Lady BellyD's journey as bellydancer
Tips on various bellydance topics
Dance through the adventure of life (or observations on life as seen through the eyes of a dancer)
LadyBellyD optreedt met BUIKDANSGROEP “HAREM” Zondag 25 sep in het Muiderpoorttheater, 17.00u,Van Swindenstraat 26, 1093 VS Amsterdam Toegang gratis vanaf 14.30u, reservering niet mogelijk, Je krijgt 4 verschillende dansstijlen te zien die middag vanaf 15.00u (o.a flamenco, urban modern, en wij brengen Orientaals). www.muiderpoorttheater.nl/
July 2011 Birthday party performance. Love dancing to make people happy. Love dancing to make people smile
AmstelCampus festival June 23rd 2011 in Amsterdam.
In the shadows a new season of light summer dancing awaits ….
My new card front and back. Please pass on or ask for the real thing next time you see me . You know how to contact me !
un cadre précis,
des limites floues
un cercle
inscrit
sur le sol
un pied sur terre
l’autre en l’air ,
l’esprit
le regard
ouvert
un instantané
envol
l’infini
une danse
aujourd’hui
I love stepping onto the stage, counting the first bars of music to find my cue, the focus needed to make the first precise steps , the inner discipline of a perfectly relaxed jawline .
The curtains pull back and I am forced to squint and look away, for a brief moment only . Beyond the angles of this unexpected spotlight , adventure awaits.
I now stand alone . I am at the helm of a ship ready to leave the safety of the harbour: with deep breaths I steady my course and prepare to navigate around a semicircle sea of shadowed faces.
The intricate chart of steps I plotted in my mind at rehearsal lays ahead, still invisible , in a pool of calm warm wood.
I love the opening act of my routine, the atmosphere of surprise and expectation I sense in myself and around me. I breathe in and out, and feel my chest open like a flower , the energy flows up into my mouth and eyes , transformed into a smile . With it I greet my audience.
Behind me , held high above my head in a firm grip between my fingers my semi circular veil,
I lower my right arm to make a straight line , my veil tenses. I then lift it until it points to the ceiling I stop pulling and it descends of its own accord. A sail of shiny aqua satin rises , catching the wind. Repeat to the left. Through it I glimpse an uneven horizon of silhouettes framing the dance floor, arms crossed, standing close to each other .
I feel my feet glide across the floor, all I am now is the next step. And the next . Muscle memory moves me. It is possible that eyes are on me but I do not know , the edge of the stage blurs as I turn in a vortex of solitary movement . I turn four times, fixing my gaze s ahead on the tallest person for as long as I can before my head is forced to follow my body .
Next to this tall beacon, a lady in red is smiling. A signal.
The solemn watchers have stopped chattering, their whisper now a light breeze in my ears.
Those watching would say I am already moving to the music.
Down on the doum , up on the tek .
But I am still in the eye of the storm, in a place of quiet, out of reach. There is no clapping yet , no sweat pooling between my breasts, only the first notes off the CD and the pounding drum of my heartbeat.
Doum doum tek. Doum doum tek . Doum doum tek.
My chest swells open, again and again. I am pulled forward by waves of adrenaline.
At that instant the anchor chain lifts , the winds gather in strength, I am afloat.
My spirit is released, I am free. I am dancing.
Dancer’s TIP for discovering Cairo –– Lorna’s Dance Guesthouse in Cairo-
Lorna, a Scottish bellydancer who has been living and dancing in Cairo for five years , regularly hosts bellydancers from all over the world in her spacious and sunny Mohandiseen apartment.
HOW and WHY I chose Lorna’s place- at bottom of blog entry .
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For me discovering a country or city means soaking myself in the local atmosphere: learning the language , tasting the food, listening to the music , trying out the dance steps. Understanding traditions.
And best of all, getting to know the locals, and. This is how I best imprint authentic street culture on my brain and heart.
And if I’m lucky I come back a friend or two richer.
This is why my personal choice always is to sleep on the sofa of friendly world traveller or take my chances staying with a unknown friend of a friend rather than miss experiencing the “real thing” by choosing to stay in the impersonal shell of a tourist hotel.
So , as a bellydancer visiting Cairo in my top choice is to stay with Lorna Gow. Here is why.
In January 2011 I went to Cairo to attend the Nile bellydance festival . It was cancelled due to the protest and popular uprising ( read about my adventures in earlier blog posts).
Forty or so dancers had already arrived at the Pyramisa hotel when the protests started, the majority never made it . In spite of the organizer’s best will even the contingency plans for a smaller scale festival had to be abandoned as the violence escalated throughout the city
These circumstances coupled with the extraordinary disruption caused by the revolution should have completely overshadowed , if not completely ruin, the focus of my trip: improving my dancing and immersing myself in the Cairo dance scene.
But it didn’t .
Even as the revolution was taking place and while hotel guests at the Pyramisa and elsewhere were fleeing the city, I was getting private lessons from several teachers teachers in the privacy of Lorna Gow’s in-house dance studio.
Flashback to ten days earlier .
From the moment I arrived at Lorna’place in the middle of the night I got a more than a bed.
I was greeted by the warmest welcome.
Although I consider myself an adventurous and experienced traveler Cairo can be quite daunting if you want to go off the beaten track with limited arabic.
Lorna’s hospitality took a lot of the remaining fear and uncertainty out of my first trip to this huge and bustling city.
In the three days before the unrest broke out and forced us into a week of “house arrest” due to curfew restrictions Lorna more than helped me get my bearings so I was able to make very efficient use of my time even though she also hosting other guests at the time.
Not only did she arrange Arabic lessons for me, she also accompanied me to Khan el Khalili (bazaar), took me costume shopping to Eman Zaki’s and Amira El Kattan’s. She taught me how to make baba ghanouj Egyptian style and I was welcomed in her circle of friends (translate to = fun partying on the town ).
Lorna and I getting ready to go dancing in Cairo-modern style
In short she was a fantastic hostess.
I never got a chance to attend the Nile festival nor see Lorna dance on the Pharaoh Nile boat (or any other dancers for that matter). But did I accomplish my goal of improving my dancing : I got private lessons from Lorna and other teachers she recommended to give me a variety of lessons fitting my requirements.. The teachers all came to her studio which was super convenient for me.
So in spite of the odds stacked against it the moment the crowds started marching on Tahrir Square my dance trip was a success.
I got my authentic window into the Cairo dance scene.
MY BEDROOM WINDOW IN CAIRO
So I will be back again. Insha’Allah !
This time I know it will be to see not only a teacher and hostess but also a friend .
Because as Lorna promised in black and white on another note she left in my room the night I arrived: “Mi casa es su casa !”
And that’s the best part of travelling to distant and foreign lands.
To come back a few friends richer.
“Myself (left at back) , other dance house guests from China, dance teachers , Lorna and friends sharing a Chinese New Year meal at Lorna’s place during the Cairo January 2011 revolution”
HOW and WHY I Chose Lorna’s place
Staying with Lorna was not a random choice for me.
My ideal was stay in a home environment , conveniently located with regards to the Nile festival and for reasons I mentioned earlier with someone who knows the city and the dance scene .
I found Lorna’s place advertised via her blog as I was researching Cairo and accommodation options. After reading her blog and exchanging a few emails we had a good click so I booked my room.
Summary for Lorna’s guesthouse”:
Equivalent in money terms to what you pay in a simple Cairo hotel. She rents two spacious rooms and a much smaller basic single room when demand is high. You can share with a dance buddy or stay alone depending on space availability.
You get a comfortable room on a quiet street , central location (taxi rides to most places in central Cairo are 6-10LE are less than 1 euro ), modern amenities (wi-fi on the balcony my personal favourite )
Self catering, we sometimes cooked for (and with) each other when the mood struck. Supermarket is one street away.
Definite Gold star for in-house studio : being able to take high quality dance lessons from Lorna or other professional guest teachers without having to face a single Cairo traffic jam is a real treat !
For details please contact Lorna at bellylorna@hotmail.com
Or read her blog at http://bellylorna.blogspot.com/
———————————————See you in Cairo -LadyBellyD ——————————-
Lady BellyD danst op de STOrm podium in de Amstelveen Schouwburg op 31 maart.
I will be performing on March 31st. A fun evening of music, cabaret and dancing. Click on title above to see the full program.
For ticket info see http://www.schouwburgamstelveen.nl/page.ocl?version=&mode=&pageid=28 See you there !
This describe the rest of my Cairo adventures during the civil unrest which started January 25th. I returned to Amsterdam on February 8th and am praying for the peaceful resolution of the Egyptian crisis.
As am posting this, it has just been announced that Mubarak has stepped down!
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Thursday February 3rd
Today we were arrested.
Our day started peacefully .
At 10:00 this morning I awakened to the sound of a cooing pigeon. It had taken refuge in the air conditioner unit hanging on the wall outside the bedroom.
And on the balcony the chirp of birds was the loudest sound outside.
Cairo, quiet and still on a Thursday morning. It is never this quiet in Cairo even on Fridays.
The day was sunny, the curfew not until five in the afternoon so early afternoon we went shopping in preparation of the evening’s planned Egyptian meal.
By 15:30 we had returned to the apartment and dropped the football- sized cauliflower, the slender white aubergines and the fresh meat from the butcher’s on the kitchen counter before setting out on what has become Lorna and I’s ritual a short stroll to Shehab and Gamat el Dowal .
Being virtual prisoners in the apartment this is has been our only barometer of the mood in Cairo as we have not set foot on Tahrir square since the protests began. And although we are eight kilometers away from the eye of the storm this barometer has been very accurate so far.
Lorna’s boyfriend A. has arrived from Sharm and he accompanies us. We are looking for telephone credit cards which are scarce.
As has been my custom I take my little Sony cybershot camera along.
It has been with me everywhere since I arrived on January 21st. Lorna warned me people on the street do not like being photographed so I use a combination of stealth , discreet and respect while taking pictures. In the past week, though, people on the streets have often invited me to take their pictures.
We reach Shehab and turn right at GAD onto Gama’at el Dowal. Traffic is rushing along the boulevard in a fluid staccato . It’s easy for pedestrians to cross the boulevard today .
After buying phone cards we continue to stroll. Close to the shop a tank is stopped on the street , two soldiers perched on top of it. It will make a great photograph for my impromptu reportage on Cairo events .
To be on the safe side we ask for permission to take the picture..
The soldiers finally nod yes. By the time this negotiation has taken place and the photo taken a small group of men and women have gotten closer, frowning. Some are speaking in an animated tone of voice, almost shouting. .An old toothless woman wearing a black shawl hobbles towards me, raising her fist in the air.
We have annoyed them. We walk away at a fast pace.
Egyptian flags are on prominent display on many buildings and businesses, an airing of nationalistic fervor which I capture on camera.
ro
At el Sudan square a man on the opposite side of the road is carrying a large pile of flat bread. The situation must be getting better if there is bread. L points out the bakery to me, across the street from us to our right.. It has a queue in front of it.
I snap a quick shot .
Almost immediately we are surrounded by a group men, arguing with each other and with us. They point at my camera.
If that picture is worth a thousand words then just now we are hearing the thousand words it represents . And they are angry ones.
And now I remember how quickly behavior which is frowned upon attracts attention on a Cairo street.
And how swiftly it is dealt with.
One evening last week as we were walking direction GAD fast food restaurant from our apartment I witnessed such an incident. L and I has just walked past a child carrying some heavy bags. He was crying and pointing at a young man who had just passed him .In a moaning voice he cried out “ Don’t hurt me” .
We never saw what the man had actually done but in thirty seconds or less, a group of ten men came from all directions to the child’s help and and encircled the accused, We watched him being harangued, given a lecture on harassing a child and being shamed on his behavior.
That night I stood in awe of this display of street justice by ordinary people. Not one second had the men hesitated to come to the child’s rescue and protect a defenceless person against wrongdoing.
Today we were the ones being accused.
There is now a mob of about twenty five men around us. This time A and L. are the center of the fury as they speak the lingo. After five minutes I hear “Yalla” which I take to mean we have convinced them to let the matter drop and that we can go.
But the men is still with us . “Yalla” means “Let’s go “ . Not “Go” ..
We are now being escorted somewhere. Why ?
Amongst the shouting I pick out: “homma sawwaru el furn” This I understand, the past tense is the first I’ve been learning.
“They photographed the bakery”.
A exercise in arabic conversation has turned into a practical one on how to handle inflamed patriotic souls.
L walks close to me and whispers in my ear : “ They want to take your camera.”
What I do not know yet is that someone who saw us photograph the tank has been following us and has alerted others. One picture, okay , two picture , maybe , three , no way .
But at that moment I certainly understand it would be preferable the army didn’t see the dozens of pictures I have taken of the looted streets in the past week.. And of the odd tank, guns, sticks and machetes.
L. has another concern : Are there any bellydance picture in your camera ? she asks me ..
She is afraid to be hassled if they find out her occupation. Bellydancers in Egypt do not advertise their profession freely to acquaintances, in extreme cases for fear of their safety but most often not to be shunned by those who consider this disrespectful work.
Fortunately, there are not. We haven’t had a chance for much dancing this week.
Under close guard by the locals, we cross the street back onto the other side of Gama’at el Dowa..
In front of us is another tank and around it army soldiers carrying guns with bayonets.
The local men address the soldiers ,gesticulating faster.
The soldiers surround us and gesture us to come with them . Very firmly . “come , come, ok, “
In a quick commotion,we are passed from one group to the other, grabbed by the arm by the soldiers and marched into a house being used as their post..
We have been arrested and handed over to the army.
We are marched inside by fifteen soldiers and along a short corridor into a square room 3m by 3m.
All three of us are standing close to the right wall, Lorna stands between A. and me.
A speaks to Lorna in Arabic.
Then things happen very fast,
He is pushed against the wall, his pockets emptied, his wallet opened. I glimpse a flash of greenbacks. The soldiers crowd closer around Lorna and I . Asking questions which I do not understand. Shouting. A answers back and then the soldiers begin smacking him on the back of the head.
And then he is roughly escorted into the next room and disappears from our sight.
I hear Lorna gasp and her breathing become shallow. My whole body is rigid and I have a hard time focusing to what is happening around me. Lorna hands over her zebra print wallet, it is turned upside down.
I hold up my bag to the soldiers. One of them grabs it and opens it.Out come the apartment key, 150 LE (egyptian pounds ) in small bills and my red camera.
The keychain gets turned over several times, the writing on one side examined in detail. More questions. L. tells them it’s from Mexico.
My bag and its contents are returned to me.
The soldiers are shouting even louder now . A short one which seems to be in charge shouts “Feen il memory card ? “ Even I can understand that one .
They want the memory card.
My mouth opens but no sound comes out.
I look down in an effort to keep calm. All I see are my hands again, hanging loosely in front of me in a natural , semi open hand position which prevents the arms and hands from tensing.
One of my bellydance teachers has dubbed this “ the coffe cup position” .
I relax both my hands a little more and hold the pose. I must focus and remain calm.
Meanwhile an old woman wearing a loose black dress and dirty plastic sandals has been called into the room . She walks towards us and before I even realize L and I are being groped in front of the fifteen soldiers in the room.. She is frisking us, not very well , but in a way which leaves no doubt of her opinion of foreign women.
We manage to turn around to shield ourselves from their prying eyes.
I am asked to take off my shoes as well and my bag is inspected again. In a swift movement , one or two banknotes from my disappear into her bra . The old woman is clearly practiced at this trick
Then she turns away from us and says to the soldiers. “ Mafeesh” .”Nothing”
Four soldiers lead us to another room off the corridor back towards the entrance.
The soldiers lay our bags and wallets on a desk which has papers and a telephone on top of it.
The short one addresses a man with a mustache who is sitting behind it. He waves the soldiers to the side and asks us in English where we are from and why we are not carrying our ID.
Not a minute later A. is brought into the room with us, also under heavy escort .
Unharmed .
Lorna starts breathing normally again.
I tell the officer I am very sorry.about taking photos . He ignores my apology , turns to A. to check his identity card and then asks him again about our passports. It is clear the men are in charge.
“Fi ilbayt ” A. says . He is sent to get our passports at home while we are kept at the army post.
The four soldiers are now sitting on chairs beside the officer. From behind the desk where all three of us are standing I can see they are still fiddling with my camera. They turn it on and off, take the battery out, turn it on again , press buttons , look at the screen and pass it to the next soldier . The whole sequence repeats.
They are now looking at a slide show on the camera’s internal memory .There are no other pictures in the camera. They give the camera back to the officer.
More Arabic follows. .
The camera is returned to me . The slide show has been deleted.
We are offered to sit down on a tattered couch at the back of the room.
The atmosphere is a little more relaxed now .We are offered little boxes of apple juice .
Seems we are not the first priority anymore.
From a pile of confiscated goods one of the officers shows us a bottle of Martini brut and asks us if it’s good quality. This bottle must be from the large Duty Free building a block away which we saw earlier has been burned so probably looted as well. We give a big thumbs up.
We see more local tourists being brough into the room and being interrogated, one is a pakistani man with a wife and two young children . He speaks in English. Looking for a working ATM machine in a neighbourhood away from his hotel caused the locals to get suspicious.
Today just being out and about and not Egyptian is a crime.
A returns with our IDs . They are checked and then we are released back onto the street.
Back to the apartment, up th elevator . We lock the door . And then we hug each other.
Our friend Marta has turned the TV on. Today’s big news is that foreign journalists are being attacked by thugs all over the city Tension is up several notches. The neighbourhood vigilance we have witnessed since Tuesday is turning to suspicion with foreigners being accused of being spies.
L. tells me this is what happened at the army station. I missed this bit as I do not understand Arabic well enough. When A. was being smacked on the head he was being accused of being a spy.
First his hard earned American dollars from his job in the tourist trade in Sharm-el Sheikh branded him a possible foreigner.
Second him speaking to Lorna in simpler than normal Arabic immediately raised suspicions about him being a spy.
My legs feel weak and I let myself fall on the sofa. I am shivering
Our barometer walk has accurately reflected the mood outside. Cameras are dangerous accessories for any tourist in Cairo today.
We had a close brush with danger. We were lucky.
Lorna brings me a cuppa. It steams on the table in front of me. When I finally raise my right hand to grasp the cup the tea is cold. The leaves have settled at the bottom . I gulp it down.
I would like to be able read the future into the brown soggy residue and know what tomorrow will bring but I do not know how.
I look down and open my left hand. Maybe palm reading is easier.
But the lines of my hand are obscured.
All I can see is that today I, literally, held my future into my own hands..
I stare at the small rectangular piece of plastic, a 2 gigabytes reminder of what could have been..
The old woman is not the only one with a quick hand.
“Min el balakunya min el Mohandiseen min el Kahira ”
Cairo, Tuesday February 2nd 18:00
These posts were written in last six days as I have been experiencing live the political events developing in Cairo .
Today is the first day I can post them online including some of today’s events .
Cairo Friday 28 January –
What started out as a two week getaway to learn Arabic and improve my bellydance skills has turned into a different adventure altogether .
From the word go it has been easy to fall in love with the whirlwind of Cairo nightlife.
It all started with Lorna’s warm welcome into her home (www.bellylorna.com) a Scottish dancer who has been dancing in Cairo for five years .
On Tuesday night January 25th Lorna, her friend Eshta and I danced the night away in Villa 55 in Maadi to live jazz . Under blue light and the spell of singer Ahmed Harfoush ‘s velvet and steel voice ( http://ahmedito.webs.com/)we were transported in spirit to a smoke filled club of the Big Band era.
As the evening neared its end, filled ashtrays, empty glasses and the odd whisky bottle littered the tables in the bar. Meanwhile the mood turned grave as the TVs in the corners of the bar started to transmit live coverage of the unrest on Tahrir square Earlier that day we had heard of the unrest but, already embarked in the frivolity of what can be cairene tourist life , I had not taken it seriously.
To be fair many people I had spoken until that time had not expected this to be very much different than the last anti-Mubarak demonstrations they’d seen in last few years .
As precaution we were accompanied back to Mohandiseen by a couple of Egyptian friends who did not want us to risk a taxi ride home .
We made it home in record time and did not see any unusual activity on the street .
On Thursday evening as I walked back to our flat the new proud owner of an Samia’s ring teal and lime green costume exquisite by Amira, one of Cairo’s best bellydance costume designers (www.pharonixofegypt.com), I could almost believe nothing had changed here in the city.
Three night s later the situation has changed dramatically . On that same night we heard of the protests gaining strength , and that the government has reacted swiftly by arresting the head of Muslim Brotherhood.
observing the developing situation from Bert’s on Syria street
This morning after three o’clock Friday prayer we went for a stroll down to see what was happening . The main thoroughfare close to our apartment called Gamet el Dowal was empty, the calm before the storm .
Now it is early evening and from the same balcony in Mohandiseen where I watched beautiful sunsets every night since I arrived we have been hearing the noise of the crowds get louder on the main on Gamet el Dowal. At around 8 o’clock the noise becomes punctuated by gunshots , very close. In the distance plumes of smoke rise across the buildings.
Internet and mobile access has been completely stopped since this morning . We have no access to updated news .We are glued to CNN . Al Jazeera reports only come to us via friends who can call us on landlines.
To get fresh news we walk downstairs to hear what the word on the street is. The old bowab who takes care of the building shuffles quickly in his blue robe and white cap frantically gesticulating to us to stay in.
He says the youths have been protesting as close to us as Shehab street. He doesn’t seem to realize that this might be something bigger than just youth wearing off teenage frustrations and testosterone .
Families, young and old are venting their grievances on the street.
Now it is night and we are officially under curfew. To distract ourselves we make baba ganouj, egyptian style, smoking the eggplant straight onto the gas ring. The smell of burnt aubergine skin fills the kitchen .
Mixed with parsley, garlic, tahini and olive oil it makes a fragrant and delicious dish.
Inside , the smell of ordinary Egyptian cooking fills the air, a fragrant symbol of Egypt’s simple people and extraordinary hospitality.
Outside the smoke rising on the eve of an extraordinary Egyptian revolution reminding us of Egypt’s complicated politics and ordinary people’s frustrations.
There is never smoke without a fire .
“ Mafeesh mushkilla “ “ No problem “
You will not hear on the streets today from the mouths of the normally extremely polite cairenes .
There is a problem and people want to be heard .
CNN announces that the police has been asked to withdraw from the streets .. From our vantage point on the balcony of our building on a quiet street in Mohandiseen street we still hear the sound of the crowd. Gunshots have subsided.
Mubarak has now appeared on TV and as his speech finishes we hear the crowd almost instantly roaring its disapproval. The volume is up again.
I would love to understand what they are saying and I am more determined than ever to learn Arabic
Tonight Egyptians in thousands are pouring out into the street chanting : “ Down with Mubarak “
As for dance, I still do want to dance the night away as am sure the people of Egypt would like as well once they regained their freedom and their dignity.
Only it will not be tonight.
Cairo, magical by night .
Summer 2010 performance Montréal- Atelier Anne Marie Chagnon
In bellydance “Takasim” is the beginning . A moment in which improvisation sets the mood, frees the dancer to awaken to the music and reveal the first hints of her personality to the public.
Listen. Enjoy.
And as it must be with all beginnings (also of this blog) , some improvisation is required . . .
La danse, un minimum d’explication, un minimum d’anecdotes et un maximum de sensations.
— Maurice Béjart - Extrait d’ Un instant dans la vie d’autrui
