I know I have been here for 8 nights but it really feels like 1001 as the 6th Oriental Dance Festival comes to a close. My feet are ravaged. I am sleepwalking through class, as are most people here. The dance classes are three hour punishing affairs, and the shows last well into the early morning hours. No one is sleeping and we are really starting to lose it.
Minor clashes between dancers from different countries escalate into major crises. I sat at a table of American and British dancers and one of the girls moved her chair back so that I could sit next to her. It was a polite gesture, but unwittingly, she moved the chair slightly blocking the air in front of a group of French dancers. They quickly took offense and kicked the chair over giving us vicious and stormy looks. You would have thought we invaded Iraq or something. People are just pissed off.
It is hot. We are taking too many classes and also trying to go sightseeing and trying to perform at night. You can’t drink the water and you can barely eat the food because the hotel is at maximum capacity and I liked the lentil soup until I found an eyelash in it and Giza is way too far from anything and everything here is overpriced and we all have diarrhea and there is no non-smoking section and mosquitoes and you have to be covered from head to toe when you go anywhere and there are beads embedded in my feet and and and…. But we are learning so much, and when we are not making enemies, we are making really great friends and some of the dancers are so lovely it really makes up for it all.
Morocco’s group, the Casbah Dance Experience, took over the ballroom last night and performed exquisite numbers for us. An outstanding duet between Morocco and Tarik made me want to weep with its sweetness and simplicity – a joyful mother and son dance! – and although we were weary and starving, we could forget about it and lose ourselves in the dance. I loved their clean choreography and elegance. I love Tarik’s beautiful face like a painting of a young king. I loved that we also got to see some of our celebs in action too, like Shira!
Usually, women who have been dancing for a long time, like to take their time, which is the best. I want to see their bodies move in intricate combinations slowly, so I can watch how the body is sewn together to make the dance. However, quite a few of the dancers here are really frenzied and manic, so they look like a tornado of chiffon and fringe coming at you and you just want to get out of the way. During some of the performances I think that they should have given out safety goggles. You could put an eye out! I think they think that if they stop moving, no one will look at them. But if they don’t stop moving you just can’t look at them anymore. It is a sad metaphor for women in society. We think if we won’t stop working it, working out, dieting, putting on makup, strutting our stuff, waiting for these guys to call, keeping one step ahead of other women, they might stop looking at us. But the truth is, that while some might stop looking, the ones that matter will look closer.
At least here, you are dancing for other dancers, who would usually be supportive, but aren’t. In this tense, terse atmosphere, where our sanity and patience and bowels are being tested, we are inclined to a particular form of nationalism which comes from being put in close quarters with lots of other people from lots of other countries. Sometimes, although I hate to say it, women are really, really mean to each other. Myself included, although I must say I try to be as mean to men if not meaner as I am an equal opportunity destroyer. Still, when the dance is beautiful, then all the dirty looks and snide comments in 40 different languages cease and everyone takes a big, second hand smoky breath and remembers why we are here.
I’ve seen such incredible beauty here, and every moment is filled with such astonishing brilliance that I can hardly imagine going back to real, sequinless, shimmyless everyday life.