Yemen

My trip to Yemen was amazing. There is such a rich culture there, a culture that manifests itself in every tiny facet of existence. Everything from the shapes and colors of the windows to the traditional manners of dress bespoke a cultural heritage that was ancient and proud. The people seemed very content and at peace with their lives in Yemen, a kind of peace that can only come from feeling that everything is just as it should be. You get the sense that people truly understand that they have established a perfect and harmonious society, replete with the assurance of being in accord with the will of God. I think it is for this reason that the Middle East is so conservative of their traditions and so wary of a fast-paced, ever-changing and modernizing Western World. From the perspective of an average Yemeni, surely, America and Europe must seem to be lost, blindly stumbling about in a panicked quest for values, equality, and righteousness; all the while never finding it, all the while only becoming more chaotic and valueless int he process. One can understand, then, why a Yemeni woman may prefer to wear her concealing gowns when she goes into public, and why a Yemeni man may feel free to relax with his friends over some tea and maybe a few twigs of "ghat" and never yearn for anything more. What they have, they must feel, is just right.

Yemen: Overlooking the village

A palace built on a rock

A fortified town on a desert plateau

Metalsmith

From on high

Descent, with mule

A mountain village

Yemeni woman and baby

Sana'a's Old Town

A Mosque in Old Town

Tahini-grinding Camel, Taking a Break

Leaning Buildings in Old Town

A Traditional Window

The Suq

Within the Suq

Bargaining for Bread

Selling Some Spice

The Aya Sofiya

The Blue Mosque

Inside the Blue Mosque

The Grand Bazaar

Kilims!

Istanbul (Not Constantinople)

I recently attended a conference for curriculum writing in Sana'a, Yemen. Being in the Middle East was awesome. There is a certain peace that Islam gives its followers, a peace that is reflected in the kind and accommodating atmosphere of its societies. It was also just nice to be somewhere warm after the long and dismal (though admittedly, not so cold this year) Eastern European winter.

En route, I was lucky enough to stop off in Istanbul, Turkey for a weekend. This was my second visit to the city, but had just as fun and memorable experience as the first time. The architecture in Istanbul is breathtaking. While the Aya Sofia and Blue Mosque are arguably the finest monuments in the city, the horizon is adorned with numerous, finely detailed mosques, towers, and historic architecture. One could spend an entire weekend only ambling about the city, photographing the numerous sites and stopping only briefly to enjoy a donner kabab every now and then.

But that's not what I did. No, I went shopping. I was accompanied by a few other QSI teachers also heading for the conference, and we spent nearly our entire weekend in the Grand Bazaar, one of the greatest markets for Turkish carpets, hookahs, and curios you can find. While I didn't go carpet crazy (or kilim crazy, rather) as some of my cohorts, I did spend countless hours haranguing with shopkeepers in the desperate struggle for "special price for me." Amongst my many purchases were several kilograms of curry, saffron, and other spices. Being in Moldova has made me rather spice-obsessed, as the only such flavors used in the local cuisine are parsley and dill weed. After six months of potatoes and cabbage seasoned only with parsley and dill, I can understand why people used to wage wars over spice.

When not shopping, I spent most of my time stuffing my face with kababs, baklava, and pudding. God I love baklava. If I could, I'd shove a syruppy square of baklava through the net just for you, dear reader. When full, wash it down with a few cups of apple tea at a cozy cafe and you're all good. I would, however, give the Turkish baths a miss. When I went I fortuitously forewent the massage. My friend did not, and watching him getting twisted and slapped until he was screaming in pain was reminiscent of a World Wrestling Federation match more than anything like a massage, except that the screams were real.

So, go enjoy Istanbul!

Istanbul at Night