Carpetblogger

Ask Carpetblogger: How Can Ukraine Increase its Appeal to Futbol Hooligans? NSFW, BTW

Dear Carpetblogger,

The Eurocup 2012 soccer tournament in Ukraine this year is finding that they have sold only half the tickets they should have by now. European soccer hooligan wannabes are blanching at the 500 Euro per night for three star crapotels. My question for you...don't Ukrainians realize that if they don't charge reasonable prices, nobody will come?

Yours truly,

Kpic

Dear Kpic:

Thanks for the question! We know that you, like us, care about both Ukraine and futbol so we're going to answer this question with more than the usual care and seriousness.

As you probably know, Carpetblogger devoted much of her youth to selling things no one wants, namely, Democrats. Therefore, we are uniquely positioned to help Ukraine address its issues.

Ukraine's government is run by a breathtakingly corrupt cabal of thugs, its economy is near collapse and its sullenly incompetent service sector is woefully unprepared to meet the high standards in cuisine and accommodation demanded by sophisticated world futbol fans. These negatives are hard to overcome, it's true. But Ukraine is not without natural advantages. As a market research professional, we encourage Ukraine to play to its strengths.

Ask Carpetblogger: Should I bring Turkish wine to a party?

First question! It's a very important one.

Dear Carpetblogger:

Booze is so expensive in Turkey! I know I should be polite and bring something to drink to dinner and parties but I am a young freelancer and have no money. Is it ever ok to bring Turkish wine or will I be shunned like a slutty Amish girl?

Potential Pariah

 

Dear Pariah:

This is possibly the most vexing etiquette dilemma facing party-goers in Istanbul today. Since Istanbul Eats has slogged into the Turkish wine debate with a new column that should be called OK, This One's Not That Bad, your question is more timely than ever.  It's wise to seek guidance.

Carpetblogger has long held that Turkish wine is the best of the Black Sea region, if you don't count Georgian and Bulgarian, and, some have argued -- but we don't necessarily agree -- Moldovan. We also believe that, while Muslims excel in many things, including hair removal and cooking meat on a stick, making liquor is not one of them.

Even we are willing to admit that Turkish wine is better than it used to be. It is possible to find a reasonably priced bottle that won't make you sick (if you do find one, buy it by the case). Some people may vociferously object to the following advice, but we here at Ask Carpetblogger are pragmatists and sympathize with the poor prole drinker. The short answer, is "sure, go ahead, bring Turkish wine but proceed with caution."

Our caveats:

• Because of taxes and other Muslim what-nots, wine is stupid expensive in Turkey. Plus, there's the "if it's expensive it must be good" developing world elitny surcharge. Just because a bottle of Turkish wine is expensive, doesn't mean it's any good. It may, at the high end, be drinkable but it's still probably a terrible value. There are an increasing number of decent wines being produced by vintners on some of the Aegean Islands, and we would look them up and tell you what they are but you have google too. If you really, really, really want to try Turkish wine, go to one of these places. They'll let you sample different varietals and explain which goes best with beyaz peynir and sucuk. Still, if you're going to drop some cash on a bottle that you're hoping will get you some action, do not buy Turkish. 

• Do not bring any bottle of Turkish wine that costs less than 10 TL. It is wine-colored poison. You will be judged, harshly and publicly.

• Buy the best bottle of imported you can afford. You'll probably have to go to a wine shop, since supermarket/tekel supplies can be limited. Most wine shops usually have some off-brand French or Italian plonk for 20TL or less. It's still a ridiculous price for crap wine, but will be better than a Turkish label at the same price, guaranteed.

• Think of how much more popular you'll be if you bring something imported and unusual, even if it's cheap. Spanish? Sure. Italian? Great. Even Bulgarian gets an A for effort. Greek, if you must. Stuffing your baggage and maxing out at duty free is part of the social contract. Do your part.

• Do not, under any circumstances, bring local and drink imported. Some hostesses are implementing a colored wristband system at parties as a mechanism to publicly shame those who bring Buzbağ and drink Bordeaux. Some of those people are impossible to shame, however. They know who they are.

Before you go and say "Carpetblogger, why are you such a fucking snob?" (uh, why water is wet?), let us be clear that we do not discriminate against cheap wine. We LOVE cheap wine. We just hate shitty wine in general and expensive shitty wine in particular. Maybe someday Turkish wine will be as good as Greek wine and we'll have to find a new target.

In the meantime, if you're invited to a sangria or mulled wine party chez Carpetblogger you know that there's an oversupply of Angora, Buzbağ and Deluca. The next day will be rough. We call it payback.

 

 

 

A New Carpetblog Feature! Ask An Expat

Inspiration often comes from the unlikeliest sources. Carpetblog recently came across the NYT  India Ink blog's new "Agony Auntie"  feature, designed to help expats in India avoid embarrassment. We thought "How useful! We know lots of people who could benefit from something like that. Someone should do it for Turkey." 

So, we reached out to The Unaccompanied Lady. Because there are few expat issues on which Carpetblogger and Unaccompanied Lady do not have informed opinions and because we agree on nearly everything, this will be a joint venture. We plan to distinguish ourselves from India Ink's feature by making it clear from the outset that helping expats -- especially people we know -- avoid embarrassment is low on our list of objectives. Also, it won't be lame.

In the unlikely event we can't answer a question, or make up a sufficient response, we will outsource questions to our stable of experts with specialized knowledge of things, such as Borko or Red State Sibling, or other secret, surprise guests whom we have yet to identify (but we have ideas! If you'd like to be considered, send a detailed CV and salary requirements).

Here are some Frequently Asked Questions about this new feature:

What qualifies Carpetblogger for this role? It was our idea, stolen from elsewhere. Therefore, we're best qualified.

What topics will you address? A better question is what topics will we NOT address. The Carpetblog/Unaccompanied Lady areas of expertise include -- but are not limited to -- coping with bureaucracy, birth, breastfeeding and child rearing, primates, music, intercultural understanding, cooking, bribing, sex, dating and relationships, cattle, fashion, current affairs, fine dining, developing cultural sensitivity, ethics, importing pork and liquor, languages and Crapistan.

What topics will you not address? Boring topics. If you want travel advice for Turkey, there's this great new service called google. Try it today!

Will question-askers remain anonymous? Only if the benefit of revealing your identity outweighs your desire to not be humiliated.

Do questions have to be from/about Turkey or from Expats? Of course not! We welcome questions from around the world from all types of people.

How can we submit questions?  The world of social media is vast. You can send an SMS, use the contact Carpetblog email link on the blog (but sometimes we forget to check that one), talk to us in the ladies' room at a bar, use Facebook, @Carpetblogger1 or @Unaccompanylady on Twitter, leave it in the comments or use telepathy. It's up to you.

So beat the rush! Send your questions in today. We'll be choosing among the best ones this week!

 

Ask Carpetblogger: How do I Buy a Carpet in Istanbul?

Short answer: Don't.*

*Obviously, this advice is targeted at the casual carpetbuyer. Of course, if you know something about carpets and you are wealthy, you know where to go.  There are plenty of reputable dealers in Istanbul who carry lovely and very expensive antique and new pieces. We're talking to people who visit Istanbul, who are not rich, don't know much about carpets and want a nice souvenir of their visit.

Go ahead, keep whining.

I want to buy a carpet when I visit Istanbul and don't want to get ripped off. Help meeeee.

Sigh.

OK, do it if you must, but there are some things to keep in mind.

You need to know what you're not buying. Very, very little that you will see in the Eighth Circle of Hell (known locally as the Grand Bazaar) is actually made in Turkey (the same goes for practically everything else in the GB). Labor is simply too expensive here to mass produce cheap carpets and kilims, so most of them come from Pakistan (nearly all cheap carpets are Baloch), Iran and, it may surprise you, China.

A dealer in Islamabad recently explained this China angle to us and a Turkish kilim designer confirmed it.  The only thing Turkish about those carpets are the design. The wool comes from New Zealand or Australia and the dyes are probably some combination of melamine and spit. Apparently they are made in huge factories on looms lined up side-by-side with a foreman who calls out rhythmic weaving instructions, like the master on a slave ship (that is the analogy he used!). We would like to go to China to see this.

Mossmaniac and Carpetblogger spent the better part of the last two days in the Grand Bazaar (Carpet College!), in the belly of the beast as it were, trying to understand where all this crap comes from and how to identify it. We were lucky to find a dealer who was so clueless about his own stock and our poorly concealed mocking of it to not notice we were only looking at it so we could understand the nature of the odd colors and strange patterns that don't typically appear in Anatolian weaving and scritchy textures that feel like astroturf. China!

The rest of his stuff was cheap crap that's produced by the ton in Pakistan, with which we have more than a passing familiarity. That information had to be drug out of him. This experience discouraged us and made us hate the Grand Bazaar more than usual. Ask if the carpet you like is made in Pakistan or China or Iran. If you like it, you shoudn't care. But!

How can I tell if a carpetseller is lying? His lips are moving.

Do you have a dealer in Istanbul you recomnend? No.* Contrary to everything written above, it is possible to find older genuinely Turkish carpets or kilims in the greater Grand Bazaar area, if that's your bag. We suggest finding an older guy sitting in his shop drinking tea (most young touts have no idea what they're selling) and ask him to show you "something special." He'll take you into a back room, or open up a cupboard and you will feel like you found the Holy Grail. Your heart will beat faster, and you will feel faint. You will feel that the last six hours of hazing -- of listening to some maganda tell you that if the fringe is braided, it means a virigin wove the carpet and that cremesicle orange is a natural dye --  were simply the price of admission to carpet heaven. You will believe again in the zen of harmonious colors, tribal patterns and handspun wool.

Then the guy tells you that beautiful 70 year old yahyali is $6000 and you will laugh. You will say, "I heart Pakistan."

*But a Carpetblog recommendation be bought. Have you met us?

This is why Carpetblogger does not carpetshop in Istanbul. Cheap carpets are crappy and nice carpets are stupid expensive. We prefer to buy both in Islamabad these days.

"But Carpetblogger!" you plea, "I want to buy a carpet in Istanbul, not Islamabad." Ok, fine. What do we know about you and your taste? Don't listen to us. Do it. Buy something you like that reminds you of your nice visit here and makes you happy when you look at it on your bedroom floor. Don't believe one word you're told about its origin or quality, unless you're told "it was made by a Chinese slave in Guangzhou using spit and melamine dye," because that would be awesome and probably true. Don't pay a lot of money for it and bargain like, uh, a person who doesn't like to be ripped off by skeezy carpetdealers in the Grand Bazaar (you probably won't get better than 20% off, though). Be happy with your new carpetfriend and don't worry that you got ripped off because you totally did.

Coming soon! The Metaphysics of Textile Purchases: A Carpetblog Manifesto.

 

Ask Carpetblogger: How Is the Istanbul Film Festival?

Our general approach to film festivals is "just because it's foreign/indy doesn't mean it's good," which means that, while we occasionally miss a gem, we don't have to sit through a lot of poorly structured crap. Our sources report many Istanbul Film Festival screenings have fallen into that category. Our time is too valuable for that.

However, the Festival presented us with the rare opportunity to see the classic Holocaust documentary Shoah for the first time. It seemed a mistake to pass it up. Astute readers know that Shoah is 9 1/2 hours long and astute-r readers know Carpetblogger has a YouTube attention span. We were relieved to see that, according to the festival program, the screening was only two hours long.

The existence of a Shoah highlight reel raised some important questions though. How, exactly, was that going to work? Did they let the Turks edit it to remove all references to Jews or genocide?

Clearly, Festival management missed the memo that Shoah is 9 1/2-hours long and they should carefully consider the best time to schedule it so people can watch it. When we arrived at the theater for the 930pm showing, hand-printed signs informed us that last night's showing would include the first 300 minutes (here's the math for you -- five hours) and the rest would be shown the next day.

Yah right.

Of course, Shoah is worth seeing -- it's a documentary in the strictest sense of the word. And  Director Claude Lanzmann's point that "just because you can't see any evidence that a genocide took place doesn't mean it didn't, especially since a great deal of effort is usually made to cover it up" must have been an interesting insight for other people in the audience.

Also, Shoah came out in 1986 and this year is its 25th anniversary. This made us realize that we graduated from high school 25 years ago and we are old. This was probably not what we ought to have taken away from a screening of Shoah, but we didn't watch the whole thing.

Ask Carpetblogger: How Does an Unaccompanied Lady Survive Islamabad?

This is an excellent question, Unaccompanied Lady! You came to the right place. Pakistan is a hostile environment for the Unaccompanied Lady, no question. But with the correct training, you can exploit your natural advantages to navigate chaotic places with a minimum of fuss.

"But Carpetblogger," you ask. "How do I know if I am an Unaccompanied Lady?"

Is the watchful eye of your husband, father, brother or son keeping tabs on your honor while you travel? If not, then, Lady, you are Unaccompanied.

Most of these techniques are applicable to all ladies, particularly white ones, but if boys want to implement them, we'd love to hear how it goes.

ARRIVAL AT ISLAMABAD AIRPORT

Islamabad is as Dry as Gorman, Texas: You bought a bottle at your transit airport duty free, right? You can't obtain booze without substantial effort in Islamabad, and by effort we mean "having 'alcoholic' stamped in your passport by the government," which is what they actually do to allow you to buy locally brewed firewater at certain stores. As awesome as that would be, it's a fuckload of effort.

Be strong if you encounter resistance, as we did in Abu Dhabi.

"You know you can't take that into Pakistan," smirked Ahmet the expat Pakistani duty free cashier, referring to our bottle of red wine.

"You let us worry about that, grasshopper."

Put the wine in your purse, which everyone knows is a lady's inviolate sanctuary.

No one checks. If they do, employ terror (see below).

The Unaccompanied Ladies' Line: Use Islam's retrograde attitudes toward women to your advantage. The Unaccompanied Ladies' line is your new best friend. It is always shorter and faster. Most importantly, slack-jawed village idiots who stare hungrily at your exposed ankles are not allowed to stand in it. Fortunately, many places in which you don't want to spend any time have them, such as passport control and security checks at the Islamabad airport.   

Skip Islamabad Duty Free: We swear on a stack of Korans there is nothing in there but five pound cans of Tang. At least in Jeddah, there were electronic haddith organizers next to the Tang. WTF is up with Tang? Carpetblog will run our first-ever guest post by whomever can explain this to our satisfaction.

Step into the Bubble. An Unaccompanied Lady only has to exit the Islamabad airport at 330 am once to conclude that someone's failure to arrange for a driver holding a sign with her name is a capital offense. Entering that writhing mass of bearded, henna'ed male humanity alone in the middle of the night is intimidating no matter how many times you've done it. Step into the bubble -- make no eye contact with anyone as you scan the crowd for your sign. Engage in no conversation that you did not initiate. Get out to the parking lot and into the car, fast.

IN ISLAMABAD

Wardrobe: We are huge advocates of shalwar kameez. Dressing conservatively is mandatory for all ladies and we have found that shalwar fit better and are more attractive than just wearing frumpily conservative western-clothes. Do you want to look like a missionary from Abilene or a dirty hippie? We sure don't. And listen up white girl, you're never going to blend in or be mistaken for a local but since nearly all Pakistani women wear them, you're going to stand out a whole lot less with one on. Unaccompanied Ladies like not standing out. Also, shalwar don't have to be dry cleaned and local washers are familiar with them. Go to Jinnah Market and buy a bunch. They're cheap and come in a million colors and styles.

This advice does not apply to boys. White boys in shalwar look like douchebags.

Carpets: Buy them. It is our opinion that Islamabad is currently the best place to carpetshop in the world.  Go ahead and argue, but you're wrong. We're working on carpetshopping manifesto based on our recent experiences, which have been rewarding.

DEPARTURE FROM ISLAMABAD

Employ Terror: The Unaccompanied (white) Lady is a force of nature that frightens Pakistani men, especially when she's wearing a shalwar. When challenged, behave unpredictably. Be obedient and submissive, yet at the same time subversive. Pakistani men are stunned into submission when an Unaccompanied white Lady (whom they know are total sluts) insists on being treated like a Pakistani lady (with whom they must not engage). Does not compute! You'll almost always get your way, mostly because your challenger has no idea what to do with you.

Luggage Searches: The Unaccompanied Lady most certainly does not want some random airport security guy pawing through her bags. Loudly demand a female searcher. Terrified, more often than not they'll wave you through rather than go find one. (See: Employ Terror)

Business Class Line: Go to the business class line, even if you have a cheap economy ticket. This approach may be dicey if you're on the snooty Gulf airlines that specialize in separating the riffraff from the Elitny, but it's an infallible strategy on PIA. They will not turn you, Unaccompanied Lady, away, thus sparing you the heartache of waiting in the same heaving "line" as passengers headed home to Kandahar.

Exploit Typical Transportation Norms: As a frequent PIA* flier, one of our long term goals has always been to turn our Unaccompanied Lady status into an business class upgrade by loudly and flamboyantly refusing to sit next to a strange male (see: Employ Terror). This requires a substantial dignity downgrade, but an upgrade, especially on PIA, is worth it. If an Unaccompanied Lady attempts this with success, please report back.

*An Unaccompanied Lady might pause and take a few minutes to re-evaluate key life choices, should she find herself in possession of a PIA ("Please Inform Allah") frequent flier card, but that's a topic for a different post.

Go Straight to the VIP Lounge: As you ascend the escalator, jump over the hajiis who, having left their Punjabi village for the first time to go to Mecca, are splayed in a heap at the top of the escalator. The light from lounge's open door will cut through the waiting area's haze of cigarette smoke and visible body odor like a beacon. No need to employ terror to enter, just pay the $10 like a normal person. This is the best $10 you have ever spent. The lounge is filthy, and dry, but since the airport provides no gate information or departure announcements, having someone tell you your flight is about to leave is worth the investment.

"Find and, if necessary, pay to enter the VIP Lounge" is sound advice for everyone who travels through a hub that hosts lots of hajiis or transiting guestworkers (i.e. the Gulf). Many of these folks have left their rural villages for the first time and are not up to speed on the mechanics of escalators, the protocols governing the use of indoor plumbing or what x-ray machines are for. Next time you see a Nepali guy standing on a toilet seat in the Qatar Airport ladies' room, you'll wish you'd listened.

Unaccompanied Ladies, move to the front of the line! If violating un- or loosely enforced rules presents an opportunity to maximize your personal comfort, behave like every Pakistani ever born and seize it. If you hold an advantage in class or status (i.e., you're white, and don't you for one minute pretend that isn't one) drive it like you stole it. If you're at a disadvantage (i.e. you have a vagina), own it.

Unaccompanied Ladies' lines are brilliant and receive the Carpetblog Stamp of Approval. We endorse their creation everywhere in the world.

 

Ask Carpetblogger: Where Are the Ukrainian Cougars?

It's a fact that, many years ago, Carpetblog established itself as the go-to internet source for devushka fashion, to the point where we became known as the Wikipedia of Slutty Dressing. Those were the salad days of Carpetblog. They represented the height of our influence.

Since then, we left Ukraine and, to the detriment of this blog's SEO, delved into topics such as Turknology and importing booze and pork. Like the Ottoman Empire, Carpetblog went into a long, sloppy decline. Furthermore, on the aging lady scale, we inched away from Devushkastan and slid closer to, some have (uncharitably) argued, Cougartown.

Do you not know what a Cougar is? Do you live under a rock? Have you heard of Google?

Some have speculated that there's a precipitous drop in the physical fortunes of Ukrainian women post-age 35 (more accurately, we less genetically-gifted sisters -- ROWR! -- speculate). Surely there must be an intermediate stage between devushka and babushka! So we set out to answer the question "Where are all the Ukrainian cougars?"

We recently found ourselves in Cherkassy, which is the dead center of Ukraine, about two and a half hours south of Kyiv. It is a provincial, very Ukrainian city -- and we mean that not in the way Ukie nationalists mean it (a model European Ukraine that looks westward) but in the way Ukraine is now. It sits in the black-earth prairies, frozen for the winter, alongside one of the Soviet Union's largest hydroelectric reservoirs. Russian-leaning eastern Ukraine is just over the next snowy hillock and European western Ukraine seems pretty far away from here. Its slushy downtown is a grey post-war Soviet time capsule. Pulling out the Ukraine cliche handbook (shelved next to the Istanbul cliche handbook) it is the borderland where Russia and Ukraine melt, and residents speak a mix of both languages.

Also, there be Cougars!

Not only were we lucky enough to find ourselves in Cherkassy in the middle of winter, it happened to be "Old New Years Eve," or the Orthodox New Years. This meant that the town was decked out as if Christmas was just last week (it was) and everyone was looking forward New Years Eve celebrations instead of a cold Thursday night in the Dnipro Hotel, like we were.

Most restaurants that serve Ukrainian food are decked out like rural cottages, with fake thatched roofs, farm implements on the walls and lots of red and white embroidered schwag  draped across flat surfaces. This would be kitschy if it wasn't how every traditional Ukrainian restuarant -- even Ukie fast food places  -- is decorated. They also usually have a series of intimate dining rooms and small alcoves for private parties or uh, other activities. We had an early reservation at Taras Bulbas, a model specimen of the type, expecting a quick meal of salo (pure pork fat, pictured), swine shashlyk and a bit of vodka with colleagues.

If you seek Felis Concolor Ukrainis, head to Taras Bulbas in Cherkassy on Old New Years Eve. There were several tables of them, well-lubricated by sweet Ukie shampansky (which they freely shared) and ready to burn the place down. By 7:30pm. Taras Bulbas' house band consists of a young, crewcut, acned Ukrainian accordion player and an African tambourine player (welcome to heaven, here's your tambourine. Welcome to hell, here's your accordion) who whipped the place into a frenzy of anticipation for Dede Moroz (father Christmas, the Orthodox Santa Claus) and his trusty...wait for it...Rabbit of Good Luck.

The Cougars, dressed to kill in too-short skirts and tight shirts, writhed and wriggled to 70's western and eastern Ukrainian pop songs (our colleagues taught us how to tell the difference) and Russian  favorites (different still), just like Cougars in Americastan would to Donna Summer. Later, at least one of them was caught in a sex act in one of the private alcoves (memo to self: don't go exploring other dining areas at 9:00 pm in Taras Bulbas on Old New Years Eve. Also, be careful of the cougar sitting behind you.)

Having had three shots of "rye and honey" Ukrainian vodka before the first plate of pickles arrived, the evening was destined to be a short one for us. Since we're no longer in FSU championship fighting form, we stumbled into a taxi to return to the Dnipro hotel, relieved that Ukraine is big enough for both devushkas and cougars after all.

 

Ask Carpetblogger: Why Dubai?

This is a good question! Everyone knows that Dubai is the most useless city in the world, filled with entitled, arrogant, rude, mindlessly materialistic Emiratis and the shopping malls that sustain them. If Dubai receded into the sand that surrounds it or if its man-made palm shaped islands were drowned by rising sea levels, we would not feel bad for more than one minute.

This is all true and not subject to debate. There is absolutely no reason to go to Dubai. Unless, of course, you are arriving from one of the neighboring shitholes (Kabul, Baghdad, Kandahar). In that case, Dubai is absolutely indispensable. It is the only place for you.

Dubai must exist because Kabul does, just a short two-hour flight away. Kabul is filthy, violent, medieval and necklaced with razor wire. Thirty percent of the dust in the air is fecal matter. The blue sacks sitting in the mud (30% of which, it stands to reason, is also fecal matter) in intersections are not bags of potatoes; they are women in burqas begging. Donkey carts, armored SUVs and military convoys jam its unpaved streets.

Dubai is none of these things (it's pretty much what happens what medieval warlords do when they come into lot of money, but that's a different post). There are perfectly climate-controlled shopping malls where you can swim with the sharks, go skiing indoors or go ice skating and forget that it's 115 degrees and humid outside. Emirati men must change their crisp, white dishdashas four or five times a day because they never look dirty or sweaty. You hardly ever see any automatic weapons.

An entire industry has emerged in Dubai serving people who are transiting on the way in or way out of Kabul, Kandahar or Baghdad. It seems to exist to process large groups of loud, drunk South African PSDs coming out or sad-faced contractors going in. The young Filipino women who did our spa treatments -- knowing, without us having mentioned it, that we'd been in Kabul -- said that 80% of her clients had been in or were going to Kabul. It made us wonder to what degree the economy of Dubai depends on the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, rather than money laundering, Russian prostitutes and overvalued real estate.

Digression! The Le Meridien Dubai Airport, which, conveniently located practically on the runway, is the closest place to the terminal for a drink, a decent meal, a pool and a lovely spa. This is the most valuable travel tip ever passed along on this blog (other than this one). If you have a short layover, you can take a three-minute taxi ride and enjoy a meal and drink at one of Le Meridien's 18 restaurants or go to the spa. Thank us later.

You can't go from a place like Kabul directly to a normal place, like Istanbul or America, because your head would explode. Instead, you need to stop in to Dubai, which is the absolute 100% opposite of Kabul. We recommend you go have an expensive drink made with blackberries on the 62nd floor of a brand new hotel -- doesn't matter which, there are dozens. From that vantage point, you can watch the biggest lighted fountain in the world, which can probably be seen from space, and consider the time and resources devoted to its design and choreography. Then you can join thousands of your closest Emirati, Filipino and Bangladeshi friends and walk around the mall.

After that, you're free to go on a normal place.

 

 

 

Ask Carpetblogger: What Do You Eat During Ramadan in Kabul?

When we accepted this mission to spend six weeks in Kabul, during Ramadan, we worried about many things. Near the top of the list (after "will the insurgents allow us to buy carpets?" answer: yes) was, "what the hell are we going to eat?"

This summer, we won the trifecta of suck: in quick succession, we spent a week on a compound in Erbil, ten days in an Islamabad guesthouse then recently started six weeks on a compound in Kabul. In places where your movements are restricted --either due to security or culture (girls don't eat out alone in Islamabad) -- food quickly becomes an issue. After ten days eating the guesthouse food in Islamabad, we came home with the greasy ghee meat sweats. That's pretty bad, but not actually the worst thing that can happen to you eating in Islamabad.

The long and short of it: Food can be a real problem on these junkets, particularly if you don't like to eat meat two or three meals a day and appreciate an occasional vegetable.

Unlike Istanbullular, most people in Kabul actually fast during Ramadan, but it's not like we're able to walk down the street to the local teahouse/disease vector and grab a kebab anyway. So, we thought a lot about what we'd be eating while packing. We came up with the Consultant Survival Kit, pictured below.

  

You'll notice the bottles of rum and vodka with the Holy Plastic Chalices of Nalgene designed to evade (successfully!) bribe-seeking Defenders of Islamic Virtue at the airport. Also, peanut butter, tuna and couscous and Siriacha Vietnamese hot sauce (popularly referred to as Hot Cock). Those are the staples of our diet at home, so thank allah they are easily transportable.

As it turns out, only a couple of those items were mandatory. And, if I have to tell you which ones, you clearly don't read this blog regularly. The unexpected necessary item? The Hot Cock! It turns out that several members of our multi-national crew brought their own all-purpose condiment to make bland food more palatable: the Italian brought olive oil, the Mexican -- a delicious homemade hot-sauce from charred tomatoes. So we share. With several Italians, a Mexican, a Belgian and multiple Americans, we spend a lot of time at dinner talking about things we aren't eating.

But we should complain. Our Afghan cook prepares two meals a day for those of us trapped on the compound and they are quite edible. We suspect that, at one point in his career, he chopped up and served Soviet soldiers, but he knows what a vegetable is and is moderate with the oil. Every day we have a salad and soup with a nice meaty main. Someone taught him how to make chocolate cake and apple pie and he's getting ready to harvest the pears from the tree on the compound for a pear pie. He has taught me how to make a delicious and genuinely spicy green tomato salsa.

Not only that, the "American" supermarket is better than pretty much any in Istanbul. It stocks almost every American processed and junk food you desire, which sometimes we do. Imagine, if you will, that we will be importing food from Kabul to Istanbul, especially Thanksgiving goods. There's also an Italian supermarket which sells real pork and delicious cheese, but sadly, no wine.

After ten days already, we've only been sick once. And they call this a hardship post!

Ask Carpetblogger: What the f*ck do you do all day?

Many have asked! Some may be surprised to hear that our life is not all that different than it is in Istanbul, only it's warmer, cheaper and the Muslims have been replaced by hippies from Marin.

Here is an illustrated Carpetblogger Day in Ubud:

Morning: Rise early! Things must be done before it's ridiculously hot. These things might include:

Cultural Activities. Our guesthouse is a family compound with its own temple. The temple was blessed this week by "the Big Priest." Three generations scurried around all day, making offerings to demons and gods. These offerings included elaborate banana leaf sculptures, piles of fruit and ducks' heads. Foreign guests hung around wondering what, exactly, was happening until they got bored and went to yoga. This took pretty much all day and was completely inscrutable. It rained, which apparently was a good omen. We interpreted it differently but we aren't Balinese Hindu and hadn't been thoroughly briefed.

Excursions: Did you know rice paddies can get UNESCO designation? Yes they can! These were pretty awesome ride paddies. It took us three hours to find them, all stuck up there on the side of a volcano like that, on our Slurpee-colored scooter, but only 90 minutes to get back to Ubud. We often take the scenic route.

Watching wildlife: Have you ever heard the phrase "like a pig in shit?" These pigs might only have been happier if this guy was flinging shit on them instead of water, and if they had not been stacked like cordwood in a pickup headed toward some unpleasant demise. We cracked up listening to them giggle and croak like old ladies. 

 

Afternoon. Did we mention it's hot? That means it's time for a swim in the guesthouse pool. Alternatively, we might plant ourselves in a cafe with some lime juice and "work." Or we might work on the assdent in our hammock. Or we might ask the help throw buckets of water on us.

Late afternoon: Going to an ordinary yoga class here (if you can find one that doesn't involve ecstatic dancing or vaginal ozone treatments ) is so mainstream as to be embarrassing. That said, we spend a lot of yoga hours in this studio overlooking the rice paddies and it, enhanced by the view of the yomosexuals in the front of the class, is not at all unpleasant.

Evening: Ubud rocks HARD. Would you expect something different from a population of 50+ women wearing sensible shoes, natural fibers and dangling earrings? Kbai! It's chakra realignment time! Gotta go!