Today it is Wednesday 12th October, 8.29am. I'm writing for yesterday, couldnt connect to internet last night for some reason, despite staying again at the fancy Marriott.
Thanks to all you lovely people who sent me messages in response to my last post. This blog is becoming more and more important and helpful, as I try to make sense of all these new experiences, and I love the fact that my friends and family can travel with me via the blog. Here is a photo of me writing this very post.
And here is the view from our window, out across some old decrepid buildings (where people live - I saw a guy doing his exercises with weights on the roof this morning) and to the gulf beyond.
We stayed the last two nights at the Marriott - but I can report that the water and gas are now on in our apartment. So we can wash, and cook. Next issue is the buzzing, which, once fixed, will mean I can sleep. Michael has organised an engineer to come and have a look - even if we can halve the vibration, it would make a huge difference.
Yesterday Lenny and I went to Avenues Mall, the small indoor city, and went to IKEA, where we bought a bunch of the usual cushions, lamps, towels to colour and comfort up our house a bit. We are expecting our shipment of furniture, books, clothes and toys to arrive from Singapore this week, so that'll mess things up a bit as well.
The feeling I identified in myself yesterday, as we walked around the mall, was fear. I hadn't fully realised how nervous I feel here, with so many women in the full burqua, and being looked at by everyone. Even here at the mall, practically a shrine to Western consumerism, full of the usual stores you would see in Singapore, Paris or Sydney - Gap, Zara, Forever 21 and all the rest. I was discussing this fear with my mum this morning on skype - I suppose it is normal to feel a certain amount of nervousness anywhere new, but here, yesterday, I was almost drowning in it, and felt quite faint and extremely anxious. I wonder about a place where women are hidden; covered up; the more covered up they are the less they speak, until you have these silent spektres floating around - no eye contact, with a personal space of several feet around them at all times, unless they are travelling in a group. I hesitate writing this, because I know I am resorting to cliches about the Middle East that I struggle every day to avoid. I will write more about this as time goes on, but I am feeling this way today. Mum suggested I should get a burqua - one of the more stylish ones, I think, black chiffon and silk looks nice and floats well in the breeze - I might, actually, just to experience what it feels like - maybe I will feel safer and more secure. I actually don't really know what to think about it. I think I've been kind of trying to be cool about it, but actually I am not cool about it at all. Any ideas or thoughts would be welcome!
Anyway, let's move on to the second part of this jolly blog - the Dusty Cemetery. This morning I was looking out of the window in the breakfast room at the Marriott, on the 14th floor, and I was struck by a huge paddock of dirt, right next to the hotel, and surrounded by the city. I asked Michael about it - he said 'you know what it is, don't you?' - no, I didn't. It is an ancient cemetery. There are hundreds of mounds of dirt, and some haphazard tombstones, and it has just been left as it is, while the city has grown and continues to grow around it. In Singapore, where land is finite and expensive, many of the old cemeteries have been moved out of the city, and it is a big issue, because the Chinese practice ancestor worship and the cemeteries are very important. Bodies have to be exhumed, and often priests are involved to cleanse the areas of the wandering hungry ghosts. There is even a festival still taken very seriously by older Chinese people in Singapore, caleld Hungry Ghost, which is a period of time when the ghosts are said to come back and cause trouble, if they haven't been properly looked after. Food and other gifts are left out for them. Older Chinese people feel very uncomfortable living near cemeteries. Last night I had a massage from a chinese woman here, up in the health club, and I talked to her about it. She said the hotel will move you to the other side of the building if the cemetery bothers you! Ofcourse, there are not too many Chinese people living here - the cultures are just so completely different, I'm not too sure where a common meeting place might be found.
I'm going to find out more about this cemetery, but meanwhile, here are some photos - they kind of freak me out, but it may just be my current dark mood.
Reading through your post, I wish I had some wise words to pass on. Something that would soothe you and (egotistically) show my worldliness. But alas, I have none so I guess I am neither wise nor worldly - poo.
Have you met any burkha wearers? Is this possible? I wonder if you could get to know the people under all that black you might feel better and get a deeper understanding of where they are coming from... Maybe they are smiling under there and you just cannot see?
I agree dirt cemetary is spooky. Explore further.
Hang in there.
Trace
Posted by: Tracey Lees | Wednesday, 12 October 2011 at 01:43 PM