Berlin is a city of many mysteries, but I am trying to get to the root of one in particular: the Berliner passion for currywurst. Before coming here, several friends had told me I must try currywurst, since it is a typical Berlin streetfood. But I don't think I really understood what I was getting myself into when, right after arriving last Thursday, I stepped up to a vendor and asked for my first one. What materialized in front of me was a bratwurst sliced and drenched in a thick, sweet red/brown sauce, dusted with curry powder. And it came with [View Full Entry]

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Yesterday was the Christopher Street Day Parade in Berlin, the joyous finale to Berlin Pride. More than any other pride festival I have witnessed, what impressed me most about this event was how everyone - gay, straight, young, old, singles, families, etc. - came out to cheer on the crazy show. Grandmothers and small children cheered as the human dogs passed; bemused tourists had pictures taken with men in backless chaps. The whole city was celebrating. And my faith in humanity was given a major boost.... The photos should speak for themselves. PS The day was kicked off with a cerem [View Full Entry]

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My heart skipped a beat when I saw it: a real Turkish kuruyemiş (dry foods) store, straight out of Istanbul. Chickpeas, nuts, dried apricots, as far as the eye could see. The boy behind the counter even called me “abi”. And then I noticed the Turkish bakery next door, and the berber salonu (barber shop) and the ocakbaşı (grill-restaurant) across the street. Up and down Oranienstrasse, the main commercial drag of the Kreuzberg neighborhood, there were more Turkish establishments than I could count, intermingled with funky restaurants and shops of a non-Turkish ch [View Full Entry]

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Why wasn’t I surprised that the first conversation I had upon landing in Berlin was in Turkish, with my cabdriver, Mustafa? Somehow it was a fitting welcome for me, a former Ottomanist, even if the ostensible reason I am here is to explore the Peaceful Revolution of 1989. Indulging in a bit of “ostalgia” (that strange nostalgia for the quirks of East Germany), I am staying for a few days in the Ostel (Das DDR Design Hostel) in the Friedrichshain neighborhood of old East Berlin. Every detail, down to the wallpaper and the REMA solo 230 radio in my room are [View Full Entry]

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I peered over the edge of the cliff, straight into the crashing waves hundreds of meters below. Other, braver souls, dangled their feet off the ledge. We were in the enclosure of the Dun Aonghasa, an ancient, dramatically situated fort perched high above the Atlantic, on a slopping slab of limestone known as Inis Mor (Inishmore). The "Big Island", of the Aran Islands. I am not sure why it is I am drawn to these lonely outposts. Storm-battered, treeless islands in the North Atlantic, with peoples proud and hearty. The Aran Islands were never easy places to live (just take a [View Full Entry]

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Soaking up a rather un-Irish sun on the rocks at the Forty Foot, I had completed a double pilgrimage (see, I told you!). As I mentioned in the first Dublin entry, the reason I came to Ireland in the first place was to explore the city of Joyce's imagination. His novel Ulysses maps out the city like no other work, and it starts with Stephen Dedalus at a tower in Sandycove, overlooking the famous bathing spot, the Forty Foot. So coming to these unpretentious rocks (which once were solely for "gentleman" to brave the chilly waters, usually "textile-free" as a German [View Full Entry]

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So I think I got it today. Yesterday, as I began my explorations of Dublin on the eve of St. Patrick's Day, I vacillated between amazement and annoyance at the masses of inebriated young foreigners donning bizarre hats in Irish colors. I asked myself: where were the actual Irish? While many had indeed escaped to the countryside as their city was invaded. I also saw that many had remained, just diluted in the crowds. I also came to appreciate that the day was about exuberant joyfulness (sometimes, yes, edging to excess!), made particularly important as the recession hits the Celtic Tige [View Full Entry]

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When I planned this trip, my main goal was to make a pilgrimage to James Joyce's old home and the setting for all of his works of fiction (even if he wrote many of them far from Ireland). What I had failed to take into consideration was that my school's spring break would coincide with St. Patrick's Day. So, I found myself arriving in Dublin on the eve of the big day, a city at the moment flooded with revelers from all over the world. (And it seemed all of the native Dubliners had flooded out of town.) Of course, I [View Full Entry]

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"On your left, you see a popular mall. On your right, there's another one people like to visit...also there's a mall attached to your hotel. It has a great sushi place." In the twenty-minute ride from the airport, I counted no less than eight megamalls in Riyadh. In a place where there's no public cinema and few music/cultural event venues, where restaurants are divided into men's and family sections, where few people walk outside (especially in the summer when temperatures can be over 140 degrees F), what is a young Saudi to do? Go to the mall! Hey, they are air-conditioned [View Full Entry]

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You know, warm, forthy camel milk straight from the source ain't so bad. I bet it would even go well with coffee. A Saudi Starbucks original! Starting in Houston, our group had been teased with the prospect of a visit to Shaybah, a major oil drilling development in the Rub' al-Khali (or Empty Quarter), an area of dramatic, towering red sand dunes. A desert's desert. But, alas, a tease was all it was. But, thankfully, our Aramco guide, sensing our disappointment, organized a venture into the desert just outside of Dhahran where we got to meet a camel herder. While perhaps [View Full Entry]

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