backroadsusa

My “Back Roads America Tour” is officially over. I drove to the four corners of the USA, stopping at towns big and small to share the art of belly dancing, as well as to show my film and sign books; “40 Days and 1001 Nights, One Woman’s Dance Through Life in the Islamic World.”

With so much driving, it was really hard to keep up with my blog while I was on the road, but now I am on a plane, returning home from judging a belly dance competition in Tokyo, Japan, and I have time to type the last installment.

Here is a recap of the last month of my trip; New Mexico, Colorado, California, and parts in between.
(Please take a look at the archives as I was traveling for three months, ten days, and there were amazing adventures in every corner of the USA.)

Oklahoma was a long state, but I drove all the way across, panhandle and all. Twice, I was stopped for speeding; once because it was so far between gas stations that I was on empty with no town in sight. The sun was beginning to set, so I went 85mph, figuring that if I ran out of gas, I would do so earlier and hopefully someone would help me before it got dark. There was no cell phone service to call the AAA.

Lo and behold, I got pulled over for speeding. When I explained my dilemma, the officer said “There’s a gas station 2 miles up the road.” And he let me off with a warning.

            That night, as I pulled into a little town, rain started to pour down. A very nice Indian family owned the hotel, but I wondered how they got from India to this boarded up, semi abandoned little town. Some bikers from Tennessee were tying down their Harleys because a storm was coming. Sure enough, a tornado ripped through the area. I was told to park my car where I could see it out my window. At least I would see it blow past my window.

            The tornado didn’t wreak havoc. It only knocked out the internet service.

Oklahoma isn’t ugly. Pleasant farmlands go on and on. For some reason, playing music from Mali and Morocco on my car stereo seemed appropriate. I was so careful not to speed, but sure enough, the moment I took my eye off the speedometer, there was an officer. This one gave me a warning too.

New Mexico

            Finally! After two days, I crossed the border into New Mexico. I sat in an old cowboy style hotel and ordered “Frito pie with green chili”. Ranchers in ten gallon cowboy discussed the dilemma of wild dogs attacking their cattle..

            Farm lands gave way to a majestic desert. Then I found myself winding through pine trees and mountain roads.

            I stayed at the “Abominable Snowmansion.” The town of Arroyo Seco consists of one street and a lot of hippies. This was my second experience with American hostelling on this trip. It is a different experience from Europe, where hostelling is a cheap and clean communal place to stay for student travelers. When I called the Snowmansion to reserve the room, the woman said “You know this is a hostel, not a hotel, and you know the difference?”

            Upon arrival, I understood. I was greeted with a special smell- like musty kale with a bit of garlic. Desert dust permeated the Mexican blankets. Two cats stared down a big dog that lay blocking the old wooden staircase to my room. Dozens of people lived in this communal holdover from the 1970’s. Those who stayed for free tended the organic garden or cooked the nightly meal. Sure enough, kale with garlic was on the menu.

            People stayed in teepees, cabins, brought their own tents, or merely slept in cars. I was one of a hand full who got my own room. Some were young, healthy, and just out of college, hailing from the US, Israel, or South America. Others were older, ranging from drifting Vietnam vets, burnt out from life’s journeys, to a white haired woman who stayed in her 1960’sVolkswagon Beetle that she had bought 40 years ago in Seattle.

            Suddenly, a blend of New Orleans Jazz, and funk blasted through town. The tiny plaza filled with folks young and old. Rainbow colors prevailed. The town of Arroyo Seco danced the night away to Trombone Shorty. Brought directly from New Orleans, this 20 something man had been a child prodigy in the music world. He had everyone spellbound. Even tiny toddlers jumped up and down when the entire band marched through the crowd playing “When the Saints Go Marching In”.

            Down the road was the home of the Taos Pueblo Indians. They still live in the “Pueblo”, a series of adobe structures surrounded by mountains and rivers.

            The similarity to Egypt’s Siwa Oasis was uncanny. In Siwa, there is a “Shali”, which was a five story adobe structure where most of the town’s folk lived until it was melted by rain in 1926. The Pueblo has a similar structure, although it is still intact and inhabited. Siwa is inhabited by Amazigh (Berbers0, who are a native people, and they have many similar issues to the people of Taos Pueblo. I spoke to some of the leaders about the possibility of leaders from both cultures meeting. It was apparent that the Siwans stand more to gain than the Pueblo, as the Pueblo are well organized and know the channels for negotiating their rights. Siwan Shaikhs could learn a lot from them as their people still suffer tremendous oppression from the Egyptian police state.

            The Pueblo is open for visitors during certain hours of the day, certain times of the year. Many local artisans sell jewelry and pottery from their homes. I bought some silver earrings and traded a book for “three symbolic bears made of sandy earth. The Pueblo believe that bears and humans have many similar qualities. Apparently, if a mother has cubs during hibernation, she teaches them all the survival skills they will need in life while they are still in the cave. When they go out in the world, they already know how to gather berries, fish, etc.

Santa Fe, New Mexico

            My weekend of workshops and events were held in Santa Fe, the most stylish of small cities where some of America’s top opera, contemporary ballet, and Flamenco spring from.

            Santa Fe has a special place in my heart as my brother, Richard lives there. We spend time eating yummy green chili laden dishes. I brought his big dog some squeaky tennis balls. Once he learned the power of squeaking, he noisily exerted his power day and night.

            I showed sections of my film to a crowd of well travelled enthusiasts at a book store called “The Travel Bug.” It was interesting how there was reticence about my presentation before hand, but once it got under way, people didn’t want it to end.

My gracious host for the performance and workshop was Pomegranate Studios, directed by Myra Krien. In addition to being an extremely skillful dancer, she is highly educated and eloquent. One of Pomegranate’s programs is called “Little Seeds”, in which teenagers can learn life empowerment skills through the art of belly dancing.

            I stayed with a dancer/ jewelry maker named Pilar. Her original teacher was a friend of mine in Puerto Rico. She shared many techniques of how she cuts aluminum, recycles metal and makes it shine forever.

When we went out to eat after the show, a hungry drifter left without paying for his food. In addition, he stole money off one of the tables. Two waiters tried to chase him down. Blocks away, as we were walking to our cars, the drifter whizzed by, waiters still in hot pursuit. The dynamic suddenly changed when the drifter pulled a knife. We all called the police on our cell phones. The waiters pinned the man to the ground and held hum until the police came.

After the events were over, Myra treated us to a day at a beautiful Japanese style spa in the mountains. It was so beautiful and idyllic!

Then we went to her vintage adobe home down a series of dirt roads, for a gourmet dinner party. In Santa Fe, most of the interesting homes are on un paved roads with Spanish names.

What are also interesting are the people who call themselves “Spanish”. Their forefathers came to the area when it was still under Spanish rule. Some churches have inscriptions stating that they were built in the 1600’s. New Mexico didn’t become a US state until the 1920’s. Although there are many Mexican immigrants, the local Spanish have little in common with them. New Mexican Spanish is only spoken among those who claim long held Spanish roots. Many of these early settlers were of Jewish or Arabic ancestry, but had already become totally catholicized. They brought much of their architectural style with them, which had a strong North African influence. This influenced the indigenous population, hence the similarities between the Siwa Oasis and the Taos Pueblo. Local “Spanish” sounds a bit like old Spanish mixed with Ladino (The language of Sephardic Jews who were forced to assimilate or leave Spain in 1492.) There is such an intense form of Catholicism in the area that in the mountains, groups of people called “Penitentes” bearing crosses hike on their knees and beat themselves bloody during certain festive times of the year.

Colorado

The smell of sulfur permeates Pagosa Springs. This is a little town in southern Colorado, dominated by one street. The most touristic hot spring is a series of mineral pools overlooking the river. Somehow, I never made it to that. I treated my time in Pagosa as an internet catch up day, which became two days and three nights. Just as I though I would get caught up, the internet went down and I spent my last night finishing choreography for my next workshop.

There was an old building downtown with all sorts of sulfurous pools. It was beautiful and luxurious and only cost $8 to use them all. While soaking in one of the pools on a roof top overlooking the town, I met a couple who told me where the locals go… an old motel.

Sure enough, the motel had a big, hot, pure mineral water sulfur pool to swim in. Another old tile lined pool in a back room was so hot that a sign warned not to soak for more than five minutes.

A woman did cranio sacral body work on me. Cranio sacral is very interesting as they move a special fluid that is generated from you spine around your body and detect any energy blockages. It feels so good!

My workshop, show, and film showing were in Lake City, Colorado. This is a tiny town in the mountains where a lot of Texans come for the summer. It has an old west, cowboy movie look, complete with dirt roads and wooden sidewalks.

            Arts and activities are alive in the summer in Lake City. Most people I met showed me their paintings. And the local theater was abuzz every night. When I arrived, I attended a clogging - belly dance show. It had been sold out every night, and at the end of the show, cloggers, belly dancers, and the audience joined together to dance a rousing “YMCA”. Sophisticated? Maybe it was so unabashedly un cool that it was wonderful! A magic moment where a theater full of people of all ages were moving together while clogging, moving hips, and making Y’s, M’s. C’s. and A’s with their arms.

            My hostess, Carol’s husband brought some home made Thai curry to the local bar for the after party.

            The next day, my workshops began. Dancers came from all over Colorado and we danced to the songs of “Made in Zanzibar” high in the mountains. That night was the local talent show and I was the guest artist. I made time for a clogging lesson in between. I’ve wanted to take up clogging ever since I saw it at the “Hillbilly Hoedown” in West Virginia near the beginning of the tour. The next day, after my workshop I took another clogging lesson, then showed my film. People had lots of questions about life in the Muslim world, and the little girls thought I was a star.

            There is no crime in Lake City, but bears are a menace. People are told to keep their doors and windows shut because bears will break into their homes and steal the food from their kitchens. Several people shared bear stories with me, such as Carol’s mother in law, who had lived in the house where I was staying, who found a bear in her kitchen and chased it away with a broom. Then people who sit in their Jacuzzis at night and get surprise visits from bears.

            Carol and I sat in her Jacuzzi at midnight. It was so beautiful under the starry, crispy cold mountain sky. But I couldn’t help looking over my shoulder in case a bear wanted to join us.  

            I was born in Colorado, and lived the first few years of my life between Denver, Evergreen, and Colorado Springs. I paid my aunt a visit in Denver then drove to Evergreen where my 91 year old uncle and his wife still live in a house right near the one my father and brothers built for our family in the mountains, circa 1959.

A long Road to California

It took me three days to get from Evergreen to Berkeley, California where I taught an online workshop at Suhaila’s studio. I ended up driving a lot at night, accompanied only by a set of Pimsleur Language CD’s teaching me how to speak Swahili. If you saw me buzzing through Utah or Nevada talking to myself, I was actually speaking to my CD player in Swahili.

After a nice visit to the Arches National Park, which is full of beautiful red rock formations, then Salt Lake City, where I spent all day tracing my genealogy, I headed to Antelope Island. Located at the end of a long bridge into the Great Salt Lake, this island had lots of buffalo roaming free, with a few antelopes interspersed. I waded far out into ankle deep, salty water to see the sunset over the salt lake.

Bay Area

            I got to Berkley at midnight, and was scheduled to teach a workshop at Suhaila Salimpour’s studio. There were two days of workshops, as part of her online class series.

            Suhaila’s mother is the legendary Jamila Salimpour. The woman who originated Tribal style belly dance, Jamila was the main force behind the spread of belly dance on the west coast of the US. When I took my first belly dance lessons in Seattle, in 1976, my teachers were students of students of Jamila. She named the belly dance steps, which never had names in the Middle East, as people simply grew up dancing and never needed names for steps. For foreigners, learning as adults, the movements had to be codified. There are still meetings and symposiums on naming the movement vocabulary. I have never quite understood why we don’t use the names Jamila gave us. Some we do use, such as “Egyptian basic”, or “Camel”. She also wrote books on the dance and its history, finger cymbal manuals, and more. She has contributed immensely to the development of belly dance in the US. I felt privileged to be able to eat lunch with her on two occasions, hearing about the ancient matriarchal cultures of North Africa, and how she created an elaborate finger cymbal dance.    

On my way to the last stop on the Back Roads tour, I stopped at the Esalen Retreat Center just outside of Big Sur. What an amazing place! Hot sulfur pools jut out over cliffs with crashing waves below. They call it “clothing optional”, but in reality, one should be in the bathing area nude. If some people wore clothes and others didn’t, there would be some level of self consciousness. Being among lots of strangers, both male and female, all in the nude was a new experience for me. It is actually quite liberating, and not decadent at all. Three huge organic buffets were offered daily and everyone sat at wooden picnic tables to eat and socialize. There was a “shamana” (female shaman) from Mexico who gave healings by removing tiny pellets of negativity and blockages from your body with her teeth.

LA

When I arrived in LA, my friend and former student, Jackie and I stayed in an apartment in Santa Monica. From the balcony we could see a wild fire burning in the hills surrounding LA. When I gave a workshop in West Hollywood, the smoke was so strong that it burned my throat as I tried to talk. I did a book signing in a new age bookstore, which is said to be busy most evenings. But this time there was very little traffic.  

The concept of the “Back Roads America tour” works best in small communities, as people have time to take an interest in my book and film project. In a large city like LA, many events are happening simultaneously. Most people have agents who have connections, and even the belly dancers don’t really get the concept of my project. I wasn’t surprised, but had wanted to visit Jackie anyway…And my niece, Erika, who I had visited in New York near the beginning of the tour just moved to Long Beach, wo we got together too. 

The best LA “Back Roads” event was a small gathering of yoga teachers in Topanga Canyon. Topanga is a small town in the hills, located in the LA area. It is interesting that one can be in LA and in a rural town at the same time. I showed my film, projected onto a sheet on the side of a house perched over the canyon. They did grasp and appreciate the information I was sharing.

On our way out of Topanga Canyon, Jackie told me that coyotes are prevalent in the area and she was afraid to let her dog stray from her sight for fear that he would get attacked by one. At that moment, as I was winding down a mountainous road, a coyote stood in the middle of the road and stared at us, as if to say “Where is that alleged little doggie?”

The world famous belly dancer, Jillina is launching a new project entitled “Bellydance Evolution”. It is a show that will tour the world. They have a cast of six main characters, who enact themes from Greek mythology through belly dance and ethnic dances. Then they audition a local cast in each country via Youtube to be the chorus. On my last night in LA, we went to the first show. It was a clever concept and a beautiful accomplishment. I ran into so many familiar faces from the southern California belly dance community at her after party.   

Headed home

            Distances in the west are huge. To get home to Seattle, I had to begin by traversing the entire state of California. Of course, I wasn’t going to do the whole state in one shot, so I stopped in San Francisco and did a bit of tourism.

            Then I drove some back roads north of the Napa Valley to Wilbur Hot Springs. I was hooked on bathing in hot sulfur pools. In the middle of nowhere, then down a long dirt road, I reached this turn of the century hotel where I had the dormitories to myself. It was impeccably clean and contained a huge, state of the art kitchen for preparing ones own food. It was amazing to soak in the tubs at midnight, then again the next day in the sunlight, surrounded by nature and golden hills.

            Then there was Ashland, Oregon, a small town that is famous for the Shakespeare Festival. It was refreshing to be in Oregon, where pumping one’s own gas is illegal. I appreciated having someone else do the pumping and washing my windows.

            My last night on the road was spent in Newport Beach. It was like a full circle. My first night of the first mini back roads tour to Eugene, Oregon last January was spent in Eugene, in the same hotel overlooking the ocean. It was a treat staying in this big room with a fireplace. I slept with the balcony door open hearing the waves crashing through the night.

            The next day, I drove straight to my parent’s house, just outside of Seattle where I recounted many adventures after three months and thirteen days on the road, driving from one end to the other, top to bottom of the USA. So often I have traveled abroad, teaching dance and touring. The USA is full of surprises. There is a lot of tradition, culture, and variety from place to place. I did not experience the negativity we hear on the news such as fearful folks screaming against Obama’s health care reforms, or violence that dominates the news in the form of people being found dead, rapists, or school stabbings. Yes those exist, but just as my experiences traveling through the Muslim world for “40 Days and 1001 Nights”, I saw a land of beauty and humanity beyond what is fed to us by the media. Sure, the negative things exist, but there are far more good and interesting things to experience that we rarely hear about.

Mmm...
Magic moments happen when you least expect. I’d always wanted to visit Jackson, Mississippi. Perhaps because it’s a place one would not have the occasion to visit.

Enter the “Missahippi” dance troupe. When I e mailed them about my back roads tour, The leader, Kristina said “We’re certainly ‘back roads’.” And she set about organizing a film showing and workshops.

            Alia, who I had been traveling with and I got caught in rush hour traffic while trying to extract ourselves from the magic city of New Orleans. I had a 7pm class in Jackson, and we barely made it. The studio, “Butterfly Yoga,” was converted from an old gas station and painted bright green. That was magic moment number one. Then we went out to eat and among the many fried foods on the menu were deep fried pickles and green beans. They tasted like something thinly sliced, breaded and fried, with a spicy dipping sauce. There were vegetables in there somewhere.

            We stayed way out of town, where the deer roam through people’s back yards in Terry, Mississippi (I love to type all the s’s and p’s, so you’ll be seeing this word a lot.). Our host was a talented artist named Michelle who is part of Missahippi. Instead of a living room, we entered an empty room with a painter’s canvas on an easel and prolific amounts of playful works of art, from paintings on blocks of wood, old purses and suitcases, to the dishes in the kitchen and paintings on the wall.

            Believe it or not, there is a “Muslim Museum” in downtown Jackson. Alia, Michelle and I went to the arts complex that houses the museum. Downtown Jackson was such a sleepy, sun baked place. Not a soul stirred on the street, or in the arts center, with the exception of a couple of sleepy, but polite security guards. They called the woman in charge of the museum who came to open it.

            There was an amazing Timbuktu exhibit, as well as one on Andalusian Spain and the contributions Arabs made to culture as we know it today. The couple who runs the museum traveled to Mali, visited Timbuktu, brought back the artifacts and created this exhibit as a joint venture with the museum of Timbuktu. That is pretty amazing in the middle of Jackson. She showed me an article where the museum was featured in Aramco Magazine.

            My film, “40 Days and 1001 Nights” was screened at the most charming and unusual Jordanian restaurant called “Petra,” located in an old house in a little town called Clinton, Mississippi. It turned out that Michelle had once lived in this house before it was rented to the Jordanian restauranteur…and the house next door was haunted.

            The next night, Petra hosted a belly dance party, featuring Missahippi, Alia and myself. This became the crowning magic Mississippi moment. The folks from the Muslim Museum came, with a wonderful African dancer. Imagine, dancing the night away with a couple of Jordanian guys, a lot of local Mississippians, including a woman dancing to Arabic tunes with West African steps, the Jordanian owner putting on Greek music and doing “Zembekiko”, a dramatic Greek dance, then him and the cook doing a rousing and stomping Dabke, then leading us from room to room in a dabke line. If there will ever be peace on earth, it will most likely happen while dancing. All differences seem to dissolve, or just not matter. I wonder if the ghost was looking on, what it was thinking.

On to Arkansas

“Welcome to beautiful Lake Providence, Louisiana,” read a faded sign. We were getting hungry and looking for a place to have lunch. What a forlorn and sad town. Along what could have been a scenic lake front, Lake Providence was nearly a ghost town with some buildings on the verge of collapse. One young woman walked along the street with her small children. Most business appeared to have been closed for quite some time.

            Crossing into Arkansas, we would up in the poorest part of the state. Dilapidated trailer homes, dried out corn fields, and absolutely nothing open for lunch anywhere.

            Scenery improved as we neared Hot Springs National Park. This is a most unusual national park. One side of the main street is called “Bath House Row,” and is part of the National Park System, while the other side is lined with restaurants and shops that seem to be stuck in the 70’s. This is former president Clinton’s boyhood home town.

            For centuries, people have flocked to Hot Springs as the mineral waters that come from the earth at 147 degrees are said to have healing powers. Spas and spa hotels began in the late 1870’s, when doctors would prescribe visits to the hot springs to cure everything from arthritis to venereal diseases. “Bath House Row” consists of eight bath houses, all built in the early 1900’s. Only one, called Buckstaff, has been operational the whole time. Another recently re opened, one houses a new MOCA art museum and the visitors center is in yet another, to show how the facilities were in the olden days.

            We decided to do the traditional spa treatment at the Buckstaff Bath House. I expected leisurely dips in hot pools while socializing with other people, as one experiences in Europe or Asia. Instead, we were sent to cubicles to disrobe, wrapped in bathrobes and escorted to old porcelain tubs to sit in hot water that was being stirred up by a dangerously obsolete looking electrical device. Each tub was curtained off from the others, so one sat, back propped on a wedge of wood, staring at the green and white tiles that resembled a scary looking mental hospital from the old movies. An attendant, who acted like a nurse came, wrapped each person in a sheet and escorted us to the “Sitz” bath. This is a big sink that you sit in. Very odd indeed. Next was the sauna. It was actually a contraption where you sit by yourself on a seat with a metal box around you. Only your head sticks out, as the door closes. It was scary and claustrophobic, reminiscent of a guillotine. The nurse like woman turns up the steam and what should be fun starts to feel like a torture chamber.

            Once again, each person gets wrapped in a sheet and escorted to the massage room. I got a great massage, which made the spa experience less traumatic and more like a history lesson on Victorian style spa treatments from days gone by.

            That afternoon, we had to drive to Little Rock. Alia was flying back to Vermont, then I had a dance class to teach. The local instructor who organized this last minute workshop was Shanna, a very skilled dancer, like a hidden treasure that the rest of the world doesn’t know about. I was surprised when I put on shimmy music and she started to shimmy. Wow! You never know where you’ll find a great dancer!

            I stayed in the beautiful home of a dancer named Micki who had two adorable Basenji dogs. One of them stole my stuffed rhinoceros that I usually use as my neck pillow at night. Micki called me after I got on the road to confess her doggies sin so I could go back and retrieve it.

Sold out in Tulsa

Tulsa, Oklahoma is full of beautiful architecture, so one of the things we did while touring around town was look at art deco buildings and mansions built by oil millionaires. I stayed with Elizabeth, who is nicknamed “Biz”. She is part of a troupe called “Queens of Chaos”, led by a vivacious dancer named “Kitty Sparkle.” I went on TV to be interviewed for the mid day news, did a book signing at Borders, then taught a well attended workshop where the dancers had a good level of skill. I announced that I was looking for donated violins for the Tausi Women’s Orchestra in Zanzibar. There were once women’s Taarab orchestras in Zanzibar, then they slowly faded away. Now, for the first time in decades, Tausi is reviving the tradition, but they need instruments. Between Biz and two more dancers from the workshop, three violins were donated.

            The last day, I had an 11:30am film showing at a beautiful old art theater in Tulsa. We hadn’t sold many advance tickets and thought the showing might be sparse, as it coincided with people getting out of church. Instead, it was sold out! There were people from all walks of life; film buffs, travel buffs, dancers, and more. The Queens of Chaos supplied tables full of food and refreshments for after the film. The audience insisted on seeing another section, so we ate and went back in for more.

            I was concerned about the drive to Santa Fe from Tulsa. It promised to be two long days across the top of Oklahoma. Luckily, the weather, which had been over 100 degrees in Seattle, was unusually cool in Oklahoma. I set out driving with half a tank of gas. It was below empty and blinking by the time I found a town big enough to have a gas station. I was getting really worried. What was beautiful was the sky, as the sun set in shades of pink around dark clouds and a rainbow.

            I kept driving well past dark, until it started to rain and I pulled into a hotel. The little town, whose name I forgot seemed an unlikely place for a nice Indian family to settle. They owned this franchise of an “America’s Best” chain hotel. The rain started slamming down and the owners warned me that there was a tornado coming. A group of bikers were securing their Harleys for the storm. I never saw my car getting funneled up into the sky as one would imagine in a tornado, but the internet got knocked out, and the wind howled all night.

            The next day I drove and drove. It could seem boring, but I played some music from Mali that seemed appropriate for the rolling dry landscape, then finally saw a sign that read “Welcome to New Mexico.”

Scroll to the bottom to see where I will be teaching, performing and showing my film for the rest of the tour…Santa Fe, N.M, Berkeley, Calif., L.A., Venice Beach, and Topanga Canyon, Calif.

Meridian and Sapelo Island, Georgia- I thought Egypt’s Siwa Oasis was exotic… but the Georgia coast is pretty amazing too- at least where developers haven’t erected monstrous convention hotels.

Passing through Meridian in search of a place to sleep, the only place around was the Blue Heron Inn. I followed little wooden signs painted “Blue Heron Inn- This way.” Down a tiny road, then onto a dirt road, a mother deer and her fawn came out to greet me as I wound through a canopy of hanging Spanish moss laden trees. At the end of the road was a two story house. I rented a room with a balcony overlooking miles of swamps and sea grass.

A walk in the woods looked inviting. First, there were hundreds of tiny crabs dashing around my feet, a few water birds wading, boats plied through the sea of grass, then the mosquitoes attacked. It was green, hot, and laden with a sultry damp air.

The following morning, after a delicious breakfast of English muffins with crab cakes, poached eggs and hollandaise sauce on top, I drove to a tiny boat dock, parked my car under a mossy tree and had my name checked on a security list.

You must have permission to embark the foot ferry to Sapelo Island. There are 47 permanent residents on the island and they are all descendents of one slave owner who grew cotton on the island. They are of a culture now called “Salt Water Geechee.” It was once considered America’s first Muslim settlement, as one of the slave leaders, named Bilali Mohammed had nineteen children and most of the island are direct descendants of his. Now, little is remembered about Islam and there are two Christian churches, but they still pray to the east and men and women worship separately. The population was once much bigger and after slavery ended they lived all over the island. Just after the depression, JR Reynolds bought the entire island and forced everyone to move into one area called “Hog Hammock.” The people’s last names were indicative of their job title, so the “Hoggs” were those who took care of pigs. One of the island leaders, Mr. Hogg realized the irony of being a proud eleventh generation descendant of Bilali Mohammed with a name like “Hogg” (Muslims don’t eat pork and find pigs dirty), so when asked to sign an important document, he first changed the family name to “Hall.”

A guide named J.R., who I had found online, greeted me at the dock. He was a big friendly guy riding a Rhino, which is a little vehicle with big sturdy tires and roll bars. He arranged for me to stay in a cottage behind the trailer home of Mrs. Walker. He said “Go in her van and I will get my SUV.” I wanted to ride the Rhino, so she took my bags to the cottage and we proceeded on our open air adventure. A state run school bus, which usually takes people around the island and drops them back at the boat by noon, passed us by. I saw a couple I had eaten breakfast with at the Blue Heron. They called out the window “We’re jealous!” as I waved, my hair flying in the wind.

             We rode through mud and more Spanish moss to see an ancient Indian stone circle, lovely beaches, J.R. Reynolds old mansion, and the adjoining house that had been ordered from Sears and Roebuck. Yes. About 70 years ago, you could order houses from the Sears catalogue and they delivered all lumber, plumbing, etc. with instructions on how to assemble. He told of the wild cows that roam the island and how eating raccoon is a treat for the holidays.

            The cottage was nice- as nice as a four star hotel suite. It was on a long dirt road at the edge of Hogg Hammock, so Mrs. Walker offered me an old bicycle to get around with. The sky burst out with hot, steamy rain, so once I got on the road, I had to maneuver huge muddy pond like pot holes. I noticed that peddling though mud was getting increasingly difficult. By the time I came back, Mr. Walker was there and noticed that both tires had gone flat.

            Town consisted of a tiny general store, two churches, sporadic trailer homes, and a library with a sign that read “Open 7 to 8:30pm.” The library, housed in a weathered blue trailer, was once the island’s one room school house. Now students have to go to the mainland to study. The library reportedly had internet. I sat, being devoured by mosquitoes, playing with some kids who were also waiting for it to open, but it never did. I wanted to buy a book by Mrs. Bailey, the islands matriarchal leader, historian and storyteller. Supposedly it was available in the bar behind the general store, but neither the bar nor the store opened.

            I peddled past a white house turned cultural center. The man in charge was a local but had grown up in Boston. He returned to make his life on the island. He was so concerned about the culture dying out that he became an activist for the community and is trying to attract more people to come home. I looked over local books and both he and his partner explained about the scrolls Bilali Mohammed had written. I looked at a photo, and recognized the script as Arabic, but they needed translating and it was undetermined what African language they were in. I learned of the yearly festival in October, in which one can eat the local foods, and hear traditional music. The most famous style is called “Shouting” which is a type of singing the slaves would use for communication, done in such a way that their masters couldn’t understand while moving in a circle.

Northern Florida

            After stopping in Jekyl Island, and “adopting” (sponsoring) a turtle from the Sea Turtle Sanctuary for my penpal in Saudi Arabia, I crossed the border into my beloved state of Florida. My friend and fellow dancer, Alia was flying in from Vermont to travel with me for a couple of weeks, so I picked her up in Jacksonville. Half an hour later we were in St. Augustine, my next destination on the “40 Days and 1001 Nights” book, film, and dance tour.

            St. Augustine is the oldest city in the US. It was designed by the king of Spain in the 1500’s. Now tourism is the cities mainstay. Tiny Spanish streets are lined with souvenir shops. Antebellum homes grace the side streets. We stayed with the organizer of my workshops in one such home on a tiny plant filled alley.

            I was thrilled with the crowd who showed up for my film. Belda, who was a well known dancer in Miami in the 90s drove up from Orlando as did Joanie from West Palm Beach. There was a lot of enthusiasm and questions.

            All events were held at the Art and Culture Center, on the boardwalk overlooking the beach. During my workshop, I felt a strong pressure in my head and hoped I didn’t have some rare disease. Suddenly, the sky turned black. The sky exploded with rain. Thunder and lightning shook the building. My head suddenly felt normal again. Now I understand how animals know when a storm is coming.

            The following day I had a film presentation at the Gainesville Public Library. They had a theater upstairs, and set us up in a luxurious suite at a historical bed and breakfast. This place had chaise lounges, balconies screened by filmy white curtains, a gazebo, and a bridge over their pond full of giant Japanese goldfish (coi).

            The next night, my film presentation was truly back roads- in the tiny town of Alachua. We spent the afternoon picnicking at one of the areas many natural springs, an idyllic body of still water surrounded by exuberant foliage. We wished we could be among the people rowing about in canoes.

            Apalachicola was next on the list. I was done with film showings, book signings, and dance classes for the week, but Alia had an old friend in Apalachicola. It is on Florida’s north coast on the Gulf of Mexico. Some towns along the way hadn’t recovered from a hurricane that passed several years ago and lay abandoned. Many oyster fishermen trolled the waters in little wooden boats. The coast of South Carolina and Georgia are famous for oysters, but you cannot eat them during months that don’t contain “r’s” (June, July and August), as they carry bacteria in the hot summer months. Conditions are different in Apalachicola, so they are the suppliers of oysters to many states.  

New Orleans

            Our new mission was getting to New Orleans. Neither Alia nor I knew what to expect four years after the hurricane. I lived in New Orleans as a teenager, and wondered what I would find now. We arrived late at night, passing through a dicey looking unlit neighborhood and wondered what we’d gotten ourselves into. Just around the corner were the pretty little streets of the French Quarter. We rented a room in a bed and breakfast I’d found on the internet. Prices were cheap. We were still in suite mode, but the suite was taken, so we took the room with bunk beds. It was so funky and original, from the navy blue mosaic tile walls to the light fixtures on either end of the top bunk that doubled as tables.

The caretaker had left a key in a coded safety box for us. Aware that crime was going to be an issue, we double parked, blocking most of the narrow street, emptied the car of all costumes, boxes of CD’s, DVD’s, GPS, etc. Our room was through a small gate then a smaller walkway. Shuttered wooden doors had an ancient lock that refused to open. Alia finally jiggled it. We moved the car several blocks to a guarded parking lot just our side of the street we were told not to cross if we valued our lives.

            I recalled that the French Quarter never sleeps, so we set out walking, past several voodoo shops, toward Bourbon Street. It was brightly lit with police officers on horseback, louder than ever, full of drunks and a hand full of strip clubs with the underwear clad women standing out front. Many bars sat empty though. As we walked back to the bed and breakfast, a woman stopped us. “Don’t go that way. There’s a man with a gun.”

            We dipped into the first bar we could find and decided to order wine while waiting for the armed man to pass or change directions. The “Golden Lantern” had three customers and they were celebrating “Christmas in July.” Feather boas hung everywhere and a big Christmas tree was also festooned with boas. They guys couldn’t figure us out. It seemed that women rarely entered their domain. What made it funnier is that Alia and I look very similar. People sometimes think she is me, but more often ask if we’re sisters. The man sitting next to us had a key that looked like ours. I had a feeling he was the one who had the suite we had wanted. He was and he turned out to be a Broadway producer, of West Side Story, which is the play I had seen in New York a few weeks ago.

            Somehow, New Orleans was becoming magical. It is something indescribable when you enter a zone where everything just feels different. Alia felt the shift too. There was some sort of magic, like you left the rest of the world elsewhere. I even forgot my regimen of no sugar, no caffeine for a day. The following morning, we went with our new producer friend to the famous Café du Monde for beignets and chicory coffee. This outdoor café is crowded 24 hours and everything you touch is sticky because of the powdered sugar that blows off the plates of beignets. If you haven’t tried them, they are light pillow like donuts buried in powdered sugar.

            We followed a colorful l sign emblazoned with “Zulu” to the museum. It featured a Mardi Gras exhibit, showing the costumes and history throughout the decades. The kindly guard once again asked if we were sisters and looked puzzled when we said we weren’t. He gave us lots of advice on where to hear jazz and how to avoid getting mugged. He explained “New Orleans has always been about alcohol, but after the hurricane drugs moved in and everything changed.”

            Despite the warnings, we felt such a sense of comfort and freedom. The fact that I wasn’t carrying my heavy purse may have contributed to that light feeling. There was a feeling of being in another time…like people gave you their phone numbers instead of e mail addresses or websites, and the little corner groceries had been there for generations. Everywhere you looked was beauty, from the decorative houses to the plants and steamy air.

            After a night of jazz clubbing and late night visit to Café Du Monde it was time to move on. Jackson, Mississippi was calling. It was back to “40 Days and 1001 Nights, Back Roads America Tour.” We passed the gigantic mansions of St. Charles Ave. with the old street car still running through the center. Alia noted how much of what draws people to the deep south, from the grand homes to the leisurely lifestyle was made possible because of the slaves who did all the work. How the pride and the shame are all in one package.

            Once we got onto the freeway, giant walls shielded our view of the rest of the city. We never knew what had been rebuilt or not. Could these walls be to keep out floodwaters, to keep criminals off the highway, or to shield our view of the rest of the city?

Next… Magic moments in unlikely places…Jackson. Miss., Arkansas, and Oklahoma.

The rest of the tour:

Santa Fe, N.M, August 7-8

Fri., Aug. 7,

Partial Film and Booksigning at the “Travel Bug” bookstore, 5-6pm

Dance concert at the Railyard, 8pm

Sat., Aug. 8

Workshops: Traveling Steps 10-noon, Hands and Arms, 1-3pm.

Contact Myra Krien Founder and Director Pomegranate Studios & Pomegranate SEEDs & Mosaic Dance Company 505.986.6164 525 Cerrillos Santa Fe 87501 (physical address) 369 Montezuma Ave. #287 Santa Fe 87501 (mailing address) www.mosaicdance.net to join our mailing list: pomegranatesfnm@yahoo.com

Lake City and Gunneson, Colorado, August 14- 16

Sat Aug 15th  Technique Intensive workshop 3-5 pm 
Sat Aug 15th  Dance performance

Sun Aug 16th Oriental Choreography 9-12

Sun Aug 16th Film showing/Lecture/ book signing

Contact:Carol at zorahdog@yahoo.com or

yoliebrown@hotmail.com

Berkeley, Ca.

August 22-23

I will be teaching this workshop as a guest instructor on Suhaila’s online classes.

Oriental and double veil choreographies

 <suhaila@therealsuhaila.com>

www.therealsuhaila.com

Venice Beach, Hollywood, and Topanga Canyon, Calif.

Aug. 28-30

For details, contact Jacqui Lalita goddessrevival@gmail.com

www.danceofthedivine.org

Roaming about the Carolinas.

“Keep Ashville Weird,” was emblazoned across a man’s T shirt as he pranced about the plaza to the beat of twenty some drums. Sitting in the entry way of a closed shop was a tattooed woman with a shaved head reading tarot cards. Down the street, across from the silver painted man standing perfectly still were two young guys rolling transparent balls around their bodies in slow motion.

There was no shortage of health food shops, bars, people sporting tye dyed fashions or funky, artsy shops in Asheville, North Carolina, AKA “Oregon in Appalachia.” It’s an oasis of hip and aging hippies in the deep south, right off the scenic Blue Ridge Parkway. I decided this would be a good place to spend 4^th of July. Every weekend this summer, I am spending time in a different town, showing my film, “40 Days and 1001 Nights, Seeing the Muslim World through the Eyes of a Dancer.”, doing book signings, and teaching dance workshops. I had 4^th of July weekend off.

The Blue Ridge Parkway is a scenic byway, built as a WPA project during the depression. Every turn has a spectacular vista where rolling green mountains seemingly go on forever.

            Although the hostel I stayed in Ashville was named after the owners two beloved goldfish who had died long ago, it would be more aptly called “Hotel California.” I had some intellectual discussions with a wide array of folks- the guy who was biking up from Florida, a woman from Maine who just wanted to get away from her man for a bit, and a former Peace Corps volunteer who was an open collection of encyclopedias. Then there was the handsome young man who had to be dragged out from the middle of the street as he danced about in green paint, obstructing traffic and chanting “I’m a witch doctor.” A colorful cast of beautiful young women, eccentric men, and a few average folks paraded about at all hours… Far more people than there were beds in the hostel.

            The bicycler had been sleeping in his own room in the basement, but suddenly decided to pitch a tent outside instead. I jumped on the offer for my own room. That night, strange smells burned my nostrils and I suspected dust and mold, but some people suggested otherwise. All bunks were filled so the biker pitched an air mattress for me on the balcony. There was a parade of noisy partiers in and out of the yard, so I wrapped a scarf around my face, like a mask and headed to my room.

            Boom! The bed collapsed. Upon closer inspection, I found that the mattress was precariously placed over slabs of plywood, and some of the slabs were too small for the bed frame. It was 4am, but I did find an extra bed in an employee’s room and laid down to crash till the next day when a bunk bed opened up and I got profuse apologies and a refund.

            “Knock knock.” A couple was at the front door- the woman towered over six feet tall and platform shoes added more inches. The short little man with dyed black hair, a bow tie and suspenders carried his banjo in one hand. “Are there any rooms?” he enquired. “Sure. We have one left in the basement.” Replied the caretaker. Down the stairs they marched, inspected the precariously perched single bed and responded “That will be fine.” Half a dozen people looked on and smirked, imagining would happen that night.

            Downtown Asheville was alight with fireworks in two different places,  and Bluegrass music in the park. The bluegrass and clogging didn’t compare to what I saw in West Virginia, but it was fun. Many towns in the US have cut down on their fireworks display due to the economy, but in Asheville, we laid on the grass with throngs of people listening to country renditions of patriotic songs, and for the first time in a long time, I felt emotion and pride that we really are a great country. I thought of the many varied places I had seen on my trip and was to see in the ensuing weeks. I thought of how we finally had the common sense to elect a president we could be proud of, and how many people, cultures, and subcultures share this land. I realized it was the first time I had spent Independence Day I’d spent in the US since 2002.

            I left Asheville at the crack of dawn, hoping to catch the sunrise over the Smoky Mountains. Instead it poured rain. Then there was so much fog I couldn’t see the road ahead of me. I stopped for a breakfast of fried eggs and fresh caught trout, bought a couple of Dolly Parton CDs for the road and headed through the Great Smokies National Park. The main attraction there is hiking, but it was soggy and wet, so I only got out at a couple of overlooks and historical sites, cowering under my umbrella as the rain blew in from underneath.

            The thirty mile drive through the park ended in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. It was one of the tackiest tourist towns I’ve seen. The rain let up so I followed a sign to “Dollywood”, a country music inspired theme park. How serendipitous as I had just been listening to Dolly’s music. Then I saw a sign pointing to Knoxville, 41 miles. I remembered an old friend, a dancer named Alexia who taught at my studio in Florida twelve years ago. She had moved to Knoxville, so I gave her a call.

            We had a great visit, then another burst of rain poured down so I wound up staying at her place- a beautiful home with a dance studio inside.

            -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

My friend and mentor, Kaaren Mils has a nephew living in Prosperity, South Carolina. We had agreed to meet there on July 6^th.

            Out in the boonies. That’s Prosperity. Kaaren’s nephew had been stationed in Guam for years, so his spacious home was decorated with Japanese art. The restaurant choices in town were slim, so we ended up at one of those “Chinese Buffets” that you would never find in China. Two women sitting in the booth behind us were as wide as they were tall and each one took up two seats. As I traveled in South Carolina, I observed  more obesity than anywhere else in the country. This was not just a little extra weight, rather such excess weight as to be debilitating, cause trouble walking, and surely finding clothes had to be challenging. It was not just an isolated case, but was quite prevalent, even among young people.       

            I had a few days scheduled to show my film, speak and teach in Greenville, South Carolina. First, a small group of women at the Chamber of Commerce luncheon appreciated learning about the Muslim world. The same night I showed my film at a wine shop, and the next night at a restaurant. My hostess, Layla moved mountains trying to get my book and film into the mainstream.

______________________________________________________________________

            On to Charleston. My friend Luka lives there and I stopped by for a visit. It is a historical city full of gracious mansions and stone streets. Americas oldest bar, which is now a liquor store is on one corner. The law mandates that that building cannot be any other kind of business than a liquor store. Back in the 1700’s, when Charleston was a haven for pirates, there was a law that no one could sit and drink. They had to fill their glass and take it outside to drink on the street. Upstairs was a brothel.

            Ghost tours are a big business as are horse and buggy rides. The old market has been taken over by Chinese made tourist chatchkas. The same as you see on any other tourist town; cow print plastic purses, etc.

What interested me were the Gullah people who sat along the edges of the market and by the side of the road selling baskets they made from sea grass. They have their own dialect, derived from simplified English and a variety of African languages. The word Gullah is derived from “Gola”, or Angola. During the slave days, people were brought from different areas of Africa. In order to communicate, the Gullah dialect was born. Along the Sea Islands of South Carolina and Georgia, isolated groups of Gullah and Geechee (Derived from a tribal name from Sierra Leon) have resided for generations. Now, resort and tourism development has encroached into their land, and many people have moved away from the islands. Still, I was fascinated and vowed to learn more.

Stay tuned- The next edition chronicles my journey to Sapelo Island, Georgia, home to one of the last remaining Saltwater Geechee communities.

Back Roads America, Getting to know my own country and sharing the “40 Days and 1001 Nights” project in all four corners of the USA.

“40 Days and 1001 Nights” is a book, in which I traveled to five Muslim countries and lived in each one for 40 days. Why should you want to read it? First, it is entertaining. More importantly, it gives a glimpse into life in a cross section of the Muslim world that you won’t find on the news. Everyone knows American culture. Let’s reciprocate!

I am traveling by car, showing “40 Days and 1001 Nights”, the accompanying film in places big and small, doing book signings, and teaching dance workshops and performing along the way.

Thanks to the belly dancers in each town, they are helping get “40 Days and 1001 Nights into their communities- libraries, bookstores, etc.

Scroll to the bottom (or read the blog till the bottom) to see the remaining schedule, in Greenville, South Carolina, St. Augustine and Gainesville, Florida, Jackson, Mississippi, Tulsa, Oklahoma, Santa Fe, New Mexico, Berkely, Venice Beach, and Topanga Canyon, California.

In the Beginning…

One month and a week into my journey of discovery around the USA, I am writing from Blowing Rock, along the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina. It is said that a Native American woman of one tribe and a man of another were lovers. A huge storm came and blew the man off a cliff. The woman called upon the powers of nature to blow her lover back to her. Soon he was blown back into her arms…That’s the story of Blowing Rock.

            My road trip began on May 23, with a friend named Suleiman from Tanzania. The only part of the US he knew prior to joining me on “Back Roads America” was Detroit. I told him that was not very representative and that he’d better come to Seattle and do the first part of the road trip with me.

            I didn’t have any workshops, film showings, or book signings lined up till New York City, so it meant a long, long, long drive across the USA. I should say a long, gorgeous drive across half the USA and a long drive from there on. Rest stops along the highways in Washington and Idaho have people giving out coffee and cookies to weary drivers. I found that touching and extremely hospitable.

            Coeur D’Alene, Idaho is full of beautiful lakes. We reserved online in a hostaling website. It turned out to be a room in someone’s house that wasn’t ready yet. We slept on mattresses on the floor and got a big discount.

            Driving on to Yellowstone National Park, we got hungry part way and pulled into the nearest metropolis; Butte, Montana. It was a Sunday and everything was closed… Some permanently shuttered in what appeared to be a case of urban blight. It looked really downtrodden, but I surmised that maybe a shopping mall outside of town took all the business away….But we didn’t find that either. We finally found a local drive in; the kind they had in the 50’s where you walked up to a window and ordered any kind of shakes, from blackberry to peanut butter, and the menu took several hand painted sheets of plywood to accommodate all the offerings. Judging from the number of pickup trucks that filled the parking lot, this was the happening spot in town.

            West Yellowstone is a tourist town just outside the national park. Our hotel was on the National Register of Historic Places and looked like something out of the old west with log walls and a four legged bath tub. All that was open for food was Dairy Queen and I had an allergic reaction to something in the hamburger we shared.

            When I was a kid, I remembered counting the bears in Yellowstone National Park. On one vacation, my brother and I counted thirty along the roadsides. On another trip, we stayed in cabins and I told my family “A bear is going to come to the window tonight.” I was eight years old, and everyone pooh poohed my prediction. As everyone drifted off to sleep, I laid awake waiting for the bear. Lo and behold, along came a bear and knocked over the garbage can outside my window, then foraged through leftover food. My family woke and asked “What’s the commotion?” I smirked “A bear”.

            Yellowstone is the world’s first national Park. The concept of national parks was born because of Yellowstone. President Theodore Roosevelt saw a pressing need to preserve this unique spot, which is situated atop a giant live volcano that, if it ever decided to blow, it would paralyze the western half of the USA. Still, if it hadn’t been for Roosevelt, there might be condos with views of the geysers and no wildlife. Now most countries in the world have national parks. Imagine Africa without the Serengetti or other wild life parks. There would be no wild game, and definitely no safaris….And if it weren’t for Roosevelt, there would be no teddy bears. He loved bears and his nick name was Teddy, hence the advent of “Teddy Bears”.

            During two days in the park, we saw a giant, multicolored canyon, hundreds of boiling hot pools and dozens of geysers, a giant lake, several elk, and a grizzly bear that was so far away that we had to look through someone’s telescope to see him. But there were none of the black bears that I had always associated with the park. I heard that they were getting so dependant on eating garbage from the tourists and scraps of food handed from passing cars in the summer that they forgot how to find their own food and were in danger of starving after tourists left, so rangers relocated the black bears high into the mountains.

What was amazing were the buffalo. They were everywhere! At one point, we were driving back to our cabin at night and there was a herd of about fifty buffalo walking down the road. Some cars passed us and wove between the beasts. We followed suit. They weigh about 2000 pounds each, so it was scary to drive among them, looking eye to eye as we passed.

            Exiting Yellowstone, we drove east through Wyoming. Just outside the park were giant red rock formations and fenced in ranches full of deer on both sides of the road. Suleiman said “These must be deer farms.” We asked in a local gas station, but it turns out that the deer simply jump the farmer’s fences and eat their crops.

            Custer National Monument was next on the agenda. Washington, Lincoln, Roosevelt, and Jefferson’s faces were carved into an entire mountainside. It is truly mind boggling how someone could conceive of this, then design the proportions and coordinate a crew to spend years chipping away until the faces became carved for eternity.

            My father is from Wisconsin, so his sisters and the family of his late brother all live there. I had seen very little of them since my brother and I visited thirty seven years ago. In 2006, when I was teaching a belly dance workshop in Milwaukee, my relatives turned out en masse to see the show and welcome me back into their big family. I returned last April, then again on this trip. This time, it was a two day stint, timed purposely to help my cousins with a barn cleaning party. One of my cousins, Pam and her husband renovated an old farm house many years ago. Along with it were picturesque old barns that they never used. These were full of other people’s junk dating back maybe a hundred years. Racoons and other wild creatures had taken over and left their poops here and there.  

            The prospect of doing something about these barns had been overwhelming. Pam’s husband, Brian has been undergoing intensive cancer treatments, which have now been going well. His daughter organized everyone in Pam’s immediate family (of seven siblings, plus kids, and parents) to do a barn cleaning party with a bonfire in the cornfield. Hauling debris, wearing surgical masks and heavy gloves suddenly became fun when we all did it together. And we were treated to a feast of bratwurst(Local Wisconsin sausage that was originally German), and fixings afterward. Suleiman commented on how people abroad often think Americans don’t value family, but that he realized differently.

            Detroit was Suleiman’s last stop. He had meetings with his employers then was off to Miami to visit relatives. Detroit is suffering. It has been suffering for decades, but with trouble in the auto industry, the economy has plummeted. His supervisor, Andre said “Poverty is about eighty percent here. So many people have left…just abandoned their houses, that you can buy a home for a few thousand dollars.”

The city is big, but so empty that one idea that is being discussed is to relocate the people so they will live closer together, without so much abandoned, crime and drug ridden space between neighbors.      

            I stayed in Dearborne, the Arabic area. It has the largest concentration of Middle Eastern people outside the Middle East. Many women wear the hijab and some signs are in Arabic. There was some fabulous Lebanese and Iraqi food.

            On to New York. I  spent the night at a beautiful (and inexpensive) bed and breakfast in Sandusky, Ohio. In case you’ve never heard of the place, it is a small town, situated on the shore of Lake Erie. Again, lots of urban blight downtown, but it is also the “roller coaster capital of the world”. Outside the town in a giant theme park called “Cedar Point” that has giant wooden roller coasters.

I dislike roller coasters, opting instead to go to the only fancy restaurant in town. I met a wonderful couple and we talked till late. More amazing- All the way across the US, Suleiman and I never met anyone who knew where Zanzibar was. (That’s the part of Tanzania he is from). One of the first things out of the mouth of the woman I met was “I want to go to Zanzibar. Do you know where it is?” Of course, we became friends after that.

I drove to Pittsburgh and left my car with Bernie, the dancer who would be organizing my workshops, book signing and show a couple of weeks later. Then I took a train to New York. I didn’t want to deal with parking and traffic in the Big Apple.

New York City

I always feel at home in New York and have lots of friends there. This time I stayed with Morocco, the icon of Middle Eastern dance in New York. My room was nice and roomy, and situated in a loft that involved climbing up a high ladder…All part of the adventure. I just tried not to look down.

            Bellyqueen, the contemporary belly dance troupe that travels from New York to many corners of the world sponsored my workshops; Teachers Training and Beledi. I saw Dalia Carella’s company perform an array of contemporary world dance, then the following night we performed in JeBon, a noodle house in the East Village where Kaeshi and her husband Brad of the band “Djinn” have been holding weekly performances for a couple of years. Me, Dalia, Kaeshi, and participants from my workshop and Dalia’s performed at the party while everyone slurped noodles.  

            I got to spend some time with my niece who is leaving in New York, but leaving in a couple of months for California. We saw the Broadway play “West Side Story”. The audience was full of teenagers. I was told that the Broadway theaters have been suffering due to the economy, but the fact that it is fashionable for teens to attend shows has helped save the industry.

            I met up with an old friend, “A civilian” as Morocco calls non belly dancers. He gave me a grand tour of Central Park, with tidbits of local lore that only a local would know; the man who began jogging around the reservoir every day for 65 years, and continues to do so, very slowly with his walker. Then there is the nest of red hawks on one of the richest apartment buildings in town. When the condo association decided to remove the nest due to hawk droppings, there was uproar in the community. People gathered in the park to watch and photograph the hawks daily. It was all over the news, and Mary Tyler Moore, who lived in the building took the side of the people- and the hawks. Residents spent enormous sums on PR and court costs. Finally, the people and the hawks won, their nest had to be rebuilt in the same place and the rich folks would have to deal with the bird droppings. In another case, a very old woman lived in an old apartment building that was destined to be torn down. A glass high rise was planned. Everyone was paid a grand sum for their rent controlled leases and moved out. She was in her nineties and had lived there for so long that no amount of money would coax her to move. They had to build the high rise around her section of the building. She died a few months after the building was finished, but that sliver of old apartment house still stands, with the gleaming structure attached and looming overhead.   

            My naturopath had just informed me that I needed to go on an “Allergy elimination diet”. That has shaped my eating habits for the past few weeks. This meant no caffeine, alcohol, gluten, dairy, soy, sugar, corn, or meat. At first it was torture, but after awhile I started feeling great and didn’t want to re introduce those foods. But the premise is that after two weeks, you have to eat a lot of one of the foods, I.E. corn in one day and see if you get a reaction or any ill effects. Now I am in the re introduction phase. So far I have learned that beef and cheese are no longer my friends. Bye bye cheeseburgers. And white sugar gave me a big bellyache.

            Back to New York, Morocco generously offered her studio for me to show my film, “40 Days and 1001 Nights”. I usually show three of the five parts, but she wanted to see them all. There was lots of discussion by knowledgeable folks, sharing insights on topics such as male dances, why cultures have so much in common from Asia to Africa, etc. It was the liveliest and most enthusiastic discussion I have ever had with the film.

New England

Alia, a dance teacher in Vermont who had been at the New York events invited me to show my film in St.Johnsbury, Vt. I stayed at Alia’s house and cooked healthy, non anything allergenic food. The film was at an arts center. Not a lot of people showed up, but those who came were amazed. They didn’t have many questions or comments because the images in the film were a complete surprise. This is a very rural, isolated area and people knew little of what to expect. After watching stories on suicide bombings or other horrors often associated with parts of the Muslim world on TV, they hardly expected to see 600 varieties of grapes being grown in the Xinjiang Autonomous Region of China, men doing smooth, sensual dances in Egypt’s Siwa Oasis, or a 104 year old band playing sultry tunes amid crumbling buildings in Zanzibar.

            We went on to New Hampshire, where Alia and Amity Ollis, a talented 24 year old dancer organized events at the Enfield Shaker Museum. Amity lives in a cabin on a lake in the woods where I stayed the first night. I couldn’t resist the lure of the Shakers. We were dancing in the room where, a hundred some years back they shook in worship of God. The museum was said to be haunted and there were rooms for rent upstairs. I decided to take a room, but hoped it didn’t come with a vaporous roommate.

            The Shakers were a sect that was started by a woman in the late 1800’s. They didn’t believe in procreation, so you couldn’t be born a Shaker. You had to join because you were inspired to. They had special music and dances that would cause them to shake. and were famous for simple but well crafted furniture. My room was full of “Shaker furniture”. There were pegs on the walls to hang the chairs while they shook because in their trance like states they could easily knock into things. Now there are three Shakers left and they live in Maine.

Pittsburgh and West Virginia, and Raleigh, North Carolina

            Onward to Pittsburgh. I thought it would be some old rusting hulk of abandoned steel mills, but no. Pittsburgh is a surprisingly nice place. Urban renewal has found uses for unused mills, such as artist studios, and space for other businesses and technology to move into. People are quite educated and cultured. I did a talk and book signing at Joseph Beth Booksellers, located in a bohemian, Slovak part of town. Again, not so many people, but those who came were pleasantly surprised and wanted to read the book to find out more. I taught a dance workshop, followed by a show in an old church. “Ishtar” is Pittsburgh’s local Middle Eastern/Surf Rock band and it was so much fun to dance to their music.

            My next destination, Raleigh, North Carolina was many twisting roads away. As I sat in Bernie’s home, flanked by two large dogs vying for attention, we pulled out AAA maps and discussed possible routes. She found a “Hillbilly Hoedown” advertised in Charleston, West Virginia. I definitely wanted to go to that, so I left promptly the day after my workshops. Throughout the entire state of West Virginia, I had no cel phone or e mail connections. Too many mountains. While I headed into one of the state parks, there was a tiny fawn in the middle of the road. By now, on the Back Roads trip, I have seen much road kill, from dear to raccoons, possums, and other squished, bloody, unidentifiable furry things. I was so glad to be driving slow and not have anyone behind me. I stopped and waited for the fawn to move along.

            The “Hillbilly Hoedown” was set up in the baseball field. The plastic chairs were flimsy and eating habits lean toward large servings of fried foods in this region. Consequently there were lots of broken and bent chairs, and people making jokes about the chairs they broke.  

I was amazed when the “Hillbilly Gypsies” took the stage. Banjoes, fiddles, and mandolins played a mile a minute. Their virtuosity was amazing. A group of young women in matching skirts did clogging, which is a type of mountain tap dancing. They wear special shoes with a double set of taps that opens and closes as they dance. The movements are similar to and definitely derived from Irish Step dancing (I.E. ”Riverdance”), with a loose and earthy mountain flair. The next band got everyone going crazy. The     Brothers were a bluegrass rock band that sang a lot about going to the city, missing the mountains of West Virginia, and growing up poor. The singer, Johnathan    had incredible charisma and star quality that I would be surprised if he didn’t become a household name one day- at least in country music circles. His eleven year old son took the microphone to play the mandolin and belt out country tunes. He was also great.

        My first day in Raleigh, on my way to a speaking engagement at St. Augustine University, I was riding with my local sponsor, Anita when “Boom!”, we had a potentially fatal accident…Two cars going full speed swerved away from one another, but crashed anyway. The cars were mangled, but amazingly, no one was hurt.

            The level of dancing is high in Raleigh. It was so much fun to be able to really push myself and the students in class. Many teachers and professional dancers attended my workshops, so it was really fun to create new moves and do difficult things. The dancers get together to offer constructive criticism of one another’s work and everyone is working really hard to improve their already high quality dancing.

            Once again, my film was a hit. It was shown in a public library. In the beginning, the library employees didn’t take it seriously, but after seeing the film the ones who stayed were totally impressed and said they loved it and learned a lot.

            I taught lots of private lessons, mostly to one person, who was already an exquisite dancer to begin with. The city is such a confusion of roads that have three names each that I was permanently lost until Anita showed me the “Best Buy” and I bought a GPS.

            I have next weekend off, as it is 4^th of July, so I’m headed to Asheville, N. C.

What will the next adventure hold?

I’ll keep you posted.

Here is the schedule:

Greenville, S.C.

July 9-11

Thursday July 9, partial film showing at Women’s Luncheon at the Chamber of Commerce in Mauldin, S.C. Also, Thurs., 7-10 there will be a reception at Vino 100 in Simpsonville, S.C.
Friday, July 8, a private film showing will be held in Layla’s home.

Workshops in Greenville: Sat: Technique and veil choreography, Sun. Dancing to the instruments and Drum solo

Contact Layla Layali at layali.layla@yahoo.com

 www.greenvillebellydance.com

St. Augustine: July 17-18

Friday, July 17, 8pm, Film showing of 40 Days and 1001 Nights 

Sat., July 18,  11am to 2pm, Tamalyn Dallal Technique (belly dance) workshop 6:30pm , After party with open dancing.

For details on where the above events are located and prices, I don't have the details, but you can contact Najmah or Saida. Here are the e mails; najmahdance@gmail.com  or saida@oasisdancecamp.com

 Gainesville, Fl. July 19-20,

Sunday, July 19, 2pm , I will do a talk, show film clips and perform, as well as a bit of audience participation where everyone will try some moves. Headquarters Library: downtown Gainesville .  401 E. Univ. Ave.

Monday 7/20, 6pm Alachua Branch Library. 14913 NW 140^th St.  in Alachua..

Contact Travis Fristoe for more details. tfristoe@aclib.us.

Jackson, Miss.

July 24-26

Friday ~ 9pm show of Film

Saturday ~ 4 hour afternoon workshop. 9pm hafla

Sunday-- Morning Advanced Professional

Contact: Kristina Kelly <missihippy@gmail.com>

www.myspace.com/missihippy

www.butterflyyoga.net

Tulsa, Oklahoma, July 31- Aug. 2
Booksigning, Fri., July 31
7pm, Borders Bookstore

Dance workshop:
Saturday August 1

10am to 4pm “Feel the Beat Dance Studio

Tamalyn will embark on an amazing journey...reconnecting with the USA on a three month long road trip!

Back Roads USA intends to get America reading "40 Days and 1001 Nights"...Tamalyn's experiences living in five Muslim countries for 40 days each. It never ceases to surprise and amaze us when we go beyond the stereotypes to find real people- good, bad and full of idiosyncracities. It can be funny, tragic, or heartwarming but it is time that we get to know the other folks who share our planet.

Tamalyn spent two years writing about the Muslim world. See her blog http://40daysand1001nights.blogspot.com.

Now she will explore the vast and varied USA, share her experiences in the Muslim world with the people of America, and write about it in this blog.
Destinations include: New York City, St. Augustine, Fl. Jackson, Miss., Santa Fe, New Mexico and more. She will dance in a Shakers Museum in New Hampshire, in a church in Pittsburg, speak at universities, libraries, bookstores, and community centers, teach dance workshops off the beaten path and more. 

May 23 to June 4, along with one of the characters from her book “40 Days and 1001 Nights” (GRead the book, then guess who??), Tamalyn will embark on a road trip, share the wonders of the USA, on the road from Seattle to New York City….watching geysers spurt and bearslumbering about in Yellowstone National Park, then seeing groundhogs and Mt. Rushmore, South Dakota, crossing a Great Lake by boat and more… Stay tuned!

Then the dancing, teaching and booksignings, film showings, and speaking engagements start. Here is a rough draft of the tour so far:

New York City

June 5-7

Includes Teachers Training workshop

Kaeshi kaeshi@bellyqueen.com, www.bellyqueen.com.

6/5 Beledi workshop, 6-9pm

6/6 Teachers Training

PM show with Kaeshi and Dalia Carella

6/7 Teachers Training

6:30pm film showing at Morocco’s studio

Vermont and New Hampshire

June 9-14

Alia <alia@earth-goddess.com>, Amity Ollis <amityraqs@hotmail.com>

http://www.raq-on.net/tamalyn.htm

Sat., June 13, all events held at the Shaker Museum of Enfield, New Hampshire

Pittsburg, Pa.

June 19-21

Bernie Vargo <lilgreendragyn@gmail.com>

Fri., June 19, Bookstore booksigning at Joseph Beth Booksellers, 7pm

Sat., June 20, talk at library 10-12

Workshop 3:30- 5:30

Show at an old church 8pm

Raleigh, N.C.

June 24-29

Anita Shek <asyiadancing@gmail.com>

www.asyia.com/tamalyn.htm

Wed. June 24 Lecture “Belly dance in Middle Eastern Society 7pm, St. Augustine College

Thursday, June 25 Beginners class 7:30pm, Special topics class 8:30-9:30pm

Fri., June 26 Film showing 7pm, Cameron Village Library

Sat., June 27 Oriental Dance workshop 1:30-4:30pm

Show 8pm

Sun., June 28 Beledi workshop 11-1

Advanced/ pro level master class 1:30 – 3:30pm

Mon., June 29 Master class 7-9pm

July 2-6 TBA

Greenville, S.C.

July 8-12

Layla <layla@greenvillebellydance.com>

 www.greenvillebellydance.com

St. Augustine and Gainesville, Fl.

July 15-19

Najmah <najmahdance@gmail.com>

Jackson, Miss.

July 22-26

Kristina Kelly <missihippy@gmail.com>

www.myspace.com/missihippy

www.butterflyyoga.net

July 30-Aug.1 TBA

Santa Fe, N.M

August 7-10

Myra Krien Founder and Director Pomegranate Studios & Pomegranate SEEDs & Mosaic Dance Company 505.986.6164 525 Cerrillos Santa Fe 87501 (physical address) 369 Montezuma Ave. #287 Santa Fe 87501 (mailing address) www.mosaicdance.net to join our mailing list: pomegranatesfnm@yahoo.com

August 14- 16 TBA (Colorado?)

Berkeley, Ca.

August 22-23

 <suhaila@therealsuhaila.com>

www.therealsuhaila.com

Venice Beach, Ca.

Aug. 28-30

jacqui Lalita <goddessrevival@gmail.com>

www.danceofthedivine.org

The road trip will end as several belly dancers get together and make a Bellydance Camp at the great creative vortex called:

Burning Man, Nevada Desert

Aug. 31- Sept. 6

Coming soon: Back Roads touring with friends from Tanzania, Lebanon and more. Stay tuned to this blog to hear their impressions of America.

Starting May 24: Idaho, Wyoming, Yellowstone National Park, South Dakota, Detroit, Amish country, Penn., NYC, New Hampshire and Vermont, Virginia, the Carolinas, Northern Florida, maybe Mississippi, and Santa Fe, New Mexico., and ending September with Burning Man in the Nevada desert.

There is still room in the itinerary for more stops, so feel free to contact me at tamalyndallal@yahoo.com.

Tamalyn Dallal's
Back Roads USA Blog http://www.backroadsusa.livejournal.com

Florida, Feb. 27- March 15, 2009

Hey everyone, I just finished my second trial run of the Back Roads America Book, film, and dance tour…Starting with Cassadega, Florida. This is a tiny town in Central Florida. The nearest metropolis is Deland. Cassadega was established around the turn of the century as a “Spiritualist camp”, meaning that you have to be a registered psychic to live there.

My friend and mentor, the opera singer Kaaren Mils and I drove six hours from Miami Beach in my silver rental car, stayed in the best room at the Cassadega hotel, which was priced for five stars, but actually had a couple of dead roaches on the floor, no rod in the closet, and no bedding on the fold out couch I slept on.

Oh well. We had a great dinner in Deland where many restaurants have closed due to tough economic times. Other establishments are taking over the spaces. This one didn’t even have a sign yet. It was “Bikers Week”, meaning that the whole town of Deland was full of bikers.

The next morning we went to the Spiritualist church service. It has no denomination and is for anyone of any religion. They started with student healers doing hands on healings for anyone who waited in line. We then sang hymns that had lyrics that made sense. Then a man from India came and put some of us to sleep with his talk about the Guru Maharishi’s career, which he has followed for much of his life. If we wanted to hear about Guruji, we would be following him, not attending spiritualist church service. Oh well.

Then there was a lunch where they served free soup and sandwiches in the social hall and people got up to give spontaneous psychic readings. They mostly look at the spirits that surround you. I felt that this was pretty one dimensional as spirituality consists of much more than receiving messages from those who had crossed over. As Kaaren put it, the Cassadega experience gave her a “musty feeling”. It was ok.

We made an attempt at organizing a book signing. A few people came along to share their travel experiences. Kaaren shared lots of stories of her show biz days and our crazy times in the 1980’s, like when I took her for a spin in my first car- a 1963 Ford Falcon that I bought for $299 on a street corner in Miami Beach- and how I didn’t have a license, but was learning how to drive as I went along, and the car was so rusty that she fell through the floor. People were fascinated and she convinced them to buy the CD’s “Made in Zanzibar” and “40 Days and 1001 Nights, Belly Dance Music for Tamalyn Dallal.”

No one was interested in reading my book about life in the Muslim world. People don’t come to Cassadega for that. Anyway, there was a crystal workshop going on across town and most people were there. What I learned was to be more assertive and that I should have gotten up to speak at the church service and luncheon about my project, then it might have peaked some interest. We headed to a beautiful town called Mt. Dora, full of mansions surrounding a lake, art galleries and boutiques, ate at a fancy restaurant and got back to Miami Beach in the wee hours of the morning.

Hanan is a former student of mine, and belly dance instructor par excellence who now directs the Mid Eastern Dance Exchange (a non profit arts organization that I founded in 1990). She organized a whirlwind week of activities for me to share my experiences in the Muslim world ala “40 Days and 1001 Nights”- beginning with a talk with teenagers at “Miami Bridge”, a shelter for teens that are between foster care, homelessness, running away, and having been removed from their homes. These kids have suffered more than most of us can imagine and have little guidance.

At first, they were so hyped up watching a video of their show where Hanan taught them to dance with veils, that they had no idea I was there. They were climbing on the table and pushing each other around. Hanan said last time she was there a fight broke out.

Once the volunteer coordinator got them calmed down enough to watch the Zanzibar section of my film “40 Days and 1001 Nights”, everything changed. I made a rule- “No talking till that part of the film was over”. Funny how I am so used to taking my shoes off when entering a house or building in many countries that I hadn’t noticed that the musicians were playing barefoot. The kids noticed. And we had an interesting discussion about poverty, as they noticed how poor some places looked. I talked about the poverty in Africa. One young man couldn’t fathom that anyone was poorer than what he had seen in the US. A young woman commented that it must be like Haiti, and yes. Haiti is poorer than we are. The young man fell asleep. Sleep is often an escape mechanism. I will never know if I handled the discussion the right way nor will I know what this young man has been through.

Hanan and the Mid Eastern Dance Exchange kicked of what will hopefully be an annual event, celebrating International Women’s Day, entitled “Diaspora Women’s Festival” the following day. She arranged for me to speak at a roundtable discussion at the University of Miami about women’s roles in the Muslim world, as well as my travels in Latin America in the 1980’s. Everyone present was either female professors or Middle Eastern dancers. Both groups had equally intelligent questions.

That Thursday, I showed my film “40 Days and 1001 Nights” at the University of Miami, Cosford Cinema, also part of the Diaspora festival. It was the first time someone asked the question “Did the girls being filmed dancing in the Siwa Oasis ever see the film?” What is fascinating is that this is the first and only film showing women dancing in this remote oasis where women’s lives are so private. They covered their heads and any faces that weren’t part of our tour group were blurred beyond recognition due to societies restrictions. Getting back to the question; that part of the film was taken in a village outside the main town of Siwa, and there would be nothing to watch a DVD on…No computers or DVD players. Yes. The family of these girls was given a copy of the DVD, and the book, in which my photo dancing with another of the girls appears on the cover was given to several people. The girl and her family were also compensated fairly. Whether they understand the project or have seen the film I don’t know. I am sure that they wouldn’t mind, as they are not identifiable, but I have no idea how the men would feel.

Friday night was the most amazing book signing party at the Cuba Ocho gallery in Little Havana,also organized by Hanan as part of the Diaspora Women’s Festival.. Little Havana has come a long way since I lived in Miami. It is a hot spot, and this gallery is filled with antique paintings brought from pre revolutionary Cuba. The furnishings are originals from Frank Sinatra’s night club in Havana.

On one side is an outdoor courtyard, like in old Havana, with gauzy curtains and cobblestones. Musicians Joe Zeytoonian and Myriam Eli of Harmonic Motion and kanun player Elias played beautiful music. The lineup of dancers had so much texture; Hanan, Myriam, and myself. It was a great mix and each dancer had a distinctive artistic voice and a lot of depth in her performance. It was an evening of true art. Kudos to everyone involved.

The last section of the Diaspora Women’s Festival was four hours of workshops and a panel discussion. I taught “Beledi” and Marisol, an Afro Cuban dancer taught “Rumba.” It was full and well received. Happily, I also sold quite a lot of books, DVD’s and the new CD “Made in Zanzibar”.

Meanwhile, every spare moment was spent editing my new performance DVD “Citizen of the World”, with nine of my recent performances around the world. 100 % of the sale of this DVD will be seed money for next years project “Raqs Africa”, in which I hope to do my part to help Africa, not by focusing on what is wrong, rather by looking for the good things: Music and dance, documenting African dances with Arabic roots that may be disappearing, and providing a forum and space for local creativity, as well as planting seeds of belly dance in parts of Africa that have not been included in the giant family of belly dance enthusiasts solely due to economic isolation. 

In Ft. Lauderdale, I spoke at the Broward Belly Dance Meetup. It was a celebration of the Indian festival of Holi. Bollywood has finally taken hold in the US. Everyone wore saris, except for me. I showed up in one of my latest party dresses from Oman. Much of what is sold in the Gulf is made in India anyway. So was my dress. There were really nice Bollywood and Bangra performances by Misha and Xiomara, as well as several excellent belly dancers. The group was very receptive to the book, and to hearing about my travels.

I then spoke at the Miami Belly dance Meetup at John Martins Restaurant in Coral Gables. It was the first one they had held in a year, and the attendance was enthusiastic.

Luna Designs, a boutique and belly dance shop in Miami Beach held a CD release party on the street for “Made in Zanzibar”. Roshana, Alexandra, Najmah from Gainesville, and I danced to songs from the CD. Christine from Luna cooked Zanzibari Sambusas and catered Arabic food. Of course, I sold my items, and it was a taste of the old outdoor shows. I had been on two radio shows that day; WLRN and the FIU radio station to promote the music and the party. A lot of people approached me saying they came to the party because of the radio program “Folklife” on WLRN.

I drove across the state to the west coast of Florida for a few days to visit my long time friend Dottie. Sherry Cofey organized master classes in Naples and Ft. Meyers, as well as a book signing at a new age bookstore. Ft.Meyers has had it rough with the economy and foreclosures lately, and things were a bit slow, but Naples was still booming.
One of the highlites was a side trip to Estero, where we turned by the Koreshan State Historical Site (Read this mind blowing info on the center and their beliefs, circa late 1800's.
www.feastofhateandfear.com/articles/koresh.html, or start googling. 

We didn't go there because I hadn't explored the web to see what it was about. Instead, we paid a visit to Ellen Peterson, who runs the Hapahatchee Healing Center. Down a dirt road, we found a converted army barrack, from which her dog came out to greet us. We sat watching a field of bamboo fit for a family of pandas. I asked who planted it and Ellen said "Long ago this land belonged to the Koreshans. They planted some of the more unusual vegetation."
Dottie said "Let's visit the healing center!" She led me to a shaky suspension bridge, blowing back and forth across a peaceful stream. "I have afear of suspension bridges" I protested. There were two choices; Either walk a few miles out of the way along a busy road, or cross this bridge, so I set aside my fears and crossed. That was my healing for the day. One less phobia to worry about.  We visited the nice wooden structure where yoga, tai chi and other healing arts are practiced. They have workshops and the like. People should really know about this place. It is a hidden gem that one can only find on the back roads of America.  

My fifteen days in Florida culminated with a huge workshop at the Sofitel, organized by Samay through Miami Dade College. I taught for 6 hours and it was amazingly successful. That night, Denise Marino, the famous bellydance photographer organized a going away party for me at the Lebanese restaurant Bistro 82. Tony Tahan, a second generation Arabic musician played and Roshana and Francesca danced. Old friends came…a few people I still hadn’t seen yet, including Mostafa the Moroccan oud player, Ylsa, dance teacher extraordinaire, and many more. I was very sad to leave Miami and can say that although I was crazily busy, it is still my home in so many ways.   videos

See videos of performances at the Luna CD Release party and at the booksigning event organized by Hanan at http://www.youtube.com/seicheese

            
After a nice, but cold tour in Europe, I am ready for some Florida sunshine. Here is my schedule.
Hope to see you at one of these events.