Inside Pakistan (1)

It was 2006 and I lived in the United States.
"You are not really going to Pakistan, traveling alone? As a woman?" that was the reaction of most of my friends.
"You might not come back alive," was the reaction of one of them.
But I am writer.
And the lady who invited me to her country, her home, to be part of her family for a while - was also a booklover, a writer, a teacher. What could possibly go wrong as long as I stayed with her, a true Pakistani. I had no qualms about visiting Pakistan at all.
And so I flew from Portland to London, to Lahore. It was just getting light as the plane landed and I didn't see much. Flat and green pieces of land, farms, cut through by dirt roads. No paved roads. Then suddenly a jumble of concrete houses and streets. I realized from the air that they were mostly driving on the left although that was hard to tell, they seemed to drive mostly in the middle. That was confirmed once I sat in a car. When two cars are about to collapse, they then quickly veer left or right to just narrowly miss each other.
Passport control was quick. The officials were all uniformed women stamping the passports, some wearing shawls, some not. Leila (not her real name) was waiting and had no trouble recognizing me. Her chauffeur quickly whisked away my luggage and then drove us through the city. Well, it is all those movies make it out to be..... Broken concrete buildings, dusty dirt roads, FULL of people walking along wearing long white shirts and turbans; old old rusty cars, carts laden with freshly cut greens drawn by donkeys, crazy old motor cart, mopeds, anything else on wheels, all honking and racing at top speed. The main goal seems to be how many other bumper carts you can narrowly miss.

Leila's house was a lovely oasis in a jungle of noise. We had lunch in the large kitchen. They must have cooked outside since there was no heat from an oven. There were about ten different dishes, all very typical Pakistani food. Eaten with the fingers with a freshly baked flat bread, and served with yogurt to soothe the spicy foods.
And then there was ice cream and brownies. Very Pakistani, I'm told :-)
I am incredibly lucky: my visit coincides with a cousin's wedding and I am to join them as family for the next five days of celebrations!

Tonight is the formal asking for a blessing of Allah, praising and thanksgiving. After that it's party time. I already have two gorgeous outfits, a green satin pair of very baggy pants with a long striped top and a bright blue set - the set is called Shalwar kameez.
The actual wedding is next Saturday but there will be 4 official parts:

1] Qawali. This first one is the blessing/thanksgiving.
2] Mehndi. A festive, colorful gettogether where candles are lit in special ‘mehndi’ painted pots and bangles are given away to guests.
3] Sehra Bandi I Barat. This is the official signing of the marriage agreement and most formal part of the wedding.
4] Valima. A festive gettogether to dance and sing and celebrate.

Today's "party" - Qawali - was very interesting. Leila, her youngest daughter, daughter-in-law and I left in one car with chauffeur. As soon as you venture out of the house, you dive into a whirlpool of noise and chaos.  The bridge is, like all rickshaws and all dump trucks, elaborately painted in bright colors with intricate designs. The rickshaws sound like they all have a moped engine and are only driven at top speed. They consist of a canopy over a three-wheel motorbike and seem to be used to transport a minimum of eight people, often more - families with babies, toddlers and grandmothers all piled into one rickshaw. They are a form of public transportation, like a taxi. The driver has a natural gas tank sitting right next to him.
Anyway, as we got into downtown Lahore the traffic increased. Dusty roads full of pedestrians, mopeds, donkey carts, goats, cars - all honking and racing. And no one wears a seat belt: that would take the fun out of driving. At 80 KM/hr we miss everything else on the road by a hair.
The roads are lined by broken brick buildings, people squatting along the sidewalks, talking to each other, eating and making music. Five times a day tall towers around the city broadcast a chant that indicates prayer hour has started for a certain prayer.
I asked Leila if it would be safe for me to be here on my own. The answer from all of them was that it would be an even better experience because people would be more courteous and helpful to strangers alone, who have come to see their country. I asked if there is a lot of hostility towards Americans here and the answer was that people in general feel sorry that the Americans are so ill-informed, that they should inform themselves better about the rich history and the culture of Pakistan. They feel that people act out of misunderstanding. Today, a gentleman asked me "Why do Western governments all hate muslims but its individual people are so nice?"
The newspapers do not write terribly negative about the western world at all. One of the major news events was about a man who had converted from muslim to christian and received death threats because of it. The outcry in Pakistan was just as loud and against this injustice as it was in the west. They are just as opposed to, and abhored by, terrorism as any other person.

Soon we arrived at our destination and entered a long, low house in Moroccan style. Huge entree, many rooms and curved staircases. They use much marble for floors and stairs. In the main room, a huge square Persian rug was covered with white cloth and full of colorful round pillows made of Chinese silk. This was the groom's home. His parents welcomed us and everyone keeps telling me that I am part of the family. I wore green silk baggy pants and a striped long top with my own purple silk shawl. We sat on settee's and floor pillows. More and more relatives came, probably fifty people in total of all ages.
When the ceremony started, we all covered our heads with shawls and one of the elder women chanted a long, looooonnnnnnggggg prayer from the Koran, sometimes the other joined in. After my 24 hour flights and busy day it was hard not to fall asleep. Incense burned somewhere and we were all given a paper flower from a basket that had jasmine scent on it.
Two musicians came and played a small drum and clay pot.
After the prayer part it was time to eat. Everyone kissed everyone else and then descended on the kitchen where a table groaned under the weight of many dishes: rice with beef, curries, salads, corn, Nan bread and a flat bread called roti like pancakes, yogurt, and much else. A separate table held cakes, chocolate things, sweet noodles, etc. No alcohol in this nation. Just small glass bottles of coke and orange pop.

After the food I thought we'd go home to go to bed but, as our car dove back into the traffic, it became clear that we were not headed home yet. Instead we went to the Basaar, where I was to buy cloth. It was late but still as busy as if it was mid day. Piles and piles of colorful fabric were piled high in each stall. A big open air market just with cloth, nothing else. I bought 3 or 4 shawls for gifts. They are woven and gorgeous. There is no bartering at all, which seems strange in such a noisy outdoor market. But much more respectable than the bartering that happens in Mexico. "You pay what it is worth, not more but also not less," was the sensible explanation given to me.
I had to choose fabric for another outfit for the wedding. The fabric comes in sets of three: one plain color makes the pants, one is for the top, the third makes the shawl. You cannot mix and match your own choices, you select a set. The fabric was measured by arm length and cut. Then you give it to a seamstress and will see it back as an outfit in your size.
The next morning I had grapefruits, toast and dark, sweet tea for breakfast. Sunday does not seem to be a day off. Construction in the new subdivision behind the house is in full swing and cars on the road are all happily honking. A man walked by herding his goats.
Today we visit the extended family: sisters with their husbands, grown children and grandchildren. One brother was a kind, impressive man with a huge white beard and booming voice, reminding me of Tevje in Fiddler on the Roof. He wore baggy white pants, a long white shirt topped with a dark vest. "When you go back to America," he said, "tell people there that we hate terrorists more than they do."
The table was laden with rice, vegetable dishes, prawns, beef, and different kinds of breads. Dessert was lovely scooped out oranges with a leaf still on the cap, filled with creamy fruit salad. We drank thick, brown fresh apple juice.
We had an interesting discussion about politics and war and generally they concluded "Maybe (misunderstanding) is our own fault because we haven't shared enough with the rest of the world of what we believe in." My friend explained that the muslim faith includes many parts of Christianity, including Jesus as a disciple of God and that the Koran includes parts of the Bible. "Our religion is very tolerant and excepting," she said. The women at lunch talked like mothers everywhere: about dieting, kids and the dangers of drugs.

We visited ancient Lahore Fort with many gardens, mosques and other ancient buildings from Moghul times; saw the Badshahi Mosque and the Sish Mahal.

 More in my next blog entry. Stay tuned!

Journey to Middle Earth.. uh, no - Middle East!

The first impression of Dubai is wealth. Glittering glass, chrome, marble. Often also glittering gold, diamonds. Everything spotless and perfect. This is a man made world of artificial trees, super malls, expensive cars and jewels.
But I am not a shopper. And I am not interested in hobnobbing with the jetset.
So I look beyond the glitter, at the history of this United Arab Emirate and fall in love with its hues and textures: of robes, headscarves, spices, sand.

From a world of black and white robes in Saudi Arabia, I arrive in full technicolor Dubai. Head scarves change from black to many vibrant colors. Even the skyline is outlined in setting sun with an orange haze from two days of sand storms. From the plane I saw nothing but orange sand of the desert, blown and shaped into soft rolling dunes. Whereas customs in Saudi had been swift and efficient, this customs line-up took forever but Sue, the librarian at one of the school where I was to speak, and my new friend, was waiting and whisked me home. Women can drive here. There’s quite a difference among arab countries with Dubai being the most liberal of all. They’ve even moved up their weekend, to Friday and Saturday, to coincide with western days off.

It’s a perfect 24 - 26 degrees and no humidity. Is the weather here man made, too?
Around noon, the next day, I take a taxi across the city to Jumeirah Beach. The white sand beach fringes the Arabian Sea, next to the famous building Burj Al Arab, the sail shaped tower. The hotel in Burj Al Arab is the only hotel in the world with a gold bar dispenser... An ATM with gold bars, just in case you want to buy your gold after the bank closes...
To use the beach right by the hotel costs some US $50 but next to it is a free public beach which is identical. Everything is very expensive here.
I swim in the strong waves, then read my book on the beach while women in scant bikinis and women in black abayas walk by. Men are jogging, even in long white robes.


Later on, I have coffee in a posh hotel and watch people from all nationalities: haughty Russians, Italians wobbling on too high heels, Americans in cut-off blue jeans, pristine Arabs and everything in between.

My favorite spot is “The Creek.” This is the name of the wide river that divides downtown Dubai. Not really a creek at all but an inlet from the Arabian Sea. Once it was a creek but the then reigning sjeik borrowed money and dredged the creek until it was a wide flowing river. Now you can take a small wooden boat called an abra to cross to the other side. On one side I had lunch at a small arabian cafe: fallafels with hummus and chicken and naan bread and the best fruit shakes ever.
Then I crossed the water in a swift taxi, an abra, and walked across the fabric market to the Dubai museum. Nice displays of the history: archeology, water, desserts, trading posts, pearl divers.

I strolled all over the oldest part of Dubai where ancient windtower houses have been converted to modern art galleries. This whole part of the city has been preserved because a western woman, who had lived there for a long time, refused to leave when it was to be demolished. Because she brought such attention to it, the ancient Dubai was preserved. I was told this would not have happened if she had not been western. Good for her.
I felt very safe, strolling here - a woman alone. As the call to prayer echoed through the terracotta colored streets, and doves fluttered onto the roof tops, I walked back to the abras.

One night I booked a ‘desert safari’. With about 5 other people we drove an hour out of the city, in a suburban, then embarked on a wild cross-desert drive through the sand. We had to hang on for dear life and hope the jeep wouldn’t flip over as we raced over high sand dunes, up one side and down the other edge. Not my idea of a fun night in the desert.
We then arrived at an area where you could ride a camel (pretty touristy) and sit at long, low tables to eat a middle eastern meal while watching Bedouin dancing, including bellydancing. Fairly tacky but fun to experience once.

One day after working at a school, I strolled to the fabric market, the old sook (or suq). These old market streets are narrow and sheltered by a high ceiling made of teakwood beams and corrugated metal. Each stall has wooden shutters, many of which were closed between 2 and 4 PM but things really come to live at night.
I strolled the narrowed streets, bought some gorgeous clothing and scarves and just took in the sights. Old men in sandals, young Arabs in crisp white thobe and red/white checkered head scarves. On one intersection I watched two islamic women in black abayas and burkas, only their eyes visible. They were passed by two woman of about the same age wearing tight tanktops and teetering on enormous heels. Across the street walked two black women with colorful African headdresses and large kaftans. What a cosmopolitan world.
At a small street cafe I ate shredded chicken and hummus wrapped into pita bread. Hordes of Arab men sauntered by, some of them followed by several women, likely their wives, and small children. I have been told repeatedly that Saudi women especially are very smart and that keeping a man happy with several wives is much smarter than getting divorced and not having the income and support of a husband anymore...

After taking a abra across the water for 1 dirham (about 30 cents) I  walk through the Gold souk and more narrow streets. Not far away, is a huge IKEA (where I actually ate meatballs for dinner one night!) and a huge mall where the large, local grocery store is fun and I buy chocolate covered dates, date jam and date syrup to take home.

Dubai has been one oxymoron of warm air and air conditioning, glittering buildings and gritty sand, snow white thoubs and dark skinned construction workers.  An interesting mix of ultramodern solar panels but no glue on the postage stamps; black abayas but strong, outspoken women, steel buildings built on slowly sinking sand; camels and iphones.

Special thanks to Sue and Norm, my amazing hosts who made it all possible.

Travel Relief!

Spotted in an elementary school in South Korea! I never did figure out what all the functions were. Was just... uhmm... relieved I could figure out how to flush it!

It was a far cry from our outhouse in the Gobi Desert, which was a long walk in cold, blowing wind. Can you spot it in the distance? We were told to be aware of roaming dog packs when we went to the outside in the dark!  It consisted of three walls and two planks over a hole... The only way to enter was to back in.

Arabian Nights - and Days!

Arabian Nights - and days - spent near Jeddah, Saudi Arabia (2011)

As a children's book writer I am so fortunate to be invited to do presentations and workshops at international schools. I love to combine my work with travels to exciting places around the globe. This time I was headed for King Abdullah's University of Science and Technology near Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. In addition to a visa, I also obtained a black abaya in case I needed to wear this in public.

On the day I left home, I got up early - 6 AM - because I wanted to start working on the time change. First a short flight to Seattle, then with Air France to Paris on a 9 hour flight. The plane was pretty cramped, like most of them, and those seat cushions are often too worn out, so that you get a square butt after sitting for hours on end. But at least this flight was only half full and I had two seats to myself.

Landed in Paris at 8:30 AM local time. My next flight wasn’t until 6 PM. I had checked my luggage so just had my small day pack. Left the airport and took the Metro to Gare du Nord. In a half hour I was there.
More and more I feel like airplanes are time machines. You step in in one place and time and when you step out you have been transported to a whole different time and place. Suddenly, from west coast North America I was in old Europe.
Spent the day walking all over Montmartre: coffee and croissants in a small cafe, walked some more, bought a postcard. Nothing but little cheese shops, bakeries, wine shops. Lovely. Climbed all the way to the top of Montmartre to visit the Sacre Coeur. A nuns’ choir sang, adding to the lovely ambiance of frescos and ceiling paintings, plain pews and candles. Very peaceful inside. Outside large black men were have a shouting match and a fist fight...

At 2 PM I was back at the airport.
Another 4 hours to wait. The Arabian Airlines flight was lovely: had a whole row of leather seats to myself, lots of leg room and the seat was at least 10 cm wider than on other planes. The food was great: warm French rolls, white chicken breast, fresh salad.
From the plane I saw a sprawling area of lights along water. I think it was Alexandria or Cairo, probably the first.
After dinner I could no longer stay awake and probably slept for 2 hours but then forced myself to stay awake because I wanted to sleep when I got to the hotel.

Just before landing I donned the abaya. I noticed other western women had done the same but others had not. It didn’t seem to make any difference.
Customs in Saudi Arabia was no problem. One look at my passport and he said “Welcome Margriet.” 

A luxurious black car drove me for one hour to King Abdullah’s settlement where land has been reclaimed from the sea to build a futuristic “village” with the university of Science and Technology as focal point. It is the first coed grad school in Saudi and an example of research and planning for the future. But not all arabs are in favour of a coed study and research center so the place is heavily guarded. You don’t really notice that when walking along palm tree lined boulevards, looking at sparkling waters and sipping ice coffee under an umbrella... I found out later that the place has nothing but palmtrees, which are not native here. Rows and rows and lanes and lanes, and each palm tree imported at a cost of $600.-!
My hotel room is a huge suite with very large livingroom, dining table and kitchen and a kingsize bedroom. Outside I have another table on a shaded patio and a large white mosque in my backyard.

Thursday and Friday are weekend in the Arab world. The temps are absolutely perfect: around 24 degrees C. There’s a bank, supermarket, restaurants etc. around a square that functions like an old village square. Families are out strolling, people eat at tables around the square, kids play. I loved seeing Arab men in long white robes pushing a stroller.
The teachers I meet over dinner reiterate how unusual it is for men and women to work and study together in this setting. It is because of the king, who wants to end segregation. I was floored to find out that the king is 85 years old. A futuristic man, the king wants more research into oceans because of the Red Sea. There’s also a lot to do about recycling, posters everywhere to promote it and cans for recycling on every corner. The movie showing on campus: An Inconvenient Truth.

The elementary school where I am speaking is a beautiful, spacious building - not much different from new North American schools. But the population of 250 students is made up of children from all over the world. In one class are children from Egypt, France, Australia, Ireland, some Saudi’s, some American or Canadian kids, perhaps a Chinese one and someone from Jordan or Palestine. A wonderful world mix. Most of the kids speak with heavy accents and are learning English. A small perky first grader turns to her mom and rattles in French, then turns to me to translate rapidly in English. A Saudi boy in Grade Two who doesn’t speak English yet turns to his friend to find out what I said. These kids translate and switch easily between languages and cultures.

After school I join a group on a sunset cruise on the Red Sea. We gently tug along the inner harbour on a luxurious yacht, past ultra modern buildings of gleaming glass and steel - the university library, the Innovation Cluster, Discovery Square and the arabian looking housing quarters. On the sea we stay fairly close to the coast under the watchful eye of the Saudi coast guard. I see one dolphin jump, several fishes glide by, a heron, smaller birds. While the sun slowly set we feast on salads, baked fish, roasted chicken and more.

Kaust is a liberal island in a conservative sea. Headscarves and abayas are optional but many women wear them. Tonight I saw a group of young women in the coffee shop - could have been any western Starbucks place - and I noticed their shy, modest manners. It made me realize that they probably prefer the cover of an abaya over exposure and western fashion. Sometimes it seems that it would be much easier to seek shelter in a plain black robe than have to worry about how you look to others.
The men wear either western clothing, on campus, or long white shirts. Some wear head scarves, others a prayer cap, other no head dress at all. Many Moslems here are from other countries and they all vary in dress.   

After school I rode my bike to the supermarket and spent half an hour wandering around. It’s a brand new large store and has the large S from Safeway on the door... a Safeway in Arabia! They have many North American items but also a bakery with traditional honey pastries like baklava. And an area with fresh nuts, raisins, dates and spices. They sell adapters for electrical outlets, abayas and toothpaste. And everything in between. A service personal on the ‘base’ are Philippino. The cleaning staffs in the hotel, in the pool, etc. There must be thousands. They come and go in busses and live in Jeddah. I wonder how much money they make to leave home and family to come and work in Saudi. The buildings all gleam and you could literally eat off the floors - the marble, glass and steel are all spotless.
I bought a tray of pastries, with honey, almonds and chocolate dipped dates. And a large bag of fresh cinnamon sticks to take home.
Rented two sit-on-top kayaks with a teacher and paddled on a windy, wavy Red Sea. The water is luke warm and looks very clean and blue. Afterwards we swam and snorkeled above some low corral reefs and found shells on the beach. It’s wonderful to sit in the warm sun in January!

I wake up every morning at 5:45 AM when the call to prayer sounds over the muezzin. Am at school by 7:45 and conducting writing workshops with all grades, all classes all day. After school I had tea at the home of a Muslim family, with beautiful pastries: round circle cookies filled with dates, sesame snaps, fresh nuts and  small cakes. Tea with sage and lots of brown sugar. When I arrived at the house, I heard loud clattering in the kitchen. I thought my hostess might have a maid. But she smiled and said “My husband is busy in the kitchen, he will join us later. He is doing the dishes and making tea.”
When I laughed, she said “You probably did not expect Muslim men to be like that? The media always depict them all wrong but for a Muslim man, family comes first.”
I’m learning about different Middle Eastern countries, cultures and religion. You can tell by the shape of the abaya or by the head scarves if someone is from Lebanon or Egypt, from Saudi or from Palestine. But those who say ‘we are Palestinian’ may never have been there. They may be Palestinians born and raised in Lebanon or so. They speak arabic but with the same dialects as someone from Scotland sounds different from an Aussie or a New Yorker. People here explain to me similarities in the Qu’ran and the Bible and how the origins of many beliefs and customs are the same.

That evening we had to wear our abayas since we went off compound to a famous fish restaurant in a small village. Just dirt roads and low buildings on either side. The restaurant was a large outdoor area with low walls and raised concrete squares. In each square were Persian rugs and pillows. Men sat in these squares on the floor to eat and smoke pipes. Before being shown to a private room (so women can take their scarves off) we selected the fish we would eat. They were the strangest fishes I have ever seen. 
The room was carpeted in reds and golds, matching the wallpaper and table coverings. We sat on small pillows on the floor by a low table. First we were served arabian coffee with cardamon and dates. Then they brought in enormous plates of fried fish, three kinds of rice, hummus, babakhoush, fried pita bread and prawns. It was truly delicious.
For dessert came a huge ‘pancake’ each, thick and filled with cream. It was made from vermicelli and almond paste and drenched in honey. Delicious!


On my last day here, a sedan picked me up to drive me the hour to the airport. This time I could see something because it wasn’t night time. But all I saw was desert... Not nice sand desert but dirt and sage brush. We were on a regular 6 lane highway. To the left in the distance I spotted an enormous white dome. I figured it was a huge mosque but when I asked the driver he said no, it was the prince’s palace. He said it is shaped like a ship and is on a small island just of the coast.
Once in a while we drove past a village, all buildings are the flat roofs that are typical for the area. Here and there were white tents in the desert, reminding me of the Gobi. I noticed a flock of goats on the outskirts of one village and suddenly spotted a huge herd of camels milling around, too.
Jeddah’s outline hinted at a big city, a mix of old buildings and tall skyscrapers. The airport is not very big. Nothing but men in long crisp white thobs and white or red/white checkered head scarves. Over top of the head scarf they have a black belt, and underneath they were a white prayer cap. Most men in the airport were followed by several wives and a small herd of children. In the ladies restroom, women would take off their scarves, do their makeup and then wrap up again. Every single person smiled at me and nodded or tried to make conversation. One tall man in impeccable white asked how long I had visited and what I had seen. He said “you must come back and visit Jeddah. You come and visit any time!” Everyone is very friendly and hospitable. I do hope to return some time to this magical land.