At Night, They Dance

At Night, They Dance from Les films du tricycle on Vimeo.

This documentary depicts the life of Reda and her family. She is a beautiful woman, with amazing, outstanding eyes, though it is quite clear life hasn’t been lenient with her.
For generations, belly dance has been the profession for the females in her family, from mother to daughter. Funnily enough, it is not quite clear what the men do: there is none, with the exception of a little naked toddler… Whoever cannot dance (anymore), makes costumes or acts as a mediator. Reda jokes how her daughter Amira, a sulky, capricious belly dancer whose drug problem is largely ignored in the documentary, came into this world dancing!
Reda’s life is not an easy one. Her flat looks barren and shabby. Nevertheless, it is always full of life, with women playing the leading part in whatever is taking place. If men visit Reda, it is as if they have a private audience with the queen. She’s a tough woman, tried and tested by life. Not easy on her loved ones, though she is there for them in times of trouble. When Amira finds herself in trouble for not showing up for a performance at a wedding, Reda knows how to save the day. Mainly by talking: she surely does have the gift of the gab.
The way in which communicate in this movie is quite fierce to begin with. At the beginning of the movie, there’s a scene in which the women argue. Their use of language is at least to say florid, though not of the kind suitable for sensitive ears! Reda and another woman, either her mother or an older sister, have an argument for an unknown reason. They don’t go easy on each other: “You shriek like a whore”. Ironically enough, they criticize one another for their religion: “You do the pilgrimage and you rent costumes”.
The lives of Reda’s offspring aren’t always a bed of roses either. Amira seems shallow and frivolous, fifteen years old Hind abandoned her mother to live with her father and is arrested by the end of the movie because she’s a dancer. She’s locked up at a police station for days in a row with nobody to pay her bail. Her mother is clearly desperate for not having any money to have her released in spite of their quarrel. The father can’t or won’t pay for unknown reason and at the end of the story it’s an admirer who pays. Somewhat disturbing is the scene in which a girl with a wig identical to Amara’s receives instruction from Reda to dance in a more seductive way… When she turns around, it appears to be one of the younger daughters; she can’t be older than ten..
The last scene of the movie is moving. Reda is standing on her balcony, and standing behind her it’s clear to see she’s crying. Not for the first time during the whole of the movie, but definitely the first time she comes across as sincere!
The documentary was inspired by Karin van de Nieuwkerk’s book “A trade like any other” on Cairo entertainment industry around Muhamed Ali Street. She already stated in her book, based on her thesis written in the mid-nineties, that whilst for men this business is simply a way to make a living, women are regarded as bad and dishonourable.
No wonder Reda’s crying, with her daughter being held…

End Of An Era

How do you get to realize you're not as young as you used to be? Because you suddenly come to notice the world has somehow changed and you didn't even see it till it's a fact!

Yesterday I used up my last Strippenkaart. Admitted, we've been using chip cards in Dutch public transport for a while now. But I hadn't worn my black leather coat for some years and found one in its pocket. And since I'm Dutch after all, I wanted to use it up.
Rotterdam was first at abandoning the Strippenkaart. In 2008 it was impossible to use the subway without a chip card, the then new system. At the time, I still lived in Egypt and was flabbergasted. How am I to use the metro? Do I want to purchase a piece of plastic I am not going to use for another year? What, I HAVE to? I was literally a stranger in my "own" country!
That hurt more than the fact that those introductions of a new system also impose a price increase on the consumer. I did the math! The last Strippencards (the ones with 15 strips) are 7,70 euro, which brings me to a fee of a bit over a euro traveling within one zone. The price system for the tram is not as transparent, but the ride from my home to the train station usually costs me 1,20 euro. Provided I get in and do not change on my way. Whereas I could use my Strippenkaart for a ride within a zone for a specific amount of time(1 hour), with the chip card I have to check out before leaving the vehicle and checking in again after changing. All over, that means a considerable price difference.
Also, and that is what is the killer for most people, you have to REMEMBER to check out. A friendly mechanic voice will kindly remember you to do so but we all know what we're like after a long day of hard labour: absent minded. Unfortunately absent mindedness is expensive. If you forget to check out your card, the automatical fee for a trip is four euro. Ouch! Talk about hurt.

But let's go back a while. When I was a little toddler going shopping with my gran, she bought tickets from the bus driver. She payed him with cash and no one thought anything of it! She didn't even have to pay a special price (strippenkaarten bought from the driver are considerably more expensive). I was barely allowed to travel by myself, when my mom gave me my first strippenkaart. She always grumbled when I forgot to empty my pockets before chucking my trousers in the laundry. No more of that either. Plastic cards are kept in wallets these days. Bye bye strippenkaart!

Bibi Express

I've been thinking about blogging a lot lately. You see, I love doing it. When I first started, back in Bali, it was constantly on my mind. Wondering this, that or the other would be something to blog about. How I would put things. Blogging itself came out of a need to write in general, which has always been latent. So back in Bali I had something I had never had since I was a teenager: time!
So upon my return in the Netherlands I didn't have that much time anymore but I missed writing, I did and that is when I started this blog. I said to myself: Life may be less exciting but that doesn't mean it is boring!! I used my summer holiday to make a start and it made me happy..
Back to work and writing played less than a supporting role in my life. Too tired, every single day. What little did I know I actually had a health condition to blame for my fatigue!
But there we are: a weekend of peace and quite and I can feel the writing itches inside me.
As I am steadily working my way through Nigella's Lawsons Nigella Express, I remember Julie and Julia. Julie blogged about the way she cooked her way through Mastering the Art of French Cooking. French cooking and express cooking are not exactly the same, I know that. But seriously: aren't recipes that are easy as well as yummy the ones that everybody wants and needs after a day of hard labour?
So let's go! It's been cold, I've been tired so how about a little comfort food? Oeufs en Cocotte. The eggs are cooked au bain marie (oven at 190 degrees, dish filled with water till halfway up the ramequin) which makes it sound complicated but really it isn't. My only problem is you can't leave them there for longer than the required 12 minutes. And I reeeeeaaaaally like dishes you can cook for as long as it suits me. First time I made them, I left the eggs for 15 minutes which left them solid instead of slightly runny. This is how it goes:
butter a ramequin per egg. Fill them up with one egg, a bit of seasalt, a splash of cream and a dollop of truffle oil. For those among you who never used that before: smell it. If you use to much of it, that is what your egg is going to taste like... If used with care, you'll get a simple egg with different layers of flavour: the egginess, the creaminess, the saltiness and finally the earthiness of the truffle oil. Oh, and what I do is add freshly ground black pepper but that may just be my personal weekness. A simple green salad with balsamico vinegar, some olive oil and a grind of sea salt goes well with it. Careful when you take them out of the dish, I managed to burn myself...
Now the first attempt to make the Oeufs en Cocotte left them somewhat solid but the taste was SO GOOD I decided I had to make them again a.s.a.p. Greedily, I wolved them down before I could think of making a picture of them. Instead, I'll leave you with Nigella's story..

Frida & Diego

Frida Kahlo started to fascinate me at the time when the movie "Frida", about her life, was a big hit. Firstly because I found her paintings mesmerizing, secondly because I had a hard time comprehending why such a beautiful, passionate and talented young woman would put up with the likes of Diego Rivera. Ever seen a picture of the two of them together? There you are! Their unlikely union has been compared (by Frida's disapproving mother..) to that of an elephant and a dove...



Meanwhile, we've all moved on in a life and all have gained experiences that we didn't have before... Perhaps we could have don without some of them... Let me say that I now am more inclined to understand a love affair that seems destructive, but yet carries on in time. But still..
Visiting an exhibition at the wonderful Pera Museum in Istanbul on both of their works, underlined for me that Frida most certainly deserved a movie about her life. Over twenty years her senior, the number of painting he made over time (approximately 140 paintings and a similar amount of drawings) was far bigger than hers. Not in the least because Frida limited herself to the subject she knew she was expert at: herself.
Looking at the Gelman Collection (Jacques and Natasha Gelman were avid collectioners of Mexican art) the reverse could be concluded. Far more works by Frida Kahlo are on display than Rivera's. All of them depict a stage from Frida's life: from family ties and her prevailing love for Rivera via physical pain through the bus accident she was in at the age of 18 (and miraculously survived) to psychological pain caused by her inability to have children.





Looking at her paintings I couldn't help but admire her: all of them have her trademark, are clearly recognizable. Yes, she's a surrealist but yet it is so simple and clear what the works signify...
What I didn't know but learned at this wonderful exhibition is that in the last years of her life Frida didn't paint so much anymore. Her health problems caused her to be tied to the bed which inspired her to start drawing. This allowed her to easily work out fantasies in a spontaneous and direct manner. Also she started keeping a diary. Not a chronological one, but a depiction of her life at the time. The year before her death Frida was left devastated by the amputation of her foot, that had started to be gangrenous. It cause her to create the following:


The caption: Feet, why do I want them if I have wings to fly?

Frida's death transformed Diego Rivera, literally a monumental man into a sample of "sadness and physical detoriation". As being said, "behind every great man there is a great woman" and for Diego and Frida this certainly rang true: he died within three years after her.

Hamam - The Turkish Bath

What to do on a rainy day in Istanbul? Go to the Modern Art Museum! Topkapi Palace! Shopping in the Bazaar! But today was exceptionally dreary. In fact, it made not want to go away more than 100 meters from the house. And what did I spot within that distance from the house? A tiny little hamam that was also catering for women. Very low key and inexpensive as I'm not finding myself in a touristic area. So I decide that this place is where I'm going to spend my afternoon.
Upon entrance, this is pretty much what I see:


Only this place is tiny, like I said, and there's NO MEN in there. It's females only. All the ladies beckon me to come in and one of them explains me what the prices are. Ten lira for the hamam and another ten for keşe (washing) and massage. From previous visits I remember I have to keep my knickers on: first occasion I -unknowingly - walked in exposing myself and this was NOT appreciated.
An old lady takes me to the steam room where I'm left for a while with a plastic bowl. Immediately the heat is going to my head so I automatically start pouring luke warm water over myself. I observe these days it is allowed to expose one's privates: a couple of women are not wearing their underwear and nobody seems to mind at all. I'm surrounded by women who busy themselves with washing their hair, scrubbing one another's back, clipping their toe nails and chatting a lot! The ceiling is high so it sounds pretty loud..
When the old lady comes back in she invites me to lie down on the hot stone in the middle of the room. As soon as I'm on my back she starts to scrub my skin with a rough wash cloth. This is not for the tender hearted: she's rubbing so hard that the skin peels off in little black rolls. This is a quite familiar phenomenon for hamams: people usually can't believe they're that dirty, but usually they don't clean themselves that thoroughly... Front, back, legs and arms. After that, she washes all the dirt and grime away and I'm left by myself for a while again. She comes back asking the other women in the room for some shampoo; you're supposed to bring your own here which I haven't done. She makes me sit in front of her on the floor to wash my hair. This makes me laugh: back to the days where I was a very little girl with my gran! Than back on the hot stone again. Time for some soft washing. I like this bit, as they use lots and lots of foam. It is collected in a long, hollow washing cloth after which you disappear under it! I love the traditional product that is used, a soft green soap smelling of roses. I'm being washed and while some of my muscles are being squeezed. She leaves again and this time doesn't come back.. When I decide enough is enough - after all, how much heat can a person take? - I find her near the entrance. We're finished. Somehow disappointed about the massage, though I should be ashamed of myself: an old lady like that doing such labour in that temperature! Ofcourse I leave very clean and very relaxed.

Bliss.

İ surely am a sucker for books with a good story. Books in general are indispensable in life. Books are one's best friend: at a very early age İ learned that with a book, you're never lonely. With age, İ seemed to loose the ability to loose myself in a story a bit. Why? Perhaps age. The world around holds astonishes me far less than it used to. And so does a story. With some exceptions. İsabel Allende, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Yashar Kemal, to name a few. And İ have to admit that the first two episodes of the Harry Potter saga had me under their spell. That is, until İ got fed up with Quidditch...

Now Bliss. İ got a hold of this book by Livanelli in Çeşme. İn a country such as Turkey you can't be too picky when looking for a non Turkish book, so İ though "why not?" And a good choice it was, especially since one of my goals for this vacation was read, read, read. İ couldn't put this one down!



Livaneli is not famous for his writing alone, but also as an accomplished musician and film director. A politically engaged one for that matter. During the coup of 1971he was incarcerated and after that lived in exile in Sweden, France and Greece for years, only to return to his native country Turkey in 1984. To my (Dutch) opinion this isn't a political book, but it's undeniably there all the time: political contrasts between people. As an independent member of parliament Livaneli must surely know what can/cannot be said.

Meryem is only an innocent fifteen year old girl when her uncle, a prominent leader of a dervish order first rapes her and then, as the leader of the clan, sentences her to death for shaming the family. His son Cemal, suffering from posttraumatic stress after returning from fighting the PKK during his militairy service in the far east of the country is appointed to carry out the act. İnitially he doesn't see any problem in acting out this honor killing, but at the 'moment supreme' finds himself unable to do so. There's nothing left to do for the two of them but to flee together.
This takes them to the Aegean Coast where this strange duo, that absolutely cannot communicate with one another meets the professor. He manages to get Meryem out of her shell, but also represents a world that causes for Cemal to withdraw even further within himself and his memories. The three main characters will influence one another's destinies in a way that none of them could have imagined. Personally, İ found it very gratifying that the one that didn't seem to have a life ahead of her ends up as the only one living in bliss.

Read it! İ will definitely try and get a hold of the film upon return..
www.livaneli.net

I`m dreaming of spring...

Needed to get back on my own two feet and oh boy, am İ in the right place for that! After getting ill in İstanbul, İ`m not sure if Erzurum`s altitude did me much good. (İn spite of my saviours..) Fact is, that İ started feeling better after İ set eyes on Datça Peninsula again, breathed and felt it`s air on my skin and was able to do what İ like best, pretty much: live outdoors. Which doesn`t explain by far why İ like it here so much and decided to come back after eight years of absence. İn spite of the city of Datça bursting out of it seams: it must have at least tripled behind my back.
Ever smelt pine trees in hot weather? Listened to a deafening chirping cricket orchestra? Stayed in a place that resembles, according to local poet Can Yücel like the "faraway giraffe of Anatolia"? Looked at the landscape and been able to imagine it would crumble under your fingers if you chose to touch it? Which would be impossible, history has proven the place has been there since ages! Besides, Unesco keeps an eye on things as they identified the region as one of a hundred spots on earth in need of protection. Have you ever praised yourself lucky you left your stiletto`s at home cause they wouldn`t survive the cobblestones in Eskidatça, which is called home during your stay? Suffered a wild busride of an hour, just to get there? And then the Blue Voyage, which ofcourse can be taken anywhere at the Aegean or Mediteranean Coast here in Turkey, but which shouldn`t be left unmentioned as it gives me unmentionable pleasure each time İ take one! Can`t wait for the next one.....
Perhaps that next time could be spring.. Spring is apparently the time flowers here burst from under every stone. Explains also why the region is called "Anatolia`s Book of Medicinal Herbs". The weather won`t be as scorching as it is during summer. Yes, from now on İ`ll be dreaming of spring.

Apologies again for the lack of distraction in the form of photo`s. And also for spelling errors, which there must be in abundance as the system only does Turkish spelling. Not to mention the Turkish keyboard...