tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72655482024-03-13T03:14:30.585+03:00Bahraini RantsI rant you ristenBahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.comBlogger127125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-82499158579026785372010-10-06T01:55:00.003+03:002010-10-08T02:07:53.096+03:00the gremlin in me comes outi have a problem when it comes to snacks.. it's not a problem as much as it's an addiction.. the only reason i'm writing this now is that insomnia is telling to stop being such a pussy - so i find myself infront of another screen.. i digress.. just for a little backdrop: i'm quite good about monitoring my eating habits: yogurt for breakfast, salad for lunch, soup for dinner, fit in a will timed run. leading a healthy lifestyle is not difficult. my problem only comes alive after i've showered and brushed my teeth and it's late at night.. waiting there staring at me right in my face.. hidden behind the pasta in the dry goods cupboard, the packaging taunts and taunts me.. before i know it, i'm about to destroy the hinges, and peeling back wrappers shoving one two three four sometimes give pieces of pastry in my mouth.. in each hand i carry two sometimes three pieces.. and then in a dramatization reminiscent of the ogre under the bridge, i wave my candy carrying hands to hide the tears of shame streaming down my face, and yell (with a full mouth i might add) "don't look at me!" - quelle horor..<br /><br />dear reader, i am what you'd call a mogwai.. you can't feed me after midnight (solid rule people, solid rule), otherwise i'd turn into a gremlin.. in my case, i turn into a snack monster of epic proportions.. why i wait till the evening, i have no idea.. but there are a a few treats that i am unable to resist.. once placed in my household, i cannot conceive of going through my day without inspecting and sampling the finest in my humble abode..<br /><br />for your reading pleasure, i have compiled a few of these treats that i cannot go without.. feel free to comment on agreements, disagreements, or your own personal candied de rigueur.<br /><br />Baklawa from Tariq Pastries<br />Bahraini sweets (halwa) is part of our culture.. but one of the first baklawa pastry shops to open in bahrain was none other than Tariq Pastries. I am biased, i grew up eating the stuff, made by long family friends for generations.. but until you try the treat, just trust me.. they were the first to perfect the pastry nut syrup combination.. they were then the first to come up with the idea of dipping the pastry in milk and white chocolate.. often imitated but never recreated - a double layer tray of baklawa lasts about 2 (maybe 3) days in my place.. i have started bringing trays for the desk at the office here in london.. and it never lasts the week.. i could write a whole post about this stuff..<br /><br />Havana Alfajores<br />Meringue sandwich cookies with dulce de leche and covered in icing sugar.. introduced to me by my Argentine roommate back in 2002.. my life changed.. it was years before i had them again.. until i was with <a href="http://www.prettyfashionforward.blogspot.com/">mrs. rants</a> roaming borough market that i found these cookies and bought two boxes.. needless to say, they're super rich, she might've had half of one, and i devoured two boxes.. i'd say try it with some coffee.. but who could resist? <br /><br />Al-Rifai nuts<br />One of the best exports of the Arab world is Lebanon's Al-Rifai nuts.. Bahrain airport has a stand, and i cannot walk past en route to some sad country with no proper pistachios or cashews without picking up a kilo. it's very funny, but for us in the middle east, we laugh at the quality of nuts available in the west.. cashews in the supermarket here in london are a joke.. A canadian friend from bschool once credited Al-Rifai for being the best snack to have with a drink.. i cannot disagree.. the supermix is the way to go.. and if you cheat and have the cheese flavored cashews - well i wont tell anyone..<br /><br />Kermani brothers Kaz<br />Iran, is home to the best nougat i've ever sampled.. individually wrapped with pistacho, the chewy delectable treat is easily consumed.. the box has a picture on the cover of (a young) old man Kermani with weirdish ears.. if you see that.. then you know you've got the real deal.. i can go through a box in an entire sitting, lying to myself over and over that this one was going to be the last..<div><br /></div><div>the brownie to end all brownies.. </div><div>special mention goes to my sister who has perfected the brownie to the point it's sinful.. again i'm biased.. but there's enough people who can corroborate this bias, so i don't feel so bad.. yarz makes the most delectable brownies that you forgive yourself for eating 12 pieces.. now if she'd only do this for monetary gain, i'd rather pay her for the brownies than use brotherly emotional guilt to get them.. <br /><br />unt, there you have it.. my kryptonite.. presented to you in a neat little post as a result of that medium latte double shot i had at 4:30pm (which i knew was a bad idea at the time, but went along with it anyways)..</div>Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-10213488087594963632010-09-13T23:33:00.002+03:002010-09-13T23:35:21.043+03:00music is my hot hot..I love my music.. I spend as much time in front of a screen searching for music as a pubescent boy spends his time jerking off. Part of my retail therapy program involves buying tons of cds. I grew up having different types of music shoved into my face as long as I can remember – parents, siblings, aunts uncles, friends, etc. I am meticulous about my music - And I am difficult.. I push music on my friends and if they don’t like it, I sometimes (and I’m not proud of this) get offended..<br /><br />Rocknroll, blues, dance (and all it’s forms), world, jazz, big band, opera, hip-hop, classical, offensive, original and not forgetting obtrusive to over the top.. I listen to it all – with a sympathetic ear I might add.. per example: I fell into this thing for French house initially in 2000, but went back and listened to everything from Montmartre to Montparnasse. Muzo, a dj friend said “you’ll outgrow it”.. sorry bro, I’m still tuned in..<br /><br />As a consequence of being a lover of music, I love music loud.. I have quite a lovely balcony (swingeth).. but I must pay homage and wonderful thanks to my neighbors for never giving me shit.. and believe you me, I’ve given them plenty of opportunities to give me plenty of shit.. I like to think, they love my Friday rituals and the good music. <br /><br />Fridays, I come home from work, and if you can sense the night taking a turn for the terrific, open up the balcony, crank up the music and fix myself a drink (pastis with soda water – sorry max).. people watching with loud music, a nice drink of choice and it begins.. Breakfast on the balcony also requires music, but less invasive so early in the morning.. hans zimmer’s compositions on the True Romance soundtrack is something of itself.. <br /><br />By stroke of pure luck – I have a fantastic group of incredibly gifted friends who are musicians.. yours truly penned a classic comedic tragedy of a ballad about the trials and tribulations of mohin, the guy who used to work at the shabab’s gahwa (Beirut coffee shop – “Il Safra” {yellow} – only because everytime they’d paint the walls inside white, all the smoke from the sheeshas would turn the walls yellow).. it was a big hit.. diversion.. back on track.. late late nights on a series of instruments coordinated yelling into microphones.. special mention to the talented ones..<br /><br />There are certain moments in our lives that connect you with a performance and you have an experience of a lifetime. Music, whether it’s the local cover band or the latest sensation – it all sounds good live. Go see your favorite bands live, it’s one of the coolest experiences you can ever initiate.. <br /><br />I conclude this random but themed non sequitur with the mix tape.. everyone loves the mixtape – the highschool car tape, the girlfriend, the breakup, the no reason.. labeling, the names, the memory of a time or a specific night of rumbustifications..Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-17174320835276176832010-08-12T23:44:00.002+03:002010-08-13T00:15:47.510+03:00The narrative saga of the afghan kitchen..Tucked and almost invisible to the naked eye in a hidden bend on Upper Street by the Islington green rests a recognizable name to residents – the afghan kitchen. A mom and pop operation that serves delectable (I miss that word) ethnic curries with a nice pile of basmati rice – transplanting you to the bosoms of comfort food heaven (that is if you’re from that part of the world where you’d equate curry and basmati rice to comfort food). Raved about by my brother and his wife for years, I decided to now give it a try since I was a short walk away.<br /><br />Little did I know, that the Afghan kitchen would become the thorn in my side that I loved to twist.. the eatery took the form of an older bullying sibling, one that enjoyed making you jump through hoops for sheer amusement - all the time you've got this whiny voice begging him/her to stop bugging you. I tried in vain to locate the place, and yet I kept on missing it. Going back to the great internet brain, I’d google map it and yet again miss it.. thinking they might have closed or something like that.. The more I read about the place the more I wanted to go and eat there. My research had already prepared me to skip booby trap #1: cash or check, no credit cards.. mental note to self “make sure you have cash”. Easy. Then finally, one random nondescript day, I spot the tiny shop with the tiny sign that brought me to skipping about and jumping for joy! Alas, it was a Sunday, they were closed, and I had already eaten - but that did not matter, for i knew had the coordinates.<br /><br />Picking the right kind of food coma day, I head down with parents (visiting) cause I couldn’t stop talking about said restaurant only to find it closed. We picked an acceptable mealtime hour to eat, and yet they had no hours of operation sign on their door, I did not know when they'd be open. Then just to pour pickled onions soaked in vinegar into my wounds, my parents both tell me that my brother must’ve taken them there cause they remember eating here years ago and it was delicious.. Argh.. booby trap #2: know the exact opening hours, no strolling in, you need to prepare.<br /><br />Back to the internet, I find out their hours, and read more reviews.. they have this one dish that has tender chunks of lamb and spinach curry – that, I kid you not, gave me a little bit of a "is that your hands in your pocket or you happy to see me?" feeling. With every passing day, I continued to think about how good this lamb spinach curry would taste like.. i wanted to eat it, i wanted to dress up, rent a limo and take the bowl of lamb spinach stew on a night out on the town.. i wanted to get cozy with the bowl, up close and personal. <br /><br />My breakthrough came when my sisters were visiting, I woke them up on a Saturday for lunch, told them where we were going, even called the afghan kitchen at 12:30pm to see if they’re open, they were, and off we went. Regaling them with maria1962’s reviews or how urbanspoon called it magical – I filled their appetites with enough anticipation that we were set for the lunch to end all lunches.. at 1:00pm the waitress saunters up the stairs to the table next to us to give them a bowl of that lamb spinach curry.. winking at my sisters I use our secret Arabic language to indicate that’s what we’re gonna have. She turns to us, hands out menus and then tells us that there’s no lamb spinach curry.. that was the last bowl.. What do you mean there’s no more? You’ve been open for 45minutes how can you run out so quickly? The place isn’t even that full?? She then tells me of a pickup order that took most of the curry inventory on hand.. <br /><br />I was left in a difficult situation.. the table next to me were just about to tuck into that which I’ve been fighting to have for a good part of four months.. how can I not have it? Thoughts of negotiating came to mind. Excuse me, sorry to interrupt.. yes? before you sully that bowl of lamb and spinach with your spoon, I have a proposition I’d like to make you .. you see, my willingness to pay for that bowl of goodness in front of you, is, and I’m willing to make this estimate with a fair bit of confidence, is way way way higher than your willingness to part with it. I’d like to propose a suggestion, what if I bought you and your companion lunch today.. you can order anything you want as long as I get to have that bowl.. my sisters thought I was ridiculous, but then again, I am. Just as I was about to lean in, I realised that I’d be the only person who’d be enjoying the curry, meaning that they (my lovely sisters) would also want to share all the curries, something I just wasn’t prepared to do. I called time on our short visit to the Afghan Kitchen, picked them up and marched them out to another restaurant. Either we all eat lamb spinach curry, or no one eats lamb spinach curry. And with the deflated head of the evil nemesis from an 80s cartoon, i whispered in a skeletor voice “you may have one the battle, but I’ll get you next time lamb spinach curry..” booby trap #3: call to have them reserve your order. <br /><br />Weeks later, I eventually get to sit down and enjoy the curry for all its sublime home cooked goodness.. There was the tender chunks of meat bearing a series of flavors so complex and yet so familiar - there was the basmati rice that smelled so fragrant, - there were pickles that gave my spoonfuls a little zing- there was Bahrain in every bite.. I won, I finally won.. enjoying the delicious meal over and over again, I sidestepped the pitfalls and foxholes.. but it wasn’t finished yet.. there was still the 36th chamber.. <br /><br />Raving about the afghan kitchen to friends, we decide to do a full on, big family Saturday meal at Kam’s place. I was going to pick up the food and then hop a cab and lunch would be perfect.. having become well versed in the methods of the kitchen, I called 4 days in advance to pre-book.. my early stage planning was casually brushed aside by what I’d like to call developing world time (Arab time, Indian time, African time, anything to push back being timely).. I call back a day before the lunch, and ask them for 4 orders of the lamb spinach, 2 orders of the chicken, 1 order of the pumpkin dish and a whole mess of rice.. I get met with a hesitant response and the phone gets shuffled to mama afghan kitchen, who proceeds to tell me, that 4 orders of the lamb spinach ees too too much for you have you can only have 2. I fight back. What do you mean? I called 4 days ago and you told me that I should call the day before. She then countered with, my husband used to do all the cooking and now I do eet, eet take a long time to make and eet’s a popular dish. She finally throws the kitchen sink at me, I couldn’t deprive the other customers.. of course, I wasn’t going to have any of it.. listen lady, I’ve done everything I had to do.. are you in the business of selling food to customers? Well then I don’t see what the problem is.. I know you do large orders, and I don’t have a ginormous order.. so cut me some slack.. she finally agrees.. but not before the sky turns grey and a cackle of lightening crashes down on a street light in my neighbourhood.. .<br /><br />Saturday rolls around.. I go to pick it up the food.. I meet mama afghan kitchen and she tells me that it takes so long to prepare the lamb spinach - that she and her husband do all the cooking and it’s a lot of work.. I thanked her for the food and her time.. paid my bill and went to get out.. the minute I step out carrying all this food.. it starts raining.. 3 minutes into me trying to catch a cab I finally find one.. To Mayfair my good man! And off we go.. but to make matters worse, there’s a whole procession closing off all the roads from my part of town to Mayfair.. the cab driver then tells me it best to jump onto the tube a stop, then switch lines, get to green park and then take a cab.. all I could see is Mama Afghan Kitchen last night, sweat dripping off her brow, stirring a pot of food chanting out loud: i call upon the blood of all my ancestors to make this meal for you as uncomfortable as I am in preparing it tonight.. and bam.. there I was running around the tube in London carrying two enormous bags of food, with the smell seeping onto the Piccadilly line and following me around until I got to Kam’s place. At one point I couldn't tell if the other passengers were offended by the smell or were going to mug me for the food. booby trap #4: always be nice to mama afghan kitchen.. thankfully once I got there, we sat down and enjoyed a fantastic meal and the tender chunks of lamb and spinach curry mixed with that wonderful basmati rice erased the saga I endured and brought back Bahrain with every single bite..Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-81163875304110963972010-08-09T21:16:00.001+03:002010-08-09T21:23:05.830+03:00no one saw it coming but me..It is your typical west end night club.. A line of people that snakes around a corner and another jumbled and uncontrollable mass (refusing to wait) crowding the front door: demanding their reservations for a table (something nice by the dance floor), waving off the minimum spend requirements for bottled service, calling the door staff by their exotic sounding names: Viviana, Igor, Maximus… You know the type of place I'm talking about - with the short syllable name (Chi, Huu, etc) or maybe even the nonsensical mixed name "something foreign with something that makes no sense at all" - etoile dew.<br /><br />Inside, the place has plush velvet walls with round booths for the tables.. Scantily clad dancers gyrate and swing around getting the attention of the hapless drinker, unable to make sense from the 20 pound drink at the bar or the fact that it's been watered down just for him.. Teeming with people, this exclusively classy joint is filled with those who have that money and those who want that (type) money. Girls and suits, girls and suits. Glancing around in the darkness, illuminated by the split second strobe that brings a brief glimpse of the pretty young things dancing at your table, you ask, why am I here? I don’t really feel like I belong here.. Who knows why you're really here, out on the pull, blowing off steam from a hectic work schedule, dragged out by a drunken friend/fiend, following the crowd - might as well make the most of it..<br /><br />The night rolls on, and you get drunker.. A little loopy, you perfect your balancing act on the table, using a double magnum of the finest marketed vodka to maintain tightrope composure. The ability to distinguish cheeky from stupid becomes quite blurry and you're pouring vodka down your own throat daring fate to bring it.. A brilliant idea comes to you with where you decide to share it with the people around you.. First a friend who's just a clouded as you, tilts his head back as you splash alcohol into his mouth and on his Hermes tie.. A very pretty girl (as they normally are in a fine establishment such as this) casually passes by and you decide to rope her into your merriment and vodka fountain. You tap her beautifully bare shoulder with the utmost care of a gentlemen and she swings around with that perfect hair - and looks expecting a debonair with the highest level of instruction - only to find a baggy eyed, pasty suit trying to pour a double magnum of vodka down her throat with his other hand stabbing the air above with his flying dancehall fists.. <br /><br />Even in this type of darkness, you can see the look of horror in her perfectly done up face as she reacts to push the bottle away. In this unnecessary late night tugowar of a over sized bottle of alcohol, you end up splashing the overpriced moonshine on her dress and a few other irate people. The melee results with you winning the bottle but at the expense of breaking her nose with the base of your prize.. Now, just to make you feel like there's an even bigger pile of sh*t heading into the vicinity of your fortune, two very large gentlemen approach and yank you off the table with that type of realness and pressure that would make anyone squeal like a pig. It just so happens to turn out that the pretty girl who's nose you just broke in that unnecessary fracas, is someone way more important than you, and these two gentlemen are going show how much more important than you she is... And in that instant you get pulled out into the darkens of the club, outside the door to the back alley to get the beating of a lifetime in the lifespan of 60minutes… but thankfully, that's not me, I'm just the innocent bystander in the next booth over, bored with his night and decided the lead up to a disastrous night..Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-47670482300178362132010-08-05T00:04:00.002+03:002010-08-06T02:45:24.619+03:00today was one of those days <meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <link rel="File-List" href="file://localhost/Users/headquarters/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0/clip_filelist.xml"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Arial; panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; text-align:justify; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Arial; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family:Arial; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">It’s been one of those days.. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">It started off with lunch.. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">I have a hectic schedule and operate at a rushed pace with everything having to happen at a quick, methodical and efficient rate. <span style=""> </span>My only real break in the day is when I run off to get my lunch and [on] this day I wanted a sandwich.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">The deli is normally an efficient single queue (very English) with about 4-5 sandwich-istas preparing your meal.<span style=""> </span>You can normally tell the new hire from the veteran, [and/or other sentence connector] serving lunch to a bunch of problematic on-the-go people makes you a [sarnie] veteran very quickly (ohh polish boy with the fluttering ears I remember when you were bumbling about trying to layer the lettuce over the Branston pickle – look at you now, commanding the line and making casual conversation with your coworkers while making my lunch – bravo good sir! Bravo..) <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">While waiting in line, I spot one of the new guys move over to the side room running his hand under the sink, aka, he cut himself while making a sandwich.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>I anxiously watch him put anti-bacterial [gel?] on, then slip on another set of gloves and get back in line.<span style=""> </span>By a crude calculation in my head measuring the time it takes to prepare a sandwich, the quick glances of the how fat the assembly line was at with the readiness of the sandwiches and how many people I had in front of me – I [realised] was going to get served by newbie von finger slice.. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“next” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“you know what bro, I’ll just wait for the next person” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“but they’re all busy, I’m next, what would you like” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“no really, it’s good, I don’t mind waiting” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“you’re holding up the line, you don’t want me to make your sandwich?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“it’s not that I don’t want you to make my sandwich, but I saw you washing your hand after what appeared to be a cut.. and if it’s all the same with you, I don’t want you bleeding over my lunch” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">He raises his hand, “there’s no blood see? And I’m wearing a plastic glove” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“There’s a bunch of things I can’t see and that’s fine, I can’t see them, but I know that you cut your hand and I know that you don’t have a plaster on, and I don’t want you making my sandwich.. all I’m saying is if I’m going to be paying for my lunch, I’d at least want it to be hygienic – no offence”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Person behind me chimes in “yeah I’ll wait too..” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">I got a dirty look today – I’m worried he’s gonna pick his nose and use that as a spread next time I order my sandwich from him. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment--> Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-74136642410940095322010-08-03T22:54:00.002+03:002010-08-03T22:56:44.291+03:00my love for east london<p><span style=";font-family:Calibri;font-size:100%;" >Every city has that split – the Rive Gauche Versus the Rive Droite. Uptown versus downtown – East Saar Road Versus West Saar road – it’s just how things are.. London’s very much the same, West London and its manicured gardens clean street and lovely preserved architecture versus East London’s piss stained alleys, graffiti and ethnic folk mixing it up with the artistes and addicts.. </span></p> <p><span style=";font-family:Calibri;font-size:100%;" >I live in central London, but to my friends out west, the E before my EC1 postcode clumps me in a grouping relating to the outer edge of modern civilization. And to be honest with you, that suits me just fine.. you see there’s lots of things I like about the east that you just can’t replicate, just like there are some fantastic parts of west London that you can’t find anywhere else.. this is not a critique or a comparison, it’s merely a tribute to the things that make me love anything with an “E” in the postcode.. </span></p> <p><span style=";font-family:Calibri;font-size:100%;" >The fact that…</span> </p> <p><span style=";font-family:Calibri;font-size:100%;" >Fashion is definitely born in east London and slowly starts to make its way west getting more and more toned down. Skinny jeans, over the top hairstyles, vintage outfits that making Notting hill feel a sell out, waxed up and wacky mustaches, sunglasses, pasty skin, no batted eyelids unless its to approve your look, fashion photographers roaming the streets, yes it’s hipper than hip. my favorite neighborhood couple are constantly dressed as though they’re stuck in a time warp from world war II but with a little bit of today’s edge: I see them in my supermarket with their perfectly time stamped hairstyles and matching era outfits - you just don’t find that anywhere else.. the caveat to this is that everyone you pass by looks like they’re a member of some indie band and office suits carry the same looks as endangered furs, but, I’d still rather this abrasive clash of unison then anything else.. </span></p> <p><span style=";font-family:Calibri;font-size:100%;" >The history just makes you want to soak it in: London’s one of those towns that’s got history in every crack and side street, but to me, the grime and gristle of London has more charm than it’s glitz and glamor. It’s all right Sherlock Holmes was meant to live on baker street and they weren’t exactly sure where because they switched the street numbering.. JACK THE RIPPER caused mayhem in whitechapel and that does intrigue me. Dickens based a lot of stories in my hood, that contemporary art in London really took a defined shape thanks to its east London denizens. </span></p> <p><span style=";font-family:Calibri;font-size:100%;" >The crack addicts and alcoholics have well thought out stories with props when they ask you for money. It’s not just, excuse me can you spare some change, it’s a, hello, I lost my money on the bus coming to the eye hospital (he produces a patient admission card from two months ago) and need money to get back home.. or my personal favorite the arab guy who’s in a wheel chair because of bombs falling from the sky.. Weeks later I find him boozing it up with another bum all cracked out trying to stand up.. classic.. hats off to the prop.. </span></p> <p><span style=";font-family:Calibri;font-size:100%;" >The Music and Parties in the east rock : now this bit is completely my personal opinion, but it’s my piece so I’m quite happy to throw my vote out there. Getting to the location is always a bit dodge, with random questions being raised over the safety or legality of the venue.. but that’s soon replaced by the head bobbing and gushing over the fact that James Murphy is ripping into the microphones.. yes daft punk is playing at my house, my house.. and although I could say the ego’s checked at the curb side I have to say the crowd can be a little difficult and indifferent.. Also, special mention goes out to the pop up clubs (double club last year and the pop up pirates this year) that can only find space and licenses to throw their parties this side of town.. shazaam</span></p> <p><span style=";font-family:Calibri;font-size:100%;" >the food cravings don’t stop. London’s a big town, and food is generally good if you know where to go (special mention to the taqueria on Westbourne grove).. from the Gastropubs that cook up the best 7 hour roast lamb shoulder or the goose fat chips, the pizzas at story deli, to the lamb chops at the original new tayyabs and all it’s graduates (Lahore kabab house and needo), to my secret sushi spot by a disillusioned nobu chef (aren’t they all?).. The food stalls of brick lane, borough and broadway markets with the food (mrs rants and her love for the raclette at borough market –its good) the hangovers that have subsided thanks to the variety of taste-ables to satisfy your pangs.. </span></p> <p><span style=";font-family:Calibri;font-size:100%;" >so that’s my love for the east </span> </p>Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-80830631297376548512010-08-01T22:34:00.002+03:002010-08-01T23:29:11.755+03:00Return of the Ranthello..<br />i used to write here, but then i stopped. <br />i'm back,, intermittently, but back nonetheless..<br /><br />it's been a little under three years since i last posted - i thought i was going to give this up until i found the time to write again.. so much has happened, the condensed version: i took a long break, went off to sell out to the man, learn about bidness in bidness school, enjoyed a carefree life on a series of continents and met a barrage of incredibly amazing people along the way.. sounds like a lot of fun, it has been..<br /><br />i've been in london for the last year and a half starting my day when most people don't even contemplate hitting the snooze button.. it's been good, long, sleep deprived and incredibly enriching.. again, met interesting people and fell in love along the way.. so that gets you up to speed..<br /><br />so i'm hoping to get back into the swing of things just writing whatever comes..<br /><br />thanks for passing by.. don't be a stranger,<br /><br /><br />eduBahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-66781792647964369782007-12-04T17:51:00.000+03:002007-12-04T17:52:06.061+03:00Outtro of bahraini rantsI never liked reading blogs that ended without a conclusion, so I wont do the same to you. I always felt that having read so much of this persons’ jamblings (jumbled ramblings, use it I don’t mind) a sort of explanation was necessary, some sort of closure, flightless birds finally free, or some cryptic nonsense like that. But nonetheless, like relationships teetering on the verge of being finished, something needs to be said …<br /><br />A chapter in my life has just shut and a new one is about to begin, if I may, with little writing and explanation: it’s gonna be intense and draining, and I am seriously looking forward to it. I think we can all fairly say that I’ve lost interest in this blog, but not because I don’t like writing my thoughts out anymore. I used to write with a purpose in mind, and to be honest, I’ve lost that purpose. Doesn’t mean I don’t think about you all the time, it just means that I can’t be bothered to write and write and rewrite and hope that you’ll catch the secret double entendres and so on and so forth.<br /><br />So after these few and far between posts, emotional cries for help, and many years of reading: I hope I’ll be someone you’ll remember fondly.. Yeah him Bahraini Rants, he was good, I miss him.. I wonder what he’s up to now? Do you think I should search for him? Maybe I should go back and read some of his old posts, I wonder if they’re still funny, and then you’ll go back read over stuff, remember me as that loveable scamp you secretly dreamt of, maybe cry a little since I’m no longer in your life & then seriously spend some time contemplating what went wrong. As opposed to, Bahraini Rants? Whatever, that was just a point in my life when I needed some form of enjoyment to rebound from whatever I was rebounding from. Let me go back to my life and to be honest he was never that entertaining to begin with… in the words of red, sneef…<br /><br />So what’s next for me? Well that’s part of the reason I have to stop, I’m leaving this place, making the whole ranting from Bahrain kinda silly. I’ll be gone only for year to start, but maybe longer (all contingent on getting my visa approved), so hiphiphooray for me, too bad for the three of you that read this blog. I’m sure we’re still close enough for you to be getting emails from me, so if you really really like hearing my silly words, I’ll only be a send/receive away..<br /><br />I’m not retiring my blog because I want you all to come back and visit.. it’s really been a wonderful experience writing and I’m hoping one day, I’ll be convincing you folk to sell me your souls, but until then..<br /><br />À bientôtBahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-24354116117216629902007-11-13T10:06:00.000+03:002007-11-13T10:32:10.052+03:00siestas con pimientos de padronFor weeks I sat there in front of the monitor reading the headlines hoping and praying. I analytically looked over historical data trying to come up with an intelligent conclusion, but alas, it was a house not meant to stand. Although my fastidious research on the dollar to euro and our incumbently painful peg led me to the brink of madness; as time came to board the plane, I brushed off any currency related worries and looked forward to the rioja and tapas.<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5132221678779755986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsaN8W_DPs0ldN9BBKWA8icgCLfj5nSFwx98qDBa9V7viWL4k91-vowjB7Hv-v7vtfRRaTwiUcMCWd-HlOfwbkTg8SK7K7yjVLbJShNyL87C2qoSQWMJ5eHmtiBbbVk1uDu-cZ/s320/DSC01461.JPG" border="0" />Ibiza and the Balearics<br />Take away all the industrialized nightclubs and insane posters, the hippies, the clubbers, the djs, the bullshit and the hype, and you’re left with something incredible, a place with real magic, beautiful beaches, great food, lovely country side, and a laid back vibe that you just can’t beat. With the season wrapping itself up, I don’t think I would’ve enjoyed Ibiza if I had been during the shmack dab middle of hectic season, everyone was just so happy that things had calmed down and we enjoyed a nicer holiday because of it.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5132221056009498050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz5TEjmFRYZ6PPvQkM2ZjJgq6DDUskwXVb-3KWAdKvGColTlxdct3KHakxxa0zkrmzZ0zE9ltt-H0QjCZ5zwswoSIGqZOzVyDtUAC3rjGNPt_cRtyuFyCJKcc1jdOs3UbHn1XH/s320/october+2007+ibiza+and+madrid+161.jpg" border="0" />Pairing the refreshing waters with a gorgeous companion in a bikini, life just couldn’t get better. I’m not too sure what it is, but we both are much happier by the sea, and what better place to be happier than the beach on an island with fantastic views? However; in true European fashion, the nude sunbathing did catch us off guard. Walking along the beach searching for a spot, we were continuously surprised by the image of naked privates. Let’s setup there. Shit no, 7 naked Germans sunbathing and having a bbq on the beach, let’s just find another spot. I’m just curious, aren’t they worried about flying sparks? Crazy naked Germans and the burning bush. Although we couldn’t muster the nerve to skip the swimwear, I did start to get comfortable with the idea of a little skin on the beach, quite liberating to not give a toss about changing on the beach with no towel. It was good to feel the wind between my…<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5132219157633953122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7REcMOZJ2RNvWj0ElIitDyFfATjZRJTqkdmPTLr8O_IcsJ5o6j-3Zy-OV5NVY2Tc8VO5e1h2kCq6gXRLOsQGIXb8eqbYaZy91TnJg7VQTnHsCxWuoctYUse2c4DDmBZ4Aelb0/s320/DSC01444.JPG" border="0" />The sun and sand was lovely, but the chiringuitos came in all shapes and sizes: from the best seafood at es torrent, to the delectable choripans from a shack on aquas blancas. Wine was consumed with great laughter as we ate lunch on the beach appropriately taking our time. Short siestas that brought back the nonchalance and aioli that could make perfume stink. The no nonsense take on eating and culinary exploits brought back the basics of gourmandizing that we so appropriately crave. Having investigated and enquired, we found our relaxed and lavish meals with the right touch of sabor. The Paella was good, but I think I learned something quite important about myself this trip: I don’t like fighting too much with food.. Not a big fan of needing to stab, pierce, crackle and pop hard shells to get to a little bit of meat that you need to suck out. I don’t mind breaking a sweat trying to catch or cook my meal, just not while I’m trying to eat it.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5132221017354792354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8pQc6BF0vPNrgVu2dKAT2oO2t6jQV5mF7EePkueKARK8_V_81ditgFe852kLMGoBmUuaBRRQP5GhBDBbdEfwUsSHVeNQ9TH5xo6-sP5QPwGsbYE0BWDJQhItzStTaJTwztYY-/s320/october+2007+ibiza+and+madrid+134.jpg" border="0" />Needing to introduce ourselves to an adorable almost two year old cherub, we packed up the car and took a short ferry ride over to the tiny island of Formentera, which for me was a haven for the soul looking to get lost. Much quieter than Ibiza, the laid back doctrine was lackadaisically stretched to the extreme. As the local economy, run by hippy juntas, everyone could do nothing but follow ensuite, a lovely experience for me since I was in that zone to begin with. The lovely unofficial motto that I have freely given them, “Formentera, do what you want, no one gives a toss.”<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5132219149044018514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLbjzmbhFjBxIJrYBVijTWYYCXQ8CzUbCdeGJwS-IvGQXkG_WPSWYq-HEsqZO2iwRpKCuWNrP9xeUTMyvyu0AUzGDjWOm0Y2PVEIsHtLd9xHGIlL6GHIS_oWwtH7bmgczx8hkr/s320/DSC01438.JPG" border="0" />All roads lead to Madrid<br />Having done my research, I came to Madrid prepared with my list of cool hunting to investigate and neighborhoods to soak in. Needing the allure of a city to compliment our sun and sand, Madrid had everything we needed, enough art, enough politics and just the right amount of the sometin sometin we were looking for. Special occasions and reconnecting with old friends made the city just that more interesting and celebratory. As the standard operating procedure on our trips, neither wanted to waste time in a-typical sightseeing tourist traps.. Although we did efficiently hit up the “big three” (you can’t go to Madrid and not check out the triangular bastion of art). Luckily for me, my khormaloo is one of those people who can make you see things you would’ve never thought to see in a work of art and I learned to appreciate the masters. My one real flirtation was spent staring at an Egon Schiele that rightly demanded attention… if you’re wondering, Nouvel’s extension at the Reina Sofia is definitely worth your time, so’s the restaurant..<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5132219252123233682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh74761jGOUG6_t5KObXI-hDnXOBXAMV2Gj7DQCBoOm4s0kAQl5j2RvRMpkg4COVGCm_YRaDzjDNfpDeNQQmOiyjVMQzYf6FI3YtF-VtYn7s-4Zj9MtuWkebwvyemFvZyw-i1j1/s320/DSC01495.JPG" border="0" />Spending time with the lads in Madrid was excellent; catching up over an Asado we all laughed and rejoiced in our reunion. Drinking in La Latina I cheered Kimi on as the Spanish Pride was just happy that Khamilton “la puta madre” didn’t win the Formula 1. Opting to ditch Serrano and the desperately hola’d out crowd, we armed ourselves with the Moleskine Madrid City guide for our hunting notes and city traipsing. Precisely cool in cheuca and fuencarral we found what we came for - random pieces here and there that Lagerfeld would be jealous of, yeah you heard me Karl…<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5132219243533299074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiik7SbBUkDroDNMQpYpmMYh2eneLBzqjjcGD7QoitlCtngWOb-mQaVBDzXhvcL39uJ8Df0R6eBzuWo-D_y9P1dp-LbXQRD74G6Dxv2ge4K8ZQeOwYPEX1LdowfPISXyasNLh9F/s320/DSC01486.JPG" border="0" />One of the highlights of our contrasting city tour which included art, fine dining, sneaker hunts, cigalles, and Sunday tapas completed with a football match. With Athletico Madrid playing Zaragoza, we opted for the authentic fan crazed experience and headed over to the Vicente Calderon. Picking up a couple of beers we walked in for Khormaloo’s first game and were not disappointed. 4 goals (yes I saw Diego Forlan score), rabid fans, insults to the ref and later on discovering we were drinking non-alcoholic beer. Picking up an Athleti Scarf (cheers gin), I blended in with the crowd and even got a couple of Forzas from the fans (always feels good knowing that you can fit in with the rabid fans when you need to). Muchisimo gracias for the tickets alej..<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5132221025944726962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3GAkhdFIVGm7lYoslyAL1O4QwkdevUXWJW9p58tOHV4QtEmDV_PM3P_sTpqT2k2krtZ-BSrqpLb0LdSazka6Gm4pbnBB2yMUlV3WAqaCp9VH2RgOptZoUaCA2cW5EZzTA-FZf/s320/october+2007+ibiza+and+madrid+260.jpg" border="0" />All in all<br />Up and down the narrow streets of the enclosed dalt vila, we romanced in the moonlight. Breakfast in Porrig with a view to take your breath away. Early morning strolls on the beach and the newfound love for ibizenco hounds. Drunkenly negotiating a taxi driver to get off strike. Siestas in comforting arms with the sound of the med to lull you to sleep. Convertible driving and beach discovery. Thunderstorms and one star hotel displacements. Passable Spanish with a fairly good accent.. Spain was beautiful..Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-27991268662495061462007-09-06T12:20:00.000+03:002007-09-06T12:33:46.331+03:00ishrig and cleansingHistorically, the last Wednesday before Ramadan has always been a busy time in Bahraini homes… Bahraini’s, being the cool holistic cats that they are, cleansed and detoxed their systems to ring in the coming holy month properly. They used to drink a strange combination of leaves, roots and branches called “ishrig”, mixed up by the local Hawaj (apothecary) and brewed into a god awful drink to help cleanse your system. In other words, a diuretic with the devastating outcome reminiscent of a raging cyclone steriods, nice enough picture for you?<br /><br />A couple of years back, right before the start of Ramadan, I jokingly mentioned to my father about wanting to cleanse my system before fasting. He replied with giving ishrig a try, and I said, why not. My why not was met with a very disdainful scoff and grave statement that will forever ring in my ears, “if you do take ishrig, you will not leave the house for a while, and you will feel pain, insurmountable pain”. He then regaled me with stories of his childhood on attempted escapes from the clutches of his house to avoid drinking the stuff. Let me tell you, the ol’man has a pretty high tolerance for weird herbal remedies, and if he’s adding a disclaimer to ishrig, then this stuff was pretty bad.<br /><br />But of course me and my father have this very XY chromosome chest thumping dare double dare contest perpetually going on, and we agree to drink ishrig together and deal with consequences (a previous contest between us was betting the waiter at an Indian restaurant on how hot they could make their lamb vindaloo and then who was man enough to eat it all – end result, a very painful evening with no real winner). His claims of me not being able to handle it were met with my pointing out his old age and inability to re-hydrate fast enough.. In keeping with traditions and all gentlemanly rules, we set the date for the last Wednesday before Ramadan to cleanse our systems, and see who’s made of mettle and who’s a yellow belly baby..<br /><br />The day of the test: the Ishrig arrives at our house in a sealed bag which looked as though someone walked through a forest, scooped up a bunch of leaves and branches and roots from the ground and placed them in a bag, dirt and all. The instructions were there and the ol’man and me decided to get ready. Brewed up for our pleasure, a massive jug of black water gets placed in front of me and I must’ve had this worrying look on my face because my dad let out a mocking snicker. A quick sniff of the jug and I pull my head back in disgust. It was as though someone fed a goat everything from spoiled fruits & vegetables, to meat that’s been left out in the sun, to tin cans that previously housed baked beans, to sewer style garbage; then cut the goat’s stomach open and that’s what you smelt, absolutely rancid. But this was no time to show that I was already considering chickening out, soldier on I must.<br /><br />Two glasses poured in front of us and he turns to me, “listen, drink it all in one shot, the entire glass, if you don’t, you will not be able to keep it down…” Wrapping my fingers around the glass, the warmth of the recently brewed ishrig reminded me of how real this was. But after all this is a tradition of my country and I wasn’t going to live my life without having tried it once. Breathing from my mouth, I applied my lips to the rim of the glass and began to chug.. my dad, looking at me starts chugging too and his eyes widen with that frat boy look “oh yeah come on, lets see what you got frosh..” I cannot tell you how bad this stuff tasted because it was so traumatically horrible that it’s been blocked from my memory, but I did manage to knock a glass back. Wiping my mouth, remnants of some black stuff remained on my arm, the aftertaste was painful, but at least the hard part was over.<br /><br />Then my father pours me another glass and the fires of fear get stoked once again. “what are you doing?” “there’s half a jug left, what do you think I’m doing, we have to finish this” “ you must be mad, I can’t do another glass, isn’t one enough?” “Come on, you want the experience don’t you? this is it, the experience is in the second glass”. And with that, I again feel the warmth of the glass on my fingers and again take a succession of deep breaths to psyche myself up. We start chugging again to see who can drink faster, but this time the aftertaste of the ishrig and the bottom of the jug sediment is starting to catch me off guard. Midway through my chug, I drop my head down and stop drinking.. He was right, the minute you stop drinking, the idea of throwing up becomes invitingly plausible… <em>I don’t have to put up with this disgusting flavor, I could throw up, wash this all down with a cola and be fine</em>.. But my pride got in the way and I had to be satisfied with one and a half glasses. I understood how traumatic this would be for a child having this forced down his throat back in the day.. so I gave up.<br /><br />Victoriously forcing the final gulp of his second glass, my father wipes his mouth with his sleeve.. His bellowing laugh is enough to crush my hopes of triumph - yes he won the drinking ishrig contest, but I was still in this race, all was not lost, maybe I could rouse an upset with the final outcome, just maybe..<br /><br />So we sat there waiting, in the living room, watching tv but not really focusing, both wondering when the turbulence was going to start. When the pain was going to come, and when it did, I traversed across the plains of detoxification cleansing with little ease.<br /><br />I will spare you the details, because this is not an essay in scatology so to speak, but more about the experience. You will feel pain in your stomach as though someone was trying to squeeze your intestines into a ball and shoot some hoops. Your body will push out junk that has been in your system that has been there for ages and it will not smell good. Magazines, crossword puzzles, and lots of bathroom reading will help you through it all. Yes it was dehydrating, I was wiped out, the more water I drank the more water I lost.. But end of the day when everything was all said and done, and the sweat from my brow was wiped.. When I could actually sit down for a prolonged period of time without having to hear strange noises from my stomach, I looked over to my dad and gave him the winning thumbs up.. All his years of yoga and careful eating made his experience a lot easier than me.. He gave me a supportive nod and we vowed to take it easy with our male ego contests…<br /><br />It was that day, that after many years of abuse, junk food, and other unspeakable acts that my tortured body was set free. I was lighter, I was happier and I was healthier. The journey was a tough one, but the end result was worth it all. Ramadan came and went, and I felt fantastic for quite some time.. Until the burgers and fries found their way back into my belly, and the processed sugars along with the preservatives and artificial flavorings...<br /><br />Overall experience, I highly recommend this detoxification.. a little bit of history with a little bit of taking care of yourself.. I’m just wondering if I can relive the horrors and go through it again next week before Ramadan comes along..Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-40482404705360808572007-08-27T23:01:00.000+03:002007-08-27T23:07:55.566+03:00Wooster Collective Baby!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbobJooL_xYxC0O7lIPi2dmQmNlTs8bPjwh6mqQ8-G09iCcp7zi7w0ebrFvD06t6zfAfCYIwyaUvQSqW_BtAx_KjtG5knQtB-yOwKCH2ZE05xobsPhpiZgnQn7Evdsu38hNcZa/s1600-h/bahraini+electricty+box+art.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbobJooL_xYxC0O7lIPi2dmQmNlTs8bPjwh6mqQ8-G09iCcp7zi7w0ebrFvD06t6zfAfCYIwyaUvQSqW_BtAx_KjtG5knQtB-yOwKCH2ZE05xobsPhpiZgnQn7Evdsu38hNcZa/s320/bahraini+electricty+box+art.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5103474068279918146" border="0" /></a><br />strolling to daiso i stopped by and took some pictures of the coolest wall art in Bahrain.. Sent the picture to the <a href="http://www.woostercollective.com/">wooster collective</a>, and guess what? they posted it.. so yes, Bahrain is now in the archives of the wooster collective.. go check it out..<br /><br />for those who dont know, the wooster collective is a regularly updated street art website from cities all over the world...<br /><br />if the artist will come forth, we need to talk..<br /><br />i'm thrilled..Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-73719187717888183682007-08-23T11:31:00.000+03:002007-08-23T11:33:42.781+03:00Facehunted on FacebookBy now I’m sure you’ve all heard of the phenomenon that is facebook, if not, then wiki it then digg it then get all del.ic.ous with it, then do whatever else cause I’ve run out of web2.0 shenanigans to throw around... I remember my first social network invite a couple of years ago.. hi5, friendster, myspace, etc etc etc. I never joined these networks in fear of them stealing my identity and selling it on the internet in exchange for the visa of a little 7 year old Indonesian boy named kuluk who’ll now be a 27 year old occasional blogger..<br /><br />And then facebook came along, which I also avoided at first but eventually caved when some friends convinced me to get on.. During the facebook honeymoon, it was nice getting reconnected with old friends, making new friends and keeping some of your friendships at a social networking distance. As we all started to sink into this addiction of checking to see who’s added who, what’s being said and what photo albums people have put up; the compulsive nature of people began rear its ugly head. Marriages were being tested as to who has a bigger friend list, people started wasting hours upon hours replying to unnecessary wall messages, some took to creating groups left right and center, and others were installing applications just for the hell of installing applications (I am at fault for installing the Chuck Norris one). The worst came in the form of facebook trawling, where people would connect to you and start stalking your wall, your photo albums, your hobbies and whatever other applications you installed on your profile. Heavy users were already experiencing social network fatigue getting tired of updating, tagging, uploading, and statusizing their life.. but the stalkers, the trawlers and the wanderers, they’re all still there – and still checking you out..<br /><br /><strong>Taken from a conversation with a nonfacebookee friend this week that went a little like this:<br /></strong><br /><em>(Exasperated on the phone)</em> What is this facebook shit? why the hell does it exist? How can I take my picture off facebook?<br /><br />What do you mean? What’s happened? You don’t even have facebook..<br /><br />Exactly. Check this out, I come to work today and find out that my coworker saw a picture of me on facebook with my nuts hanging out. She just comes out and says my nuts are in a picture..<br /><br />You’re kidding me.. nuts hanging out? Full view? <em>(Contemplating email forwards with the red circle pointing out my buddie’s nuts and the mastercard priceless tagline “your nuts exposed on the beach picked out by your coworker, priceless”)<br /></em><br />Yeah, I guess someone took pictures from some beach party and there’s a picture of me in my shorts with my nuts exposed..<br /><br />This is exactly why I don’t wear board shorts, there’s rarely any mesh to keep everything in place..<br /><br />You’re not helping right now, I need to get these pictures off this fucking facebook..<br /><br />And your coworker, seriously,,,, searching pictures for your nuts.. Is this a bad thing that could be construed as a good thing? Or is it an embarrassing very embarrassing bad thing where you’re wondering if everyone in the office has now seen your nuts..<br /><br />You’re missing the point, but thanks for making me wonder if the office manager’s seen my ‘ticles or not. I’m not on this damn site, my picture gets taken and all of a sudden I’m on it, my nuts are on it.. and I haven’t even seen this picture, it’s coming from a coworker who’s already seen my nuts.. my permission wasn’t granted, how the hell am I supposed to react?<br /><br />A couple of phone calls and we’ll have everything sorted out.. don’t worry too much.. at least you’re not on facebook and weren’t tagged in the picture.. then whenever they’d click on your name the picture of your nuts would be in the database of your photos..<br /><br />This is a really big mess this facebook.. people can get into a lot of trouble you know..<br /><br />What do you mean?<br /><br />Well what if a picture gets taken of me and I’m with a girl and it’s totally innocent, but the picture reveals a completely different story.. I could get into a lot of trouble with my girlfriend. All because someone put me on an album..<br /><br />Well if you have nothing to hide, than you have nothing to hide.. but what were you doing having someone taking almost revealing pictures of you with a girl. I do see your point though..<br /><br /><br />And with that, we had the case of exposed nuts sorted out.. some people were relieved, some were upset and others didn’t even raise an eyebrow. But this got me to thinking, how much time do random strangers sit and search through your pictures? The eerie thought of people trawling through your photo albums learning of your misfits, your adventures and your life.. But then the counter thought to that, is that people put up their photo albums to get seen by their friends, meaning that they indirectly don’t mind you searching through their pictures.. So where do I stand on this? I’m not too sure…Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-3044237454691761142007-06-17T09:42:00.000+03:002007-06-17T09:44:49.441+03:00cold beverages for a flippin' hot summerKnow when you pull out a nice cold can of soda / pop / cola from the fridge and there’s this cool layer of condensation forming on the can? Now imagine the condensation, covering the entire can, getting pretty wet, cool to the touch, and slippery, so slippery.. This is what summertime is like in the Middle East, except it’s so hot that there’s no coolness to the condensation forming on your skin. Instead, it’s hot humid sweat that forces your clothes to stick to your body, that makes you want to peel your skin off and release the steam that’s making your blood bubble and boil. It’s this unbearable heat that you don’t just think about cooking an egg on the road, no you think about making an omelet, frying up some bacon, and even some toast.. Nothing is as futile as wiping the sweat off your brow in our climate this time of year, because just as soon as you wipe, there’s more sweat dripping down. You’ll start to discover new things about your body, like, “wow! I didn’t know I could sweat from my ear lobes, wow, summertime really teaches you new things about your body…”<br /><br />Yes, summer is here: there are no more flirtations with semi cool days, there are no more clouds in the sky to protect us, and there is certainly no more room for anything long sleeve. But the sea is still pleasant, it’s not cool, or chilly, it’s perfect room temperature water, which I don’t have to tell you is a lot better than swimming in soup (if you’ve ever gone swimming in July/august you know what I mean).<br /><br />In this heat, there are only a couple of things that actually keep us cool in this weather. You can either live the next few months in linen (always a good idea) or you can rehydrate/dehydrate yourself with some nice cold refreshing beverages. When it’s really khot outside, this is what I like to drink…<br /><br />1. Gin and Tonic – The history of this drink dates back to the east India tea company, which introduced the glass of something to its troops stationed in the heat of Asia. Tonic contains quinine (a crystalline alkaloid that acts as an anti-inflammatory, pain reliever and anti-malarial). Because tonic was so bitter at the time, the troops could only knock it back if gin was added to it. the magic mix: In a tumbler filled with ice, mix, three parts tonic to one part gin, add a squeeze of lime and toss the wedge in, stir and enjoy. I know a lot of people that don’t really like g&t, but I find people just don’t drink it in the right environment, try it this summer and you’ll see what I mean. The combination of the ice, the refreshing tonic, and a healthy dose of gin makes the whole concoction flow down your throat so easily. I like to keep the lime wedges in my glass, helps me keep track of how many drinks I’ve had... G&T, I love thee.. <br /><br />2. Mojito – (pronounced moheeto if you didn’t already know) now I admit, I do not appreciate Bacardi taking advantage of a resurrected drink and beating it senseless with advertisements. But if a place makes a good mojito, well then there’s nothing better than that. Drafted in from Cuba, the Mojito is essentially made from: rum, mint, limes, sugar, and soda water. The trick is to muddle (with a pestle) the mint leaves sugar and limes in a glass, add the rum and then top off with the soda water and some mint or lime garnish. #1 you must use decent rum, #2 the muddling releases the flavors and reaffirms your expert mixology whether you have it or not, #3 The sugar you use is also very important, cane sugar works best. Hemingway and Hunter S. Thompson drank Mojitos (separately, although I’m sure they would have been the best of friends) until the sun came up and then set again.. we even came up with a song, “Mo. Mo. Mo. MoMo… MOJITO”<br /><br />3. Sangria – coming from the Spanish word (derived from latin), sangre or blood, is a refreshing summer drink that is easily enjoyed by everyone. I learned to make from uncle hamad who learned it from his friend, an Argie dip living in Madrid – so the recipe does have a little history, which is always cool. Although the recipe was passed down in confidence, I think it’s time to share this wealth of information; sangria is for communal enjoyment, you can’t all enjoy it if someone’s hiding the recipe. So here we go: regular table wine, cointreau (orange liquer), either vodka/brandy/cognac (depending on what you have), sliced fruit (apples, oranges, pears), juice (apple or orange), sprite, and sugar. Slice up the fruit, and pour the wine, then add a good measure or two of cointreau and then the other liquor you’ve got. Pour some juice into the mix, add a spoon of sugar, and then add the sprite. Now people will tell you to save the sprite till the end because of the carbonation, I say hogwash, add it and make sure the taste all works together. Let it chill in the fridge and then serve it over some ice. Through many pitchers, I’ve learned that no one really enjoys a lethal and strong sangria; but a subtle easy to drink sangria – that’s what gets people in the mood. <br /><br />4. Cerveza – end of the day, there’s very little that can come between you and a cold cerveza on a hot day. There is nothing more refreshing than shoving your hand in a bucket of ice or cooler to pull out a cold can of brew. And then when you fish out the beer, you shake off the excess cold water and crack it open. I think the most beautiful image is the beach, a bucket with ice, and a couple of beers resting in that bucket, blissfully blissful.. <br /><br />Yeah so it is an alcohol related post. Just helping you decide what you should consider drinking this cruel summer. Kampai..Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-68265753876478039792007-06-05T09:52:00.000+03:002007-06-05T10:01:53.284+03:00mtv smut: and the men rejoice..<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBWNyPHBkZ_oVjHztoD2Ow6Kje9g5AHtOehFBCHKQedUl1k9ITZBM4HvV6iu9cKGSe4FfQkZPPI-YvYOJjFp7gixthuYsjliMIP8n5dMcJfzZ1zHoBcW-VyhpnYoaxcdlushn8/s1600-h/eric_prydz_call_on_me.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5072470791922748162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBWNyPHBkZ_oVjHztoD2Ow6Kje9g5AHtOehFBCHKQedUl1k9ITZBM4HvV6iu9cKGSe4FfQkZPPI-YvYOJjFp7gixthuYsjliMIP8n5dMcJfzZ1zHoBcW-VyhpnYoaxcdlushn8/s320/eric_prydz_call_on_me.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><div></div><div><div>Not that I’m complaining or anything.. but has anyone noticed how much smut has now made its way to dance music videos on MTV?<br /><br />This recent music video smut phenomenon kicked off with that catchy 2004 “tearing up the dance floor fist pump” commersh anthem Call on Me by Swedish flash, Eric Prydz. If you haven’t seen the video well then let me sum it up for you.. A sexually suggestive video reminiscent of Physical with Olivia Netwon John, but instead of all those fat guys, it’s an aerobics dance class of the choiciest of ladies dressed in 1980s aerobics gear. As the class goes through its “sexafied” workout, the girls spend a lot of quality time rubbing their breasts and slapping their respective buttocks, attracting the alluring eyes of its male viewership. The video was so popular in Australia that it was downloaded 35,000 times onto people’s mobiles. Needless to say, if Bahrain had a functioning 3G network at the time, we’d all be watching and rewatching the video ourselves, instead, we had to settle for leaving MTV in the background until it came up. Luckily for us, MTV has nothing good to offer and relooped the same video a couple of times in one sitting.. Rrraaadiicall.<br /><br />It seems that the formula of catchy dance tune + pretty girls + sexually suggestive dance moves = popular music video. With a winning formula like that, people remain glued to their TV sets watching and then when they’re walking around the office, they continually hum the tune while mentally recalling the brazen booty of a particular dance sequence… aaah, good times..<br /><br />The other day, I was at a friends place and in the interest of background noise, MTV was thrown on the telly.. Luckily, it was the dance video segment and I must say, the formula is back and badder than ever. Out of the 10 videos that appeared during the segment, 6 had the formula. I watched two friends fastened to their seats in front of the TV with no desire to even contemplate moving or offer a helping hand while the rest cooked.<br /><br />Averting my eyes to the screen briefly, my brain quickly registered what was going on in the video, blocked out all the noise and surroundings, and sent neural messages to my body to stop everything and just watch. I remained a catatonic mass disinterested in anything except the girls in skimpy cotton underwear playing football. The booms and beats in the background were of little consequence except for the fact that while that music was on the girls were still running around. We watched the whole video, a football match between the blondes and the brunettes, and neither of us new who won, who scored a goal or what was going on. Yes it did feel slightly Pavlovian, completely sucked into the formula of watching girls move around, but I didn’t care. The close-ups, ohh the close-ups.. After the video I realized the formula and how effective it was… now I feel programmed to definitely watch the next time I see this video come on and I will demand to watch it if possible, and eventually, hum the tune at work. Yes, sex sells and has been taken to a new level.<br /></div><br /><div>After the girls playing football I saw the girls in cleaning lady outfits (not French maid outfits, cleaning lady outfits) with cleavage exposed and round heinies bumping and bobbing. The concept of taking a cleaning lady, making her super sexy and just having her move around and clean while dance music is pumped through the speakers, sounds pathetic as I write this, but during the airing, made as much perfect sense as breathing.<br /><br />There were a couple of more videos that I causally glanced over, and tried to pull myself away from. The one thing that stayed true is that they all kept to the formula: dance music, half naked women, and lots of provocative dancing.<br /><br />I don’t know if Arabic music videos took a lesson from Eric Prydz or if they knew the formula all along, but the music channels like “Mazzika” can get pretty soft core. I always chuckle when I see the older gentleman on the treadmill at the gym salivating over Nancy or Maria or Alyssa (running out of names) in her latest music video. You hear the claps and cheers, the “aaakkhhhh” s and so on and so forth. </div><br /><div>Eventually I had to remove myself from the viewing angle of the screen, I was just becoming antisocial and was getting annoyed with myself because I was slobbering over TV women, and that’s not very becoming. Living in the middle east, we spend a considerable amount of time watching fashion tv. At first, it’s all fun and games watching wave after wave of beautiful models in swimwear or lingerie. But then the reality of the fact sets in, that all you’re doing is frustrating yourself cause hell will definitely freeze over before zainab, khatoon and moza get fit and strut their stuff.. </div></div>Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-50942275457641155762007-06-02T18:31:00.000+03:002007-06-02T20:50:19.017+03:00In my mind, I'm goin to Sri Lanka<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5kFm3wqpO5TXw3AF64LAtuVwOu9k1Cy40oufQqt4Ge5xA1NSSO0uz8LmHW5Y4R9SYbTh1Q3tj_Wq4gcZUebsk7SoGhQMb3g60GqYIa40jwoVhyphenhyphen3dhOdG8CfFf-8nrSxI0NzYy/s1600-h/palm+trees.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5kFm3wqpO5TXw3AF64LAtuVwOu9k1Cy40oufQqt4Ge5xA1NSSO0uz8LmHW5Y4R9SYbTh1Q3tj_Wq4gcZUebsk7SoGhQMb3g60GqYIa40jwoVhyphenhyphen3dhOdG8CfFf-8nrSxI0NzYy/s320/palm+trees.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071492320897213426" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Revolutionario Anxiety<br /></span><span style="">Thee days before we’re scheduled to leave and the aerial unit of the Tamil Tigers attempt to bomb the military fuel complex at the international airport.<span style=""> </span>News breaks out that flights have been cancelled and I fret for about an hour.<span style=""> </span>A brief moment of apprehension was the catalyst in a series of phone calls.<span style=""> </span>This is the gist of those phone calls:<o:p></o:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span><i><span style="">The tigers tried to bomb the airport, <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Colombo</st1:place></st1:city>’s shut down..<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="">Really? Is it still safe? <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="">Yeah, relatively. It’s just that Emirates cancelled their flights there.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="">I guess it’s good we’re flying Sri Lankan Air then.. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="">Yea.. I just hope they don’t cancel our flight.. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="">We’re still going right? <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="">Of course, I’m not worried. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="">Me neither.. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="">But we’re taking a car.. I don’t want wait around the airport for a seaplane to take us...<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="">Fine, you sissy.. </span></i><span style=""><o:p></o:p><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">And with that, our plans steamrolled ahead..<span style=""> </span>Something magical about <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Sri Lanka</st1:place></st1:country-region> has been calling me for years now, and this was my time to find that voice.<span style=""> </span>Braving the possibility of harm, we took the red eye from <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Dubai</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style=""> </span>Landing in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Colombo</st1:place></st1:city> early morning and I was amazed at how everything worked out so smoothly and efficiently, placating my anxiety about our safety.<span style=""> </span>A sleepy 3.5hour drive later, we arrived in Koggala village right outside of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Galle</st1:place></st1:city>, on the south west coast, ready to chill out for the next 6 days and get an initial feel for the country.<br /><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR6i6g0kHBW_68RZwAqwH0tQ5NfzmCZtbAXAHASoPZ1WWdEOM2XKnyGCEX8DqSBOz9r8_99HhGDF6pLJncd_1MFULnGBwwHqaWymGOR5F6w4qp8ktMCPn1yOudWlnkB1dEUIRm/s1600-h/smiley+tree.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR6i6g0kHBW_68RZwAqwH0tQ5NfzmCZtbAXAHASoPZ1WWdEOM2XKnyGCEX8DqSBOz9r8_99HhGDF6pLJncd_1MFULnGBwwHqaWymGOR5F6w4qp8ktMCPn1yOudWlnkB1dEUIRm/s320/smiley+tree.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071492509875774466" border="0" /></a><b><span style="">Again with the mosquitoes..</span></b><span style=""><br />Maybe we were asking for it by visiting <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Sri Lanka</st1:place></st1:country-region> at the start of Monsoon season, but those bastards were ferocious.<span style=""> </span>Having armed myself with jungle strength mosquito lotion, and jungle mosquito pads, I thought we were safe, but I paid dearly for that error.<span style=""> </span>My first two mornings there were spent inspecting the new bites all over my face and hands.<span style=""> </span>It got so bad that the hotel staff, fearing a lawsuit or something worse, burned citronella and mosquito coils twice daily in our room.<span style=""> </span>I became “bumpy crater face from room 5”.<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">There is something to be said about the satisfaction of squashing a mosquito with your bare hands and seeing the blood that was just recently sucked from your skin splattered between your palms.<span style=""> </span>Mosquito killing spree mornings were a lovely tradition of revenge on the trip.<span style=""> </span>The nice thing about this was after being jacked on antihistamines, lotions and various remedies, I went to see an Ayurvedic doctor who rubbed some homebrew of oils and leaves on my arms to stop the swelling – in the karmic scheme of things, it felt nice getting holistic treatment meant to be cheap, but expensive because it’s in a hotel, for free.. Did that even make sense?<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I'm on vacation, sure i'll have another...<br /></span><span style="">Because of my anxiety and constant complaining about looking grotesque for my vacation pictures (over 15 swollen bites all over my face).. I was fed two bottles of wine a day with a number of drinks spaced out to keep my buzz and forget about my appearance.<span style=""> </span>Let me tell you, there’s nothing that numbs the urge to itch, than inebriation..<span style=""> </span>It just keeps you jovial and merry, well except for the fact that I might have spurred alcoholism, but that’s all ok now.. <i>Hiccup</i>.<span style=""><br /></span><o:p></o:p></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUbEUdbMPtANM_6rmyrXdfDvVC7eekBlC-mc0YDApSbnO2g7JW31_LdE7ClM7bxrR9LoJrkvbyUPNFcBqnZEOgVT5x-aJc5hQutIrri_gP1kKTxcYTyjWDl7ZOQkFr3EtNGcQv/s1600-h/simpsons+clouds.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUbEUdbMPtANM_6rmyrXdfDvVC7eekBlC-mc0YDApSbnO2g7JW31_LdE7ClM7bxrR9LoJrkvbyUPNFcBqnZEOgVT5x-aJc5hQutIrri_gP1kKTxcYTyjWDl7ZOQkFr3EtNGcQv/s320/simpsons+clouds.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071493248610149442" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">When in Ceylon, drink Ceylon<br /></span><span style="">Not that I could tell the difference, but I was hoping to drink some good tea while in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Sri Lanka</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style=""> </span>Every morning, we drank tea, and although pishi was able to tell the difference, I just tasted tea.<span style=""> </span>Still unable to tell a difference, we drove through the jungle for a visit to one of the world’s “best” natural tea plantations.<span style=""> </span>I didn’t know this, but green tea, black tea, and white tea all come from the same plant, the variations all depend on how many leaves and how much of the stem you clip.<span style=""> </span>So,,, we tasted, dabbled and bought the purveyed goods to take home as gifts; but end of the day, my lipton tea taste buds were pathetic.</span><br /><br />Walking on a 200-acre tea plantation inspecting the various types of teas and pesticide free produce, we came across a lot of sound.<span style=""> </span>Apparently the workers on the tea plantation are really into their hi-fi sets, spending all their salaries and using credit to buy sound systems.<span style=""> </span>And that’s not all, these workers pit their hi-fi sets against each other and jack up the music, dancing after a long day at the plantation.<span style=""> </span>Although I was taken back by the 100 year old machines used to process the tea leaves to the stuff we drink every morning, I couldn’t help but wonder how crazy the ear blasting dancehall parties got on a tea plantation in south west Sri Lanka.<br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS5y8ypyUBh4H-UX7_B-22OKH2AdS-JVw26N2EqXza0pyYW2IY8PjLuT8qauXlhbFeWN9uNOj0VbQjpL3VB-vpx_Tf53jlC1M7ihB9jw016ZjOyzQ520umyTZE9-Vo4k_q1Y53/s1600-h/galle+fort+lovers.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS5y8ypyUBh4H-UX7_B-22OKH2AdS-JVw26N2EqXza0pyYW2IY8PjLuT8qauXlhbFeWN9uNOj0VbQjpL3VB-vpx_Tf53jlC1M7ihB9jw016ZjOyzQ520umyTZE9-Vo4k_q1Y53/s320/galle+fort+lovers.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071492711739237394" border="0" /></a><span style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tourism, Tsunami and the Tamil Tigers<br /></span></span><st1:city st="on"><span style="">Galle</span></st1:city><span style=""> was affected by the Tsunami, but unlike the other destinations like <st1:country-region st="on">Thailand</st1:country-region> and the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Maldives</st1:place></st1:country-region>, tourism has suffered because of the safety concerns with the Tamil Tigers.<span style=""> </span>And because of these troubles, <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Sri Lanka</st1:place></st1:country-region> has been neglected as a popular tourist destination.<span style=""> </span>A lot of people promised to help and restore the country, but those were empty promises like the ones of Shane Warne (silly twit of an Australian bowler), who pledged to restore the Galle cricket ground to its pre-tsunami charm.<span style=""> </span>Well, to this very day, only 20% of that money promised has made its way, and the people have given up on him, tsk tsk Shane, you just can’t seem to get a break can you?<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">The locals are super friendly and really appreciate visitors, so no worries about people ripping you off or wanting to rip you off – maybe a little, but nothing too bad.<span style=""> </span>And yes, there are troubles with the Tamil Tigers, but that shouldn’t deter you from going, the situation is between them with the government and not tourists.. Obviously, stay away from crowds, try not to get stuck in the thick of a busy location, keep your head down and no one will bother you at all.<span style=""> </span>Some of the architecture was absolutely beautiful there with Geoffrey Bawa (<st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Sri Lanka</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s favorite architect) putting up some gorgeous buildings (I hear Kandalama on the lake is supposed to be stunning).<br /><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgMrRUYQU5ahpngoe_21tQQoO4h5bqWQTEZroxXu-MW2Uou1n8bk554WiYLe9ZnIOBnYIFTjCiITwc434k7YDKmg-d4h5pGMPPBYrnlioX-4jtIfMFtGb6QELfczKK216oWAJt/s1600-h/fisherman.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgMrRUYQU5ahpngoe_21tQQoO4h5bqWQTEZroxXu-MW2Uou1n8bk554WiYLe9ZnIOBnYIFTjCiITwc434k7YDKmg-d4h5pGMPPBYrnlioX-4jtIfMFtGb6QELfczKK216oWAJt/s320/fisherman.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071492874947994658" border="0" /></a><span style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">Goin back? mosdef<br /></span>All in all, good food, beautiful scenery, nice people, and laid back life made <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Galle</st1:place></st1:city> perfect for me.<span style=""> </span>Being islanders, the Lankans are the coolest of the subcontinent with a definite hippie hakuna matata outlook on life.<span style=""> </span>The Galle Fort, is a beautiful UNESCO world heritage site, and is also the hangout littered with young lovers courting each other.<span style=""> </span>The beaches and their fishermen catching sear fish and other varieties were a beautiful sight to see.<span style=""> </span>Apart from the romance, one of the better memories for me, is going for a swim in a protected bay with pishi and watching a Sri Lankan father take his toddler into the water to teach him how to swim.<span style=""> </span>Having a beautiful traveling companion also helps, she makes the pictures look good..<br /><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRYYVa_dGoZfdkE015wuqW2l7m9HiU6njlFeAWspygnEaW911S7GNYUm3lT3ozSiWoxz3LMZ3gjlOqZfhxSznCKVRPsN5WE6YA5OcDiZvXTzZSGC8HvQQbpJhr3UUH1oB1F-R3/s1600-h/room+pool.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRYYVa_dGoZfdkE015wuqW2l7m9HiU6njlFeAWspygnEaW911S7GNYUm3lT3ozSiWoxz3LMZ3gjlOqZfhxSznCKVRPsN5WE6YA5OcDiZvXTzZSGC8HvQQbpJhr3UUH1oB1F-R3/s320/room+pool.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071493081106424882" border="0" /></a><span style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">Not for nothing but...<br /></span>I don’t want to gloat, but,,, there is a certain cool factor when you’re flipping through this month’s wallpaper and find them talking about your hotel.<span style=""> </span>Tres hip.<span style=""> </span>And yes it was dedoned out, we enjoyed the leaf.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <span style=""><span style=""></span></span>Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-40664148962502331572007-03-12T12:16:00.000+03:002007-06-02T18:48:16.206+03:00vocabulario IV<p>The time to crunch is upon us and I will be taking a break from you folk indefinitely.. So,,, the kids, the dog and me are all taking off for a little need to sort out my real life breather, the real life where I’m not explaining myself to a computer screen.. yeah that real life.. Here is this, the last vocabulario for a while.. enjoy it,, stretch them out.. if you can use gadzooks this week - I’ll be impressed..<br /><br />Flapdoodle<br /><br />Gadzooks!<br /><br />Skullduggery<br /></p><p>Gadzooks!! What method of skullduggery is this? Bahraini rants flapdoodling about and disappearing on me again? I don’t trust him or his vocabularizing filler posts..<br /><br /><br /><br />Take care folks.. be good and see you soon.. leave a comment if you like, I promise to write back.. And if you just can’t get enough, well then, go listen to Gohan yell it through your speakers.. huraaaahh.. </p>Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-27788967097972791862007-03-08T11:52:00.000+03:002007-06-02T18:48:08.681+03:00Kuwait and its Kiwis<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghs7E7lxeWKuO7X5i-o6RXY8GMupQdV8QX_fkCNRTqb3rbOd_45Q4PBmfsy9r86NkpTNbQF-n63GWMywiS7JGPpFJ_z3ghsei8dKloRNaR_I5Z-7HgSnysImPcEgTwBvwrTuCm/s1600-h/CIMG0046.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039479115464772722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghs7E7lxeWKuO7X5i-o6RXY8GMupQdV8QX_fkCNRTqb3rbOd_45Q4PBmfsy9r86NkpTNbQF-n63GWMywiS7JGPpFJ_z3ghsei8dKloRNaR_I5Z-7HgSnysImPcEgTwBvwrTuCm/s320/CIMG0046.JPG" border="0" /></a><strong>Random tripping with D.. </strong></p><p>A couple of hours were spent in the Mubarakiya souk where D and I traversed through the various streets and dusty alleys trying to find something interesting to buy or take pictures of.... We left with a tetris puzzle, some shape shifting toys, an oversized foam puck that hovers (battery operated), and some interesting shots.. Killing off some time till lunch, I then ended up taking a picture of a gun shop and got yelled at by the owner, who thought I was a journalist. He eventually laughed off my slightly tense Bahraini accent and let me go my way (you would be tense if you saw all the rifles and scary looking employees). Mental note to self, the customer is always right, except in a gun store. </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039479136939609250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcDnnJwJ7Y-YhfQTyK4svy7PMl40vVcNAZDKEnb-dvm_U3WjHc1wh9g2Fr3ZgbrTKUbtZs0IL_6taABfineeatYX7w_wT0LONV4YwpfxvZtZ17Qp8cSGzg-1eMk64gx_B7NdCF/s320/CIMG0060.JPG" border="0" /></p><p><strong>Booze and Big Squeeze..</strong></p><p>The number one conversation of my weekend in Kuwait centered on an article in the local papers that mentioned an imminent alcohol ban in Bahrain. After going into a detailed analysis and providing my personal opinion over 10 ten times, I got tired and began truncating my reply with a “don’t worry about it”. I still haven’t figured out if the people I spoke to were happy alcohol might be banned or whether they were worried about their own weekend excursions. The thought of having to find a dealer for booze is a little funny, not trying to rub it in, it’s just funny, I laugh at the Doobyians about this one too.. </p><p>Drinking in restaurants james bondishly was an interesting experience, bringing out a level of sneakiness I haven’t felt since I was in high school or at a party my parents were throwing. I did end up forgetting where I was a couple of times and ordered a vodka from the uninterested waitress. My no no was quickly laughed off as a joke and I continued to drink my friends’ stash and merrily talked the night away. In house boozing was fun as hell and the convos and chilled out atmo is what really makes it, or maybe I was just happy to be in Kuwait doing the dirty.. The party scene is pretty happening and i was impressed with everyone's fun vibe. You gotta be on the list otherwise Bu'Francois wont let you through the private villa velvet ropes..</p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvrwleEMpb_nMa-jDyCtAdBp5JjgcAc58eYzUcAJOF4M6Ol14q05mWQYCowDVAFIGptGPo7gLsvtMX6NXYeTVbXQ5gu7J8igysaW1eavTeGpt2PhxaIzs9iq4xlrwnQDuv9qrv/s1600-h/CIMG0077.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039479124054707330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvrwleEMpb_nMa-jDyCtAdBp5JjgcAc58eYzUcAJOF4M6Ol14q05mWQYCowDVAFIGptGPo7gLsvtMX6NXYeTVbXQ5gu7J8igysaW1eavTeGpt2PhxaIzs9iq4xlrwnQDuv9qrv/s320/CIMG0077.JPG" border="0" /></a><strong>With Great Friends: </strong></p><p>Nothing changes... 7 years ago, we were 5 or so lads hanging about an apartment on a Friday afternoon pondering our plans for the evening and discussing matters of no relevance.. Some on the computer downloading something crass, some playing video games, some ordering food and one particular person hanging out in his undershirt.. 7 years later, the same 5 guys, a little older, but back to hanging out, our discussions of hot Colombians and super models were replaced with more adult talk. Some grey hairs, some gained weight, but for the most part we still played video games and that same guy was still in his undershirt.. It’s nice to pick up exactly where you all left off. Also, leave it to my old amigo to discover a great hole in the wall Thai restaurant for a nice masaman curry.. Pataya Beach Restaurant – good, cheap, and dangerous - typical..</p><p></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039479111169805410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx15Hbx3dLV59FZ7KmqyQDqrcllDK9P0K1RKXGbxtHq2IyqWHI4uLGyJZg-yTuytdagjSgNyGz-yz-sVIlTs2Puj-SdIHAI_bVTm1r4W6yjKxwlh2aQxsY-1bYqKUaiZACCoqF/s320/DSC00597.JPG" border="0" /><strong>This post to you was brought by:</strong></p><p>The location in Hawali might be a little bothersome, but GO NUTS DONUTS has to be one of the best donuts I’ve tried in a really long time.. Although I do like the brand that we do not speak of but begins with K and ends with a rispy Kreme, Go Nuts Donuts does stand as a delicious donut. I got to sample quite a few of their products and I must say, it was the first time I have a chocolate donut that had real Belgian chocolate drizzled on it - unreal.. If you’re looking for fresh Donuts from a brand that really puts an emphasis on quality, look them up, you wont be sorry.. This might seem as barefaced endorsement, it is important to note that I personally don’t eat donuts, but loved these.. Call and order some delivered to your office..</p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWeuB_OdN1vHQB-nWMA4KH1JpQUeiiGTO2JpmFHT5sgUUjuVtdCF2pHyfsTGh8FGpRpwYoDYeUaY4OErITNy7-wrGGX5teOv7WnVmQQn6sVHC6_yAcI88r2BB9_m1SbWgXTYMO/s1600-h/CIMG0100.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039479128349674642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWeuB_OdN1vHQB-nWMA4KH1JpQUeiiGTO2JpmFHT5sgUUjuVtdCF2pHyfsTGh8FGpRpwYoDYeUaY4OErITNy7-wrGGX5teOv7WnVmQQn6sVHC6_yAcI88r2BB9_m1SbWgXTYMO/s320/CIMG0100.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><strong>Thoughts:</strong> </p><p>KDD gold ice cream (vanilla ice cream cone with chocolate and nuts) is the holy grail of gold ice creams, Danish dairy wide -BDD you’ve lost your appeal. I was amazed really.. Lorenzo’s pies are overrated, come to Bahrain and try Luigi’s and then decide – ummhmm.. Sandstorms there are pretty nasty, and when I mean nasty all that was left was me exhaling dust rings.. They take caffeine to another level – if you think your coffee consumption is bad, head to Kuwait and you’ll see real caffeine consumption.. Kuwait Airways have the most inept staff I’ve ever seen, why have a self-check in machine if there’s no one to show you how to use it? And you guys need to work on your attitude… Villa Moda is a seriously beautiful department store, hats off..<br /></p><p><br />It’s always fantastic seeing your old posse, and when your conversations involve talking shop, music, future directions, ex-girlfriends, media, and robot genatilia, you can be sure it’s a good time.. </p><p>A ginormous thanks for the great time to my old friends and a nice to meet you to my new friends in Kuwait.. except you wehbee, I still hate you.. </p>Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-86180235879073724642007-03-06T12:10:00.000+03:002007-03-06T12:38:36.312+03:00food related randomatica<strong>What kind of fast food person are you?<br /></strong>When it comes to “fast food” I believe there are two types of people: pizza people and burger people.. You can like both, in fact many people do, including yours truly. But if they put a slice of pizza and a burger in front of you and you had to choose just one, what would it be? Lets assume taste is not a factor here, either of them will be the delicious meal you crave. See, I’m a big fan of both, but when the line is drawn and I have to pick, it will be burger over the pizza all the time… I’m still not sure what the answers from this question will generate in terms of someone’s personality, but I’m still working on finding the correlation. Which one will you choose anonymous reader that never comments? I’m talking to you Reston, Virginia…<br /><br /><br /><strong>Microwaves at work</strong><br />An important topic since we all hate the permeating smells that waft through our hallways mid morning.. Fish, reheated in the microwave at work, what’s your take? I am on the side of the fence that feels it’s wrong, very wrong, and it indubitably stinks up the entire floor – there should be a law prohibiting the use of fish and microwaves.. grill, bake, poach, fry, anything else is fine, but microwave? fish? That’s disgusting - reheat in the oven if you must, but don't nuke nemo. Raise of hands, who’s on my side with this? What kind of person has those brilliant ideas to begin with? <em>I just couldn’t possibly finish off the last fillet of salmon, I know, I’ll just reheat this at work tomorrow for my lunch in the microwave, oh i'm not worried something's going to happen to day old fish that's nuked, my stomach can handle it</em>.. I’m of the belief that there should be a law prohibiting the use of fish and microwaves. Lets take a stand on this together.. no nuked fish..<br /><br />what else stinks up the room or floor reheated in the microwave, hmm Reston, Virginia?<br /><br /><br /><strong>Redbull argument with the supervisor at the canteen.</strong><br />Hello, are you the supervisor?<br /><br />Yes sir how can I help you<br /><br />I’m happy you asked. I have a problem with how much you charge for Redbull here.. You charge 600 fils per can, where everywhere else in Bahrain charges 500 fils. Now I understand that 100 fils extra isn’t that big of price hike, but if you do the math, you’re charging a 20% increase compared to any other store or supermarket. Considering that you charge regular market rates for all your other drinks and food stuffs, I’m wondering why you charge 600 fils per Redbull instead of 500 fils.<br /><br />Sir we have 8 locations and for the past year we’ve charged 600 fils, no one complains..<br /><br />Yes that’s all fine and dandy, but I know you get your Redbull at wholesale, and if the rest of the market is happy with the profit they’re making by charging 500 fils, that’s a little greedy and on your part to charge 600 fils. With regards to your 8 locations, have you conducted any studies as to how many Redbulls are sold? And if you lowered the cost to the market rate, how many more cans would you sell.. have you researched this?<br /><br />I’ll look into it.<br /><br />I’m just saying that I would end up saving 1 dinar a week if not more if you just adjusted your price to the market price. That’s 52 dinars a year, insignificant week in week out, but it adds up. All you’re doing is deterring me from buying Redbull from you.. that and creating a negative image of your brand as a whole in my mind.<br /><br />Ok sir I’ll look into it..<br /><br />And other people know this too, they wont buy Redbull from here because you charge 20% more. It’s only 100 fils, but we play with numbers all day and a 20% increase is a rip off all things considered.. you’re trying to sell a product at an over inflated price to people who make a living out of skimming.. do you understand what I mean?<br /><br />Ok sir I’ll look into it.. but across 8 locations..<br /><br />..What’s to stop me from buying everything at retail price and selling it 550 fils, or 500 fils just to spite you.. wouldn’t you feel pretty upset that someone else is selling to market and you’re losing out on all that business? Cause I would definitely go and get a letter of no objection from the company to open up a side business and sell redbull outside your canteen..<br /><br />ok sir, i'll check..<br /><br /><em>Realizing the futility of my words and the exasperation from my needed caffeine fix, I gave up, paid for my 20% inflated Redbull and made my way back to my floor. Are you happy now Reston, Virginia? </em>Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-52380150177708096362007-03-04T17:43:00.000+03:002007-03-04T17:56:09.225+03:00kalimaat..Well it’s Sunday, the beginning of the week for us in this part of the world that get Fridays and Saturdays off.. I don’t know about you lot, but the vocabularios of recent have been a little heavy on the prudent scale of fascinating words.. I thought this week we could try to use words that were a little more interesting to pronounce. So here are my three words, look at yourself in the mirror and say them out loud, drop one of them across your dinner conversation, or maybe even have a meltdown and yell one out loud.. I especially like them…<br /><br />Higgledy-Piggledy<br /><br />Didactic<br /><br />Quiddity<br /><br />I hope you don’t think I’m taking a didactic approach with these vocabularios, my intentions truly rest in the desire to help relay the quiddity of this exercise week in and week out. It is my hope to eventually organize the higgledy-piggledy collection into a fully functioning index of odd words that we can all learn to love.<br /><br /><strong>On a completely unrelated note..</strong><br />I’ve started the Bahrain <a href="http://www.monocle.com">Monocle</a> club.. 4 people have already purchased the magazine’s first issue as per my recommendation, and I’m sure there are a couple of people in Kuwait that will buy the magazine just to shut me up.. Tyler Brûlé, you can now sleep safe at night knowing that your Middle East sales are doing just fine thanks to the crafty and selfless promoting of a certain bahraini rants.Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-19905403176960987352007-03-02T09:07:00.000+03:002007-03-02T09:55:13.487+03:00rex the barbary falconSometimes i get blue.. when that happens, i find this guy hanging around on the ledge outside my window at work... he comes over, pauses and gives me a look "khey man, everything cool? you look a little down, you look like you could use some cheering up".<br /><br />he's a Barbary falcon (a subspecies of the Peregrine), flies through Bahrain when the weather's nice, and is missing a talon - i call him rex. if you haven't noticed, rex is a total camera whore..<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2XgbsgIyzRqnaQYcYzw4HAm_BJvu9IFr3LLIQVfD5DjmQB4NJoFgAn3_FrNTqfDaPqkP8RfCHDYwu6f1nh8qBC6ihZh3kvDwgYm5ZeilL1zd-b9duz_FxfM1sVPLqsHvRE4V5/s1600-h/DSC00539.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2XgbsgIyzRqnaQYcYzw4HAm_BJvu9IFr3LLIQVfD5DjmQB4NJoFgAn3_FrNTqfDaPqkP8RfCHDYwu6f1nh8qBC6ihZh3kvDwgYm5ZeilL1zd-b9duz_FxfM1sVPLqsHvRE4V5/s320/DSC00539.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037205617480215410" border="0" /></a>this is him peering through my window trying to get my attention, but still acting cool about it.. it's around this time that i drop everything i'm doing to snap a couple of shots on my cameraphone (the little 2 megapixel that could)...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLKAROaJNdJlCBwouJRXxJsgidfgsFl_6JXtCSz6fbAH6ZPNA4aBvT1V3Pq_nYt_zYR87vXE72VRrRSEE97NMF02CPsTpFjfdQeKgBtrS5P33M1YbNinmcAVN730aPpcx-0Zi7/s1600-h/DSC00540.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLKAROaJNdJlCBwouJRXxJsgidfgsFl_6JXtCSz6fbAH6ZPNA4aBvT1V3Pq_nYt_zYR87vXE72VRrRSEE97NMF02CPsTpFjfdQeKgBtrS5P33M1YbNinmcAVN730aPpcx-0Zi7/s320/DSC00540.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037205621775182722" border="0" /></a>this is his, "lets get the prerequisite symbols of Arabia photoshoot out of the way first and then we'll talk".. notice the serious look on his face, the prestige, the piercing glaze in his eyes, the determination.. i think we all know who'd win the staring you down contest..<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEincwEw7tXT1t2_64_YxkIUVFY1W0HHK4b35zy3Rm1Fb6h0H_CFd7ULgbY4KFcadagJ3NRQF-1MwBE0fcAKHu2aVMnEckrWKXHIT-OMJJyaCsoH8ycCfdm4caxyNniHaLGnWfER/s1600-h/DSC00541.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEincwEw7tXT1t2_64_YxkIUVFY1W0HHK4b35zy3Rm1Fb6h0H_CFd7ULgbY4KFcadagJ3NRQF-1MwBE0fcAKHu2aVMnEckrWKXHIT-OMJJyaCsoH8ycCfdm4caxyNniHaLGnWfER/s320/DSC00541.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037205626070150034" border="0" /></a>you talkin to me bitch? huh? i said, you talkin to me? i don't see no other bird on this ledge but me so you must be talkin to me.. do not get my feathers ruffled man, you're biting off more than your molars can chew. i will claw out your eyeballs and nest my eggs in your bleeding warm sockets.. do not get my feathers ruffled man..<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM9HbepHAjjxD9ONZwxuHtlVrSLjUPbYr-vTNgD8-7mX4NTr3IpV_-0Ux8orN97UgJ_jGBPFGkYROVTG-AF1IdQHpD5BiQStrmaSe0OUuH3FgtvbR0JGUlIam5JmSkrSJoiWxn/s1600-h/DSC00542.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM9HbepHAjjxD9ONZwxuHtlVrSLjUPbYr-vTNgD8-7mX4NTr3IpV_-0Ux8orN97UgJ_jGBPFGkYROVTG-AF1IdQHpD5BiQStrmaSe0OUuH3FgtvbR0JGUlIam5JmSkrSJoiWxn/s320/DSC00542.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037205626070150050" border="0" /></a>this is rex right before he's off to kill a pigeon or some innocent animal. scoping out the scene, he turns for one last photo. lets wrap this up, i feel my right side is my best side, what do you think? total camera whore i tell you..<br /><br /><br />so that's rex, the falcon that just comes and hangs out. <br /><br />always does wonders for my mood..Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-16875293052408923242007-02-28T07:49:00.000+03:002007-02-28T07:54:30.772+03:00serious sandwich talk<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM19-9qvVPVrofDdyrPNJuBwa7-3CUW4wZrm_3gG6rd6Ltm13pLVVkGdvKfMLN3ZkcjfQQrOAfjkYqIFH5kZVXtL7nW7AyDqeuGDeqXgOpF2s0ptiaOjOCwgja0CwRCISKs5LR/s1600-h/sandwich.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036443593115918610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM19-9qvVPVrofDdyrPNJuBwa7-3CUW4wZrm_3gG6rd6Ltm13pLVVkGdvKfMLN3ZkcjfQQrOAfjkYqIFH5kZVXtL7nW7AyDqeuGDeqXgOpF2s0ptiaOjOCwgja0CwRCISKs5LR/s320/sandwich.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><p><strong></strong></p><br /><p><strong>the beginning</strong><br />In my humble opinion, the greatest invention in the world has to be the sandwich. Due to the common sense of housing meat inside bread, everyone claims to have invented this wondrous meal, but the truth is, no one really cares but if you really really want the truth, we invented it. The actual name sandwich is attributed to the 4rth earl of sandwich, who in order to not get his fingers messy had meat stuffed between bread. There are two stories behind the earl’s request, #1 he was constantly working and wanted to eat something at his desk with minimal mess #2 he frequently gambled and wanted something to eat while he played cards.<br /><br />Here’s how it panned out in 1762 (read in a very English Stewie Griffin voice):<br /><br /><em>Percy: john, these snacks are absolutely delicious, who would’ve thought to put cold cuts between bread, wouldn’t you say so cecil?<br /><br />Cecil: oh absolutely smashing your earlness.. absolutely smashing.<br /><br />John, the 4th earl of sandwich: pretty good ayh gents? now lets call. I’ve got three jacks.<br /><br />Cecil: I fold, like a tartan kilt.. ahahaaahahaahhaa.. (the room goes quiet) ahhahha?<br /><br />Percy: sorry john but I win with four queens, dreadful luck ol chap. That takes my winnings to…<br /><br />John: yes, well you still need to cover the expenses of the sandwich.<br /><br />Percy: the what?<br /><br />John: the sandwich you Poncy bastard. You owe me for the sandwich you’re eating. Now pay up before I have Reginald shove a Cornish hen up your rectal cavity.<br /><br /></em>Incidentally, that marked the first sandwich sale, and gave birth to the short-lived but still famous 4rth round sandwich or Cornish game hen up the butt game at gambling tables worldwide.<br /><br /><strong>yanks take the cakewich</strong><br />The level of sandwiches offered here in the Middle East, depending on where you eat, are a little disappointing. Let me come out and say that we have no problems in the shawarma and falafel categories – nor do we have any issues with the cafeteria sandwiches (there’s nothing like a samboosa and sliced processed cheese with Tabasco in a white bun). However, the “other” sandwiches tend to cater to a more anglo-palette, carrying a much more angular taste than you’d like. Although sandwiches from all over the world are delicious, I’m just going to again come out and say something else: in the field of creation and reengineering, no one can compete with the Americans. In fact, if there were a sandwich Olympics, I’d just give gold to the Americans in every category and not bother competing. Allow me to elaborate: because of the hodgepodge of ethnicities in the US, a number of immigrants intermingled their national foods and then had to repackage it to suit the average American consumer (think how real Chinese food was altered to suit the American palette) – hence the extra fillings, the pressing, the meals converted into sandwiches, etc. In defining a sandwich, I’m inclined to say almost anything housed between bread is considered to fall within the sandwich grouping, so if a = b, then the Americans (with their multi-ethnicities) have excelled at hotdogs, burgers, cold cut sandwiches, burritos, chacareros, PB&Js, chicken parms, lobster rolls, cheese steaks, and others.<br /><br /><strong>skimping out<br /></strong>When ordering a sandwich here, the person behind the counter usually layers on a slice or two of the actual meat into the sandwich, cheapishly known as the skimping out method. It’s as though they rub the sliced turkey on the bread for you to get the basic gist, but then leave you with two slices and enough lettuce to think you’re a vegetarian. The American method involves layering so much meat you actually have to ask for less pastrami on your sandwich because it’s a little overkill. I like it when I have to ask for less of an ingredient, especially if it’s the meat filling.<br /><br /><strong>mustard misfortune</strong><br />I am a huge fan of mustard, and although I do like English mustard, that’s the only mustard that is regularly stocked in restaurants and sandwich shops here in the Middle East. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of sinus opening condiments, I do like them, but not as the only option of condiment I can put on my sandwich. I would pick any other mustard over English any day, hands down; whole grain, deli, honey, brown, Dijon, even regular ol’ yellow, there are so many other options. But this goes back to my anglo-palette statement, leaving you to wonder, what kind of culinary contributions have the English given the world that we must cling to their English Mustard to go with our meals?<br /><br /><strong>do your thing</strong><br />Making due with what we have, I’ve learned to hover in front of the counter as they prepare my sandwich.. If you don’t have what I like on the menu, I will pay you more to let me create my sandwich as I like… a simple substitution of cheese, the choice of bread, the wonders of pressing the sandwich, extra meat, there’s a lot there going on, and if you have the same problem as me, then don’t be afraid to speak up. I’ve trained the cafeteria cooks at work to prepare my sandwiches the way I like them, and have slowly begun reengineering their prepackaged sandwiches to suit your taste.<br /><br />Some of my Ultimate sandwiches:<br /><br /><strong>Italian</strong>: cold cuts with lettuce, tomato, green peppers, pickles, olives, a little bit of onion, salt, pepper and olive oil, toasted.<br /><br /><strong>Hangover</strong>: egg with onions and a little green chili, melted cheese, tomatoes, in a white sesame bun pressed.<br /><br /><strong>Union square</strong>: prosciutto, brie & cherry tomatoes, all in a buttered plain bagel in a toaster oven.<br /><br /><strong>Work</strong>: turkey, cheese, lettuce, tomato, mustard in a submarine sandwich, pressed to death.<br /><br /><strong>PBnN</strong>: Creamy Peanut Butter and Nutella on white bread.<br /><br /><strong>OyVey</strong>: Hot Pastrami with swiss cheese and brown mustard on rye.<br /><br /><strong>Paahhm</strong>: chicken cutlet, marinara sauce with tomato chunks, and melted cheese - all in a nice hoagie bun..<br /><br /><strong>Primrose hill</strong>: plain bagel, egg salad, tomato and cucumber slices.. salt and pepper..<br /><br />Dang. I could write a whole post listing my favorite sandwiches and I haven’t even broached the burger topic... What are some of your favorites? </p><br /><div></div>Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-43606097306661153512007-02-26T18:01:00.000+03:002007-02-26T18:08:11.845+03:00vexingvocabSo here we are again, a vocabulario for today’s sentiment.. I would explain and talk and say something obtuse like I normally do, but I just can’t seem to find it in me this week.. so you'll have to make due with a unimpressive tahdah.. tahdah..<br /><br />Foolhardy<br /><br />Dithering<br /><br />Amalgam<br /><br /><br />The amalgam of dithering thoughts and foolhardiness has plummeted me down a path of distress to say the least.<br /><br />Now if you’ll excuse me, I have the reggae version of Karma Police to attend to.. New cd shipment is in and I’m listening to drown out my thoughts.. Permanent ear damage here I come..Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-47991459598383605032007-02-21T16:53:00.000+03:002007-02-21T17:24:08.581+03:00improving imagesThis falls more under the guise of constructive criticism, so whomever comes out feeling offended, take note that this is because I want to see you do well and I want you to have my business, rather than ignore you and write you off. The dated philosophy of “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” still floats freely around in Bahrain and that just does not sit well with me. Establishments that we once held as beacons of development and tourism around the island are now decrepit cesspits of rancor and filth. The 80s were filled with various enterprises with hotels, restaurants and social clubs where you could spend your money and enjoy yourself.. Today, those same enterprises still exist, however they have remained in the exact same condition and level of service as when they were christened.<br /><br />Bahrain is a natural regional tourism hub. We have a bridge connecting us with Saudi Arabia, and every weekend we get visitors from Kuwait, Saudi, and other GCC neighbors that come and spend their money. We also get visitors from all over the world that decide to come over for a quick stop en route to another destination out east. So all in all, we’re not doing too badly with the amount of tourists we can draw to our sunny archipelago of islands. Now unfortunately, some of these tourists are alcohol and women obsessed fiends that I do not care to comment on because it will just enrage you. You see, people come to visit Bahrain and say it attracts all the scum that look to have fun and run amuck, a statement that is not entire untrue because we have establishments that actually promote this kind of clientele. To the establishment, this clientele brings money in on a weekly basis so why should they care? It’s not a big deal that a guest might end up inebriated beyond any point of cohesion and walk around the hotel completely naked. Nor does it bother the hotel management that the guests get so drunk that they could very well end up assaulting a member of the staff, maybe even another guest.<br /><br />We have our 5 star hotels and they have their own rules and management practices handed down to them by their corporate office, so they end up doing a decent job of running an acceptable establishment. But the way I see it, we have enough families, expats, and regular folk living outside that would love to come to Bahrain and spend their weekends someplace else. In fact, if we offered them something other than the traditional 5 star hotels (that already have their dedicated clientele), more people will come. So I started thinking (a problem I know), what can we do to make Bahrain a better tourist destination? And the first step was quite simple, better establishments.<br /><br />Not to say we missed the gravy train, but boutique hotels came en vogue and have now become a standard in many cities all over the world. A facelift, some renovations, improved training for your staff, some real involvement and there you have it – charge more money, get some decent exposure and watch your occupancy rates swell up. I cannot begin to explain how some hotels quickly turned around their image and their star rating with a little fixing up. A quality establishment worth frequenting, a place with a committed management, an innovative perspective – that will draw the crowds in. I know this sounds a lot easier than it actually is, but just read on and hear me out.<br /><br />Driving by the Mansoori Mansions, a 4 star hotel located in Adliya that hasn’t done much to improve their image since the heyday of the 80s – I started thinking more about what can be done. The location is perfectly situated in Adlilya, a busy neighborhood in Bahrain, lots of restaurants in the vicinity, and central in terms of location in the capital. The problem the hotel is currently facing, although I don’t know if the management and owners know is: Their atmosphere is weighing on the stale than fresh (I will not comment on the rooms since I’ve never seen), their restaurant sizzlers that hasn’t changed their menu since it opened with a price tag that doesn’t justify their quality which has plummeted over the years (you’ll pay the same price at other restaurants with a better ambience and menu), a ridiculously discriminatory door policy at their ancient glory days English bar henrys (two friends in suits were fed the members and couples only excuse when they swung by for a quick lunch - even the English have switched to gastropubs while henrys is still serving club sandwiches on regular white bread), a fenced plot of bare land near the hotel that is just there serving no purpose, and another irish bar across the street with what I’m told hasn’t much to offer. . I called the hotel and found their prices to be: BD20, BD45, and BD55 for their studio, 2 bedroom and 3 bedroom suites. That’s pretty bargain basement priced if you ask me for a 4 star hotel, but given the outside appearance of the hotel and the more than possible inside appearance of the rooms, maybe that’s all you can get.<br /><br />Fret not Mr. Mansoori, who probably thinks the worst of me right now, here’s where the constructive criticism comes in: you have a perfect location, remember who your neighbors are (or aren’t), you can really turn your hotel around and make it something fantastic. First off, the name of the hotel is dated and does not give off anything but a less than 21st century image (“mansions” more like hovel). Off the top of my head, I can give you a couple of names. You’re a hotel in Adliya, you can operate a nightclub, you can operate a very good lounge and you can operate a restaurant all with liquor licenses with the utmost ease.. I don’t see why you can’t team up with some people, bring a nice restaurant to the hotel (it could be a luxury chain or your own concept, look at how well the other restaurants are doing in that area), you can have a nice bar/lounge and I guarantee you it will make people looking to visit Bahrain think twice about where they will book their rooms. If you’re stuck for options, then team up with an excellent spa and turn your boutique hotel into a full stop locale and see how well you do. You have a swimming pool? Well fix up that pool up and make it the hotel swimming pool to hang out at, an infinity pool, nice wood, and couple of objects d’art and you’re on a roll. Get yourself a good interior designer, keep it simple, have them redesign the rooms, or even spend a hefty amount of money, we’re not short on very cool hotels.. A young positive look on the place is much better than keeping it stagnant.. please innovate. I guarantee you, that if you pull this off, you will get more publicity from foreign publications and the press than you could have imagined, a spread in wallpaper magazine is just around the corner. I would even hit up the various megacompounds on the eastern province in Saudi Arabia and submit your hotel as an option for their residents when they come to Bahrain for the weekend. I’ve focused a lot of Mansoori Mansions because I really believe in the potential of their establishment with their location and everything they have going for them. Don’t misunderstand me as picking a fight, in fact this is more of a please be aware that you’ve lost a lot of customers, including my two friends that were turned down at lunchtime (and they used to be regulars). They can really pull off a coup and attract a returning clientele that will enjoy staying and dining there. Plus, you cannot deny the certain cool factor of a family hotel business that has existed for over 20 years and is now repositioning themselves as a viable alternative to the other 5 star hotels, they would definitely get my money. I think hotelier sounds pretty cool, don’t you? Adliya is a goldmine; don’t forget that, the more you delay the longer it will take for you to catch up.<br /><br />I could talk about the Marina club (maybe another post), but I’m running out of steam. Or how about the delmon hotel and the city centre hotel in Manama, two of my favorite establishments in the souk with serious amounts of potential but also lacking in care. With the upcoming upgrades to the souk, do your research and create a specialized souk shopping expertise on what to find and where to find it in the alleys of central Manama. You hook up with a couple of the traders in the souk and you’re giving back to the community and providing your customers with a service. Think about the potential, I would definitely use their service when I had visitors from out of town and they wanted to wander around the souk looking for gifts. Enough with these bland brochures and the excuse that there’s not really much to show you.. There’s plenty to show you in Bahrain, you just need to dig it out, wrap it up nicely and the people will come, in droves.<br /><br />Maybe I’m wrong, maybe there's a bigger story that we don't know about, but it’s on my mind and I thought I’d share.. Speak up if you’ve got something constructive to say… or if you’re looking for a LBO in Bahrain, then here it is…Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-17360060521088190782007-02-19T11:31:00.000+03:002007-02-19T12:53:12.703+03:00vo-vo-vocab-ularioI promised two posts in one day and I shall deliver two posts in one day..<br /><br />Feeling a little invigorated from my lack of sleep and overindulging in caffeine, I’ve been tapping my feet to the continuous beats of <em>death from above 1979,</em> playing in my head.. So, I’ve picked the three words for this week: they are a little screwy to say the least, but hey, have you had a large coffee, a red bull and some matam tea in the last three hours? I didn’t think so...<br /><br />Just to remind the three of you that read this site (thanks for keeping the statcounter going mom), the whole purpose of these vocabulario sessions is to merely suggest that you salt and pepper your conversations with words that you would never have used otherwise. I’m not saying you should include all three words in one sentence, but I’m willing to bet you can fit at least one of this week’s words in your exchanges this week (I’m loving dragoon by the way).<br /><br />Dragoon<br /><br />Jugulate<br /><br />Flatulence<br /><br /><br />Dragooned into a discussion I did not want to have, I was forced to jugulate the conversation with an ungentlemanly reverberated bout of flatulence.<br /><br />So there you have it, my second post in one day, I feel like <a href="http://www.mahmood.tv">mahmood</a>.. Well except that his verbal flatulence isn’t nearly as good as mine.. HEY-O! I'm on a roll..Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7265548.post-66098275538150673792007-02-19T08:05:00.000+03:002007-02-19T08:18:56.307+03:00wawaweewa<div><div>gindobre</div><br /><div></div><div>i tried posting this yesterday, but something went wrong, so you'll be graced with two posts today.. </div><div></div><br /><div>my borat moment</div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033108358993952386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-35VpZqsa6nqLgF6PuZIgn5GnkOzCA924t-wRwIKn-FCKZsXqgtQzCfmB-naiqa1AgbTs7WRrNIg6X28MEKUO93FU2BHRvdgDHNxb1FLmsv-6uaAMDu7GkG7M7iiEgTXOAw-d/s320/DSC00480.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div></div><br />enjoy<br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div></div>Bahraini Rantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04750789503330697756noreply@blogger.com2