Torture Rack

Some things are truly universal.  Here I am applying the Torture Rack to my friend Anne's son Jack, which was followed by one on his brother Charlie, and then another one for Jack, and then - well, once it gets started it tends to carry on for a while.  All of my friends' kids, especially Mike Kelly's Barbarians, are frequent recipients of the Torture Rack, and demand it.

Ask him, ref.  Fortunately he submitted before I had to apply the Figure Four Leg Lock.

Lunch Time in Sana'a

And here's a story that I've been meaning to tell.  One of my strengths (weaknesses? lunacies?) as a foreign traveller is that I will eat just about anything.  This used to drive my friend Michelle crazy when we were travelling on Champlain business.  She had all of these strict rules on what could be eaten and when, and then would discovered to her horror that I had wandered off to grab something from a street vendor.  Many of my friends can regale you with stories of my eating adventures: donkey wine in Dunhuang - the tea with the local sheikh in the Moroccan village in the mountains (and which did make me sick as a dog) - the seventy cent meal at a restaurant in a Xi'an restaurant that was so dodgy that even the other experienced travelers wouldn't enter it - the Pakistani restaurant in Salalah - the fish bits in gelatinous goo in Moscow - the raw meat starter in Amman, etc.).  However, this also makes me very popular overseas, especially since Americans are notoriously wimpy eaters.  While in San'a I was determined to eat at a local restaurant in the old city.  While getting a short guided tour from my friend Steve, the Australian who rescued me from my locked hotel room, I came across this little restaurant on a square next to the silver merchant shops quarter.  Steve wished me well, but shyed away from eating there - and since he was a veteran Yemen visitor it only inspired me more. The chefs/owners welcomed me into their establishment, and although there were open tables downstairs, they led me to the upstairs dining room, which was a big of a challenge because the "stairs" were really more like a steep ladder.  For a while I was the only person there, and they seemed really happy to have me, despite the fact that I was shunted away upstairs.  I don't know whether they thought I would like it more upstairs away from the noise of the street or whether having a large American taking up a table downstairs would scare away business (or worse).  Oddly, I never actually ordered a meal, but did manage to let them know that I wanted a Coke, which did eventually show up.  After sitting around for fifteen minutes or so they brought lunch, which was some kabobs, a bag of warm fresh bread, and a tomato concoction to eat with the bread.  It looked a tad dicey, but was quite good.  About half way through lunch a group of Yemeni ladies clambered up the stairs: a matriarch, two women in their twenties (which I guessed were either older grandchildren or younger daughters) and two small girls.  The waiter immediately rushed to put up a curtain so they could have some privacy from the annoying American (who was hurrying to finish his lunch so that I didn't cause a scene).  However, as it turns out, privacy was the last thing they wanted.  Within a few minutes the little girls started peeking around the curtain, and then they were joined by the younger women - and then they pulled the curtain aside so that the matriarch could look at me - and talk to me, after a fashion.  She began to babble happily away, obviously to the fact that I didn't speak Arabic - or maybe she just didn't care.  She sent one of the young girls over to show me a school certificate and we were quickly one big happy family.  At a certain point the matriarch invited me to sit with them and have lunch.  I thanked her deeply and pantomimed that I had to run.  Truthfully, I wish I would have accepted her offer, but there are all sorts of societal/gender landmines there so I thought discretion was the better part of valor.  It was certainly a meal that I'll never forget.

The gentlemen who ran the shop and convinced me that their restaurant was the best in San'a, and who immediately ran me out of sight upstairs - probably just to preserve the reputation of their fine establishment.

The stairs leading to the upstairs room.  This perspective doesn't do justice to the fact that they served more as a ladder than actual stairs.

The upstairs dining room.  The party of Yemeni ladies would be seated on the far couch.

The view from the window out onto the soon to be busy square outside the restaurant.  It was still early afternoon on Friday so the city was just waking up. 

The condiments.

And my lunch.  At no point did I actually order - it just showed up.  I did manage to order a Coke, which was eventually delivered, although I think it involved a trip to the store on the part of the waiter.

The curtain that was hung to separate me from the party of Yemeni ladies - and which they moved out of the way so that we could chat.

Memories of Zanzibar

I think the oppressive arid heat of Abu Dhabi is making me even more nostalgic for Zanzibar.  Granted, it was hot there but the beautiful clear waters and the gentle breeze made up for it.  Here's a picture of a fisherman out trolling for fish with his net.

I wonder if this guy needs an assistant?

Life in the UAE: Gold ATM

At one time or another I know we've all said: "Why does it take so long to buy gold?  After dropping off my shirts at the dry cleaners I only have a few minutes to spare, and I really need to pick up some ingots!"  Well, if you live in the UAE you just head off to a posh mall or hotel and take advantage of the Gold ATM, where you can use a credit card (not mine, obviously) to buy gold on the spot.  It reminds me of the shop at the Emirates Palace Hotel where you can buy, not replicas of Chinese terra cotta warriors or Moche pottery, but actual Chinese terra cotta warriors and Moche pottery, but that's another post.

It just looks like any other ATM.

It looks like the cheapest ingot is around $200, and although I can't afford such silliness it is tempting just for the experience.

Gingerbread Houses

And just a quick post, mainly consisting of pictures.  Here are a few shots that are representative of the classic gingerbread architecture of San'a, which I loved.  So, here is a brief sampling of the new (well, the newer anyway) and the old (well, it's all old).

I like this picture of the roof, featuring the classic architecture, the ancient door, the beautiful carpets (which my friend Trish may be trying to buy even as we speak) and the ubiquitous satellite dishes.

In the previous picture you can just make out the stained glass windows.  Here's a better shot of one, snapped when I was trapped in my room and awaiting rescue.

I'd really love to know the age of this building, and what keeps it standing.

Raj

And since the last posting dealt with Ras Al Khaimah it naturally made me think of a trip I made over there a couple months ago to visit my great friend Raj.  One post could never do justice to Raj, so maybe this will be the beginning of many as I look back at my pictures from India.  I first met him ten years ago when he was running Champlain's sadly short-lived campus in Delhi.  During the summer I spent teaching in Mumbai we shared an office together and had way, way too much fun.  As a starter I'll just post this way too blurry (although considering some of our adventures together in Mumbai this would be appropriate) picture of the two of us at the campus he is running in Ras Al Khaimah.  Raj is one of those guys who is just a scoundrel with a heart of gold.  Much more on him later.

Nothing good can come from this.

Circe Mafia

Here's an interesting little story from the Gulf News over the weekend from Aghaddir Ali.  I think I like it because it shows how the UAE is complex and far more than ultra-modern Dubai and worldly Abu Dhabi.  This story relates to sheep rustling in Ras Al Khaimah.

Gang of Rustlers jailed for a month

Four men convicted of 31 cases of stealing more than 400 sheep from local farms

Four men were sentenced to a month in jail on the charge of stealing more than 400 sheep from local farms in Ras Al Khaimah by the Misdemeanour Court, a judiciary official told Gulf News yesterday.

As many as 31 cases had been lodged against the men for stealing livestock and this decision was issued for three of the cases.  Presiding judge Mohammad Al Fasfos announced the ruling on Monday.

The accused men, Emiratis between ages of 18 and 20, told the judge that they were forced by the head of a gang to steal.  According to the accused, the head, a man aged about 45, threatened that he would transform them into cattle using magic if they did not steal.

"They were arrested following complaints by owners of farms about an increase in theft of their livestock," said the official.

They sneaked into farms during the night and stole sheep and goats.

Confessed

The accused confessed that they stole 400 livestock in 31 instances.

According to the official, the gang carried out the thefts with a four-wheel vehicle and also used a pick-up truck at times.  They targeted many farms in various areas in the emirate.

After several reports about livestock thefts, the police had set up a trap to arrest the gang and caught them red-handed on a farm.

Career Complete

I sent along a copy of my CV to my good friends Cyndy Brandenburg and Mike Kelly the other day in relation to a conference presentation proposal we submitted.  Almost immediately I received an email from Cyndi questioning my inclusion of Fire Warden along with the five other committees I've served on this year at Zayed.  I think she thought I was being facetious, but little did she know that I am, in fact, a ZU Fire Warden and have undergone the training (as witnessed by the following Powerpoint slide).  The roots of this odd position go back to the fall semester when, in the week leading up to a mid-semester break, I ended up being left in charge of University College for a week.  Naturally, all hell broke loose and it was generally a pretty crazy week.  Somehow, mainly through the good graces of my wonderful colleagues, we got through the week, and then on the last day I received an urgent request for the names of the University College Fire Wardens.  It seemed like the perfect ending to a perfect week.  So, I sent out a request to the good folks at UC and asked for volunteers, but made clear that I was first on the list (I never ask anyone to do something I am not willing to do myself).  Typical for UC, we quickly ended up with more volunteers than there were slots available.  Months went by and I didn't hear anything and then we received the request for the official training, which proved to be valuable and far more interesting than I would have thought.  So, I am a fully-trained Zayed University Fire Warden.  My only regret is that they didn't actually give us one of the cool Fire Warden vests because I would have shamelessly swiped it and spirited it back to Vermont.

So I got that goin' for me, which is nice.

Slumming

And here's a nice picture of my good friend Chris Stryker with his traditional cup of Turkish coffee during a University College administrator meeting.  I'll remember Chris for his wry sense of humor, our discussions of British TV and teaching pedagogy, his advice on tailors in Al Ain - and his love of Turkish coffee.

Clearly I've caught Chris off guard in this shot.

Fashion Finals

We're just in the midst of finals week here at Zayed and I've been pinch-hitting to proctor (or invigilate, as we display our British influence here) exams.  Whenever I think of proctoring exams here at Zayed I will always think of the incredible pile of ridiculously expensive handbags that end up in a pile at the front of the room during the female exams.  We have several rules that we always follow during exams.  One of the biggest, naturally enough, is to take out your mobile phones, turn them off, and pile them on the desk.  For Emiratis that usually means three phones: a regular phone for chatting, an iPhone for surfing the net, and a Blackberry for texting.  I should laugh, but since I also have three phones I'll have to keep quiet.  One of the other rules is that the female students have to leave their handbags in the front of the room, which is a sad place for bags that would fit in very nice in The Devil Wears Prada.  That said, the girls, although most of them are amazing fashionistas, do so with surprising good will.  They even smile when I announce the handbag sale that I'll be organizing at the end of the final.

And doubtless I've driven cars that didn't cost so much - and probably had less space.

My Imbecility: An Endess Series

Sometimes I don't really know how I make it through the day.  Here's a picture of an enemy that proved to be way too clever for me to outwit.  Yes, it's a door.  Specifically, it's the door to my comfortable room in my nice hotel in the old city area of San'a. As you might be able to tell from the picture, it doesn't have a lock, at least on the inside.  To open it you had to use one of those great big old keys (which I love) that was so large that you really had to leave it at the front desk when you left (no swipe cards there).  So, locking it from the outside was easily done.  However, what about on the inside?  Actually, that was deceptively easy.  The only lock was the hook, much as you'd find on a screen door back in the States.  That just didn't seem like enough security to me, so I convinced myself that there must be more to it than that.  So when I checked in on Thursday evening I started tinkering with the lock (keeping in mind that there was no place to slide the key in on the inside of the door) when suddenly the deadbolt slipped into place.  Huzzah!  That was easily done, and it wasn't until the next morning that I realized that since the deadbolt was in place, and there was no keyhole on the inside of the door, I was now trapped.  Not almost trapped or essentially trapped, but completely trapped.  It was early on a Friday morning, which meant that there was no one at the front desk when I called for help.  Obviously, this was after getting over my fear of being branded, quite correctly, as an idiot, by trying everything I could possibly imagine to get the door open, including carving at the old, soft wood with a bottle opener that I found on the mini-fridge.  Oddly, the bottle opener was shaped like a Christmas tree, but that's another story.  Oh, and the fact that other folks had apparently tried the same carving approach gave me some solace.  And now I began to panic a bit; not that I was going to die there, but rather that after going through all the trouble of getting a Yemeni visa and planning my trip there that I was going to waste half a day trapped in my hotel room.  Naturally, in that situation, the best approach is to do something that Americans are very good at - get loud and smashy-smashy, and luckily someone heard me (which was pretty fortunate because there weren't that many people in the hotel, but amazingly one of them was on my floor).  I heard an Australian voice calling from the other side of the door (keeping in mind that was around 6:00 in the morning on a Friday) asking me if I needed help.  More on my rescuer later.  Very quickly he had trotted downstairs, rallied someone at the front desk (from a deep sleep, doubtless), and I was freed.  Happily, after that clumsy beginning, the rest of the day was wonderful.

One of the many objects in the world that is smarter than me.

Dress Code Proposal

An article by Ismail Sebugwaawo in today's 7 Days.  Another example of the complicated balancing act in the UAE between conservative traditions and rapid modernization.  It's made more delicate by the fact that, as we've discussed, by 2020 the Emiratis will comprise only 10% of the population of their own country, a situation that I would think is unique in world history.  On the one hand you need the expats, but on the other hand how do you keep from being inundated by their own very different traditions.

Dress Code Suggested by Minister

"New law would uphold traditions"

A UAE minister has said it is important for residents and visitors to respect the cultures of the country by dressing appropriately.

Dr. Abdul Rahman Al Owais, Minister of Culture, Youth and Social Developent, made his comments yesterday during a debate at the Federal National Council (FNC) on whether a law should be introduced on how people dress and behave in public.

"In the UAE we hold on to our traditions," he said.  "I agree that it is important to show the importance of traditions and culture in the society."

Al Owais said he supports the idea of introducing a dress code in the UAE because it was necessary to keep the country's values, especially when people are in public places.

He said it would be up to the UAE Cabinet to bring in such a law.  However, he added, "The National Council of Tourism and Antiquities is doing its best by orienting and educating both expats and tourists to dress modestly and behave in a good manner in line with our cultures and traditions."

Hamad Al Rahmoumi, an FNC member for Dubai, called for the debate after receiving complaints about people's attire.

Donkey Hotel

And another odd posting about San'a.  Yemen has been on my mind a lot lately, partially because it is such an unforgettable place (even though I was only there a couple days), but also because I keep reading troubling stories about it in the paper every day.  After serving in various positions in the administrative world over the last fifteen years I'm really looking forward to getting back to full-time teaching and a couple long-delayed writing projects in the fall.  However, my close friends are already predicting that it will take me less than a year to get involved in, if not initiate, another crazy scheme - and I'm sure they're right.  I've been thinking about a project where people get to post one picture, accompanied by a simple descriptive text, that will explain to the rest of the world some aspect of their daily life.  It would not be an avenue for lengthy political rants (although the pictures might convey a real problem), but rather it would serve as a mechanism for learning more about each other.  Maybe I could focus on Yemen?  It would be great if people, especially Americans, could think of the people of Yemen, and not simply as the latest Al Qaeda hotspot.  Hmmm, let me brood over this one.

In the meantime, here's a picture of the so-called Donkey Hotel in San'a.  A very nice young man by the name of Abbas (more on him later) showed me the "hotel."  It is actually the remains of a very old (as is everything in San'a) caravanserai, and it was the second one he showed me (again, more on the other one later).  The caravanserai were locations where merchants could stay of a night where their goods and animals would be secure.  These were especially important in situations where a merchant might be laid up for weeks or months waiting for the monsoon trade winds to change.  Anyway, this one has been turned into essentially a hotel for donkeys.  They eat on the first floor and some of them have their own rooms on the upper floors.  I have no information in regards to room service or wifi.

The outside of the donkey hotel, featuring the classic San'a gingerbread architecture.

I've eaten at worse restaurants, with worse company.

Popobawa and Voodoo Midgets

Zanzibar is one of the most otherworldly places I've ever visited, and that is certainly reflected in the superstition/mythology and/or sincere religious beliefs that lurk right beneath the surface (or right at the surface, for that matter).  When reading my Lonely Planet guide I had come across the popobawa, which is a very popular and feared being of relatively recent origin.  It's first appearance only stretches back to 1965 on the northern island of Pemba.  Since then it has spread to the rest of Zanzibar and even to Dar Es Salam, and tends to appear during times of political stress such as elections.  The name itself is Swahili and means something like bat wing, although that is supposed to relate to the shadow that it makes and less to the creature itself (being a shapeshifter).  It is a pretty terrifying entity that appears at night and is supposed to sodomize both male and female victims.  The inhabitants of Zanzibar certainly don't consider it an amusing topic, and during times of popobawa appearances some of them will actually sleep outside or even stay awake all night with family members around big bonfires.  According to the story one way to keep the popobawa at bay is to admit that it has attacked you (because it doesn't like it when people deny its existence) so you can see how the tension and belief would spread quickly.  You are also supposed to be aided in stopping it by reciting certain Quranic verses, but the shopkeepers I talked to about it didn't like to discuss the subject.  I was in the middle of the mangrove swamp with a guide and I was telling him how beautiful I thought it was.  He said that it certainly was during the day, but that you couldn't pay him enough to get him to come back at night.  In the darkness evil spirits, which mainly took the form of shrunken old women - or in his terminology "voodoo midgets", would come out of the water, both the brackish water of the swamp and the ocean, in search of victims.  I asked him if they were related to the popobawa, and he responded with a laugh that was somewhere between nervous and hysterical.  Being a rational and secular westerner I only scared myself with the thought of it around three times a night, and never gave serious thought to the idea of walking down to the shore at midnight.  I really need to talk to my friend Trish about it since she is the expert on all things Zanzibar (and is much braver than I am).

Zanzibar Slave Market

One of my favorite sites in Zanzibar, although also obviously one of the most somber, was the remains of the slave market.  Zanzibar has the sad distinction of being the last active slave market in the world, or at least the last major active slave market in the world.  I saw a statistic the other day that maybe 20% of the population of Mauritania could still be considered slaves today, so, unfortunately, there must be slave markets still operating.  Happily, even for a historian, there isn't much left of the slave market in Zanzibar.  The site of the old slave market is covered by the Anglican Church, so when you take the tour (which you certainly should) what you're mainly seeing are a couple holding cells underneath the church.  Unfortunately this picture of the holding cells doesn't do justice to David, the wonderful young Tanzanian who gave me the tour, although I suppose it does aesthetic justice to the concept of the slave trade.  The thought of dozens of slaves crammed into that narrow space, especially when you consider that it was often half-flooded, is sobering.  Visiting the slave market also really brings home the complex role that the English played in both actively promoting the slave trade and taking a leading role in ending it.

The chuch and the remains of the slave market are pretty easy to find, even in the winding streets of Stone Town.

I wish I had a better picture of David, a wonderful young man, but this picture does give a sense of the inhumane conditions of the holding cells.

The crucifix in the Anglican church, covered for Lent.

An appropriate homage to the role that Livingstone played in ending the slave trade.

Everyday Life is Everyday Life

One of the things that experienced travelers quickly learn is that, with the obvious exceptions of your passport and a couple credit cards, you can easily get what you need overseas.  So, RELAX, and don't overpack.  I speak from experience, because I used to be guilty of bringing way too much (just look back at the pictures from my trip to China a few summers ago to see the mountainous pile of suitcases that I dragged through seven countries - idiotic).  You can actually buy what need along the way, even toothpaste and toothbrushes (with the obvious exception of my home state of Indiana, but that's another story).  All of these countries are full of folks whose daily lives are usually not that different than yours, and who need all the things everyday that you would need on a trip, and thus the items are readily available.  I was thinking of this the other day when it came time to get the oil changed in my beloved little Yaris.  Now, because it's a rental car I could have probably driven it out to the Hertz counter at the airport and cajoled them into doing it, but it just seemed simpler to do it myself (and doing it myself was another part of actually living here, as compared to just passing through).  Somehow, and to the point of this post, I had convinced myself that it would be difficult, and I was happy to be proven wrong.  I simply pulled into an ADNOC station and slid into the separate area for oil changes.  It took a grand total of around ten minutes, and the guys couldn't have been more pleasant or helpful.  Plus, they actually cleaned the engine compartment itself, which, in a country known for sandstorms, was greatly appreciated.  And I know that my Yaris is much happier and less likely to break down in the desert.

They were impressed by the powerful race car engine of the Yaris.

Bove's - of Abu Dhabi

I guess you don't need any more proof of globalization and what a small world it actually is than this picture that I snapped at LuLu's HyperMarket at Mushrif Mall (aka Mushroom Mall) here in Abu Dhabi.  Bove's is a little Italian restaurant on Pearl Street back in Burlington.  I was swapping emails with my friend Trish in Jordan and she told me that her favorite coffeeshop/cybercafe/hang-out in Amman serves Green Mountain coffee.  Now, if I could only get a Rise and Shiner from the Kountry Kart or an Iraqi Turkey from the Four Corners of the World Deli.