Have Patience With Me : )

I have moved to a beautiful piece of property BUT the house needs a lot of remodeling.  Reflecting on Spain has been postponed.  (Writing about the trip will happen; there is so much that I learned . )The sweet memory of Spain has been clouded for a short period  by dirt under my finger nails, wallpaper removal, paint in my hair and recently a nasty case of poison ivy from pulling weeds.  I have turned all of my creative juices to this project ... a home with a soul that reflects my partner and me.  Hopefully, you will feel calm and inspired if you happen to drop by.  Oh, by the way, we are using lawn chairs for furniture so please bring a chair.  : )

Magic Carpet Ride ... Anyone?

I have recently had the most exotic shopping experience in Morocco at the open-air market place called souq or souk in Tangier.  I was mentally prepared that I would have to bargain but the intense energy (both emotionally and intellectually) of bartering was not what I expected.  This event was more of a wooing, a tempting really, expertly orchestrated by the seller to lure me into a sale. 

Desire is the defining word … for my part; I wanted to own a tajine (also called tagine) which is the name of Berber dishes prepared in a special type of cookware. (The Berber people are the native Moroccans who settled before Arabs and Islam came to Northern Africa.)  Moroccan merchants are the best in the world at recognizing yearning and the man I encountered was no exception.  
  

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My traveling partner had past experience haggling over price in Morocco and discussed market strategy with me before we headed to the bustling souk area, ultimately advising me to establish a mental price before entering into dialogue. This was sage advice because, as it turned out, the vendor was a marketing genius.  Upon lingering at a colorful display of tagines, a smiling face approached, complimenting me on my choice. It is at this point that my ownership of the conical shaped clay pot became his entire point of being.   He began by appealing to my vanity.  I’ll bet you did not know that I am a special woman?  If you took the time (as he did) to study the lines in my palm you would know this.  Shamefully, this ploy did work … how astute of him to notice … my inner self inflated.  Negotiations began … he was nonstop verbally with a humming of words that laced around me and the pot. 

The price he offered was too high; I humbly lowered my eyes and expressed embarrassment with my inability to pay that amount although I did acknowledge that I was sure the exquisite yet functional piece was worth every dirham he requested.   

No, no, no Miss.  All prices will be considered.  What will you pay? 

Respectfully, I countered with another very low price.   It was then that I realized:  separating me from owning the unique piece of pottery was a highly trained professional enticer.  His job is to close the gap between the product and price so that I do not walk out of the booth empty handed.   The brilliant, psychological dance continued for several minutes.  Did you know that I have an amazing inner soul?  That he knew the minute I walked up to this pile of pots that I was different?   Well, it is true, I thought as I purchased two pots (instead of one).  Getting ready to leave (oh silly me), he implored me to enjoy a "free" panoramic look at the city.  Why upstairs in his shop there is a rooftop where I could take a picture of Tangier … absolutely a stunning view.  I paused … big mistake:)  Why not take a minute to go upstairs and see?  By this time, my friend was laughing at me but graciously followed me upstairs.  Leading the way, my merchant continued to wrap me in flattery as I climbed each step. 

Surprise! On the way to the photogenic vista there just happened to be three floors (or more? … we never saw the rooftop) stacked to the ceiling with hand-woven carpets.  My head was spinning with the glow of how perceptive I am - almost paranormal - this compliment offered in between presentation after presentation of carpet and color.  Rug after rug were unrolled before my adoring eyes.  Forget the mental price; this is Morocco!

Did you know that a carpet can be folded neatly, compressed tightly with twine compacting it to a tidy carry-on fit for plane travel?  Well, this is true.    After an hour of being treated like a princess, and spending like one too, I have a couple of magic carpets I can show you.  Oh yes, and the tajines, I think they were simply part of a carefully set tapestry snare.  I've learned a lot.  By the way, stop by and I'll cook you a delicious meal of lamb and prunes and afterward, you can go upstairs and take a picture of my backyard view.  You said you needed a carpet, didn't you?

Drinking in Spain

For much of the past month in Spain, we have rented apartments.   I would forget about the inconvenience of not being able to simply order tap water in a restaurant. The days and evenings have been busy with sight seeing ... and often by night, I would be exhausted ... a little bottle of water not on my mind at all.  Truly, I did not give it a thought until the next time we went out to eat.  Last night, I was dinning out in Madrid and noticed that the family next to me had a carafe of water and this vessel was refilled upon request.This morning, my final day in Spain, I took the time to clarify that I should have been asking for agua del grifo.  Without that amplification, ¿Puedo tomar un vaso de agua del grifo, I was asking for a sealed glass bottle and adding a couple of Euros to our bill. 

Another small inconvenience has been coffee ... if in a cafe, I would ask for black coffee - cafe solo, and I received a demi-cup of espresso.  Again, in the rentals coffee pots were provided so, most often, I happily had my leisurely western fare of caffeine.  If I would have requested café Americano, my order would have produced a full sized mug of coffee - much weaker than the espresso - but more like what I am used to. 

There has been no language barrier in asking for vino.  Although, I have not figured out how to order a half of bottle (nor have I taken the time to learn).   What is that saying?  Man cannot live on wine alone ... so sometimes I need water and coffee.  Oops, I guess I misspoke,  the noun is bread, isn't it?  Let me quote Henry David Thoreau instead:  " A man may acquire a taste for wine and so lose his love of water."  I will miss Spain.  (Thank you Robert.)

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Welcome (But, Please Take Your Shoes Off First)

I received a letter from a past friend, the final line read:  you will never be happy.  After reading, deflated, hurt, defensive … all of these emotions clamored for attention within me.  Believing that friends will understand or at the very least, listen to my reasoning, I am surprised when declarations such as this example are bestowed to me.  I have not asked for approval; I answer questions asked knowing that others have an opinion.  Still, when wounding comments are made, I am taken by surprise.

I consider my friend; does she really accept that she knows the journey to happiness?  When entering a home, often there is a mat for wiping off the debris collected on the bottom of a visitor’s footwear.  Inviting understanding is not a request for advice. I sincerely shared with faith that my truth would be paid attention to.  I had opened a personal door, trusting that I could reveal authentic ideas, philosophy … values.  She made a judgment. 

I know that in the past, I have not always been a focused listener … I will do better in this regard.  Thoughtless remarks can be harmful.  This edict declaring my inability to be fulfilled soiled the beautiful welcome mat that I am weaving.   I did not respond to the letter.  A door within me has closed; I will intertwine colorful threads to restore the damage because I have the conviction that I am creating an honest tapestry - strands of experience that are worthy.   For now, I am rolling this mat up.

‘All the World is a Stage’ but I am no longer a Marionette

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Since childhood, I have been apprehensive when exposed to different cultures.  Traveling in Europe (currently in Spain) has pulled the curtain; I am no longer afraid of the mystery.  I acknowledge that it was fear … fear of diversity.  I was born in the 1950’s; my education was completed in white rural America.   I can recall discussions of bomb threats (we had water and food supplies in our underground well house), fright of the Soviet Union was a constant, throbbing message perpetuated in geography classes and at home.  Vietnam was a fight to stop the evil communist from taking over the world.  The maps used in the classroom were spatially incorrect – the United States was huge.  There was no other America – South America did not count and Canada was a stranger to the north.  Europe was a distant and small speck far across the Atlantic next to the monster Soviet Block.  Nothing was taught in the 50’s about the Middle East, people starving in Africa really did not matter, and China was a nothing space of land surrounded by a great wall.  I was naïve and badly informed.    Couple the embedded societal threats with a home life that was also insecure and it was easy for me to become a marionette on the American Nationalism stage.   I was taught that my large, isolated country held the superior rank in the eyes of the world. 

Well, I am now traveling in the 'speck' called Spain - the home country to Columbus who discovered and then obliterated a people to the west.  We "Americans" later managed to kill off most of the rest - or you can visit a reservation to visit the survivors.  

What  I am learning is that contemporary Europeans seem to be more open to language difference.  They can travel freely between each other and listen to other tongues.    In America, I can travel (sometimes within a distance of 20 minutes) and hear street talk, a twang, a drawl, a jersey inflection but within these accents are words that I understand.  I can communicate; and when I can exchange words, I feel safe.  There are segregated populations in Michigan (my home state) that speak other tongues, examples include Dearborn, Mexican Village, Chinatown area in Detroit – from my upbringing, I believed these were areas of less economic desirability.  In the 60’s, whites moved out of the city … the suburbs flourished.  Innocence and ignorant intellectual spaces were puffed up with prejudice and might makes right propaganda, I also was brought up in a conservative church (we were the only religion going to heaven), both experiences making me the fattened calf of rural American life, ripe for the harvest of patriotism.  Part of what  I lacked was missing the richness of developing skills in another language.  There is a respect, a commonality that can be bridged between people when we can share with each other. 

This brings me to this morning’s observation.  My traveling companion can speak Spanish – I am trying.   There is a joy (perhaps respect) that is evident as we stumble through trying-out our Spanish.  This delight is felt.  There are moments when I miss what is comfortable, I do miss family but for the most part, I am learning what I have failed to know much about people from other cultures.  What I detect is a similarity within our daily life, our family needs are comparable with the exception that I have too much of everything … more than I need.   Instead of spreading fear, I believe that if Americans had an embedded cultural exchange and had to learn the language of the people we intend to war with, we ‘the people’ would  be less willing to perpetuate the hate, commit the atrocities of war that ‘my country right or wrong’ propels us to participate in.  I am reminded of the child tale of the duped emperor who paraded the streets to show off his invisible clothes.  It was a small child who said, ‘He doesn’t have anything on!’  Travel allows me to see that the average people within a country are much like me, they have less, but they have a broader perspective of people.  They are not afraid of language … they are not afraid to smile at me and offer  camaraderie in acknowledgement of my effort.  I am cutting strings; I am designing my own stage … I am thinking thoughts that do not belong to the state.

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Prestidigitation (Now you see it; Now you don't.)

I was enjoying a cup of coffee in the Atocha train station Madrid, Spain while waiting for departure to Toledo.  As I admired the cleanliness of the station, a gentleman walked by and quickly snatched a half of sandwich left for scrap on the table next to me.  The leftover was gulped without chewing; vanishing at an amazing pace.  ‘Did he take that?’   He turned without making eye contact and moved toward a bank of ticket machines.  At first glance, he seemed well-groomed, he wore dark trousers and a beige ivy cap – quite dapper from a distance but upon closer examination, I noticed that the sleeves to his outer jacket were soiled.  He pulled a small suitcase blending in as a traveler as he strolled to the bay of automatic ticket machines.  At sleight of hand speed, he swiftly slipped his right hand into each coin return, careful to be looking out at the hub bub of people while letting his fingers do the seeing.  I read once that advanced sleight of hand requires months (sometimes years) of practice before it can be performed expertly in front of an audience.  This man mastered the technique and also was adept in not drawing spectators to observe.   An elderly magician … sad commentary on the economic state of the world, but for the moment, I bow to his resourcefulness.

My glass is half full ... his is half empty but there is an entire bottle on the table.

How do you ask for a half bottle of wine in Spanish?  'Media botella de vino por favor.'  Well, the media was lost in translation ... sign language did not work.  But, the entire 'botella' was delicious.  Tomorrow, we are on to Toledo, Spain.