Tag Archives: culture

Istanbul eats: Metropolis in Sultanahmet

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I never finished telling you about Istanbul! So much has happened since then… Green apple muffins, upside down cranberry cakes, blueberry scones, office politics and resignations. Istanbul feels like a lifetime ago! But I’ve been looking through my pictures and they helped jog my memory a little. It was my pictures of our dinners at Metropolis that inspired me to write this post.

There were a couple of posts about food that didn’t impress me in Istanbul (like the kofte place and the colorful sticky candy) but we still managed to find a few great restaurants. During our short stay in Istanbul we ate at Metropolis twice! It’s a small restaurant in the Sultanahmet district, on Akbiyik Caddesi not far from the Hagia Sophia and Topkapi. Restaurants and cafes line the street with waiters standing outside insistently calling out to tourists, trying to lure them inside.

What particularly annoyed me was the lack of boundaries in Turkey between tourists and vendors/waiters. It seems like some tourists have put up with, and maybe even encourage, unnecessary physical contact and inappropriate comments over the years that this behavior has now become commonplace. At times, I found it really irritating. Below is a picture of a waiter who pestered me until I took his picture.

I came across Metropolis on Tripadvisor and at the time it ranked the #1 restaurant out of a thousand in Istanbul. That sealed the deal for me, I knew I had to try it. The restaurant was easy to find, once we manoeuvred our way past the pushy waiters. We braved the cold and sat outside the first time we visited the restaurant. The staff was attentive and cooperative, they turned up the space heaters after noticing how cold we were. We did have trouble with our server though, his charming persona quickly turned into unbearable nosiness. My sister and I couldn’t talk to each other without him interrupting our conversation with recommendations, questions, jokes and stories. I almost asked him to pull up a chair and join us!

As we waited for our food to arrive, our waiter brought us delicious hot bread with olive oil and a little dried thyme (za’atar). I had no idea that this Middle Eastern herb was popular in Turkey, too. The za’atar was a little bland compared to the varieties from the Levant, but I could have eaten that bread plain.

We ordered an artichoke potato salad, fried cheese rolls and Iskendar kebap, which turned out to be one of the best dishes we had in Turkey. The salad was average and not really to our liking, but the cheese rolls were piping hot and crispy stuffed with soft white cheese. Iskendar Kebap is a meat dish from northwestern Turkey. Flat bread is used to line the plate and then thinly sliced lamb (döner kebab) is heaped on top and covered in a thick, aromatic tomato sauce served with cold yogurt on the side. Just writing about it and mentally constructing the dish is making me hungry! We barely had room for dessert at that point, but I was determined to try their kunafa and although we barely made a dent in our dessert, I was glad we ordered it. It was the perfect ending to our meal.

We weren’t as luck with th food on our second visit to Metropolis. We had to send a shrimp dish back to the kitchen because it was grainy and didn’t taste right. Our salad was colorful and fresh but the vegetarian pastry was not special.

We clearly ordered all the wrong dishes! I was watching flaming steaks on other tables in envy. There were also several dishes cooked in clay pots that I wish I had tried (I couldn’t find them on the menu!). With a loud crack, a waiter would break a sealed clay pot over a plate, the steaming contents come tumbling out as the wide-eyed guests oohed and aahed. Or in my case, snapped pictures in an excited frenzy.

What really bothered me about the place though is how they falsely claimed that most tables were reserved (outside) to generate passersby interest. The first time we went to Metropolis we did make a reservation and got a table without any problems. Yet on seeing how most of the tables remained empty we went again but without calling in advance. We were told that the place was practically all reserved and we were seated inside, in very close proximity to other guests – when there were other tables that were clearly available! It was really infuriating to see that tables remained unoccupied all night and guests without reservation were ushered in.

With the exception of the Iskendar Kebap, I wasn’t very impressed with the service or the other dishes we ordered. Metropolis was just very close to where we were staying and therefore a practical choice. The food was generally good but I wouldn’t call this the #1 restaurant in Istanbul, it’s a hit and miss menu.

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Ghost brides and graveyards

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Chapel of the Cross

Annandale was a huge Maidson County plantation built in the 1840s. The plantation owner’s daughter, Helen Johnstone, fell in love with the dashing Henry Vick, and their wedding was planned for May 21, 1859, at the Chapel of the Cross. But mere days before the nuptials, Henry was killed in a duel. He was buried at midnight in the churchyard behind the chapel, and the devastated Helen wore her wedding gown to the funeral.

Kirkpatrick from Off the Beaten Path, Mississippi.

It was a damp, dreary day in February and we were in the mood for an adventure. S. drove  us to Madison to meet the bride of Annandale. We found the simple brick church and we made our way over to the building to investigate.

If I recall correctly, the doors were bolted shut and we walked around the building and into the yard.

To those who thought I was making S. up, that’s her on the right! (S. saved me, remember?)

Visitors to Chapel of the Cross often report sightings of a sad woman clad all in white, sitting on a bench near Henry Vick’s grave.

Maybe it was Helen’s day off. We couldn’t spot a woman clad in white – but the moment we stepped out of the car we were swathed in a strange stillness that hung over the churchyard and the nearby lake.

So we explored the area, took pictures and jumped back in the car (well before sunset; it’s illegal to “prowl the cemetery after dark”) but I have to admit that we were a little spooked. I can’t report any strange sightings or noises, but the haunting silence definitely got to us. We were practically whispering to each other!

Got a spine-chilling story for us? Do share!

If you want to read more about the adventures of a Kuwaiti women living in Mississippi click here.

shameless?

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I was at the textile market in Kuwait city this evening and I saw something that made my blood boil. A couple of Western women (most probably wives of diplomats) and their chauffeur were crowding a small tailor’s shop. The younger of the two women, a brunette, had a dress made at that shop and I guess the measurements weren’t right, because when we got to the shop we witnessed her pulling her shirt right up. You know, so that the tailor can get his measurements right.

My mother, aunt and I stared in disbelief. Talk about clueless! I mean, you’re in the Middle East! Women don’t have to abide by a strict dress code in Kuwait but a little modesty is expected, right? Especially at a tiny tailor’s shop with glass windows in a busy old complex. I mean, use your common sense, woman.

We stood outside the shop as the mortified tailor negotiated with the women. She decided that he needs to see the new dress on her to make the alterations. So he suggested the bathroom or the ladies prayer room – an empty room right across from his shop. But no, that’s too much of an inconvenience for her Ladyship. She informed him that she’ll be changing right here. Our jaws dropped.

Her Indian chauffeur quickly stepped back and away from the shop, the two tailors who worked in the shop stepped outside and tried to lower the blinds. She told them it’s not necessary. Her friend quickly moved forward grabbing a piece of cloth and holding it as a curtain. It was barely the size of a towel, not to mention they were standing right in front of a mirror. And sure enough, we all watched her step out of her clothes and into a dress, her friend’s body barely covering her.

I could tell that the men were really uncomfortable. Their limited English and their soft demeanor left them speechless. She was being pushy and exercising her implicit higher status as a western woman. If someone had passed by and reported what they saw, the tailors would have been held responsible. Newspaper headlines would probably read, “Two Pakistani Tailors Watch Western Woman Change.” The men would be fined and deported.

I can’t believe I didn’t speak to her, but something told me to hold my tongue; if she had no shame in the first place, what could I have possibly said to her? I did mutter (in English) and loud enough for her to hear that she was being incredibly rude. We walked away in disgust before she could change back into her clothes. I doubt she would have taken her clothes off in full view back wherever she’s from. So why do it here? Why is it that when people travel they feel like they can get away with everything?

Because we ‘appear’ suspicious

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A few days ago I wrote a short post on 9/11. I was tired and couldn’t summon the words to write how I feel about the attacks, how they have affected us all, so I simply recounted my memories of that day. Had I just stepped off a plane in the United States, I would have been able to quickly compose a long post about the suspicious looks I get every time I fly. The TSA agents’ treatment would have provoked a blog post out of me. It’s not only the scarf covering my hair, it’s my skin color, my nationality and my name. All which make me a possible threat to others.

I just came across a posting by a half-Arab, half-Jewish American blogger who was detained a few days ago and treated like a criminal because of her ethnicity. Her account brought tears to my eyes; she describes my worst nightmare and biggest fear. I’m always worried that racial profiling will lead to more than a random security check and marking someone’s boarding pass  because of their name or ethnicity. I’m scared that I’d be held for questioning because some idiot decided to report me. Because the public announcement at airports urging people to say something if they see something doesn’t really explain what ‘suspicious behavior’ really is. Is it when a covered woman takes too long to order coffee? When a man is spotted washing up to perform his prayers? When someone is reading a thick book on the prophets?

My fears are not irrational. And here’s a story that proves that I have every right to worry. Mrs. Hebshi writes,

I sat down on the metal cot that hung off the wall. It had a thin, green vinyl mattress–mattress is a generous term–that offered no comfort. It was about a 6-by-10 cell, the concrete walls were painted a light yellow but were streaked with black dirt. The floor was some sort of stainless steel, and a stainless steel toilet that has probably never seen the good side of a scrubbing brush, instructed me to keep holding my stretched bladder as long as I could. Near the ceiling above the toilet there was a video camera.

Please take a few minutes to read her story: Racially profiled and cuffed in Detroit.

Where were you?

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I was at home. Taking a break from my homework and wishing the weekend would start already. My dad was taking a nap after work, my mom was running errands I think. My siblings were bickering over what to watch. I told them to keep their voices down and to clean up the mess. I pointed to empty juice cartons and candy wrappers. I took this opportunity to grab the remote and change the channel. I was looking for my music show. Instead, I found a plane crashing into a tall building. I clicked the remote again. And again. And again.

Why are they all showing the same movie? my little brother wanted to know.

I couldn’t tell him. I didn’t know myself. He grabbed the remote.

Wait! Wait! I yelled. I think this is important.

Why? he asked me. Why is it important?

Because it’s now. It’s happening right this minute. Get it? In America.

I turned up the volume. We listened.

Didn’t the plane see the building? he asked me.

Shdarrani?!* I turned up the volume.

Were there two planes on TV now? I was baffled. Were there actual people in these buildings? It didn’t look real at all.

What is going on? my brother demanded. The phones in our house started ringing.

I yelled at my siblings to wake my dad up. To tell him that something bad had happened and it was on the news. I didn’t know if it was an accident or a war but I remember praying that it wasn’t a world war. I was terrified.

The following day was worse, everyone in school had a theory – well, had their version of their parents’ theory. We were taught new words: Bin Laden, Al Qaeda, terrorism, jihad and Taliban. A 15-year-old bookworm, I was amazed. Where did all these words come from and why did I not know them? These words never made an appearance in all my R.L. Stine, Nancy Drew, Sherlock Holmes, Stephen King and Ann M. Martin years. They weren’t even in Danielle Steel novels (I had thought she wrote for grown ups).

Unfortunately, I have to end abruptly here and get to bed.

(This post would have been better if I wasn’t listening to my friend’s conspiracy theories the whole time I was trying to write this.)

Lest we forget:

The September 11 attacks split the world into one of the most dangerous “us” and “them” schisms. It’s time we thought critically about what the media feeds us and what politicians repeat. It’s time we prayed for the victims of the attacks and made sure we don’t contribute to terrorism and killings elsewhere.

2,977 Americans lost their lives that day – may they rest in peace and may God grant their families patience and courage.

*Shdarrani is Kuwaiti for “how should I know?”

a

Stop. Think. Ask.

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I recently returned from the US where I had a couple of frustrating encounters (I wrote about one of those incidents here). Despite the four million Muslims in America (don’t let that number scare you, they’re still less than 2% of the population), globalization, access to the world wide web and people’s ability to travel around the world, the average American is still flustered at the sight of a woman in a hijab or headscarf.

I’ve had so many different reactions in the short time I spent in the US that if I had written them all down I would have published a thick book by now. Most people can quickly mask their discomfort, not without the initial double take though. Then there are those who avert their eyes and frown. They’re usually shopkeepers and salespeople in small to medium-sized stores (not in metropolises). They also feel the need to keep an eye on me, double-check my credit card and ask for photo identification. They avoid eye-contact and seem a little disgruntled. Maybe they’re worried I’d scare other customers away?

The cafés and restaurants fall into two categories. If it’s a small place, the person taking my order will raise their voice and speak slowly. Once they realize that I know what a blueberry muffin is and that I like my latté skinny, but extra hot, they accept me. Their suspicions melt away and we’re finally making the appropriate barista/customer small talk while I impatiently eye my coffee. If it’s a fancier place, however, I’m often ignored. The non-Mulsim-looking friend(s) with me will receive the wait staffs’ attention.

Thankfully, not all encounters are awkward or negative. I’ve had great conversations with random salespeople and servers. Some, just go about their business – treating everybody equally, with a smile on their face for everyone. It’s so refreshing.

I also face the language barrier – or lack thereof. People are genuinely surprised that I speak English. Yes, Arabic is my first language but do they not realize that America didn’t invent English? Don’t they know that English is the dominant (and often required) language in nearly all fields whether medical, financial or scientific? English is the primary language in 35 countries and is referred to the lingua franca of our world today. In other words, people should be surprised when someone doesn’t have a basic knowledge of English.

I love traveling around the US and living there for a year was an incredible experience. I just wish people would take a few seconds to think before asking me a question. Whoever said there’s no such thing as a stupid question was wrong. Questions can be extremely offensive or idiotic. There’s a difference between wanting to learn more, and repeating a ridiculous claim you haven’t bothered to investigate. I admire how Americans want to learn about others – I wish Kuwaitis would do the same and broaden their horizons, mingle with others and familiarize themselves with other cultures. What I do not appreciate, however, are comments about how much money I probably have or the obnoxious, “do you have hair under that scarf?”

Totally unrelated, here’s another picture from a café I loved. Click here to read the post on Brew Ha-Ha.

It is the (Middle) East, and Juliet is the oppressed

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*Romeo and Juliet?  Act II, scene ii

Nothing gets me riled up these days like seeing another novel about the Middle East or South Asia – this surge is seen as the “literary response” to 9/11. The influx of these stories from our region means that everybody’s reading about some princess who managed to get away from her nanny or a spice seller in the Friday market. I wonder if I can refer to these books as orientalist works (you know, without getting verbally abused by those who hold a personal grudge against Edward Said and inevitably get hives when they read the word ‘orientalist’)? Because I don’t know how else to describe  books like Reading Lolita in Tehran and A Thousand Splendid Suns.

Whether they conform to Said’s slightly outdated definition or not, these books share a similar style and are spreading like wildfire. Although these works don’t belong to Western writers who view the East as the inferior “other”, they are perceived the same way. These novels are written by Arabs, Persians and Afghans fetishizing their own culture for a western audience (and an occidental Eastern audience). They tell tales of oppressed women and tyrannical men, of girls and boys in madrasas living in police states, eating fear for meals and breathing danger. Authors have become experts in producing these formulaic best-sellers: they start with a Fatima or a Aisha, sketch a heavy burka, create several stock characters: a burly uneducated brother, an affluent suitor, a religious figure or two; they often also throw in a rape scene, some financial difficulties, a controlling father, a failed romantic relationship and several run-ins with the law. And there you have it, an international best-seller! Now a 28 year-old financial analyst (who dreams of being a singer, but says she’ll wait until she makes it to NYC before her 30th birthday) in Wurtland, Kentucky knows what’s it’s like to be Muslim! She just can’t see how they do it though, she whines to her best friend over mimosas at brunch, these poor Arab women in Afghanistan! It’s like soooo hot over there, and they make them wear a burka – they have to cook and clean and learn how to speak Muslim at their school-thing.

I’m grossly exaggerating. But so are these novels!

Instead of shedding light on this part of the world and promoting a better understanding of the culture, all these novels do is perpetuate stereotypes. Women are oppressed in the Middle East and South Asia, as they are around the world. There are just different degrees of oppression, different definitions, different scenarios. By turning this oppression into a commodity, these authors are helping nobody but themselves. Like a manufacturer, they’re producing to meet demand – and if integrity is at stake, so be it! These novels are devoured by a Western audience hungry for anything about this mysterious region.

These books have appeared in the aftermath of 9/11 to widen the gaping abyss between the East and West rather than to show the similarities in cultures and highlight the shared human experiences. Lacking in depth and development, not one of these books has won an esteemed book prize; they only crowd book club lists as emotional tear-jerkers. In a few years only, these authors managed to recreate the idea of the inferior East and have successfully separated the readers from the characters in the books with the age-old “us” and “them”.