I had a dream...

We were visiting somewhere in North Wales. There was a festival on, lots of singing and dancing and a really fun atmosphere. I couldn't understand any of the words, and most of the people dancing were Ethiopian. I asked some people what was going on and they said it was a traditional festival of the Ethiopian people, who had been long established in the area since coming there to work in the mines. When I woke up I thought, firstly, how this didn't seem unlikely at all, except it hasn't happened, yet. Secondly, I thought, how wonderful if it did happen, and a real cultural diversity would start to show and become part of Wales and Welshness. Someone I know from my department has a quote in his email tag that says: "Can we imagine Wales as consisting of a plurality of experiences, cultures and identities? Can we rethink Welshness as heterogenous, as inclusive of difference?" (Jordan, 2005) I'd like to think we can, not least because, if I can't say I belong here, where I was born and brought up, then where can I say I am from? Three generations at least on my dad's side were born and brought up in Wales. None spoke Welsh, so does that make us always and inevitably outsiders? If I spoke Welsh would I be Welsh then? Part of me thinks identity comes about through our inhabited spaces, and the more time spent in them, the more we connect to them and the flow between our selves and our spaces becomes richer and we become our places more and more. We can still carry other places and cultures in our hearts but they will always be shaped by the place where we dwell. So we always belong in some ways, we are all global citizens, we belong wherever we are.  

World on Fire

Last night I dreamed that I was in an apartment, in a big block of apartments, surrounded by many more big blocks of apartments. The sky was dark, and fire was spreading from balcony to balcony in apartments near and far. There were several people with me, but their voices and actions did not feature. Instead, these thoughts went through my mind. First: 'Quick! Let's get fire extinguishers handy right now! When the fire spreads to the balcony we'll quickly put it out and that way we'll prevent out flat from burning!' Second: 'No, that's not going to work, the whole block will be set aflame and protecting our one flat will be futile, it will burn all the same as it's part of the building. Let's pack up everything we want to salvage and get out of here now!' Third: 'Ok, maybe just a backpack... what should I take? Photo albums? Jewelry? Books?' Fourth: 'There is nothing here that I can't replace except my self. Leave everything and get out.'

The fourth and final thought is what I was left with when I woke up. Perhaps my subconscious is trying to tell me something. What's important? No thing. What's important is living.

Saturday Morning Swim

Clothes are shed, and all belongings, save the film of a bathing suit, a swimming cap, goggles, are locked away in a little box. There is only me left, in the changing room, a calm soothing transition space. A shower to wash away the outside world, a cleansing act. And then, acceptance into the waters blue, a faint whiff of chlorine, childhood memories of Saturdays at the pool, a chemical smell with joyous associations. I drop into the water, straight down, like an anchor, giving myself to the water, and it releases me back up just the same. Breathe. The preciousness that is air. Goggles on now, and the world made slightly hazy by them, shut out, I push myself off the wall and arm over arm, breathe, arm over arm. I am not aware of my legs as they are doing their job automatically, but I am aware of my breath. Under the water I blow out, streams of bubbles float away, then head lifted a deep gulp of air, so appreciated, before plunging in again. I count, 1-2-3- breathe, 1-2-3- breathe... The outside world is lost and no thoughts are in my mind except the counting and the breathing and the movements of my body, propelling itself forwards through the water. What joy, to think that I can be a creature of the water too, that I can move in it and play in it, what freedom.

The morning had started out dull but halfway through my session the sun comes out and shafts of sunlight rain down onto the pool, making the water glisten and glitter and then it's like swimming through sunshine, through light, and I think how much like a church this is, a temple to being, a beautiful thing. The sunlight dances on our faces and bodies as we repeat the motions that take us through the water, necessarily repetitive because this is meditation after all. We the swimmers, the sun, the water, the muted sounds, murmurs and gurgles, a serene ecclesiastical ritual of living.

Thoughts of a part-time insomniac

I've always loved the sweet silence of 4am, 5am... When I lived in Vancouver, sometimes I would get up at these times, if I couldn't sleep, and walk down to the beach, watch the herons fishing at the shore in the early dawn light, feel the cool smoothness of the sand under my feet. I'd write poetry or meander through side streets and feel like I was sharing the secrets of a sleeping city.

These days I don't often leave the house when I'm up at odd hours, not least because my family and neighbors would no doubt find this strange and perhaps distressing. You learn to live within certain expectations. That said, I did tiptoe out of the house one early morning and go down to the seafront, where, as the light came up, I saw dolphins playing the bay, and soon a surfer on a longboard joined them. It was nearing 7ish by then, but still decidedly magic!

Even if I don't leave the house though, the early morning is a quiet, secret space. It's soundtrack only occasional soft snores from the other room, and now the steady hum of my computer. It's been a long time since I blogged to I checked my previous posts and found the one I started on Morocco, and decided I wanted to go back there in my mind. I watched the short video clips I'd taken, some from the Djema El Fna at night, musicians and performers and men who put barbary apes on your shoulders, and the videos taken from the roof terrace of the riad. The music of the streets sooths me, the steady bustle of people walking or on scooters passing through the streets, small groups forming to chat, sample the offerings of the food vendors, buy some fruit or mint for mint tea. A gentle breeze in the hot night carried the smell of meat over a charcoal fire, the sound of the call to prayer in the distance, feet on the road below, the buzz and beep beep of the scooters, children talking, gurgling, playing... the tempo slows, becomes more rhythmic, trance-like in my mind as I listen. I can take myself back there now, could fall asleep on that roof terrace, cradled by the rhythms and harmonies of life.

Be yourself, because no one else can.

Last night I tried out a new yoga class which I had just heard about. Incidentally it is taught by our wonderful town councilor, Sue Jones-Davies, who is famous for having played Judith in The Life of Brian. She is a truly inspiring woman in her own very humble way. What I think I like most about her is her openness, her general willingness to share herself with others, her whole self, knowing that it doesn't matter what people think, that's their problem, she is who she is. In this way she reminds me of my mother, who also has lived her life always making her own decisions and standing her own ground. When absolutely everyone told my mother that moving to Iran was madness, she just went ahead and did it anyway because she had decided it was the right thing to do at the time. She doesn't falter. Sometimes I feel like I am her complete opposite, it takes very little to utterly shatter my confidence and I spend a lot of time dwelling on my own perception of my own shortcomings. Which brings me to the point of this post if you like, something that Sue shared with us in the yoga class and something which I thought I would share here too. She read this quote by Martha Graham, a dancer, and I think everyone in the room (all women) had something of an 'aha' moment hearing it. As we sat in our padma-asanas, we let the words soak into us, and I'm sure I wasn't the only one in the room thinking 'yes. yes. yes.'


“There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique, and if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium; and be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is, not how it compares with other expression. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open.” Martha Graham (emphasis added)

I think this is such a good message, probably for everyone, but especially for people like me who have this tendency of constantly self-criticizing, particularly the things I produce. I like it because it's not about reassuring yourself that you are in fact good or better or whatever, instead it's just about removing that comparison, ignoring it, not thinking about it at all, and that is what I need to do.

Marrakech - Arrival and first impressions

I had been wanting to go to Morocco for years. I'm not sure exactly where or when the attraction began, but the more I read about the place, the people, the culture, the more intrigued I became. I had felt the influence of the Moors in the architecture and culture of Seville, Cordoba and Granada... in Vancouver, a favorite restaurant and hang out had been a Moroccan place on Commercial Drive where we indulged in many a delicious tagine, couscous, syrupy sweets and of course the lovely mint tea. I had studied my Rough Guide thoroughly, marveling at thoughts of the Berber villages, the great mountain ranges, the Sahara desert, the wind-swept coastlines. I had read about the waves of colonization, the Romans, Arabs, French, Spaniards... hippies... and the influences these different cultures had left behind on the various parts of the country. In short, I was intrigued.

It took almost a year of convincing to warm my other half to the idea of going to Morocco for our honeymoon. Besides all the wonderful cultural and activity possibilities, he feared it would resemble his experience of Tunisia, which must have involved a great intensity of hustling and haggling, besides heat and dust. But finally, with the help of some friends who raved about how they'd loved it, he was sold on the idea. So it was with some trepidation on both of our parts that we approached on the plane in July, two days after our wedding. From my point of view, if he was right to be hesitant, it wouldn't be a very romantic honeymoon!



After a comfortable Ryanair flight from Bristol, we were greeted at Marrakech airport by Hassan, an incredibly cheery and wonderfully camp Moroccan man whose very good English was spoken with what sounded like a New York accent! After changing some money, we walked through the very balmy evening, across the car park to the 'grand taxi' that Hassan was driving. On the way we saw a mangy stray dog running through the car park. We'd been warned about rabid animals so we imagined there would be many more, though I think that might have been the only one we saw the whole trip in the end.

Once we were settled into the luxurious back seats of this air-conditioned SUV, we were surprised (and delighted) by an amazing array of sights as we drove past. The roads were wide, and besides the speeding cars, there were innumerable scooters, on which rode sometimes families, sometimes couples, sometimes women only, sometimes with their faces covered in addition to their heads, but only with veils (no one wore a helmet). The scooters weaved in an out of traffic, along with a few horse-drawn carriages and occasionally a donkey cart. Next to the street on a patch of grass some young boys were practicing some form of martial art, families with children were out and about and there was as much bustle at 9pm as you might see during a festival or fair in Britain. What was nicer is that people seemed to be just spending time together, they weren't on a mission to buy things, they were just being together, playing, talking...



As we drove, Hassan bubbled away in English about how he used to live in Manhattan and work at a tour company, running tours to Morocco. He told us about the American tourists and what they liked to see, and about where he came from and what he enjoyed. He was really excited to hear that we had just gotten married. By the time we reached Bab Ailen (the stop at the edge of the Medina nearest our riad, we already felt like friends.

We were met at Bab Ailen by Lissan, a handsome young man, probably in his early twenties with a serene face and ever-present soft smile. When I try to conjure Lissan up in my mind's eye, besides his smile I remember his posture, at once relaxed and perfectly proper and upright, which I think describes his personality as well. Lissan walked us into the Medina, which is a network of narrow streets not really suited to cars (though a few do struggle their way in and out, amidst the horse carts, scooters, donkey carts, bicycles, and throngs of people and prams, children and animals). After ducking into a small entryway to the side of one of the roads we arrived at the Riad (Les 5 Soeurs). It was just like the reviewers online had said, we left the hustle and bustle of the Medina and were welcomed into a serene oasis of calmness.



We were treated to our first 'Whisky Morrocain' as it's sometimes called, the wonderful sweet mint tea, by Abdul, the Riad manager. Abdul's English was less fluid than either Hassan's or Lissan's and sad to say, neither the hubby or I are particularly fluent in French, so we struggled through our communications with Abdul using a mixture of the two, and even the odd bit of Arabic thrown in eventually. Abdul was all smiles and attention as well, and showed us around the Riad, including all the other free rooms. Then we freshened up and headed to the roof terrace for a late, delicious dinner. From the roof we could hear all the sounds of the street and covertly watch the action. We spent the evening soaking it all in, breathing in the rhythm of what we could tell already, was a very special place.

A post of positivity

Well, in keeping with the last post I figured why not start right away? After all, it's happy times for me at the moment! I'm getting married in just over two weeks, which means I'll be surrounded by family and friends, celebrating, getting prettied up, walking down the aisle to my lovely man and formally taking my place at his side for the rest of this journey through life... things are pretty damn awesome at the moment! If I wanted to list all the good things it would be a very long list indeed! Instead, I think I'll share just one pleasant thing.

In the process of trying to figure out some live music for the wedding (which we ultimately haven't done, but nevermind), I discovered a lovely local band called Ember. After listening to a couple of songs online, I sent an email to this duo to ask if they could play the wedding. Sadly, they aren't currently singing together due to other commitments (one of them with work and the other with a baby). Nevertheless we had a few emails back and forth while the one girl tried to figure out if she could play with someone else or help me work something else out. In the end it didn't work out but in the meantime I bought Ember's CDs and I've been enjoying them SO much! It was really cool to find out that this lovely band was just in the next town over.

This is one of my favorite songs of theirs. Not the best videos, but the sound is good:





I love this song because of the lyrics as well as the beautiful harmonies (and the clever bits like the violin shivers on the 'shiver in the dark' part). In keeping with my last post, I think this reminds me of how we sometimes end up feeling sad even when times are good, and it's a reminder to focus on the important things in life. Here are the lyrics:

Abundance Blues by Ember

Are you afraid your creator has forgotten your face?
Locked you down in the cellar or some other dark place
Where you shiver in the damp, and you shuffle in the dark
Only looking for a lamp, but never finding that spark

Oh, and sometimes it's so hard to rise from my bed
Knowing it's still the same me here in my head
If only an angel would visit me now
And say something poetic, her hand upon my brow

Are you afraid your creator is favouring you
Born to a land of abundance where we fortunate few
We buy all we want, and we bow to no one
No famine, no drought and no foreigner's gun

So tell me: why is it so hard to rise from my bed?
Oh the blessing and the curse, being here in my head
No shimmering wings, no divine poetry
I just get coffee and toast, with a drop of honey

Oh, honey my darling, were you sent from above?
Maybe he gave me life, but you gave me love
With you hand on my chest you open up my heart
Now I know we are blessed, so may be rarely be apart

Badadeedeeda bedeedadada woahh badadeedeedadeedeedadada... :-)