Hospitality Defined

Last Thursday, in true spontaneous form, I decided to go to Bahrain. Given that it is the holy month of Ramadan, I was unsure if it would be a good time to visit. I contacted a Bahraini friend I met earlier this year in Paris, and he assured me that despite the changed business schedules and required fasting practices (Muslims must fast and even non-Muslims cannot publicly consume any food or beverage, nor smoke), visiting would be just fine.

On Friday, I departed Frankfurt Airport via Gulf Airlines. The flight was staffed by attendants in silky blue-grey veils. Once the crescent moon appeared in the sky and the sun had set, the flight attendants

Twain: Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry & narrow-mindedness & many of our people need it solely on these accounts.

swiftly delivered late dinners to those passengers observing Ramadan fasting practices. The flight was approximately five and a half hours in length. About one hour before landing on the island nation of Bahrain, we began our flight course over the Persian Gulf.

Upon landing, I was greeted by a hot puff of air (approximately 95 degrees - weather that is not hot by Bahraini standards). Most of the individuals waiting alongside me to obtain an entry visa were Indian. (I later learned that individuals from India and the Philippines comprise much of Bahrain’s workforce.)

My friend, Hussain, greeted me at the airport. He attended university in the United States for nine years and is more westernized than some Americans! I was immediately struck by Bahrain’s modern appearance

- modernization that rapidly resulted from the oil boom. The country’s new roadways, interstates and sprawled developments almost made me feel as if I were back in the U.S. Just when I was starting to feel at

home, we would whiz by a billboard featuring Bahrain’s king and prime minister (donning traditional Gulf attire) or a sign (in Arabic and English) that indicated the direction to Saudi Arabia (approximately

15 km. from Bahrain) via the causeway. This made me realize that I certainly ‘wasn’t in Kansas anymore.’ :)

That night, in the capital city of Manama, Hussain and I met up with some of the other acquaintances I’d met in Paris. Since most of the restaurants are closed during Ramadan, we went to a lively Ramadan fest tent at an international hotel. The roof of the tent was adorned with vibrant fabrics and twinkly white lights, and the floor was decked out with small overlapping Persian carpets. Inside, guests (most of whom were wearing traditional Gulf robes) dined on Lebanese fare (hummous and grilled kebaps) and played a card game called Lawrence. A folk band played traditional music, featuring a lute-like instrument called the oud. I had freshly blended watermelon, mango, avocado and rock melon juice. Though I am not a smoker, I also had to try the especially-popular-during-Ramadan water pipe, known as the sheesha. (We tried grape and apple-flavored tobacco.) Men and women throughout the tent puffed on

the wands, creating a chorus of bubbling from the water pipe’s jewel- colored glass bases. I joked to my Bahraini friends that if one were to fly over Bahrain that night a giant sheesha cloud would have been looming overhead!!

The next day, Hussain took me to the country’s National Museum. It contained exhibits detailing the small island’s long history. In ancient times (prior to the reclamation of the waters which has been very

detrimental to the environment), the island featured more lush vegetation - so beautiful that families shipped their loved ones’ bodies there to be buried. Their belief was that this island was heavenly, thus guaranteeing an after-life. Many of these burial mounds remain today (though poor urban development has led to non-descript buildings cropping up mere feet from the ancient mounds). Hussain explained to me that generations as recent as his father’s had grown up in homes without indoor plumbing - amazing considering how modern the country is today. The National Museum also featured exhibits about the island’s pearl industry which made the island rich centuries before the oil boom. Bahrain is one of the only places in the world where natural, (irregularly-shaped, unlike their cultured cousins) pearls are still formed. After exploring the museum, we did a quick run-through at the Quran Museum. The Qurans on display featured elaborate gold calligraphed text and beautiful floral adornments. Before heading back to Hussain’s family’s home, we stopped at Al Fatih, Manama’s largest mosque. Unlike the mosques I’d visited in Turkey or Egypt (where I was only required to wear a head scarf) here I donned a requisite black abaya. While in the air-conditioned mosque, the attire was not extremely uncomfortable. When I reached the outdoor courtyard area, however, I was left wondering how women who choose to wear this attire can survive such hot (and even hotter) days! Off in the courtyard’s distant corner, like a mirage, a Culligan water cooler tempted me! How I wanted to quench my thirst!! After visiting the mosque, Hussain suggested that we have a covert lunch at his home. (Unlike his siblings and mother, he is not a practicing Muslim.)

After lunch, Hussain’s friend, Akmel, a dentist for many of the Americans and other expatriate residents, took me to Manama’s Ritz Carlton Hotel to see the beach. It featured white sand beaches with sand imported from Malaysia. While there, I was struck by the contrasting attire of people power-walking on the Gulf-side walkway. Two men wore western attire (shorts and a tee-shirt) while a female was decked out in a black abaya and tennis shoes. Akmel, a devout Muslim, commented to me that he believed that her choice in attire resulted from a false interpretation of the Quran. We proceeded to go to a sixteenth-century

Portuguese fortress. While approaching the fortress, Akmel pointed out a village and walls that were decked out with colorful murals. He explained that his brother (who is one of Bahrain’s most famous

contemporary artists) had facilitated the art project. The murals were solely painted by children. While photographing the fortress at sunset and listening to the exotic sounds of the resident birds, a canon

sounded. Shortly thereafter, the evening call to prayer was sung from the neighboring minarets. Akmel explained that the sounding of the canon signaled that the day’s requisite fasting was officially over.

Later that evening, Hussain, Akmel and I had dinner (yogurt drinks, saffron rice with chicken and berries) at a Persian restaurant beside the Gulf. Afterwards, Akmel and his sweet nine year-old daughter, Leal, took me to another famous fortress. An international school attendee, Leal, spoke flawless English; she also impressed me with her knowledge of astronomy. Leal wanted desperately to show me her cat, Smarty, but he was hiding when it came time to drop her off at home.

Hussain’s friends and I wrapped up the night by going to a coffeehouse with a dimly-lit, sheesha-smoky interior. Like the Ramadan tent the night before, sheeshas were the main attraction, as were the folk artists who were performing traditional Iraqi tunes. As continued testament to the Middle Eastern hospitality I was experiencing (Hussain and his friends would not let me pay for anything!), the coffeehouse’s owner picked up the tab for our exotic juices, Lebanese appetizers and mint-flavored sheesha sessions.

The next morning, Hussain’s friend, Yousif, a jewelry store owner took me to the Gold Souk (marketplace). Unlike Istanbul’s Old World Oriental covered bazaar, this marketplace was modern. While there, I marveled

at the delicate, petite pearls and 21 Carat gold jewelry. While in the jewelry marketplace, Yousif happened upon his high school English teacher named Mr. Mohammed. As a matter of habit, Mr. Mohammed invited me in for tea (a typical Middle Eastern custom) then remembered it was Ramadan. Nevertheless, we talked for a while about his days as a school teacher. Then the conversation turned to world politics (something I had

enjoyed discussing with my hosts all weekend). Mr. Mohammed merely said, “we all wish for peace - I hope we will someday have peace in this world.”

Yousif had hoped to take me to a shop that featured elaborate Bahraini golden crowns (worn for weddings), but unfortunately the shop closed during the lunch hour. I was disappointed that I missed my chance to be

an Arabian princess for an afternoon! After hitting the jewelry circuit, we ventured to a Persian rug shop. After making a purchase (and marveling at the fact that a 3X5 rug takes one year to make), Yousif told me that his twin cousins wished to go boating on the Gulf. Yousif insisted, however, that I eat something prior to the excursion. Initially, not wishing to be disrespectful to the locals who were fasting, I refused. Eventually, Yousif succeeded in convincing me to go to the market next door, where I purchased pancakes and cheese. When I returned, I still felt it would be disrespectful to eat in front of the Muslim shopkeepers and Yousif. Despite their insistence that I sit beside them while eating, I asked if it would be okay if I had a clandestine picnic behind stacked towers of beautiful Persian rugs. The sweet female Egyptian shop-keeper gave me two pillows to sit on, and I dined on perhaps the most expensive picnic grounds ever (among hundreds of thousands of dollars of Persian rugs!) Yousif joked that I was like an alley cat, prowling behind the rugs.

Our boat excursion on the Persian Gulf (the Gulf residents actually call it the Arabian Gulf) was relaxing, though I was disappointed that we had no dolphin sightings. Yousif’s twin cousins did, however, catch many fish before we headed back to the dock. Later that night, with just hours to go before my 0130 flight, Yousif took me to a shopping mall. He said that it would be an interesting cultural experience. While more elegant than most American shopping malls, I still could have been tricked that I was in the United States if it hadn’t been for men in white robes with black or red/white headscarves, or women in black abayas. Yousif joked that while the abaya was theoretically supposed to conceal the female form and her attractiveness, these women ironically not only wore, but “ate” makeup. He added that their perfume trail could be detected “a mile away.” As we passed by a bookstore, I mentioned that I wished to get a Bahraini cookbook. He remarked that he hoped there was one written by a woman named Afnan (Bahrain‘s Martha Stewart). Suddenly, Yousif remarked, somewhat shocked, “there is Afnan right now!” When he mentioned that she was his brother’s friend, I asked if she could sign my book. Extremely warm and friendly, Afnan gave me her business card, and told me to please contact her if I had any problems with the recipes. (I think my biggest challenge will be finding such ingredients as rose water or lime and lemon powder in Germany!)

To wrap up the evening and my stay in Bahrain, Yousif took me to an art gallery. He mentioned that Ali, one of Hussain’s friends whom I had met in Paris, was there visiting his friend, a famous artist named

Abbas. It turned out that Abbas was the brother of one of my other ‘guides’ who had shown me the fortress and mural-painted-village the day before. Ali showed me pictures of Abbas’ special Art for Peace project

- something that he has sponsored for over a decade. Less than a month ago, the project made it to Geneva for the United Nation’s 60th anniversary. The organization’s aim is to further peace and care of the

environment. As part of the project, children from around the world have convened in many countries throughout Europe and Asia. When Abbas heard that I was an educator, he mentioned that he might someday come to work with the children in my program in Germany. I was greatly touched by such a prospect. Suddenly, Abbas grabbed a canvas off the wall and handed it to me. Stunned as I was, he insisted that I take the oil painting (which was destined for a collector in Saudi Arabia). By this

time, I was so touched by the hospitality I had received the past three days, I was in tears.

With my flight in less than two hours, we said hurried goodbyes, packed my bags at my friend’s home and rushed to the airport. Back at home in Germany seven hours later, the trip seemed like a wonderful dream. I

now find myself touched by the warm hospitality I was extended in Bahrain, especially considering current political tensions, fears and misconceptions throughout much of the world. Mark Twain once said, “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it solely on these accounts.” Having exhausted all of my Bahraini tales, perhaps that is a fitting way to close this travelogue…