tax rates in a time of poor economy. This all sounds good as we need to increase personal and corporate capital in order to help stimulate our economy. Yet the extremists on both sides, spurred on by 24-hour channels, are complaining. Some for spending in the deficit. Others for continuing current tax rates for the rich, and the estate tax extensions.
Nothing in this bill is permanent – it is designed as a compromise to help people who need it. Some things in it may bother both sides, but sometimes principle matters less then reality. And sometimes just because you believe in something does not mean it is right or that others agree. No one party or ideology is right all the time or has all the solutions or a majority. Stop being an idiot – we all have to compromise in all aspects of our life. Realize that politics is the art of the possible, not the perfect.
For all who espouse Take no prisoners politics especially those willing to scrap real aid to unemployed and middle class over the Estate Tax, whose underlying theory is dubious (encourage charitable giving) and most whom would be affected have planned around it…this piece is great counterbalance. Remember this, Obama was not running as a progressive, but as a pragmatic slightly left of center politician. The guy espousing true progressivism was a) routed and b) John Edwards. http://www.thedailybeast.com/blogs-and-stories/2010-12-11/obama-tax-cut-deal-john-avlon-applauds-presidential-act/
Finally – I am very intrigued by this group, and wish we could all actually talk like they do. Its founding leaders include a few journalists/talking heads who almost always respect even when I disagree with it. please check it out No Labels.
Yesterday was 70 degrees and rainy. The rain reminded me of high school and driving in tropical storms, which of course was exactly what it was, except I am hundreds of miles from the beach, do not live on an island, and do not frequent many building where hallways are outdoors and easily flooded.[1] After a long, abnormally hot, and very dry summer a day below 80 and wet seemed like the start of the new season. The day before I had been stewing on the heat sticking around, as the light changed and the world began to give hints of fall with leaves changing and the wood smelling with the distinctive and wonderful smell of fall, that of fallen decomposing leaves.[2]
As anyone who knows me can attest, I hate the cold. My favorite season is summer, with late spring a close second. But I think in terms of cooking, my favorite might be fall – with the fresh root vegetables and the allowance given to stewed and roasted dishes, not to mention what may be my favorite meal of all time, SOUP. Of course this is a toss up, as I love the local produce in the spring and summer, and salivate at the sight of a fresh berry or peach. But once the weather looks like it is turning to colder times I stop craving these goods and thinking of dishes that warm the soul, and other foods, like oranges, which I associate with colder weather. The key to that sentence is the word looks. If tomorrow it is bright and sunny, the leaves are still green it may not matter what the temperature is, my brain will call out for fresh tomatoes, and other foods that are light, clean tasting and associated with summer (or home). But so long as it is grey, and the leaves are given the slightest hint that they may change, my cravings switch to fall foods.
After having spent all day either discussing my business plans with outside suppliers eager for me to start up and pay them and packaging boxes for my brother’s platoon, I was tired. The weather, being dreadful, left me uninspired to do anything but continue reading in bed with Algy curled up between the comforter and the sheet as is his want at my feet and Peebes making a pillow for himself out of the pillow supporting my back and purring contentedly in my ear. These moments are few and far between, but they are in their own way perfect. But an empty refrigerator, and lack of any vegetables but a butternut squash, meant that a trip to the store was in order.
After deciding on meats for the next few days, my attention turned to produce, and while I did get some stock vegetables (local tomato, turnips, eggplant, okra, a squash, onion) and the first sweet potatoes of the season, I was abnormally excited by a non-local vegetable that many people despise Brussels Sprouts.
Yummy!
I did not grow up eating these; in fact I don’t remember my mother serving them until recently. She may have tried, I just don’t remember it. Most of my association with Brussels sprouts growing up was that you were supposed to hate them; they like Lima beans were the but of sit-com jokes. And yet once I tried them in law school, I grew quickly to love them.
I typically roast them in olive oil and salt and pepper, sometimes I quarter them first and add vinegar and pancetta stirring them all together so all are coated with the contrasting sweet bacnoy vinegar goodness. Last night I simply halved them, and put them on a cookie she with sweet potato wedges. I sprinkled both with a bit of pepper and olive oil, added some rosemary to the sweet potatoes and some heirloom vinegar I got at the farmer’s market in Florida (as I have said repeatedly these markets are in Florida are only minimally about local produce) and roasted them both for 20 minutes at 425.
They both came out perfectly. I could not stop eating the Brussels sprouts – they were crunchy, nutty and a bit sweet at the same time. Their woody flavor stirred up memories of fall, thanksgiving. Their appearance as cut in half cabbages stained with burn and vinegar was amusing. But mostly they were just good, comforting, and warming without being heavy or a stew. The perfect fall dish for a day that looked like soup weather, and felt like fall, even if the temperature was 70, and will remain just as perfect as a side (or ingredient in) a hearty stew or potluck. I can’t say anything for boiled Brussels sprouts, I don’t like many boiled vegetables, but for those of you not eating roasted ones, let me say thanks, as that means more for me. Finish the rainy evening with Ken Burns’ 10th inning, the fabulous next step in his Baseball documentary on the era from the Strike through the present (steroids, home runs, great pitching, the Braves, the Yankees, the Red Sox) and it makes for a perfect ending to a gloomy looking Eeyore of a day.
[1] These thoughts may well reflect my love/ hate my relationship to South Florida – I love the weather, even the scary bits, the geography, and the water, but am not so big on the arts and culture scene, or many of the people).
[2] That smell is truly one of the great smells of nature its only real rival in terms of my appreciation of it is that of fresh cut grass. Both these smells tell me about the weather, the season, and are lovely in a way that cannot be replicated in a factory.
As you may have noticed, or may not, I have not written much on here recently. This does not mean I was not writing, in fact I posted today two pieces I drafted months ago.
It instead reflects the fact that I was “staring into the void” as old employer told me I should do when I left his firm. Some of that time, say much of July was devoted to family, with my brother spending much of leave with us and then traveling to Colorado for his deployment. But more of it was spent focusing on my next steps. While I don’t want to rock the apple cart by saying that I am definitively headed down one road, I can say that I have spent a lot of time, and some money exploring starting a business (namely a coffee shop/tea house) here in Durham. I have been meeting with Realtors, insurance people, and consultants in order to get numbers to finalize the plan, reading books on the specific industry and business in general and networking. People seem interested in my idea, and I am hoping to be firmly started down the path in the next few weeks.
Now that I feel I know which I am headed, I once again feel the need to write, returning both back to this blog and to other projects I have been working on and having this creative energy feels good, in fact it feels healthy. Lets hope it continues.
As an olive branch – please accept this video – which for some reason makes me smile.
The past few weeks have been unusually hectic, family filled, and amazing. Unfortunately, they did not leave a lot of time for the things I most wanted to do – besides hang out with my brother who is about to be deployed to Afghanistan – namely reflect and really delve into planning my next steps. Therefore indulge me as I attempt do some of that reflection and thinking here.
On July 4, 2009, I took a hike with Algy, one of my mother’s dog, and one of three friends who had joined my mother and I for the long weekend in the Mountains. While on that hike, with the dogs, and my dear friend who is a little afraid of them, Algy pulled me down a mountain. I can honestly say, that I sometimes look at that moment, when I went ankle over and ankle severely spraining the tendons and ligaments in my ankles and the top of my feet as the start of a year long fall that I am only now starting to see myself to crawl out of.
All four of the youngish adults in the mountains had graduated law school in 2007, (though not from the same school as the friend who went hiking with me actually was a very good friend from college), and were just beginning to admit how unhappy we were. At that particular point – we were all employed, though one of us was just finishing a clerkship. Today, the one who was at the clerkship has since returned to his firm, the others have, like me, been removed from their previous employer (mutually or otherwise) or are actively looking to change jobs. The only other female there, the friend from college, is currently on a fellowship in Germany for the year. I, of course, was the first in that position formally as over the course of many discussions my employer and I parted ways
Algy is not normally leashed on hikes, this day, due to the numerous numbers of people in Pantertown Valley he was. We had already crossed down through the valley, up the mountain, and were headed down into the waterfall, when Algy’s prey instincts caused him to yank. Admittedly, he does sometimes pull, but this was not like anything he has done before or since, and the ankle recovery took months of physical therapy, and a lack of heels for almost a full calendar year.
While many good things happened in the ensuing months, they were also trying. Stopping work at a time when jobs are scarce is a difficult enough. But add to that freak blizzards, dogs who keep getting injured and requiring Elizabethan collars, overall malaise, and the like. Couple this spring with the hand surgery and the lingering effects of the chronic bronchitis I developed in Egypt that seems to have retriggered my childhood asthma (as much as I loved Egypt, I doubt I will visit any more extremely polluted cities in the future) and sometimes, especially this spring it has felt like every time I overcome one obstacle life hands up another.
At other moments I have been acutely aware of the mountains I have set up for myself. By not staring off on the standard track for people coming from a big time law school, I have made it highly unlikely that I will ever be hired as an attorney again, at the firms or major corporations my peers are at.
At moments, it seems the outside world is colluding in these feelings. Earthquakes, storms, heat waves, blizzards are naturally occurring events that seem outsized this year. Oil is corrupting the Gulf, and of course we are fighting wars in two places, with family members and family friends fighting for us.
Yet, I as much as I feel this year has piled onto me, I can’t help but think things are improving. I have ideas about my next steps, and really trying to think these things through. I have started planning moving forward, and travelled to see all of my immediate and extended family in the past few weeks. As exhausting as all of that was it was also exhilarating, and is really helping me to keep things in perspective.
What I know for sure – as long as I have goals and fight for them, I am moving. It may not work out but it will at a minimum open doors. As such I keep applying to things as I also looking into starting my own projects. In the mean time this year on the Fourth the same two dogs and my father and I hiked the same trail. This time no one fell and the scenery was even more beautiful then last year. Hopefully that means I am headed the right direction.
There are times I am truly glad to have been raised in the South. This actually has little to do with the history and tradition of the South, I tend to follow more those of New England (no offense to my grandparents who are from way upstate New York) as my mother’s family resided there for decades, but instead with the other benefits of living in this area. But it has to do with many other aspects of this region.
For example, anyone who knows me, or readers this blog, understands that I love the weather. In fact the only area of the world I have felt I could live outside of the South was Spain – where heat has created a culture of leisurely afternoon, late meals and siestas. All things I can relate to and think are perfectly natural. But what I really appreciate the most about the South, and feel much of the rest of the country must envy, is the food. Food and culture in the South are intertwined – people believe intrinsically, at least in my experience, in the seasonality of some foods and entertaining. I am sure that if I lived in other regions I would feel similarly, but I am not huge on Tex-Mex, don’t want the winter that I associate pot roast (and have not been that much impressed with much of New England cooking outside of lobster, clam bakes, and clam chowder), and I observed that in Portland, at least, many restaurants were emphasizing Southern and Cajun Cooking (similarly Garden and Gun magazine had a huge feature on the rise in popularity in Southern cusine and drink in New York City).
I have recently been skimming The Food of a Younger Land: a Portrait of American Food – Before the National Highway System, Before Chain Restaurants, and Before Frozen Food, When the Nation’s Food was Seasonal. This book, edited by Mark Kurlansky, the author of two my favorite pop histories, Cod and Salt is a collection of writings from the files of the Federal Writers Project, a part of the (Works Projects Administration’s) WPA’s arts and cultural programs to give unemployed authors a job during the depression (the photography project gave us Dorthea Lange, and Jackson Pollock, Mark Rothko, and Benton among others were part of the painters/muralists projects). Not only did this project employ Richard Wright, Saul Bellow, Eudora Welty and Zora Neale Huston, to name just a few, it also created the first guide books to America and its cities, told from a melting pot perspective, in about forty years. One of its missions was to contact and conduct histories with every living African-American who was remembered slavery. Its final project was to be entitled America Eats -essays on regional eating told from a melting pot perspective, unfortunately due to Pearl Harbor the writers were drafted less where just prior to compilation, and thus all that is left are the files of the project. It is notable that the South outweighs all the other regions in terms of entries – but it is also notable that many of these traditions are still alive. People still eat barbecue, Conch, Hush Puppies, attend fish fries, drink mint juleps, and the like. While others may have died – such as Coca-Cola teas in Georgia, there is no denying that the South’s regional food is none and is a “type” that has been exported to barbecue joints and Nuevo-Southern cuisine throughout the country. Some of my favorite foods – namely palmettos and conchs – were considered Florida exotics, and other traditions such as the city barbecue or picnic, Maryland blue crabs served fresh, and clamming are deeply ingrained to die out that quickly.
I feel fortunate that I learned a little bit of all of this. The other night I used fresh collards and fresh green beans to make my sides for a perfectly roasted chicken. I followed that meal with grits, soaked over night in chicken stock, served with a poached egg for breakfast. I grew up with summer cookouts of hamburgers, hot dogs, fruit and, of course, banana pudding with ‘Nilla wafers. We would vacation and canoe picking our mussels, clams, and going crabbing with turkey necks. I learned (and have forgotten) how to make a true fried chicken. But more then that – my mother grew tomatoes and cucumbers, along with beans, herbs, and the occasional melon, I picked strawberries and blueberries – as a child I learned what they “should” taste like as opposed to what they often do.
When many fruits and vegetables and fresh, in season and flavorful, not much needs to be done to them. You don’t need to cut down a tomato to make a sauce – it is amazing on its own with good vinegar and salt. At the same time cooking it into a sauce that you then freeze or preserve to use in the winter also gives you that fresh taste year round. Too often, when I am cooking from a hot house tomato, or worse one from abroad, in the middle of winter, the flavors of the Earth and air are missing and it comes out bland – even the sauce is a bit (but only a bit) weaker because of it.
Having grown up in a region with a long growing season, with a family, and in a culture that appreciated goodness in food, I am fortunate. I am not only unafraid to cook and be simple with a fresh ingredient (or complex if I desire) but I appreciate the dish for what is it. This is a gift that growing up in the South has given me, and one that I wish that other shared. Give me a fresh cucumber sandwich (no mayo) coupled with berries, and I am as content as I am with a great humus, served with tomato and vinegar, or a great burger served with tomato and Vidalia onion. In other words I am in Heaven. And looking for corn on the cob picked locally so fresh you almost don’t need to cook it at
One of the things that is most distressing to me about summer is it makes me fall in love with Durham and the South as a whole all over again, right when I am about to give up on them. I am personally most happy with the weather when it is 80-100 degrees and humid. In fact there has been a noticeable rise in the amount of time I spend outside hiking, reading, cleaning windows and the like since June arrived and summer came.
Matterhorn: A Novel of the Vietnam War by Karl Marlantes
I spent the first weekend of 90+ days almost entirely in the sun (with heavy sunscreen and bug spray), reading a book that I urge all of you to RUN to the store to pick up – Matterhorn. I think may be the best book on the Vietnam War (not the politics or impact at home but simply the soldiers on the ground fighting). It completely negates Tim O’Brien’s generalization that you can’t tell a true war story of Vietnam. Though I love reading The Things they Carried, this book focused less on psychological abstractions, dealing instead with the horrors, bonding, difficulty and love these Marines developed and felt for each other as they fought against an unseen enemy, the terrain, and ambitious officers who misunderstood what was happening on the ground in a realistic way. It focuses on the whole person as opposed to just the internal struggles. I am not sure that someone who had not lived with people under these circumstances could have written the book, and there is a reason it is resonating with many. This book feels true, the characters are alive, and all I could think when I finished it was I wish it were longer – which was odd as it comes in at around 600 pages. (On a personal side note, the Marines play Acey-Ducey, a version of Backgammon invented by members of the U.S. Navy and a game I grew up playing having been taught by my grandmother and mother, except for a short mention in Hoyle’s Rules of Games, I have never seen mention of this game in print, and seeing it here made me very happy as it is one of my favorites). I really think everyone who enjoys literature or history should read this book.
One of my absolute favorite parts of this summer has been the produce. I have been hitting up the farmer’s market in both Durham and the Western Mountains of NC. Thus I have had an abundance of fresh greens, blackberries, corn, kale, home made sausage, eggs and other treats. The fresh pulled peas and patty pan squashes have been particularly good – but thus far the absolute best have been the local strawberries. They look like a painter’s rendering of the fruit, as opposed to what is normally at the grocery story, and taste as good, if not better, than they look. A few weeks ago I took a carton of them, a book, and my hammock and enjoyed the smell heat, humidity, and the smell of the earth and concrete after a rain, and all seem clean again.
Friday, when two friends joined me in the mountains, I took full advantage of this bounty. (To be honest, I took advantage of it to a point all weekend, even using local eggs and bakery muesli bread for french toast made with almond milk). Everything on the plate, with one exception, was bought from the farmer’s market in Durham, the Co-op, or was already stocked in the mountain pantry.
Therefore I took the bone-in pork chops and marinated them in enough apple cider vinegar to cover half of each chop at least. I added to the marinade 3/4 of a mango and half a vidalia onion. After marinating for 1.5 hours (rotating once) I pan sauteed them until brown on each side, checked them for done-ness and put them into the oven at 350 to finish them off – the entire time they cooked in the marinade. They tasted like a cross between mangoes and apples without being overly sweet.
I served them with zucchini blossoms (with baby zucchini attached) which I flash fried after dipping them in 3/4 cup beer and 2/3 cup floor (sprinkled with pepper). I heated oil up until dropping from the mixture fried up when dripped onto the oil as a test (1bout 175 Degrees) and put the blossoms in 2-4 at a time depending on size, the frying was almost instantaneous, and the blossoms were a treat – a slightly peppery zucchini with a crunch. I also served up fresh kale which I sauteed in chicken broth and the rest of the onion.
For appetizers (as one guest did not arrive until after nine) I let my friend buy cheeses and a locally made sausage. Knowing I would not eat the cheese, I looked something for me to eat and share. Therefore, I boiled shrimp, freshly caught outside Charleston, SC and driven up to the mountains, the shrimp were so fresh they were still blue in places and the contained a sweet roe given them a unique flavor. I dropped in lemon juice and Coach’s low country boil, which I bought at the framer’s market co-op. After boiling and refrigerating I served with home made cocktail sauce.
For desert there were fresh peaches and black berries – the best fruit of early summer. Most exciting of all, except for the pork chops enough was left of everything else that I can heat, reheat, and continue to eat it for a few more days! Especially when combined with the patty pan squash, and fresh zucchini I sauteed the next night (all that was missing was the peppery okra, which I have not yet seen good quality of).
With amazing produce like this (and the dishes that can be done with them), heat, thunderstorms, long days, and the stillness of the world due to heat combined with the activity of the cool hours, I am glad summer has just started and winter is no where in sight. Now on to reading a Jeeves and Wooster book…
For the past week I was in Portland, OR to explore some possible business ideas I have, – I will write more about my class on coffee, speciality coffee, the business of these bars and thoughts there at a later date as the ideas become clearer in my head. Suffice it to say I learned a lot about coffee and found I like well prepared brewed coffees a lot, a fact I had forgotten as they are so rarely found. Portland reminded me of a super-sized Durham in good ways (food and books) and bad (too many hipsters, a need to assert the progressive agenda even when there is no need to politicize things, dirt and grungy hipsters) but the good outweighed the bad and the public transportation counterbalanced to an extent the extreme amounts of homelessness, the eco friendly-ness and affordability counterbalanced some of the sense that the town was on the verge of changing into an overgrown hipster college scene, and relaxed vibe and welcoming atmosphere helped compete with the rainy cold weather. (In a side note I realized why grunge was so dark in color on the whole – due to the weather most people don’t wear much color unless they are making a statement by wearing BOLD colors, needless to say, I stuck out like sore thumb. I did enjoy that the women treated umbrellas as a way to show unique fashion accessories with bold designs and colors, my umbrella from the Freer depicting Whistler’s Peacock room did not stick out!)
I arrived midday sunday and Sunday afternoon was supposed to be my day to wander around the city – go to the galleries that were open – and check out places. I did a little of that, but having landed at 11:40 PST and gotten up at 4 AM EST (and not really having slept well) I was exhausted, so I wound up grabbing lunch from a food cart serving to order Thai on the cheap and on the street. . (In a side note – Portland has a fabulous light rail and for$2.30 I took a train from the airport almost to my hotel’s door – along with hipsters with dogs, other travelers, and a collection of pot smoking hippies who were so high and had been smoking so long that they recollected in many ways Cheech and Chong, even as they gave me a warm welcome and pointed out interesting land marks in the surrounding area). This particular cart was decent – nothing to write home about but also just as good as most generic Thai places. The others I tried were better.
Following a nap, (and the information that my room had been complementarily upgraded to a suite) I went to a place that is synonymous with Portland for book lovers – Powell’s City of Books. Even being exhausted, sore, and overwhelmed by the number of hung-over tattooed people in what can only be described as authentic 90s grunge (down to men in tights and skirts with stretched ears walking chihuahuas) Powell’s overwhelmed me. It is a bookstore that is four stories and 68,000 square feet of new, used, and rare books. It had copies of books I have been looking for for awhile and other new ones displayed that I had not heard of and otherwise may not have been exposed to. At the same time – it is so big as too be confusing, and it is not clean. It is a warehouse and outside of the main entrance and rare book room, does little to create the ambiance typical of a bookstore. For me at least I did not feel (or observe) people relaxing into the book and store in the way I am used to seeing in local (or even chain bookstores). At the same time I saw volumes of books I had not seen anywhere but libraries, and used books at prices so reasonable as to prevent my ignoring them. The rare book room was a rare treat, and the drama section almost had me in tears as it had copies of every play I have wanted to read in years – unfortunately suitcases only have so much room – and my budget for the trip did not include many books.
I did find this ambiance the next day when I stopped into Cameron’s books while visiting the downtown Stumptown location and the food carts (I do love that idea and am so glad that Durham now has a Korean Taco Truck which is phenomenal, mobile Taco trucks, an empanada truck, mobile cupcakes, and OnlyBurger and the Indian mobile station outside Sam’s Quick Stop though I have not tried those two). At Cameron’s I found a used book I have been looking for for months at half the price used sellers on Amazon had it. They had books on poetry that I had not seen, and better archives full of magazines going back to the turn of the 20th century that one can request to examine. This was still a pleasure to explore – in a manageable setting!
Monday after class I wandered back into the Pearl district to try Adina, a Nuevo Peruvian restaurant I have been reading about for a while. It lived up to expectations – with dishes that complemented sweet and heat in novel but exciting ways. For example I tried an empanada from the owner’s family recipe that had olives and raisins mixed in with the beef and was coated with key limejuice and light powered sugar. The tang of the olive, its salty acidity, contrasted perfectly with the sweet acid of the key lime in a perfect way. In a similar way the pork loin dish I had was served with a pepper-based sauce and over butternut ravioli combining the traditional with the new – the sweat of the peppers and their heat – were incredibly well balanced by the butternut squash. This was a dish in which a bit of each element must be eaten together to get the full sensation, and although not the way I normally eat it was exciting to try. I followed this with a trip to a wine bar, where the bartenders had a tasting of Oregon wines three for ten dollars. The wines (with one exception) were good and the bartender went out of her way to talk about the grapes, wine and vineyard – really informative and helpful - and impressive as she was able to do this while kicking out three very drunk patrons at closing time.
On my last night two fellows from the class and I went, on our teachers’ recommendations to Le Pigeon. A true full body restaurant where tongue, sweetbreads, cheeks and foie gras are all served frequently, the food is phenomenal. The chef, as much as possible, uses local foods, and cross pollinates regions and cultures. I saw shrimp cooked ceviche style and personally had coarsely ground grits that were mixed in with a few kernels of full corn. Everyone of us was pleased with our meals (I had a bone marrow and caramelized onion sandwich appetizer with a sweetbread over grits entre, my seat mates had a foie gras appetizer, halibut, and foie gras cream puffs in one case and a scallop appetizer, with the pork entre, and a crème brule served with pots de crème decaf espresso). Just as a amazing was the size – the restaurant seats 40 around four large tables and 10 bar seats. The bar seats face the chef’s kitchen where all food is prepared in front of you. The space the chefs stood and worked in was not much bigger then my couch – perhaps thee couches (one for counter space and one for cooking space) was the kitchen in toto although there is a prep area down stairs. All I can say was that the whole experience was a treat in itself, the bookshelf lined back wall was gorgeous and meeting the owner/chef was an added bonus.
Even my streetcart breakfast was delicious and nutritious – having stopped in an at bloop oatmeal. There I had apple cider oatmeal – made with almond milk!!! – that was essentially apples, maple syrup, agave honey, almond milk and oats sautéed together with the apples and syrup and milk sautéing first. The oats followed and were undercooked compared to a mush oatmeal, and the honey was drizzled on top. It was phenomenally good to eat as I walked across the river on a morning when the temperature was not yet 50 and the air and sky blue. I may start making all my oatmeal that way, as I preferred it to the mushy kind.
All in all I see why Portland is considered a great foodie town – there are so many options – and I have thoroughly enjoyed the architecture and the causal politeness of the people – but I am sure I could not live here presently. I am not hip enough, though do enjoy the vibe, and hope to come back one day when I am not in class full time and truly explore the city. Hopefully in the middle of summer – as the four seasons in one day thing was a bit much 40-68 is a big range as is down pour –sun – hail in 15 minutes – all of which I experienced first hand. Even better – on one of the few nights I was not hitting a food cart of dinner at a nice restaurant with classmates, I met my cousin’s wife for drinks. I had not seen her since their wedding and it was nice to catch up and here how she was, how he is as he is currently in Iraq, and just really chat. I am excited to hear how her next year of school goes and where she winds up teaching. I can’t thank her enough for driving down and meeting me.
The biggest downside though had to be coming home to Algy and Peebes. Algy had been in an altercation with another dog at the Vet (I don’t blame them as it was a very quick fight and I know they love Algy and comped me his treatment) – apparently both are bad at stopping play and Algy did not realize that the other dog was threatening him. Algy has a cut tail, some bruising and cuts on the skin and face, and stitches in his ear. Therefore he has antibiotics, pain meds, and an Elizabethan Collar (his third). He is quite pathetic as he cannot perceive depth in the thing, and cannot get comfortable. Hopefully the stitches can come out end of next week and all will be better! Cheers – off to watch the Lost finale, hope the thunderstorms don’t wreck that plan for me.
Twice this spring, my refrigerator has been filled with tomato with meat sauce and meatloaf, and other dinners made by scratch, along with store bought soups and other easy dishes, all provided by my mother. She did this when she came up to visit, once for the Duke-UNC game when she cooked for me for four days and otherwise took care of me while I was sleeping off the first of what turned out to be many brought with a recurring bronchial infections (or pneumonia) triggered by asthma from pollen and Cairo. The second time was more recently, while I was recovering from hand surgery and doped up on painkillers without the use of my left arm and hand almost completely for two-three weeks. Even though she only stayed a few days – she left me enough food to last 2 and half weeks – when interspersed with the occasional prepared meal from Whole Foods.
Both of my parents, in fact my whole family, have really been supportive of me in many ways throughout this difficult year. From my first expressions of unhappiness, to exploration of other alternative career options they have been there emotionally, financially, and even willing to edit or (in most cases) read this blog, when many others have not been the best about returning calls or checking in.[1] From pure sustenance support to emotional, hardly a day goes by without a parent (or two) and often my brothers checking in, at other times in my life, and even sometimes during this one, it would be overkill, but right now, it feels right. The physical embodiment of this is the meatloaf and pasta with meat sauce.
To me, when the weather is cold, there is not much better then meatloaf, and as the weather warms up meatballs provide some of the same pleasure and are especially enjoyable as they can be paired with fresh vegetables stewed into a delicious sauce. There is a satisfaction that comes from meshing together by hand the ground meat, onions and mushrooms, breadcrumbs and egg as well as the tomatoes and other ingredient that can go into meatloaf to personalize it and differentiate it from a huge meatball. (There is a similar pleasure to be gained from making meatballs, another dish I have personally made frequently in the past few months – there is a pleasure that comes from the contrast of the meatball and the tangy, but sweet acid of homemade tomato sauce that cannot be beat – but that is a story and recipe for another day, one when I think more about college, something making meatballs always reminds me of.) To be perfectly honest though, the quality of the food my mother prepared varied, the thought and feeling and gratitude I had for did not.
The first time she was here, my mother went conservative on her meatloaf and pasta with meat sauce. In both cases she used a mix of veal, pork, and beef for the meat base. Then she made a standard meatloaf with mushrooms, canned tomatoes, garlic, onion, some mushrooms, fresh basil and parsley, a small amount of breadcrumbs and an egg. For the meat sauce she used canted tomatoes cooked with peppers, onions and garlic, throwing in herbs. She stewed them together with the ground meat and let it cook for at least an hour, creating a more complex version of the sauce I grew up with. In contrast to this when she came up in April – she made the meatloaf with beef and added a habanera pepper and it just did not work well, it as edible and even appetizing but I grew somewhat tired of it. And the sauce did not simmer down right – needing either more tomatoes or tomato paste, which is anathema to my mother. But both were soft and perfect for someone who has only one hand for a short a mount of time, and I cannot thank her enough for taking the time to create dishes for me to eat, and try to experiment for me. That, more then words, shows emotion, and means a lot so thank you.
[1] (Not that I can completely blame them, as I can be bad at staying in touch, though as I have said before that does not mean I am not thinking of you. In fact in some ways this blog is meant to give a SMALL insight into what is going with me, much is not shared publicly and needs to be told via personal message, but some is put this way to give clues).
Sometimes life provides natural counter balances that are not at first blush obvious, but when seen from a slightly different angle work well together. This month I saw two theatrical productions, which on the surface have nothing to do with each other (except for constantly being alluded to by theater types), but after reflection some similarities appear that may explain some of the appeal to me of both. On St. Patrick’s day, I saw a classic of British (and World) theater at PlayMakers Rep, The Importance of Being Earnest, and last Thursday I saw a classic of current popular musicals, complete with allusions to the source material (book and movie) and pop culture references from Evita to preppy coloring – Wicked. On the surface, outside of some arch allusions in both, not much is similar in either. True both are theater – but one relies on language alone while the other needs sets and music to convey its point – being less about the actual acting and more about audience expectations of grand theatricality. I came to each show with completely different expectations based upon my varying familiarity with each. For Earnest, I wanted to watch the actors and revel in the language looking for ways to play with the inherent comedy of the show. Having seen multiple theatrical (and film) versions of the show I was curious as to how it would be reinterpreted and thrilled to hear some of the great wit aloud and discover (or rediscover) meanings, humor, and allusions forgotten since the last visit. This is one of my favorite pieces of stage writing in English and I never tire of it. I was not disappointed by a minute of the production, acting, or staging. I came to Wicked in a very different position. I had read F. Baum’s The Wizard of Oz while still in elementary school, but did not treasure it as I did other “classics of Children’s Literature” like Alice’s Adventure’s in Wonderland (maybe my Arts and Crafts era interest started young), Little Women, Little House on the Prairie, 1001 Arabian Nights, The Hobbit, A Wrinkle in Time or A Little Princess. In fact I read it more to see what I was missing as I never loved the movie the Wizard of Oz – I did dress up as part of it for Halloween one year – but I never loved it. Currently, I have little to no interest in watching it. I do like the vibrancy of the sets though – they are fun. I also tried to read the source material Wicked by Maguire, but could not get through it. I had passed up the opportunity to see it before – thinking it was just a pop musical – but they became addicted to the soundtrack. I think that Kristen Chenoweth and Inidna Menzel shine as Glenda and Elpheba, and some of the songs are just infectious. Yet I enjoyed both productions – for similar reasons. I adored my familiarity with the stories, humor and where applicable songs in each as a given. But more then that in both cases I was blown by the costume and scenery changes. Wicked’s set is complex and loud – at times fluorescent green – and the costumes allow you to notice both the chorus and the principals, in unique ways (particularly in a scene taking place at a dance club when all are in White and Black except the principals). The Sets and Costumes reminded me of Tim Burton, Victorian Fashions (even though the Wizard of Oz is Ironically American) and the Arts and Craft Movement. In short they were fascinating. Similarly, the set and costume designers for Earnest, recreated Victorian period detail, while also creating a three story set that spun, with different door frames and windows on a lazy susan like staircase to indicate if they were in the country, the city, or the library, it was ingenious, and was completed with accurate depictions of late Victorian era clothing. I also enjoyed that both played with words and meaning, in a way that maybe not everyone watching Wicked caught, but that for those paying attention, the actors played up well. They seemed to know they were in a campy show, and enjoyed playing to the crowd, while also trying to convey true emotion in a cartoon show, a feat in which the principles mostly succeeded with the exception of Fiyero, who was way to bouncy and fey to be the romantic interest of the leading women. Similarly, the actors in Earnest were all phenomenal, and what could have turned into a campy trick, having Ray Dooley, a man, play the formidable Lady Bracknell, instead was incredible. He played it straight, and allowed her lines, which are incredibly funny without her being aware of it to create the humor rather then the upending of gender norms. Did I think Wicked was too long; yes it may not have needed the second act. But that complaint was overshadowed by the chills the set and costumes gave me, and hearing live, and well done, some of my favorite songs from contemporary musical theory. In short go see it, besides Spring Awakening (which is the best musical I have seen in years), it is the best thing I have seen at Durham Performing Arts this uear, and I am thrilled that they are predicting sold out crowds for the entire month. In this current traveling production of Wicked, the acting is well done and it is fun, poppy and contemporary with a strong message on the value of how perception shapes reality. But, somehow, I doubt it has the legs to last centuries, as does the genius of Wilde’s Earnest.
I don’t normally watch Kieth Olbermann or the punditry shows as I find the yelling annoying, the one sided reporting self-serving, and that these shows in general exist in an echo chamber devoid of most reality. A reality where talking points are facts, and what actually is going on matters less then sound bites and spin (and one where, in general, long term consequences and repercussions don’t matter at all). [1]
My news programing tends to be the POTUS channel on SIRRUS/XM the NY Times, the Washington Post, NPR, the BBC, PBS, The Daily Beast, legal and education blogs, food blogs, book/art/theater reviews, and of course, Morning Joe on MSNBC. That said on Sundays over tea and eggs, I like to have Sunday talk on while reading the NY Times Sunday paper (a routine which would be changed if I had a church in Durham I felt right in regularly). Thus I do not miss the echo chamber completely or to the extent it is not only on MSNBC and Fox prime time.
I see the rise of talking points as a form of catering to the extremes – of both sides. It causes anger and blood pressure to rise by discussing issues through code words and buzz moments rather than facts and honest debate. I know none of what I am saying is novel but we need to remember it. Particularly when so many hold irrational beliefs (the president is Muslim – no, bu if so who cares?).
I blame the threats of violence on democratically elected representatives on this, and find illusions to guns and loading immoral at this time of outrage.
All of that being a long introduction to a Olbermann special comment from last night, April 7. This comment focuses on the Republican candidate for Congress in my parents and brothers district, a seat held by Democrat Ron Klein, who is running for reelection. This man, Allen West should be taken with much salt. after having been court martialed and then admitting to torturing and threatening violence on an Iraqi policeman. He was fined, but allowed to resign with benefits. In any case his actions were wrong, he was punished, and why anyone would vote for him is beyond me. His pamphlets cater to the tea partiers without saying much in terms of what he would offer, as opposed to what he would reject, and are long odes to militant patriotism, a virulent form that I cannot understand even though I believe deeply in all that this country stands for and has to offer. All of that though I could live with as part of this year of anger and voter rebellion. What happened two days ago I cannot.
Two days ago, West, like others before him used language that alluded to violence when speaking of his political opponent. That caused Olbermann to do this “special comment” on the situation.
(While having Olbermann condemn him and Palin support him may aide West with some no rational person should vote for a man who claims to want to make his opponents to scared to go outside – that is not part of our traditions peaceful transitions of power dating to Jefferson or nonviolent protesting against the majority). See also the Washington Post blog and this from the Sun-Sentinel on the back and forth between West and the Democratic Party Head for Broward County.
People have a right to be angry – to question all decisions and to honest debate. But language like this harms more then just this race, it harms the institutions of government themselves and prevents that honest debate from occuring. I have a masters in history and have been long interested in how some successful political groups achieved change though nonviolent actions which forced their opposition to either change or be brutal. In this case, people are scared, angry, and acting brutish. Yet they seem to be just rebelling without solutions – egged on in this behavior by people like West, Palin, Fox News, Olbermann and many at MSNBC. Until the news and our leaders act like Senator Coburn, and admit you can disagree without being disagreeable we are in for a period of time where the minority of crazies, from both sides continue to stir things up, terrorizing us all and causing odd headlines like this and some great TV like this and this.
A great example of how handling extremists with decorum can cause extremists to look idiotic can be seen here. Two pundits I don’t usually enjoy watching were on Morning Joe yesterday (April 7, 2010) discussing the behavior of Afghan President Karzai. Arriana Huffington who never seems to contribute except though bluster, talking points and attack, went after Rudy Giuliani, whom I disagree with a lot politically, and who is often needlessly confrontational. In this case he called her attack as personal and irrelevant, and was able to get the hosts and others at the table to agree. They may or may not have agreed with his stance on Karazi , but they did believe she crossed a line and needed to combat her position, which appeared to rely on more then talking points with facts not attacks and sound bites. She was unable to do so and sounded, at least to me, like she was lost in a shrill, liberal echo chamber of one.
In this spirit, those of us who aren’t for violence, but want honest discussions must speak up. Read about what is actually going on and have real debates. I may not agree with you, just as I am not sure how I feel about the health bill, but if you have an explanation for your position, based on facts, I will respect it. Hell you may then even persuade me – shouting and threatening people definitely will not cause me to join your stance. Decorum, like honey, often has greater rewards.
“That book puts me in mind of my dog Sherpa,” said my grandfather over a dinner of local beef and sautéed spinach and mushrooms. The book in question was The House of The Mosque, which I lent my 92-year-old (soon to be 93) grandfather this weekend. He sat there quietly Saturday afternoon – after looking at Egypt pictures – and with Algy on his lap he ignoring the first two games of the Elite Eight in order to read (or skim) the book.
My grandfather lived in Iran from 1972 until December 1976[1], he spent his first two years there with the United States Department of State, and upon his retirement he ran the Iran-America Cultural Society in Isfahan. Along with the Society was an American School – and by the time he left Isfahan in 1976 there were thousands of Americans there – many working for companies involved in weaponry. I had lent him the book, with some trepidation on my part, as there were things in it that I knew he would not like, as he worked for years for the American Government, and I also knew that he had been given recently many books about Iran but that he had not yet read one. In this case he started to read it, and maybe because it’s a well-written novel, he did not hide it on a shelf or forget about it as he often does. (Can you tell I come from a family of bibliophiles on both sides?) The book brought up memories of that era – and while he did not agree with all that the author wrote, he found it interesting and for the rest of the night told active stories about the time.
Sherpa, it turns out, whom I remember as a fun warm dog that was always around my grandparent’s place in Clearwater, was a second generation Tibetan Terrier, given to them by a friend in the corporate world who came to visit Isfahan. One night, the dog would not stop barking – waking up my grandparents – who called the police. Sherpa chased two people off the property – the police determined that they had scaled a steep fence to get in and out.
At the time, my grandparents wrote it off as robbery. Although they lived in Iran, they lived in a bubble, even though my grandfather through his security work at the embassy had close ties with the CIA. They worked with thousands of people who supported the west, or were American themselves. Youths turned out in droves to attend shows put on by the cultural center, including one where my grandfather put on a wig and played an American Jazz set (to this day my grandfather plays the piano, he put himself through college playing piano and trumpet throughout Northern New York and on cruise ships that took him to Europe and back in the 1930s – on one of these trips he took a detour into Germany where he was run out of the country for taking to many pictures of what the Nazi’s were doing there as they were, rightly, skeptical of his motives). After this set he went backstage, took off the wig, and returned to the audience to see other parts of the program – according to him, no one suspected that he had been the one playing.
After reading the book though, and of course the developments in Iran over the last 30 years he now questions if instead the two men were coming to his house to target him. At the time he was there, Isfahan did not have a formal American consulate – even though many Americans lived in the area. This was partly due to the quick growth of the American population – in 1969 according to him, only 16 Americans lived in the area, by 1976 there were thousands. There had been a consulate in the 50s, but due to the decline in population it no longer was needed. As the director of the society (which also had branches in Tehran and Washington which also ran schools), and a former high ranking embassy official, he was treated as the defacto formal American consulate, which may well have made him and his wife a target for some of the extremists rising at the time.
According to my grandfather, the CIA and others misjudged the power of the extremist. They were not focused on, or aware of the rise of the religious right in the country, and were focusing instead on threats from other regions – such as the Soviets. The House of the Mosque touches on these groups when the children of the family join the communist youth undergrounds both before and after the revolution.
Perhaps his biggest complaint with the book was the portrayal of the Shah as an American stooge. To his knowledge this was not the case. Even after the Shah was deposed and reinstated by the Americans, the Americans were not providing him weapons or running him through the CIA. All of this changed when Nixon came to power and the two brought over the weapons dealers who put factories for munitions in areas like Isfahan, but prior to that, from his first visit to Iran in 1963 until Nixon the Shah was independent, and he believed his CIA colleagues would not have been able to hide the truth if they were running the country. While there may have been a perception that the Shah was an American pigeon prior to that – my grandfather at least, denies it.
But he does it admit that the Shah did not help himself. First of all his extended family and a few ministers lived exceptionally opulently – my grandfather described one party he attended with free flowing liquor, hired prostitutes, and a scene that made his hair curl, with no hint that all of this was verboten in a Muslim nation. Additionally, the Shah could not delegate, and as such every decision, no matter how minor, went through him. There were piles of goods at port, as portages papers and releases could not be completed, and even the American Commissary suffered because of it.
At the same time, he felt that the Shah was attempting to do much good, some of which is highlighted in the book. The Shah alienated the ayatollahs and may have radicalized them through some of his modernization attempts. Part of his work – according to my grandfather – was to cut up some of the large landowners who were stifling economic growth, these changes threatened most the power families who controlled the religious institutions, and therefore many of the ayatollahs lost land and prestige due to these reforms. At the same time, the Shah set up scholarships sending thousands of Iranians to school in the West. They also attempted historic preservation and to strengthen cultural traditions while opening the world technology, acts which are alluded to the in book, through the work of Farah, the Shah’s wife who worked on the preservation of the town and cultural sites and opened the local cinema. According to the book, people emulated her, and women flocked to get her hairstyle even if no one noticed it due to the requirement of Chador.
My grandfather noticed some of this discrepancy between tradition and westernization when traveling from Tehran to other areas. In Tehran, people did not dress in Chador, but just 10 km outside they did. It went from secular to more traditional in minutes, with no warning, and perhaps, we should have paid attention to the areas outside more as they grew in power.
At one point while reading, my grandfather turned to me and asked if I had noted the story about going to Qom. I had, as it is a key section when the patriarch heads to a religious town, famous for training fundamentalist Imams, regarding the marriage of the daughter of the family. I had grown up hearing stories about my grandmother, and on one occasion my mother, being hidden in the car, lying down on the floor to cover any exposed blonde hairs as they drove through parts of Iran. The area they did this in was Qom, a place where my grandfather never stopped, but whose reputation was so poor that he sought to protect his family when driving through, which he frequently did while living in Isfahan.
Even so – he was so surrounded by a Western circle that he was not aware of the growing power of the town. He now assumes that the reputation it had then for being radical was correct, but he was blindsided by the power of the revolution, and did not know that so many had been caught up into a more tradition fervor.
His focus instead was on promoting Western culture and the cultural exchange. But, as he did so, people opened up to him and he learned many things he may not have wished to have known. For example, when meeting with the president of the Iranian Red Cross, who lived in Isfahan, in order to arrange for a venue for a jazz musician who was touring as part of he American Cultural exchange program, the man started telling him about family life. The Red Cross trained nurses for work throughout the country – but paid for the women in nursing school to spend their vacations on campus rather then returning home. Their brothers or other male family members for this was simple – sexually assaulted the reason when the family was reunited over breaks. It was unsafe, and the best way they knew to project the women form incest was to remove them from the family.
This, like the fact that 85% of Egyptian women are circumcised, was an open secret, but one, which was never discussed. Women, even upper class women, were subject to incest and abuse, and most likely still are. Prevention of this type of crime against humanity does not seem to have been high on the priorities of the Revolution, who first gained power, then sought and destroyed dissenters, and finally used the people as cannon fodder against Iraq.
In all, my grandfather and the author would agree – that this was waste of life, and that the regime seemed bent on destroying much that was good that was there. They may dispute some things that happened before – but would agree that a different past and future would have been much better for the Iranian people and the world. I, on the other hand, look forward to hearing more reminciances as/if he completes the book.
[1] I may have some of these dates and details off. I have asked my father and grandfather to review what I have written – and will update when they do so. In the meantime, know that I wrote all of this a few days after my grandfather told these pieces, and I did my best to recollect what he said.
Imagine this – you are sick, in a foreign country, confused as your ride to the tour bus does not appear to be present and it’s after midnight. Across from you, a man starts to speak, and for once you pay attention, rather then pretend to ignore a strange man speaking to you at night. He tells you about his work and his family, but then asks – what do you know, in America, about the treatment of my people?
What he actually asked was what was said in America about the treatment of Coptic Christians. Did we know that six were killed leaving church while celebrating Christmas? Did we know that violence was escalating against this minority that represents about 10% of the population but is often treated as a scapegoat? [1] I tried to reply politely but honestly, therefore Id did not want to say America ignores much of the rest of the world and I have not seen one news report on the killings around Coptic Christmas, so I relied on Obama and the Cairo speech. I recalled seeing a news story that Obama was putting pressure on Egypt to stop the persecution of Copts, but the man scoffed, much as a cynical American might – those are just words.
This was but one of many conversations, most of which were brief, I had (or overheard) in which people expressed frustration with the current political state in Egypt. (In many of these conversation, people also expressed frustration with the “crazy” behavior of Egyptians – the middle class treat the lower classes with disdain, but do not seem to offer fixes that might provide better lives or promote industry instead they complain often while acting just as “crazily””). Almost all of these conversations had a theme – things are screwed up here, and may get worse, and while we like Obama it not enough something needs to change. . I agree – and feel I have moral duty to stress some of the issues this man faces as Copt, and that the regime has brought to the region as while.
For example, both my guides in Aswan and Luxor went out of their way to discuss politics. The guide in Aswan, a good natured man who was sort of bumbling, asked me whom I voted for – in all elections I could vote. This lead to a short discussion on president Bush, but all was quickly curtailed by the British couple in the back seats, and exhaustion; before the conversation ended the guide turned to me and with an ironic smile informed me that “I voted for Mubarak.”
My other guide, in Luxor, brought up politics in a more round about way. As we sat in a café where he took me while observing I needed rest due to my asthma, he told me about his family and village. He was obviously a religious man, and was excited about getting married for the first time in May and having his wife, who arrived in his village in late February join him and his mother and brother in their house (each had a floor). He was describing to me how tolerant his village was, by explaining how many Western women lived there as wives to some of the men because, “we are all entitled to have fun when young.” These women are incorporated into the village, some forming long-term marriages with children and conversion – others only there for a few years, but all become part of the culture. His town also had a pair of German women living in it as artists – and many who work the land. Many have their own plots of land.
The people of his village benefit from being on the irrigation canals and near the Medina Habu and the Ramsessum, which provide preservation projects (they are moving one of the canals to prevent it going under the temples), excavation workers and tourists, but fortunately have thus far not been built upon. But he also pointed out to me what happens to those not as fortunate. In the more desert areas, between the Valley of the Kings and other archeological sites, many people had constructed houses and built up shops to attract the tourists. According to my guide some had been in these houses for many generations – possibly back to time immemorial people had lived on this desert and walked to the nearby canals for water and farming. Recently, the government determined, though archeologists, that the humans were harming potential excavation sites – thus all were forced to move (though a few Alabaster shops and some hold outs remain) and force d into a government village – which no one seems to like.
What was perhaps the most striking conversation I mostly overheard had to do with the tourism industry and the lack of trickle down effects or even preservation associated with it. The Egyptian in the conversation was bemoaning the expense of going to any of the major sites associated with Pharonic Egypt (although not exorbitant by our standards (most are under $30) they seem high while in Egypt and the sites do attract a fair number of visitors). He pointed out what poor shape the Egyptian Museum was in, how the Government Guards at any monument did not protect the antiquities (or stop harassment by solicitors) but instead just seemed to be there, often spending up to six months away from their families – being paid well to just stand, and according to him, have affairs. He then asked where the money was going if not to preservation or paying the poor guide type workers.
His only answer was the regime; to him the governmental officals seemed intent on lining their own pocket using the tourist collecting to do so. To add insult to injury – governmental officials proposed setting up a train near the pyramids taking people to the most popular panoramic setting (not the one we went to) and attempting to forbid the carriage and camel rides – thus putting many locals out of business, while further enriching themselves. His anger, like that of my guide in Luxor who was subtly pointing to the fact that men were staying with the Western Women for money, was almost palpable.
After listening to all of this – I had a few conversations with my host about the political situation – who pointed me to a book (Inside Egypt:” The land of the Pharaohs on the Brink of a Revolution by John Bradley), which I picked up and started while at the AUC library. This book – which had in tally been banned by the government – attempts to explore many different factions of Egyptian life including the frustration of Copts and Bedouins, the power of the Muslim Brotherhood (as well as the potential exploitation of the group, as the government skillfully uses fear of it to get the West to aid the regime, the rise of a more conservative Islam as more people become influenced by Saudi Arabia, and a sense that most Egyptians don’t fit in any of these categories but are moderate welcoming people with no outlets, frustration, and a sense that Mubarak and his regime have created a percent structure that they are powerless against. While I did not agree with all of his conclusions (for example I walked all over Luxor and never felt like I was walking through an area of male prostitutes for men or women – though my guide did touch on the women shacking up with men who use them for money), I did find the book insightful – and scary. He does not assert all hope for a moderate Egypt is gone – but he does lament the loss of the cultured Egypt lost with the rise of the military dictatorship, and while many of the people I met were open and welcoming – the beauty that used to be Cairo and the way the government has let the city and its monuments be treated speak to the truth of his claim. All that I really know after visiting, speaking with people, and thinking about it a while is that this s a complex culture one that wants to be vibrant and relevant but that’s own government is preventing a true flowering economically or culturally – and people are frustrated and searching. They act out against each other, Copts being attacked by Bedouins, Bedouins being persecuted and uprooted from traditional practices by a government who barely recognizes their humanity, people being brutally arrested and tortured and accepting it as part of a rough reality (that the United States has used to its advantaged in cases of Extraordinary Rendition to our shame), and yet they search for anything that gives them a chance – be it sloth, Islam, education or fleeing.
This is a country straddling modernity and the past. One where, despite recent laws to the contrary, a majority or women are still circumcised, but one that has tourists pouring in to explore its ancient and Biblical sites, and is exposed to Western ideology. Its past of inclusion, creating an area where Christians and Muslims lived together, Cairo was clean and beautiful and full of intellectuals, and a more mystical form of Sunni Islam was practiced is all but forgotten. Maybe if we stop treating the country as we wants to see it – a democratic partner in the war on extremism who is tolerant of Israel – but instead talks of Egypt as it is both good and bad (most of the 9/11 terrorists have ties to the country, and extreme Islam is gaining a strong foothold here, in contrast to the more open mystical version traditionally practiced in the country). While we encourages practices that will promote a real middle class and growth a future extremist state will not appear and Egypt will return to its more tolerant practices From what I saw of its people this is what they want – they want the US to not encourage the worst of Mubarak and the regime, but hope that Obama will shed light on the persecution and poor practices – allowing for host discussion and the potential for change without destroying what is left of the traditional openness of the culture., preserving a beautiful country, culture, and historical specimens for the future.
While wandering around a bookstore in Cairo bookstore – a brightly colored book with an intriguing title caught my eye. After reading the blurbs and summaries I was undecided, and as is often the case in situations like that I turned to the first page – and was immediately hooked. I can honestly say I loved this book – and that it deserves all the praise it has garnered. According to one poll conducted in 2007, it was voted the second best Danish book ever (for more on this – and an interview with the author see here and here) – a fact that is remarkable as it was published in 2005 and is written by a man who is not a native Danish speaker.
The book, entitled The House of the Mosque by Kader Abdolah, a 2010 British translation of the 2005 Dutch novel is not yet released in the United States in August as a paperback (though Amazon claims you can buy a Kindle copy now). For me, this is a book I want to own the real version of – one to posses and put on the shelf, not simply read and discard as you do on an e-reader. The cover is perfect, and I hope it is not changed when released stateside as it depicts the house and the family as we first meet them, alive and colorful filled with life.
By way of some minor background –this book is written by a man who escaped Iran after participating in underground political groups after the revolution and whose pen name honors two friends of his who lost their lives as a consequence of the Iranian Revolution. The book takes place in Iran in the decade leading up to the revolution, and then speeds up and presumably ending after the Iran Iraq war – but no specific date is given for the conclusion. Even so, the book is both political and not, it is historically accurate and not, it is filled with myth and fable while still being brutally almost cruelly honest when it comes to creating the confusion that comes with change, and it is descriptive and evocative of the characters and place and still eaves many things a mystery, leaving many details up to the imagination.
Like other epic books before it set in times of great historical drama (e.g. War and Peace, Les Miserables, A Tale of Two Cities) this book focuses on one large complicated family. Unlike them though it does not shy away from playing with language and themes – it is part historical novel, part fact, part fiction, and part fable. Yet the elements blend together creating an image of characters, though in some cases are not fully developed, that is alive and can live on in the reader’s mind outside the book.
The family is almost like royalty in the town of Senjen (a more rural town then is typically portrayed in books about modern Iran) for they are the historical custodians of the Friday Mosque as well as the most powerful merchant on the Carpet Bazaar. Given these facts and their successful international clients, the business patriarch controls much of the actions of the Bazaar, and therefore the town. This is a traditional town – one where the mosque has encouraged people not to have radios or televisions. The women are cloistered in the home and chador, but respected by the men of the family (though not always the men outside it) and while in many ways their lives are not the focus of the book, you do get glimpses of what it would be like here and there. The traditional nature of the family, and the patriarch, is reinforced in one of the opening scenes in which the young son of the family requests that the patriarch, Aqa Jaan, and iman buy a television to watch the moon landing because it is their duty to be aware of what is happening in the outside world. In many ways this is the story of how the outside world forced the family to become aware of the drastic changes in the area outside Senjen – and what changed (everything) and what did not (the house) due to the this intrusion.
Interestingly these changes, from a time of family and hope to one of gradual terror and then leading finally to a time of stability which is not like the past but has moments that reflect that era and hope for a better future, are reflected not just in plot points. The author (and translator) has a light touch, vividly describing a family and house, showing a life filled with magic, giving it a imaginative fictive quality that works well for the myth lover in me, and may not work for everyone, and is so reflective of the Persian culture. The book touches on poetry, 1001 Arabian Nights, the Koran (though verses are often rearranged to suit the needs of the author), and other forms of literary and cultural life in modern and ancient Persia, including Zoroastrian and religions that preceded it. The pride in the rich history of the area is evident throughout much of the book as well as a love for the beauty of gardens, carpets, and other traditional adornments of Iranian homes and land. The family is thus enveloped in a world that has a semi-mystical quality to it; the magic of the culture invigorates the family and as importantly the house with richness and speaks to the imaginative qualities of both author and reader.
Each chapter focuses on a different story – and though they all fit together to form a greater narrative told, which is apparently chronological, many of the stories also stand on their own. Although there is a central patriarch, Aqa Jann, many of the chapters focus on other members of the family, creating a sense of generational shifts, and to a lesser extent shifts in perspectives between genders. Many of the stories focus on the role of the men of the family, be it as patriarchal, religious, or rebellious. This family, who has controlled the mosque for the generations preceding the revolution takes their prominence seriously – the men study religion and become the iman of the mosque, or are groomed so as to run the carpets business. Those who do not do either seek to otherwise secularly reflect the culture – through poetry, writing, or documentary filmmaking.
As time goes on, the Shah becomes more restrictive and the country more outwardly Islamist, the prose becomes tauter, less poetic. The family, like most Iranians did not like the Shah and hoped that his overthrow would lead to change – some wished for more freedom, others wished for a more Islamist era, but all wished for change. Yet the when the revolution comes, the family, feels betrayed and lost, the patriarch stumbles and literally cries on the street as guards kill a crippled child, after which he and the family realize the totality of the change in their world.
By the time of the revolution, the family is no longer in true power, and wave of denouncements of neighbors and family members as being against the revolution begin giving rise to torture and killings. A wife of the family becomes the warden for the women’s prison and refuses to aid family members arrested, another member becomes a leader of the resistance movement, while an imam related to the family becomes, as mentioned before, a close aide-de-camp to Khomeini. This way gives a sense of the divisions that must have split many families and generations during this period. At this point, the prose becomes so sharp it evokes this sense of loss and confusion. This is especially true when compared with the looser style used initially. Yet this terror is necessary – the beauty of the earlier world being disrupted, the family pulled apart, and all seems lost. The house itself has been protected by the crows who live in the mosque’s minarets, yet as the revolution progress the crows leave and the mosque is removed from the family’s control – they are beaten by others and by members of the extended family until all seems lost except for the patriarch, his wife and the house.
Yet, the book ends on a few hopeful notes. For example there is an autobiographical letter written by one character to the patriarch reads like what the author himself would like to say. Other later scenes in the house and in the rural villages and gardens of Iran show the growth and revitalization of some who have survived but who have not given in to the extreme version of life that the regime dictated. The image of Aqa Jaan visiting his friend in the rural garden turned where members of the family, living and dead, find redemption and healing offers a strong conclusion, one that allows the past to be mourned, and allows for hope. These scenes give rise to a sense that all is not lost and that the beauty and cultural may revive. The author uses, exploits, and explains what he claims to be a Persian tradition of not ending the story – but instead taking leave of it, as the story may be over “but the crow still has not reached its nest”. Thus the fable continues in our life and imagination – the house goes on, the characters that are alive live, and we are free to imagine them changing and growing as life continues to change over time.
Sometimes books just work – the language, plot, and themes come together and speak to you. For me this is one of those books – I would hope it is for you too – but that is your call read it and decide that for yourself.
Rereading Walking the Bible: A Journey by Land Through the Five Books of Moses By Bruce Feiler. I was inspired to reread this book about an American Jewish’s man quest to retrace the first five books of the Bible with an Israeli Archeologist after visiting Egypt. I have long enjoyed his books – having read almost all of them – and I saw sights in Egypt that were attributed to Biblical history (for example we saw the well that is supposedly over the spot where Moses landed in his basket in Coptic Cairo and signs for a tree under which Joseph and Mary took shelter with the Baby Jesus while fleeing Herod). Having seen all that Ramses II built and remembering that he was mythological tied to Moses, I wanted to refresh myself on some of this work. It is well written and interesting for anyone interested in exploring the historical origins of the stories – as well as their spiritual truth. (Fielder revisits Egypt in some of his other works – notably Abraham and Where God Was Born).
The Alexandria Quartet – by Lawrence Durrell. I was recommended these by my mother. They focus on the city just after World War II before the military regime, and are supposed to well epitomize the city and culture of the country at that time.
Union Atlantic – by Adam Haslett. I picked this up at the Regulator and was immediately impressed by the reviews. I will give you an update when I know more – but it is supposed to be about the spiraling financial crisis. I have seen reviews that are outstanding – I am hoping it lives up to the hype.
I just finished The Fourth Star: Four Generals and The Epic Struggle for the Future of the United States Army by David Cloud and Greg Jaffe. This book describes the careers of Generals Abizaid, Casey, Chiarelli and Petraeus, none of whom were soldiers who fell in line easily – all in their own way set unique career paths and used the Army to explore interests, militarily and personally. As such, when they came to power they were, to varying extents, willing to bring their unique life experiences to the table. Sometimes this worked for them, sometimes it did not, and sometimes politics got in the way of them all – but it provides an interesting picture of the men who ran/run the Army today and I think should be read by people interested not just in the current and recent war policies but also those who think that the Army is monolithic and only creates one type of person who thinks in a box. While it is a bureaucracy, it is also filled with individuals, and this book presents a portrait of four of them. I really enjoyed this book and found it informative on many different levels.
Moby Dick by Melville – What can I say – it’s my white whale – literally.
Anna Karenina by Tolstoy - I started rereading this in Egypt and was struck again by the life in these characters.
As well as a pile of others that need to be started – if they are any good reviews will go up when done (think Postcards from a Dead Girl, and a bunch of plays by Oscar Wilde and Sophocles the sets of which I have not read in years) as well as one that I am not in love with and keep trying to finish as so many others seem to love them…Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand and The Elegance of the Hedgehog – neither of which I am that interested in after giving them a decent shot.
Last week, I was fortunate to see the national tour of Spring Awakening at DPAC. I went knowing only that it was about teenage sexual awakening in Germany in the 1890s, the music was pop rock by Duncan Sheik, and that it won the Tony for best new musical in 2007 – and started the career of two cast members on Glee. I was honestly therefore not expecting much – figuring it won the Tony for taking on controversial subject matter and being provocative. I was wrong – it was wonderful.
I loved the set; it was so simple – audience seats on either side of the stage (with characters mingled in with the audience) and a walled background that could be from café of this era. But the lighting would highlight a specific item on the wall to emphasize the theme of the scene – be it a painting of a coffin for a funeral, or a horse running when a girl expresses a desire to be free and feel. A band sits on stage and performs, but otherwise any other set changes needs – such as seats, are brought by the characters on for the scene and then danced off.
I enjoyed the music so much I bought the soundtrack. Although completely anachronistic to the time, it captured the anger and energy of being a teenager and confused about yourself, hiding things form yourself and your family all the while being confused about everything – but thinking you knows it all. (That being said, I did find the song about incest a bit much). I also loved that the music played more as inner monologue then not – emphasized by the singing into wireless microphones, that looked useless and like and a toy from the 1980s. Very rarely if at all did a ballad truly felt like it was being song to another character. Even the group pieces played as if group thought rather then show advancement as is more typical.
I honestly sat there captivated by the entire production – the actors were honest and believable, the script worked for me, and I felt moved. Recently, I have seen or re-seen quite a few shows – but this was the first time in years I really could not find something to complain about, and it was not a simple musical that was pure froth (like say Mama Mia) or epic in scope (the Color Purple/Phantom of the Opera). It made me think about life, teenagers, history (I started considering how this culture just a few years later had WWI on its hands followed by the decadence of the Weimer era and then fascism – this was a culture one generation away from massive change from within and two from change being forced upon it by world condemnation). The producers and directors wanted you to explore this – and all so to see parallels to today (abstinence only education, fears of abortion, not fully exploring sex in education) without only a somewhat preachy analogy – instead they mostly let the plot work for itself. The audience can relate to or often is a teenager and they can simply relate to the somewhat stock characters and make the jumps on their own. The director and producers have let the universality of these debates speak for themselves – all through the lens of parental oppression (for both good and ill – though mostly ill here)- for the benefit of the production overall.
All in all I thoroughly enjoyed it – and understood why it won the Tony, why it was compared to Rent (though I think it may have more staying power as Rent may date itself, and it may become more about that time place, and generation then about the universality of the themes). There were a lot of young people in the audience – more then normal – and I could see this appealing to the Holden Caulfield in them (even though I am not a Catcher fan). At the same time the nudity and acted masturbation, did not offend the elderly members sitting near me – nor did the gay kiss (although to be fair the audience was pre-warned about all of these mature acts).
I enjoyed it so much – that I went to find an English Translation of the original play. Finding one by the contemporary author Jonathan Franzem (who I often find is provocative just to be so), I bought it, only to find out he blasted the musical as insipid and that it destroyed all the humor of the play. I found myself wondering if he saw the same musical I did – yes some things were different – and some themes slightly changed (there is a rape in the play and no incest really) from the original play – but much remained the same, and script could work, in my mind, either as he claimed or as the producers. (Additionally, it is an adaptation for contemporary audiences and playing with slightly different themes then the 1890s verison and for good reason – its a different time – if the play were acted today I am sure directors would make changes for a contemporary audience as they do when performing Shakespeare or Oscar Wilde, where some scenes, lines and characters are played more vibrantly to appeal to modernity). To me – that is the magic of scripts – they lay a foundation, but in the hands of a good director a scene can go two different ways. For example, as in both the play and the musical – a girl may ask to be beaten in both. In one it may be clear that she is masochistic, in the other she simple is numb and wants to experience something – the script can set up both interpretations (as it does here) and a director can choose how to go. In this case, I found the choice of the director completely relatable for our age, and the ones advocated by Franzen less moving. That may be my taste –, one, which I look forward to having a director change one day by doing a completely novel reinterpretation of the play, or musical, that challenges all my current assumptions.
In the meantime – I encourage you to see Spring Awakening – the kids on the tour right now are young (24 and under) but acting their hearts out, many of them in their first professional role. It really is a show that stuck with me – and will hopefully stick with you as well!
After leaving Luxor Temple, it was time to return to Cairo – a fact I was honestly dreading for health reasons. Yet, in some ways my favorite day of the trip was still to come.
The next day, my friend and I woke up determined to explore Islamic Cairo, and if time the Citadel (we did not make it this far). On paper this sounded simple – getting a ride to the gates to the Fatimid district – and walking down the Palace Walk through an area filled with medieval architecture, mosques, madras, and houses that is mostly walled in and closed to cars. After which you hit the main market areas, cross over into the Kahn – Al – Kalhkai (or more touristy Bazaar) and then again explore the tent makers market on the way stopping at my friend’s favorite shops and mosques as we headed to the citadel. In actuality, we found new buildings to explore that neither of us had ever seen before and became so sidetracked by my friends dealers that we did not make it to the more traditional tourist stops – a trade which I think is well worth it.
After yet another nerve wrenching taxi ride, we entered through the Bab Al-Futuh Gate, which was built in 1087 and entered a mosque adjacent to right after entering. The mosque was simple and peaceful, and after depositing our shoes and covering our heads, we rested in the courtyard while planning our next move.
We headed through the medieval street- just wide enough for a car and donkey cart, filled with merchants selling all wares from everyday teapots and goods to touristy brass shaped like a pharaoh filled with people going about their life and children getting treats as they left for home (apparently it is very fun to try to speak English to Americans and they run up and shout hello or tell you there name and ask you yours). We reached our first destination Bayt al-Suhaymi “the Blue House”, which was an Ottoman Merchant’s house built mostly during the 16th and 17th Century.
First Interior Courtyard Bayt al-Suhaymi "the Blue House"
Exterior Screened Windows - Bayt al-Suhaymi "the Blue House" - women could stand and open the nooks (as seen here) and not be viewed by public
The state purchased the house a few decades ago – and it is been restored well, and is the only one of its kind open to the public. There are multiple interior courtyards, intricately detailed wood screens covering windows from which a woman could be observed on the street, but which allow her to peek out unobserved and allow fresh cool air to filter through out the house, intricate inlay and rooms whose paneling and detailing can only go to show that the house was designed to impress other merchants. At the same time, there is shrine in the interior courtyard, and the master bedroom and bath, which are lit only by colored glass in the ceiling making the rooms, look like fairy castles. Similarly, the family dining area is decked out in blue tiles from Turkey, and is breathtakingly gorgeous, and lends the house the nickname the blue house.
View from 2nd floor into rear couryard Bayt al-Suhaymi "the Blue House".
Cofee set in front of sitting area
The house is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been in my life – even without much of the furniture. Some of the first floor rooms, which I presume were used for familial purposes as well as to impress other traders, had people meditating in them; another room with red, blue and gold wood inlay panels on all of the walls clearly is where pious members of the staff chose to pray. Even the rooms with out paneling, but with screened wooden windows and stained glass panels on the high walls above them became filled with interesting light and shadow patterns bringing the room to life. The only downside were the stairs – uniformly dark and narrow, often up against rooms that were two stories with light coming in from ceiling cupolas and the windows.
Door, the blue room that gives the house its name. The blue tiles come from Turkey. Bayt al-Suhaymi "the Blue House"
One side of fireplace/cubbyholes. The blue room in Bayt al-Suhaymi "the Blue House"
Shoes and water vessel in the blueroom cubbys
After leaving there we continued down the Palace Walk (Shari’ el-Muizz) towards the Markets, stopping into a craft booth, where I bought an amazing candle shade in the shape of a person – which was sadly destroyed when I knocked off a table while unpacking. After avoiding a merchant proudly displaying an image of Obama as the new Tutankhamen of the world, we wandered into the Sultan Qala’un Complex.
Exterior from the Palace Walk of the Sultan Qala’un C
Looking up the Palace Walk from the Exterior from the Palace Walk of the Sultan Qala’un Complex Madrassa entrance
This is a large complex, not all of which remains – but we saw the Madrassa, the Mosque and Mausoleum and the exterior of the hospital. The doors to the Madrassa had never before been open when my friend was there – and we were both impressed with the intricacy of the mosque section and the beautiful inlaid room where the theological teaching occurred. This room was dark – lit only by stained glass – and had an elevated center for the teacher – but was cool and you could easily imagine a group of boys studying there. When your eyes adjusted, the paneling and woodwork along the high walls was reveled, giving a whole new dimension to the room.
Mosque inside the Madrassa - Sultan Qala’un Complex
Madrassa room - Sultan Qala’un Complex
The mosque and madrassa were entered through a separate gate down a hallway lit by candles. The Mosque is on the left, and the interior orientation is not identical to the exterior – inside the walls are thickened in areas so that the interior orients towards Mecca rather than the street. The Mausoleum itself is breathtaking. Every panel, every speck of wall and ceiling is decorated. There is wood, inlay, intricate carving, different paint patterns, and decoration made out of words repeated into geometric patterns made out of lanterns. The room is both somber and uplifting – with your eye constantly drawn both to the black sarcophagus elevated (and fended in) in the center and the height of the room – as if the sprit of the body was being pulled upwards toward the heavens in a room designed to honor both the man and his God. The décor is so intricate and the space so detailed, that it was next to impossible for my brain to take it – or my camera to capture – but it was one of the more spectacular interiors I have seen.
The attached mosque was more subtle but still intricate. Its outdoor courtyard and fountain were calming, and the marble and patterns where the Inman would be were decorative, rich, and yet simple (epically compared with the mausoleum) allowing the focus to be more on the holy nature of the work. Inside the courtyard was a brick – with the date of construction artfully inscribed on it – causing my friend to remark on how this one of the things she loved about the culture that words could be portrayed so artfully as to give them multiple meanings and cause you to rethink them.
IMausoleum - Sultan Qala’un Complex - these pictures really don't capture it.
Interior Mausoleum - Sultan Qala’un Complex - these pictures really don't capture it.
After leaving the mosque we headed toward the Kahn, but before getting there, were greeted, enthusiastically by my host’s favorite dealer at the bazaar – Mustafa the antiques king of the street. His shop was overloaded with goods brought from traders who go to houses to buy their pieces, and honestly I think he could gladly find you anything. In his possession ranged good from ink boxes of Sultans to Buddha’s and tin signs for coca-cola. Yet if you looked closely there were remarkable treasures to find, and he happily provided us a three-course lunch of soup, vegetable and a Bedouin chicken over rice right there in his booth while we looked. I loved the soup made with a green herb, the lentil and pasta, and other foods, it was probably as close to authentic Egyptian as you get (if you don’t count the koshary we ate at the legal aid center where my host helps Iraqi refugees).
Allah - the word makes up the geometric pattern decorating this wall. Interior Mausoleum of Sultan Qala’un -
Mosque lectern from courtyard - Mausoleum and Mosque of Sultan Qala’un Complex
After spending what must have been three hours in his booth and purchasing a variety of pieces, we crossed through the Kahn stopping in spice markets and perfume stalls and avoided the touristy hagglers to go over to the tent makers market. There we found a woman my friend knows who sell head scarves, of good quality but much cheaper then found in the upscale hotels. She, a trained lawyer who like many other lawyers cannot make her living in law as the system is currently set up in Egypt, and her father served us hibiscus tea while we tried on a variety of scarves. After collection our possessions – we headed back through the Kahn and over towards the Sultan Qala’un Complex, and the whole area was light by orange, green, red and blue lights – both accentuating the architecture and replicating in large the light through stained glass lanterns. It was totally different then when seen by daylight, and emphasized the planning that went ot the creation of these medieval buildings, while imbuing them with a life of their own not seen even at the busiest parts of the day.
Close up of Mosque behind the screen - Mausoleum and Mosque Sultan Qala’un Complex -
Antiques Booth
The next day can only be described as a day of almost but not quite. For states we headed to American University in Cairo – where my friend needed to do some enrollment work. This is a new campus set outside the main city by about 30 minutes, and all of the buildings are modernist plays on traditional Islamic architecture. As such it a fascinating place to look around –which was fortunate as my host was getting the run around. I looked around, and explored the library – where I picked up a cookbook (shocking right), a book on politics in Egypt which I found fascinating, and a book, just released in England but I have not seen here yet, told by an Iranian refugee in the Netherlands who writes of one extended family during the period leading up the Iranian Revolution – infusing the story with elements of the Koran and Persian Fairytales that make it fascinating and hard to put down even if in places it reads a s series of short stories. After this excursion we headed to Cairo – to pick up our supplies from the market (and some last minute gifts for my family). We hoped to make a church service at my host’s ex-pat church, and then head to an American style Diner before I headed out on my plane. Instead- shocker of shockers -between a traffic jam before the market and torrential downpours when we arrived – we missed church and wound up at the diner instead.
After the diner – we headed through the puddles (Cairo has no storm drains, causing the water to just stand) to the subway where we got a ride back to her place. After a hurried shower and packing, I caught a cab to the airport – but a ride that should have been ½ hour took over two due to traffic jams caused by the puddles left by the earlier downpours. Fortunately- my entire plane was so delayed, so instead of leaving at midnight we left closer to 2:30 am. Thank you Delta. But of course we landed at JFK – after my connection had left, in the middle of blizzard in New York. My brain – still suffering form bronchitis, could not handle it when Delta informed me that the earliest I would likely get out was Sunday – so I plodded myself to a new terminal, where a nice agent rebooked me. I was one of the first six flights out of JFK that day, and after a two hour delay in Atlanta looking for flight attendant to take our flight, Delta got me home (I am still so thankful for this I cannot tell you) about – I was in my house at 10 pm, over 33 hours after I had started traveling, and I finally let may bronchitis take hold – not moving for most of the rest of the week. Focusing instead on getting well (as I am still doing) and reading the above mentioned books.
Sultan Qala’un Complex -at night. The hospital is on the right, the Mausoleum under the dome, and the Madrassa under the minaret. (I believe).
Entrance to Mosque and Mausoleum - Sultan Qala’un Complex -at night. The Mausoleum is on the right side the Mosque on the left at the end of the hallway entrance.
After the Egyptian Museum, my asthma related bronchitis was causing me to fear that I may discover the inside of an Egyptian hospital – fortunately we had planned to get out of town and hitting Upper Egypt (i.e. heading south down the Nile), where the air is much cleaner. Almost immediately – I began to slowly improve, though to be honest yesterday (two weeks later) was the first day I have felt anything close to normal – and I am still coughing and low on energy and not nearly recovered fully.
Our first stop was Aswan, where we stayed on Elephantine Island, and after a disastrous screw up at the Hotel; I headed out to Abu Simbel at 12:30 Am. Essentially the hotel had told us we could book my tour when we arrived that night and then had now possible way for me to do that. Nor did they inform us that due the “festival of the Sun” I would have to leave at 12:30 Am as opposed to the normal departure time of 4 am. After some struggling it worked out – with my friend wrangling us free dinner and good service for the rest of our trip while I overpaid but got a position on a tour – as the third person meaning I had very personalized service. Like many other thing on the trip – after a frustrating beginning, it worked out well!
Abu Simbel is a composed of two mortuary temples – one of Ramses II and one dedicated it to his favorite wife Nefatari, which is remarkable in and of it self as few women had their own temples, and even fewer were depicted as the equal of the Pharaoh which Nefetari was. The temples were almost destroyed when Egypt dammed the Nile near Aswan – a high dam which according to my guide produces enough electricity a day to power the whole country and saved the country from floods, famine and Crocodiles. In order to save the temple complex and the other Nubian temples, they were moved by UNESCO to higher ground – an engineering feat in and of itself, where today they stand approximately 70km from Sudan.
Abu Simbel - first sings of dawn
Abu Simbel - just before sunrise
After a long drive through the Sinai at night – we arrived at Abu Simbel in the dark. For two hours I stood and watched the light change as the sun began to prepare to rise and the monuments began to be illuminated by the pink light of dawn. I was pushed and prodded by more locals and Indian and Asian tourists, who were only there for the festival, while those there for the day waited patiently in line. We were all hoping to see the sunrise – as we were fortunate enough to be there on February 22. On that day, as well as October 22, the sunrise goes directly through the temple into the inner sanctum, illuminating three of the four gods depicted there (the fourth was the god of Darkness, Path, the other three figures are Horus, a deified Ramses and Amun-Ra (also called Amen)).
Festival Particpant just after sunrise
Rameses II as Osris inside his temple at sunrise.
At sunrise, the festival started in earnest. In front of the temple Nubian dancers performed, while in front of Nefatari’s temple what appeared to be Sufi Dancer paraded. In the mean time, guards moved the crowd through at breakneck pace so that all of us, from 70+ tour buses could see the effect. Although I can honestly say that I have never been more pushed and prodded in my life, and I feared I was about to be run over by three different Hindu women, the inside of the temple fascinated me and the light striking the faces was something breathtaking. After the crowds left, I was able to spend an hour exploring both temples – which were mostly deserted as most people fled after the sun effects were done, and the amount of detail preserved in the Stila, Ossirum, and offertory rooms is breathtaking. The hallways have most of their paint, and every surface is carved and painted, from the ceilings to the walls. It was awe inspiring to see, and impressive to think they were created with primitive tools thousands of years ago – and then moved more recently. Unfortunately, I was not allowed to take pictures inside the temples – but I did sneak a few which are in the album.
Entry way to great temple as seen from inside Ossirum at Sunrise
Nefaria Flanked by Ramses II at her Mortauray temple
After sleeping back through the Sinai, and political discussions with a British couple and our guide– we arrived back in Aswan. After sleeping and lunch on the Nile, my friend and I rented a Felucca and cruised around Elephantine Island. I cannot describe how wonderful this was. I was sick, tired, and cranky, my friend was also exhausted and wanted to get work done. On the boat – we could relax, look at birds, see ruins, explore the city, and learn. It was reinvigorating and fascinating – and our guide, who has four children and takes pride in educating all of them even the girls (again) truly seemed to love the water and the boat –even if his life was hard. He offered to take us on a trip via a larger Felucca to Luxor – a trip that if I had had more time may have been worth very penny. This trip reminded me of being on a pontoon boat or catamaran – but there was next to no wind or waves, and it was just relaxing, and a pleasing way to observe life on the Nile hundreds of years ago and how villagers use it today. That said – picking our captain was aided by the fact that my friend lives in Cairo and is close to fluent – speaking the language helped us avoid touts and other ways of being taken, and I am not sure that picking someone off the street this ways is a great idea for those who don’t speak any Arabic to do without input from someone reputable.
Egret
Cows being led up hill outskirts of Aswan
Faluccas on Nile around Elephantine Island outskirts Aswan
After this relaxing trip – we fled to make our train. I went on to Luxor while my friend went home, as I had prearranged a hotel and a tour for the following day. The hotel was a charming bed and breakfast, Mara House, which honestly was one of the most special guest houses I have ever stayed in you felt pampered while staying as a guest in suites decorated in rooms with luxurious canopied beds, inlaid tables, and other touches that made it felt charming and perfect. After my first restful sleep in days, I woke, and felt almost like I could breathe.
My private guide met me, and we drove across the Nile through the green fields and farms that surround the West Bank- until we reached the Valley of the Kings. While there, I toured three tombs, on a day that was near 100 degrees in the desert sun. The three tombs I saw were in different stages of completion – one was mobbed and very detailed with antechambers and exemplary paintings paving the way through the afterlife, the coloring was outstanding. One had a sketched room filled with miniature versions of 763 + gods, and an intricate and overwhelming sarcophagus with golden figures carved into the sides, top and bottom (as shown to me by a helpful attendant in the room) in a room showing the pharaoh and his mother and wife traveling into death, the third had intricate carvings and was midway in completion between the two – with an incredible depiction of the mythological dawn of the universes.
After leaving the Valley, we went to Hapetshut’s Temple, a true architectural wonder – but much of the décor has been destroyed over time. Very few of the images remain, in carving or painting, but those that do remain are huge and disarming. The first level tells of Hapetshut’s divine birth, the second shows images of festivals at the temple, and the third level had the inner sanctum, with images of Hapetshut, in the guise of man, dressed as Osiris, leading to the holy area. In this section, remenats of Coptic Crosses can be found, and guides work hard to show images of Hapetshut honoring the guise in her female form, and other small details that may easily be overlooked. But it was after we left that I was most impressed.
Horus God of Justice Flanking the Entrance to Haptsheut's Mortuary Temple
Pharoah Hapesthut as a man and the God Osris thrid leve, her temlpe
My guide took us to Medina Habu – the mortuary temple of Ramses III, which is remarkably intact. You walk through pylons displaying his victory in wary, and images of Pharaoh trampling his enemies and slaves, walk through the viewing area, and the Osmium where he displayed his devotion to the Gods and showed his glory through history. Later, this temple was used by Coptic Christians whose smoked destroyed much of the decor, but what even without the paint it is breathtaking – and unlike much of the area devoid of tourists. The imagery shows Ramses III proving his victory by displaying the hands of his victims, when this was not believed he displayed their tongues, but still the people thought he could be showing Egyptian tongues, so finally he cut off the genitals and presented them. As they were uncircumcised, the people believed the Egyptians had won the war. Even though this was close to the era when Egypt came under the rule of Grecian Pharaohs, this temple looks almost Syrian or Babylonian in influence and very different then the hiegrolphyed exteriors of Luxor Temple and Abu Simbel.
Entry gate Medinet Habut
Pylons proclaiming heroic victory Medianet Habu
Goddess of War - Medianet Habu
After this tour, my guide walked me through the village. As he lived in that town – sharing his house with his mother and brother and soon his wife, he was able to explain a lot about village life. Much of it remains the same, with people working hard and farming from sunrise until well after 10 pm when the wife can finally relax, but others are in temporary marriages with western women for fun for a few years and the village treats them as locals.
Following this I went to the Luxor Museum, which in contrast to the Egyptian Museum, is tiny but beautifully organized and labeled. Its first room is field with immaculate states that the ancient Egyptians buried when they were no longer used and thus have been protected for thousands of years and are immaculate. Others are local to the area and depict slaves, daily life, architects tools and war. From the museum I walked down the Nile at Sunset, ignoring the calls for Felucca or carriage rides and enjoyed being able to move freely and the beauty surrounding me. I culminated the day with a breathtaking walk through Luxor Temple as the sunset – and at night while illuminated. It gave a perspective on the architecture the work – and allowed it to seem alive, and vibrant. The temple is in the middle of the city – and was actually covered by sand with a village on top – most of which has been removed, except for the mosque which hosts a local religious leader’s remains and houses a huge Sufi style festival yearly. The lights on the sphinx walkway, statutes, and carving interplaying with the city were remarkable – and the local men who worked there were happy to show sites you might otherwise overlook. Watching the sunset over the water and the pylons was unique – reminding me of both Florida and the span of history at the same time.
For me, the trip can be divided into three parts, each of which offered different things. The first, as I have already described, was a visit to Coptic Cairo. The second became a journey into the land of hieroglyphs and pharaohs, and the third was a visit to the mosques and markets of Islamic Cairo. What follows is a description of the first 1/2 of the second phase of the trip – sometime, in the near future, I will post more about what I saw on all three phases involving local and international politics in this land.
The Sun through the Cairo Haze and Dust
View of Citadel from Al-Azhar park
After visiting Coptic Cairo, and enjoying a lovely dinner (or late lunch) in a park overlooking a hazy vision of the Citadel of Saladin, I was exhausted, and my lungs were failing. I passed out in my friend’s room, an interior room that was protected from hearing the call to prayer at 5am and from early morning light, and woke up feeling like death, even after downing children’s cough syrup with psuedafed the night before. After a trip to the pharmacy, where I was forced to accept cough syrup and antibiotics, we headed out to Giza.
To get to the pyramids, we took a cab. I had already realized that Egyptian drivers do not believe in lanes, speed limits,lights, signals, and have no qualms about stopping and reversing on the road without warning when they miss an exit or turn. And that was just on the cab ride from the airport. I also knew that they used the horns as blinkers and warning devices to ensure that they could pass in between cars so with what felt like less than an inch of space between them, lights, similarly only need to be used to warn others – and should not be lit at all times. I also knew, from dinner my first night that cab drivers could be jovial and liked to joke and show off their limited English. Even so – this cab driver to the pyramids was exceptional. He tried twice to corral us into using friends of his for camel or horse and buggy rides around the pyramids – once forcing my friend onto the phone with his friend, another time driving past the ticket entrance so we could meet his friends in person. He insisted on playing lets learn the language game with my friend. I was at this point feeling to awful to participate in any games so I sat there silently. At the same time, he obviously liked having two cute Americans in the car, and pictured himself a baller – with his cab being pimped out with Henezy bottles (spelling in the original) stuffed animals, a tiger paw sticker, and, it may be my imagination, fake gold, that glittered an said “bling.” It was quite awesome.
In any case we finally reached the pyramids – and through the haze on one side, and the clear on the other, I was overwhelmed at the mammoth size. After our second Asthma break, and numerous requests for rides, we found a camel merchant we liked.
Our guide was a 42-year-old “modern Bedouin” who works for himself, unlike many of the operators who work for companies. He owns two camels, Charlie Brown and Mickey Mouse, who live in his house with him, his wife, and four children, the youngest is a girl who is his princess and he takes pride in educating her and his three sons. He also has sent his mother to Mecca twice. He has decorated his camel bags, one saying Mickee Mase, in honor of Mickey, and he is so popular that his and Charlie Brown’s picture has made the New York times. He is Bedouin, and happy to take guests on treks on camels through the desert, using packs and cooking over a fire, but he is modern and on facebook as well as email with guests from all over the world corresponding with him and sending him pictures. (Unfortunately, my friend kept his email – but I would like to send him the picture). He bought his camel Charlie Brown at Birqash, a camel market in a village northwest of Cairo and the most famous in the country – but today Camels are going for two – ten thousand dollars, a steeper price then when Charlie Brown was bought as Camel meat has become a favorite for eating in the region.
My Host with the pyramids, the camels Mickey Mouse and Charlie Brown and our guides in the background
He kindly picked us up at the second pyramid, and after some negation, and being jerked in every direction as the camels arose, we were off. He took us up to a spot to see the three pyramids in a line, and then over to his secret spot – where he and his friend/assistant lit a fire and made us a mint tea. While there his uncle joined us, his father, unfortunately rests in the nearby Muslim cemetery. The tea was amazingly fresh and good, and the fire was relaxing – even in near 90-degree heat in the desert. The tea was cooked over an open fire, with Samira heating water and using that to clean out our cups, but it felt comfortable, and I can easily imagine going with friends a camel trip of a few days using a spare camel to pack tents and food goods. Our new friend invited us to dinner at his house to watch the light show, where we would presumably smoke shisha with him as well, and shared much of his philosophy on the government and tourism (which I will discuss later) but, at this point my death asthma ratcheted up and, our guide, who had already warped my head out of concern that the sun was increasing my sickness sprinted us down to the Sphinx.
The line of pyramids
After observing the Sphinx through the fence, I felt too out of it to go in, we sat down for a drink at a restaurant across the street. Meaning only to get water and a coke, the owner took interest in my friend. The next thing I knew I was sent over cinnamon tea, which is great for coughs, and a neon green tonic of the owner’s invention that honestly worked for a short time. While I was being fixed up – my friend was given a tour of the property. The owner, who lived for a while in England and has to be in his sixties, desires to throw her a birthday party there on the property his family has owned for generations – the block across the street form the Sphinx. He has all three stories, and leases land to pizza hut and the like – but sits all day in his shop smoking shissha and watching the Koran being read on tv. He asked me to stay out of air-conditioning and sent us home, where I promptly passed out until dinner, and then again immediately afterwards.
Sphinx at the Great Pyramid
The next day, I toured the Egyptian Museum by myself. This museum needs some reorganization and care – it is mostly unlabelled, cluttered, and the patrons often touch the antiquities – and still it is overwhelming. The shear amount of history contained in the walls is breathtaking. Currently USAID is working with the museum to digitize its collection and undergo an inventory – I hope that modern curatorial techniques will also be used so that all items will be labeled and the museum will know that it does not have to display every object in its possession but can store and protect some as well. I was particularly impressed with some of the colossal statues in the possession of the museum, the preserved boats, and the mummified crocodile. I would love to go back – one day when they have store with a catalogue so that I can remember all that I saw.
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Courtney Brown | Create Your Badge
Anyone want to get together tomorrow for drinks? 4 hrs ago
Love that @morningmika having discussion on threat to democracy caused by ignorance (in general & in foreign policy as we vote for policies) 2 days ago
second day in row up at 4 - and not for work. just insomnia. joy. at least tomorrow is short. 2 days ago
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