The hang out (Cafes in Bergen part 3)

This place is really on top of my list over hotspots in Bergen. This is THE place, I practically feel like I've grown up in this place and on this food. They serve some of the best blings (huge slices of bread topped with your choice of bread spread) there is. The place also has a cozy atmosphere, with relaxed customers, who spend their time playing backgammon and chatting. One of the best things about this place is actually the customers. You find everything here: city originals, students, poets, wannabe-poets, breastfeeding mothers and my favorite; the old crazy priest who lost his job in the 60s after being (rightly) accused for exorcism. He is now spending his days writing letters to various literature magazines, complaining over the state of the Norwegian language today. The place was originally a charming little deli, and when the old couple who owned it had to close, a young Indian stepped in, saved it from oblivion and recreated the original atmosphere. It is a great place. A place that makes you feel like you belong in society... no matter who you are (and for some people: what you did...) Anyone who goes to Bergen should make this place his first stop. It is definitely an intensive introduction to my city.

Viva Las Vegis! (Cafes in Bergen part 2)

- Can I have a Spock burger, please?
You just have to love a place where you can combine following elements: Spock (and if you don't know who that is, you aint no friend of mine... as Elvis would have put it... which leads us over to the next one), tacky Elvis worship, burgers and on top of that HEALTHY burgers... not the average tasteless but oh-so-craved-for junk. I actually like this place. I guarantee you it wont be my hang-out, but its a nice and, as you can see, colorful getaway.

A lesson in solving relationship problems?

A trial in Fredrikstad, Norway had a rather unusual turn today. A woman was sued by her boyfriend for stabbing him twice while sleeping. During his witness statement, the man took everyone by surprise, when he turned to his girlfriend, the defendant, and proposed to her. The only one who didn't seem surprised were the defendant, who answered with a loud and clear 'yes!', whereupon the trial continued as normal. The woman was sentenced to 6 months in jail, and the judge congratulated the couple with their upcoming wedding.

Am I the only one who sees the clear errors here?

Ya Eskanderiyya...

Here's a very good eye witness account from Jar el-Qamar on what happened in Alexandria April 14th.

A response to the clash between civilizations

Amartya Sen (who won the 1998 Nobel Prize in Economics) has just published a book "Identity and Violence". I haven't had a chance to read it yet, but it looks very interesting. Here's a recently published article by Sen. Well worth the read.

Funny observation...

I tried out the blogspot spell check... and it seems that their dictionary does not have the word blog. Ironic isn't it?

Cheerful songs needed

I have a challenge for the few people who read this blog. Give me a list of the top 5 songs to cure morning grumpiness (and help a friend in need... or her family).

Quote of the day

“The world is a comedy to those who think and a tragedy to those who feel”

Horace Walpole

Abu Nuwwas reincarnated?

I stumbled over this 'poem' yesterday, performed by a young artist. When I heard it my associations went automatically to Abu Nuwwas and one of his poems about "Fucking the people" (or the establishment if you may).

I know of course that it's a risky endeavor to compare any young writer to Abu Nuwwas. It is wrong for two reasons:

1) No one compares to Abu Nuwwas when it comes to provocations, erotic fantasies and ingenuity.
2) How can I say that Abu Nuwwas wrote poems about fucking the people and the establishment? The last hundred years fascist islamists have tried to censor and burn the evidence of Abu Nuwwas being a provocateur and an early resistance poet (the last attempt on restoring Abu Nuwwas' legacy was made by the Egyptian government in 2001, after pressure from the earlier mentioned fascist islamists, when they burnt 6000 of his books... Well done! Mabrouk!)

Abu Nuwwas encourages you to fuck the religious establishment, no wonder the religious establishment retaliates now - 1200 years after.

(How did the story about the male and female spider go?)

Cafes in Bergen (part 1)

Bergen is full of cozy little cafes. They're everywhere. Take a normal street and you'll find at least five cafes per hundred meter. No kidding. I'll make a serial of pictures from my favorite places.

Today we went to 'Zupperia', its a cafe/soup kitchen that serves the best soup (tomato soup with pouched egg) in Bergen. It's under the umbrella of the arts and crafts museum and decorated with ancient china porcelain and modern glass art.

A Joke!

Kuteyba sent me a joke. I thought it was worth posting:

An old Arab lived close to New York City for more than 40 years. One day
he decided that he would love to plant potatoes and herbs in his garden, but he knew he was alone and too old and weak. His son was in college in Paris,
so the old man sent him an e-mail explaining the problem:
"Beloved son, I am very sad, because I can't plant potatoes in my garden. I am sure, if only you were here, that you would help me and dig up the garden for me. I love you, your father."
The following day, the old man received a response e-mail from his son:
"Beloved father, please don't touch the garden. That is where I have hidden 'the THING.' I love you, too, Ahmed."
At 4pm the FBI and the Rangers visited the house of the old man and took the
whole garden apart, searching every inch. But they couldn't find anything.
Disappointed, they left the house.
The next day, the old man received another e-mail from his son:
"Beloved father, I hope the garden is dug up by now and you can plant your potatoes, that is all I could do for you from here; Your loving son Ahmed.

Bergen Fashion

I'm actually about to write a post on the weather here... I think it's a natural development. I've been in Europe just long enough to start thinking about the weather - all the time! It's not a stereotype at all. Europeans think about the weather all the time. It's a mental decease.

Today I made an interesting purchase. I bought a rain hood. It's a sort of waterproof thing with a peak (so that the raindrops don't destroy your make-up or get into your eyes). The best thing about it is that it's see-through with polka dots!!! I thought it was sexy... kind of... but then when I showed it to my friends they started laughing and said I looked like an old woman. Apparently the only people wearing this headgear is old women (the kind of old women that yell at you when you do something wrong - like pester a cat). I will not be defeated however... I still think my new hat is cute, even a bit sexy, so my goal is to mix and match it with cool clothes, and hopefully it can become the new trend in Bergen. Yes to the revival of the rain hood!!!

Political greetings,
the old lady

Political Correct in Norway

"In a country where everyone is a social-democrat, the radical force will be a conservative".

Fjord 11:30 pm

I love waking up to this clear air. The lofty mountains and deep blue fjords... There's something about this country that inspires me to write lenghty national epics, but I guess I'll save it for some other day (preferably a rainy day). In the meantime read Snorre Sturlason:

1.
Gefjun dró frá Gylfa
glöð djúpröðul óðla,
svá at af rennirauknum
rauk, Danmarkar auka.
Báru öxn ok átta
ennitungl, þars gengu
fyrir vineyjar víðri
valrauf, fjögur höfuð.

Jill is home

Happy news... Jill was returned to safety after 3 months in captivity. The CS Monitor has the full story...

Salah Jahin

يا عنـدليب ما تخـافش من غنـوتك
قول شـكوتك واحكـى علـى بـلوتك
الغنـوه مـش ح تمـوتـك إنـمـا
كتـم الغنـا هو اللـى ح يمـوتـك

عـجبى !!

I remember a friend of mine getting in trouble for resiting this poem on air (some Ramadan talk-show). Ustaaz Jahin's son didn't appreciate his father being commemorated by one of the few political poems he wrote. 3agaby...

Amal Donqel

Gohary just sent me one of Amal Donqels' best works:

لا تصالحْ !

ولو منحوك الذهب
أترى حين أفقأ عينيك
ثم أثبت جوهرتين مكانهما..
هل ترى..؟
هي أشياء لا تشترى..:
ذكريات الطفولة بين أخيك وبينك ،
حسُّكما - فجأةً - بالرجولةِ ،
هذا الحياء الذي يكبت الشوق.. حين تعانقُهُ ،
الصمتُ - مبتسمين - لتأنيب أمكما.. وكأنكما
ما تزالان طفلين!
تلك الطمأنينة الأبدية بينكما
أنَّ سيفانِ سيفَكَ..
صوتانِ صوتَكَ
أنك إن متَّ
للبيت ربٌّ
وللطفل أبْ
هل يصير دمي - بين عينيك - ماءً ؟
أتنسى ردائي الملطَّخَ بالدماء..
تلبس - فوق دمائي - ثيابًا مطرَّزَةً بالقصب ؟
إنها الحربُ !
قد تثقل القلبَ ..
لكن خلفك عار العرب
لا تصالحْ ..
ولا تتوخَّ الهرب !

To see the rest, go to "Back to the fjord", then comments.

My cat

This is my cat. He is huge and sometimes a bit evil... you probably notice the meanness in his eyes... Since he is aware of the fact that I belong to him (cats do not belong to humans... its the other way around), he sometimes feels obliged to be kind. However, he always behave kindly with a slight expression of discomfort. I truly do appreciate the effort though!

Nizar Qabbani

نزار قباني

بغداد

مُـدّي بسـاطيَ وامـلأي أكوابي وانسي العِتابَ فقد نسَـيتُ عتابي
عيناكِ، يا بغـدادُ ، منـذ طفولَتي شَـمسانِ نائمَـتانِ في أهـدابي
لا تُنكري وجـهي ، فأنتَ حَبيبَتي وورودُ مائدَتي وكـأسُ شـرابي
بغدادُ.. جئتُـكِ كالسّـفينةِ مُتعَـباً أخـفي جِراحاتي وراءَ ثيـابي
ورميتُ رأسي فوقَ صدرِ أميرَتي وتلاقـتِ الشّـفَتانُ بعدَ غـياب ِ
أنا ذلكَ البَحّـارُ يُنفـِقُ عمـرَهُ في البحثِ عن حبٍّ وعن أحبابِ


بغدادُ .. طِرتُ على حريرِ عباءةٍ وعلى ضفائـرِ زينـبٍ وربابِ
وهبطتُ كالعصفورِ يقصِدُ عشَّـهُ والفجـرُ عرسُ مآذنٍ وقِبـابِ
حتّى رأيتُكِ قطعةً مِـن جَوهَـرٍ ترتاحُ بينَ النخـلِ والأعـنابِ
حيثُ التفتُّ أرى ملامحَ موطني وأشـمُّ في هذا التّـرابِ ترابي
لم أغتـربْ أبداً ... فكلُّ سَحابةٍ بيضاءُ ، فيها كبرياءُ سَـحابي
إن النّجـومَ السّـاكناتِ هضابَكمْ ذاتُ النجومِ السّاكناتِ هِضابي


بغدادُ.. عشتُ الحُسنَ في ألوانِهِ لكنَّ حُسـنَكِ لم يكنْ بحسـابي
ماذا سـأكتبُ عنكِ يا فيروزَتي فهـواكِ لا يكفيه ألـفُ كتابِ
يغتالُني شِـعري، فكلُّ قصـيدةٍ تمتصُّني ، تمتصُّ زيتَ شَبابي
الخنجرُ الذهبيُّ يشربُ مِن دَمي وينامُ في لَحمي وفي أعصـابي

بغدادُ.. يا هزجَ الخلاخلِ والحلى يا مخزنَ الأضـواءِ والأطيابِ
لا تظلمي وترَ الرّبابةِ في يـدي فالشّوقُ أكبرُ من يـدي ورَبابي
قبلَ اللقاءِ الحلـوِ كُنـتِ حبيبَتي وحبيبَتي تَبقيـنَ بعـدَ ذهـابي



بغداد في 8 آذار 1962



Baghdad

Lay out my carpet and fill my glass, forget the blame as i forgot mine
Baghdad, your eyes, since my childhood, are like two sleeping suns in my eyelashes (that I am devoted to)
Don't pretend not to know my face, for you are my love, the flowers of my table and the cup I drink of.
Baghdad... I came to you as a burdened ship, hiding my wounds behind my cloak.
I threw my head on my princesses' chest, and the two lips met after being apart.
I'm a sailor, wasting my life in the search of love and loved ones.

Baghdad... I flew on a silk cloth and on the braids of Zeinab and Rabab
I landed like a bird aiming for his nest. The sunrise is the spouse of minarets and domes.
I even saw you as a piece of a jewel, resting between the palms and grapevines, and I turned to see the outlines of my homeland and smell the earth.
I will never be estranged... for all the clouds are white and majestic.

Surely the motionless stars, your hills belongs to mine.

Baghdad... I nested in the beauty of your colors, but your beauty is not my doing.
What can I write to you, my turquoise, not even a thousand books is enough to describe my love for you.
You took away my poem, and all the stories absorb me, they suck out the oil of my youth.
The golden dagger drinks from my blood and sleeps in my flesh, and in my veins.

Baghdad...song of al-Khalakhil and al-Hilli, vault of brightness and pleasures.
Don't darken the strings of the rebec in my hand, for the longing for you is bigger than my hand and rebec.
Before our sweet meeting you were my love, and you will be my love after I'm gone.

PS: I would appreciate comments and additions to my translation. It is merely a draft.

Sunset 08:30

Nocturnal thoughts

ن


Noon

I had a dream last night, an image of my love and me. We were talking about the letter noon. Actually not so much talking as me holding a lecture telling him about my use of the letter noon in the thesis I'm writing. I have not really written this chapter yet - in real life - but every night I dream that I write it, and in the morning, I can remember every word of it and every twist and turn of my sentences. Last night I presented my thoughts to the one I love and whose opinion I care most about. I told him about the shape of this letter, and how much (even before I understood its importance) it had always fascinated me. The letter holds an important place in Sufism, because it's the letter of nour (light), the essence of the divines' manifestations in nature. You can see that the shape of the letter reminds of a heart and within it, there's a trace, a perfect point. It is the mark left by the holy in the humans’ heart. Further you can see it as a congregation with a single point separated from the worshipers, as a holy spirit floating over their heads or even as a leader delivering a message. The letter noon denominates not only divine/profane interaction, but also all kinds of human interaction - the little conversations we have that makes us think or see things differently, the moments of clear-sightedness and the moments of realization - that we are only so small, and life is precious. This letter will always remind me of this. How extremely fragile life is, and how we always should make the best of it in our interactions with each other. My mom told me a story as a child, I can’t have been more than 5, and it left a mark so strong that even today I remember it vividly. It was a true story about this girl who had a fight with her father, and then went to bed mad at him. The next day her father was dead. He had passed away the same night. Imagine all the guilt that went through the little girls head... How she every day for the rest of her life wished that she had said, "goodbye" and "I love you" to her dad before sleep. The story still fills me with awe, and I can never go to sleep mad at someone or with someone mad at me.

Some Muslim scholars believe that noon ن و ن when first introduced (in the second revelation to the prophet Muhammad) indicated the two worlds, nour (meaning light as I already mentioned) and naar (fire or hell). They are the opposition between lightness and darkness, good and evil. They breathe because of each other and continue to exist along side each other in order to survive. Life thrive on death as nothing would seem good had there not been evil. So my final thoughts tonight, as a human being balancing on the edge between two worlds - these two noon-planets revolving around the same axis - is a wish that we all fall asleep tonight leaving bad feelings behind and make peace with each other – because the difference between eternally filling your heart with light or fire can sometimes just be a matter of a proper goodbye.

Thea

What a smile! I can't get enough of this little thing.

Back to the fjord

I just left my life and started a new one. The change itself or this interlude in my life, the in-between-state of my being right now, makes me think and sometimes it makes me scream. I dont think this will end up as a blog about myself really. Maybe I'll use it to let out some occasional steam... or maybe I'll just use it to post my favorite pictures or poems. Hanshouf...