Thursday, January 10, 2008
Welcome to Jamrock!
Come back to Jamaica…….I have not been to Jamaica in almost twenty-five years! Something happens when you are a child of immigrant parents: you either always go 'home' or you never go 'home'. Somehow I ended up running around the world before returning to my roots. The night before my departure I was speaking with my friend Jamel when I casually mentioned I would be flying on Air Jamaica. This is when the scary movie music should have piped in. 'What! Air Jamaica', 'LL you do NOT want to do this. Can you change your ticket?' He then went on to tell me in great detail about his Air Jamaica nightmare which included no luggage for his entire trip. I laughed, because it was too ridiculous. Surely, things must have changed.
Before I go any deeper with my experience let me just say for the record:
I love my people, BUT…..
You know when something just doesn't feel right and makes you go hmmmm? Well check this out. Due to my explicit warning the night before, I decided to check Air Jamaica's website to make sure the flight was not delayed. The website only stated 'The plane has not departed' hmmmm. I arrive in Newark airport and realize there are no ticket kiosks, which means I had to join the main check in line. Anyone who has ever had to fly anywhere in the developing world knows what that means. To put it mildly just think chaos, crowds, arguments, and lots and lots and lots of 'luggage'. Luggage is a relative term and used loosely in this context. Let me break it down for you:
Step 1: You buy an extraordinarily large suitcase (usually on 14th street), you stuff it with household goods, clothes for everybody you ever met in your entire life, electronic goods you plan to sell but are passing off as personal items, and lots of food wrapped in plastic bags and foil. Once you have done this repeat the process with several more suitcases.
Step 2: Bring as many relatives as possible with you to the airport. Do not have all their documents.
Step 3: Insist your bags are carry on size.
Step 4: Become irate when the counter person tells you you're luggage is overweight.
Step 5: Begin to unpack and rearrange your luggage at the counter in hopes of being underweight.
Step 6: Begin swearing.
Once I finally get to the ticket counter I realize I have entered the Twilight Zone.
I am immediately informed that my 1pm flight has been delayed to…….are you ready for this.......8:30 pm! Not only is the flight delayed (just a little), but I must not leave the airport because if they can fix the plane earlier they will go ahead and leave!? Twilight Zone music.
Do not attempt to use logic because it only gets worse.
Since I have a whole lot of time, I make my way over to the food court with my bogus food voucher. Once seated in the food court I meet what I will now refer to as the Hallelujah women, older Jamaican church women who have sworn allegiance to Air Jamaica. No matter what, they fly Air Jamaica and are part of the 7th Heaven Mileage Club. These women love Air Jamaica because they are ultra patriotic, love the food, and because Air Jamaica waits for late passengers! Ugggh. No matter how much you complain their response is 'but the food is good!'. During the luncheon I am informed by a young woman that Air Jamaica is notorious for the following: fist fights, being hours late, strikes, and forever lost luggage. She goes on to reminisce about seeing passengers with overweight bags begin to layer on clothing (i.e.: four hats on their head to create space in their bag!).
After many long phone calls and reading a book, I decide to go back to the ticket counter and check on the flight. Twilight Zone music. I walk and walk and walk. No Air Jamaica counter. Ok, I must be mixed up, so I walk in the other direction. hmmm. Logic time: Start on one end and walk all the way to the other end, right? I do this several times, and finally I start asking airport employees where the Air Jamaica ticket counter is. Everyone is confused, I'm confused. Newark Airport only has two floors. I've been to the ticket counter before. Has the ticket counter disappeared? Twilight Zone music. Yes!, the counter has disappeared….on purpose. The Air Jamaica employees have taken down the sign and put up a sign reading 'USA 2003'! They were hiding from their customers!
Do not attempt to use logic because it only gets worse. As the day became night I started to notice something peculiar….Twilight Zone music. The departure time on the flight board became later and later, yet I heard no announcements. hmmm. Soon other people began to notice the same thing, and then all hell broke loose. Think of all the bad Jamaican words you have ever heard, then make some up. It got ugly, real ugly, Jamaican ugly.
Finally at 10pm we boarded the plane! Hallelujah! The flight was sold out, they ran out of overhead space, and people were aggravated and hungry. Not good. I noticed two highly confused African-American women walking to their seats muttering 'I just don't, I don't, I don't understand!' The pilot then had the audacity to say 'We are sorry for the delay. You must understand that we had technical problems YESTERDAY and planes take a long time to fix.'
At that point a passenger yelled out 'Buy a new one! Mi want a refund!' The woman next to me was sitting with her legs completely wide open because she had an entire Radio Shack store shoved in her bag. She explained to me that last year she packed her electronics in her suitcase and everything was stolen. Not this year buddy, she's got her stuff somewhere safe….between her legs!
I soon began to notice another peculiar thing….It was hot on the plane. I soon remembered Jamaicans hate the cold, therefore there is very little A/C on the flight. I was burning up! Now get ready for this one, it really put me over the top (as if you have not read enough)…..As we were preparing to depart the plane (yes, we actually made it to Jamaica) an elderly married couple were standing in the row before me. The husband began looking around for something, when the wife asked him 'Pop, what you looking for, your teeth?' I swear I'm not making this up! By the grace of God at 2:30 am I finally escaped from the Twilight Zone and met my sleep deprived family in Montego Bay.
Waking up later that day I opened the window and realized I was in Jamaica!
Hot, sunny and lush. What is the first thing I did when I arrived in Jamaica?
I began to eat. Jamaica is without a doubt the culinary king of the Caribbean.
My trip was not only a homecoming but a food odyssey, so I dived right in.
Ackee and saltfish, calaloo, bananas and dumplings, jerk chicken, sorrel, rice and peas, red pea soup, pepper pot soup, spiced bun, Red Stripe beer, Guinness Stout, rundown mackerel, curried goat, rum pudding, black rum cake, roasted breadfruit, festival, conch, escovetiched fish, plantains, and oxtail. After stuffing myself I headed for the beach. The beautiful beach and warm water seemed to erase the previous day away. All I needed was a beach chair, umbrella, and some sun to make things irie.
After a couple of days my family and I jumped in the rental car and began a trans-island road trip. If you want to get a thrill of a lifetime, drive in Jamaica. Just understand Jamaicans drive in an improvisational spontaneous way, especially around blind curves on hills, and you must drive on the left side of the road. Other than that it's a breeze! In Ocho Rios I really got into the beach.Of course while laying out I met a Visa Boy. FYI: A Visa Boy is a beautiful man who thinks you are so beautiful, unique, and special, he would like to spend some time with you and later come live with you in your country (all expenses paid by you of course). hmm…Sorry babe no Stella stories here!
After the beach I ate some more. One of my favorite food finds is the Ocho Rios Jerk Center. Real Jerk and an amazingly spiced Conch fish, which I washed down with a cold Guinness. While in Ocho, we reunited with my cousin Judy who updated us on family business and warned us about the notorious Stone Crusher Gang. She told us Ocho Rios people don't put up with the Stone Crushers. 'They walk in live, but they leave dead. We just nicely put them away' Out in the streets they call it muurdah!
Back on the road we made our way over the mountains and through the bush.
I must say Portland is one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen. The mountains are amazingly high and the dense plant growth is stunning. Once in Port Antonio we are reunited with my Grandmother and Uncle, and began to eat again! Christmas morning I took the liberty of baptizing myself in the Caribbean Sea. A couple of days later we were back in the car heading for St. Thomas. I don't think St. Thomas parish has built a new road… in a while. Nevertheless, as you are driving through miles of sugar cane you don't seem to notice the bumpedy, bump, bump.
Some of my favorite things about Jamaica are the roadside food stands and local bars. Surprise, surprise! I love the hand painted signs, the impromptu DJ's and speaker systems, and the split open oil drums grilling spiced food. At this point I should say, I actually weigh less than 300 pounds, in case you were wondering. While in St. Thomas we stumbled upon the 'Chill Out Lounge' by the sea. Dominoes table, hand painted décor, a beautiful beach view and amazing food! Keeping with the One Love spirit I later spotted a taxi with a hand painted sign on the rear window which read 'Squeeze Her Breasts'.
The other thing I love about Jamaica is the news. Outrageous headlines read 'Thugs Target Dogs', 'Man Runs Up $7,000 Bar Tab, Waitress Chases Him to Next Town'. My personal favorite was a female street vendor being interviewed on TV regarding the relocation of vendors, 'Mi been selling since the time of Genesis. Mi nah go nowhere!' Only in Jamrock.
Unfortunately it was time for my vacation to come to an end. An even more unfortunate thought was that I would have to fly Air Jamaica again! Scary music. My flight was scheduled for 8 am. As I made my way to the ticket counter (scared yet?) I was informed the flight would be delayed three hours! My family and I were now due to depart within a half a hour of each other. At 11:30 I parted ways with my family and actually boarded the plane! I'm happy to report I made it home safe and sound. Around 9pm my parents called to say 'Guess where we are?' $^*&^@%!
Friday, July 4, 2008
The Grand Finale, New York
September 1st
I boarded Air India and flew home on the first of September. Of course one of my bags popped, and climbing the stairs to my apartment, my only remaining pair of shoes broke. So I hobbled up five flights of stairs with a 300 pound suitcase (5) and a broken carry on bag, half barefoot. My trip was officially OVER!
Coming home is a bittersweet affair. On the one hand I can truly say 'mission accomplished'.
I photographed, interviewed, and video taped every conceivable type of person possible. I traveled to nine countries in nine weeks without getting lost, killed, or ripped off. One thing I am definitely proud of is the fact that I completed this project using the original flag from the first book. My flag has become a piece of art in itself.
Before leaving I joked that I needed to complete this project while I have the energy for it. Well that didn't turn out to be a joke after all. I'm not sure I would be able to pull this project off in the same manner five years from now. It was and is physically exhausting. Since returning I am suffering from post-project pain. My legs are throbbing, my shoulders and arms are sore and I have no desire to get on any mode of transportation.
But even with all the aches, my journey became more than an adventure, it was a wild escapade which I will never forget, do not regret, and cannot duplicate.
As they say, 'No man is an island', so I would like to take this time to thank all the people involved in making this project happen. My family, Rail Europe, all of the people who participated in the project, my assistants: Yanara, Emily, Nadjib, Arnau, and Giladji. Friends: John Paul, Dwayne, Easton, Jamel.
Special shout out to Dara for INSITING I write this time consuming damn blog! Good idea.
If there is something in life you always wanted to do: Do It.
If people give you reasons not to do it: Do It.
If you don't know how you are going to get the money to do it: Do It.
If you're not sure who will understand it: Do It.
If people will think you're crazy: Definitely Do It.
Inshala,
Lauri Lyons
I boarded Air India and flew home on the first of September. Of course one of my bags popped, and climbing the stairs to my apartment, my only remaining pair of shoes broke. So I hobbled up five flights of stairs with a 300 pound suitcase (5) and a broken carry on bag, half barefoot. My trip was officially OVER!
Coming home is a bittersweet affair. On the one hand I can truly say 'mission accomplished'.
I photographed, interviewed, and video taped every conceivable type of person possible. I traveled to nine countries in nine weeks without getting lost, killed, or ripped off. One thing I am definitely proud of is the fact that I completed this project using the original flag from the first book. My flag has become a piece of art in itself.
Before leaving I joked that I needed to complete this project while I have the energy for it. Well that didn't turn out to be a joke after all. I'm not sure I would be able to pull this project off in the same manner five years from now. It was and is physically exhausting. Since returning I am suffering from post-project pain. My legs are throbbing, my shoulders and arms are sore and I have no desire to get on any mode of transportation.
But even with all the aches, my journey became more than an adventure, it was a wild escapade which I will never forget, do not regret, and cannot duplicate.
As they say, 'No man is an island', so I would like to take this time to thank all the people involved in making this project happen. My family, Rail Europe, all of the people who participated in the project, my assistants: Yanara, Emily, Nadjib, Arnau, and Giladji. Friends: John Paul, Dwayne, Easton, Jamel.
Special shout out to Dara for INSITING I write this time consuming damn blog! Good idea.
If there is something in life you always wanted to do: Do It.
If people give you reasons not to do it: Do It.
If you don't know how you are going to get the money to do it: Do It.
If you're not sure who will understand it: Do It.
If people will think you're crazy: Definitely Do It.
Inshala,
Lauri Lyons
London: Jump n' Shout!
August 26 – September 1st
After my first experience in London I'm sure you're wondering what the hell would possess me to go back there. The Notting Hill Carnival of course!
This was indeed a time to celebrate. I completed my entire trip and found the best 'after party' ever. Let's just say I had a good time. Three days of dancing in the street, eating, and video taping. I checked out all the sound systems, marched down the parade route with a drumming squad, and posed with male carnival dancers wearing beaded thongs and feathers. I also got my hair done (thank God), bought some clothes, did my laundry, slept, slept, and slept some more. I was very comfortable because my friend John Paul finished all of his home renovations and his flat was beautiful. I have to say this because it's true and if I didn't, he would never let my ass stay there again!
A couple of days after the Carnival John Paul took me to an invitation only drag ball. This was a big deal because it was being judged by Pat McGrath the super star make up artist for Italian Vogue and Dior. I have always heard stories of drag balls back in the day in New York, but I had never been to one. John Paul's friends the 'House of Fierce Nest' were defending their title this year. Serious Business. The crowd waiting to get in was pure designer all-star material. This ball was the circus times ten. The competing 'houses' included 'House of Dubois', 'House of Egypt' and of course the 'House of Fierce Nest'. In one of the dressing rooms a 'lady' asked me which house I was with? (She thought I was a queen!) I immediately said 'Lyons!'. She thought out loud for a moment 'House of Lyons?'
I saw Banjee baby mammas (with a real baby!), 'Naomi' out of jail, a home coming queen, and so much more. These queens were creative and boy did they know how to put on a show. There were several celebrity judges seated at a table at the end of the runway. Dangerous territory. By the end of the event all of girls jumped in front of and on TOP of the table to get their pose on. Incredible! You had to see it to believe it. These girls wanted that trophy baaaaaaaaaad! Needless to say, the 'House of Fierce Nest' Vogued their hearts out and took the trophy home once again.
After all that excitement is was once again time to say goodbye.
Last stop: U.S. of A.
After my first experience in London I'm sure you're wondering what the hell would possess me to go back there. The Notting Hill Carnival of course!
This was indeed a time to celebrate. I completed my entire trip and found the best 'after party' ever. Let's just say I had a good time. Three days of dancing in the street, eating, and video taping. I checked out all the sound systems, marched down the parade route with a drumming squad, and posed with male carnival dancers wearing beaded thongs and feathers. I also got my hair done (thank God), bought some clothes, did my laundry, slept, slept, and slept some more. I was very comfortable because my friend John Paul finished all of his home renovations and his flat was beautiful. I have to say this because it's true and if I didn't, he would never let my ass stay there again!
A couple of days after the Carnival John Paul took me to an invitation only drag ball. This was a big deal because it was being judged by Pat McGrath the super star make up artist for Italian Vogue and Dior. I have always heard stories of drag balls back in the day in New York, but I had never been to one. John Paul's friends the 'House of Fierce Nest' were defending their title this year. Serious Business. The crowd waiting to get in was pure designer all-star material. This ball was the circus times ten. The competing 'houses' included 'House of Dubois', 'House of Egypt' and of course the 'House of Fierce Nest'. In one of the dressing rooms a 'lady' asked me which house I was with? (She thought I was a queen!) I immediately said 'Lyons!'. She thought out loud for a moment 'House of Lyons?'
I saw Banjee baby mammas (with a real baby!), 'Naomi' out of jail, a home coming queen, and so much more. These queens were creative and boy did they know how to put on a show. There were several celebrity judges seated at a table at the end of the runway. Dangerous territory. By the end of the event all of girls jumped in front of and on TOP of the table to get their pose on. Incredible! You had to see it to believe it. These girls wanted that trophy baaaaaaaaaad! Needless to say, the 'House of Fierce Nest' Vogued their hearts out and took the trophy home once again.
After all that excitement is was once again time to say goodbye.
Last stop: U.S. of A.
C'est La Vie, Paris
August 21-25
The overnight train provided me with a much needed deep sleep. I was so comfortable I really didn't want to get out of my bunk when the train was pulling into the station. I arrived at my hotel in the Latin Quarter and noticed the weather was overcast……
The first day in Paris I just chilled because I was truly exhausted from my previous great escape. The next day it began to drizzle……..and then rain……and then pour! I would soon find out from the hotel clerk that it has been raining in Paris most of the summer! ^$*@&! I then began to pray that it would not continue to rain while I was there. I've been to Paris before so I wasn't pre-occupied with sight seeing but I did want to shoot. Especially since I left Morocco to get there!
I decided the best thing to do since it was raining was to go to the Louvre.
I went. It was great. I got completely soaked on my way there and hurricane torrential rain soaked on the way back. It was an ugly, turn your umbrella inside out, windy rain. And it didn't help that I got ridiculously lost for three hours trying to find my way back to the hotel! Every time I saw a taxi (which was not often) I didn't take it because I just knew I was sooo close to my hotel (idiot)!
The weather for the week predicted rain for the next couple of days. At that point I decided I was getting the hell out of there.
That night I met a young Iraq War veteran from Seattle who decided to explore Europe for the summer. He told me about his 'tour in the desert', his health issues, and his life as a civilian. We both agreed the rain sucked and ran into each other the next morning with our bags packed for the train station.
Once I arrived at the Euro Star counter I changed my ticket for the next departing train.
Next stop: Jolly Old England
The overnight train provided me with a much needed deep sleep. I was so comfortable I really didn't want to get out of my bunk when the train was pulling into the station. I arrived at my hotel in the Latin Quarter and noticed the weather was overcast……
The first day in Paris I just chilled because I was truly exhausted from my previous great escape. The next day it began to drizzle……..and then rain……and then pour! I would soon find out from the hotel clerk that it has been raining in Paris most of the summer! ^$*@&! I then began to pray that it would not continue to rain while I was there. I've been to Paris before so I wasn't pre-occupied with sight seeing but I did want to shoot. Especially since I left Morocco to get there!
I decided the best thing to do since it was raining was to go to the Louvre.
I went. It was great. I got completely soaked on my way there and hurricane torrential rain soaked on the way back. It was an ugly, turn your umbrella inside out, windy rain. And it didn't help that I got ridiculously lost for three hours trying to find my way back to the hotel! Every time I saw a taxi (which was not often) I didn't take it because I just knew I was sooo close to my hotel (idiot)!
The weather for the week predicted rain for the next couple of days. At that point I decided I was getting the hell out of there.
That night I met a young Iraq War veteran from Seattle who decided to explore Europe for the summer. He told me about his 'tour in the desert', his health issues, and his life as a civilian. We both agreed the rain sucked and ran into each other the next morning with our bags packed for the train station.
Once I arrived at the Euro Star counter I changed my ticket for the next departing train.
Next stop: Jolly Old England
Madness, Magic, Morocco!
August 13-18
To get anywhere in Morocco takes time. Because I think I am Cleopatra Jones, I turned a 36 hour journey into a 24 hour journey. Not a good idea. It's a head trip. In one day I rode three trains and a five hour ferry, but I made it to Africa!
I arrived in Fes at three in the morning. It was pitch black country dark outside. The taxi couldn't drive to the hotel I knew of because the street was too narrow. Next thing you know a man walks out of the darkness and the taxi driver tells me to go with him. He will walk me to the hotel. Now I know this sounds strange, but because I have been to Africa before I knew this was quite common. Locals work as impromptu guides for a couple of coins. We get to the hotel and are told there are no rooms available. The guide tells me he knows another place I can stay. At this point I have no choice because everything is closed and it won't be light outside for a few hours. Man 2 walks out of the darkness and asks if I know man 1? He then tells me he is going to come with me to make sure Man 1 takes me somewhere safe. Hmmmmmm.
After walking through a maze of narrow streets (Fes has over 9,000 streets) we arrive at a big doorway. After a few knocks a young woman opens the door. Man2 tells me this is the home a good family, he knows them and walks me inside. To my amazement I walk into a large four story elaborately decorated Berber home. Kaleidoscope tiled floors and walls, hanging plants, gilded balconies, and oversized pillows and ottomans. The entire family is awake and watching Egyptian movies. They welcome me in and serve me fresh mint tea. Man 2 introduces himself as Giladji and explains that Berbers are the original people of the Moroccan desert.
From that point on Giladji became my Moroccan point man. Over the next few days I lived with a Berber family, and gained access to all the places tourists don't usually go. Berber pool parties with palm trees, DJ's, and young Moroccan women wearing super string bikinis with henna tattoos belly dancing to Sean Paul, tannery houses, weaving factories, excavation sites, homeopathy shops, Berber discos and a Koranic school. Together we wove in and out of Fes' archways and stone passages. Along these passages you will usually run into a donkey carrying loads of merchandise. Donkeys always have the right of way. If you don't think so, just stand in front of one trying to pass by…..
The mother of the house cooked three meals a day. Breakfast included the ever present mint tea which consists of freshly brewed mint leaves poured into a glass containing whole mint leaves and sugar. The tea was accompanied by fresh roti style bread, sweet rolls with sauce, eggs, and juice. Dinner was a huge communal platter of Couscous with almonds, raisins, steamed vegetables, meatballs, couscous, and broth. It was sooooooo gooooood.
Ladies First: On the first day of arrival I immediately covered myself from head to toe. Giladji asked 'Why are you wearing trousers?' 'Because I have to cover up!' 'No. Take those off'. To my pleasant surprise women in Fez are quite contemporary in their dress and attitudes. There is no conflict between the modern, traditional, or fundamental. I saw mothers in head wraps and kaftans walking with their mini skirt clad daughters. And believe me, even the covered women were giving fashion with their high heels, jewelry and eye make up. The head wraps are deceiving because underneath the women have elaborate hair styles. Women treat the head wraps like jackets: to go outdoors they put it on, but once indoors they take it off.
Ok, now the really good stuff………
The day before I left I went to the Hammam which is a local bath house. The hammam is basically a social institution for women to scrub, steam, bathe, and talk. I walked in and was asked if I wanted a massage. The mosaic tiled space contains several rooms of different water temperatures covered by a dome roof with shafts of light beaming through. Once I walked in I knew I was in for something special. The women present ranged from pre-school to grandmothers to pregnant women. All of the women strip down to their underwear, grab huge buckets of water and begin to steam and scrub. The hammam is very communal…… I saw daughters scrubbing their mother's backs, friends lifting up each others breast to clean underneath, and other stuff I can't write about on this blog!
Once I steamed up, Big Mama Massager came over with the buckets for my scrub. What happened next was unbelievable…….. Big Mamma Massager began by washing my hair and pouring huge buckets of hot water over my head to rinse out the shampoo. She then put on a loofa glove, grabbed some black soap and scrubbed me DOWN. Literally. She made me lie face down on the marble floor and scrubbed me from my neck down to my toes. Flipped me over and did the front side too. All of this was accompanied by more buckets of hot water being poured over me. After the scrub, she got her rub on. Big Mamma massaged me from head to toe, front to back. This was not a posh massage, she was serious! Just to make sure everything was clean she pulled open my panties and poured a huge bucket of hot water down there! I was clean. REAL CLEAN! I don't think I've been bathed like that since I was five! Did I mention all of this was done in front of sixty naked women? What on earth could possibly top that experience?
Right after the hammam I had an appointment to get hennah. I've always wanted to get my hands and feet decorated with hennah, and now was my chance. A few Berber women came to the house and proceeded to mix the hennah dye. The woman slowly began to apply an intricate design all over my fingers and both sides of my hands. As the dye was drying she began to decorate my legs for good luck. During this time the women were talking and eating dates with walnuts. Because the hennah was drying on my hands I could not eat. So what happened next? The women began to stuff the figs with walnuts and say 'open'. For the next hour I had women hand feeding me sweets while I was covered in hennah! Life is good! I know plenty of men who would pay gooood money to lie around in a bath house full of naked women and be hand feed sweets!
Finally, I had to leave Fes. Trying to get out of Morocco and the south of Spain was madness!
I'll make a really long story short. My bus was three hours late, the windows were sealed shut and the A/C didn't work during the SEVEN hour ride, I missed all my connecting trains and ferries. In Spain, I had to stay overnight in a scary hotel where the manager gave me a room with no door knob, (I stuffed the hole so he couldn't peep on me), and every time he saw me he said 'Ooooooooh-sah' (U.S.A) and winked.The next day I missed all my connecting trains and ferries AGAIN, because all the clocks in the train station were covered with tape for some bizarre reason, and I forgot there is a one hour time difference between Morocco and Spain %&@! Did I mention the trains only run once a day? &^$@%!
Finally, finally, finally I got out of there.
Next stop: Paris
To get anywhere in Morocco takes time. Because I think I am Cleopatra Jones, I turned a 36 hour journey into a 24 hour journey. Not a good idea. It's a head trip. In one day I rode three trains and a five hour ferry, but I made it to Africa!
I arrived in Fes at three in the morning. It was pitch black country dark outside. The taxi couldn't drive to the hotel I knew of because the street was too narrow. Next thing you know a man walks out of the darkness and the taxi driver tells me to go with him. He will walk me to the hotel. Now I know this sounds strange, but because I have been to Africa before I knew this was quite common. Locals work as impromptu guides for a couple of coins. We get to the hotel and are told there are no rooms available. The guide tells me he knows another place I can stay. At this point I have no choice because everything is closed and it won't be light outside for a few hours. Man 2 walks out of the darkness and asks if I know man 1? He then tells me he is going to come with me to make sure Man 1 takes me somewhere safe. Hmmmmmm.
After walking through a maze of narrow streets (Fes has over 9,000 streets) we arrive at a big doorway. After a few knocks a young woman opens the door. Man2 tells me this is the home a good family, he knows them and walks me inside. To my amazement I walk into a large four story elaborately decorated Berber home. Kaleidoscope tiled floors and walls, hanging plants, gilded balconies, and oversized pillows and ottomans. The entire family is awake and watching Egyptian movies. They welcome me in and serve me fresh mint tea. Man 2 introduces himself as Giladji and explains that Berbers are the original people of the Moroccan desert.
From that point on Giladji became my Moroccan point man. Over the next few days I lived with a Berber family, and gained access to all the places tourists don't usually go. Berber pool parties with palm trees, DJ's, and young Moroccan women wearing super string bikinis with henna tattoos belly dancing to Sean Paul, tannery houses, weaving factories, excavation sites, homeopathy shops, Berber discos and a Koranic school. Together we wove in and out of Fes' archways and stone passages. Along these passages you will usually run into a donkey carrying loads of merchandise. Donkeys always have the right of way. If you don't think so, just stand in front of one trying to pass by…..
The mother of the house cooked three meals a day. Breakfast included the ever present mint tea which consists of freshly brewed mint leaves poured into a glass containing whole mint leaves and sugar. The tea was accompanied by fresh roti style bread, sweet rolls with sauce, eggs, and juice. Dinner was a huge communal platter of Couscous with almonds, raisins, steamed vegetables, meatballs, couscous, and broth. It was sooooooo gooooood.
Ladies First: On the first day of arrival I immediately covered myself from head to toe. Giladji asked 'Why are you wearing trousers?' 'Because I have to cover up!' 'No. Take those off'. To my pleasant surprise women in Fez are quite contemporary in their dress and attitudes. There is no conflict between the modern, traditional, or fundamental. I saw mothers in head wraps and kaftans walking with their mini skirt clad daughters. And believe me, even the covered women were giving fashion with their high heels, jewelry and eye make up. The head wraps are deceiving because underneath the women have elaborate hair styles. Women treat the head wraps like jackets: to go outdoors they put it on, but once indoors they take it off.
Ok, now the really good stuff………
The day before I left I went to the Hammam which is a local bath house. The hammam is basically a social institution for women to scrub, steam, bathe, and talk. I walked in and was asked if I wanted a massage. The mosaic tiled space contains several rooms of different water temperatures covered by a dome roof with shafts of light beaming through. Once I walked in I knew I was in for something special. The women present ranged from pre-school to grandmothers to pregnant women. All of the women strip down to their underwear, grab huge buckets of water and begin to steam and scrub. The hammam is very communal…… I saw daughters scrubbing their mother's backs, friends lifting up each others breast to clean underneath, and other stuff I can't write about on this blog!
Once I steamed up, Big Mama Massager came over with the buckets for my scrub. What happened next was unbelievable…….. Big Mamma Massager began by washing my hair and pouring huge buckets of hot water over my head to rinse out the shampoo. She then put on a loofa glove, grabbed some black soap and scrubbed me DOWN. Literally. She made me lie face down on the marble floor and scrubbed me from my neck down to my toes. Flipped me over and did the front side too. All of this was accompanied by more buckets of hot water being poured over me. After the scrub, she got her rub on. Big Mamma massaged me from head to toe, front to back. This was not a posh massage, she was serious! Just to make sure everything was clean she pulled open my panties and poured a huge bucket of hot water down there! I was clean. REAL CLEAN! I don't think I've been bathed like that since I was five! Did I mention all of this was done in front of sixty naked women? What on earth could possibly top that experience?
Right after the hammam I had an appointment to get hennah. I've always wanted to get my hands and feet decorated with hennah, and now was my chance. A few Berber women came to the house and proceeded to mix the hennah dye. The woman slowly began to apply an intricate design all over my fingers and both sides of my hands. As the dye was drying she began to decorate my legs for good luck. During this time the women were talking and eating dates with walnuts. Because the hennah was drying on my hands I could not eat. So what happened next? The women began to stuff the figs with walnuts and say 'open'. For the next hour I had women hand feeding me sweets while I was covered in hennah! Life is good! I know plenty of men who would pay gooood money to lie around in a bath house full of naked women and be hand feed sweets!
Finally, I had to leave Fes. Trying to get out of Morocco and the south of Spain was madness!
I'll make a really long story short. My bus was three hours late, the windows were sealed shut and the A/C didn't work during the SEVEN hour ride, I missed all my connecting trains and ferries. In Spain, I had to stay overnight in a scary hotel where the manager gave me a room with no door knob, (I stuffed the hole so he couldn't peep on me), and every time he saw me he said 'Ooooooooh-sah' (U.S.A) and winked.The next day I missed all my connecting trains and ferries AGAIN, because all the clocks in the train station were covered with tape for some bizarre reason, and I forgot there is a one hour time difference between Morocco and Spain %&@! Did I mention the trains only run once a day? &^$@%!
Finally, finally, finally I got out of there.
Next stop: Paris
Barcelona Especial
Barcelona Especial
Barcelona, August 6-12 As a little anecdote, I must tell you that on the train from Rome to Milan I sat next to a nun! The book I was reading was 'Conversations with God'. (I swear I'm not making this up!)Because life is full of contrasts, the connecting train from Milan to Barcelona was pure hell. First of all it was the most expensive train ticket I had to purchase. The 'sleeper' car was teeeeeeeny. Just think of a sardine can on wheels packed with four women (American, Russian, Dominican and Mexican) and all their bags. There were four pull out beds and literally no space for luggage. We had to stack the bags in the middle of the 'room' which covered the view and didn't allow the door to completely shut. Of course the train conductor made no stop announcements and we arrived in Barcelona almost two hours late. Upon arrival I departed the train and the handle to my suitcase immediately detached from the rest of the suitcase. I was literally standing on the platform with a handle in my hand! No suitcase, just a handle. After screaming *&%!
I managed to slowly drag suitcase number 4 to a taxi stand and head for my friend Arnau's house.Arnau's casa is truly an artist's home. He and his roommate live in a converted two story garage with three make shift bedrooms. All of the furnishings were either found on the street (literally) or hand made. Red velvet curtains, mannequins, view finder cameras, bird cages and a flamenco dance floor with a mirrored wall in the center of the house. If you have ever been to Barron Claiborne's studio it this house was incredibly similar. They even had a large model airplane with wings inscribed with the word 'Baron'. Six degrees of separation.....
After finally being able to take a bath and wash my clothes Arnau asks me to run an errand with him....on bicycle. I have not been on a bike in God only knows how long and I am wearing a micro-mini skirt and lace up sandals. Bike, skirt, sandals,traffic. I don't know how I pulled it off but I didn't flash anyone, crash my bike, or kill myself as I rode through Barcelona. We walked down 'La Rambla' which is the most incredible shopping street in Europe. I don't mean shopping as in designer goods. On La Rambla you will find turtles for sale, chickens for sale, flowers, magazines, and the most outrageous and creative street performers dressed in elaborate costumes.
For lunch we stopped at a food stand in the market and I had one of the most amazing fresh seafood platters I've ever had in my life. Giant prawns, octopus, calamari, mussels with lemon and olive oil. It was crazy.The following days Arnau begins assisting me. Everything goes well but I quickly realize that Barcelona is similar to NY in this way: everyone you meet is from somewhere else. Recent E.U. immigration has totally flooded the city. Which makes the city vibrant and interesting, but don't plan on meeting any Spaniards!.
Also I learn that in Barcelona people don't really speak Spanish or consider themselves to be Spaniards, they are and speak Catalan. Okaaaaay. After the first day of shooting Arnau becomes busy collecting TV's for an installation project, so I head out alone with a 'translation card' to hand to perspective models. It worked but it was slow going. I also realized that I was beginning to get grumpy, which is unusual. But all the traveling started to wear on me, even though I was fighting it. I became really irritated by things that I usually would not even notice. I had to admit to myself and my flat mates that I am actually human and needed to rest.
Once back up to speed I manuvered the metro system and shoot in the Gothic Quarter, Ravala, Barcelonita (beach), La Rambla and the surrounding neighborhoods. I go to a local market where they sell everything under the sun from flamenco dresses, wood furniture, electrical parts and SUITCASES, all laid out the ground. I buy SUITCASE NUMBER 5!
Sunday,August12th I booked a ticket to catch the overnight train heading for the south of Spain where I would board a ferry to Morocco. But something happened……On the way to the train station it began to get really, really dark. The wind picked up and started throwing debris in the air. All of a sudden there was a bolt of lightening and the sky completely opened up. It poured like I. don't. know. what. Everyone in the street began to run hysterically towards the train station. I was running sideways (if that's possible) to avoid getting hit in the head with flying garbage and because the rain felt like hail. I think I am the only person on earth who has ever been caught in a rainstorm on the way to the desert! Always in the thick of it…
Next stop: Fes, Morocco
Barcelona, August 6-12 As a little anecdote, I must tell you that on the train from Rome to Milan I sat next to a nun! The book I was reading was 'Conversations with God'. (I swear I'm not making this up!)Because life is full of contrasts, the connecting train from Milan to Barcelona was pure hell. First of all it was the most expensive train ticket I had to purchase. The 'sleeper' car was teeeeeeeny. Just think of a sardine can on wheels packed with four women (American, Russian, Dominican and Mexican) and all their bags. There were four pull out beds and literally no space for luggage. We had to stack the bags in the middle of the 'room' which covered the view and didn't allow the door to completely shut. Of course the train conductor made no stop announcements and we arrived in Barcelona almost two hours late. Upon arrival I departed the train and the handle to my suitcase immediately detached from the rest of the suitcase. I was literally standing on the platform with a handle in my hand! No suitcase, just a handle. After screaming *&%!
I managed to slowly drag suitcase number 4 to a taxi stand and head for my friend Arnau's house.Arnau's casa is truly an artist's home. He and his roommate live in a converted two story garage with three make shift bedrooms. All of the furnishings were either found on the street (literally) or hand made. Red velvet curtains, mannequins, view finder cameras, bird cages and a flamenco dance floor with a mirrored wall in the center of the house. If you have ever been to Barron Claiborne's studio it this house was incredibly similar. They even had a large model airplane with wings inscribed with the word 'Baron'. Six degrees of separation.....
After finally being able to take a bath and wash my clothes Arnau asks me to run an errand with him....on bicycle. I have not been on a bike in God only knows how long and I am wearing a micro-mini skirt and lace up sandals. Bike, skirt, sandals,traffic. I don't know how I pulled it off but I didn't flash anyone, crash my bike, or kill myself as I rode through Barcelona. We walked down 'La Rambla' which is the most incredible shopping street in Europe. I don't mean shopping as in designer goods. On La Rambla you will find turtles for sale, chickens for sale, flowers, magazines, and the most outrageous and creative street performers dressed in elaborate costumes.
For lunch we stopped at a food stand in the market and I had one of the most amazing fresh seafood platters I've ever had in my life. Giant prawns, octopus, calamari, mussels with lemon and olive oil. It was crazy.The following days Arnau begins assisting me. Everything goes well but I quickly realize that Barcelona is similar to NY in this way: everyone you meet is from somewhere else. Recent E.U. immigration has totally flooded the city. Which makes the city vibrant and interesting, but don't plan on meeting any Spaniards!.
Also I learn that in Barcelona people don't really speak Spanish or consider themselves to be Spaniards, they are and speak Catalan. Okaaaaay. After the first day of shooting Arnau becomes busy collecting TV's for an installation project, so I head out alone with a 'translation card' to hand to perspective models. It worked but it was slow going. I also realized that I was beginning to get grumpy, which is unusual. But all the traveling started to wear on me, even though I was fighting it. I became really irritated by things that I usually would not even notice. I had to admit to myself and my flat mates that I am actually human and needed to rest.
Once back up to speed I manuvered the metro system and shoot in the Gothic Quarter, Ravala, Barcelonita (beach), La Rambla and the surrounding neighborhoods. I go to a local market where they sell everything under the sun from flamenco dresses, wood furniture, electrical parts and SUITCASES, all laid out the ground. I buy SUITCASE NUMBER 5!
Sunday,August12th I booked a ticket to catch the overnight train heading for the south of Spain where I would board a ferry to Morocco. But something happened……On the way to the train station it began to get really, really dark. The wind picked up and started throwing debris in the air. All of a sudden there was a bolt of lightening and the sky completely opened up. It poured like I. don't. know. what. Everyone in the street began to run hysterically towards the train station. I was running sideways (if that's possible) to avoid getting hit in the head with flying garbage and because the rain felt like hail. I think I am the only person on earth who has ever been caught in a rainstorm on the way to the desert! Always in the thick of it…
Next stop: Fes, Morocco
The Flip Side of Adventure
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Okay, so far I have been describing all the glorious details of travel abroad. Now I am going to share the B-side of the adventure. First of all adventure is a lot of damn work. Like writing this blog for instance! For all you wanna be Indiana Jones here´s the real deal:
First of all you have to be half crazy and maintain a high energy level to complete a project on the road. Especially a project which requires a half a dozen languages and an unpopular flag. For this project I am doing the following in each city: Still photography, text interviews, audio interviews, and shooting video. Each person also has to sign model releases. Although I have had guides/translators, I have to explain to them my working process and how to engage people on the streets. They also have to learn how to caption text and model releases, shoot video, and watch my back. The learning curve is huge but I´ve been lucky they catch on quickly.
Now the physical aspect: Each day I am usually out shooting by 11am and ending at dusk (7 or 8pm). I figure out which part of the city I want to shoot in, take public transportation to the area and begin walking. When I say walking, I mean consistently all day. If you stop, you begin to feel the pain. The pain comes from the bags on the shoulders, cameras around your neck, your feet throbbing, speaking to people all day, and the weather. I have grown nails, broken nails, and regrown nails. In London once the rain finally stopped I shot 17 people in one day. My feet were on the verge of blistering the next day. Don´t even mention hair....... My assistants who are generally male and female and 10-15 years younger than me are worn out by the third day of shooting. The third day. I´ve been doing this for two months!
The equipment issues: I have replaced 3 suitcases since I left London. My sneakers have ripped, my jeans have ripped, my tripod broke, my Yashica camera mysteriously broke and I am now using my ´back up´ Mamiya.
The travel: I responsible for all my travel itineraries, hotels, laundry etc. Sitting on a train for hours is great and horrible. Depending on which train and which country. For instance Italian trains don´t make announcements at stops. So if you didn´t just happen to notice the sign for the upcoming city (which is going by at 100km) you´re screwed!
Now after all of this I still have to smile, laugh, continue to take great photos, have a good time and write this damn blog! And just think, I only have two more countries to go before the end of August!
Happy trails!
Okay, so far I have been describing all the glorious details of travel abroad. Now I am going to share the B-side of the adventure. First of all adventure is a lot of damn work. Like writing this blog for instance! For all you wanna be Indiana Jones here´s the real deal:
First of all you have to be half crazy and maintain a high energy level to complete a project on the road. Especially a project which requires a half a dozen languages and an unpopular flag. For this project I am doing the following in each city: Still photography, text interviews, audio interviews, and shooting video. Each person also has to sign model releases. Although I have had guides/translators, I have to explain to them my working process and how to engage people on the streets. They also have to learn how to caption text and model releases, shoot video, and watch my back. The learning curve is huge but I´ve been lucky they catch on quickly.
Now the physical aspect: Each day I am usually out shooting by 11am and ending at dusk (7 or 8pm). I figure out which part of the city I want to shoot in, take public transportation to the area and begin walking. When I say walking, I mean consistently all day. If you stop, you begin to feel the pain. The pain comes from the bags on the shoulders, cameras around your neck, your feet throbbing, speaking to people all day, and the weather. I have grown nails, broken nails, and regrown nails. In London once the rain finally stopped I shot 17 people in one day. My feet were on the verge of blistering the next day. Don´t even mention hair....... My assistants who are generally male and female and 10-15 years younger than me are worn out by the third day of shooting. The third day. I´ve been doing this for two months!
The equipment issues: I have replaced 3 suitcases since I left London. My sneakers have ripped, my jeans have ripped, my tripod broke, my Yashica camera mysteriously broke and I am now using my ´back up´ Mamiya.
The travel: I responsible for all my travel itineraries, hotels, laundry etc. Sitting on a train for hours is great and horrible. Depending on which train and which country. For instance Italian trains don´t make announcements at stops. So if you didn´t just happen to notice the sign for the upcoming city (which is going by at 100km) you´re screwed!
Now after all of this I still have to smile, laugh, continue to take great photos, have a good time and write this damn blog! And just think, I only have two more countries to go before the end of August!
Happy trails!
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