Tag Archives: americans

An unlikely night

Handsome has bought a car. ( He thinks this deserves it’s own post, and perhaps it does.) This required a drive in tandem to the car rental place to return the car he has been renting for 9 months. ( Yes it took him a long time to choose the car of his dreams.)  It being Bahrain and not the hot bed of efficiency I hoped for, the rental facility was closed. After some toe tapping and head scratching we called the owner and wanted to know how he could possibly be closed at 6.30 pm on a weekday. He replied that he would be over in 10 minutes.

While waiting for the trusty man to reopen the shop we hit a bar on the corner reputed to, and I quote, ” serve the best American food in the middle east”. The table cloths were a respendant red and white check, the scent was of a definite  fried variety and classic rock was being sung by a Filipino chap with a mike. It was the sort of American cliche only found outside of the USA.

Of course once we ordered our drinks from the “American Style bar” the man called and turned up at the shop ( disputing my theory that a Bahrain 10 mins would really be 45) and I ended up alone in the bar with a shady group of hard drinking, hard swearing and heavy smoking ( yes you can smoke inside bars here, ironically un-American) members of the US Navy. The tv screen showed a bloody boxing match and the walls were scribbled with purposeful graffiti courtesy of the handy markers left on the worn wood bar tops.

Suddenly I was in the middle of a surreal movie created by people who had been to the US once and were trying to re create the scene they drunkedly remembered. The American Navy was ill represented and the drinks over priced. The whiny voice of the singer failed to do justice to James Taylor and the thick smoke was settling over my hair, my clothes and my mind.

Handsome returned. We didn’t finish our drinks but left, instead, pushing the door into the cool and fragrant Arabian night.

 

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Africa, time passing, movies and leopards: or what is in the mind when you are sick.

I hate being sick, I mean really hate it. I can’t see the pleasure in lying in bed and waiting until it passes and just knowing that the world is going on out there while you are not. Because you are stuck, waiting and frozen in time. I hate it.

Especially when my mind is so full of the many things I have to prepare to do before we leave. Because that won’t change, time won’t hold on just because I am sick in bed.

My mind is very full, too full to sleep and full of wonder and worry; the very things that make up a move. And I feel the sharp strange taste of nostalgia and regret and sadness and excitement all at the same time.

Moving breaks my heart but it also breaks new ground and that is life, no? That is what the destination is all about, enjoying the journey, finding the surprise. I think life is like a safari, you never know exactly what you will see, but you know it is all out there if you keep your eyes wide open, peer and look and always, always scan the horizon.

I never saw a leopard. And I always said I wouldn’t leave until I did see one. I have been on countless safari drives, even once in the park with the MOST leopards in Kenya, but still I didn’t see one. I scanned the trees for that tell tale hanging tail, I hoped and wished, but still no leopard. I have a friend who has seen three. One up close, right by the car, looking at her with wild cat eyes.

But I did see a cheetah walking away, and lions, lots and lots of lions, in trees, walking, sleeping, grooming.

So I will have to come back for the leopard, I imagine. Maybe that is the trick of the gods to get me back, to tell me that me and Africa are not done, finished quite yet.

Lots of time to think while sick in bed. And make lists in the head and on scraps of paper lying about, backs of credit card bills and envelopes. I have lists littering my mind and house now. They will all come together and be done, when they must.

And one good thing about lying in bed, under the weather, poorly, feeling sorry for myself, is that I watched 3 movies. Good ones, too.

The American, with Mr. Clooney, always dashing and silent with his sideways smile and his dark hooded eyes. Beautifully shot, lovely Italy, sad but good, obviously was a book once, the story feels like it was written and not just composed on a story board.

Conviction with Hilary Swank based on a real story. Also good, meaty, brother and sister loyalty and faith and love with a solid dose of  hating the evil justice system. Good old American good vs wrong story and of course we all know who wins those . No one makes a film where good triumphs so absolutely like the Americans.

And finally a film that is hard to place, to put my finger on, but beautiful and pulsing with life and questions and beauty and wonder and failings and love. It’s called Mammouth. See it . Tell me what you think. It is one to discuss and pick apart over a glass of wine or two, or three.

Except I still feel sick so no wine for me, not yet. Wait till this African bug passes. Like everything else.

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