I have a million more things to say about Bahrain...

..but for now, a letter to my family about Alexandria, Egypt.

Dear Paw Paw, Mom, and Jordan,
Sometimes you walk off of an airplane, and feel like you are where you belong. It happened to me yesterday afternoon when I stepped on to the Alexandrian airport tarmac. That was until I realized there was no ATM between me and the customs official. There is ALWAYS an ATM between you and the Passport official, but this time I had landed in an airport that had one gate... Moreover, contrary to what you start believing while you live in Bahrain, not everyone speaks English. The customs guy was really nice though and shuffled me around to several different people that each spoke progressively better English. At some point, it became clear that I needed to leave the airport if I was going to get any money from the ATM. So, the very official police guy walked me out of the airport and we found Simi, who gave me enough for a visa....and proceeded to ask me if I was a terrorist.




I am a nerd, and I think the visa stamp is beautiful....much like I think this entire place is beautiful. Last night after I made friends with Customs, Simi took me to get Koshari, which is the traditional Egyptian meal. It is like an Egyptian Chili made up of pasta, rice, lentil, chick peas, onions and garlic and adding to this chili sauce. The onions are fried and slightly caramelized. Delicious.




From there we met up with the AIESECers in Alexandria at a place called Montaza, it was the last king of Egypt's beach palace. All around us were beautiful gardens and it is cool enough to walk around. People where everywhere enjoying the weather and walking around. Kids played soccer while some folks were picnicking. In one ear rang the sound of the Mediterranean lapping against the shore and in the other the buzz of a place alive with people.



One of the women I am staying with is from San Jose, the other from Holland but spent a year in Cuba, Missouri of all places. She said it was the best year of her life....and she wasn't kidding.... We are living in the nicest area of Alexandria...though it doesn't feel that way from the apartment. But I love the place. No AC is needed we keep the windows open, and I don't miss hot water here. I hear students practicing violin, people chattering, dogs barking....and car accidents.

Egypt...well, there are lines on the road, but no one pays attention to those. Simi described it as a "herd of cars" You just move with the herd, and indeed herds don't move in straight lines...so why should cars? I have yet to see a car without a dent or scratch....so I won't be driving here like I did in Bahrain (where I already thought the driving was crazy).

I don't know what I will be doing today, but I am looking forward to my two weeks in Egypt.

Much love. I have attached a photo of Koshari, the Montaza palace, and my visa stamp....cause I think it is all pretty awesome.
Send my love to the rest of the family, and Henrietta.
Elizabeth

Swap Meet me in the Middle East

June 20th through the 24th were a blur of sorts here. With the AIESEC Gala Dinner, Aldar island party, and a bizarre trip to the Isa Town Swap Meet, I believe that this blog may be the only thing that the events of the week had in common.



Gala Dinner
Much of my internship has been going to really fancy places and doing a lot of whatever I want to do. The kick off to the AIESEC conference was about the same. The dinner was held close to the top of Financial Harbor, which is pretty swanky.
I have about a million pictures from the Gala dinner, and I am beginning to think that one of the major functions of AIESEC is to increase your "tagged photos" in facebook by about 100,000 fold. Regardless, it was a good night with good people.

AlDar Lunar Party
From there a group of us shifted gears and went to the Lunar Island Party at AlDar. The dress clothes were stripped off in favor of beach attire. Every full moon, a party is held on AlDar island. The entire island is less than a few hundred meters in any direction, but provides a nice beach to relax among friends. Most of the
other folks there are mostly expats hungry for booze and electronic beats (everything from House to Hardcore).

One of my favorite parts is the water taxi to the island. The port is lined with empty dhows (traditional fishing boats in Bahrain) as if to juxtapose a sense of traditional majesty with the silly little white boats comprised of stumbling drunks. In a lot of ways, it also feels like I am on a boat jetting down the Mississippi. At any point I should be able to look behind me and see a family member attempting to water ski with varying amounts of success. That boat ride is the only time I feel like I am home.


Isa Town Swap Meet
Arab culture is one of consumption. At any point, the major shopping malls are full of people. We were interested in seeing something a bit more homespun. Sorry Fergie but I just don't do "Dolce and Gabbana Fendi and the Donna" The Isa Town swap meet provided just that. I just...pictures are really the only I can say about that.

Tree of Life

The real question is, who hasn't gotten their car stuck at an important cultural heritage location? It was like I was back home again, helping push out Uncle Mick's tractor. This time, however, I may have been in the desert pushing an Egyptian's SUV off of a sand pile.


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On June 18, a large group of us left Manama in the evening to see the tree of life at the south end of the island. The tree of life is a massive mesquite tree in the desert, with no real vegetation any where near by. Thanks to a 400 year old tap root, the tree survives by sucking up water from deep aquifers. It has a very calming vibe to it because of its age, but the location also set me on edge. Looking through my photos of it, for some reason it glows at night. Probably refracting the light from the flash. But cool, regardless.


I may have also climbed the tree of life. I was assured that it wasn't culturally insensitive to climb it, though I think I worried several of my Bahraini brothers. People here aren't exactly the tree climbing types for the most part.


From the tree of life we went to the jail cells in the desert. They were used to basically torture prisoners, but it was so nice to be able to climb around in open space. I loved it. Great night in the desert.

You are always a fan of US Soccer when you are outside the country

...and it was the same in Manama, Bahrain at Club Dublin. There was no home turf for the expat nation here. Even with the number of Americans that live in Bahrain, there are as many English. So Club Dublin and its television screens were divided between the two. After the hope and disappointment of an offside goal from Dempsey, the other half of the room erupted. That, well that, was a bad sign.

I sat next to Glen. I only remember his name because he was a 50 something civilian contractor, and old American men in Arab countries seem to insist that young American girls remember their names.

With around 87 minutes played he says to me, " This is why soccer will never be big in the United States. After 90 minutes two teams draw zero to zero. Americans like high scoring sports. They like to know someone won!"

Forty five seconds into injury time, he jumped higher than I did. Donovan pulled off the unlikely goal. He danced around with as much furor as Devin, the soccer player from Cornell. Because in that moment, he was as great a fan of American soccer as the people in the South African stadium.

I leaned over, begging to have the last word with Glen, "And that, that is why soccer should be big in the US"

Surreal Blender

In many ways, I have started to settle into a routine and most days just feel like another day of work. The only real differences I notice at the office are the guy across from me that wears a thoub everyday and the call to prayer I hear every morning ringing from the minarets.
It sounds similar to this...I love it

Yesterday, however, that routine was thrown in a blender with some tequila and lime. And the margarita that came out could have tanked entire collections of Ernst or Gaudi. In the morning, as unlikely as it would seem, I ended up on a high fashion photo shoot. With models standing around in couture gowns, the brand manager for Al Zain arrives. In his hands is roughly $1 million dollars worth of jewelry...and guess who got to play with it? Me! I can't help that the cavewoman-esque enjoyment of all things sparkley yet sophisticated. Would I ever buy diamonds? No. Would I wear someone elses? Absolutely, because it is ridiculous to have the value of an entire house in your hands/on your body.



In other news, I just found out that my childhood friend, Tom, has outdone me again. Apparently he just got released from a Lao prison yesterday in time to celebrate his birthday. He was arrested for building a boat out of bamboo in order to sail it down the Mekong River.

Of course he is released just in time to celebrate his 24th birthday, with a special birthday present.

Looking for work in a Foreign Country

"As an American with blue eyes you can go anywhere here."

I am still trying to come to terms with that statement. I have never been confronted with a situation in which I was so blatantly privileged relative to my location. (or at least assumed privileged, which regardless, has similar lived effects) I don't want to sound like the victim here, but I am still trying to figure out how to cope.

I don't know how to combat this kind of privilege. I ask Bahrainis about it, and they usually just tell me to take advantage of it. That feels so wrong, but is so easy.
I would love a job here, but I know that I could get unfair preference....woof....

In other news, we watched the world cup game tonight at Turbo's. It was a blast, and it was followed by rock band. It is so surreal to watch three Bahrainis play rockband to Iron Maiden and Tenacious D songs....

...but so far that surreal element is what characterizes my Bahrain experience.

Strange n ights

Last night I held a sobbing Filipino hooker in my arms. For ten minutes we stood in the ladies restroom at a club as she bawled; it was the only thing I could do for her. She didn't speak English...I picked up one word, "son." That is the kind of moment you never forget-- heartbreaking...as though I held the weight of the world's injustice in my arms, and she was a 45 kilo migrant sex worker.


My night became even weirder from that moment on. A member of the national staff with my internship program and I were speaking with some facilities managers at the Best Western (the club is inside the hotel). A third man randomly enters the conversation, but is in no way affiliated with the others. We are cordial, but nothing more.

About a half hour later, our group leaves the club. They drop me at my door, and I head up to my flat. A few moments later, I hear loud knocking and the door bell ring several times. There is the random third man. I open the door enough to tell him to fuck off, and asking how the hell he found my flat...and he proceeds to push his way in saying, "I like you...I like you.." (how can you like me, when we exchanged all of five or six words?)

He had followed me home, apparently.
I didn't let him get very far before I punched him and threw him out of the building as he tried to kiss me. I let security know and I promptly walked next door and crashed in a different flat.

Woof.