I just came back from my shoulder numbing wonderful beginner two belly-dancing class. This morning we did arms; persian, snake, temple, egyptian, flamenco-ish, front, side, back, down, combined with undulations and backward camels. It is, after all, undulation bootcamp month. The idea is that on Valentines Day, we should approach our lovers with dropping hip circles and undulations, and rise up in perfect undulation bearing a gift of chocolate (or tv changer or something like that). The studio was cold this morning. We all stayed covered until we were finally able to unfurl our shoulders away from our ears. Belly-dancing came into my life around this time of year, a mid February "get out" pot-luck dinner in a cold condominium party room where the hostess had invited a belly-dancer to show us some basic movements. This beautiful native woman pushed the on button on her portable stereo, and the music that played was music I had been list
ening to for the past year. I don't know why, but I had never made the connection between North African music and belly-dancing. At that time, I thought belly-dancing was a cheap glittery lounge act. Three years before I had travelled to Morocco with my step-mother and her crew. I was in great physical and mental pain, having just separated from my husband. We stayed in the cheapest hotel she could find in the old part of Marrakesh... no luxury Mamounia Hotel rose petals on the polished cotton sheets for us. Woken to prayers every morning in the dark of 4am, I knew I was in a different place. This was a geographic cure, as far away as I could get from the mess my life was in.
I had never had any romantic feelings about North Africa or the Middle East. It was the last place that I ever imagined myself travelling, and frankly the pain of being there was still less than the pain of being alone with myself in an empty house in Toronto. We met wonderful, welcoming people, who invited us into their home, who showed us the hamman. Being with two avid shoppers, we spent a lot of time in the souks. There began a period of obession, passion and acquisition for all things North African; leather, glass, pottery, embroideries, and of course carpets. I had always cooked and shopped vaguely North African foods. My post-trip rug acquisiton phase was probably 60 rugs in the first year alone. Then I bought a CD of Najat Aatabu, so I could complete the mood as I ate my lamb & apricot tagine while lying back on my rug and embroidered pillow covered divan, the floor insulated with six layers of rugs. It was inevitable that a dancing girl had to appear... I just didn't know it was going to be me.
I just came back from my shoulder numbing wonderful beginner two belly-dancing class. This morning we did arms; persian, snake, temple, egyptian, flamenco-ish, front, side, back, down, combined with undulations and backward camels. It is, after all, undulation bootcamp month. The idea is that on Valentines Day, we should approach our lovers with dropping hip circles and undulations, and rise up in perfect undulation bearing a gift of chocolate (or tv changer or something like that). The studio was cold this morning. We all stayed covered until we were finally able to unfurl our shoulders away from our ears. Belly-dancing came into my life around this time of year, a mid February "get out" pot-luck dinner in a cold condominium party room where the hostess had invited a belly-dancer to show us some basic movements. This beautiful native woman pushed the on button on her portable stereo, and the music that played was music I had been list
ening to for the past year. I don't know why, but I had never made the connection between North African music and belly-dancing. At that time, I thought belly-dancing was a cheap glittery lounge act. Three years before I had travelled to Morocco with my step-mother and her crew. I was in great physical and mental pain, having just separated from my husband. We stayed in the cheapest hotel she could find in the old part of Marrakesh... no luxury Mamounia Hotel rose petals on the polished cotton sheets for us. Woken to prayers every morning in the dark of 4am, I knew I was in a different place. This was a geographic cure, as far away as I could get from the mess my life was in. 
I had never had any romantic feelings about North Africa or the Middle East. It was the last place that I ever imagined myself travelling, and frankly the pain of being there was still less than the pain of being alone with myself in an empty house in Toronto. We met wonderful, welcoming people, who invited us into their home, who showed us the hamman. Being with two avid shoppers, we spent a lot of time in the souks. There began a period of obession, passion and acquisition for all things North African; leather, glass, pottery, embroideries, and of course carpets. I had always cooked and shopped vaguely North African foods. My post-trip rug acquisiton phase was probably 60 rugs in the first year alone. Then I bought a CD of Najat Aatabu, so I could complete the mood as I ate my lamb & apricot tagine while lying back on my rug and embroidered pillow covered divan, the floor insulated with six layers of rugs. It was inevitable that a dancing girl had to appear... I just didn't know it was going to be me.
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