Carpetblogger

Things You Can Buy At Jeddah Duty Free

If you don't live in a place where staples, such as booze, are taxed 100%, you have no idea how important airport Duty Free shops are. As an American, we had never stepped in one before moving overseas and could never understand the appeal.  These days, however, we design elborate strategies to maximize our limited access to such rich sources of relatively cheap booze.

Instead of focusing on all the things we could not buy at the Jeddah duty free (uh, duh), we prefer to marvel at at all the amazing products we could purchase. It was sort of an airport version of a Tsum (sans vodka) or a JC Penneys, without all the cool clothes.  Just like at those two outlets, rewards await shoppers who approach with an open mind.

Here are some of the products that tempted us:

• An array of your favorite 70's -era consumer products such as giant cans of Tang, Nestle's evaporated milk and jumbo boxes of Tide, all of which make the dominant hue of the place ORANGE;
• A 46 CD set of the Koran
• Rip-off Armani perfume as well as hundreds of off-brand local (or Chinese) productions, such as the intriguing "Mr. Lomani"
• Emerald and diamond-studded Kaabah pendants
• A Samsung phone for $40
• An Ipod rip-off called the "City-tel"
• Electronic Hadith organizers
• Shiny polyester suits
• The complete first season of "Prison Break"

The duty free shop in Jeddah's airport wasn't the only thing that was awesome about it. With Bangladeshis and Filipinos checking in bales of plastic burlap-wrapped crap, it did have the amosphere of a third world bus station, but there was no security! When we say no security we mean "walk up to check in desk, put bags on conveyer belt, get boarding pass, then walk to passport control and get a half-assed wand before boarding." There was also no customs control, coming or going, either. This must be because there is no terrorism, or taxes, or antiquities worth smuggling out* in Saudi Arabia.  Which is why Saudi Arabia is awesome.

*In contrast, the Yemenis were pretty tight-assed about the whole "antiquities" thing. Despite our best efforts (seriously, we tried everything and we have a pretty powerful arsenal), they detained a beduoin vase we had purchased in a village. Not only do we believe it was the first genuine antiquity we have ever purchased, it is the first item we've had seized by the authorities. Sad face.

A Report from Jeddah

We've been told that Jeddah, an ancient port city and gateway to the holy city of Mecca, sits on the Red Sea. We wouldn't know. We haven't seen it and probably won't. In fact, we believe we might be staying in the only hotel in the city that's not on the sea. It was chosen based on its proximity to the office and the lack of other options during Umrah (sort of a practice Haj), rather than the aesthetic demands of its guests. Thick windows keep sand, heat and atmosphere out and nuclear-powered airconditioning in.

Some highlights:

• It has a pool and a gym. Because we have a vagina, we can't use it.
• It has some restaurants, but we haven't been in them because they are closed for Ramadan.
• Turn down service includes a tasty chocolate and unspeakably awful "Moussy" brand nonalcoholic malt beverage, brewed in Switzerland.
• Room service (the only Ramadan eating option) serves possibly the best cheeseburger we have had outside the US. The only explanation is the use of U.S. beef, probably imported in great quantities for the compounds.

So, we spend a lot of time in our room, which overlooks a parking garage, which is backed by mid-rise apartment blocks that lack even Soviet-level attention to design and detail. The desert is there, buried beneath cheap concrete. Dirty white and beige desert colors stain the buildings and its light absorbs shadows and sharpens edges. No natural geographical feature obstructs the horizon. 

 We arrived expecting a subdued, puritanical Dubai, but have been confronted by an austere city that looks like it was built in -- and unevolved since -- the 1970's. With block after block of decaying  concrete, haphazard signage and exposed electrical wiring, the center has a distinctly third world feel to it. With as many South Asians as there are working here, it's easy to imagine that you're in a more male, more transient Kathmandu or Delhi. The ostentatious malls on the city's edges, however, suggest that the modern Saudi's consumerist impulses can be satisfied without effort.

In an efforts to escape our polite cage, we hired a car today. In preparation, we put on our ugly, long coat (abaya not necessary), tightly tied our Bursa silk headscarf and  clipped it to our head with hairclips (headscarves are annoyingly difficult to keep in place and require constant adjustment) and covered our feet with socks. Ashok, the car manager, asked uncomfortably where we wanted to go.

"Um, how about anywhere? Old Jeddah? Shopping? Souks?"

"You know everything is closed, right?" Brows furrowed. Concern expressed.

"Yes. Just tell the driver to take me anywhere. I must go out."

The empty highway from the hotel offered directional signs to Mecca and Medina, exits that, as a heathen, we wouldn't be taking. Once downtown, we stepped out the car and almost passed out from the 100 degree heat and humidity. Thirty minutes later, after walking around the shuttered old city's collapsing old buildings, we returned to the hotel, drenched in sweat. 

We wonder if abaya'ed Saudi women give in to the same impulse we did upon arriving home -- to immediately remove all our clothes, flinging sweaty headscarves and confining long coats on the floor as an impotent protest.

This place looks normal on the outside, but it so clearly is not. Social codes and cues for women are impossible to interpret without assistance. Where can we go? What can we do? What do we do if we run into trouble? What kind of trouble could we run into?  Will we be able to recognize the trouble when it comes our way?

Some trouble is screamingly obvious. We recognized it immediately when we arrived in Jeddah at midnight, after our passport was taken away.

"Where is your brother?" snapped passport control.

"I'm sorry. What?"

"Your brother. He is picking you up?"

"Uh, no. The hotel is picking me up."

"Not acceptable."

Like a naughty child, we were told to sit next to half-naked Nigerian hajis while arrangements were made to accommodate a rogue foreign woman without a brother. Our resentment brewed, but remained unexpressed.  The problem resolved itself, with no intervention from us, and we departed the arrivals hall two hours later, with our brother, the hotel driver.

We have two days left in The Kingdom. So far we've met a Christian Lebanese woman, a Kashmiri, an Egyptian, a Kuwaiti Armenian, a Lebanese Muslim and a Nepali. We're hoping to meet an actual Saudi.

The Carpetblog Stamp of Approval Does Not Come Cheaply

Memo to Pakistan:

As you may know, you were originally included -- along with Yemen and Saudi Arabia -- on Carpetblogger's current tour of suck. However, recent events have called your position on that itinerary into question. It is your bad luck that Carpetblogger's quota for suicide attacks was already filled in Sana'a. Maalesef.

Thanks to Carpetblogger, most Yemenis are confident that, despite Wednesday's deadly suicide attack on the U.S. Embassy, tourists will feel safe visiting Sana'a. So powerful is our endorsement that the government newspaper ran our photo, full color, full page, on its front page.

Carpetblogger says: "Tourists are safe in Yemen"

We would go back to Yemen in a nanosecond, even if there were suicide bombs once a week. However, if Carpetblogger offers her "Tourists Are Safe in (insert shithole country here)" stamp of approval after every deadly suicide bombing against innocent people enjoying their Iftar (Ramadan attack  -- nice touch, assholes!), it would  cheapen the brand. Besides, you didn't get the stamp of approval after our last visit and it's not like things have improved a whole lot since 2003.

Hey, Saudis! We've got our eye on you. Don't try bombing any Marriotts, just to test us. No matter how bad you want it, you're not getting it. You're too boring and ass-backwards.  Carpetblogger, and her vagina, approve of pretty much nothing about you.

If Carpetblogger Can't Go to the Souk, The Terrorists Will Have Won

Having concluded that deadly carbomb attacks on foreign embassies aren't that big of a deal in Yemen, we trotted off to the office (that's the kind of consultant we are) then trotted off to the Souk Al-Milh, Sana'a's unspeakably awesome market. We like to think of ourselves as souk connoisseurs, and this is by far the best we've ever been in.

In fact, Yemen has become one of our number-one favorite destinations.

This souk, and the city in which it sits, deserves a much more detailed post, but, for those of you who find this part of the world frightening and impenetrable, we'd like to  point out that we wandered around the souk, alone, all afternoon without any ill effect. The only concession we made to common sense was not replying "America" to the question "where are you from?" something we don't normally do (we like to embrace scorn).

Carbombs aside, Yemen is awesome.

Embassy evac?

Local news is reporting that the embassy is being evacuated by helicopter. I just watched a helicopter head out there. Have photos, no time to load.

Attack on US Embassy in Sana'a: Carpetblogger is on the Scene

Sitting in the lobby of the Burj al Salam hotel about an hour ago, we heard two explosions, but thought little about them. They were close enough to shake the windows a little.

About 30 minutes later, reports started coming in that the US Embassy was under attack. Current reports on Yemeni TV say that there was an intial car bomb followed by some shooting. Injuries are reported. Right now, reports attribute the attacks to Al Qaeda, which has been increasingly active in the country.

The US Embassy is located near the Sheraton hotel. Reports confirm that it was the Embassy and not the compound.

More to come.

Ask Carpetblogger: What are you wearing?

It seems like everyone these days is asking, “Hey Carpetblogger, what are you wearing?” We attribute this sudden surge of interest in our wardrobe not to a switch in careers but to recent preparations for our Ramadan trip to Yemen and Saudi Arabia. 

Our recent foray into online shopping for modest yet fashionable clothing at the desertstore.com was an epic fail. Instead of admiring the contrast between the photos of the all –male Saudi management and all-male south Asian tailors on its website, we should have been asking “on what women are they fitting these clothes to make sure components such as breasts, shoulders and hips are accounted for in their designs?” The sizes we bought were so far off the mark that it made us wonder if the designers and tailors had ever actually seen a live woman. Memo to self:  even if it sounds like fun, don’t buy clothes online from Saudi Arabia.

Because no one wants to spend money on unattractive, unflattering, poorly designed clothes that suggest medieval attitudes toward women, we delayed this little adventure until a mere hours before our plane was to depart for Sana’a. (it should come as news to no one who reads Carpetblog regularly that, while we appreciate the  institutionalized myths around which people structure their lives, we don’t really respect them.

Lucky for us, we live in a Muslim country! Several of our modest contemporaries suggested our best bet for value, selection and convenience was the IMÇ shopping outlet in Fatıh, one of Istanbul’s most fashionably observant neighborhoods.

In addition to Modest Clothing, you can buy anything at IMÇ as long as it’s floor coverings, upholstery, industrial sewing machines and musical instruments. Our modest contemporaries failed to mention that in order to locate the Modest Clothing section, one must navigate IMÇ’s five grey, multi-story soviet-style blocks. The mosaic art that failed miserably to add any visual interest to the drabness (dated 1965, too) confirmed that whoever designed the place studied at the Krushchev School of Retail Design. Failing to understand its logic, I located the Modest Clothing block tucked amongst musical instruments, last (see how long I’ve been out of the FSU?).

Our original shopping plan included a gay (or gay-wannabe) advisor, but that would have been a disaster in this all-female cocoon. The reaction of the modestly dressed sales girls to us, in shorts and a t-shirt purchasing tunics, ankle-length jackets and pantalons, ranged from bemused curiosity to matronly patience to giggly enthusiasm. Even so, we found the cultural, linguistic and stylistic gap impossible to bridge. Not only did nothing they propose appeal, we lacked the linguistic ability to communicate how to improve their suggestions.

We ended up buying four of the exact same tunics in different colors, a long coat that, while not an abaya, we’re counting on to mitigate potential conflicts with the Saudi religious police and something shiny for the glamorous iftar to which we have not yet been invited.

So with a new wardrobe like this, it’s easy to understand why interest in what Carpetblogger is wearing is running higher than usual among those outside our typical constituency.

Ask Carpetblogger: How Do You Maintain Your Youthful Skin?

Three words: Ant Egg Oil.  Your results may vary.

We get ours at the Bazaar in Kadıköy.

Ask Carpetblogger: What's your Favorite Haman?

Sunday's New York Times travel section has a story about Istanbul's tourist hamams and high-end spas. The piece, which was written by Carpetfriend and neighbor Parisian Suzanne, singles out the obvious ones -- Çemberlitaş and Cagaloğlu in Sultanahmet about which we've written before here and here -- and expensive spas that, in the unlikely event we'd ever darken their door, probably wouldn't let us in anyway. Reading this story, you'd think there's nowhere affordable in Istanbul to get a scrub.

We happen to have it on good authority that earlier versions of the story included cheaper hamam alternatives. We know this because we provided the data, which included the caveat that, of the three people we know who have visited the ghetto hamman at the end of our street we often recommend, two came away with unpleasant skin conditions. Why does the New York Times hate folliculitis? Since our voice cannot be silenced by the mainstream media, we will use this platform* -- read by tens of people -- to mention hamams at which we personally have never gotten any skin diseases.

First of all, there's nothing wrong with Çemberlitaş and Cagaloğlu other than they are expensive, perfunctory and crowded. If you have not yet become comfortable with taking off all your clothes in front of strangers with whom you do not share a language and having most inches of your body scrubbed by pendulous-breasted women in bikini bottoms, we recommend you have your first hamman experience at one of these two places. The scrub isn't going to go anywhere you don't want it too and the ladies can grunt enough English to suggest you need a wax. The hamam spaces are exceptionally beautiful and the worst that will happen to happen to you is you will see parts of a 60 year old Dutch woman that you wish you had not.

Because no one is going to explain anything to you at the neighborhood hamams and the potential for trauma is high, it helps to understand the drill before you head off to one. Most importantly, few local hamams are big enough to have separate sections for men and women, so men's hours are usually in the mornings and evenings and women's hours during are during the day. Don't walk in during men's hours, or you're going to see parts of hairy Turkish men you wish you had not.

My personal favorite is the Eski Kaplıca in Bursa (or rather, Çekirge). Although it is rather pricey (35YTL), it still attracts a local crowd of very, very large older women (suggesting a dual pricing structure). Since Bursa is known for its hot springs, instead of sweating on hot marble you sit in hot sulphuric pools until the attendant is ready to scrub you. We took Red State Sibling there back in April and both of us were taken aback at all the different shapes and lengths breasts can take. The ladies laughed out loud at our flat chests and inability to sit for long under the scalding stream of spring water flowing out of the wall. I recommend this hamam for ridding yourself of any preconceived notions of the shape female bodies can take.

If we weren't lazy, we'd take a ferry over to Üsküdar and try out the Çinili hamam there. It's been recommended by people we like, but we are lazy and Üsküdar is pretty far away. If you go, please report.

Finally, there's the Fıruzağa Historic Hamam at the end of Çukurcuma. Tucked back next to an ironmonger, it looks rather gritty from the outside. The changing cabins aren't very impressive and the squat toilets, by which you have to pass to enter the steam rooms,  smell bad. A full scrub here costs 25 YTL, which is about as cheap as they come.  The people we know who've had negative experiences there suggest -- a bit snottily, as a matter of fact -- that you get what you pay for. That may be, but if you are looking for a  neighborhood hamam experience and are prepared to have a scrub that's as invasive as the Çemberlitaş scrub is half-assed, Fıruzağa is for you. Just bring your own kese, okay?

Let's talk about cleanliness. All hamams are hot and steamy and smell a bit like mildew. Because I long ago learned to shut off my peripheral thought ("How often do they use bleach?" "Do you think the micoroganisms growing in there are Ottoman era as well?" "Do they use fresh wax for everyone?"), I don't think about things like this.  However, I can't not think about the ropes of skin  -- my own and everyone else's -- produced by the scrub. Where does all that skin go? Is the cursory bucketful of water enough to send the previous scrubee's leftovers down the drain? Does it clog the pipes eventually?

There's another way to look at the skin issue. The scrubbing ladies are as grossed out about it as we are. Because we don't generally exfoliate with the same degree of aggressiveness as regular haman-goers, they view us -- with all our nasty dead skin -- as dirty. Just keep that in mind as you lie on the slab.

*Let's not lose sight of the fact that like the NYT travel section we, too, embrace the opportunity for editorial content to be driven by profit.