Music, Costumes, Parties - perhaps I am a rock star?

I went to a concert last week at which an Iraqi oud player collaborated with a Tunisian violinist, an Algerian pianist, an Egyptian percussionist, and various other musicians. The performance took place in Carthage's Acropolium, which was once a church but was requisitioned for cultural usage after the end of colonialism dramatically reduced its flock. A friend of mine has been to a rave at this same location.


The first problem of the night occurred when our taxi driver decided to take us to the Acropolium Hotel in Berges du Lac, a neighborhood quite distance from the correct one (Berges du Lac is where the American Embassy is located, and is quite far from everything else). When we communicated that we wanted to be in Carthage (the area in which, coincidentally, we had caught the cab), the driver proceeded to take us to two different churches and various back alleys before we arrived at our ultimate destination. And then we discovered that there were no tickets available and the ticket window showed no sign of opening. All sorts of fancy looking people in fur and shiny shoes began to pour into the hall. A gentleman in a tuxedo was identified to me as a famous Tunisian movie star. He was smoking a cigarette and looking disdainful, as movie stars are wont to do.

One of my group had a pass which allowed for her and a guest to go into the concert hall, so the rest of us waited to see whether anything would change after the ticket-holding audience had entered. Finally I tired of waiting and decided to see whether I could just walk in. So I climbed the steps, gave the two guards my haughtiest look, and strolled right into the venue. Unfortunately my two companions were not so lucky when they attempted the same a few moments later. Maybe the guards are only impressed by very tall people?

The concert was alternatively excellent and so-so. To be accurate, the oud player was excellent and his posse so-so. He was very emotive and, at one point, moved himself to tears when performing a song about Baghdad.


After the program the audience was invited to linger and sample the extensive buffet. The food included large fish, caviar and meaty looking shrimp. Not bad for the price. We lingered long enough to speak to the oud player and take a photo with him while he told us about his various schools, the largest of which is in Cairo. The rest of the fancy-dress audience seemed more interested in the shrimp than the musician; once we were finished talking to him, he stood alone for a moment before wandering away.


This weekend was, of course, Halloween, and like all God-fearing Americans I shopped in the used clothing markets until my feet ached to assemble two fabulous costumes. I wore the first to my friends' party and wowed the assembled masses with the appearance of what was either a Furby or a Gremlin on my person. Technically, I think that this strange face and ears belong to one of those previously popular toys, but I prefer to stick to the theory that I was portraying a pre-evil character from the 1980s film, if only because I remain somewhat confused as to what, exactly, a Furby is. I have a vague recollection that they could talk and were rather creepy.



The next night, the marines hosted a party at the US Embassy and I donned my finest digs and make-up to dress up as a Stereotype. The costume created quite a stir as my friends and I waited on the side of the road for a taxi. Two men pulled their car over to giggle at us but drove away when I spoke sharply to them (dialect class is coming quite in handy!). The taxi driver was even more dismayed, especially since I couldn't fit myself and my headdress in the car at the same time. We tried to explain that we were celebrating an American holiday in which people wear strange clothing and eat candy, but he remained unconvinced. Nevertheless, he complimented my outfit, claiming that I looked beautiful. Perhaps I should wear lipstick on my cheeks more often?