A Taste of Cuba in San Francisco

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 Radio 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

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

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!

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!

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.

Clown Cabaret

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...

Taking the Plunge

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.

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

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!

Surfing the Couches!

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

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.

It's Polkapocalyptic!

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

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