Yemen Stories

Following up on an earlier post - I've gone ahead and set up a new blog devoted to providing a more balanced view of everyday life in Yemen.  I've called it Yemen Stories and I'm in the process of looking for pictures and related stories from Yemenis or folks who have a lot of experience within the country.  Do I think I can change the world?  Hardly.  Even my ego isn't that big (although, as my friends are wont to point out, my plans never stay small for very long).  Mainly I'm trying to present a more balanced view of a mysterious and sadly demonized country.  Essentially I want to take advantage of the power of story-telling.  One of the things that blew me away about the Museum of Broken Relationships (discussed in an earlier posting under Croatia) was how a simple picture tied to a few explanatory sentences could tell a story and create an entire world (and break your heart).  I'd really like to take a similar approach with this blog.  

Red Colobus Monkeys

Just a reflection on the blissful tranquility of Zanzibar on a cold Vermont day.  Here are a few shots of Red Colobus Monkeys, which are native to Zanzibar - and sadly endangered.

Dreaming of Yemen

I'm settling in quite nicely into my much more sedentary existence here in Vermont, although I guess a hint of wanderlust still haunts my dreams.  This summer, for a number of reasons, I turned down an amazing job offer at Hong Kong University.  It was really a tough call, but in the end I think it was the right decision.  However, once you've been bitten by the foreign travel bug you never really get over it.  I've really been thinking a lot about Yemen lately, as I have ever since too short but eventful trip there a year and a half ago. In between reading books on Yemen and constantly following blogs and tweets from Yemeni writers the plight of this amazing place is on my mind.  As in my wont I'm putting together a proposal for a website devoted to life in Yemen as a mechanism for changing perceptions, and am forging a letter to some folks that I follow on Twitter to see if I can put something together.  Don't know where it will lead, but I'm jazzed about it - and there was a time when the Global Modules were just an odd little concept that was seemingly just my crazy little scheme.  Beyond the fact that Yemen is such a fascinating place I don't know why it has so completely captured my imagination.  Maybe it's because it is about as far removed from life in Vermont as I can imagine, and this is just my means of dealing with my slower-paced life and more limited universe.

The sun setting in Sana'a.

The Gift

Today in my Dar al-Islam class we were discussing Sufi mystic poetry, specifically Hafiz.  The students all have to read the collection The Gift, and write a paper analyzing a chapter and then present their favorite individual poem to the class and discuss its relationship to Islam or Sufism or perceptions of the divine.  It's a nice counter-point to all of our readings from the Quran and Nasr's The Heart of Islam.  The discussion always starts off slowly but then gets going as the students get more comfortable getting metaphysical.  After our first day's discussion (and the students always think it will last one day and it will end up stretching out to a week and a half, at least) I turned to find the following words written on the board.  My excellent friend Steve Wehmeyer proposed that it was "so Scudder," and I suspect any student I ever had would agree. It also reminded me of how much I love teaching and what a gift it is.

It all made sense at the time.

Getting Caught in the Draft

Today is a day that will live in infamy, as we rev up for our inaugural Champlain fantasy football draft.  At the last minute we had to switch from one fantasy football website to another because the first one would only allow us to have a live computer draft - which sounded too chaotic/stressful for a bunch of newbies.  The one we chose is going to allow us to carry out our draft offline (and then, much as with my fantasy baseball team) I'll add the players in later.  It should make for a more relaxed and fun-filled evening.  With the exception of a couple (quiet) ringers none of us know what we're doing so there should be much foolishness.  My hope is that my team, the Springfield Buffalo, avoids complete humiliation - especially in their Week 1 death match with Cyndi Brandenburg's Mojo Nixons.

The selection of draft order was carried out in the most official and solemn way I can imagine - drawing slips of paper out of an Omani hat.

Our excellent team log, designed by Bob Mayer's excellent wife Cindy.  It's an homage to one of my favorite Buffalo Springfield songs, "Down to the Wire."  If you look closely in the buffalo's fur you can see images of the original band members.  Brilliant.

Vermont League of Excellence

After threatening for several years I've finally dragooned several of my excellent friends into forming a fantasy football league, the Vermont League of Excellence.  While I've been a member of a fantasy baseball league, the Cincinnati-based Irrational league, for almost two decades, this will be our first foray into fantasy football.  While it is easy to mock fantasy league - and certainly many people take them way too seriously - I'm excited because it provides another opportunity to spend time with my extraordinary friends.  As one grows older it is natural that we appreciate the tremendous gift that our friends give us every day simply by being in our lives.  The Irrational League has forced me to keep in contact with friends from Cincinnati who might have faded away without this inspiration.  As you can see from the following logo from my friend Bob Mayer, obviously some of my friends share my enthusiasm.  I think my friends are mainly excited my decision to stay in Vermont because I'm the one who initiates this type of tomfoolery.

Fear the Poodles!

I'm including a great essay about fantasy football, written by Tony Gervino, that appeared in the New York Times, that nicely sums up the allure of the activity.  Thanks to the excellent Cinse Bonino for sending it along.

"Since 1991 I've competed in a fantasy football league with my college buddies, most of whom hail from the great state of New Jersey.  Fantasy football leagues typically draft online, but we still conduct our business face to face, convening once a year, in late August, at a faded South Jersey hotel, thick with cigarette smoke.  It's a weekend filled with steaks, beer, Bruce Springsteen bootlegs and affectionately toothless insults; a weird alternate universe where I wash down Cool Ranch Doritos with Mountain Dew and occasionally sleep in my clothes.

For the uninitiated, fantasy football is a statistical competition in which participants draft real-life N.F.L. players to fill imaginary teams.  And when the real play scores, so does the imaginary team.  The payoff at the end of the playoffs as a combination of money, bragging rights and, sometimes, a trophy.

It's not as exciting as it sounds.

Yet every Sunday in the fall, millions of participants like my friends and me surreptitiously track the performance of the Redskins quarterback - or some other player we'd normally have no interest in - while brunching with our wives' friends; we scrutinize weather forecasts and scour injury reports. You can begin to lose your marbles.  There was an occasion, in a London hotel years ago, when I actually asked my late father for guidance on my lineup.  To his credit, he was unforthcoming.

Over the years, my friends and I have all married; some guys have divorced, married again, divorced again.  Many have kids, and most have lost their jobs at some point.  A majority of us have gained weight, and some of us have become both hairier and balder.  Only our enthusiasm for these imaginary teams and for the draft has remained constant.

A few years ago, I offered to host the draft on my Greenwich Village terrace, but apparently I failed the most important criterion.  "Do you have a pool?" a league member asked.  "Because the hotel has a pool." I confessed that while I could have almost anything their hearts desired delivered to my apartment, day or night, I did not, in fact, have a pool.

It has been widely assumed for some time now that I would eventually quit our league. No one has said as much, but I'm not an idiot.  I'm the only one who lives in New York City.  I don't play golf or smoke cigarettes.  I'm childless and devour The Paris Review.  And my team moniker, The Fifty-Pound Head, is derived from he dark British comedy "Withnail & I." I'm closer in species to a unicorn than I am to some of my friends.  Yet I am also resolutely unwilling to surrender one of the few uncomplicated pleasures in what has become an increasingly complicated life - and the tether it provides to friends I might otherwise fall out of touch with.

I arrived at last year's draft an hour early and sat on a park bench in downtown Red Bank, N.J. with my friend Sean Roane, a managing editor at The Tribune-Democrat in Johnstown, Pa.  We updated each other on our lives and our emotional commitment to the league, which has increased in depth as years have gone by, as it turned from a mere hobby to the very adhesive holding our social circle together.

I reminded him of the season when I covertly drafted my team over the telephone during my 10th wedding anniversary and how the team I drafted performed abysmally.  We shared a laugh.

That Saturday night, while we waited for our friends to finish playing golf, we talked about how we considered the league a lifetime commitment.  For him it certainly was.

Sean died in May from cancer that had spread to his bones and lungs.  It was eating away at him the very night we were chatting.  His newspaper ran an obituary, which contained the line "One of his other passions was fantasy football, winning the championship trophy multiple times."

His wife, Bonnie, asked to have our championship trophy, a replica (in the loosest sense of the word) of the Lombardi Trophy, as his memorial service while people paid their respects to Sean, who, as far as bragging rights go, was exceptionally talented at managing a fantasy football team.

Sean's title win in 2011 was the most recent engraving we had made on the trophy, so we gave it to Bonnie.  We've ordered a new trophy.  It should be ready in time for the draft."

Fellow Traveler

Recently I was headed to Abu Dhabi and I knew my friend Rob Williams had a connector at the same time.  Naturally, I didn't think we'd run into each other - and, so, of course we did.  A great traveler and an even better friend.

African proverb: "All strangers are to one another kin."

Blues in the Green Mountains

For a professor who maintains a "culture of intimidation" (infamous administrative description) with his students, I do end up forming close and often long-term friendships with them.  I still swap emails with students, such as the excellent Kate and Lara from my Franklin College days, who I taught longer ago than any of us want to admit to.  I'm heading over to Andrew Smith's apartment this weekend for his first attempt at cooking chili (be afraid, be very afraid).  Last night I had the great pleasure of meeting my former student and good friend Ericka Bundy for the monthly blues night at On the Rise Bakery in Richmond.  Ericka has been in Austin, Texas for a year and is back in town for a few days visiting friends.  She's doing marvelously well in Austin, which makes me very happy.  Who knew she'd turn out so well?  I can remember drawing clocks on the chalkboard to explain to her the difference between Bundy-Time and regular time.  I had visited the On the Rise Bakery once before when my great friend Trish Siplon and I climbed Camel's Hump Mountain a few years ago, but had no idea that they hosted a monthly blues night.  Anyone can show up and play or sing, and there was some first rate talent on display.  While I knew that Ericka sang, I had no idea she had such a big voice and she wowed the crowd.  It was a great time, and I highly recommend that you make your way out to Richmond to check out the bakery.  Oh, and they have great coffee and food, in addition to the occasional killer blues night.

The On the Rise Bakery.  Who knew that it contained great blues music?  You head into Richmond and turn at the one stoplight and follow the signs for the famous Round Church.

A tight fit, but an enthusiastic crowd.

The excellent Ericka, who is obviously flourishing in Austin.

Unlike her performance in class, she was focused and right on time.

Shadows of Madrid

I took a break from grading to actually start working on one of my syllabi for Fall semester, and somehow ended up blogging (which I guess reaffirms the fact that few things are more dreadful than grading or syllabus constructions).  Here are some great shots that I took from on top of a cathedral of some appropriately somber Spanish statues on a gloriously overcast day.  Madrid is undeniably one of my all-time favorite cities. Over the last year I've finally begun printing off larger copies of some of my best overseas pictures, and I suspect that one of these - probably the top one - will be next.

Tughra

How can one man be so bloody incompetent?  Amazing, really.  Here are some very long-delayed shots from Istanbul.  They are various versions of a tughra, which is the distinctive signatures of Ottoman sultans.  They all have the same calligraphic standards.  The two circles on the left represent the two seas, the Mediterranean and the Black, that were dominated by the Ottomans sitting in Istanbul.  The three"flagpoles" at the top are supposed to represent independence, with the "flags" blowing from east to west - symbolic of Turkish expansion from the early centuries.  Not surprisingly the lines to the right represent swords and power.  The signatures are an art form in their own right, reaching their peak, as with most things Ottoman, during the reign of Suleyman the Magnificent.

Caravanserai

I should be getting caught up on grading right now, but, as Fitzgerald warned us, I am being drawn back ceaselessly into the past.  Here are some pictures from trip to Yemen, which I still can't believe I made (and I would love to go back again).  I was fortunate enough to get a tour of a caravanserai, which is a sort of inn that was popular for centuries for travelling merchants.  They were especially important in areas such as the Indian Ocean where merchants were dealing with the changing monsoon wind patterns and thus might be stuck in one location for weeks if not months.  The caravanserai in Sana'a is in pretty bad shape, and is not even really open to the public.  My guide, provided by the nice Australian gentleman who rescued me when I managed to lock myself in my room (earlier post), talked our way inside.  In the end he wouldn't even accept any payment because he said he had too good of a time, and proposed that I could simply pay him next time.  I desperately hope I get the opportunity.  We're in the middle of another worldwide travel alert, and much of the buzz is related to events in Yemen, which is sad because it colors the perception of people around the world about the people of Yemen, who, as I've stated before, are the kindest I've ever met anywhere.

The formidable doors to the caravanserai.  Obviously a lot of valuable trade goods were protected behind these doors.

I think it was at this point where my guide (whose name I will look up in my notes and add to the posting) told me that the structures was still pretty sound, and that the only real problem was the occasional poisonous snake.

Apparently there are attempts to raise funds to fix up the caravanserai and turn it into a tourist location, but, sadly, they always fall through.

Pretty elaborate architecture, which reflects the former wealth and importance of Sana'a in the broader global trade network.

Some classic Arabic calligraphy.

Medieval plumbing.

My guide on the left and my Australian rescuer on the right.  Just two of the wonderfully friendly folks I met on the streets of Sana'a.

Hero Worship

And a great picture of my excellent friend, and cross-country travelling companion, Sanford Zale and his hero, Richard Nixon.  My theory is this relates to a very young Sanford, upon discovering the enormity of infinity, determining that the only person who could possibly count to infinity was the president of the United States, who was at that time Nixon (true story).  Or maybe it relates to their shared interest in recording everything.  Either way, it has inspired Sanford to name our chief Gentlemen of Excellence sporting event the Richard Nixon Four Sport Triathlon.  Allegedly, the winner of the competition can rename the trophy, although there is no word on Joe Manley's decision for a new name (he has won the last two, despite all of our efforts to handcuff him with blatantly anti-Manley rules).  Since I will obviously never win there is sadly no chance for anyone in the future to compete for the Vladimir Ilych Lenin Four Sport Triathlon trophy.

The similarities are striking.

Doors of Zanzibar

Doors close and doors open.  Maybe in the end life is only about what you do at that moment.

Doors of Lisbon

Just a few long-delayed pictures from my trip to Lisbon a year and a half ago.  It was a rainy reprieve from the sun and heat of Abu Dhabi.  The tiles are classically Portuguese.

Herding Cats

Just a couple pictures sent along from the excellent Heidi Burkhardt (nee Steiner) from their wedding.

A shot from the rehearsal.  Typically, Heidi is on task and Andy is causing mischief.  Their first mistake was looking to me for guidance.

And then, oddly, it was Heidi who produced the defining moment of the wedding by putting the ring on the wrong hand.  Doubtless, it was Andy's fault.  Probably no one would have noticed if I had not pointed it out by whispering sotto voce.  Still, these are always the best moments of weddings.  The honor of officiating at their wedding is easily one of the greatest honors of my life.

Streets of Sana'a

I don't know why I like this picture so much.  It's not particularly framed well and the lighting is bad, but I just do - and as Gombrich would have told us, that's all that really matters.  It just reminds me of the chaos of walking around Sana'a, Yemen.  I was showing my students a picture from Sana'a recently as we were discussing the nature of a portrait.  At a certain point one of the students asked, "Who did you go to Yemen with?"  I replied, "nobody."  Several of them had a very perplexed look on their faces.  Their next question: "Who met you at the airport?"  I replied again, "nobody."  For some reason they found the concept amazing, and it may be the only thing they remember from the entire summer.  Anyway, it's just a shot of the maze of ancient narrow streets in Sana'a, and the constant need to look around every corner before turning.  I suppose there's a metaphor here somewhere.

And to think, we get in trouble in Burlington if we don't walk our bikes on Church Street.

Squid

Just thinking about the Croatia/Montenegro trip from last year.  My big culinary discovery was squid, which I had a lot of and which was almost uniformly delicious.  Apparently the key is to just cook in in a little quality olive oil and not to overcook it.  It gets rubbery real quickly.

A great meal at a little place a couple blocks off the main square in Dubrovnik.

Kotor

This year's 4th of July adventure in Hong Kong got me thinking about last year's trip to Montenegro.  After my friend flew out I had the day to myself and also had the rental car for another day, so I figured that I would take advantage of the opportunity to drive into Montenegro.  When I had rented the car they told me that if I crossed the border I had to have all the paperwork to prove that the car was legally rented and not stolen, and since I had this it wasn't a problem.  The drive to Kotor was really beautiful as you maneuvered around the mountains and fjords.  The city was packed, not because of the holiday obviously, but rather because that is one of the destinations where cruise ships unload passengers (which is one of the few things that can make visiting Dubroknik, Croatia a bit of a hassle).  It was was blisteringly hot, but also a great day.

A fairly decent picture that gives a sense of how the mountains crowd the shore in Montenegro.  A little further down the dock there was a huge cruise ship unloading.

The central square in old Kotor.  Thank god for the umbrellas and misty fans because it was brutal.

A nice little clock tower giving way to a maze of old buildings and then eventually the mountains.

As is usual for me, I loved getting lost among the narrow streets. 

I would love to say that I was carrying out a close reading of the iconography, but mainly I think I was enjoying the shade.