The Empire Dances Back

This city always makes it at the top when it comes to quality of life rankings and  I was really excited about visiting the splendid Vienna! I made my journey by train and after the boarder, along with the staff the atmosphere changed, too. You don’t move an inch from your seat and you are still in the same train, the same landscape with green hills, cows and little Alpine churches but you feel like you’re on holidays. Only due to this slightly arrogant Austrian accent with a promise of indulgence. Germans and Austrians have a funny relationship. We mutually tease each other always leaving enough space for the awkward moment when you can’t tell if this was just a joke or already an insult. Normal boarderline behaviour.

My hotel was called “King of Hungary” and royalty and greatness you find galore in the city of Vienna. The proof of the past empire is present in all the iconic buildings in the inner city. The Stephan’s Dome, the parliament, the Burgtheater, the Hofburg castle and the state Opera; just to name a few. I had one day and I needed to decide what memories I want to take home. I chose to see the Sissi museum. Now Sissi and I are both from Bavaria, however this is all we have in common, as she was the Duchess Elizabeth of Bavaria and came to Vienna to marry the emperor Franz Josef. She is a legend in the German speaking world due to a trilogy of romantic films in the 1950ies with actress Romy Schneider. Her face is Sissi and all I knew was the princess story from tv. But she was an actual woman and I was keen to find out who that woman was. And I liked the real Sissi because she was a wild child. She is described by contemporaries as very beautiful and yet feisty. Sissi worked hard on her body with sports and special diets and she even had gymnastics equipment in her room. Sissi loved riding, hiking and travelling and she left the plotting court and chatty high society of Vienna many times for spending holidays in Madeira, Greece or England. When her son Rudolf commited sucide she only wore black for the rest of her life. Some dresses are displayed in the museum and I was fascinated that I could see all her beautiful belongings. She had the best food, the most amazing furniture and gorgeous porcelain. But it leaves the visitor also humble because one realizes that all the abundance  was really no guarantee for the happiness of the imperial family.

Vienna seems to revolve around bitter-sweet stories about great beauty and great tragedy. Maybe it’s simply because the 19th century was about decadence, beauty, war and industrialization. The Vienna of today is shaped by the nostalgia of the Austrian Empire and the memories when it was Europe’s center. And I could not withdraw myself from that. I wanted music and something that goes straight to the heart to heal the yearning for yesterday’s glamour. After finishing a delicious Wiener Schnitzel at the Kaffeehaus Landtmann I changed into something elegant and went to the state opera. Actually I thought of getting the cheap tickets for the stance for 3-4 Euros. I love how cultural events are affordable for everyone and ordinary folks like me can watch the show just like the rich and famous so we all get a lesson in life through art. Old principle, I know, but no one can say that this world is over-educated. At the entrance I got caught by the ticket mafia and they offered me a totally overpriced ticket for a wonderful seat. Looking at my high heels (after all it was the famous opera where all the elegant balls take place and I wanted to pay my respect to the location and dress nicely) I was easily tempted to make that deal happen. So from my balcony I had a good view on the stage and the musicians. That night they would show the ballet Onegin with music by Tchaikovsky and the story by poet Alexander Puschkin. 

It was my first ballet and I can say it was never boring as they managed to transport all the story and emotion without words. Also the Duke Onegin had absolutely the most beautiful legs I have ever seen in a man. Men should wear tights more often so we girls can check them out better! And the story could not be more up to date! There is this guy, Duke Onegin who is very attractive but has commitment issues (back in those days it was called being a dandy). He meets Tatyana, a very intelligent young lady, and once she has fallen for him, he turns cold and flirts with her pretty sister Olga. Olga has a financé who is jealous when she dances with Onegin, because Onegin is a hell of a dancer and everytime a ballerina gets down solo with him he brings incredible movements out of her. When he dances and lifts her like gravity doesn’t exist he makes every woman feel amazing and special. But Onegin kills the financé in a duel and Olga and Tatyana are both broken. Years later he meets with Tatyana again and she is married to this older but very successful prince and of course Onegin wants back what he cannot have anymore. He desires Tatyana like a mad men. She is very close to giving in but after one last sexy dance she finds the strength to send him away before he ruins her marriage and Onegin is the unhappy loser. Heroes like Mr. Big from Sex and City or Christian Grey from the famous Fifty Shades echo in this story. Only the ending of Puschkin, it seems, is too feminist for Hollywood.

Full of music and images I strolled back to the hotel on a very warm April night. Vienna made it so easy to fall in love with it. It gave me an amazing day with great food and entertainment and I desire to have this again. People were always friendly even after discovering my German origin. So it deserves all the credit it gets from the rankings of happiness.

Liebe Grüße

K.

Let the tongue go

I travelled to Argentina because I wanted to feel what it’s like to dance the tango. When I started with tango one year ago, me and my beginner dance partner watched every thursday the feet of our instructors and did our best to copy the steps. I was not doing bad, dancing and music have always come easy to me, but I yearned to know what it’s like to dance with someone who really knows the tango. Germans have many talents but we are not very famous for our dancing skills. So I needed to go to the source of tango and booked a single tour with the tango hotel Apassionata in Buenos Aires. But who the hell books a single tango tour? Well, apparently a bunch of amazing individuals. We were seven ladies and one gentleman within an age range from 33 to 66 and everyone had an interesting story how they ended up in Buenos Aires. It was an international crowd with a language mix,  some only spoke German and English, some spoke French and Spanish and I belonged to those who spoke a little bit of everything which made me many times the translation hub. My rusty French and my survival Spanish served me well. At the milonga, the tango dance event, it was very useful for the small talk when the music stopped.

Right on the first night we went to a milonga at Club Gricell, a well known tango venue. And we were all so nervous and scared! No dance lessons yet! No clue how the Argentinians will react to steps of German tango schools! Horror! We took a seat and marvelled at the grace of the local dancers in motion. The tour organizer from the hotel told us not to worry: “The dancers wander around and will make eye contact and if you look back and smile they will know that they can come over and dance with you. If you look away they will keep wandering and try their luck somewhere else. And if you dance – then just go with the flow!” But what if I dance awfully? Or if I don’t dance at all? Then an elderly Argentinian gentleman walked over and asked me to dance. He had everything under control and we just danced. It wasn’t powerful yet, but we found a way of using my basic steps nicely. A couple dances one tanda together, which consists of three to five songs, then the gentleman brings the lady back to her seat. In between the songs there is a small break and that’s when it was handy to say mi nombre and donde I am from. So a couple has some songs to unfold their tango. Maybe then it’s not the last tanda. Some men come with their wives and don’t swap, some others make it their goal to dance once with every lady in the room. Every day we went to a different location with a different milonga. We tried traditional milonga and elegant dress, modern tango music and casual outfit, milonga outside, milonga with live music…the variety is big but it is always tango. By the end we all had progressed. It is not at all about memorizing steps. It is about speaking and listening, about offering and accepting in both ways. Every milonga brings a new partner and new explorations. I need to trust a stranger and emerse myself fully. I close my eyes and receive the music and the man’s lead and then see what it brings out in me.  For that to happen I shall never stand on both feet because then the partner can’t read my steps. It’s like mumbling with legs. And I can speak also with my hips, my torso, my chest. Sometimes I don’t understand. Sometimes I just have to wait. Sometimes I am surprised about the steps I didn’t know I had in my feet and suddenly I use a new word naturally. Sometimes I want to repeat but the moment is gone.

I felt tango demanded a great presence in the very moment. I could not plan ahead steps or be prepared for future dance partners. Against all German nature! I had to embrace the unknown. While travelling Argentina  I read the book “The defence of the missonary style” by Wolf Haas, which is more a book for language geeks than fans of Fifty Shades of Grey. It’s about the life of Benjamin Lee Baumgartner, a half Bavarian and half Indian. And Ben Lee mentions how the Hopi Indians have only the present tense in their language. And that’s how I felt in Argentina. With my survival Spanish that only knows the present tense I told my story to all the taxi drivers, receptionists and waiters of Buenos Aires. I learn French and Latin at school and now I understand a little Spanish. In Iguazu it rains very much one day. In El Calafate is a lot of sun. But Iguazu very beautiful also. For me three croissants with milk coffee, please. You know German music? Robin Schulz? Very good, not Rammstein. Yes, yes I know Messi, I like football. The sausage is very good. Asado bbq very good. I only dance one year. First time in Buenos Aires. And now you also know the museum of Evita.

 

I spent three weeks in Argentina and the country has given me more than one page of text could hold. I have not told you about the polo experience and not told you about Mate tea or the Guanaco. But these details you find in every travel guide. I have other things to do. There is an uncounted amount of vocabulary in this world that I still need to learn. Without words is only the beauty of Patagonia.

Liebe Grüße

K.

Forever aye

My big fat Arab wedding was an absolute blast and when I got invited to a Scottish wedding I could hardly say no. Technically it wasn’t me who was invited, I was rather filling in as a substitute for a friend. But I dance, I talk to strangers, I eat and drink everything – that should make me the perfect emergency wedding company. Technically it wasn’t 100% a Scottish wedding either as the bride was German. I’d say lucky Scotland, that one of us lovely Fräuleins belongs to you now! The trip started in the typically local way – with lots of rain in Edinburgh. I totally understand British food now! The bliss when you have a sweet, warm porridge with blueberries for breakfast while the wind is blowing rain against the window! I could feel the energy spreading from my belly through the rest of my body. But we had to move on as we were here to swear another oat! Did I mention before that I also qualified for this trip because I am so funny? Equipped with the local specialties from Tesco we headed north towards Inverness. It was ages since I had my last IrnBru and I think if sentimentality was orange then this would explain the colour of the fizzy drink and be the one reason why I thought it tasted good. The last time I was in Scotland was in about 2003. Also I believe that one piece of Shortbread can feed Africa. Why do fundraisers collect money when they could give heavy Scottish butter biscuits? A place where you find lots of these culinary delights is the House of Bruar. A big shop in the middle of the highlands surrounded only by green hills. Customers consist of tourists and country aristocracy. You find there everything which the noble Scottish landed gentry would require – cashmeer pullovers, Tweed jackets, green wellingtons, fishing-rod, plates painted with little berries, salad servers made from horn, sheepskin slippers. But don’t worry, they offer more than just the essentials. I bought a Tweed coat that was on summer sale, perfect for the continental autumn that’s ahead of me. It was a bit chilly and rainy that day but the further north we came with our rental car, the Ford Focus with the taped wing mirror, the clearer the sky became. The wedding was in a castle but we stayed in lodges nearby. It was a very beautiful place 20 minutes outside of Inverness. The night before the wedding was a Bavarian party so I had my dirndl dress with me and somehow felt closer to the Scottish men than the women. We appeared both in our traditional skirts throughout the wedding celebrations. The overall agreement was that Germans and Scots go well together as we all love to drink and sing. Intercultural exchange was a big thing and the next day the pastor held the service in both languages. The groom wore a kilt and had ushers and, like it is British tradition, the bride had an entourage of bridesmaids and they all looked like fairies from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Nights Dream with long gowns and braided updoes. Blue and pink hydrangeas with lots of green leaves decorated the hall and small lights were hanging from a wooden gate at the entrance. Very airy and beautiful. How Scottish that was – I dunno. But the bagpipes surely were. There was haggis horsd’oeuvre served which was interesting, all other foods I had seen and tasted before. I also had done Ceilidh dancing before, the traditional Scottish circle dance. I must admit the Germans messed that up a little – one or the other whiskey too many maybe or generally untalented. But there are two songs that were played and that I love and that don’t require any dancing skills: 500 Miles by The Proclaimers and the traditional song of Loch Lomond. I want to cry and sob into my drink when I listen to Loch Lomond and I am not even Scottish. I mean, this man will never meet his true love again by the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond! Maybe he had to flee because he couldn’t pay his debts at the bar of a wedding. Something that was entirely new to me was the custom that after dinner the party is open to more guests and then drinks are not for free anymore. Now I know why they call the Highlanders greedy! But they were not greedy with kindness and openness and also the sun came out for free. It was just the right day for beginning a marriage, for joining two people, two families and two cultures in love. And I love when love says aye.

Liebe Grüße

K.

The great coming out

I just heard the Icelandic national anthem for the first time. I am watching Iceland vs. England in the European Football Championships. England is still in. I have 90 minutes now to write this text and by the time I post this we will all know the outcome. While England is still allowed to play football against Europeans we don’t know exactly what will happen with all the rest of our joint activities. As for the European Union – it is out. Third minute – penalty shot for England and Rooney just scored! Bummer! Poor Iceland! Wow! And now Iceland scored! Honestly, I will not have a chance to talk about the Brexit at all if this match goes on like this! Madness! So, England is a little less in than two sentences ago. Things can change so rapidly! And I guess that’s what many people, not only the English, seem to struggle with. People seem to be unhappy with the present. But going back in time is not an option. Iceland scored, too. You lost your advantage. And unless you run and work for a new goal the old 0:1 is not going to come back. It is physically impossible. You cannot ask the Icelanders to just leave the field. They are there. They exist. There is no scenario in which 10 English players run on an empty field alone towards the goal and score. And then sit and wait until 90 minutes are over. You are a part of system with rules, opportunities, mistakes, near misses, goals, penalties, red cards and referees. And it is tough. And it takes effort, strength and courage and confidence. England has a little less of the latter now in this match. It is only minute 18 and Iceland scores again. England is behind 1:2. Crazy match. When I started writing I expected a lot of boring mid-field kicking. I am sure the English don’t like the Icelandic players currently a lot. Not speaking about the English fans. The Brexit sounds more like a change than it is in my eyes – which may a prediction that the leave voters do not want to hear. No country is an island and England will maintain still relations with Europe and the rest of the world. English business men have interests. And they will negotiate. Europe will give, England will give so that everybody gets a piece of the cake. Only difference is that more trees in rain forest will be cut as all these regulations will be documented on paper. The big winners will also be lawyers who make a million new contracts. To be honest before the referendum I didn’t know much about Boris Johnson. Only remembered that he was this ex-mayor of London who got caught with snorting coke. Was that him? Anyway, when I googled him I found out that his origin is basically German-Turkish. Would that explain the crazy eyes and hair? I was actually surprised that England has such a strong racist movement, you want to beat the Germans really in every discipline, do you? Especially since no one should understand the joy of living abroad better than the English! “God save the Queen” is being sung in front of the tv in all countries of the world at this very moment! English people all over this planet are hoping that they will not lose against this other tiny island! English people always loved to leave their island to explore the world and when the world came to explore Great Britain this made many feel uncomfortable. But it’s not only England. Far-right movements are winning ground all over the world. The USA. Germany. Russia. France. Poland. And the list would go on. There is one man in history who was the best at using fear, self-pity and low self-esteem to steer masses in his country. And he would laugh heartily if he could see how the Nazis are spreading around the world even without much military effort. It’s only half time now. There is still time to turn the match. Reykjavik is cheering and partying. Icland is along with Lichtenstein, Norway and Switzerland part of the EFTA, the European Free Trade Association. Maybe England could join this club? Althought they don’t give away free goals either. Rooney, Rose and co. still need to score with their own feet. What I love about football is how you have to respect the opponent. You can fight with all of your heart and when you fouled someone you reach out your hand to help him up again. England invented this game so I guess at one point in time fairness and respect must have been English virtues. You lose or you win – in the end you shake hands and wear the sweatty shirt of your opponent. And you start over again next time. England got a new man in. He got a chance but there is only a few minutes left and it might be too late. It would be a sensation if England got out like this! 2 minutes left. Iceland is still looking for chances. Eleven friends helping each other out. What if Europe wasn’t your opponent but your team mate? 15 seconds…another missed chance for England. Corner. The referee blows his whistle. It’s over. England is out.

The best thing about football though is that you just get up and play again in the next tournament. It’s never over.

 

Liebe Grüße

K.

Kill your dogmas

Do you like hiking? When I was a kid I hated it – what could possibly be more boring than going for three hours up a hill? In the meantime, I have changed my mind. In October I went on hildays with a friend to Leogang in Austria. And we went hiking. Naturally we started out in the valley. A beautiful sunny autumn day and my friend started chasing cows. Somehow they hate it when you touch their face. No pet material. We were stunned by the leaves in red and yellow in the woods around us.

 

We thought: this can’t get better! These trees in the sunshine are the best view ever! But we kept walking of course. And we left the woods and there were only a few trees left. Instead we saw a lot of grass and many cows. We looked around and we felt the freedom when we were standing in the wide open space of the alps. It sounds lofty and overblown but it was like this!

Again we kept walking. And what I saw next made me almost exstatic! This is only a small selection of photographs that I took during this hike because I was so excited and I wanted to document this hike. What caused the emotional overflow was the fact that I started to see the peak of another mountain range behind the one we had already been looking at all day. I was so high up that I could see the mountains behind the moutains! If I had thought this through a little longer, then I could have guessed that in the Alps there would be more than just one massive mountain. But who is aware of this when you start in the lowest point?

My curiosity was running full speed now – I needed to know what else I can find. And I guess you will know by now. Yes. I saw more peaks. In fact I realized that these mountains were even higher than the one I saw first but only from my current high level position I could see that. Eventually we had to stop as the two of us were not prepared for any climbing or the long routes that take several days. I would assume I could have discovered even more mountain peaks. Or if we had taken a helicopter ride. Imagine all the peaks – the right territory for a giant fakir!

So why am I telling you this story months later and what has it to do with the question of how I see the world? Why are we wasting our time with my hiking story? Because I realized how people look at things and how people always think they know something. I go on the internet and I read what people say with full conviction about Muslims, Americans, Refugees, Vegans, themselves – you name it! And how do they come to these convictions? Many times it is shaped by what the internet told them, or what their friend in the bar told them, or what their dad told them or any other authority that they considered qualified. I am not saying that these sources are unreliable but I do recommend a quaterly fact and source check. Maybe the source is a valley person and therefore without being aware of that has no knowledge of mountain peaks. And their beauty. Maybe the algorithm that provides you with your daily dose of information is triggered by your search for shoes and facebook profile filters. There was a wise man, called Sokrates, who knew that he knows nothing. Some of his wisdom could possibly be good for you but it would never reach you – for let’s be honest, how often do we google philosophers from the ancient times? I just did so I am not telling you bullshit.

What are the options now? Hike every mountain to see all peaks for ourselves? Ask google and facebook to add an educational algorithm so we become critical minds, respectable citizens and good people? And who decides what is educational? I don’t have the answer for you. See for yourself. All I know is that when someone tells you he knows everything best you should rather be suspicous. Maybe I am not a trustworthy source either. I have shown the pictures of my hike that I wanted you to see. Maybe there were not only cows but also unicorns and I am just not telling you because I want to keep all the unicorns out of the media. They were friendly and let us ride on their backs. They are actually not white or rainbow coloured as in the myths but very dark brown so they camouflage well in the woods. And the horn is actually not sharp and not very long but only 15cm  and with a round edge. Because they don’t use it for fighting but only to give each other back scrubs. You say this is bullshit now. But you aren’t 100% sure. Haha.

 

Liebe  Grüße

K.

The sweet life

I think I want to be a Renaissance woman! I think it must have been splendid times! Last week I was in Florence, Italy, at the birthplace of this era and the city is living proof of Renaissance achievements in architecture, arts, commerce and politics. Florentines must have the highest rate of cultural masterpieces per capita in the world! Confronted with so much history on every corner I was lucky that I had my personal guide taking me through Florence, pointing out all the works of Italy’s genius artists. One you actually can’t overlook is the Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore, as it is the fourth biggest church in Europe and build by the star architect of the 14th century, Filippo Brunelleschi.

When I say I want to be a Renaissance woman, I don’t mean to construct religious homes in the future. None of the gods would want that anyway as due to their omniscience he or she would know my maths grades. Walking through Florence and the famous galleries of the Uffizi, which host artworks of Michaelangelo and Botticelli, I was facinated how those artists combined the Greek and Roman philosophy with their own ideas.  Literature, science and arts belonged together to make for a fully educated person. So the ideal Renaissance man continously worked on intellectual, artistic, social and physical accomplishments. But maybe a world where computer science and economics are as important as literature and art is only the dream of a graduate of literary studies with a complex.

Looking at Italians of today I think they still have a little bit of Renaissance in their blood that just doesn’t vanish. The Florentines are diligent creatives, still producing textiles and jewelleries, they seem to be good business men and women as the shops and restaurants are buzzing and yet they take the time for what’s beautiful in life. I have met several locals who told me a similar story. One was Gianluca who is a waiter at the restaurant “Cinghale bianco” – the white wild boar (which in its brown colour is a delicacy in the area). He has an olive branch tattooted on his arm because they grow in his home town and he loves the place near Cliento national park in the south of Italy. He has bought a bed and breakfast there and is now earning the money in Florence to finish the renovations. He has a degree in pharmaceutical sciences and worked in the Netherlands for a while. But he didn’t like that life. His dream is to work during summer and earn so much money that he can travel and live a simple life in winter. You don’t need to be rich, you work just enough hours to have time and money for dolce vita, a glass of wine and some cheese in your favourite Enoteca.

And there is a lot to enjoy! I took my souvenirs home on the hips when I had gnocci, spaghetti vongole, papadelle con sugo di cinghale, beef steak con patata, pizza diavolo, ice cream canoli, tiramisu, panna cotta, ricotta cream with chocolate, strawberry and pistacchio ice cream – just to mention the dishes I still remember. And always vino.

Surrounded in restaurants by people eating all kinds of meat and wine, muslim or vegetarian guests have to be very tolerant when travelling in Italy. The majority of tourists seem to be Americans anyway. New York has little Italy, and you can call the city center of Florence almost little Boston. A lot of students and tourists seem to look for the ancient history their country is missing. No wonder there is long queues in front of all attractions. And once you are inside you have to fight your way with elbows to the paintings of the masters. If you want to impress the Renaissance woman then invite her alone at night into the galleries so she can look at the artworks in peace.

Apart from these moments Florence is not stressful at all. People are really friendly, although my guide from Sicily said that people are even more friendly down south. A friend and I wanted a ticket for the museum in the Palazzo Vecchio and the lady asked for our age. When I said we are 32 years old the lady smiled and said: “Good for you! I still give you the discount”. Charm and beauty are valuable assets in Italy. I bought a leather jacket and because I was really interested in the production the shop keeper showed me the room where they make the jackets and also the cellar where they store all the skins in different colours. And then he said: “You are so nice, I give you 10 Euros discount!” Business is a matter of relations, you help, you smile, you invite and all you ask for is a little bit of advertisement, a friendly reference for the next deal.

Most of all, why I want to be a witty and educated Renaissance woman is because then you get to go out with these hot Renaissance men – I mean according to these statues they had all six-packs, curly hair and sexy butts!

I will keep you updated on my progress on becoming a Renaissance lady and if anyone in the meantime goes to Florence and needs recommendations I am happy to share details for guides, restaurants, textile shops… message me!

Liebe Grüße

K.

10 Signs That You Are Out Of Dubai

It has been three weeks since I left the Middle East and of course I have noticed differences in my life style. There are surely more to come but let’s start this in good old buzzfeed manner:

10. In the company cafeteria is Currywurst Day  (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Currywurst ) and the queue with hungry male colleagues is so long that you walk straight over to the empty salad bar.

9. Friday afternoons can end with prosecco in the office.

Feierabend Prosecco

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

8. Bar tenders are students or hipsters with Rockabilly tattoos all over the body.

7. Advertisements use sex or pork as a selling point.

Is sex still a selling point at all?

50 ways of Wurst

 

 

 

 

 

6. Sunshine is something to talk about.

5. Rain is something to talk about.

4. Perfect choreography on the roads: people on the Autobahn move so smoothly to the right lane the very moment they notice a faster car behind them.

3. You are the fastest girl at the team building kart drive because you are the only one who was trained on Sheik Zayed Road.

2. You fill your tank with gas yourself.

1. While you are filling your tank full yourself you are spending a fortune. 275 AED in Nürnberg.

Desert Nights

I know everything. No, really I do. You can ask people who know me. I am really qualified to comment on everything. I also thought of commenting on the terrible things that have happened in this world since my last post. Charlie Hebdo, Copenhagen, Moscow…every week another tragedy, one forgets them instantly. What stays is the fear, but you don’t remember why you are scared. I comtemplated if I should comment on a few things as feel like building a bridge between the Middle East and the West. But I decided to leave violence to itself and present you with some beauty instead and fight terror by ignoring it.

While writing this article I am already back home in Germany. My Middle East adventure is over. But I tried to experience some highlights before my departure. It was on my bucket list to go to Al Ain and a friend had mercy and took me. The name Al Ain means The Spring and indeed it is an oasis where people have lived for over 4,000 years. Incredibly old considering how young the nation is. There is the National Museum of Al Ain and the Palace Museum (the place where the founding father Sheik Zayed lived before the ruling family moved to Abu Dhabi) and both show many unexpectedly old exhibits. I liked Al Ain for it’s calmness in the oasis, really refreshing, and the great view from Jebel Hafeet, the 1,250 m high mountain of Al Ain. It’s absolutely stunning!

Traditional irrigation system

The National Museum Al Ain

Sunglasses belong to national dress

The road to the top of Jebel Hafeet. Stunning in dusk light.

And stunning after sunset.

I had another wish before leaveing the UAE,  I wanted to go desert camping. One night under the stars in the lonely desert. Only that the desert isn’t so lonely even at night. We stayed close to the entrance of the desert and so did many other camping groups. With five cars we went dune bashing before we placed them in strategic places around our tents so we did not get run over by crazy night desert drivers. The other campers were still far enough away and I did see the stars but every time I went behind the dunes to do certain business I always tried to be fast as motor noises filled the air constantly. We had a bbq, we sang at the fire – it was good fun with good friends and good gear. I love the desert. Maybe even more than I loved the city Dubai.

It’s a lot of pictures filled with sand but just every grain is beautiful somehow. The ruler of Dubai, Sheik Mohammed Bin Rashid Al Maktoum is a poet and he loves the desert, too. So he wrote the following:

ONE STILL NIGHT

At night, it haunted me from far away, A night so long, it seemed to have no end.

Aching memories echoed through it, With tunes of pleasantly painful verse.

One wonders if the echoes were mere imaginations, Or were they inborn feelings that haunted my soul?

Were they rising sounds and screams of pain, Or just silent and muffed moans?

Perhaps they were passive, unemotional tears, Or was it a single tear filled with passion? My nature and yours are so alike, Body and soul, to survive, need each other. Don’t regret anything in the past, What’s past has perished and is long gone. Time lasts for hours, a lifetime but moments, You may suffer or taste the true joy of life.

 

I would give up my present and all that has passed, I would give up my past, and the days yet to come.

I would paint my words with meaningful verse, With colours so bright that they tease the eyes. I draw but a letter, yet the letter draws words, That rise above the most powerful poem. 

For those in love I wrote wonders in verse, That remain immortal throughout all time. Such potent poems, so rhythmically written, Unveiling the genius behind every verse.

Of all those verses, I chose just the boldest, Led and inspired by my dreams and vision. The most joyful, daunting, or yielding lines, Which will be heard, even if in whispers spoken. I lose myself along the way, Yet land on shores of flowing lines.

The desert is materialized time, the biggest clock in the world. No grain ever stays in the same place. The wind is constantly reshaping it. It’s endless. As you can feel I am very much in love, much like Sheik Mohammed. I drifted out of the Middle East for now. What happens to the blog – we will see how the wind blows. My world is still wild, I still know everything and I still try to connect the worlds. Maybe just from the other end this time. Take care, dear reader, thank you for following my journey. Inschallah see you around in future episodes. Just do me a favour until I see you again. Be kind, be noble, be open minded and good – you know that I’m right!

Liebe Grüße

K.

Letter to the King

Did you think that I would not come back? That I would just leave forever? You don’t know me well, dear reader. Have some faith in me. My heart is loyal. Trust me. Sometimes a woman needs to go away in order to come back. Well, enough of this waffle, I am back writing in the new year 2015 and that’s a fact. So, where was I all this time? I travelled to South Korea in September and I can only recommend such a trip to all Middle Eastern expats as this country has everything you need to abandon in your host country: pork, alcohol in convenience stores, hotpants. And music while you are waiting at the metro station. It has really all a tourist wants, from temples, to outdoor activities, to the beach and a military demarcation line. They like the Germans very much because we managed to reunite with the German Democratic Republic in 1990 and they study us as an example. They have not given up the hope that one day there will be one Korea only.Those who didn’t want to wait longer and fled to the South are called defectors. I only learned this English term at this time and thought it was quite interesting that the word testifies a defect in those who leave the party early. It’s a defect even the Korean all time cure Gingseng can’t fix.

North Korea built the highest flag pole after the South had a very tall one. You can see it on the right. Some call it flag pole, others call it Burj Khalifa…and other others call it extended manhood.

Many people express their hopes for love and peace at the barb wires.

The highest post office – up to now.

Temples of Silla

The fog zone – on top of Mount Hallasan, S. Korea’s highest mountain. It’s a volcano on the island Jeju.

Snow Flake Dessert

After my trip to Korea I did not travel anywhere, but was really busy at work. Still I tried to experience some new things in Dubai and Abu Dhabi. I went in December for the first time to the Dubai International Film Festival. It took place in theater of Souk Madinat which is a venue with beautiful Arabic design. The film I watched was called Letter to the King (Or Brev til Kongen for those who speak Norwegian) by the Kurdish-Norwegian film maker Hisham Zaman. It is a portmanteau film who tells the stories of Kurdish refugees in Oslo. They all stay in the same refugee camp but struggle with different problems like revenge, fear of deportation, violence, but also find love and friendship. One day they go on a day trip to the city of Oslo. Everything takes place in one day before 6pm sharp, when the bus goes back to the camp. The oldest of the group, 83 year old Mirza, wrote a letter to the King of Norway to explain his situation as a refugee and ask for help. Will he get a response? Will the refugees be happy again? I won’t tell you as it is a great film. The special thing about the film festival is that the actors and film makers are there live on stage and answer questions. This film is even a German co-production, Hisham Zaman worked with friends and colleagues from Berlin. I hope it will be broadcasted on tv eventually as the topic could not be more relevant. Germany is discussing how they can better help refugees from Syria but some people are afraid of more refugees, and especially Muslim refugees. This led to formation of a group called Pegida (Patriotic Europeans against the Islamization of the Occident). Every monday a few thousand people go on a protest march in Dresden (one of the cities that came back to Germany after reunification – it’s not always going to be great, Korea! Sometimes the brother does stupid things!). It’s the first big challenge for post-war reunited German public to stand up against a group that is openly speaking out against foreigners, who take away jobs and convert their kids to Islam. And the Germans have done a good job so far, on social media with #nopegida, by marching against Pegida in return or simply by jokes (a satire magzin spread quite legitimately the news that today’s ant-foreigner march was cancelled and the internet ran wild). I am only an expat, not even a refugee, but even I can say that no one easily leaves home behind. Some Germans really don’t know how good they got it and denying help is the most ugly thing to do. So I wish that many see the Letter to the King so they get a glimpse of the perspective of a refugee.

The new year 2015, is only a few days old and people are still wishing a happy new year and I talk with friends and colleagues about plans and resolutions for the new year. Then this movie came to my mind and I imagined what I would write to the King. What would I ask him to do this year, if anything was possible?

Dear King, can you give all refugees an empty villa so they can live there peacefully? Can you get their kids free tickets for Ski Dubai so they forget for a few hours what they have seen and how they miss the family members who did not survive the war at home? (Also they need to see snow. Snow is just awsome.) Can you pay all the workers and maids so much salary that they all can afford small apartments and no one needs the charity boxes with rice, toothpaste and a towel? Can you pay the debts of Greece? Ok, maybe there is a limit to all magic and the little girl should not ask for more now.

I will not send a letter to any kings. And none of the above will happen in 2015. But, inshallah, it will be a good year for all who read this blog! Royal or not, here I come!

Liebe Grüße

K.

My big, fat Arab Wedding

When I received this beautiful white and shiny invitation with my name on it and imprinted Arabic calligraphy I was very excited: a dear friend was getting married and I would go to Jordan to celebrate this! Me and a bunch of lovely and crazy girls from Dubai would stay a few days in Amman to do some sight seeing, go for henna night and finally celebrate the wedding! I arrived late at night and after only a few hours of sleep a driver picked us up at 7am to drive us three hours south to the ancient city of Petra.  This city was carved in stone possibly as early as 312 BC as the capital city by the Nabateans. Moses’ eyes saw the same stones that my eyes saw, and maybe walked on the same ground that I walked on! It was a grand feeling to be in the area where these characters from the Bible must have been and the atmosphere was so history ladden. I know that physically these stones are not different from stones in UAE but yet the past seemed to echo in the canyons of Petra.

I have been a stranger in a strange land (Moses, EXODUS) According to Arab tradition, Petra is the spot where Moses struck a rock with his stick and water came out, and where Moses’ brother Aaron is buried at Mount Hor.

Looks familiar? I didn’t see Indiana Jones that day!

My lovlies!

The first skyscapers of the world

Grand Canyon meets Athens

Daily essentials in Petra

At one of the ancient tombs a Bedouin ran a souvenir shop. We were resting in the shadow from the hike up in the heat and so he came over to see if we were potential customers. Or even more. Potential wives. He told us a little about him so we would not go ignorant into this marriage. He told me: “I have 10 horses, 20 chickens, 2 camels and half of this shop. And my heart!” Apart from his physical attraction and his animalistic possessions he was also a true romantic. He said to me: “When I see the moon, I think of you. But when I see you, I forget the moon!” I do sometimes regret in special moments that I have not taken the opportunity to become a Bedouin wife. When I am stuck in Dubai traffic, when I have 50 unanswered emails, when I deal with complicated modern men – then I want to be in Petra and learn from my husband how to shoot a gazelle, and at night sit on the edge of the rocks and watch the moon rise. Apparently it is not so uncommon that European ladies fall in love with Jordanian Bedouins.

In Jordan there are still a lot of Bedouins living the tradionional way. They are nomads who move as tribes around the country, without a permanent residence. Some don’t even have passports but they cross the border to Saudi constantly because no one knows the desert like they do. They smuggle gas, they breed animals…and some are running touristic Bedouin camps and became semi-settled, they have a village but still stay in tents in the desert when they feel like it. We went to Wadi Rum and got a tour by a 19-year old Bedouin. He has been taking out tourists to the desert all his life because he knew all the best photo spots and how to take the best pictures.

The desert is beautiful!

The desert is soooo beautiful! 😉

And camels are beautiful, too!

Our driver spent over six hours in the car with us so he had a lot of time to tell us something about Jordan, the country that is surrounded by conflicts and seems like the save haven of the region. He says, the Jordanians are very tolerant, they are Bedouins with options. You can see one sister wearing short skirt and long hair and next to her the other sister covered and with Hijab (the headscarf). All the religions have holy places in the area and everybody is very relaxed. And when something bad happens then the tribe system is there to help. He gave us this example: “Let’s say, I am a driver and I have an accident and hurt a girl. Then I go to jail. Not as punishment, but to keep me safe from the girl’s family. I make a phone call to my tribe and then spokes person of my tribe will arrange a meeting with the girl’s tribe. We will ask as many members as possible to come because of course more people means more power. When we meet the girl’s tribe will offer coffee. But we don’t accept yet. The spokes person of my tribe and her tribe will negotiate. When we have a solution, like we agree that I take over her medical cost, and everything is setteled, only then we will have coffee. And then someone calls the police and I am free again.”

A very traditional part of the trip was the henna night. I had bought with the girls a Jalabiya in Sharjah before I came and it is pink and full of glitter! I felt like an Arabic princess Barbie! We had tambourines in our hands and we entered the room dancing around the bride to be. There was so much dancing! If you don’t dance you are fucked in the Arabic culture! Really fucked! I like to shake those German hips so apart from my blond hair and light skin I did not stand out in an embarrassing way. Since there is no men some of the ladies really dance wildly! I will not describe all details, as what happens at henna night stays at henna night. But it was lots of fun!

Jalabiyas in the Gold Souk in Sharjah

My pink Jalabiya dream

My henna hand. According to tradition henna will bring luck and prosperity to the bride’s marriage.

After so much sight seeing and dancing we needed to do something relaxed and nothing could be more recreative than a day at the Dead Sea! We went to a beach club and floated in the salty water.  The water looks slimey. The beach club also provides a bucket with mudd and guests can rub this mudd on their body. This is a lot of fun and it makes the skin indeed feel so soft for weeks! I bought some canned mudd for Dubai.

The salt concentration of the Dead Sea fluctuates around 31.5% and this leads to a nominal density of 1.24 kg/l and thus the floating. Indulgence on this side of the shore.

To know that on the other side is Israel and that also Gaza is not so far away …

Amphitheatre I

Amphitheatre II

A partridge in a cage is visited by another. In Byzantine sources the caged bird is the symbol of the soul imprisoned in the human body.

There is always room for you in Amman. View from Cantaloupe roof top bar.

Then the big day finally had a arrived! The wedding was in the evening and so we had the whole day to get ready! We went to Franck Provost Amman beauty salon and got spoiled from head to toe! I had this handsome young Arab man to get volume in my thin, straight European hair. Strand for strand he twisted and twirled it until it looked ready for the red carpet in Hollywood. He did not speak much English so we communicated only a little but I was ok watching him gently combing my hair while his own black curls fell a little over his eyes. Really, Jordan is a country with a beautiful landscape! Arab women love to make big efforts to look good, they regularly have their nails done, go often to the hair dresser and always wear expressive make up. And for a day I let the Arab woman in me take over the show.

At the “zaffa” the bride was picked up by her future husband with traditional drums playing and she looked absolutely stunning in the white princess dress, the long dark hair beautifully arranged, and all the little details from the nails to eyelashes in perfect harmony. The biggest difference I noticed to European weddings was the order of food and dance. In case I repeat myself: if you don’t dance you are absolutely fucked at an Arab wedding! We first danced to more tradional Iraqi songs and really everybody was on that stage shaking the hips. Then there was a break and the bride’s family decorated her with their wedding gifts in the form of jewellery. By then I was really hungry. Germans eat and drink a lot throughout the whole day and then start dancing. And then we eat again at midnight. After dinner the bride had so much energy that, when she threw the wedding bouquet it hit the ceiling, and instead of falling into one bachelorette’s hand each of us ended up with one flower. I try to interpret this in favour of myself and think of it as a good sign. Maybe I don’t find grand romance right away, maybe I find a little love first and then grow this into a whole bouquet? Or it’s just a flower. We’ll see.

It’s about time that people and countries start uniting instead of separating (really, I am looking at you Scotland, saying yes should lead to unification). I wish my Arabic friend all the best for her union and instead of quoting Shakespeare, who certainly is a great source for words on love, I will quote one of the greates lovers and romantics of all times, Friedrich Nietsche: “It is not a lack of love, but a lack of friendship that makes unhappy marriages.”  Next time I will talk about my holiday in Korea, the only divided country in the world, where people dream of getting back together with the North.

Liebe Grüße

K.