Traveling Belly Dancer

A Taste of Cuba in San Francisco

2010-10-13T18:26:00.000-07:00

San Francisco is famous for its tourist hot spots. Fisherman's Wharf, Pier 39, Alamo Square, China Town, Golden Gate Bridge, and Union Square can be found crawling with tourists on any given day. While these places are all interesting attractions to explore, the real gems are hidden throughout the city like a pirate's buried treasure. This is just one of the reasons why living in a place trumps being a tourist any day. Of course, you get the best of both worlds if you happen to know an insider who lives in the city you're visiting. That's a good combo, too.
Despite having lived in San Francisco for the past six years, I am still discovering treasure troves tucked away in the little pockets of various neighborhoods. The recent heat waves have had me wide awake at night and wanting to play. No better way to do it than cruising through the streets on the back of a motorcycle. There's just something about being on a motorcycle that makes me feel cool. Plus, without the roof of a car obscuring my view, I often see things I might have otherwise missed.
That was how my friend, Michael, and I stumbled upon R adio Habana Social Club. Michael is my hair stylist and rocker friend. We met while sharing the stage for a rock and roll belly dance show I produced. His band, Electric Sister, headlined. Nothing like getting to know people while you're undulating on stage with them.
We were driving back to his place for a late night hair cut (that's the only way I've managed to get my hair cut these days) when we heard jazzy Cuban music spilling out of this tiny bar.
The place was almost too eccentric to describe. It was like the Mad Hatter's playground; nothing made sense, and yet it all came together in a way that fit. Avant garde and abstract art adorned every nook, cranny, ceiling, and wall. Even the floor was covered in art. Marionettes and random objects dangled overhead, like a flock of mismatched birds suspended in flight. Most of the objects were hybrids of various items that had been joined together in a way that was creepy yet mesmerizing. Doll heads with fish bodies, barbies with dragon wings, eyeballs and random body parts glued onto toy cars. All sorts of grotesque images that will haunt your dreams. In addition to this madness were black and white photos of Cuba, musical instruments, and pieces of quotes and poems. The menu had been spray painted on the floor in several places.
This eclectic spot is apparently known for its sangria. Michael and I had already downed some beers at a bar, so we opted for herbal tea and desert instead. Yeah, I'm not as much as a party girl as I make myself out to be. Either way, the cheesecake we shared was melt-in-your-mouth yummy.
Also, big thumbs up for the service. The owner was like the sweet grandma you always wished you had. Don't get me wrong, I love my grandmothers, but this lady was adorable in a way that you only see in fiction.
Perhaps that added to the surreal vibe of Radio Habana Social Club. Well, I guess the customer with his face painted in Dia de los Muertos make-up and the old Cuban men smoking cigars helped, too. It seemed like the kind of place where anything goes. Exactly the kind of place I like to be on a warm San Francisco night.

Hard Lessons

2010-10-01T18:58:00.000-07:00

Costa Rica is like a rose: beautiful and sweet, but you better watch out for the thorns. Is that too cliche of a metaphor? Either way, it's an apt description. I had to learn some lessons the hard way this past summer during my time in Costa Rica.
My fiance, Wilson, and I decided to buy property on Costa Rica's Caribbean coast three years ago because we had fallen in love with the people, the food,the diversity, the community, the nature, and the laid back culture. We now have our own little retreat in the jungle- a two bedroom house on a quiet road in the rain forest. We have neighbours, and have made friends with almost everyone on the road.
Anyone can see how it would be easy to get lulled into a false sense of security. We had already had our place broken into twice, so we knew all about the underground "tax" we paid as foreigners. However, the ultimate shocker came during the middle of a peaceful, quiet day. I was sitting at the table on my porch, writing on my laptop, and took a break to bring Wilson a glass of water down in the yard.
Our porch is ten feet up, and I locked the bottom door. Plus, we can see under the house, as we haven't yet finished building the bottom. I figured my laptop would be fine for five minutes, especially since I would only be about twenty feet away.
When I got back to the table, the laptop was gone. My first thought was, "Damn, that was fast!" My second thought was, "How long had someone been watching me?" Knowing that I had been staked out made my skin crawl. So much for knowing the neighbours.
For weeks after, every time someone came down the road I wondered if they had been the culprit. I was suddenly suspicious and paranoid and overly cautious. Those thorns sure hurt.
I'm the kind of person who likes to think that people are good at their core. I tend to see the best in people upon meeting them, and assume that people have good intentions, until proven otherwise. So, it's difficult for me to switch my thinking to "everyone is a potential enemy until proven otherwise", which is now my motto.
I'm still happy about owning a house in Costa Rica, but I've learned from my mistakes.

Sunny Days in San Francisco

2010-09-26T16:02:00.000-07:00

I found out a surprising fact recently: Mark Twain did not infamously quote "the coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco". Either way, the quote is dead on. Lucky for me, I spent the summer in Costa Rica and missed out on the chilly fog that filled the city all summer long. Luckier still, I am back in San Francisco just in time for Indian summer.
There really is nothing like a sunny day in San Francisco. Everyone is out and about and in a good mood. All the girls are wearing cute, summer dresses, and all the boys are turning their heads every time a girl walks by (unless, of course, you are in the Castro).
Festivals dominate the weekends, farmers' markets overflow with produce, people sunbathe half-nude in Dolores Park (or fully nude if you are at Baker's Beach).
The antics of street performers can be seen every few blocks. Musicians, jugglers, clowns, fortune tellers, and the like will perform for you for a donation or a smile. Although, I noticed something as I strolled by several performers while I was on my way to the Ferry Building (great place to spend a sunny day): where were the belly dancers? You've got the break dancers at the corner of Powell and Market, tap dancers at Fisherman's Wharf, even people trance dancing by hippie hill. But no belly dancers. In a city filled with Tribal Fusion dancers, you'd think there would be at least one tapping into her inner gypsy and performing for the passersby.
I'm almost tempted to belly dance by the street myself. But then I feel the warm sun on my skin, meander by a cafe, and get lulled into buying an iced coffee and lounging at an outside table. I guess I'll save the belly dancing for another time.
Side note: I did belly dance in Duboce Park for a kid's birthday party once. During the performance, a flock of green parrots landed in a nearby tree. Yes, we were that good- even the birds came to watch!

Rockin' Bellies!

2010-06-29T09:46:00.000-07:00

Lately, I have been into producing shows as much as I have been into performing at them. My last creation, “Rock-A-Belly” went down at the internationally famous Café du Nord, in San Francisco.
Belly dance and rock music? Can the two really be combined without looking silly?
After “Rock-A-Belly”, the answer is a definite ‘yes’!
It’s easier to belly dance to rock music than you’d think. Everything is in an eight count, and the guitar solos are really just rock and roll versions of a taxeem. And the drums! Great way to get your shimmy on. And frankly, let’s admit it, there’s a reason so many strippers grind and get down to rock music; rock is sexy and fun and makes you want to dance! There’s a wild abandon that comes with rock music, which is so unlike the strict traditionalism that can come with classic styles of belly dance music.
I certainly let loose with wild abandon at the show. We opened with a belly dance set (sans bands), and all four dancers- Rasa Vitalia, Leah, Alodiah, and myself- had the crowd entranced by our own, unique styles. Yes, belly dance is diverse! It’s not all coin belts and sequins and bad Middle Eastern pop music. Especially in San Francisco.
I had only booked three bands for the night, but we somehow ended up with five. Deeva opened, but shared their set with Art in Heaven. Castles and Spain rocked the middle set. Ironically, there were no belly dancers in their set, and yet they were the only band that night who had a history of including belly dancers at their shows.
Our headliner was Electric Sister. Really sweet guys. So respectful to Alodiah and I during the rehearsals we went to. No sleaziness whatsoever. Until they got onstage. I knew they sometimes described their music as “LA stripper metal”, but I didn’t quite put two and two together. And really, it’s quite the challenge to belly dance to that kind of music, with the band guys acting like sleazy rock stars, while trying to maintain some sense of class.
Don’t get me wrong. I love, love, love sleazy rock and roll. And Electric Sister are great at what they do. It’s just a challenge to belly dance with them and not look like a stripper. Just one eight count of sloppy technique and I knew I’d be doomed!
Thank god, Alodiah and I had spent hours rehearsing our choreography. We could put those moves to any kind of music- rock, Middle Eastern, or otherwise- and we’d still look like professional belly dancers. Which was what I was going for: to show that belly dance is classy all on its own, regardless of what kind of music you put it to.
The night ended with a great surprise. One of my favorite bands, Triple Cobra, showed up to play a secret set after Electric Sister. Triple Cobra has a bit of a cult following, and their glam rock, make-up, and sparkles fit right in with the belly dance theme. Despite the differences between belly dance and rock culture, I’m glad to say that we can at least all get away with wearing sparkles on our faces.

Zadiel in California!

2010-06-15T17:55:00.000-07:00

Planning a tour is no small feat. I have always loved the expression "hindsight is 20/20", because it really is! I recently hosted my first tour, in California for Zadiel Sasmaz- one of Europe's most famous male belly dancers. Looking back, there are so many things I would have done differently. Contracts, for everything, for starters. More promotion. Tons and tons and tons of promotion!
That said, the tour was successful in many ways. Namely, I discovered what it was like to live with two gay men. You wouldn't believe the amount of cologne that was sprayed in my house- I almost debated wearing a gas mask! And if you ever thought that teenage girls were boy crazy, you'd quickly realize that gay men truly define the term "boy obsessed". But can you blame them? Two gay guys from Germany in San Francisco for the first time, how could they not get a little nutty about all the gay men walking around?
The best part about touring is all the people you meet. From San Diego to San Francisco, we only had the best of hosts along the way. And to share the stage with other talented dancers is priceless. The downside? Lack of sleep! We all kept staying up way past our bedtimes because we were enjoying the pleasant company so much!
Also, as one of Zadiel's hostesses, I got to take all of his workshops. And Zadiel is a master teacher. From "Dancing to Turkish Pop" to "Drum Solo" to "Turkish Roma", I was shimmying my heart out. The "Turkish Roma" workshop was my favorite. The only drawback was that all the hopping a walking and sliding gave me a blister the size of a large grape on the bottom of my right foot. For the past three days I've been hobbling around like an old lady!
The toughest day of the tour, though, was the day of the Balkan Fusion Party show at Triple Crown in San Francisco. I was running on five hours sleep, and drove from San Diego to Los Angeles, then flew to San Francisco, got ready in thirty minutes, walked to the club, and produced a show.
In hindsight, that all seems very stressful and a little crazy. But then I pause to reflect some more and I think, "Lack of sleep? Excessive traveling? Blisters?" Meh. It's just another day in the life of a belly dancer.

Balkan Brass

2010-05-20T11:54:00.000-07:00

What is it about the deep thrum of a tuba, the short bursts of a trumpet, and the drawn out sighs of a trombone that I find so damn sexy?
My first taste of live Balkan music was at Amnesia in San Francisco. Rachel Brice was performing- that sultry snake of a belly dancer. She was the one I had gone to see, but when the band for the night, "Brass Menazeri", started playing, it was the music that had me captivated and wanting more. (But don't get me wrong, Rachel kicked ass that night!)
Something about the festivity, the gypsy-like mischievousness in the songs, made me want to dance, and dance, and dance. I suppose I'm not the only one who's been feeling that way, because there has been a boom of belly dancing to Balkan music in the Tribal Fusion belly dance community.
I was at a rehearsal the other day, for an upcoming show with the band, "Zoyres". Now, Zoyres' sound is many things, and one of them is Balkan. As I sat there listening to the band play, I felt something familiar. There was a feeling stirring in my body that felt akin to falling in love. The room was sort of spinning. And that's when I realized that I was swooning.
Guys, pay attention. All those band geeks in high school had the right idea, because now they're surrounded by hot, swooning belly dancers!
This June, I am hosting Zadiel Sasmaz- my dance director from Berlin- on tour in California. Zadiel's specialties include Turkish Roma and 9/8 rhythms, music favored by Eastern European gypsies. What better case to showcase his talents than at a Balkan Fusion party? That's what gave me the idea for the next show I am producing. Belly dancers from a variety of styles, a special musical guest called "Leopard Print Tank Top", a sword solo to clarinet, and Zoyres, who will satisfy your Balkan music cravings. June 7th at Triple Crown in San Francisco! Time to release your inner gypsy, and maybe even catch a swooning dancer. That's one way to sweep a woman off her feet!

Baxtalo Drom: The Lucky Road

2010-05-10T11:06:00.000-07:00

There is a gypsy punk party that happens once a month in San Francisco and it is a little bit, shall we say, revered in the tribal fusion belly dance community. Rose Harden and the ladies of Sister Kate host one hell of a show, called "Baxtalo Drom", at Amnesia.
Baxtalo Drom means "The Lucky Road", and if you attend or perform at the event, then you will indeed find yourself feeling like you have stumbled onto some lucky path. The performers are always hot and amazing, and the crowd is always just the right amount of rowdy.
Three days prior to the last Baxtalo Drom show, I was asked to perform. Yep, three days notice about performing at a show I knew would be packed! On the Facebook event page I was described as a "ravishing desert flower that wields her sword for you". What a title to live up to! My nerves were wracked, but I knew everything would be okay... so long as I practiced fifty million times.
To spice things up even more, the featured dancer of the night was Deb Rubin. Have you seen that woman dance? Well, she's fabulous, and dancing at the same show with her was humbling for me, if not a little terrifying at first. When you're opening for a big act, it's normal to have those feelings, right?
I really had nothing to worry about, though. My piece was- dare I say- almost flawless. Of course, after practicing it fifty million times, I would have been surprised if it had been anything else. And I say "almost" flawless just so I don't sound like an arrogant diva. This is where I would insert a smiley face if this blog had emoticons.
The other acts were also pretty spectacular. Kimberly Mackoy, Fatima, and Deb Rubin entertained the crowd with their sexy dance prowess. DJ Alxndr provided some funky beats. And Khi Darag (don't even bother trying to pronounce that; I couldn't pronounce it correctly after a whole night of hearing the name) got the audience moving and grooving with their gypsy-like tunes.
A bunch of my friends made it out to the show, despite the last minute notice. Where would I be without my amazing friends? It is so helpful to look into the crowd when I am onstage and see a familiar face.
Also, I realized that the lucky road doesn't have to stop at Amnesia; if I think about it, my whole life been a gypsy punk party as of late. Traveling the globe, dancing up a storm, having adventures, falling in love. Baxtalo drom indeed!

Clown Cabaret

2010-04-30T16:16:00.000-07:00

A few posts ago I was saying how tempted I've been to run away and join the circus. Well, a few weeks ago I almost had my chance. Sort of. I was scheduled to perform at the "Nutritionally Delicious and Delectably Delightful Clown Cabaret". Clowns, jugglers, acrobats, unicyclists, and other circus freaks would be performing, too, and welcoming belly dancing into their umbrella of circus arts.
Unfortunately, I got sick at the last minute and couldn't perform. I know, the "show must go on". And it did, thanks to my belly dancer friend, Alison, whom I called two hours prior to the show and asked if she could fill my spot. I really love that I can call a belly dancer last minute and have them perform. I should start a "dial-a-belly-dancer" service or something. Betcha I could make some good money doing that!
Despite being ill, I still went to the event and volunteered at the drink/snack booth. The cabaret was a fundraiser for inMotion Theater, which is a non-profit that works with high school youth to create educational theater shows about healthy living. I wish I had something that cool when I was in school. Being a circus performer as a way to stay in shape? Sure beats running laps around the track.
Polina Smith was the organizer for the event and she did a fab job of bringing everyone together. I especially liked the "pie-in-the-face" clowns, and the cartoon bear sketch by Edna Barron. But everyone was delightful to watch. And now I have some new ideas to add to my routine. What do you think about a belly dancing unicyclist? I'm sure I could pull it off...

Drinking with the Irish!

2010-04-19T16:09:00.000-07:00

Belly dancing at an Irish pub… I never would have imagined. However, this is San Francisco, and apparently anything can happen in this boundary pushing city.
My friend, Dee, wanted to celebrate her 30th birthday in style. As an Irish woman, that meant Irish pub, lots of alcohol, kick ass bands, and, um, belly dancers. And yes, all those things somehow fit together quite well and made for an awesome- albeit eclectic- evening.
The Irish pub, Ireland's 32, was in the Richmond district and packed full of people when I arrived with my belly dancer friends in tow. Everyone was laid back, friendly, and thirsty. And those Irish accents! I couldn’t have handpicked a better crowd.
The night opened with a belly dance set. Joi e Mazor (My Red Heart) and I used to dance to this little number called “Renunciation”. We decided to revive the song for the night and even pulled my friend, Julz, into the routine. Not bad for a few hours of practice time. Alodiah Lunar, Alison Saylor, Joie, and Julz all did solos. I sat out, because I was still recovering from e.coli poisoning. I figured a trio and a song with the band was my limit. Really, I shouldn’t have been dancing at all, but what’s that saying? The show must go on!
The band “Deeva”, in which Dee is the lead singer, played a set and I managed to pull off an improvised sword performance to their last song. I know, right? In so much pain that I should have been doubled over, but instead I was up there belly dancing with a sword on my head.
The band, “Art in Heaven” headlined, and Joie and Alodiah busted out with some improv of their own. The two hadn’t danced together in years and they managed to put together some combos in five minutes and then improvise with them to a song they had never heard. We are all total rock stars, I gotta say!
It was nice to kick back for a bit after the belly dancing, have a few drinks, hang with the birthday girl, and mingle with the crowd. One thing that I wasn’t able to do, though, was out drink the Irish. In fact, the bartender mixed my drink extra strong, so I was done after one cocktail. But can you blame me? After all that dancing, that alcohol must have hit my bloodstream pretty hard. Good thing I waited to drink until after the sword balancing act. I don’t really want to picture what would have happened if I had started drinking before!

A Taste of the Caribbean

2010-04-13T11:21:00.000-07:00

At the end of the main road that runs along the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica, there is a quaint beachside town called Manzanillo (pronounced “man-za-nee-yo”, not “man-za-nil-o”).
Manzanillo is the epitome of Caribbean. Located in the Gandoca-Manzanillo Marine and Wil d life Refuge, Manzanillo is a treasure trove for nature lovers. A dense coral reef lines the beach just meters from the shore and makes for excellent snorkelling. Sea turtles, barracudas, eels, reef sharks, sea urchins, and dozens of colorful fish are just some of the creatures you can expect to encounter. Mom-and-pop dive shops offer snorkel gear for just $3/hour. Diving gear and tours are also available. Kayaks run at $5/hour, and other tours include dolphin watching, bird watching, boat trips, and hiking.
The town of Manzanillo may be tiny, but the rainforest that surrounds it is massive. A hiking trail that starts just down the beach from the restaurant “Maxi’s” winds through the coastal rainforest all the way to Panama. The trail is a popular hike to the sustainable farm at “Punta Mona”- which is not accessible by road. If you decide to make the 5km+ hike to Punta Mona, which can take anywhere from 1.5-3 hours depending on the weather, lots of monkeys, sloths, lizards, and birds will keep you company along the way. Another 45 min-1 hour hike past Punta Mona will bring you to the town of Gandoca- which is even smaller than Manzanillo, if you can believe it.
Manzanillo is also known for its beautiful beach and good surfing. Cement tables are spread out under the trees, just before the shore, and it is common to see locals and tourists alike playing cards, hanging out, listening to music, and having lunch. Little shops and a few motels are scattered throughout the town, and all have a distinct Caribbean vibe with Rasta colors painted on the walls, reggae blaring from stereos, and Bob Marley memorabilia for sale.
One of the biggest gems in Manzanillo is the restaurant “Maxi’s”. While prices may be a little expensive, the mouth-watering cuisine is worth it. Be sure to order from the parilla (grill)- there is nothing quite like a plantain right off the grill, or a juicy pork rib with Caribbean sauce (not that I would know about the latter, but it’s what my fiance always orders. The amazing smell of the grilled meat almost makes me want to give up being a vegetarian. Almost). If “Caribbean” were a flavor, it would be anything cooked on the grill at Maxi's.
Maxi’s also sets the Caribbean scene with walls adorned by soccer banners, old-school reggae and hip-hop playing on the radio, a Caribbean staff who’s ancestors settled in Costa Rica from Jamaica, and a gorgeous view of the Caribbean sea. After hours of snorkelling, diving, hiking, surfing, playing with dolphins, or just lounging on the beach, kicking it at Maxi’s with a plate of food straight off the grill and a view of the sun setting over the Caribbean sea is a perfect ending to a perfect day.
Photo Credit: Christena Devlin

Behind the Eyes of Eve

2010-04-09T09:48:00.001-07:00

Before I left for Costa Rica, I found myself in the basement of D-Structure on Haight St. in San Francisco, sitting on a stool behind a shelf of clothes, getting my face done up in gold powder. Racks of clothes, stacks of boxes, and dozens of shelves towered over the cold, cement floor. It was the underbelly of the store, that was for sure. And yet, the space was somehow inviting. I have to accredit this to the amazing women who were involved in the photo shoot. There was Linda, who was doing my makeup and gossiping like the hairstylist she is. She had the kind of wit and sarcasm that could keep you in stitches. It was quite a challenge not to double over in laughter as she was applying my makeup. The risk of getting poked in the eye, however, helped keep me composed.
A woman named Sam was the photographer for the evening. She knew just how to direct the models and walked that fine line between bossy and nice. I definitely like a woman who can take charge! And so much better coming from a woman than a man... for obvious reasons.
And, of course, there was Dee Kennedy, the woman behind it all. The shoot was for her gemstone line, "Eyes of Eve"; sparkling gemstones that could be worn as bindis and faux piercings, among other things. Dee is quite the innovative woman. She's one of those people who has a million ideas swirling in her head- and she actually does something about it. She models, is the executive director of VAGABOOM! (a children's art educational non-profit in San Francisco), is in the band Think 13, is a tour organizer (her tours to Egypt are definitely worth checking out), owns the Eyes of Eve jewelry line, and is also a High Priestess. Yeah, pretty amazing. Oh, and not to mention that she's both gorgeous and super nice. The camaraderie during the photo shoot reminded me of hanging out with my girlfriends when I was 15; lots of giggles, zero pretentiousness, and an embarrassing amount of girl power. As well, I was happy because I got to model with my sword. And I love modeling with my sword. The more pics I have of me and that sword, the better! Because a girl with a sword is just so bad-ass. Especially when she's wearing Eyes of Eve.
Photo Credit: Sam O'Connor

Taking the Plunge

2010-04-04T08:22:00.001-07:00

Jumping off a thirty-five foot cliff into the rapids of a waterfall can make you feel like Tarzan. After an hour of watching the local teenage boys jump from various heights to the churning water below, I decided to take the plunge myself. A part of me wanted to do it because it looked like a thrilling experience (and it was), and a part of me wanted to simply show the boys that a girl could do it, too.
Of course, I took a bit longer than the local boys did. My friend, Randy, and I scaled the cliff and hovered fearfully at the edge for a good five minutes or so before taking that bold leap. The jump was exhilarating- I felt high for hours after- and it took longer than I expected to hit the water. My friends watching below told me that my legs did a little nervous kick about five feet before I touched water. Yup, that was about the point where I freaked out and thought “Why haven’t I landed yet?!!! What’s taking so long?!!!” Never in my life have I spent so much time in the air. I didn’t feel like a bird, though, more like a heavy rock- or Tarzan, without his slick jungle skills.
Bri Bri Falls is located in Costa Rica’s Southern Caribbean, along the highway that stretches from Hone Creek to Bri Bri. Lots of local tour companies offer a trip to the falls for $15-$25, but it is much cheaper (and just as easy) to take a taxi or a bus. Just let the driver know that you want to go to the cataracas- they’ll know where to stop.
Another reason to take a bus or taxi is because the tour companies do not often give any of the profit to the man who owns Bri Bri falls. And after meeting Santos, you can’t help but want to give the man some money for all the hard work and effort he makes to keep the falls clean, safe, and beautiful. He definitely lives up to his name, which means “saint”. There is a stairway that descends into the jungle and to the falls, which is always free of litter and well-kempt due to Santos’ weed whacking with the machete.
I first went to the falls by taxi. Santos was waiting at the entrance, and asked for a meagre donation of one dollar. After an exhilarating and refreshing experience of swimming under and around the two waterfalls, I was glad to contribute something to this kind-hearted man. Santos even came down to the falls that day to point out the big rocks that were hidden under the rapids; the current was strong that day, and he didn’t want my friend and I to be injured. He also provides bathrooms free of charge and sells a variety of refreshments from a small fridge. Santos dreams of one day opening a small café/bar at the entrance to the falls. For now, the “café” is a small structure with a table, a fridge, and bunches of bananas and plantains (for sale at a good price) hanging from the beams.
The rapids were too strong that first day to do much besides swim, but the water was calmer and an exquisite shade of blue the second time I visited. On that day, I decided to be brave and jumped off the top of the smaller waterfall. My boyfriend and our two friends, of course, followed suit. I also managed to swim behind and then under the larger waterfall, with the help of my boyfriend.
By the third time I visited, the rain falls had died down and the waterfalls were smaller, and the currents less forceful. Swimming behind and under the waterfall was much easier, and the whole place seemed less intimidating. Hence, my bold (and successful) attempt at cliff diving (or is it jumping, if you go feet first?).
However, Santos is the real Tarzan of Bri Bri Falls. After watching him walk barefoot through a highway of cutter ants, I asked him why he wasn’t afraid of being bitten. He thumped his chest and said in Spanish, “I am like Tarzan! I live with the ants!” It made me rethink my own Tarzan experience; sure, I’ll jump off a cliff into a waterfall, but there’s no way you’re going to catch this gringa walking barefoot through a bunch of biting ants.

Monkey Business

2010-03-20T09:08:00.000-07:00

Being alone with the monkeys in the monkey house seemed like a good idea at the time! But there is a big difference between having one monkey on your head and having seven. Plus, by the time I was done my four hour volunteer shift, I was covered head to toe in monkey shit. I’ve never smelled better!
The Jaguar Animal Rescue Center is located on the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica, just down the road from my house, in Cocles. The ten dollars for the one and a half hour tour goes 100% to the center. Besides, the tour is more than worth the cost. Wild cats, hawks, caimans, frogs, sloths, owls, dozens of snakes, and monkeys are just some of the animals you will see and learn about on the tour.
And you get to go into the monkey house. Ten bucks to play with the monkeys? It’s the best deal going!
After I went on a tour, I decided I wanted to volunteer. The job has been a little bit messier than I thought, but it’s also been loads of fun. We got a pair of one-month old monkeys in the other day. The monkeys like to hang out on our heads. Can you think of anything cuter than having a baby monkey in a sock on your head?
All eight of the monkeys have their own, unique personalities, along with names that the workers have given them. The two youngest (before the babies arrived) are Marilyn Monroe and Angelina Jolie; they think they’re the stars of the Jaguar Rescue Center and act accordingly. Minimo is the brattiest and likes to chew on camera straps, break sunglasses, and suck on your hair. Congalita has a lady beard, and is the oldest and therefore the head of the pack. Being a lady with a beard is really only something a monkey can pull off!
My favourite animal at the center, though, is Sleepy the three-toed sloth. He has a perpetual smile on his face and loves everyone he sees. Sleepy will hang out on my stomach, like an infant, with his arms wrapped around me, looking up at me with that smile. How can my heart not melt?
Encar and Sandro, the owners, started the Jaguar Rescue Center in their home. The center has now expanded into a compound complete with frog pond, horse stables, barns, animal houses, terrariums, and gardens. The Jaguar Rescue Center relies entirely upon private donations and the money made from the tours. At the end of the day, this doesn’t amount to very much. Still, with the help of the workers and volunteers, the successful tours, and the hard work of Sandro and Encar, the center is thriving.
The tours start at 9:30am and 11:30am. Arrive about ten minutes prior to the start, and don’t be late or the tour will begin without you! And remember, hide your camera straps and your glasses, and watch out for Minimo! She’s like curious George, always getting into mischief.
www.jaguarrescue.com
Photo Credit: Chiao Mei Lin www.evesorange.com

Que Rico!

2010-03-16T17:26:00.000-07:00

Dancing a set at a restaurant is something I love and hate at the same time. The dynamic is so different from a belly dance show because people aren’t just at the restaurant to see me dance- they’re also there to eat and converse with their friends. A show that is dedicated entirely to the performance typically has the audience transfixed on the dancers; the music is often too loud to speak over, and there isn’t much else to focus on except for maybe the drink in your hand.
The flurry of conversation, the way a good meal can dominate your senses, and the constant distractions of a restaurant environment can be intimidating for a performer. That is to say, I have to compete with the food and conversation for the attention of the audience. Sometimes, when a restaurant is full and the people have chosen that place primarily because there was going to be a show, the excitement and commotion of the restaurant adds to the set and makes it easier to perform. Then there are the times when I will look around and suddenly realize that not one person is watching me. Those moments generally only last for a few seconds, but during that time, I have to perform entirely for myself. It becomes like dancing alone in my room, except that at the restaurant there are people sitting all around. Occasionally, it can be a good thing when no one is watching; if I mess up no one sees.
Another benefit is that traveling from table to table, which takes up a good portion of the song. A shimmy here, a shimmy there- simple dance steps and easy to fill up time. Of course, the negative of going from table to table is that sometimes I feel as if I am intruding upon someone’s dinner. There have definitely been cases in which a table of people didn’t realize there was going to be a show, and aren’t entirely thrilled that music and dancing are interrupting what they had hoped to be an intimate and quiet dinner.
Overall, though, I love dancing at restaurants. I love the diversity of the people- that belly dance is exposed to people who would never attend a belly dance show. It’s great to be dancing and to look around and see a little kid imitating me, while over at another table an old man is attempting to do a shoulder shimmy as a joke for his friends, and the waitresses are watching me with rapt attention, the desire to dance being sparked.
In Costa Rica, I dance at several restaurants, including Café Rio Negro, Chili Rojo, Loco Natural, and Que Rico Papito! at the La Costa de Papito hotel. A perk is that all the restaurants feed me in addition to payment. There is something so satisfying about finishing a dance set and then immediately sitting down to a good meal. All the restaurants I mentioned serve delicious food and if you ever find yourself on the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica, they are well worth the visit.
Sometimes the nights are slow, sometimes they are packed full of people, but the food is always good!
Also, dancing in Costa Rica is a good lesson in adaptation. I have been unable to find a suitable travel case for my sword, so when I'm down in the jungle, I use a machete. The locals can never believe their eyes when they see me balancing a machete on my head. And really, a machete is just so bad ass. I mean, would you mess with a girl who had a machete? It definitely keeps the cat calls at bay!

Falling Trees

2010-03-03T10:13:00.000-08:00

If a tree falls in the middle of the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? Hell, yes, it does! At least, it does if you’re in the rainforest. And it not only makes a sound, but also causes a giant ripple of chaos. The earth shakes, other trees get felled in its path, animals and homes get crushed, power lines go down, and so forth.
In Costa Rica (where I live part time), if a tree falls in one town, it can mean a blackout for the next town over. Tree falling weather is such a big deal that people take out extra insurance in case a tree falls on their house.
Heavy rain is what causes the trees to fall, and right now, we’ve got some heavy rain on the Caribbean coast. A tree fell across the road a few days ago and took out the phone lines. No internet for days, which wouldn’t be such a big deal if I wasn’t trying to blog, organize a tour for my dance company director, and organize a belly dance intensive to Egypt. What made me think that I could accomplish all that while living in the rainforest? I guess living in an urban center for part of the year makes me forget what it’s like to live in a rural village down in the tropics.
Falling trees have some interesting positives, though. The bromeliads that grow high in the branches become accessible and make a beautiful addition to my garden. The wildlife that comes out of the tree make worthy photographs. Take the wicked scorpion that crawled out of the tree that fell on our road last year; I hadn’t seen a scorpion in the wild until then. And come to think about it, I hope that’s the last time I see one! The thing looked like a vicious, little alien.
We used to have a beautiful, old growth tree in our yard. We even paid extra to extend the property when we bought it, just so we could have the tree included. Ironically, a few months later we found out that the tree was diseased and rotting and would most likely come crashing down at some point, so we had to cut it down. The pieces of the massive tree trunk are still in our backyard- cutting them up and burning them seems like too big of a job for us to tackle just yet.
The most unfortunate thing, however, is that the wood from the old growth trees is too soft to use for anything besides mulch for the garden. Of course, deep in the rainforest, fallen trees are merely a part of the ecosystem. I guess all the broken power lines, damaged houses, and blocked roads are our own fault for moving into nature’s playground. And I better take out some house insurance soon, because I think the tree across the road has an eye on my house and is biding its time to come crashing down for when I least expect it. In Costa Rica, trees have a mind of their own!

Osama Bin Laden and Belly Dance??? REALLY?!

2010-02-25T11:28:00.000-08:00

Recently, Jesse Waters- one of the producers of the “The O'Reilly Factor”- attended a belly dance competition in LA. The purpose of his investigation was unclear in his interviews and commentary, but of all the conclusions he could have come up with, the point he decided to stress was that 9/11- and Osama Bin Laden in particular- is responsible for the rising popularity of belly dance in America. The clip- along with dozens of comments from outraged belly dancers- can be found on you tube, face book walls, and various websites.
The outrage felt by belly dancers at Waters’ and O’Reilly’s comments is understandable. I don’t know any dancers who took up belly dancing because 9/11 made them curious about Arabic culture. Usually, women take up belly dancing as a way to get in shape, to express themselves, to connect with other women, and a myriad of other reasons. Classes contain a diverse mix of ages, ethnicities, and body sizes, and it follows that the motives for belly dancing are just as diverse.
Furthermore, if anything, 9/11 has caused an increased ignorance of Arabic culture, rather than a curiosity about it. Bill O’Reilly proves this himself during the interview when he says that a woman "would be behead if she did that in a Muslim country”. Obviously, O’Reilly is more ignorant than curious, because if he was curious than he would be interested to know that belly dancing is very popular in countries like Egypt and Turkey, where both Islam and belly dance co-exist peacefully.
A friend of mine and prominent Egyptian dancer, Sausan Molthen, has observed that there is a boom in belly dance roughly every ten years. Trends ebb and flow, especially in the dance world. Also, part of the rise in popularity is due to the emergence of tribal belly dance in the 1980s; from which a number of belly dance genres have sprung forth. From the 1990s to present day, dancers have seen an explosion of belly dance styles, including American Tribal Style, Tribal Fusion, Gothic Belly Dance, and Belly Dance Theatre. From these have emerged a variety of fusions, as well: belly dance fused with ballet, modern dance, hip hop, jazz, Turkish Roma, and so forth. Belly dance has become popular in America not because of 9/11, but because so many dedicated teachers and dancers have been working their asses off to spread and promote their art.
The ignorance in Waters’ and O’Reilly’s segment was truly astounding. Waters seemed shocked that there were children in attendance at the competition and O’Reilly followed up by saying that belly dancing should be reserved for ages 16 and up. My jaw dropped on that one. In some cultures, children start learning to dance before they can walk. And the way a child belly dances is very different than the way an adult dances. Children look adorable when they belly dance, not sexually indecent like O’Reilly implies. Certainly, this clip shows that even a five year old girl can belly dance- without losing any of her innocence. Besides, children are often better belly dancers than adults because their bodies are so flexible. There are two boys I know in Costa Rica that can do better belly rolls than any dancer I know- even better than Rachel Brice!
It would be great if Waters and O’Reilly had developed a curiously about Arabic culture after 9/11, rather than the ignorance that they continue to show. Or maybe they should both get their asses to a belly dance class and learn what it’s all about first hand- because men can be belly dancers, too!

Let's Duet

2010-02-19T16:27:00.001-08:00

Belly dance isn’t often thought of as partner dancing, but duet troupes are quite common. Sometimes, I forget that people often don’t know this, and I get strange looks when I mention my dance “partner”. Then they think that maybe they’ve misheard me and that I’m a ballet dancer instead of a belly dancer. It’s a slippery slope from there!
I’ve had a belly dance partner from the beginning. A dancer named Julz was my first partner. She was the one who dragged my ass out to classes and got my interest in belly dance sparked. I was such a novice at that time, and Julz was a great teacher. She taught me how to balance a sword, showed me floor work patterns, and introduced me to all sorts of music. Most importantly, she taught me how to choreograph as a team. As in, how to choreograph without arguing and biting each other’s heads off. It can be a challenge to compromise on your creative ideas, but the payoff is choreography that is often times much more interesting than what you would have come up with on your own.
Presently, I have a duet company with Alodiah Lunar called “Carousel Belly Dance”. Alodiah is another gem of a dance partner. Both she and I were at approximately the same skill level when we met, and due to our amazing temperaments (pat on the back), we’ve been able to work together on a pretty much equal basis. We have a natural symbiosis that results in an equal input of song and choreography ideas. Also, we have a tendency to feed off of each other’s momentum when we’re choreographing. We’ve choreographed whole songs in a matter of days! Now that’s team work. Another bonus is that we both like belly dancing to old jazz music. It’s made for some cute little numbers!
Last year in Costa Rica, I had the experience of being the teacher and working as a duo with my student, Molly- very much the reverse of Julz and I. Molly and I performed together at Chili Rojo-one of the local restaurants- and it was so nice to have a dance partner again after performing solo for several weeks. Seeing Molly grow and improve as a dancer and collaborating with her was so rewarding. It hit me that things had come full circle for me.
I flew into Costa Rica a few days ago, leaving Alodiah behind in San Francisco and Julz in Los Angeles. But I’m looking forward to seeing Molly again. After a year’s time, I’m sure she has become a completely different dancer. And I have a feeling that we’re going to put on some great shows.

Surfing the Couches!

2010-02-15T19:19:00.000-08:00

Two weeks of couch surfing and my blog writing has suffered. Zero blogs in two weeks! My cheeks are burning from the shame. But when you’re a traveling belly dancer, sometimes sacrifices have to be made.
For those of you who have couch surfed, I’m sure you can identify with the chaos that ensues when you are living out of your suitcase and transporting yourself from place to place. It doesn’t seem like it would be much, to live out of a suitcase for two weeks, at a different house every night, but it can wear on you.
And yet, couch surfing allows me to reflect on all the wonderful people in my life who have offered a place for me to rest my head. All of my friends were more than happy to have me as a house guest. Feeling loved certainly eases the discomfort of not sleeping in my own bed.
Why all this couch surfing? I’m on my way to Costa Rica and I had to sublet my apartment on the first of the month in order to find decent renters. In fact, the renters are even watching my dog while I’m away, so the early sublet was a good decision.
Last night I stayed with my friend, Julz, who lives at a dance/music studio. There was something truly enjoyable about waking up in the morning, opening the bedroom door, and walking out into a room with giant mirrors, harem décor, and luscious Persian carpets. Submersion into the dance lifestyle is exactly why Julz lives at this space, and just one night there had me understanding the appeal.
And that’s the other thing that couch surfing does for me; it gives me a glimpse into homes created by people I care about. Of course, I have stayed over at friends’ houses before, but when you’re couch surfing, their home becomes your home, even if just for a second.
*All the pictures are of people who were gracious enough to offer me their couch

The Nature of Drum Solos

2010-01-29T20:32:00.000-08:00

In a belly dance set, the dancer usually begins with a slow piece of music, and then she might speed things up, incorporate props such as a veil or sword, and almost always, she performs a drum solo.

A drum solo? What exactly does that mean? The name sums it up; it's a dance performed solo to percussion instruments. This can mean a couple of different things, though. If the music is recorded, the dancer can choreograph her moves. If the dancer is familiar with the song, then she can quickly choreograph the song while she is dancing, even if the song is being played live. So, kind of half choreography and half improvisation.

And then there is the improvised drum solo- a dance made up on the spot to music the dancer has never heard. To an untrained dancer, the task would be impossible. And yet, once you understand how the rhythms work, you can improvise almost flawlessly; the audience wouldn't be able to guess that it wasn't choreographed.

Some drum solos are basic; you just have to look for the down beat, which usually comes on every second or fourth count. In the first class of Jill Parker's "Demystifying the Drum Solo" workshop, she had us walking around and hitting every single down beat. The result was a little sporadic, and at times I felt like I was doing the funky chicken, but the lesson was helpful in training my ear to hear the down beats.

Other drum solos aren't so easy. Sometimes the musicians are nice and they will repeat patterns of four, so that by the second or third time you hear the rhythm, you've got it down. Other musicians aren't so nice; they like to show off, to one-up the dancer, and the rhythms will be all over the place with no repeating patterns. Then you really would look like you were doing the funky chicken.

The best drum solos are when the musician and the dancer work as a team. The musician will play according to the dancer's tempo and vice-versa. Lots of eye contact is required! Think of it like partner dancing. But in this case, you don't need to worry about stepping on anyone's toes, except maybe your own.

Rachel Brice and Tutankhamun

2010-01-23T12:22:00.000-08:00

Every Friday night, the De Young Museum in San Francisco hosts a free party, complete with music, performances, and activities. In celebration of the current Tutankhamun exhibit, the festivities have included whirling dervish, belly dancing by Rasa Vitalia, and an assortment of bands. Last night was the kicker, though, with Rachel Brice performing to live music by Ajyal (a local Bay Area band).
Rachel Brice is one of my belly dance heroes. She’s been studying, teaching, and performing for well over a decade, combining sensual yoga postures with slinky belly dance moves. Her body is as lithe as a snake’s, and her movements posses a fluidity that’s like watching a river; every pop, lock, rotation, and undulation is entwined together in continuous movement.
The crowd went wild for her last night. Her improvised drum solo had me in total admiration. The drummers were definitely not being easy on her- the rhythms changed after every fourth set, with no repetitions.
I had an interesting wake-up call right before Rachel went on. Pretty much everyone in the belly dance scene has heard of Rachel Brice; she’s world renowned- a house hold name in the dance studio. So, I actually felt surprised when a women went up to her and asked, “What’s your name, dear?” It seemed like the most absurd question in the world to me. But of course, lots of non-belly dancers don’t know who she is. I guess sometimes I forget that not everyone belly dances!
After being dazzled by both Rachel Brice and Ajyal, I submersed myself in the world of Tutankhamun. Also known as King Tut, Tutankhamun became ruler of Egypt at the ripe old age of nine. He was considered a deity by many, and died mysetriously at the age of nineteen.
His tomb was found in 1922 and was a hidden trove of treasures. I can't even imagine how the discoverers must have felt. All that gold! Gilded coffins, statues, sparkling jewelery, and intricate details on every piece. It was almost mind-blowing to look at the artifacts knowing that they were over 3,000 years old.
Also a little mind-blowing was that so much of the jewelery resembled the jewelery that belly dancers wear today. Fascinating that a 3,000 year old necklace could look so familiar. I even have a necklace with similar beading to a chest piece that Tutankhamun used to wear. But I bet there’s quite a difference in the price! I wonder if anyone would notice if I swapped my piece for King Tut's...

C'est Mécanique!

2010-01-16T10:48:00.000-08:00

In a tucked away spot on Pier 45 of San Francisco’s Fisherman’s Wharf, there is a delightful museum of vintage music boxes, antique arcade machines, dioramas of circuses and carnivals, and a gypsy who will tell your fortune for fifty cents. Old-fashioned organ grinder music fills the space with haunting melodies. Combined with the salty smell of the bay, the wonders at Musée Mécanique transport you to a carnival of a different era- the only thing missing is the prizes and the cotton candy. They even have a miniature Ferris wheel.
Entry is free, but bring a pocket full of dimes and quarters if you want to operate the machines. There are little “theatres” that will show you an old-time execution for twenty-five cents. Kind of gruesome, but they’re only puppets. The dioramas are large and fantastic with twinkling lights, music, and moving parts; the whole scene will come to life. The overall effect is a little spooky, with the frightening laughs from “Laffing Sal” and all the mechanical noises in the air, but it just adds another element to the spectacle.
Of course, you don’t want to miss the belly dance peepshow. And for less than a quarter! Although, you should be aware that it’s a mini, puppet belly dancer that will be dancing in the box; if you want to see real thing, you’re going to have to work a lot harder than just depositing a few dimes into a coin slot.
By far, my favorite thing about Musée Mécanique is the music. As a tribal fusion belly dancer, I have a lot of freedom to step out of the bonds of traditional middle eastern music when I choreograph dance pieces. The result has been choreography done to rock, Balkan music, and 1930s jazz, to name a few. There are CDs for sale at Musée Mécanique that feature organ grinders, accordions, and other circus-like instruments. It makes me want to run away and join a circus, become a belly dance sideshow performer.
However, there isn’t much of a chance of that actually happening, and instead I’ll opt for surrounding myself with the mystique of Musée Mécanique. At least, for now.

*The story of how the museum began is a worthwhile read on its website: www.museemechanique.org

Warming up on the Spot!

2010-01-14T19:26:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, the unexpected can happen when you go to a belly dance class. Like being in a rush and finding out when you arrive that you need to lead the warm-up. I've taught warm-ups before, in my own classes, but this was Jill Parker's class- meaning it was packed with over thirty women. And, of course, I had nothing prepared. Nerves almost got the better of me, but twenty-five minutes of stretches and abdominal conditioning went by faster than I thought it would. Also, I kind of got my wish....

I met with Jill Parker for lunch last week. After being away for four months, I was feeling disconnected from the dance scene and wanted some advice from one of my mentors. Well, subbing for her warm-up on Saturday was a great way to reconnect with everyone. People came up to me after class and thanked me for doing a good job. People introduced themselves and asked me my name. And Jill was grateful that someone had been available to fill in for her last minute. Having your car break down while you're on your way to teach a class has got to be stressful!

It was my first time leading such a large class, and I was thankful for the experience. And i

t made me miss teaching my own classes. Performing and teaching are entirely different from each other. You don't need to be in character when you teach. You can pause, take breaks, and not worry about remembering the choreography. And you get to talk. I am such a talker, and half the fun of teaching a class is explaining things. There is so much history behind the movements in belly dance. There are so many ways in which the movements can affect your body.

30 Years of Rhythm and Motion!

2010-01-09T18:30:00.000-08:00

When I arrived in San Francisco six years ago, the first dance studio I went to was Rhythm and Motion. Back then, the studio was located downtown, just south of Market St., in a slightly rundown building. There were just three studios- small, medium, and large- and the flooring was in need of repair. And yet the casual vibe made Rhythm and Motion so inviting; it felt old school, unpretentious, and accepting.
Everyone was sad when the studio closed a few years ago, but were optimistic about Rhythm and Motion’s relocation to ODC Dance Studios in the Mission District. And while I have fond memories of the old Rhythm and Motion, I have to say that the new flooring, large studios, change rooms, and common space at ODC is much more conducive for a dance environment.
Plus, Rhythm and Motion is still going strong as a company. On December 30th, the company celebrated it’s 30th anniversary. There were free classes all day long, wine and an assortment of delicious food served at 5:30pm onwards, and performances from 7pm-9pm. After the show, a DJ spun an eclectic mix of songs and the studio was turned into a dance party.
I kicked off the festivities with a belly dance class by my mentor, Jill Parker. I have never seen the studio that full. There must have been at least fifty women getting their shimmy on. My friend, Mei, was in attendance. It was one of her first belly dance classes, and there seemed to be a lot of other newcomers there, too. Thankfully, Jill Parker had the talent and expertise to pull of a multi-level class, and it was cool to see people progress throughout the lesson. It’s like riding a bike: once you get the hang of it, you never forget. But you might have to suffer a few bumps and bruises before you get it right.
Jill Parker was also one of the performers that night. If you haven’t yet seen her sultry, seductive dance choreography, then you’re missing out! She has the kind of snakelike movement that all beginning (and even advanced!) belly dancers covet. It’s one of the reasons why she’s known worldwide in the belly dance community. Plus, she picks great music for her choreography. That always helps.
There were several other performers, as well. One male and female duo in particular stood out. Two members of the RAWdance company performed a piece entitled “The Beauty Project”, which consisted of strong poses, balance, strength, and almost constant contact between the dancers. The piece lived up to the company’s name. It was raw, powerful, and beautiful. The strength of the dancers was impressive; you could see the tension in their muscles throughout the movements. The physical intimacy and exposed skin (just underwear and sports bra) was arousing; like watching two people have sex.
Watching other dancers perform always leaves me itching to dance. Needless to say, I joined the DJ dance party and got a little crazy with my friends. I mean, belly dancing to AC/DC? Turns out, it totally works. Especially when you throw in multiple hair tosses.

Belly Dance Pin-Up

2010-01-02T15:50:00.000-08:00

I love posing nude for the same reason I love to dance: self-expression. Belly dancing and artistic nude modeling have more in common than you would think. Both require poise, endurance, and playing with facial expressions. And more importantly, both emulate the beauty of the female body in a non-derogatory way.
A few weeks ago, I did a photo shoot with West Side Photography. When being photographed in the nude, it is important to find a photographer with whom you feel comfortable. I’ve responded to plenty of ads that were requesting an “artistic nude model”, only to discover that the photographer really just wanted to shoot some porn. If that’s your cup of tea, then that’s great. It’s just not mine. And no matter how much sweet talking you do, you're not going to convince me that it is.
West Side Photography is a safe haven when it comes to feeling comfortable in front of the camera- no porn, no creepiness, no hidden agenda. Just beautiful shots of strong, empowered women. Now that’s my cup of tea.
When I talk to people about nude modeling, many exclaim that they do not have the confidence to take their clothes off for the camera. For me, it has been the opposite: posing nude has given me confidence. It is so empowering to embrace your body and bare it all to the world in a way that highlights your strengths and not your flaws. Plus, there's always Photoshop.
There is also a surprising result that occurs from seeing yourself in nude photographs. Even while looking in the mirror, I am not able to truly see how my emotions are reflected in my body language or in the expressions on my face. But after looking at a series of 400 nude photos, I can’t help but notice how much my body reflects how I feel inside.
I did my first nude photo shoot while I was recovering from a traumatic event. Despite the confidence portrayed in the pictures, there was a faint trace of frailty in every shot. Juxtapose those pictures with the ones from my last shoot, and the contrast is striking. At this point in my life, I am stronger and more confident than I’ve ever been- and it translates in the photographs. Although, I’m sure holding a sword had something to do with me looking so fierce, too.

It's Polkapocalyptic!

2009-12-28T19:40:00.000-08:00

One of the cool perks of being a traveling belly dancer is meeting and performing with musicians from all over the world. When I was in Berlin, I performed at the Phoney Island Cabaret with the Benka Boradovsky Bordello Band- a gypsy punk band from New Zealand. One thing led to another (as these things usually do), and I was asked to dance in their music video.

The name of the song? Polkapocalyptic. The theme for the video? Drunken gypsy party. With that combination, I thought mayhem would ensue. Would we actually get drunk for the video? Would there really be a polkapocalypse? And how gypsy were we talking? Because I'm pretty much your standard white girl.

However, my wild imagination was calmed upon entering the studio/house. We were shooting on a green screen, and would be shot one at a time. And there was no alcohol available (much to my dismay), so the drunkenness would only be pretend (as it turns out, I make a pretty good fake drunk).

Shooting on a green screen is a little bizarre. Green screens are BRIGHT green and kind of cushy. Meaning that my complexion looked horrible and my feet stuck to the floor. Not so flattering for a belly dancer.

Dancing to the music was a little awkward, too. First, I had to dance to the music at half tempo. And then at double tempo. And finally, at normal tempo. I liked double tempo the best. Nothing like getting your shimmy on!

Despite the awkwardness of the glaring lights, the green screen, and having to pretend I was surrounded by drunken gypsies, I pulled the whole thing off quite well. Everyone did. There were four other dancers who also performed: modern, contemporary, and free-style. As a belly dancer, I ended up being the most gypsy of them all- go figure.

The video was shot and produced by Sumone Productions and they did a fantastic job. The drunken gypsy bit is just a small part of the finished product; who would have thought that thirty seconds took four hours to shoot?

Wanna see the video for yourself? Check it out: polkapocalyptic but be prepared for an acid trip down the rabbit hole.

Santarchy

2009-12-13T10:42:00.000-08:00

In San Francisco, Christmas is very much like Halloween; it’s an excuse to party and to indulge in varying levels of weirdness. Decorations are put up, parties are thrown, people hand out candy, and people dress up in costumes and run around the city in them. San Franciscans love pushing the envelope.
I was eating a vanilla éclair at Thorough Bread (if you haven’t yet been to this bakery, hurry up and go, before they take down the life-size Christmas tree that’s made entirely of bread) on Church St. the other day when I saw a group of Santas pass by the window. Ten minutes later and another group of Santas- this one all women and conveying more of a naughty Santa them- sauntered by. Later, I saw another Santa gang at Burger Meister (and keeping with the Christmas spirit, they let me pose with them for a picture), and throngs of Santas parading through the sidewalks, yelling “Merry Christmas!” and swaggering as if they were half in the bag (they probably were).
I finally asked a fishnet wearing Santa’s helper, “Why all the Santas?”
“Santarchy,” she replied. Of course. Makes perfect sense. This was San Francisco, after all.
“No force on Earth can stop one hundred Santas!” is the official slogan on the Santarchy (also known as “Santacon”) website. And it turns out that there are cities out there that are just as crazy as San Francisco when it comes to Christmas: over three dozen cities were listed as Santarchy hosts worldwide.
So, what is Santarchy exactly? It’s pretty simple- just a mob of Santas, creating some light Christmas mayhem, including mock Santa assassinations, snowball fights, bar hopping, and singing Christmas carols in a pitch no one wants to hear. The date for the event is listed on the website and anyone wanting to their city to be involved simply needs to plan on donning a Santa outfit and let the web coordinators know.
Santarchy seemed like a lot of fun. My only regret was no having heard about the event- or else I would have gladly paraded about in a Santa outfit myself.
www.santarchy.com for more info

Don't Call Me Blondie!

2009-12-09T13:01:00.001-08:00

They say that blondes have more fun. (Who is this “they” anyway?). I’ve decided to find out for myself. After bleaching my hair three times, I’m finally passable as a blonde (albeit a fake one). I couldn’t go all the way, though, so the under layer of my hair is black. But no one notices that; it’s all about the blonde!
Have I noticed any differences? Am I having more fun? I am getting hit on more lately. But I’ve also recently become obsessed with cute knee-high and thigh-high socks. So, it could be either the socks or the hair. A guy walked by the other day and said, “Rockin’ socks!” with lust in his eyes. Guys really love girls in cute socks. I get it; I like girls in cute socks, too.
However, I do feel more like a porn star in bed now- but that’s because there are so many images of blonde porn stars in my head. Yes, I associate blondes with porn, just like the rest of you! Shame on me, I know, but now I’m in the blonde club, so I can get away with it.
Really, I was just getting tired of having brown hair. It took me years to grow out the black that was in my hair, and after only two months of being my natural color, I got bored. I tend to get bored easily, as you can see. I usually dye my hair black- so much that it’s way too predictable now.
So, blonde it is. And I like it. I feel a little edgier now, as if a part of my personality is represented by my hair. I felt the same way when I had dreads. No need to explain who I was- the dreads said it all! (Unfortunately, they said “hippy”, but we don’t need to go there.)
I think my blonde/black combo says “edgy, adventurous, flirty, fun, daring“. It might also say “easy”, but I’m hoping my hair keeps its mouth shut on that one.
The only downside to being a blonde? Getting called “blondie”. So many creepy, dirty, filthy guys have called me “blondie” since I dyed my hair. Shudder. I really don’t want to know what’s going through their minds, but since I associate blondes with porn stars, I can only guess.

Snow in the Grapevine

2009-12-05T17:17:00.000-08:00

There is a pass in the mountains between Bakersfield and Santa Barbara called the “Grapevine”; the pass is twisted and curvy like a grapevine. And it snows there in the wintertime, much to the delight of Wilson’s niece and nephew. We were driving back from Bakersfield last weekend when the kids saw the snow. I remembered how exciting the first snowfall was when I was a kid, but these kids were getting really excited. They wanted us to pull over on the freeway just so they could touch the snow! I mean, snow was a big deal when I was a kid, but not that big of a deal. Well, it turns out that they had never touched snow before. I guess that’s growing up in Southern California for you (but don’t get me wrong, I love Southern California).
When I was a child, growing up in Canada, we would always make a snowman right after the first snowfall. It was a tradition. Even if we had to scrape all of the snow off the yard just to make a snowball. This resulted in some dirty looking snowmen- all covered in dirt and with sticks and grass poking out.
We decided to pull over on the Grapevine. There was an off-ramp and a little side road, so it was okay. And once again, the snow was scraped off the ground, right down to the dirt, to make a snowman. Only, there really wasn’t that much snow, and the snowman ended up being only six inches high. But hey, you’ve got to work with what you’ve got.
The ride home was spent singing and listening to Christmas carols, and eating peppermint chews. I never thought that Southern California could remind me so much of home.

A Cauliflower by any other Name....

2009-11-30T15:40:00.000-08:00

Ever wonder how troupes come up with their names? Well, let me tell you, it is quite the process. My first troupe changed its name three times before it disbanded. What can I say? We were just students at the time; none of us had been in a professional belly dance troupe. There were so many names we admired, like “The Indigo”, “Ultra Gypsy”, “Zafira”, and “Red Lotus”. The names all had a certain ring to them.
We needed a name like that; one that would just roll off the tongue. After much debate (my suggestion was “Terciopelo", but it was vetoed) we came up with “Obsidian”. And all was great, until we realized that there was a group called “Obsidian Butterfly”. Too close for comfort. Plus, their name sounded better than ours.
I was riding the bus one day with my boyfriend, and with fellow troupe member, Tuana, and we were on quite the roll with ideas for a new troupe name. We liked “Kali”, because she’s a kick ass goddess, but thought the name would need something more. Kali Dancers? Kali’s Goddesses? Kali Serpents? That’s when I blurted out, “What about the Kali Flowers?”
I meant it as a joke, I swear, but Wilson and Tuana liked it. And so did the other troupe members. Kali Flowers. It’s funny, all right, but only if you read it. No one quite understood when someone announced the group. Cauliflowers? What does belly dance have to do with a vegetable?
So, “Kali Flowers” got ditched. The next name was voted in while I was on vacation, so I can’t take any credit. One of the members lived on Fell St., so the troupe became “Rue de Fell”. It sounds nice, unless you translate it to English. Which just proves that French is a nicer sounding language.
Obsidian/Kali Flowers/Rue de Fell eventually disbanded, and the troupe members have sinced moved on to bigger and better troupes (such as Jill Parker’s Foxglove Sweethearts, Miel, and Zadiraks).
It’s nice being under a troupe director. That way, if someone doesn’t like the name of the troupe, I don’t have to claim responsibility. Because when everyone asked us why we had named ourselves after a vegetable, all fingers had pointed at me.

Drinking from a Saucer

2009-11-23T18:50:00.000-08:00

Tattoos. Once you get one, you're hooked for life. Lucky for me, I haven't had the money to get one in a while. I already have four, so I can only imagine what my body would look like if I was richer.

And speaking of richer, I've decided what I want my next tattoo to be. It's part of a poem. Written by an old man. Who was blind. And had leprosy. This is one of those travel memories that makes me cry, but in a good way- in a "grateful for my life" kind of way.

For over a decade, a man named Fintan Kilbride organized a trip to Jamaica with a group of volunteers. I had the fortune of going on two of these trips. People usually picture the resort version of Jamaica: white beaches, aqua waters, palm trees, commercial reggae. But outside the resort walls, there are layers upon layers of poverty. Abandonment seems to be a big issue in Jamaica. Pets, kids, the elderly- their only hope are facilities run by volunteers and non-profits.

There was a home for the abandoned elderly that Fintan's groups visited every summer. It was the highlight of the residents' year. We would read to the residents, play dominoes, hear their stories, and listen to them play music. And we would celebrate one man's birthday. The first time I met George McFee (he liked to go by his pen name), he was 80 years old and started a music jam for us with a few of the other residents. The second time I met him, he was 81, and told us that he was dying. But that we were not to worry, because he had lived a full life and felt blessed by god. This coming from a man who had been blind for 60 years, who had had leprosy since he was 40, and who had been abandoned by his family. No ears, no nose. Stubs for toes and fingers, but he sure could jam on a harmonica.

He also thanked us for celebrating his birthday with him every year. He told us that it gave him something to look forward to, that it made him feel loved, and that it proved that he had never truly been abandoned.

He then recited a poem for us. I wish I could remember whether he wrote it or whether he was simply reciting a favorite poem. Either way, it was the most beautiful thing I've heard, coming from a man in his condition.

So, this is the part of the poem that I am going to have tattooed on the top of my foot, right next to the flower that's already there:

"I'm drinking from a saucer, because my cup has overflowed. In this life I feel, I have reaped more than I have sowed".

That way, whenever I am feeling ungrateful, all I have to do is look down and remind myself that if an old blind man with leprosy could feel like his life was overflowing with blessings, than I certainly can, too.

Why the elephant?

2009-11-18T18:14:00.000-08:00

I’ve been a big fan of Rupa and the April Fishes for years, but it wasn’t until a few weeks ago- right before Halloween- that I finally got to seem them perform live. For the release of their new CD, Este Mundo, the band played a short set at Amoeba Records in San Francisco’s famed Haight Ashbury neighborhood.
Rupa and the April Fishes were everything I thought they would be and then some. Rupa was beautiful, soulful, and performed with such passion that she seemed larger than life. Quite the feat for a woman who’s barely bigger than her guitar- and I mean that in a positive way!
Rupa has a great band to back her up, too. Instruments ranged from accordion to trumpet, and the musicians had the audience captivated and dancing between the aisles. A mix of gypsy, jazz, cumbia, and other musical elements, the songs were inspired by music from several countries. Rupa herself sings in French, English, and Spanish- and I may be forgetting a language or two.
During her set, Rupa told the audience that if we could explain why the new CD had an elephant on the cover, we would get a free copy. I didn’t know about the elephant. I tried to guess. Was it because Rupa spent part of her childhood in India? Nope. Luckily, my friend Mei was with me and treated me to a copy of the CD as an early birthday present. Now that’s what friend’s are for!
At least I know the story behind the April fishes. When a French king changed the pagan calendar to the Roman calendar, some people still wanted to celebrate the new year in April, and they would give out fishes to celebrate. Or so the story goes. The story is metaphorical. It’s about not wanting to accept a reality that’s handed to you, about not giving into the higher order. Rupa and the April Fishes definitely convey that message in their music, which is nothing short of worldly and not even close to being mainstream.
I love performing to songs by Rupa and the April Fishes for that very reason. When I dance to their music, my body feels pulled in several directions at once, and it yet retains a fluidity that ties everything together.
I talked to Rupa before her set and asked her if she would be interested in doing a belly dance/Rupa and the April Fishes show. Wouldn’t that be grand? Belly dancers performing live to Rupa and the April Fishes. Rupa said she was interested. I have yet to hear back from her, but seeing as how the band is currently on an international tour, I don’t mind waiting for an email. Besides, while I’m waiting, maybe I can finally figure out the story behind that elephant.

El Dia de los Muertos- San Francisco Style

2009-11-11T20:42:00.000-08:00

The Day of the Dead. A time of reverence, a time to remember loved ones who have passed. The festival is widely celebrated throughout Latin America, but the festivities in San Francisco rival most others. Not only does San Francisco have a large Hispanic population, but the city is also home to many worldly people and out-of-the-box thinkers. The result? A massive procession for El Dia de los Muertos of costumed, chanting, singing, sage waving, and music playing people that winds its way to a giant public altar. The altar is in fact several small altars, intertwined throughout a public park.
Rushing to the festivities after belly dance class with my dance partner, Alodiah Lunar, I didn’t have time to paint my face in the ghoulish white and black make-up that is common to wear during the festival. My friends, Mei and Coby, however, more than compensated for us, with their painted like skulls. Lots of people donned elaborate costumes, as well- ranging from black capes, to feathers, to head-dresses, to masks. One woman wore a metal frame with a larger than life skeleton attached to it. The woman was able to maneuver the skeletons limbs, and the result was a giant, moving skeleton, towering above the crowd.
Decorative floats, dance groups, and marching bands gave the procession a parade-like quality. One float was particularly interesting, as it was an antique, mobile puppet theater, complete with a shadow puppet show.
The altars themselves were beautiful, haunting, and mesmerizing, as if they emulated the souls of those we’ve loved and mourned. There was entire shrine dedicated to Michael Jackson, with a boom box playing his greatest hits. Another altar was a tangle of blood-red wires, holding up a white sculptured heart. Every tree in the park had pictures and notes stuck into its crevices. Flowers, feathers, candles, and mementos adorned the ground.
I had only gone to watch the festivities, but once I arrived at the altar, I found myself wishing I had made one myself. Luckily for me, someone had wrapped a sheet of paper around a building and markers had been left out so that everyone could write the names of their deceased on the wall.
The altars were a feast for my eyes, but the music was a feast for my ears. People were playing everything from Klezmer to Samba, and throngs of people were dancing and swaying to the music. The effect was thousands of people coming together to make-up a giant, pulsing crowd. Very much like the blood cells and energy that create a beating heart.

A Real Life Game of Clue

2009-10-31T16:13:00.000-07:00

Of all the bars I’ve visited in San Francisco, none left quite an impression on me as Bourbon and Branch. The Tenderloin neighborhood in San Francisco does not usually conjure up images of elegant bars and high-class society. However, Bourbon and Branch delivers just that. Without being overly pretentious, the bar offers a range of high quality cocktails, a classy atmosphere, and top service. Bourbon and Branch is located on a regular street in the Tenderloin, and can be hard to find considering that the entrance is an unmarked metal door on an inconspicuous wall. A Bourbon and Branch bouncer stands nonchalantly a few feet away from the door. Unless you had the inside scoop, you'd think he was just a regular person, waiting around with all the other interesting folk for which the Tendorloin is infamous.
What lays beyond the metal door, however, is nothing close to what one usually finds in the rundown Tendorloin. The decor in Bourbon and Branch is reminiscent of 1930s swank and glam, with a large chandelier hanging from the ceiling, blood red walls, and a bar made from soft, dark wood. Bourbon and Branch looks like something straight out of a mystery novel. Indeed, when I discovered that the large bookcase looming against the back wall actually revolved around to reveal a hidden library, containing another bar, I felt like I was in a real-life game of "Clue"- It was the man with the top hat, in the library, with the knife! Or was it the woman in the red dress in the study with the gun?
Luckily for the patrons, the only real danger at Bourbon and Branch would be drinking too many of the delicious drinks. While priced a little higher than average, one sip of any drink from Bourbon and Branch makes you forget about the few extra dollars. Mixed expertly well, and with only the finest ingredients, Bourbon and Branch can boast some of the best drinks in San Francisco. A scotch on the rocks? How about a Glenmorangie Margaux Finish scotch(one of 1,200 bottles in the U.S.), or the Balvenie 1971? Just a couple examples of the quality you can expect and why Bourbon and Branch is worth the visit.
Originally, the location of Bourbon and Branch served as a real speakeasy from 1921-1933, during the time of alcohol prohibition. The current bar seeks to recreate the setting of an era when serving alcohol became a mysterious business. There is even a set of "house rules" that patrons are expected to follow, which include no cell phone use, no standing at the bar, and "don't even of asking for a Cosmo!". Unfortunately, taking pictures is also prohibited, so if you want to relay your experience of Bourbon and Branch to your friends, you'll have to take them there so they can see for themselves.
www.bourbanandbranch.com

Naked Brunch

2009-10-28T09:52:00.000-07:00

The other day I was sitting in my friend’s kitchen in Berlin, flipping through her copy of “The Return of the Naked Chef”. Have you read that book? So yummy- and I’m not just talking about the recipes. The Naked Chef (Jamie Oliver) is smoking hot, and has some great views on food to boot.
However, as I was reading his rant about why breakfast should be elevated to a more important meal status- “Instead of meetings over lunch or dinner, why not meetings over breakfast?”- and how hard it was to find a good breakfast buffet, I couldn’t help but wonder if he had been to Berlin. And if he had, then did he ever miss out.
The Naked Chef’s cookbooks promote recipes using the bare essentials and that strip down restaurant food. Sounds like a Berlin buffet to me- the simplest of foods, but oh so delicious. Berlin’s restaurants are all about the breakfast/brunch crowd. And we’re not talking about the scrambled eggs with some bacon and hash browns type breakfasts that are the standard in so many countries. No, we’re talking about the kind of breakfast the Naked Chef had in mind: fresh juices, self-composed mueslis, and homemade breads. Add to the list a variety of fresh cheeses, a dozen kinds of meat, rolls, jam, fruit, and eggs, and you’ve got the typical Berlin breakfast buffet.
Some restaurants even take breakfast a step further than the food. One restaurant in the Neukolln neighborhood has a small stage and offers a “jazz brunch” every Sunday. How nice to eat breakfast while listening to live jazz. Plus, a buffet in Berlin won’t break your budget. The “jazz brunch” is only 7.50 euros. And other restaurants offer buffets for as low as 3 euros. There may be a lot of artists in Berlin, but you can bet that none of them are starving.

Iraq/Afghanistan- Some Inside Stories

2009-10-19T12:26:00.000-07:00

One of the great things about dating a talented musician is that he occasionally gets noticed and gets commissioned to do some interesting gig. Wilson Gil’s most interesting gigs by far were the two week music tours he did with his band, the Willful Sinners, in Afghanistan and Iraq in 2007.
Now, I’ve heard my fill of crazy war stories from Wilson, but after a visit last weekend from a friend of his whom he met in Iraq, I’ve got some more bizarre things to add to the list. I’m going to refer to this friend as Miss X, just so that I don’t step on anyone’s toes.
First off, Miss X was so nice and down to earth. She looks more like a cute housewife than a woman who spends much of her time working in war zones (I think Demi Moore ruined it for all the normal girls working in the military. Seriously, women in the military related fields are just normal people). And Miss X is bad-ass. She’s a communications consultant and specializes in solving problems related to suicide bombings. How’s that for intense?
Miss X, Wilson, and I wondered through Alexander Platz and looked at the historical buildings- all lit up because of the Festival of Lights- and chatted about cheerful topics such as searching for body parts, army bases being rocketed, people blowing themselves up, and so forth. We really are happy people, I swear. It’s not all doom and gloom.
So, want the inside scoop on some things the media doesn’t really cover? Just a couple tidbits for you: Fingerprinting is new in Iraq, and a friend of Miss X has the job of updating files with fingerprints- which means that she is often sent the fingers of dead people. Yup, just the finger. Imagine getting that package in the mail. Everyday.
Did you know that Saddam Hussein had a thing for the Flintstones? He had the whole town of Bed Rock constructed for his enjoyment. He also bred these giant fish with scales that looked like diamonds. Wilson was trying to feed the fish pieces of bread and it wasn’t really working. Then a soldier threw the fish a chicken bone- that did the trick.
Apparently, the United States has claimed all of the sites of archeological importance for themselves- Wilson got taken on one field trip after another to see pyramids, the foundation of the house of the prophet Abraham, palaces, you name it. The oldest pyramid structure known to man is just languishing in the desert. It's too bad archeology isn't the first thing that comes to mind when one thinks about Iraq these days!
Wilson Gil, Miss X, and I also touched on how there are certain ways being in a war affects you, things you wouldn’t have thought of before you signed up for the job. Dealing with suicide bombing has given Miss X a large crowd complex. She said that one day her friend called her and asked what she was up to and Miss X replied that she was hiding in a supermarket aisle. She couldn’t quite recall why she was hiding, just that the crowds of shoppers had started to freak her out.
What I appreciated most about our visit with Miss X was how we could sip hot chocolate in a café in Berlin while discussing topics that are changing the world. It made me appreciate Berlin for what it is- an international city. Berlin feels safe, it feels comfortable, it feels peaceful, and yet Berlin itself carries the scars of war. Maybe one day it will be the same for Iraq and Afghanistan. Maybe one day Wilson and I will visit Miss X in Baghdad and we’ll sip some hot chocolate in a café and talk about lighter things. One can only hope.
For more pics, check out Wilson Gil on Facebook.

Good-Bye Zadiraks

2009-10-18T07:04:00.000-07:00

An interesting thing has come to my attention. While belly dance is popular in Berlin, the scene lacks a sense of community. In San Francisco, almost everyone supports one another. Teachers encourage you to study with other teachers, company directors are fine with their members being in more than one company, and dancers come to each other’s shows, even if they are not affiliated with the same people.
In Berlin, belly dance (or oriental dance as it is called here), is highly competitive. Teachers vie for students and discourage dancers from taking classes from anyone but them, dancers refuse to help one another get gigs because they don’t want to risk being outdone, and company directors want dancers to only be in one company. Within dance companies and classes themselves, there is a sense of family and camaraderie, but straying outside your circle can result in exile.
The company I am in, however, is a gem. Zadiraks is led by Zadiel Sasmaz and he wants his students to train with other teachers, dance with other dancers, and support shows from other companies. He understands that it only harms the belly dance community as a whole if we work against one another. I know there are other belly dancers in Berlin who follow Zadiel’s ethics and I applaud them for it, but there are too many dancers who take a cut-throat approach to the business.
A fellow Zadiraks dancer told me how she was in a company for several years and got kicked out when her instructor heard that she wanted to audition for Zadiraks. I’ve witnessed one teacher yelling at another teacher because he was ending his rent contract with her in order to rent a larger studio space. She basically gave him an ultimatum, saying that if he rented with another studio, then he would be her competition. Yikes.
All of this makes me thankful to be in Zadiraks, and sad to say good-bye. Zadiel performed at Maroosh restaurant last Friday and he organized a little farewell party there for me with his two companies, Zadiraks and Velvet Snake. Maroosh has quite the Oriental vibe with images of hieroglyphics on the walls, a giant cat statue, and Middle-Eastern clientele. It was awesome to see Zadiel perform in a restaurant atmosphere. The reactions from the diners were hilarious. The women looked like they were getting their jollies while the men looked mortified, avoiding eye contact with Zadiel at all costs. I wanted to tell them that it was okay to look- watching a guy dance does not make you a homosexual!
At least my boyfriend appreciated Zadiel’s performance. He’s open-minded that way. Plus, Zadiel redefines belly dance by taking the stereotype of the “sexy woman” out of the equation, which allows you to focus on the technique of the dance. Zadiel is graceful, innovative, and a perfectionist when it comes to technique. He truly makes the art form high class.
I’m glad I got to see Zadiel perform one last time before I leave for California, and it was so nice of my fellow dancers to come out to say good-bye. I’ll be returning to Berlin in the late spring, and looking forward to dancing with all the wonderful Zadiraks dancers once again.

The Oldest Pub in Berlin

2009-10-15T13:32:00.000-07:00

There are places in Berlin that lead you back to an era of cobblestone roads, red-bricked buildings, churches fitted with wrought iron and stained glass windows, and ancient oak trees lining the pathways. You can almost hear the clip-clop a horses’ hooves, can almost see a carriage coming around the corner carrying people in old-fashioned dress.
Zur letzten Instanz, the oldest pub in Berlin, is one of those places. The pub first opened its doors in 1621, but the first documented mention of the building is from 1561. Zur letzten Instanz sits at the end of Waisenstrasse, an alley that also features the oldest building in Berlin- the “Graues Kloster” (Grey Monastery). A historic courthouse and the skeleton of a bombed out church can be found just around the corner.
I’ve heard stories that prisoners from the courthouse used to be taken to Zur letzten Instanz for their last meal in the days of old. The pub also boasts a repertoire of famous guests, ranging from Napoleon to Mikhel Gorbachev.
I loved how the candles on the tables and the large chandeliers bathed the pub in a warm glow. Rows of antique beer steins lined wooden shelves, stained glass windows and brick walls aptly portrayed the century in which the pub was born, and a heavy, wrought iron staircase wound a spiral of dark green to the restaurant on the top floor. Everything looked antique and I couldn’t help but feel the history of the place, as if there were ghosts milling about, mingling their laughter and chatter with the sounds of the guests from present day.
The wait staff wore classy black and white uniforms, and offered the luxury of service reserved for fine dining. The prices, however, were only slightly higher than the average Berlin restaurant and the food was well worth the few extra euros. The menu featured several meat-based dishes, with the meat often served on the bone, and always dripping with tender juiciness. Sides included beets, dumplings, cabbage, and potatoes prepared like I’ve never tasted before- sweet and savoury and bursting with so much flavour that I’ll never think of cabbage as a boring side dish again.
My own meal was one of the few vegetarian options listed on the menu and it was literally one of the best meals I’ve ever eaten. Fennel, rosemary, and other savoury herbs complimented tomatoes that tasted like they’d been picked fresh from the vine. I can’t remember what the dish was called, but I’m tempted to go back to Zur letzten Instanz for a second round so I can find out.

Visit the restaurant's website for more information: www.zurletzteninstanz.de

Berlin Vampires

2009-10-14T16:24:00.000-07:00

Berlin is a city that has carried its history like multiple scars throughout the centuries. Even in this present day of ramped up technology and flashy, modern architecture, one can still see the shadows of Berlin’s past lurking in the corners. Cobblestone streets, museums riddled with bullet holes, remnants of a great wall, and buildings still crumbling from bombs dropped sixty years ago live side by side with newly paved freeways, shopping mall complexes, and a radio tower that looks like something out of the Jetsons.
Berlin is like a vampire, forever trying to change with the times, but retaining its past with subtle nuances that appear when you least expect it. Which makes Berlin the perfect setting to shoot a music video about vampires. Wilson Gil and Orit Shimoni co-wrote a song called “The Choice“. Wilson sings the first half of the song with deep and haunting lyrics: “It’s too late to pray/For what I just took away/In the morning sunrise/I’ll be closing my eyes”. He narrates the tale of a vampire on the prowl. This vampire meets a girl and narrows in on her as his prey. Little does he know that the girl is also a vampire.
Orit enters on the second half of the song with a voice that sounds like a wounded angel. She is the girl that Wilson has targeted and becomes the ultimate predator as she fanes humanity and then takes her revenge by killing Wilson when his guard is down.
Guitar, violin, mandolin, and acoustic bass give the song an old-time feel. The music builds into crescendos of eerie notes that would send shivers up anyone’s spine.
The video is being shot in Mitte in Kloster Strasse, which is one of Berlin’s oldest U-Bahn stations. Large orbs of light hang from the ceiling like shimmering ghosts. Photos of historic trains adorn the walls, wrought iron accents give the station a graveyard-like vibe, and voices echo off the ceiling like ghouls moaning in a haunted house.
The film director, Karim Rateb, adds suspense and the element of surprise with sweeping views of the station, close ups of bloody mouths, and point of view shots.
As for my part in the video, I get to play Wilson the vampire’s first victim. I’ll be sitting on a bench in the station, innocently waiting for my train. The part should be easy to act, because the Kloster Strasse station already fills me with exciting chills whenever I’m there. Entering that station is like going back through time. I just hope I don’t meet any real vampires along the way.

www.wilsongil.com
www.myspace.com/weelittlebirdie

OMG! I Ate Some Meat!

2009-10-12T12:44:00.000-07:00

Germans sure love their meat, to the point where even a vegetarian can start to get cravings for a piece of crisp juicy animal flesh. I’ve been a vegetarian for eleven years, and like most vegetarians, I’ve “cheated” from time to time. I should have known from the start that Berlin had it in for me, with its sausage stands and low prices and döner (kebab) vendors and supermarkets offering every kind of meat you could think of.
Alexander Platz was a particularly tempting place for a vegetarian like me. After hours of busking (performing by the street), a girl can work up quite an appetite. There are easily six bratwurst stands by the Alexander Platz U Bahn. Sausage, sausage everywhere and not a bite to eat! Until I totally caved. I couldn’t help it. One day I was so hungry and the sausages were sizzling on the grill and my friend was beside me, sinking his teeth into a perfectly crisp bratwurst. Man, that sausage was so good.
I told myself it wouldn’t happen again. It was just one sausage. A girl can cheat once in a while. It’ okay, right? Well, apparently not, because now I’m freaking addicted to bratwurst. It’s the best bang for my buck at a euro and twenty cents. And the bratwurst are all lined up, waiting to be munched. No lines to wait in. Fast, cheap, convenient, filling, and so damn delicious.
Bratwurst has been my only exception, though. Germans can get downright weird with their meat. I went to a dinner party and there were several jars on the table next to a plate of crackers. I thought that the jars contained maybe hummus or cheese or some kind of spread. Nope. It was meat in a jar! All kinds of strange, processed meats: blood sausage, liver, and god knows what else. It looked like cat food. And kind of smelled like it, too.
Now, some people don’t classify fish as meat, but most vegetarians do. If you add fish to your definition of meat, then the meat in Germany gets even stranger. Pickled herring on a bun? Germans love it. Fish burgers, fish filets, fish with the scales still on, you name it and you can find it, at least in Berlin. They even have fish bakeries.
There was a jar of herring in the fridge of the apartment we’re renting. My fiance, Wilson, had the brilliant idea of opening up the jar to sample its contents. He didn’t get that far, though, because after one whiff the lid was back on and the fridge was slammed shut.
Wilson didn’t warn me about the jar of herring, though. I only found out because he gave me a hug and I couldn’t believe how bad he smelled. He must have washed his hands a dozen times before the smell started to wear off. But our fridge still smells like fish whenever we open it up.
After the jar of herring experience, I feel like my bratwurst addiction is acceptable. Because hey, it could be a lot worse. I could be addicted to pickled herring instead.

Sunday Night in Friedrichshain

2009-10-11T15:42:00.000-07:00

What to do on a Sunday night in Berlin? Friedrichshain is one of those up and coming neighborhoods, full of misfits, beat necks, artists and musicians. Wilson Gil and I knew we’d happen upon something cool if we ventured out there. Friedrichshain is gritty and in your face. Right when you get out of the subway, you’re hit with the beauty and awe of the city as you walk across the Warschauer bridge. The radio tower in Alexander Platz looms in the distance, the buildings cast their twinkling lights on the canal, and a mob of people rushes past as everyone exits from the subway trains.
The neighborhood is awash in restaurants. We had a craving for Thai food, so we took the advice of a friend and went to “Lemongrass”. The joint was slamming. The food was rocking. And the international vibe was intense. There must have been at least twenty nationalities represented in that one tiny restaurant. That’s the flavor of Berlin.
Wilson Gil’s favorite little music bar, Art Liners, is in Friedrichshain. Art Liners has an open jam every Sunday night and all sorts of musicians congregate there to have their go at the mike. Everything from banjo to accordion to the kazoo.
The bar brings attracts some interesting fans, as well. One in particular, whom everyone knows (because how could you not), is a punk rock chick named Vina. I’m not sure what exactly, but something happened to that girl along the way and now she’s, well, let’s just call her a free spirit. Wilson Gil played a show at Art Liners a few weeks back and Vina just loved him- so much that she decided to wrap her arms around his legs half way through his set, all the while screaming something incoherent in German. I think she was trying to say that she really liked his music.
On this particular Sunday night, however, Vina had it in for me. She came up to me, threw her arms around me, and proceeded to grab my ass and kiss my cheek. “You a nice woman!” she said as she looked me up and down. I managed to crawl out from her grasp and made sure to stay far away for the rest of the night.
The crazy characters really just add to the jacked up vibe of the bar, though. It’s so great to smoke a cigarette, down a glass of beer, and listen to various musicians do Rolling Stones and Johnny Cash covers, while people are dancing around between the tables. Lots of great original music, too. I hope one day to be able to hear one of the musicians on the radio and say, “Hey! I knew them when…”
The rain was pouring down by the time we left Art Liners, but we didn’t mind. The air was still, and it was kind of nice to walk through the streets in the rain, hand in hand with my love.

Will Pay Cash for Panties

2009-10-10T11:26:00.000-07:00

Craigslist has been a great resource for my dancing career. The site has provided me with instructors, dance mates, and lots of dance gigs. (If any of you don’t know what Craigslist is, check it out: www.craigslist.org).
I’ve got just a couple weeks left in Berlin, so I was perusing Craigslist today to see if there were any dance opportunities for me when I get to California. Just a couple of things looked promising, so out of curiosity, I decided to see what was available under the other “gigs” categories.
“Domestic” gigs had some nanny, housekeeping, and tutoring jobs listed. I could do any of those. There were lots of Halloween gigs listed under “talent” and “event”. Waiting tables in a costume for $100/hour? Sounds like a good deal, but I don’t know if I want to give up my Halloween night. I was hoping to find something cool under “writing” gigs, but the pickings were slim. So, what to do?
I ventured into “adult” gigs, just to take a peek. Holy moly. That’s where all the money is! Did you know there are men willing to buy my used panties for $50? Hell, they’re not just willing, they’re begging for it. And I wear panties anyway, why not make some money off of it? Of course, there’s a little more involved than just wearing the panties, but I’ll leave the rest up to your imagination.
Nude modeling? The prices ranged from hundreds of dollars to “it will be good for your portfolio”. Seemed a little shady to me. Adult videos, web camming, and other porn related gigs offered lots of Gs, but I guess I’m not as open-minded as I thought, ‘cause I just can’t go there.
Aside from selling my panties, there really wasn’t much for me under “adult” gigs. One last place to check. There is a “etcetera” section under the job listings. After looking through the job offers I understood why it was called “etcetera”. There was everything from market research surveys to taste testing to egg donation.
Do you know how much you get paid to donate your eggs? Around $7,000. (Sorry fellas, no boys allowed). The process seems intensive, but for $7,000 a month, I’m seriously considering it. And it would make a good daily blog, too: “My Month as an Egg Donor”. And it’s for a good cause.
Now I have to figure out what to tell people when they ask me what my occupation is. “I’m a panty-selling-belly-dancing-egg-donor”? I’m just not sure if it has the right ring to it.

Berlin's Dichotomies

2009-10-09T04:49:00.000-07:00

Berlin is at once a massive yet tiny city. It is a city of ghosts and of vibrant life. It is a place where the East meets the West, and everything in between.
I wasn’t sure what to expect when I came to Berlin. But the one thing I didn’t expect was to feel severely depressed for my first month of being there.
After weeks of pondering and agonizing over why I was feeling so down, I finally figured it out: I wasn’t able to ground myself. I was lost. And yet I wasn’t. That was it. Berlin has so many dichotomies, that I wasn’t sure how to feel half the time. There is a constant shift from “hot” to “cold” and my body wasn’t sure how to react.
Most Berliners speak some English, to the point where one can be deceived into thinking that they don’t need to learn Deutsch. Big mistake. While it’s a total blessing to communicate in English while in a foreign country, one has to be aware that all media, websites, signs, and vital information is not in English. Germany is not a bilingual country, even though it sometimes appears to be. Mein Deutsch ist schlect, but I thought I could get by without knowing the language. In reality, one can just get by in Berlin with only speaking English. But if you want any level of success, knowing Deutsch is crucial.
Berlin has so much to offer, but when you just arrive, it’s almost too much. Where do you start? As a dancer, there was a million studios, instructors, and venues to choose from, but it was hard to get an “in”. Even when you think you have an “in”, it’s really just the tip of the iceberg. For every club you’ve been to, there are a hundred that you don’t even know about.
There is also a contrast between East and West Berlin, and at the same time a unity amongst all Berliners. So, where to live? I still haven’t figured that one out, although I have found some neighborhoods that I love. Neukölln and Kreuzburg are my favorite, but I love Mitte and Charlottenburg and Prenzlauer berg, as well. And each neighborhood offers a totally different experience, so it’s a tough decision.
There are way too many dichotomies to list. What I do find comfort in is knowing that I’m not the only one who has felt depressed upon arriving in Berlin. I met a singer/song writer named Orit Shimoni. She wrote a wonderful song called "Sadder Music" that sums up exactly how I was feeling. It was a great moment to be sitting outside at a picnic table on a hot summer night, surrounded by people from all walks of life, listening to Orit spill her soul about Berlin. It’s always nice knowing there is someone to whom I can relate.
After being in Berlin for three months, the depression has passed. I love the city, and all of its quirks and charms. And I sympathize with Berlin. Despite being over 700 years old, Berlin is somewhat like a teenager with an identity crisis. Is the city Gothic, punk, historical, modern, hip, rundown, or just content with being all of the above? Whichever the case, Berlin has a little something for everyone. You just have to be content with whatever the city throws your way.

Hamburg's Red-Light District

2009-10-07T11:12:00.000-07:00

What better way to top off a rock and roll weekend in Hamburg than to explore the Red Light District in St. Pauli?
The main street in the St. Pauli district is the “Reeperbahn”. The street is awash in strip clubs, fetish stores, adult DVD shops, bars, cheap eats, and alternative fashion. A walk down a particular side road called Herbertstrasse reveals an ally with ladies on display in lit windows. I only caught a glimpse, however, because I was warned that women are not welcome to stroll through the ally. Apparently, it’s bad for the window ladies’ business. But what if a girl wanted to hire a girl? Nope. Heterosexual area only. Doesn’t make much sense to me. Even if you were straight, which would you rather have: a fat, old, smelly bald guy… or me? I’d take a hot belly dancer over an ugly man any day.
Disappointed with the lack of access available to me on Herbertstrasse, I decided to hit the strip clubs with my fiance, Wilson, and two of our Hamburg friends. Amazingly, the Hamburgers (I love that people from Hamburg are called “Hamburgers”), didn’t know which clubs were worth checking out. I mean, these guys are metal-head-rock-and-rollers- aren’t strip clubs part of their scene?
We decided to go with the most advertised strip club, “Dollhouse”. It turned out to be a bad move on our part. It was 12 euro to get in, drinks were crazy expensive, and you had to pay an additional 30 euro for a girl to strip, plus tips. And here’s the kicker: after removing all of their clothes, and right as they’re pulling off their underwear, the girls covered their pussy with one of their hands. No pussy viewing allowed! Club policy. What a rip off. I can see naked girls anytime I want. If I am going to pay to see a girl naked, her pussy better be in my face.
We left the Dollhouse and opted for a cheaper venue. I can’t remember the name of the place we went to, but there was no cover and the first drink was only 4 euro. That guaranteed you one strip show on stage. The girls weren’t quite as hot as the Dollhouse girls, but at least they got totally naked.
Overall, I’d have to say that my first strip club experience was pretty boring. I guess I went to the wrong clubs. I was expecting crazy pole dancing acrobatics (only two of the girls I saw that night knew anything about a pole), gyrating hips (some of the girls were so bad at dancing that they looked like they were doing the funky chicken), and ping pong balls shooting out of vaginas (but the vaginas were few and far between).

Tipsy Apes

2009-10-06T11:40:00.001-07:00

Hamburg is a rock and roll town, especially when it comes to metal. Wilson Gil and I rolled out last Friday to perform at one of the oldest rocker hangouts in Hamburg: the Tipsy Apes. A perfect place to hold the film release party for a short-Western film that was created by metal head Flint, from the band Razorheads.
The Tipsy Apes is in a field in the middle of no where on the outskirts of Hamburg. Spooky and isolated, with no one around to file a noise complaint. There’s a big covered stage, a cabin with couches and a bar, and a stand that sells killer sausages. The audience area is simply open field, with a bonfire usually raging off to the side.
Wilson Gil’s country-rock set was a little out of place sandwiched between three metal bands, but it somehow worked. Wilson Gil rocked out hard, harder than any of the metal heads that were at the Tipsy Apes that night, so he made even the most country of his songs seem totally raw and bad ass. Plus, he had a hot belly dancer to spice things up!
For our last song, “Solid Gold”, this crazy drunk chick got up on stage with us. She was dancing with me and getting really into it, so I was shaking it with her, and then she grabbed me and poured her drink over my head! Rum and coke all through my hair, in my coin bra and costume. My hair was so sticky by the end of the night that it didn’t even budge when I took out my ponytail holder. I think I’ve found a replacement for hair gel!
I was a good sport about the whole thing, though, ‘cause that’s rock and roll, baby.
I also learned a new dance move that night- head banging. Seriously, there is an art to doing it properly. At least, that’s the conclusion I came to after watching a guy do his head banging move for twenty minutes straight. You stand with your legs slightly apart, with your hands placed on your thighs, and your back slightly hunched. Then you hang your head down so your hair is dangling, and then it’s something like “down, down, down, up!” and you throw your hair back. I wanted to audition that guy for “So You Think You Can Dance”! But I figured that he probably wouldn’t go for it.

Bad Harzburg

2009-10-02T08:30:00.000-07:00

I love a town that loves its witches. On the eve of every April 30th, the people of Bad Harzburg celebrate Walpurgisnacht (Night of the Witches). Legend has it that the witches convene with the devil on this night. However, some sources say that the witches fight the devil and others say that the witches convene with themselves.
Whichever the case, these days the festival is more symbolic of springtime; the fairytale is that witches fly in during the night, sweeping away all of the negativity and bad spirits from winter. A glorified spring cleaning and a celebration of light over darkness (the coming of spring).
While Walpurgisnacht is celebrated in the spring, figures of witches are found in Bad Harzburg throughout the year- as souvenirs for tourists, in shop windows, on the roofs of houses, on labels for various products. It’s like perpetual Halloween.
And Halloween is my favourite holiday. I was in Bad Harzburg just this past weekend, and was delighted to discover that Bad Harzburg was celebrating yet another festival: KastanienFest (Kastanien means “chestnut”). The streets were filled with vendors selling everything from scarves to wooden toys. Smells drifted from food stalls selling goodies such as candy apples and bratwurst, crisp and hot off the grill. Music from buskers playing accordions, bag pipes, flutes, and other instruments mingled with the chatter and laughter of the people milling about.
Bad Harzburg appears to be this sleepy little mountain town, evident by its population of old people. However, a closer look reveals that there is a mischievous and mystical character about the town and its people. In addition to the witches, other fairytale delights freckle the town. For example, a large fountain sits just off of the main street. Numerous sculptures of strange creatures- mermaids, dwarves, nymphs- perch on the fountain, most of them naked, some of them shooting water out of their penises or from wine bottles, and all of them with a naughty twinkle in their eye. One of the dwarves even has his hand around his dick as he gazes at another naked dwarf with huge breasts (check out the dwarf to the right in the picture). Alcohol, debauchery, and sex. And that’s all just in one fountain.
If you take the sky tram up the mountain and into the forest that’s at the edge of the town, you’ll enter a real fairytale, or what‘s left of it. Hidden from site deep within the forest is the Harzburg Castle. Once mighty and strong, the castle is now in ruins, making the grounds feel spooky and haunted.
Hiking trails criss-cross the mountains and forests, leading to waterfalls and spectacular views. Bad Harzburg may be renowned for its spas and as a place to retire, but the town also offers mischief and fun for a person who’s more of the adventurous type. While much of Bad Harzburg’s residents may be elderly, if you look closely, you’ll notice that they all have a twinkle in their eye.

Sparrenburg Castle

2009-10-01T14:05:00.000-07:00

When I asked my friends in Berlin if there was anything to see while I was in Bielefeld, each one of them said that Bielefeld didn’t have much going on. Imagine my surprise, then, when I got to Bielefeld and people asked if I was going to see the castle. A castle? If that’s not something to see, I don't know what is. Maybe castles are just commonplace to most Germans, and that’s why my friends hadn’t mentioned it. Either way, I was thrilled. I had never been in a real castle.
The Sparrenburg Castle sits high on a hill, overlooking Bielefeld and beyond. A massive stone wall wraps around the interior, with a turret in four corners. Inside, the main halls have been reconstructed and now serve as a restaurant. A large turret is in the middle of the grounds, towering over everything. The great thing about the Sparrenburg Castle is that you can really explore it. There are tours that take you around the outside, through the inside, underground, and all the way to the top. What a view!
Sparrenburg is a good bang for your buck, too. The restaurant and the little food stand both charged a fair price for tasty cuisine and the tours were inexpensive (less than 4 euro). Parking and entrance to the castle are free.
A bit of the history? The guide I was given says that Sparrenburg was built in the early 1200s by Count Ludwig of Ravensburg and that it was home to the Count and his “entourage”. Which makes the Count sound like he was a rock star. Because when I think “entourage” I think of hot girls and groupies. But maybe that’s just me.
Throughout the centuries, Sparrenburg saw many changes in ownership and additions to its architecture. Sadly, the castle was pummeled by an air raid during WW II, but extensive renovations have made the castle almost like it was before.
While we were at Sparrenburg, there was a photoshoot for a wedding taking place throughout the grounds, and a bag pipe player in a kilt was playing by the bridge on the way into the castle. There was definitely a lot to see.

www.bielefeld.de
www.sparrenburg.info

The German Wild West

2009-09-30T02:30:00.000-07:00

After getting lost and driving around the tiny city of Bielefeld, Germany for two hours, Wilson Gil and I finally made it to Forum- the club at which we would be performing.
A couple years ago, Wilson Gil co-produced a song for the soundtrack of an Indie-Western short film. The film, “Sam Hall”, is a German creation. Now, I don’t exactly think of the “Wild West” when I think of Germany, but the film did do the Wild West justice. You would have thought it was produced by cowboys instead of German rockers.
The show at Forum was to celebrate the release of “Sam Hall”. So, Wild West meets German rock scene? It was eclectic, and fun. Rowdy, raucous, and an all around good time.
The show opened with these teenage guys who were in a surf band called “Braindead Dogs”. Yes, another anomaly- Germans and surf music. And dog costumes. What? The Braindead Dogs were a great act. I think it helped that they were all wearing black and green outfits and plastic dog masks. And yes, it looked as strange as it sounds.
The other bands were “Playbot” and “Razorheads”. Those Germans sure know how to rock. And they don’t rock out like the pussy, ballad type music you hear on mainstream radio. German rockers are gritty, sweaty, vulgar, and loud. They’re in your face and raw. Something about the German accent makes the lyrics sound so much harsher, but in a good, savage rock and roll way.
And then there was Wilson Gil and I. Wilson has this American cowboy shtick with his cowboy hat and his red, white, and blue Buck Owens guitar. I don’t really know how to classify him. Cow-punk? Nirvana meets Johnny Cash? Country rock? Whatever you want it call it, Wilson Gil puts on one hell of a show. During his second song he poured beer all over his head- which made the stage nice and slippery for me to dance on. Wilson even got down on his knees at one point and proceeded to “fuck” his guitar. A little embarrassing if you’re his girlfriend, but hilarious if you’re just one of the crowd.
I swear, I can belly dance to anything. I danced to three of Wilson’s songs. Belly dancing to a mix of rock, country, and punk? It somehow works. The crowd at Forum loved it. German rockers, the Wild West, surf music played by “dogs”, and belly dancing. How could you not love a show that delivered all of that?

More on the club and bands:
www.forum-bielefe ld.com
www.myspace.com/avaishya
www.myspace.com/wilsongilandthewillfulsinners
www.myspace.com/razorheads
www.myspace.com/sugarengine
www.myspace.com/braindeaddogs

Road Trippin' in Germany

2009-09-28T09:14:00.001-07:00

Going on a road trip in a foreign country can be quite the learning experience, especially when you don’t know the language. And you lose your map, and your phone dies, and road work sends you on a crazy detour. That was the first day of our road trip last weekend.
Things started out well. We rented a car from Enterprise and they gave us a great deal: 50% off for the weekend. Enterprise rocks. They picked us up from the train station, were super friendly, upgraded our car for free, and gave us tons of price breaks.
But that was really the only luck we had. We made it to Bielefeld okay, but a detour sent us on a two hour goose chase for the club- a drive that should have only taken 10 minutes.
Despite being exhausted, we played a great show. (But more on that in the next blog!)
Originally, we had planned on returning to Berlin the next day, but the 50% deal convinced us to rent the car for the weekend. We hadn’t packed extra clothes. Of course, the club was full of cigarette smoke and our clothes were saturated with it. That was our first mistake. Always pack extra clothes, even if you are just planning on a short trip! Wilson’s jeans got totally destroyed (read: ripped, soaked in beer, stained, covered in grime) from his crazy antics onstage and I stank to high heaven. Rock ‘n roll, baby.
Day two of our road trip involved a castle, mountains, and a thousand year old city (don’t you want to read my upcoming blogs?). Not having planned accommodations for our second night (mistake number two), we spent a good chunk of time on the internet and cell phone, but to no avail. We decided to go to the ancient city of Goslar, on the chance that the hostel there would have an available room. We got a little bit lost on the way, but it only cost us about 30 min. Beautiful drive through the hills and forests, but we arrived at the hostel to find it full. There were two beds left, in separate quarters, for about 50 euro. It didn’t seem like such a great deal.
Dinner in Goslar was grand, and then we were off to Dirk’s house. Dirk is the bassist in Wilson’s new band. Now, the day had turned to night, and while driving fast on the autobahn is fun, it isn’t so great when you’re whipping by the road signs before you have a chance to read them.
Needless to say, we got lost. Very lost. And then we thought we found the right route. We called Dirk (who had already been waiting an hour), told him the good news, and thought we were all set. Forty minutes went by, we thought we were almost there, and then suddenly we started seeing signs for “Goslar” again. We had somehow gone full circle! So, driving through unfamiliar territory at night without a map? Big mistake, let me tell you.
We found a hotel, and decided to fork the 85 euro for a room. We should have just slept in the car, and would have if we had packed blankets and pillows. Oh, the mistakes we made.
The hotel wasn’t so great. The manager wouldn’t give us an extra blanket, even though the room was freezing and despite that there were several empty rooms with blankets to spare. He claimed not to know any English, but he understood Wilson perfectly well when Wilson called him an asshole, among other things.
The rest of the trip was fine, and we had an easy drive home (I think we had learned how to read the road signs by that point). But the hotel room and the gas we wasted while being lost cost us an extra 150 euro.
So, for our next road trip? Maps, cell phone charger, food (because highway food sucks), clothes, blankets, pillows, and some freaking common sense.

Throwing Flames

2009-09-24T12:23:00.000-07:00

The bar scene in Berlin never ceases to surprise me. There is a strange juxtaposition going on: the streets are quiet, peaceful even, and then you enter a bar and stumble upon a whole other world. Take Café Zapata, for instance. From outside, it looks like a rundown building, a bit of an eyesore amongst the upscale restaurants that surround it. A few interesting metal sculptures entice you to go into the bar, and suddenly you find yourself in a cavernous room with a band playing full force onstage. Exiting through the back leads you to a large, sandy area with several food trailers, tables, and another stage with another band. Spooky metal sculptures of demons, devils, and various creatures lurk in corners and atop the trailers.
What struck me as more odd than the sculptures was a claw-foot bathtub filled with what I presumed was water. My partner, Wilson, and I paused at the tub for a moment before shrugging our shoulders and walking over to where the outdoor band was playing. We had come to Café Zapata specifically to see our friends, the Benka Boradovsky Bordello Band. Halfway through their set they pulled me up on stage and had me dance. My high heels, the level of alcohol in my blood, the crowded stage, and the fact that I was wearing blue jeans resulted in a terrible performance on my part. Or maybe I’m just my own worst critic, because everyone else enjoyed it and even asked for an encore. I was feeling a little too tipsy, though, so I declined.
Then I went inside to use the bathroom (which was far more frightening than the sculptures) and when I walked back outside, there was a man in fire gear waving around a flame thrower. The bathtub hadn’t been filled with water, but with gasoline. And this flame thrower guy, he was raving like a lunatic, throwing flames all over the place and shouting things in broken English.
After his performance, he went through the crowd, asking for tips. Lots of people put money in, because you should never argue with a guy who has a flame thrower.
After all the chaos, Wilson and I called it a night. As we returned to the streets of Berlin, the quiet and calm of the night almost made me think that Café Zapata had been a dream, or at the very least, a drunken hallucination.

Turkish Delight!

2009-09-22T11:09:00.000-07:00

An interesting thing about Berlin is that there is a large Turkish population, primarily in the Kreuzberg and Neukölln neighbourhoods. Walk down Karl Marx Str. and you’ll see women wearing head scarves, men smoking hookahs, and the latest in Turkish fashion spilling out of store fronts. The best part about the Turkish areas? The Turkish markets.
Today was a lazy Tuesday. Wilson and I slept in until noon, grabbed some snacks from the bakery, and headed out to Treptower Park. Aside from a lone swan, there wasn’t too much happening, though. Visiting our friend Djamila sounded like much more fun.
Until today, I had never met Djamila. She’s a friend of Wilson. He always told me she was part Turkish and part German, but I didn’t think she looked Turkish when I met her. Wilson made a couple of Turkish references to her, including a joke about why she wasn’t wearing a head scarf. Finally, she turned to him and said, “Wilson! I’m not Turkish. I’m Algerian!” Oops.
Djamila did, however, take us to the largest Turkish market in Berlin. I love the Turkish people for many things, and their food is at the top of the list. Tables of licorice, Turkish Delight, pastries, pita bread, cheeses, tea, dates, olives, nuts, and various pickled vegetables, among other delicacies, lined the market from one end to the other. Yum. The only thing I didn't really want to eat was the octopus, but can you blame me?
There were also stalls that featured fabrics, jewelery, and clothes. I was hunting for a veil, which I needed for upcoming choreography in the dance company, but was out of luck. Veils were the one thing the market didn’t have. I did find a hot pink belly dance costume, but then decided that looking like a pink flamingo is not my style.
This particular Turkish market, which is open on Tuesday and Friday, is situated alongside the canal at Maybachufer Str. After meandering through the stalls, gorging on fresh corn on the cob, and listening to a jazz ensemble that was busking on the sidewalk, we took a stroll along the banks of the canal. I spotted a swan and pointed it out to Wilson and Djamila. And then we spotted another swan and another and another until we stumbled upon a whole swan gang. And I say gang because they were hustling like you wouldn’t believe. You think seagulls are aggressive when they want food? Wait until you see a three foot tall swan hissing at you while charging with its wings spread. You best be giving that swan some food or you’re in trouble! But I can’t really fault them. It’s not like they can go into the Turkish market and buy all that delicious food themselves.

Berlin's Underground Tours

2009-09-21T14:41:00.000-07:00

There are many diverse ways to tour the city of Berlin. The options seem almost endless: helicopter tours, gourmet food tours, interactive mission tours, treasure hunts (for the pirate in you), bicycle tours, boat tours through the rivers and canals, a panorama S-BAHN tour (the train has glass walls), hot air balloon, Segway tours, and the list goes on . Seriously, though, touring Berlin on a Segway? The whole “dorky tourist” thing just went up to a whole new level. You can wear your Hawaiian shirt and your fanny pack and drive a segway? You may as well just stamp “tourist” on your forehead and get it over with. Maybe you’ll even get a free Segway ride if you have the “tourist” stamp. You never know.
I was taking the underground (U-BAHN) home the other night. I was tired and ready to get home, so I jumped up when I heard my train coming and was all ready to board, except that what emerged out of the tunnel was a tour group. Instead of a subway train, there was a flatbed, with about 100 or so people with yellow construction helmets sitting on it and waving at us as they passed. I didn’t get it. Who would want to tour the subway tunnels? Wouldn’t it get kind of boring after the first five minutes?
So, I looked it up. Turns out I was beyond ignorant about the underground tours. The tours aren’t about the subway tunnels (now I feel like the dork). There’s a whole labyrinth of shelters and bunkers and ghost stations and tunnels to museums and the like. The tours tend to focus on the history of WW II and the Cold War in relation to the underground tunnels. There are ten tours in total, varying in length, subject, and price.
Reading about the “tales of betrayal” that occurred in the escape tunnels between East and West Berlin is intriguing enough to make me want to pay the nine euros for Tour M. And hey, maybe I’ll even look cute in that yellow construction helmet instead of dorky. One can only hope.
More info: http://berliner-unterwelten.de

The American Health Care Debate

2009-09-19T08:53:00.000-07:00

Traveling introduces a person to the many health care systems that exist in the world. As a Canadian, I grew up with free health care and always took it for granted. The Canadian health care system is not perfect, but then again, neither is the American health care system. In fact, I’ll take the Canadian model over the American one any day.
After being admitted to a hospital in the United States, I feel qualified to judge the differences (mainly disadvantages) of the American health care system over the health care systems in other countries to which I have traveled.
Unless you’re living it, one does not realize the additional stress of having to pay a substantial medical bill. Sometimes hundreds of thousands of dollars! My hospital bill from the United States was over $3,000. In Guatemala, I had similar symptoms and went to a hospital and the bill came to less than $100 (including the prescription). Last year I almost died (literally) from food poisoning when I was in Costa Rica. The doctor’s bill? $100. Last month I went to a hospital in Berlin and saw a nurse, a surgeon, and a gynecologist and received prescriptions for antibiotics and painkillers. The bill was 141 euros. One of these countries doesn’t belong. Can you figure out which one it is?
In addition to lower medical bills, I’ve found that the treatment in other countries is much better than the treatment I’ve received while traveling in the United States. Medical emergencies are handled more calmly and pragmatically; in the United States my experience has always been with doctors who are hyper-reactionary, panicky, and stressed out. The whole medical industry feels as sensationalized as a Hollywood celebrity scandal.
Reading about the current American health care debate while living in a country (Germany) with socialized health care is enough to drive me insane. Luckily, I’ll be able to afford the psychological therapy needed to recover.

Rock-a-Belly

2009-09-18T11:33:00.000-07:00

Call it what you will (my favourite label is “rock-a-belly”), but rock ‘n roll and belly dance make a great combination. The first time I pushed the genre was in 2006 with Wilson Gil and the Willful Sinners. The band commissioned myself and three other dancers (Jazmin, Julz, and Alex) to belly dance with machetes at one of their shows. As a bonus, the band also hired a fire eater. You can’t get much sexier than that- belly dancers, machetes, fire, and rock ‘n roll!
Since then, some of my best shows and choreography have involved rock music. If you think about it, the genre really works. Both rock music and belly dance can be sexy, edgy, raw, and full of energy. Just swap the head banging, skinny rock guy for an undulating, sultry woman. Not a bad trade if you ask me! (Kidding. I love those skinny rock guys).
The first show I produced in San Francisco featured “a night of belly dance and rock ‘n roll” and was a huge success (we sold out). I didn’t have a fire eater for that show, but I did have eleven dancers and two killer bands (Castles in Spain and The Ferocious Few). I wish there were some funny stories to tell of that evening, but everything went off without a hitch. And I guess that’s a good thing, because there’s always a slight chance that something could go wrong when mixing drunk, rowdy bar goers with scantily clad women. Luckily, everyone knew how to rock out in an appropriate manner- you can look, but DO NOT TOUCH the belly dancers!
My current project came to me via the social networking wonders of Facebook. A Middle-Eastern rock band from Palestine called “Khalas” emailed me, a Canadian belly dancer living in Berlin, to ask if I would dance to one of their songs and film it for their website. I am truly in love with online social networking and how it’s creating this wonderful web of artists from all over the world. How many cultures can we combine here? Well, the guy who’s going to be filming the video is part Egyptian, part French, and part several-other-nationalities, so apparently as many as we damn well please. That’s the beauty of pushing boundaries and combining genres that at first don’t appear to go together- what you get in the end is something international, something that breaks down stereotypes and culminates in a new sense of “togetherness”.
To see videos: Avaishya/FerociousFew
Avaishya/Alodiah/FerociousFew

Don't Stick out your Butt!

2009-09-17T06:58:00.000-07:00

One of the most important rules of belly dance is that you never, ever stick out your butt. There are two reasons for this. The first is the obvious, that it looks amateur, trashy and stripper-like. Don’t get me wrong, I myself love looking at cute asses, but there is a time and a place to be shaking your ass in someone’s face.
The second reason is that sticking out your butt is bad posture and it compresses your lower (lumbar) spine. Fortunately, my teachers have always emphasized the importance of good belly dance posture (knees bent, pelvis tucked, chest up, and shoulders back). Unfortunately, the class sizes were so large when I first started belly dancing that the teachers were unable to go around and check everyone’s posture.
I’m going to tell you one of my dirty secrets: I have terrible belly dance posture. For some reason, my butt keeps wanting to stick out. My poor posture is the one thing that every single teacher has commented on “Jasmine, tuck your pelvis! Pull in that butt!” Oh, the shame.
And while it all sounds rather funny, my poor posture resulted in a back injury that I’ve been dealing with for almost three years. The straw that broke the camel’s back was a hiking accident, but the chiropractor told me that if my spine hadn’t already been compressed and subluxated, I would have been fine.
The hiking accident is a peculiar one to describe. I injured my back falling down a giant tree stump. Let me explain. I was in the Sierras, with my boyfriend and some friends. The redwoods in the Sierras are massive. Four of us standing finger tip to finger tip didn’t even come close to getting our arms around one of those trees. A long time ago, many of the redwoods were logged. Tree stumps twenty feet high can be found throughout the Sierras. And I had the brilliant idea to climb one. I made it to the top and was feeling pretty cool, until I realized I wasn’t sure how to get down. Of course, my attempt to get down totally sucked and I ended up sliding down and twisting my back in the process.
The result was five compressed disks, three pinched nerves, a subluxated spine, and a tilted sacrum. Forget dancing for the next six months, I could barely walk!
Short of surgery, there isn’t any permanent treatment for my injury. Chiropractic, massage, and other therapies have to be repeated every month or so- and these treatments can be expensive. Basically, I just deal. But as a belly dancer, who has a habit of sticking out my butt, I keep putting pressure on my lumbar spine while I’m dancing.
Lately, the pain has gotten pretty bad because I have been performing and training so much. Worse, a compressed lumbar hinders my flexibility, making my dance moves not as suave as they should be. I’ve decided that enough is enough. Starting today, I am going to practice my belly dance posture as much as I can, whether I’m doing the dishes or waiting in line, I vow to keep my pelvis tucked and my butt in.

Dirty Dancing

2009-09-15T02:45:00.000-07:00

The passing of Patrick Swayze does not come as a shock, but it does come with great sadness. Patrick Swayze sparked my interest in dance when I was six years old. Yes, sorry to say, but it wasn’t a belly dancer that captivated my attention with the dance world. Hell, it wasn’t even Swayze’s co-star, Jennifer Grey. Nope, it was a man- a gorgeous, muscular, tight-jeans wearing man that made me swoon at the ripe age of six.
I watched “Dirty Dancing” so many times that my mother thought I was developing an unhealthy infatuation with Patrick Swayze, and she eventually hid the tape from me. Ok, I’ll admit, at first I just thought Swayze was hot (and I was six, this was all so new to me!), but after my second or third time watching “Dirty Dancing” I really did become obsessed with the dancing and not just with Swayze‘s hot buns.
Being quite the driven six year old, I studied the choreography for the grand finale of the movie (“Time of my Life”) until I had it memorized. And then I proceeded to teach it to myself. Unfortunately, no one video taped my rendition, so I’m not sure how it really turned out. But I’m sure you can imagine.
I took things a step further, and asked my first grade teacher if I could perform the choreography for our class. When she hesitated, I saw that I needed to step things up a notch, so I told her that my mom was a dance instructor and that we had been working very hard on this piece (turns out I was a great little actress, too).
My teacher agreed to let me put on a performance for our class. She was kind enough to push some of the desks together so I would have a “stage”. I remember that I didn’t feel nervous, just excited (so different from how my adult self feels before a performance). I even attempted a flip during the show, and promptly landed on my butt.
Despite the flawed flip, my classmates loved my performance. And I thought all was well, until my mom came home from parent-teacher interview night a few weeks later. I can just imagine the look of confusion on my mom’s face as my teacher told her about my performance and asked about my mom’s dance teaching career.
My mom is cool, though, and didn’t punish me in any way. And I even got my “Dirty Dancing” tape back. However, I do wonder why my mom didn’t enrol me in dance lessons until two years later. Wasn’t it obvious that I was destined to be a dancer? At six years old, I was already convinced!
So, my gratitude to Patrick Swayze and his hot dance moves (and his hot ass).

Phoneyisland Cabaret

2009-09-14T08:53:00.000-07:00

Berlin is well known for its cabaret scene. But for those of you who don’t know, a cabaret (not cabernet- that’s wine) is a show consisting of singing, dancing, comedy, or other random acts. Of course, being in Berlin, I had to perform at a cabaret at least a few times. My first performance was at the Phoneyisland Cabaret at the So Wei So Bar. They had quite the crazy puppet show that night. We’re talking goblin in a tutu, or something to that affect. It got even better when the puppeteer made out with the goblin. I don’t even know what kind of fetish you’d classify that under.
There was also a guy doing spoken word- in German- so I didn’t understand any of it except for the one English sentence he belted out in the middle of his reading: “You can suck my dick and lick my ass!”. It made me want to learn German just so I could find out what the rest of the story was about!
Wilson Gil played a couple of tunes, along with the Phoneyisland Orchestra, and a cover band. I performed my “belly dance jazz” set, which is belly dancing to vintage jazz music (including a cane dance to "Now or Never" by Billy Holiday). Usually, that set gets some “oohs” and “aahs” and appreciative looks from the crowd, but at the Cabaret they thought it was comical. Oh yeah, it turns out that they thought I was the comical act for the night! Everyone appreciated the dancing in and of itself, of course, but it was still odd to be seen as comical when that was the furthest thing from my intent.
We had such a great time at the Phoneyisland Cabaret that we performed there again at a couple nights ago. Not so many acts this time, just Wilson’s band and a gypsy punk band from New Zealand called “The Benka Boradovsky Bordello Band”. Quite the mouthful! My shtick for the evening was to perform with both bands. However, I really thought that the lead singer Ben, from The Benka Boradovsky Bordello Band, could have held his own as a belly dancer. That guy can pop and shimmy and wriggle around like he’s been belly dancing all his life! I do have to say that the moves look a lot sexier on me, though, considering Ben is a tall, skinny, orange-haired guy with a beard and a mustache. I’m just saying.

Smoking Hookahs at Sandfuersten

2009-09-12T08:23:00.000-07:00

There’s something about smoking a hookah that becomes increasingly addictive. All those anti-tobacco activists may get mad at me for promoting this, but hookah smoking is becoming one of my favourite pastimes. Especially when it involves hot belly dancers.
Last night, Wilson Gil and I went down to our favorite hookah bar- or shisha bar as they call it here- with our two new friends, Olga and Karim. Wilson has this brilliant idea for a travel show and Karim has offered to shoot the pilot.
What better place to showcase the unique glimpses that traveling gives you than in a hookah bar in a Turkish neighborhood in a German city? Sandfuersten is particularly interesting, too, as the entire floor is made up of sand. I’m not sure where they got the sand from, but I like to think that it was imported from some faraway desert. The belly dancer, however, was definitely not an import. Laura and I dance together in the same company, Zadiraks, and she is German born and raised. And is a Turkish cabaret belly dancer. Don’t you just love how the cultural boundaries cross?
Karim shot some great footage of Laura dancing in her red velvet and sequined costume, shimmying up a sand storm and eliciting smiles from all the happy, shisha-smoking customers. Wilson had talked me into dancing a set with her, too, but I felt that it was a little awkward. I’m a tribal belly dancer and this whole Oriental/Cabaret style is new to me. I kept getting distracted by the way Laura was moving her arms. I know that may sounds silly, but arms are an important part of belly dance (but I guess “arm dance” just didn’t have as nice a ring to it), and tribal style arms are much different than Turkish cabaret style arms. So, I ended up feeling a bit like a chicken, with my arms sticking out awkwardly as I tried to mimic Laura’s. My friends told me I looked great, but that’s just because they were focusing on the belly part of the dance.
We also got some cool footage of Wilson having a bad “shisha” trip. You can’t actually get high from smoking shisha, but it’s fun to make people think that you can. And we learned something last night. It’s poor etiquette to not use your own cap for your hookah. Of course, this brought up some rather phallic images. So, remember, practice safe hookah smoking and be sure to come prepared. It never hurts to keep an extra cap in your wallet- who knows, you might need the extra protection.

On My Dirty Mattress

2009-09-11T06:04:00.000-07:00

My fiance, Wilson Gil, has this song called “Dirty Mattress”. He was inspired one day when he saw a dirty mattress on the street while walking through the Lower Haight in San Francisco. The lyrics go something like, “That stain is from you. This stain is from me. Who could t hat other stain be? On my dirty mattress!”
The first time I saw Wilson’s band, the Willful Sinners, perform the song was at the Lusty Ladies Peepshow Holiday Party. In addition to live bands, the party also featured burlesque, numerous women clad in fetish gear (some wearing only a thong), a room for lap dancing

, and lube wrestling. I had just moved from a little village in the Canadian countryside to the grand city of San Francisco, so it goes without saying that I was a bit out of my element.
Well, talk about breaking me out of my shell. For “Dirty Mattress”, Wilson had a real dirty mattress up on stage with him and he had solicited about fifteen of the Lusty Ladies to dance and have a pillow fight on the mattress while the Willful Sinners played the song. And I was right up there with them, in a Catholic school girl outfit, shaking my ass and whacking various Lusty Ladies with a pillow. The best part was when Wilson crashed down on the mattress at the end of the song and we all dog piled on top of him. There were boobs and asses all over the place!
Okay, now flash forward to present day Berlin. Wilson and I are walking in Prenzlauerberg, and what do we see? The nastiest of dirty mattresses lying on the sidewalk next to a wall covered in graffiti. Wilson just so happened to have his guitar with him, so he busted out with a rendition of “Dirty Mattress” all the while jumping up and down and dancing on the dirtiest mattress I have ever seen. I couldn’t even imagine where those stains must have come from!
Wilson finished the song by shouting, “Wilson Gil! Berlin!” and was greeted by a huge round of applause. A whole crowd had gathered to watch the antics. So, I guess it’s the same in cities everywhere, whether you’re in Germany or California. There’s always a dirty mattress lying on a sidewalk somewhere, just waiting for someone to pass by and wonder, “Eeew, who could that stain be?”

To see the video of the Lusty Ladies Peepshow performance of “Dirty Mattress”, go to www.wilsongil.com

Belly Dancers and Bears

2009-09-09T09:28:00.000-07:00

What do belly dancers and hairy gay men have in common? The Salz Club in Berlin, it turns out. Zadiel Sasmaz, my company director, was throwing a big show called “Orientalhane” for our sister company, Velvet Snake. I had to be at the show early because our dance company, Zadiraks, was doing a photo shoot at the club before the show.
Now, anyone that knows me knows that I am notoriously early for everything. It’s a habit I can’t seem to break, even though I always end up waiting around for everyone else to show up. Of course, I arrived early at the Salz Club, too. It wouldn’t have been such a problem, except that the location was very isolated. And I couldn’t find the sign for “Orientalhane”. And the only building that looked like it could be the Salz Club was crawling with big, hairy men. Big, hairy men in leather chaps and bondage and thongs. Oh my.
Gathering my nerves, I entered the gates and was very relieved to see a dancer from Velvet Snake sitting on a bench. She explained that the Salz Club has two rooms. Orientalhane would be in one, and “Bearopolis” would be in the other. Yeah, you heard me, Bearopolis. My god.
Orientalhane was great. Awesome performances by Velvet Snake and some guest stars, including Rachid- a gay belly dancer from the Netherlands. I thought Zadiel and Rachid would be excited about Bearopolis but it turns out that big, hairy men aren’t really their type.
The two rooms at the Salz Club didn’t overlap, but the outdoor area was shared. All these beautiful belly dancers in their exotic costumes mingling with men clad in leather. Somehow it worked okay. At the very least, no one seemed to mind. And the whole scene was representative of how modern a city Berlin can be- a city that is multicultural, in which old churches stand beside flashy new buildings, where taking the subway is more convenient than taking a car, and a city that embraces both its belly dancers and its bears.

The Whale v.s. The Veil

2009-09-08T12:03:00.000-07:00

Part of traveling in foreign countries is getting used to the language barriers. Luckily for me, many Berliners speak at least a little English. Which is great, because mein Deutsch ist schlecht!
My dance company director, Zadiel Sasmaz, is kind enough to explain his classes in both English and Deutsch. And while his English is pretty good, he still makes the occasional mistake, some of which are quite funny. One day he was listing off things that I needed to buy for our upcoming choreographies. “You’ll need black pants, and you’ll need to buy a cane. You know what is a cane?” I nodded ‘yes’. “Good,” he said. “Oh, and you’ll need to buy a whale.”
“A what?!” I gasped.
“A whale,” Zadiel said, very matter of fact.
We looked at each other for a moment, realizing that there was some kind of language barrier happening. “Do you know what I mean by ‘whale’?” Zadiel asked me.
I laughed and said, “Zadiel, a whale is an animal that lives in the ocean! Do you mean ‘veil’?”
“Oh yes, I do mean ‘veil’.”
Two weeks later, and Zadiel is still having a hard time pronouncing “veil” correctly, and every time he says “whale” I picture a belly dancer holding a whale above her head.
Deutsch words can be funny all on their own, too. It may seem juvenile, but I can’t help but giggle whenever I see or hear the words einfahrt (drive in) and ausfahrt (drive out). “In fahrt!” I yell to my boyfriend when I see the word. “Out fahrt!” he replies. Yes, we are just like five year olds sometimes, but it’s healthy to embrace your inner child, right?
A lot of Deutsch words are similar to English words. For example milch is “milk”. So, you can imagine my confusion when I saw a carton in the supermarket that was labeled dick milch. Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?
Ok, one more story. I’m gonna take it back a couple years to Nicaragua. My mom is going to kill me for writing about this, but it’s so worth it. We were doing a Spanish language course in San Juan Del Sur. My mom had to go around and ask all the students, “Hola. Como estas? Yo soy Roberta. Yo tengo 47 años. Cuantos años tiene?” Except she kept saying anos instead of años. Do I need to tell you what anos means? “Hi, how are you? I am Roberta. I have 47 anuses. How many anuses do you have?”
In good fun, my teacher enthusiastically responded, “Solo uno!”. Just one.

What it's Like to Work with a Gay Male Belly Dancer

2009-09-07T07:23:00.000-07:00

(who's incredibly hot!)
When one thinks of belly dance, a voluptuous woman often comes to mind (in fact, the first comment I usually receive when I tell someone I'm a belly dancer is, "Really? But you don't have a belly!"). Ah, the stereotypes of belly dance. Women of all ages, shapes and sizes can be great belly dancers. And surprisingly enough, so can men.
There's been a resurgence of male belly dancers lately, and most (but not all) are gay. And it is such a tease! Belly dancing is a great workout, so most male belly dancers have amazing bodies- six pack abs, solid biceps, and a NICE ass!
Zadiel Sasmaz, the director of my dance company, is a case in point. Just the other day, I was sitting in rehearsal with Eyyam and Cathy. Zadiel was changing in the corner. We couldn't help but look over (what girl could resist). "Darn," I said, "It's too bad he's gay." Eyyam jumped up and said, "No, it's not like 'darn'. It's more like," and she pretended to kick the wall and stomp the ground and pull out her hair. See what these male belly dancers are doing to us?!
No, but really, we love them, the gay male belly dancers. They're kindred spirits, and awesome performers. And there are lots of perks to hanging out with them. I went out to the most popular gay club in Berlin with Zadiel, Rachid (another male belly dancer), Eyyam and Cathy. It was great to be with the best dancers in the club, and to be surrounded by the hottest men (even though they were so unavailable to us girls).
Also, I never have to worry about doing my own makeup for a show, because if a gay man is handy, chances are he's been to some form of beauty school (and I know that is a stereotype, but it's often been my experience!).
Lastly, the gay male belly dancers always love me just for my dancing, because I'll never be eye candy to them. Except, maybe, in my dreams.
Videos links to some great male belly dancing:
Zadiel Sasmaz
Rachid Alexander

2009-09-05T03:20:00.000-07:00

Busking Permit for Berlin U-BAHN

2009-09-05T03:14:00.000-07:00

What a wild goose chase we had with finding where to get a busking permit for the UBAHN (subway) in Berlin! We asked a police officer and he gave us an address of a building, but the person at the building said no, the permit office was at another place. But that place didn’t work out either. So, we pirated for a while until we got busted by the police. I have to say, the police were nice about it and gave us (finally) the correct address for the permit office. However, they gave us the wrong time and days. We trekked out to the permit office (which is located in a most inconvenient location), but discovered that the office was only open on Wednesday.
So, here it is, the official information on where and when to get a permit for busking in Berlin (since the information is not located anywhere else on the web):
U7 to Rathaus Stegliz (the permit office is in the station)
Wednesday 7am-11am
And that is the only time available to get a permit! Permits cost 6.40 euro per day, per person and are good for the following week. Don’t forget to arrive early, or else all the good stations will already be taken! Sheesh.
*no permit needed for playing above ground, unamplified*

Belly Dance Tips in a New City

2009-08-31T10:41:00.000-07:00

The belly dance scene, in any city, is not always the easiest scene to locate, especially if you do not speak the language. Just a few tips that I've gleamed from trial and error:

-find out what "belly dance" is called in that city (ex: oriental, raqs sharqi, etc.)
-research your teachers/venues/schools ahead of time
-use a translation page (www.freetranslation.com) to translate websites that are in a foreign language
-ask dancers you already know if they can recommend a teacher/venue/school
-use facebook, myspace, etc. to make connections quickly
-if you want to teach, check out fitness centers and dance schools, or try to collaborate with an instructor that is already established in the city
-audition for dance companies, productions, etc.! Doesn't hurt!
-ask around about what the going rate is for a class/show (you don't want to undercut the dancers who are already working in the city- that's a way to make enemies)
-go to performances (it's a great way to see if you can get a performance at the venue)
-go to classes (great way to meet fellow dancers)
-utilize craigslist (www.craigslist.org)
-make business cards so you always have something to give someone when they want your contact information
-find a booker (they often act as a translator, too)
-work with local musicians (sometimes it's easier to get a show if you have a band backing you up)

I'm sure I'm forgetting a few things, but I think that's a pretty good list for starters!
Good luck.

Sandfürsten

2009-08-30T09:51:00.000-07:00

Located on Karl Marx Str. in downtown Neukolln (Berlin), Sandfuersten is more than your typical shisha (hookah) bar. For starters, the floor is made entirely of sand. The kind of sand that is in the desert. There is a raised area at the back of the club that is not sand, but I liked the sandy area best. The walls alternate between floor-to-ceiling mirrors and beautiful paintings depicting scenery from the middle east. There are two rooms with a spacious hallway connecting the two. The room in the back has a fountain and is the best spot to watch the belly dancer.
Belly dancers also make the bar unique. Belly dancers perform Friday and Saturday nights. Wilson and I met a friend at Sandfuersten for a hookah, but mainly to see Laura perform. Laura and I share the same dance company, Zadiraks Dancers, which is directed by Zadiel Sasmaz.
The performance was beautiful, complete with shimmies, gorgeous costuming, and a cane dance in which she balanced the cane on her head. So worth the $4 hookah.
www.sandfuersten.de

2009-08-29T12:19:00.000-07:00

Before moving to Berlin, I took some time to research who was teaching belly dance in the city. I was delighted when Zadiel popped up, since I had loved watching his videos on you tube and had no idea that he was based in Berlin. I was even more delighted when he invited me to join one of his dance companies, Zadiraks Dancers.
Zadiel directs two companies- Velvet Snake and Zadiraks Dancers- both of which are made up of advanced dancers and dance instructors. Velvet Snake learns the choreography from Zadiel, but performs without him, while Zadiraks Dancers performs with Zadiel.
Combining raqs sharqi with oriental cabaret with Turkish Roma, Zadiel is stunning to watch. His performances are full of passion and perfect technique.
A woman I know in Berlin writes a travel blog for the New York Times. When she heard about Zadiel, she was so impressed that she decided to write about him in her blog. And I love her for quoting me in it. Finally, some press! (sort of).

The link to the blog:
http://globespotters.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/08/26/taking-bellydancing-to-ballet-heights/

Zadiel's website: www.zadiel.de

Wild at Heart

2009-08-28T07:25:00.000-07:00

In the heart of Kreutzburg is the infamous rock and roll club “Wild at Heart”, Wilson Gil's favourite rock club in Berlin. We performed on a Monday night, which is the “Great Country Swindle” night. The club wasn’t as packed to the brim with seedy, friendly, punk, hipster, rockabilly, crazy motherfuckers as it usually is, but Wilson and I still rocked the house.
How do I describe Wilson Gil's music? It’s a mix of grunge and country and punk and rock. It’s Johnny Cash meets Nirvana and they decide to jam with the Ramones. And it sure is fun to dance to. Wilson’s crooning has been quoted as “serial killer suave” and I’d have to agree.
We were opening for a gypsy punk band from Australia called “Juke Baritone and the Swamp Dogs.” I love those guys. Juke is a crazy Aussie front man who resembles the Mad Hatter from Alice in Wonderland. The Swamp Dogs are all professionally trained musicians and they can rip their instruments to shreds with their melodies. I felt truly wild at heart as I danced with Juke Baritone and his Swamp Dogs; I love releasing my inner gypsy.
www.wilsongil.com
www.myspace.com/jukebaritone
www.wildatheartberlin.de

Mauer Park Flea Market

2009-08-06T06:12:00.000-07:00

Busking in Mauer Park. It seemed like a good tip at the time. Until we arrived at the park late and discovered that all the good busking spots had already been claimed. There had to be at least ten musicians spread out along the thorough way. Some were amplified and performed as a band (and were quite good, I might add) and some were lone crooners. We gave up after 20 min. There was just no way we could compete with a five piece amplified funk/punk band.
The day wasn’t a total bust, though. The Mauer park flea market was a kaleidoscope of clothes, house wares, gadgets, food stalls, and miscellaneous craziness. I was in heaven. My only purchase, however, was a vintage key with my lucky number three engraved on it. I bought it for 50 cents. The key reminded me of my friend, Mei, who has about 30 or so vintage keys. Mei and I used to live together. The keys for the locks on the inside doors had long been lost, but Mei discovered that she had a skeleton key that fit all the locks in our house. I think she really loved having the power to lock us all in our rooms if she ever so wished (but she loves me, so she never did!).
Of course, I have to comment on the food. I always have to comment on the food. Anyone who knows me knows that I love to eat. And eat and eat and eat. San Francisco dining has made me a food snob, too, so when I can find quality food, it makes me oh so happy. At the Mauer Park flea market, I felt like I could orgasm just from the smells coming from the food stalls. Part of that may have to do with the fact that I don’t eat meat, but I love the smell of it. My mouth only waters more knowing that I can’t have it (or I could, but it’s not worth the guilt or the stomach ache). There was every kind of “wurst” you could think of. All sizzling and popping on the grills. Mmm, and freshly grilled corn on the cob. The smoke from all the BBQs that people had brought with them to use for their picnics in the middle of the park definitely added to the delicious smelling fumes. I think I need to go BBQ something right now!

White Trash Fast Food Club

2009-08-04T02:34:00.000-07:00

My first dancing gig in Berlin and it was at a place called the “White Trash”. So, I was expecting a dive bar and was wondering what I had gotten myself into- until I saw the club. Asian inspired décor meets tattoo parlour. Chandeliers, Chinese lions, punk rock posters, country western memorabilia, gothic accents, and low lighting gave the restaurant an edgy, cowboy-bohemian vibe. Plus, the place was enormous. Three different levels, with the restaurant splayed out on the top two (complete with stage, DJ area, game lounge, and bar) and the rock club in the basement (complete with tattoo parlour).
The show got started kind of late, but I was on by 10:40pm. The carpeted stage gave my feet rug burn, but I pulled some slinky moves and travelled throughout the restaurant. The booker wanted me for the club because of my vintage jazz performances, so I played up the vibe with ruffles and feathers.
After my set, a band called “Radiant” went on. They were crooners, kind of a U2/Cold Play vibe. They chatted with us after the show (“us” being Wilson and our friend, Saskia). Nice boys from Texas.
The “White Trash Fast Food Club” treats their performers to food and drink. I ordered the vegetarian chili fries. Yum. The menu was crazy. I’m sure I’m miss-quoting, but they had things like the “fuck you burger”. The menu said the chili fries would make me fat “just like on reality TV”. But so far, so good.
Also, I have to say that the DJs for the night played some killer rock sets.
We lost track of the time and realized around 12:30am that it would be after 1:00am by the time the band was finished breaking down their set. I was exhausted from two hours of rehearsal with Zadiraks dance company earlier that day and was not looking forward to performing my second set. Of course, I rallied myself and pulled off a great finish. Ta-daa!
www.whitetrashfastfood.com

Dancing with the Gypsies

2009-07-24T06:29:00.000-07:00

Busking in the subway stations has proved to be quite the adventurous endeavour. First, you should be aware that Berlin has a fantastic and immense system of underground and above ground trains. Almost always on time and available to take you anywhere you need to go. This also means that a lot of people use the subway as their primary means of travel- which is to say that certain stations are very busy.
We like the busyness. Lots of potential contributors! There is an art to busking. It turns out that you can’t just stand there and play and make money, no matter how good you are. No, even the best musicians have to work the subway goers the way they would work a crowd at a rock show. Which is what Wilson and I have been doing. He’ll start off with a ballad and then jack it up with a rock song. I’ll dance for a minute to the rock song, and then I’ll dramatically take his cowboy hat from off his head and I’ll shimmy through the crowd with it to earn extra tips.
Passing the hat is key. Apparently, so is almost getting your hand bitten off by a dog. Wilson bent down to pet a dog and almost got quite the bite! I think everyone felt sorry for him, because almost everyone left a tip before they boarded the train.
We’ve been shut down by the cops (but they’ve been very nice about it), had money thrown to us from across the platform in appreciation, saved a dad from the ordeal of his two year old throwing a tantrum (she stopped crying the second she saw Wilson in his cowboy getup), and a few other crazy experiences. My favourite thus far, though, was when a family of gypsies from Bosnia stopped to dance with us. Well, at first they only asked us for money. But they really liked the music and my dancing. One of them was wearing almost the exact same skirt as me. A lot of the moves you see in belly dance originated from traditional gypsy cultures. I’ve always wanted to learn from actual gypsies and thought that I might have my chance while being in Europe.
As I was contemplating on how to ask them what they thought of belly dance and if they could show me a dance step from their culture, one of them piped up and said, “You dance just like…. Shakira! You do Shakira dance!”
Horrified, I tried to explain that belly dance did not originate from Shakira, no matter how well she can shake her hips. But they gypsies insisted. “No, no, you Shakira.” And then they asked, “Teach us how to dance like Shakira!” I didn’t know how to tell them that the dance Shakira does probably originated from their ancestors. Instead, I grabbed one of the children’s hands and we twirled and shimmied and then I grabbed Wilson’s cowboy hat, gladly accepted tips from the bystanders, and then gave the tips to the gypsies.

Topography of Terror

2009-07-19T03:55:00.000-07:00

It is interesting to be in a city that has been so affected by war. Wilson and I went to Mitte the other day to “Check Point Charlie”. For those of you who don’t know, Check Point Charlie was one of the border crossings between East and West Berlin during the Cold War. And so we spent an hour reading all the posters and bulletins and historic info about the Cold War and the Berlin wall and how everything had affected the people of Berlin. Coming from a city like Toronto, I couldn’t even imagine what it must have been like to live in a place that was so divided, and what the reunification must have felt like.
After we were finished playing tourist at Check Point Charlie (posing with policemen and standing under the “You are now leaving the American sector” sign) we meandered down the street to the actual Berlin wall (there are parts of it that have been left standing). It was smaller than I thought it would be.
Right next to the wall, just half a block away, was another exhibit. The “Topography of Terror” outlined the history of the Gestapo and SS headquarters that had apparently existed on the very grounds upon which we were standing. A lot of the buildings had been bombed out at the end of WW11 and then the site had been bulldozed during the construction of the Berlin wall. About a quarter of the way through the exhibit, I started getting chills from reading about all the methodical planning that when into the Nazi campaign and the Holocaust. By the time I was halfway through I was crying and couldn’t finish the exhibit. So many pictures of death.
I have studied WW11 and the Holocaust throughout my years as a history major, but I had never been in the same place where some of the events had occurred. There was a weight in the air that was still and somber and almost suffocating. At the beginning of the exhibit, people had been talking and even laughing, but by the halfway point, no one was saying a word. The silence only added even more heaviness to the mood.
The part of the exhibit that affected me the most was reading about the Roma and Sinti gypsies. Like I said, I have studied all this before, but somehow standing in Berlin and seeing so many photos and reading so many personal stories, the whole awful event became much more realistic for me. As a belly dancer, a lot of the technique and dance forms I have studied were adapted from gypsy cultures. As I gazed at the photos of Roma and Sinti woman staring out from their covered wagons with sorrowful eyes, I wondered how they had felt when their culture had been stripped from them, when their language had been cut from their mouths, when they were no longer allowed to dance.

Carousel Revelry

2009-07-18T07:19:00.000-07:00

Almost two months have past since the Carousel Revelry show at Bender’s Bar on May 30th, but we just got the videos from the show up on YouTube, so it’s been on my mind. After months of hard work on my end- booking dancers, booking the bands, getting someone to design a flyer (thanks David!), finding a venue, promoting, organizing, meeting with the sound guy, rehearsing, and sending and receiving a gazillion emails- the show finally came together in one glorious night of belly dance and rock ’n roll.
Carousel Revelry was a huge success- not bad for my first production! We had 11 fabulous dancers: Alodiah and Avaishya (Carousel Belly Dance), Avielle, Joie Mazor (My Red Heart with Leopard Print Tan Top), Evie, Alison, Mary Ann, Robyn Lovejoy, and Lydia, Lauren, and Jeannette as a trio. The dancers came from a variety of backgrounds: tribal fusion, American Tribal Style, cabaret, Egyptian, and so forth. And quite an eclectic mix of music! Everything from vintage jazz to rock to oriental to a live ukulele player (Leopard Print Tank Top).
The Ferocious Few was the opening band and did they ever rock out! Danny (on drums) and Francisco (singer/guitarist) make up the whole band but they sure live up to their name. Francisco has a gorgeous voice that makes the girls swoon and Danny seems to play the drums with all his soul. Alodiah and I busted out some dance moves during “Heaven and Hell” and “Loc’d Out”. Belly dancing to rock and roll? We’re calling it “rock-a-belly”! Yes, cheesey, I know, but the phrase fits.
It was Avielle’s birthday that night and all the girls met downstairs in the “dressing room” and sang “happy birthday”. I made yummy chocolate vegan cupcakes. The dressing room was really just the storage room with some mirrors and carpet laid out. But when you’re performing in a bar, you make do!
Castles in Spain was the headlining band. They were the first band that I saw in San Francisco, almost 6 years ago. And they had belly dancers at that show, too! Castles in Spain is a good mix of rock and world fusion. I really don’t know how else to describe them. Other than that front woman, Biatchi, can captivate the audience both with her voice and with her charm. Alodiah performed to “Again”- Castles in Spain’s last song of the night. Alodiah is such a trooper, dancing at 1:30 in the morning!
The best part of the night? We sold out and everyone got paid! No, the best part was having a bunch of fans and friends there to support the artists. And did I mention that I was the MC for the night? Never perform while organizing while being the MC- too many hats to wear! I kept forgetting my lines, but luckily, everyone was too drunk to notice.