Rivalries

Yesterday I put my old Moroccan travel skills to the test by taking a day trip to Boston. Yes, that would be four to four and a half hours both ways for a total of about nine hours on a bus. Don't feel sorry for me though; it was a very fancy bus with leather seats, wireless internet and lots of leg room (not that I need that). Those things, along with my awesome ability to sleep anywhere and the company of my friend Nicole, made for a pleasant trip. No chickens or sheep were on the bus and no one called out for a mika bag.

Titian, Tintoretto, Veronese: Rivals in Renaissance Venice, a special exhibition at the Museum of Fine Art, was what had drawn us to the city. Matthew, who biked in from Cambridge, joined us. At first, I bought the whole call and response premise that the curators had carefully constructed. Titian paints a sacre conversazione, then Tintoretto (his younger rival) paints a more dynamic (some might even say "extreme") one. Some of the more compelling visual arguments involved a room full of nudes (appropriately hidden behind red velvet curtains), the Supper at Emmaus, and Saints Anthony and Jerome (in a separate room of course, though the Temptation of Saint Anthony could have been worked into the room of nudes, I'm sure). The argument began to lose steam for me, however, when the wall-texts/curators started making tenuous connections amongst the size and shape of rivals' canvases and their choice of extremely common subjects. I have a hard time believing that Tintoretto was hunting down Titian's canvases in private collections so that he could compete with the older man. Also, some of those objects were sent to Spain, where Titian had an important patron in the King, but Tintoretto did not. The need for competition isn't immediately apparent, but the power of the male ego may be a factor here, too.

One theme that kept popping up throughout the exhibition was the influence of Michelangelo on the Venetian painters. Michelangelo's reach is something that I haven't studied at all. Though it makes sense that his studio assistants would go on to have workshops of their own, and for his works to be seen by his contemporaries, I've always studied him in such a vacuum that I have no conception of him as a best amongst many, only as a singular star that outshone all. Now that I think about that I'm remembering that the younger Raphael was a rising star whose tranquil, orderly style, threatened the older, more tempestuous master. This, of course, may be a Hollywood construction. And by "Hollywood" I mean "art historical." Rivalries create drama which in turn brings in crowds and/or sells books. Wonderful. Maybe in three hundred years there will be an exhibition called Duchamp/Picasso/Pollock: Modern Master Catfight. I, of course, will write an MA thesis entitled, Hannah Höch: I Will Cut You. (Sorry, I might be the only one who thinks that's funny. It really is, you know.)

And now I'm very tired. Noon is a bit early to consider a nap, but you can only study so much German on four hours of sleep. Also, even though I only spent a a few hours in Boston, I accomplished a lot - I met a fellow writer; I doled out love advice; I walked from Copley Square to Cambridge; I doled out living-in-Brooklyn advice; and I reviewed weak masculine nouns. Every weekend should be so productive.

Ridiculous Fun in Agadir

Last week I attended my training group's IST, or Inter-Service Training, and it was amazing! It was so great to be back with everyone (minus a couple wonderful colleagues who have returned to the States for various reasons) and to learn about their communities and projects. Even with eight hours of sessions everyday, we managed to have a bit of fun. Those of us who live in the desert were particularly fond of the hotel pool! From right to left: Danice, Quigs, Anny, Megan (it was her birthday so she got to be the "swan"), Matthew, me (big splash, no grace) and Brian.

21 Simple Steps to Enjoying Yourself at a Patisserie in Rabat

Quite often I’m struck by the incredible amount of time it takes to complete simple tasks, such as making a deposit at the bank (1 hour 30 minutes), purchasing stamps (45 minutes), or obtaining a menu at a restaurant (25 minutes). On a recent trip to the capital, I was looking forward to the quick pace and efficiency of a large city. It turns out simple pleasures can consume a great deal of time as well! Here are 21 simple steps to enjoying yourself at a patisserie in Rabat.

1. Enter patisserie around the corner from the Gare du Ville, Rabat
2. Peruse vitrines of pastries, wondering if the thing that looks like a pear tart is, in fact, a pear tart, or if it secretly contains raisins for some reason.
3. Wriggle nose at thought of being surprised by raisins.
4. Ask in Arabic if there are brownies. Wesh kayn brownies?
5. Hear response in French, but pretend not to understand. Oui, il y a brownie.
6. Repeat question in Arabic. Wesh kayn brownies?
7. Hear exclamations of “A foreigner who speaks Arabic! My God will wonders ever cease? How do you know Arabic?” Whda rmi lli tkllmha l’3rbia? Tbark llah 3lik! Fn t3llemk l’3rbia?
8. Realize that you are utterly incapable of answering this question in the proposed language.
9. Explain that actually you don’t speak a lot of Arabic (Ana tkllmt l’3rbia shwiya. . .); you really know Tashlheit because you live in Ouarzazate (. . . walakayn ad sawlgh Tashlheit ashku ad zdghgh gh Ouarzazate).
10. Hear exclamations of “Holey moley! An American who knows Berber! God bless your parents.” Tbark llah 3lik!! Marikaniya wHda tkllm shlHa! Lla y-rHm l-walidim.
11. Ask again if there are brownies.
12. When told, “No, there are no brownies” order a pear tart despite aforementioned risk of raisins.
13. Pay cashier after server places tart atop a doily upon a tray.
14. Walk upstairs to find a table, making sure to find the one with the best view for people watching and the occasional suggestive, if accidental, stare.
15. When waitress approaches your table, ask for a café crème, prepared to repeat steps 5 through 11, substituting coffee for brownies.
16. Sigh.
17. Watch as waitress leaves with your tart, vaguely wondering if it was defective.
18. People watch, noticing that no one around you is speaking Arabic, slowly realizing that you exposed yourself as a country bumpkin downstairs.
19. Feel slightly relieved when waitress returns with your coffee and tart.
20. Raise an eyebrow when you notice that the tart has returned sans doily and now sits on a neat white plate with a fork and knife.
21. Dig in.