At the Hammam

January 3, 2012: I woke up on this day with the excited thought that I will be going to a hammam and having a much needed body scrub. But I also had no idea what public baths looked like and I was thinking that I would not take a bath if the bathing takes place in a pool; I don’t want to be swimming in other people’s dirt.

I went to the hammam with Fatima, the sister-in-law of my CouchSurfing host in Fes. The first room was like the baggage room. You remove your clothes, put them in your bag, and then hang your bag on the hooks on the railings. I was waiting for Fatima to see how much clothes she’s going to remove. She only had her lower underwear on so I disrobed everything except for my undies. She got two pails in the piles of pail near the door, and we entered the bathing room. It was not a pool; it was a wide tiled room. You choose your own corner or space and put your pails of water in front of you. There were faucets for cold water, another for steaming hot, and another one for drinking water. The floor was a little inclined towards the middle for the water to drain easily. There’s another room just beside which was not as steamy as this room.

Left: at the medina in Tangier; Right: at the Todra Gorge near Tinerhir

There were about 10 women squatting in the bathing room when we entered, and they all stopped what they were doing to stare at the non-Moroccan new girl who came in - That's me. All of them were naked except for their undies. I and Fatima positioned ourselves in a corner, filled the pails with water, and started the long bath. Fatima scrubbed my back, my hands and up until the soles of my feet. I felt a connection with her. I wished I could speak her language, Arabic, because there’s so much that I wanted to say and ask. She had this brown syrupy thing on a plastic bag, and it was the one we’ve been using as soap. She demonstrated how to use it on the face. She put a little on her palm, rub both hands together and then massage it on the cheeks and forehead in a circular motion. It reminded me of soap commercials, haha. Using sign language, she said it’s to make women look beautiful, like what cosmetics do. That’s how I figured out that the brown syrupy thing we were using was an argan soap, very popular in Morocco. Then it was my turn to scrub her back.

I was observing the other women while taking a bath. There were two things that struck me about the hammam. First, it’s a very social place. Women go there to talk with other women as much as to take a bath. I thought about cafés being a men’s world in Morocco, and maybe hammam is the equivalent place for women. I realized that asking the lady who takes care of the hammam to scrub you is only done by tourists, only for those who doesn’t belong to the place. Part of the women’s interaction is to take turn scrubbing each other’s back. Second, the hammam is a very sensual place. The women take time shampooing their hair, combing, washing and then combing it again. Done with the hair, they take much more time with their bodies. They insert their hand on the scrub, like how you put on a mitten, and scrub their face down to the soles of their feet. I particularly like how they take so much time scrubbing their breasts; they cup the lower part of their breasts and move the scrub back and forth and then up unto their cleavage and down. Young and old, they’ve got bouncing healthy breasts. I looked at my own and cursed the universe for being so unfair :))

I love the female body, the human form in general. I celebrate its sensuality. I was looking at the women who were there and I was even more amazed at how beautiful the human form is. And I’m saying beautiful no matter the shape and the size, no matter if they were young or old.   

Left: at the medina in Essaouira; Right: watching the sunset, still in Essaouira

Actually, not all of them got beautiful breasts. There’s this woman who entered with her two children, and she had small emaciated breasts. She’s small-boned so I don’t expect her to have big breasts, but her breasts were literally like a deflated balloon, flat with only the nipples protruding. She’s still young, maybe mid-30s, but there’s something that looked old and tired about her. Her two children were on the thin side. I had the feeling that she married early, had a lot of children at her young age, not getting the right amount of nutrition, maybe overworked as a mother and as an income contributor to the husband, and it showed on her body. So when I said I love the female body, with this comes my conviction that women should have rights and control over their bodies.

Anyway, we stayed in the hammam for about 2 hours. Fatima was fully clothed again, complete with a veil, when we went out of the public bath.

Turning 30

The day I woke up

And turned the big 3 
I smiled for what has been

And also for what will be.


Had a walk at the nearby park last night

Told myself it’s the last day I’m in my 20s

So I stretched my hand and danced

By the lake, under the nearly-full moon

Hugged the trees and asked:

Are you older than me?  

 

I danced

Because the years are not really gone

Here I am

Stronger, wiser, better
I hope

For everything my yesterday has given me.

 

I danced

For the next 30 years

The opportunities it will open up
The friendship it will create and strengthen

The places I will find myself in

The lessons I will learn. And unlearn

The love to be experienced, shared and received.

 

I danced

For all the promises

Tomorrow will bring.

 

I never waited for this day

But now, I never felt younger!

(Top picture: Jean-Babtiste Carpeaux's The Dance, Ny Carlberg Glyptotek Museum, Copenhagen. Bottom: an advertisement of a dance festival in Vienna)

Sunset. Sunrise. SAHARA!

December 29, 2011: We arrived in Merzouga/Erg Chebbi a little past 4PM, and we could already see the orange/desert sand color (Yes, there’s a color called desert sand) of the Sahara before even going down the van. We left our bags at a hotel called Les Dunes de Sahara and only bought the stuffs which we think we needed while at the desert. Then we went to meet our guides who were waiting for us with the camels at the start of the dunes. 

We were divided into three groups, and the camels for each group were tied together. We started the ride to the camp, before us thousands of dunes stretching as far as the eyes could see. The shadows of the camels and us on top were outlined in the sand. It was a picturesque scene, but the shadows looked so small and it reminded me of how insignificant we were compared to the landscape. Even the gentle camels had their eyes cast down, humbled perhaps by the immensity of the desert.  

The desert always evokes fascination from people, and a cynic may well say what’s so fascinating about endless stretches of sand. It’s true - dunes here, dunes there, dunes everywhere! But it is these very dunes and how they play with the wind and the sun that make the desert utterly beautiful. It has been said that you’ll never see the same desert twice; the wind blows and carries with it sands and the dunes rise and fall, shift and move accordingly. There is this endless array of dunes before you, but all of them looked different in terms of contour, height, shape… 

And color. I don’t consider the color of the desert to be monochromatic. The Sahara is punctuated by trees, palms and grasses here and there, patches of green and life in an arid environment. But what really gives the desert it’s beautiful colors is the sun. The sand and the sun, the best combination there is! The position of the sun allows the dunes to cast a shadow so there’s a play between the light desert sand and the dark shadows. The desert sand color becomes deep orange a few minutes before and during the sunset (and sunrise). And how could I even describe the sunset in the desert; the horizon was ablaze with all the colors of the rainbow! Even the camels who may have seen such a sight a hundred times raised their droopy eyes and looked towards the sky.  

We stopped for a moment to wait for the last group which was much behind from us. It gave me some moments to breath in the cosmic abundance surrounding me.     

It was dark when we arrived at the camp, and soon after we went on top of a dune for sand boarding. Then our guides set up a bonfire at the middle of the camp after dinner. They played the drums, and I don’t know how it started or who started it, but our group formed a circle, hold each other’s hand and danced and jumped while going around. One stayed at the middle and danced and then chose someone to take his/her place and it continued until we got tired from the jumping and sat down again around the fire.

The heavens were very clear that night. Thousands of stars were gleaming and among them was the crescent moon. It reminded me of my second climb in Mt. Pulag. I woke up at the middle of the night needing to poo, so I went towards the bushes. I looked up at the sky and it was so bright with thousands of stars like I had never seen before. I realized that all of the moments when I had seen that many stars happened outdoors and in places far away from the city, and so at that particular time in the desert I made a promise to myself that I will continue not limiting myself to the comfy life.

     

December 30, 2011: Very early in the morning, one of the guides came clapping his hand at the entrance of the tent to wake us up. We rode the camels once again. It was so freaking cold I don’t know how I managed to take pictures with my numb hands. It was dark when we started the ride, but minutes later the light of day started breaking and hills after hills of dunes were silhouetted against the faint glow of sunrise. The desert sand color was clear on the nearby dunes and the sands being trodden by the camels. But the color of the horizon was that of the dark outlines of the faraway dunes interspersed with the crescent and then half-round yellow sun and the straight rays of light coming from it. 

We stopped a little further from where we started the day before, because we were going to a high dune where we could watch the sunrise. We went down our camels and I patted mine to give my thanks. The camels and the guides went back to the camp and we started walking towards the dune. Then I suddenly remembered my bag which was saddled on the handrail of my camel. My mind was as frozen as my toes I forgot I had two bags! I looked back on the camels and I couldn’t see them anymore. What was on the forgotten bag was my sleeping bag, my towel and my slipper, and I thought never mind because all the important things were on my backpack which I had with me. But I remembered that the sleeping bag had been particularly very useful to me and I still had a long traveling to do. So I run towards a dune where I could see the camels and started shouting ‘camel!’ on top of my lungs. That was the first word that came out of my mouth.

I could see that the camels were about 300 meters away from me, but I didn’t follow them using the same path. I run a parallel line, going up and down from one dune to another, stopping when on top of a dune to wave my hands and shout ‘my bag!’, or jump with my hands up the air hoping that they would see me and stop walking. They had their backs on me, but the camels follow a winding path so there were parts when they would be at an angle where they could possibly see me. But they kept on walking so I continued running, jumping and waving my hands, and shouting ‘my bag!’ Then I saw them stopped. I got my backpack and waved it on the air so they would know I forgot a bag. One of the guides separated from the group and was heading towards a dune to meet me. I thought he was going to meet me halfway, but when he reached the top of the dune he just stood there and wait. I was still running, but this time I was more relaxed and enjoying the sight. I wanted to cry because the sunrise was so beautiful and I had been running towards its direction. I felt as though I was running to meet the rising sun!


The guide, with my forgotten bag on one hand and a cigarette on the other, was smiling when I reached the dune. He seemed amused that I could actually run on sand. Then he went back to catch up with his group while I traced my way back to the direction of Merzouga. 

I stopped on top of a dune to have a good view of the sunrise. By this time, the full figure of the sun was already hovering just a little above the dunes, the top of the dunes fully illuminated and casting their shadows on the next dune. The sands were more of golden color this time, a reflection of the bright yellow sun unlike during the sunset when the sands were more of deep orange. 

I was so thankful I forgot my bag. It gave me the good chance to run and jump on the Saharan dunes, to slide from the top of a dune down without a sand board - It’s faster and more fun to just slide down rather than run or walk. There was about an inch of sand inside my shoes which made it harder to run and walk, and my throat was parched from the running and shouting. I couldn’t take off my shoes to remove the sands nor take out the water from my bag so I can drink, because I was freezing and I was reserving my energy for taking pictures. There were sand all over me; I was practically swimming on sand while I was sliding down the dunes. It was not the most comfortable feeling, but goodness, I was so happy!        

I had to run once again to catch up with my group who were so far ahead of me.

P.S 

For those who may have noticed, all the pictures that appear here were pictures taken during the sunset. I also took loads of picture of the sunrise, but it was only days after when I realized that the pictures were not correctly saved on the laptop and I already erased them on my cam! I've been downloading and using several recovery softwares from the net, but they could only recover up to 4GB which is the capacity of my memory card. I had been on travel for days after the Sahara and been taking a lot of photos so the 4GB that the recovery softwares could trace back do not go as far as during the sunrise. I've been crying a river because of this! I'm afraid the pictures had been overwritten but I don't wanna lose hope. Help me if someone out happens to know of a possible way to recover the pictures.  

Learning Spanish

One thing I had to contend with when I moved from the Philippines to Europe was not being able to bring my favourite things. One of them was my good translation but thick Don Quitoxe book. I consoled myself saying that since I will be spending a semester in Spain and will be learning español, I will buy a Don Quixote book in the original Spanish version!

I had to put an exclamation point there. Those who have read Don Quixote several times knew that there are deeper meanings to the story, and the many stories within the story, than the slapstick comedy it was portrayed to be. It would be presumptuous for me to say I will be able to understand them in a language that I am still beginning to learn. But it’s like learning yoga. The yoga teacher will tell you about the ideal position, even if it will take you many years to be able to do it, so that you know where you’re heading to. That’s how I intend to learn Spanish; That someday I will be able to read El ingenioso hidalgo don Quixote de la Mancha in the language used by Cervantes. (Gee, I had goosebumps as I write that!)

(Guernica, Spain)

My landlord speaks no English at all, and my landlady speaks very minimum English. But that was my main point when I was looking for accommodation in Spain. I had no idea how I was going to communicate with them given my very minimum knowledge in Spanish. But I was hoping that when I take the plunge I will be forced to learn how to swim.

It turned out to be a very good arrangement. I wanted to learn Spanish, and my landlady wanted to learn English. This is how we looked like on the first weeks: I introduced myself (e.g my family, my background, etc) in my broken Spanish and my landlady introduced herself in her broken English. Then I asked questions about her, about the house, ways of getting around the city, etc. in Spanish and she answered in English. She did the same in English while I answered in Spanish. Both of us were holding English-Spanish dictionaries and we supplied our words with body actions. It was a struggle but surprisingly we understood each other perfectly. 

However, it’s not all the time that we get our messages across. This is when it gets funny. I and friends saw a poster of a masquerade ball in a bar and thought it would be nice to go. I asked my landlady if she happened to have a mascara somewhere. She thought I was referring to the cold compress which one put on one’s face when tired. I said, “no, no, mascara para fiesta” while covering my face with my palm and fingers. Her face brightened as in Oh, I get what you mean look, got something inside their room, then........ lo and behold, she handed me with a peeling mask! I did not know how to explain my point any further, so I got the peeling mask even if I don’t need it and said gracias. I told my friends about the funny incident, and a friend said why not literally wear a peeling mask on a masquerade ball.

My friend Marina is teaching English to a Spanish kid, and her strategy is to act out the words in order for the child to make a connection between the word and the action. She says “sit” and she sits, or  “stand” and she stands. I laughed when she was telling me about this because it is exactly what my landlady and my landlord are doing in our informal English-Spanish, Spanish-English sessions. One time we decided to talk about animals, and for some reason my landlady came up with this idea that we act out the animal. Each one would act out an animal and the other two would guess what it is by saying the animal’s name in English (for them) or Spanish (for me). If I was younger I would have refused and said, “Duh, no way I’m gonna pretend to be a frog or a goat or whatever!” But I’m older now (ouch!) and less concerned with being cool :)      

Anyway, at the middle of our guess-what-animal-I-am acting session, my landlord went to the kitchen and returned with something concealed in his hand. He squatted on the floor as though warming something, and there was an egg lying on the floor when he stood up :)

In time, the mist will clear up and the landscape will reveal itself
(Bilbao, Spain)

There was a time when we met with some couchsurfers in Bilbao and I was introducing myself and talking with them in Spanish. I remember the feeling of excitement I had of actually conversing with them in español, never mind if my use of the language is still so imperfect. But that's the thing about Spain; Everywhere could be an opportunity to learn the language as a lot of them could not speak English. And if they do speak English, they would be very happy to chat you up because it becomes an opportunity for them to practice what they know in English which on your side is an opportunity to practice Spanish as well.

I'm making progress. Still, it’s a long long way to go before El ingenioso hidalgo don Quixote de la Mancha. But someday... 

Coming to Spain

A friend asked me on the day before my flight what it feels like to be moving to Spain. I had to pause and think what my answer to the question was because it was something I had not been thinking about. All the while I was focused on the place I was leaving and not on the place I’m moving to. Even on the days nearing my flight, my focus was on an immediate concern - how I could manage to get to Spain with 4 big luggages and a backpack - and not on whether I’m excited, what I should be prepared of, or the like. 

It didn’t take long to sink in to me that I was in Spain. First, there was the language. My connecting flight from Madrid to Bilbao was delayed for more than an hour, and I needed to tell my landlady who was waiting for me about the delay. I looked for someone from my fellow waiting passengers who could help me translate my message into Spanish. But just like my landlady, no one among those I asked could speak English so I had to resort to my broken Spanish. It hit me right there and then that I was indeed in Spain!

Second, there was the difference in time. As soon as I was settled, I went around my neighbourhood looking for grocery stores. I found several but they were closed (cerado por la Semana Grande or cerado por vacaciones). I had to do my groceries on the mall that was near the university I was attending but far from where I live because it was the only one open. Finally, I was relieved to find one of the grocery stores in my neighbourhood open, but before I could even finish the things on my list, the store was already closing for siesta time! I was like, por favor, España!!!   

I arrived in Bilbao just as the city was celebrating the Semana Grande. The old town, Casco Viejo, was filled with partying and festivities everyday for two weeks straight. One would think that two weeks filled with music, dancing, drinking, street performances were a little too much; shouldn’t there be some other more important things that needed to be done? But this may not be unusual in a country that is famous for its numerous fiestas and a very relaxed attitude to time. Of course, I did not forget that the mañana complex we have in the Philippines was an influence of our Spanish colonizers.     

Bilbao as viewed from Mt. Serantes

Third, the people are so open. When my landlady was showing me the house, she opened the door of her and my landlord’s bedroom and said “this is our room.” There was no explicit mention of “this is my space”. It was a very friendly act for me, and the good thing about it was that such acts of openness did not preclude us from recognizing that privacy and boundary are still important. My classmates had a lot of stories about this Spanish openness as well - Neighbours sharing their wifi while my classmates were still applying for internet connection. Neighbours coming by to introduce themselves, to get to know their new neighbours (Zeena said, “Our neighbour was genuinely interested to know how four people from four different countries managed to find themselves in one apartment”), and offering whatever help or assistance they can.  

My favourite observation about this Spanish openness came from my friend Adriana. She said that people in Spain make eye contact with strangers. She was so bothered about people in Copenhagen not looking at strangers in the eye that she asked her Danish supervisor about it. The supervisor said “No, no, no, don’t do that! It’s rude to look at people you don’t know in the eye.” I found it quirky at first to measure people’s openness based on how long they look at strangers in the eye. But then I remembered that the Sociologist Erving Goffman actually talked about this in his concept of civil inattention. For Goffman, holding the gaze of a stranger only briefly gives assurance of a lack of hostile intent. That is why it could be considered as rude to glance at strangers longer than briefly. The tricky thing is that people have different notions of briefly. For others, that briefly could be too fleeting that the feeling they get from others is indifference or non-acknowledgement of their presence. There is a right amount of briefly: when it invites potential acquaintance without seeming to impose oneself on a stranger. This is what some people find promising in Spain: the people invite potential acquaintance.               

Fourth, there’s the difference in the learning culture. Spanish people may be open, but they could also be 'formal' (couldn’t find the right word) in a lot of ways. There’s a note in our classroom that said it’s not allowed to eat inside the room. We have totally ignored the note, actually. Needless to say, bringing food inside the library is not allowed. But that’s just the tip of the iceberg about the learning culture in Spain. Let me summarize it with an actual incident. We are in class and the teacher was talking about credit and transfer systems, you know accumulating credits with whatever learning you have acquired and making use of those credits for employment or further education. I and a classmate were discussing something and then my classmate, referring to the teacher who was wearing a coat and tie, said, “The salesman at the front”. I lolled. [As the expression goes, we’re on the same wavelength if you got what I meant :)]

But never mind because I’m not looking inside the classroom. I don’t know if it’s even possible to be in Spain and be focused inside the classroom. This place offers practically everything you could be interested of. Beaches, sunny weather, surfing, paragliding, or mountaineering for the outdoorsy type. Good food for people who are into gastronomic delight. There are several cultural centers which have facilities for indoor sports and offer classes on different kinds of dance, meditation, yoga, or the like. The cultural center of the municipality where I live offers lessons on painting and cooking. Our favourite cultural center is the Alhondiga where we could borrow DVDs, audio CDs, and books for free.

Sunset in San Sebastian

My favourite of all is that this place offers me the chance to learn the Spanish language and use it in actual conversations. Nothing gives me more motivation and excitement about coming to Spain as much as this one.