Portal in Salt

Anton's Table - part 2

Just got this message on my iphone:

UPDATE:

Anton's Table - part 1

Anton wore a patch on his right eye.  His left was a deep, sharp blue.  An eye that could've been kind, somehow seemed hardened with time.  His dignified yet shy look made you notice him. He spoke eloquent English, but had a slight accent I couldn't quite place.  He had a certain rhythm as well, and his voice made me feel he may have been in the choir once upon a time.

We sat enjoying a colorful drink in a huge even more colorful container.  The sounds were soft drums, strings, a smooth voice every now and then, and I think a harmonica - or maybe that was just in my head!  I couldn't see the band, but they sounded like they were having fun as they filled the air with Indonesian tunes, mixed with world pop.  We talked about life and loves and likes in this little hideaway in West Papua.  We had booked Anton's table months ago and finally got one, and here we were as Anton played our table for one night.  It was our first time.

And Anton played it well.  He recommended our drinks and he got them perfectly right.  I don't know what my ingredients were exactly, but I seemed to be sipping on a smooth rum chilled to the taste of pineapple.  When his piercing eye looked down at me and suggested that, I just smiled back up, looking deeply back into the blue.

When we walked in,  Anton escorted us to the table and sat me on the chair facing the mirror. As I reached for the arms sitting myself down, I felt his thumb brush against my hand.  I had noticed his half bow welcome at the entrance, and now he was implying, I know you did...immediately suggesting the right refreshing drinks in the warm night.

There was no menu.  No one else served our table other than Anton.  It felt like we were in a bubble somehow removed from the rest of the place, but right there in the middle of it.  When Anton came back to check on our drinks with a taste of a special appetizer, I felt him turn the corner.  I looked up into the mirror, and his eye was fixed on mine as he walked to our table. With a delicate, old, firm hand, he took an appetizer off the plate and told him, "taste this in between sips sir".  I smiled across the table in amusement as he obeyed and Anton fed him a morsel of this treat.

And then his hand was full again and coming my way.  I looked up and he said, "taste this, you'll find it amusing".  Anton gently put it in my mouth, his finger touched against my lower lip, and as I closed my mouth Anton had already disappeared.  We were both mmmmmmmming in amusement.

Anton did not say much, but rather was performing a silent ballad as he played our table.  We never had to twitch or turn or wonder where he was.  He new exactly when to be at our side  He served the main meal and insisted we use our hands, especially with the rice.  "You'll discover the secrets in the rice", he quipped.  The spices and aroma filled the senses, making us alert of the hidden tastes.  

Dessert was a delicious chocolate ice cream and fruit sauce with a hint of mint.  It dripped gently around the edges of the bowl, and I instantly wiped it and licked my finger gently.  Anton was somehow there by my side again, and I thought I heard a whisper, "how does it feel?"

We talked about Anton in between the chatter throughout the night.  It was worth every moment of waiting, the long flight, the jet lag, nothing mattered as we indulged in the night. He noticed Anton was playing us, and we both liked it.  What was Anton's story?  Why was he sad? Where is Anton's table going next?  Will we sit at Anton's table again?  We wanted more.  We had to dine again.

As Anton pulled my chair back while I stood up, I felt his breath behind me, I felt him brush against my curls.  We told him what a wonderful night we had and that we'd love to find him again somewhere.  Anton thanked us for the company, aptly peculiar I thought!  Anton bid us good night, kissing my hand and walking us to the car.  

I didn't notice the little note in the palm of my hand until a few minutes into the car as we drove back to the hotel.  In classic handwriting, Anton had penned:  

I knew I had to find it.  But first I was going to rummage through google!  There have been many who have dined at Anton's table before us, and I knew some would contribute pieces of this curious story.

Roses Beyond Sarajevo

Rosa damascena coccinea by Pierre-Joseph Redouté

I grew up with a fabulous man in my life up to my teens who inspired me to appreciate stories that compelled people to share beautiful images. He was a loving, interesting, generous man, with overflowing intellectual wealth and charm. As a kid he would tell me stories while flipping thru pages of his precious books, being very patient with my curiosity to know more about the who and the why and the when behind each. I was nine when he brought out Redouté’s Roses. It was a jumbo sized book (which he later gifted me) with wonderful drawings that made you smell the flowers and feel the little prick of the thorns. They were exquisite. And the scent and feel of the large, thick, yellowing pages allowed me to time travel and day dream about Empress Josephine enticing Redouté into Malmaison to paint her flower gardens. She was asking Redouté to document her passion, deeming her pleasures timeless, allowing me to one day sit with an aging man in Amman and listen to then stories.... and yes, I could smell her flowers.

Empress Josephine with her courtiers in a painting from c.1867 by Jean Louis Victor(1819-1879).

I experienced a similar feeling this morning when I read an email from Dana Sajdi titled Sarajevo through its Roses. I clicked and I could instantly smell the roses. I could hear the chatter of her journey thru these colorful streets full of people whose stories were being scripted on every corner and balcony and patch of earth. What a beautiful treat it's been to take a peak into this city thru Dana's rose filtered lens - which she has graciously allowed me to share!


And it is no wonder that in Sarajevo death and destruction of warfare are manifested thru the beauty of a rose. A Sarajevo Rose is a scar in the ground by a shell explosion during the Bosnian war that caused civilian deaths, and is symbolically filled with red resin - splashes of red and pink in the ground are a unique feature to the city once under urban warfare.

Now click here to join Dana on her journey in Sarajevo through its roses. Dana writes:

I have finally understood what the 18th-century Damascene scholar, Ibn Kannan, meant by the following frequent entry in his chronicle: "we went picnicking in the attack of roses".

Imagine The Life You Want For Yourself, Then Live It

Public space and community is a huge topic - or at least should be. So many questions are fundamental to the self and our spaces. Identity, belonging and our sense of contribution are impacted and shaped as one grows up in certain places. Are you happy? Do you feel this is your city? Is this home? Do you feel safe? Can you explore? Can you be the person you want to be in this city? Does it reflect your cultural and social needs? Do you find the social space that you want as an individual? Does it work for you economically? Does it work for when you want to be alone/part of the many? What do you not find? Can you contribute? What do you wish for? How do you want to be part of it? This is an ongoing conversation on several levels that will hopefully lend to wise planning that works for people, not just physical erections that satisfy few for a moment and eventually suffocate many for life.

At a recent Takween workshop I moderated one of the groups of 20somethings on conversations on identity, public city space, youth lifestyles, people and place.

At the Takween workshop I learned that the colorful and rich cultural fabric of Jordan is not reflected in the 1-12 school curriculum. Apparently, as you grow up in most schools here, the text books do not share past nor present stories of Armenians, nor Circassians, nor Badu, nor Druze, nor Baha'is, nor the constantly growing communities (Palestinian, Egyptian, Iraqi, Lebanese, southeast Asian....) that contribute to the rich cultural weave that is the beautiful make up of what we know as Jordan - all this does not exist in our formal edu. This is not the point of the post - I just had to express my shock at that revelation and the huge and important opportunity we are missing by sidestepping this wealth of learning. Actually I believe it's criminal to harbor this rich knowledge from kids in Jordan as they grow up in our schools!

So, our little group spent the day talking about our individual needs and the city around us.

Some did not feel they knew enough about other cultural groups in Jordan.

Most felt their own neighborhoods were impoverished from local libraries, cultural centers, community meeting spots, theatres, parks, extra curricular learning spaces - public places where one can see, learn, share, interact, be oneself , be enriched, explore, discover one's own creativities - at a neighborhood level - and not have to trek across town especially and occasionally. Hasmig wants spaces to interact with that don't revolve around the excessive food and drink going out habits. As she put it, "why is the first question we ask when we want to gather out is where shall we eat or which coffee shop shall we go to?"

Some pointed out the existing spaces being used inefficiently - like the Knowledge Stations - the hole in the wall with cool, connected computers - most of which are unwelcoming and rundown with a chain smoking supervisor and no year-long calendar of programs to sign up to. (Yes there are a few exceptions, but most of the 130something stations are useless). Ardash suggests a true, genuine and relevant use of IT skills and tools so that these serve us at a community level.

Ala' talked about the before/after Ruwwad on Jabal Nathif, and how lifestyle is being transformed for the kids. The kids that once sat idly in the streets or nagging in their parents faces all day now spend most of that time in the Shams Al Jabal library and engaged in Ruwwad programs and activities in the safe and engaging space designed for them. According to Ala' , a Nathif community member, the impact of improvement is already visible and part of their lifestyle on the hill.

Alia was concerned about finding a job now that she had just graduated, and wanted to remain in the capital rather than go back to her family village, although she spent her first eighteen years there up till her last four university years in Amman. Alia is looking to make the city her home for the next phase of her life and needs to feel safe and secure and resourceful and independent and culturally content while she pursues her ambitions.

All seemed to imagine a public space that engaged the various ethnic and cultural groups of Jordan, saying they knew very little about each other. They imagined it to be a constant all year round. It would include a program where one could sign up and join the lifestyle of another. They want immersion in experiences of cultural learning, and they do want authenticity, heritage, history, but in relation to their contemporary lives. Gharam, from the badia but lives in Amman, would much rather attend a traditional bedouin wedding over a westernized hotel ballroom one. She likes the stories behind the ritual of the bedouin wedding and is happy bridging her modern lifestyle with her family's traditions.

All imagined a place where the local average person's voice could be heard and be part of the development and planning conversation. They want to not only be in the know of the plans of their city, but they also believe they can be useful contributors. They want to be really engaged in the conversation rather than merely part of a cold survey and on the receiving end of the announcement. They want to participate.

This workshop is part of Takween's ongoing work, and there were many other sensible, interesting and doable suggestions throughout the day. Being part of this wonderful energy is extremely rewarding and a reminder of the abilities of beautiful and diverse young souls - given the chance.

One suggestion that stood out is one I am a strong believer in. Ala' imagined developing like-minded communities and conversations in virtual networks - like Second Life, Facebook and blogs. If the physicalness of our city is not catering to who we want to be for our journey, Ala' believes this conversation can go online first, and from there we can bring it to the forefront of our real lives.

Here's a glimpse of what's going on online touching real lives.

The Blues musician Von Johin's Second Life gigs get him a real life contract:


7iber.com's proof of the power of citizen media as these kids take back their streets - a story on 7iber caught the attention of public servants who in turn acknowledged and engaged in an Ashrafiyeh street activity.... yes, tiny, but oh so big.


UniversityLipDub watch this from Furtwangen University and others.

Filmaka rewards creativity.

From Dancing Ink TV watch below The Imagination Age, Understanding Islam:



Imagine it. Try it out virtually. Live it.

Get the picture?

Come Into The Garden

What if we get rid of this dangerous and shattering glass decoration on this new and potentially lovely public space on 1st circle Amman?

It may allow a more pleasant pedestrian passage. It may encourage people to sit and hang out. It may invite the little coffee cart to get off the road and come into the garden.

Everybody wins.


UPDATE RELATED
That Soul.... It's in the Details

Humankind's YouTube Behavior

This brave new world!

If you're fascinated/curious/believer/skeptic - check out this recent anthropological YouTube tale by Mike Wesch/Assistant Professor of Cultural Anthropology at Kansas State University. Thru participant observation, and 40 minutes of video for this 55 minute presentation, explore a whole new people in the making.



Get the possibilities?

Are you participating?

And now enter this portal of media literacy and watch:

Sha3teely - The 7akawati That Could

An architect by formal education. An entrepreneur by motivation. An artist by profession. A creator by choice. He says he is none of that.

Wael Attili tells his extraordinary tale through this passionate presentation at Sha3shaboneh last month. Block 25minutes and watch this storyteller's journey about how blogging changed his life.