DamaSCENE Noun Ya played their mix of flute & oud at the Centre Culturel Français one cold, December evening in Damascus. The mix of traditional Arabic sounds and French-influences made for an interesting night, and the current trend of recording a rhythm and playing over the top of it worked well with the oud. A week later, I went to a concert at the Damascus Opera House, where an orchestra was complemented by some Middle Eastern instruments, and where Arabic poetry was put into song. Amid the car-horns, the hawkers, the bustle and shouting of the streets, it’s nice to step out of it all…

DamaSCENE

Noun Ya played their mix of flute & oud at the Centre Culturel Français one cold, December evening in Damascus. The mix of traditional Arabic sounds and French-influences made for an interesting night, and the current trend of recording a rhythm and playing over the top of it worked well with the oud.

A week later, I went to a concert at the Damascus Opera House, where an orchestra was complemented by some Middle Eastern instruments, and where Arabic poetry was put into song.

Amid the car-horns, the hawkers, the bustle and shouting of the streets, it’s nice to step out of it all…

What I’ve Lost The German Cultural Centre, the Goethe-Institut, hosted an Iraqi Film Festival here in Damascus. I heard about it because an Iraqi friend here featured in one of the films — Red Zone Citizens (Mounef Shaker, Iraq 2009) — about their theatre group in Baghdad’s “Red Zone”, the most dangerous part of the city. What they had to overcome just to rehearse, really puts things in perspective. I feel like I have no excuse not to do what I want. (My problem being rather to decide what I want…) These guys were forced to cross military checkpoints, face roadblocks, were disturbed by killings and bombings on their route, just to be in the same place at the same time. That is all before they actually had to stage their work, and collect props, find a place to perform & build the set. And all this without speaking of the personal, emotional challenges they faced in being part of the group. At one point or other, every member seemed to have faltered, leaving. Yet these absences all ended-up being temporary. Whether it was caused by the loss of family members due to kidnappings, or they felt the risk they were taking in being there was too great, or simply that they did not have enough money, they all ended up in returning. This group was a part of them. The film I felt was the most compelling was the beautifully produced short-film entitled What I’ve Lost (Duraid Munajim, Canada/Iraq 2008) — I highly recommend watching the trailer. Iraqi refugees, filmed in Jordan, spoke of what they had lost since the war. They spoke of dead fathers & mothers, brothers & sisters, husbands & wives. They spoke of the jobs they had lost, their houses that had been destroyed, the car that they had to leave behind. Lost friends, lost customs. But what they felt most moved about seemed to be the loss of their nation. “Above all, we have lost our country.” It seemed odd to hear when I had left my family, my friends, my job, my country, all voluntarily. Yet I the difference is that I have the choice of returning. Even if these people can go back to Iraq, it won’t be the same country that they knew, that they loved. The festival really was stimulating, seeing the image that these people have of their country, and the events that have happened there. Previously, my ideas of Iraq were based solely on what I had read in the news, which focuses on the violence and military operations there, the IEDs, the bombings. These films gave a really human touch to it all. Seeing how people actually lead their lives there, living day-to-day, and what they have to overcome, was inspiring. Amid all the violence, the kidnappings, the killings, people still managed to live; there were parties for New Year, religious festivals, birthdays. They still harbour dreams of what they want to do with their lives, struggling to have an education. Yet at the same time, it is incredibly sad to see how a whole generation — or at least those who survive — will be denied these dreams. We, as privileged, educated, relatively well-off westerners, have no excuses.

What I’ve Lost

The German Cultural Centre, the Goethe-Institut, hosted an Iraqi Film Festival here in Damascus. I heard about it because an Iraqi friend here featured in one of the films — Red Zone Citizens (Mounef Shaker, Iraq 2009) — about their theatre group in Baghdad’s “Red Zone”, the most dangerous part of the city. What they had to overcome just to rehearse, really puts things in perspective. I feel like I have no excuse not to do what I want. (My problem being rather to decide what I want…)

These guys were forced to cross military checkpoints, face roadblocks, were disturbed by killings and bombings on their route, just to be in the same place at the same time. That is all before they actually had to stage their work, and collect props, find a place to perform & build the set.

And all this without speaking of the personal, emotional challenges they faced in being part of the group. At one point or other, every member seemed to have faltered, leaving. Yet these absences all ended-up being temporary. Whether it was caused by the loss of family members due to kidnappings, or they felt the risk they were taking in being there was too great, or simply that they did not have enough money, they all ended up in returning. This group was a part of them.

The film I felt was the most compelling was the beautifully produced short-film entitled What I’ve Lost (Duraid Munajim, Canada/Iraq 2008) — I highly recommend watching the trailer. Iraqi refugees, filmed in Jordan, spoke of what they had lost since the war. They spoke of dead fathers & mothers, brothers & sisters, husbands & wives. They spoke of the jobs they had lost, their houses that had been destroyed, the car that they had to leave behind. Lost friends, lost customs. But what they felt most moved about seemed to be the loss of their nation. “Above all, we have lost our country.”

It seemed odd to hear when I had left my family, my friends, my job, my country, all voluntarily. Yet I the difference is that I have the choice of returning. Even if these people can go back to Iraq, it won’t be the same country that they knew, that they loved.

The festival really was stimulating, seeing the image that these people have of their country, and the events that have happened there. Previously, my ideas of Iraq were based solely on what I had read in the news, which focuses on the violence and military operations there, the IEDs, the bombings. These films gave a really human touch to it all. Seeing how people actually lead their lives there, living day-to-day, and what they have to overcome, was inspiring. Amid all the violence, the kidnappings, the killings, people still managed to live; there were parties for New Year, religious festivals, birthdays. They still harbour dreams of what they want to do with their lives, struggling to have an education. Yet at the same time, it is incredibly sad to see how a whole generation — or at least those who survive — will be denied these dreams.

We, as privileged, educated, relatively well-off westerners, have no excuses.

Hamburg I haven’t seen Riø in ages, and it’s been a while since I’ve visited to Germany. Hop! A night train to Hamburg for the weekend. Good times.

Hamburg

I haven’t seen Riø in ages, and it’s been a while since I’ve visited to Germany.

Hop! A night train to Hamburg for the weekend.

Good times.

برج آزادی Arriving in to Tehran after an overnight bus from Yazd, I was greeted by the Azadi Tower at dawn. Then I had to battle with the Tehrani taxi-drivers… Not easy.

برج آزادی

Arriving in to Tehran after an overnight bus from Yazd, I was greeted by the Azadi Tower at dawn.

Then I had to battle with the Tehrani taxi-drivers… Not easy.

Yazd | یزد Following Isfahan, I took a bus 175 miles accross the desert to Yazd, a city with a history going back 3000 years, and which was on the Silk Road. The city has its heart in the Old Town, which hosts one of the largest networks of qanats in the world, and many of the houses are cooled by the wind towers for which the town is known. Outside of town there is the Zorostrian Towers of Silence, where, up until the 1960s, the Zorostrians laid their dead.

Yazd | یزد

Following Isfahan, I took a bus 175 miles accross the desert to Yazd, a city with a history going back 3000 years, and which was on the Silk Road.

The city has its heart in the Old Town, which hosts one of the largest networks of qanats in the world, and many of the houses are cooled by the wind towers for which the town is known.

Outside of town there is the Zorostrian Towers of Silence, where, up until the 1960s, the Zorostrians laid their dead.