ihath

Gollum is my favorite character in the Lord of the Rings movies. For one thing, he in neither with the evil side nor with good side, he has no quest, no mission, he is simply looking out for his own interests. He is neither with us nor against us, he is himself. He neither wishes to destroy planet earth nor liberate it from itself, all he wants, is to exist in a dark quiet corner and stroke his precious …. is that so bad? Of all the characters in the trilogy I found him to be the most compelling. His face transformed from sinister to angelic within seconds. Frodo the goodie two shoes and Sam the wimp got on my nerves. Aragon is handsome and brave and all that but he falls in love with a woman with pointy ears ….. something must be not right with him. Gandalf is wise and smart and has lots of experience but he talks the talk and let others walk the walk for him. Gollum, on the other hand is a naturalist, he doesn’t attempt to wear clothes or disguise his true nature in any way. He lives in harmony with his surroundings and his own ghosts. Let us not forget that it is Gollum who gets the ring into the pit. If all that wasn’t enough to convince you to like Gollum, it is enough for me that he has good taste in food. Sushi is my favorite food in the world, maybe Gollum is not pretty but at least he has taste with regards to food, non of the disgusting looking elfin bread …. yuck!

I have a secret to share with you. My last name when written in English and pronounced by English speakers sounds lots like the Gollum only the spelling is different.

Alright!

Now back to my trip to Washington, In the previous post I told you about how I spent my first day in Washington, Now here is how the second day went.

Turns out that even the geeks dress in suits in Washington, I discovered much to my chagrin. I went to attend the first talk at the conference to find out that I was grossly underdressed in my jeans, t-shirt and a baseball cap. Luckily I arrived early and had plenty of time to run back into my hotel room and change quickly into more suitable attire. The geeks were still geeky, which I found comforting. They still walk around with their laptops, two pocket PCs, the blue tooth ear peace and all, but in Washington they wear fancy suits. Must be an east coast thing. Luckily I always bring a variety of clothing with me just in case and my husband always complains as I am packing “Why do you need to carry that much clothing with you”. “You never know what you might encounter while on a trip” I always answer. And this time I was glad I was prepared for the emergency.

I was determined to avoid discussing politics at any price. I thought that an Iraqi visiting Washington shortly after the war better keep her thoughts to herself. I tried very very hard to chat with people about things not political.

“So what is it like to live in Washington?” I asked one lady attending the conference. I thought this was the perfect question for light non political safe small talk.

“It is so hard being a single woman in Washington, all the men are too important and don’t have time” the woman responded. Then she went on a rant about how all men are assholes in Washington and that reminded her that George Bush is an asshole too and then she went on rant about how much she hates and despises Bush.

So much for the light small talk.

I thought I would try my luck again

“What is it like to live in Washington?” I asked a young man at the conference. After I ditched my first small talk encounter.

“Living in Washington sucks big time, all the women are gold diggers who expect to be wined and dined all the time” The man responded. Then he went on a rant how everybody he knows wants to become a lawyer and then they become corrupt self centered human beings, then he told me how much he hates the Washington Post because of its friendly stand on Bush and the war and then he went on a rant about how Bush and his administration is the source of all evil in the world.

I was tempted to introduce the man to the woman I was talking to earlier since they were both complaining about the hardships of being single in Washington, but then I thought it might get me into trouble. I might be accused of participating in the Iraqi conspiracy to confuse single Americans with weapons of wrongful match making.

I think I better change my opening question to people. I wasn’t trying to ask loaded questions but it was getting me into loaded answers.

For lunch I went to a nearby restaurant and ordered something called Cob Salad, it sounded healthy. Holy Molly what a feast. Imagine a salad topped with strips of bacon, sliced steak and chicken breast smothered in blue cheese dressing. I proceeded to have Cob Salad for lunch every single day for the duration of my stay. My only complain is that it shouldn’t be called a salad, it should be called heart attack with greens on the side. Good thing I don’t live in Washington because I would have to eat heart attack with greens of the side for the rest of my life and I would look like a whale. If you are planning a visit to Washington please have a Cob Salad at least once.

Washington is very different from all other American cities I have visited. People are generally friendly and polite, everybody was wearing a fancy suit, there is sense of history of culture in the city and everybody I met would somehow mention how much they despise George Bush regardless of how hard I tried to steer away from the subject. I almost felt like I was in Europe. If you took away the bit about friendly polite people you could almost imagine that you were in Europe. Down to the art galleries.


I opened the entertainment newspaper trying to see if there is something going in the city that might grab my attention in the evening. Madeline Albright was giving a talk that night. The thought of hearing Ms. “Killing 500,000 Iraqi children during sanctions was a worth while price to pay” made my stomach churn. There were other important politicians talking at different venues, part of me felt that I wanted to soak in the Washington experience but the other part remembered events of the previous day and I thought I better avoid any politicians of any sorts, it hard enough dealing with the average Washingtonians who all feel compelled to express every political idea they ever had within 5 minutes of meeting me. So I decided to go to an art gallery instead. I always liked art galleries, I ended up going Freer Gallery of Art. I didn’t expect much from an art gallery in the US having visited plenty of art galleries in Europe; but I was in for a shocking surprise.

I was enjoying the interesting exhibit there until I walked into the Peacock Room. A dining room designed by American Artist named James McNeill Whistler, whose name I never heard before. I was stunned, awestruck, flabbergasted and transformed.

I stood there for 30 minutes in awe admiring the perfection of what is called “Harmony in Blue and Gold”. I was not prepared to view that day an object of such beauty and such perfection that my whole existence would be transformed by it. As I left the dining room I was in tears. I have no doubt that I had come face to face with a work of art that had a touch of divine inspiration. I felt sorrow. I wish I could create something so perfect and so beautiful in my life. I might never do. If I could do one thing in my life, just one thing that is as beautiful as the peacock room I would die a happy woman. There was a sense of deep yearning, yet I felt spiritually uplifted. I can’t describe how I felt at that moment. It was similar to the feeling of falling in love, delicious yet terrifying at the same time.

As I walked outside the dining room I could see a homeless man sitting on one of the benches of the gallery, he was hunched over, head down. He must have gotten past the security guards somehow, he looked like he just wanted a peaceful refuge for a little while. As I passed him, the thought crossed my mind that I might never be able to create a work if art as inspiring as the peacock room but I might be able to make the day for a single homeless man. I walked up to the hunched over man an tapped his shoulder. He looked up at me. I realized that this was barely a man, he looked like a 16 year old boy, he was merely a kid. A slew of questions passed through my brain “Why are you on the streets? Where is your mom and dad? Don’t you have any relatives that could help you?” But I didn’t ask any of them. In the distance I could hear a the security guards marching towards us, mumbling incomprehensible codes on their walkie-talkies, they were coming to shoo this kid away, to tell him that he didn’t belong in this posh gallery. There wasn’t much time. I handed him 20 dollars. He looked at me, perhaps he had a whole bunch of questions for me as well “Why are you giving this to me? What are you doing in this snotty place? Don’t you find all this art work boring?” but he didn’t say anything. He smiled. A beautiful smile that revealed a set of white teeth that shined like a string of pearls

We parted in silence, no exchange of words, only a 20 dollar bill changed hands.

I returned to my hotel room, exhausted and drained yet again, but this time it was a different kind of exhausted.

I was sitting in my hotel room feeling various sorts of pain. I was emotionally drained from a day full of events. I was physically tired from too much walking but too wired to go to sleep. I tried to watch a bit of TV to amuse myself but the reality show whose name I can’t remember was so pathetic I couldn’t stand watching it more than 5 minutes. Worse of all was the physical pain I experienced as a result of my newly purchased sexy underwear which I was wearing under my super comfy and super modest flannel pajamas. The questions ”Who invented G-Strings? and more importantly Why?” was crossing my mind several times. I wanted to cry but couldn’t. I felt lonely and wished my husband was there to give me a hug, but I wasn’t going to see him for another 10 days. I missed my kids. I didn’t know what to do with myself. Should I start reading the bible guaranteed to be found in the drawer of the nightstand next to my bed? ….but, but, but, …. I have never sunk so low …. not in any of my travels.


Let me tell you how I got to that low point in my life.


In November of 2003 I was on my way to the airport traveling to Washington DC to attend a conference related to my work. There were so many thoughts going through my head as I was heading towards the airport. It was the day after the story of Maher Arar broke on mainstream Canadian media. The Syrian born Canadian stopped in New York on his was back to Canada only to be interrogated and shipped to Syria were he was imprisoned and tortured for a whole year. All the newspapers and radio stations carried detailed accounts of Maher Arar’s ordeal and horrid details of his torture in Syria. I was starting to have second thoughts about my trip to Washington. On several occasions I was close to telling the taxi driver to turn around and take me back home. I could see and imagine myself being interrogated and then shipped to Abu Graib prison in Baghdad where I would be tortured daily. I could imagine my poor husband with the children having to protest in front of the Canadian parliament building demanding that the Canadian government intervene to release me. I could imagine my poor children having to stand in the cold day after day demanding that mom would be released. Was it worth it to take such a risk just to attend a conference. I used to think that having a Canadian passport made me immune to the fates of the less fortunate masses, those unfortunate enough to travel with an Iraqi passport. The rules have changed recently, what once was a ticket to no visa required, dignified treatment guaranteed, is no longer enough. These days having arab origins is more powerful than my elegant, pocket size, beautiful Canadian passport. It didn’t help Maher Arar that he had a Canadian passport.

I have an intense relationship with my Canadian passport. I love my passport. You will frequently find me holding it and stroking it in admiration the way Gollum (from lord of the ring) stroked his “precious”. I even talk to my passport.

“Hello dearie, nice to see you oh beautiful green one, we are about to go on a trip this morning. Yes we are. Are you ready? Oh! I remember traveling with those other green ones. Nasty nasty green ones. But you are different, you are special, you are my precious. Those other passports I had to use in the past. But traveling with you is so much nicer. You have elevated me from the realm of the Iraqis to the realm of the anonymous Canadians. You spare me the humiliation, make me invisible, give me special powers that bestow dignity and respect on my poor person. Before you, I was one of the other ones, the suspected ones those that get the odd looks and extra handling.”

But on this trip as I stared at my precious … ehm! ….. I mean my passport. His shine was gone and he seemed less powerful and less magical. Do I have the courage to venture into the world without the magical powers. I suddenly felt like an impish elf about to travel from middle east …. ehm! ….. I mean middle-earth towards the Dark Tower without the aid of a magical toy that made me invisible. Will the watchful eye of Sauron detect me? Will the spotlight be placed on me? Will I be sent to the Abu Graib dungeon? After all isn’t it suspicious that an Iraqi is traveling to Washington just months after the war?

Well! this Gollum tried to put on her brightest elfish smile and most innocent look so as not to arouse suspicions. Everything went well, Smeagol was working double time in order to behave himself and look as innocent as possible. But, Gollum would not rest, he would raise his sinister head every once in a while. Towards the end of the flight as we were approaching Washington, the pilot announced that we are about to land in Washington and that within the next 30 minutes as a security precaution we all have to remain seated. If anybody gets up for any reason at all he will change direction and land the airplane at some other destination. Suddenly I was gripped by the urge to stand up and yell “I am Iraqi, I am Iraqi, I am Iraqi, I have fooled you all, ha ha ha ha”. I tried to imagine what would happen if I had done that. Would I be shot or arrested or what. Thinking about all the crazy surreal scenarios in my head created an irresistible urge to laugh. I wanted to laugh hysterically, But I knew that laughing would look suspicious. I had to gather all my strength to get my Smeagol facial expression again so that I look perfectly harmless before landing.


I decided that I would not visit or any monuments including the white house while in Washington. Too much negative feeling, too much turmoil going on inside me. All the feelings of distress that accompanied the first war, the sanctions and the second war. There was simply too much bottled inside me and I thought that it might all unravel if I visit any of these places. So I decided I would not get a map and would not lookup any of these place and just go for a walk to clear my head. Even though this was my first visit to Washington I discovered that I have all this knowledge inside my head about Washington city floating inside my head. I seemed to know street names and places names like Dupont Circle and George Town. I realized that all these names I learned from watching “The American President” the lousy, schmaltzy super yick Hollywood trash of a movie staring Michael Douglas. I didn’t enjoy the stupid predictable love story but at least all the names of places in Washington stuck in my head. And so I walked and walked and walked and walked and suddenly I found myself in front of a big white house surrounded by a tall fence.

“This can’t be the white house….it looks too small”, I thought to myself.
But then I saw all the police and security people all over the place and realized that I have reached the white house without meaning to.
“Oh Man! this is exactly the place I wanted to avoid. Dam you Gollum!”

There was a crazy looking old lady camping in front of the white house in a tent with peace signs and anti war slogans. There were Japanese tourists with cameras, families with their children, a bunch of people looking like journalists and many people hovering about in fancy suits. I decided I would walk around the white house and get a good look from all side. I am here already, I might as well get a good look. So I walked slowly in a steady pace, thinking about all the decisions that have been taken place in this big white house that have effected my life. There was the decision to support the ba’athists in order to defeat the communists in Iraq, there was the first war, sanctions a second war. How many have died as a result of these decisions, hundreds of thousands, millions? Yet this house looks whity white as if it has been recently bleached, the lawn is immaculate, everybody smiling while taking their pictures.

I finally stopped and starred directly at the white house with an intense look

“I curse you, I curse you, I curse you, I curse all your residents and I hope that they all get diarrhea tonight. I hope that George Bush gets diarrhea tonight. Please God give them diarrhea, strong one, make them all sick for one day”. And then I heard the siren of an ambulance in the distance

“Oh O! the curse started to work, I better get away from here”

Anyway cursing people is a pathetic thing, it is the vice of the weak.

And so I walked and walked and walked some more feeling exhausted and drained until I saw Victoria Secret store which again my Gollum possessed legs compelled me to go.

I spent 45 minutes admiring all the overpriced satin and lace items. I never buy such things nor do I ever spend time in such stores but for some reason I felt compelled to buy at this store at that precise moment.

“Depressed about all the injustice in the world? ….. Go buy underwear, it will help you feel better.” logic seems silly now but it made sense at the time.

And happy with my loot and exhausted from a day of walking and psychotic Gollum/Smeagol transformations I went back to my hotel room.

On the news I discovered that George Bush was visiting Turkey that day so he couldn’t have received the wrath of my curse.

I lay on bed contemplating the sad state of the world and the loss of magic in my world.

Suddenly, I remembered the Captain Underpants stories that I read to my children before bed time. The superhero wearing diapers that saves the world with a toilet plunger from alien possessed talking toilets. I remembered how my kids roll on the floor laughing as I read Captain Underpants books to them and I realized that I don’t need magic in my life after all. Here I am staying at 250 dollar a night hotel. I will spend the next 10 days dining in some of the finest restaurants and mingling with like minded geeks. The torture devices have been self administered - must be the shea’a side of me that tends for self mutilation. I changed into my regular underwear, thought about the super hero in underwear, forgot about tales of doom and gloom, good and evil from Lord of the Ring and read from my Rumi book until I fell a sleep.

And thus ended another day in the life of a non super hero.

If anybody got diarrhea in the white house in mid November of 2003, I profusely apologize, I promise never to do it again.