A Different Drummer

Via Mazzy, some pretty sad news from Canada. Having experienced my fair share of this kind of stuff I know theres nothing really to say - but from experience, having Mazzy, the Angel of Happiness there to cheer people up is definately a good thing.

So aparently this blog needs to be work-family-mummy safe, so I couldnt give this post the title it deserved. Suffice to say, I'd need to be able to swear in Maltese (Qisek haq al madonna?) to truly express the sentiments I feel at this topic.

Well it isnt that bad. But I just wanted an excuse to link to the Maltese swearing website.

But it is pretty bad. You see, I like my English language. Anyone who knows me personally knows that I enjoy using the full range and potential of the language, a potential that grows every time you explore it further. And I'm even known, along with most of my friends, to twist the words and meanings into new, not technically correct places. "Ahh what an injustice-shafting" would be one example, read the rest of the shit I write to understand that I am no Shakespeare. Although I was born on his birthday.

So Shakespeare I am not. But defender of my language against horrible corporate whoring, I am. Business English tends to mess with words a little....."action" becomes a verb ("can you action these today, Mr Barker") , powerful words are used so liberally that they use all meaning ("the cycle of our vision development process is built around critical excellence outcomes") and generally, words are used as lubricant in a corporate masturbation process.

Masturbation is one thing however. Full blown unprotected penetration of a wonderful language is another.

I'm talking about inventing entire new words. Not necessary words, like "internet" or "globalisation". Not bottom up culture created words - "funky", "punk" or "blog". These are nasty, souless corporate words that no sane person would ever use unless he was trying to get a promotion into the "Organisational Learning and Development" section of the HR department, or make a few million dollars selling management textbooks.

One of these criminals presented themselves to me today. I got an email from a good friend working for AIESEC International, the global "head office" of AIESEC. In his email signature was a polished looking logo and tagline, promoting AIESEC as an organisation that actively develops "talentship" in young people. Uhh-hhuuuh. No way. I am not having this word enter my language, not without a fight at least. Thinking that this was a word in its early stages of invention within our own organisation (which is primarily not native English speaking), I thought I'd email him and let him know that I was very impressed that our global leadership was so capable and productive that they were inventing new words.

His reply acknowledged that yes, talentship is not an official English word, but that if I looked around I'd discover that all sorts of organisations are using the term these days, and that it was an accepted business term. With the fear trembling through my fingertips as a pressed "search" in Google, I prepared for the worst. And the worst is what I got - talentship is all over the freaking place.

Dr. John Boudreau and Pete Ramstad have an answer. They are pushing the conception of HR one more step up the strategic ladder. They call this new level "talentship".

I call it the worst shafting of the English language in recent memory, and swear to never, ever, ever, use this word, or accepts its use in front of me without challenge, argument, or the use of a trusty swagger cane to beat the word criminal into submission. Out of my cold, dead lips will you prise this horrible monstrosity of a word.

I have added a blogroll to the sidebar on the right. It is underneath the messageboard, and I have added links of some of the more interesting blogs going around.

One of the best things about AIESEC is that you end up knowing people literally all over the world. And one of the best things about weblogs, is that the experiences of all these people are now out in the open for everyone to enjoy. So I have linked to a group of the coolest people I know, all around the world doing their thing.

Digs is working in Singapore, although it seems like part of his job decription is to travel all over South East Asia every weekend climbing mountains. He's a great guy and a great writer, and his blog is one of the best as far as giving you an insight into cultures and adventures. His thoughts on facing up to Mount Fuji before climbing it are memorable:

I looked at the sacred mountain and said "you are going down, Fuji-san."

Joe is a fellow Adelaide boy and has spent the last few years based in Mersin, Turkey. He is fairly immersed in Turkish culture now and has some really strong insights into the country and its people:

I had previously visited newly-weds, Efkan and Devrim's place several times for dinner but they had not visited mine once. I'm not sure of the exact logic but it is a cultural thing in Turkey to for couples and families not to visit/have dinner at single people's places. Can any Turks elaborate?

He also earns mega Aussie points by managing to watch the AFL Grand Final (Australian rules football), live, in Turkey. And then extra points for wearing a Port Adelaide jumper and scarf into work and bringing in candles and a victory cake after Port Adelaide's glorious victory.

Apart from having the dubious honour of being my girlfriend, Thea writes a cool blog from her new home town of Alexandria, on the north coast of Egypt. Her reflection on love, Egyptian style, are especially worth a read, coming after the great weekend of three weedings.

Speaking to these women has also made me wonder what exactly is love, how do you define it, who exactly is the right man,is there anyone you can call the right man? or just like every Egyptian woman is he only in our dreams???

Thea's fellow Maltese buddy Maria is now back home in Malta after a year in Prague, and is blogging up a Maltese storm. And her connection to the previously mentioned Digs is best summed up in the image, stolen from her website:



Heh. Flic is another Adelaide expat, and like me she is in one of civilisations greatest cities, Beijing. It sounds like she is having the time of her life there and she certainly is experiencing everything China has to offer:

Taste of Beijing - this week's feature is a fruit - apparantly. I bought them off the street the other night, they're black and look like tiny bull's heads with horns, you can hold them by the handful. They're kinda dirty, i think they grow under the ground. They're really hard to open, and inside is solid kinda purple-whitish stuff...

Sounds great Flic. Make sure you save some for me.....

Jesus if I keep going at this rate I'll never stop. I tell you what - I'm just going to name check to rest of them ones I reccomend, and profile a few interesting people when the time is right. Other Aussies around the world include Mazzy in Montreal (Mazzy is one of my favourite people on Earth) and Jen in New York (with about the best job in the world right now). The Irish, like Aussies, make good travellers, and Una has been blogging like crazy for the last year in the Phillipines, and is now travelling throught South East Asia, where I'm sure her and Digs will meet at some point, probably at the summit of a Mountain. Karola is living it up in Slovakia, and just got to spend a weekend in Budapest, my spriritual homeland, with Peter, my spiritual brother. Bitch. Trent, Kait and Holly all spent the summer in Egypt, are all fantastically cool, and worth reading. My former Argentine house/teamate and good friend from Ireland, Diego, is now in Copenhagen and blogging it up.

Oh, and Adam Lemmon is a fiend and a whore, and should be wrapped in barbed wire and shot into the sun. Coming to Egypt any time, mate?

Holly, who spent the last three months in Egypt as part of the Salaam Programme, has posted up all her digital pictures into this great online gallery. Check it out if you would like to see some of the sights and scenery in one of the world most photography-friendly countries.



Two Orwell mentions in two posts - things are going ahead as planned....

We can all thank the glorious leader (and curse our fiendish enemies in Oceania......or is it Eurasia....damn Goldberg alweays trying to trick us) for this excellent development.

Students for an Orwellian Society (SOS) - "Because 2004 is 20 years too late"

"...the Miniluv operations in Guantánamo Bay were authorized to “exploit a prisoner's phobias, sometimes using muzzled dogs in interrogations.” Doubleplusgood! "

George Orwell would be rolling in his grave at this one.

I just got an email from someone working for AIESEC in India. They have some management traineeship positions available for international graduates looking for a management working placement in India. It is working for one of the largest hotels in Southern India. Check out the job title and job description for a masterful use of the English language in avoiding saying the truth:

"As a Guest Relations Executive (GRE), the internship would focus essentially on Guest services, Anticipation of Guest Needs, recognitions, Recovery& Flexibility; and will include learning functions of most sub-departments of the front office."

Lets break this one down a little.

Guest Relations Executive (GRE) - also known as bellboy, waiter, hotel staffer - the guys in the red jackets who carry bags to rooms, deliver room service, do stuff when you ask for it.

Anticipation of Guest Needs, Recognitions - "Room 601 is out of toilet paper. I think we should get them some more before they finish their Vindaloo in the Bengal Room."

Recovery and Flexibility - An almost entirely meaningless set of terms, taken on their own. I assume flexibility to mean the flexibility to do whatever shitty work the guest and management request of you.

Learning functions of most departments....... - You'll be involved in all the "learning functions", from cleaning, to carrying, delivering, phone answering - and if you play your cards right maybe you'll be the guy who stands out the front in the top hat, greeting guests and ordering taxis.

How about we reword this job title and description a little, to you know, umm...make sense:

"Hotel staff needed. Guest services and front of house roles. "

10 words - with some wastage and even a little word wanking - now that wasn't too hard was it?

Anyhow next time you hurl a glass of whiskey at that snivelling little bellboy in the Hyatt Regency, in punishment for his inability to recognise that you need, you know...more whiskey.....just remember - thats a Guest Relations Executive that you're fucking with - I'd think twice if I were you. They report directly to the Chief Services Officer, who is only one step down from the Almighty Grand Wizard of the Third order of Ra (Bar Manager).


UPDATE: Heh. I just noticed something else. The guy who sent this mail identifies himself as a "Senior Manager" of AIESEC at his university. I've never heard of this title in AIESEC before...... maybe he's a senior manager at the hotel. You know - the senior managers....the ones who collect empty glasses in the bar.

"Roman Vassilenko, the press secretary for the Embassy of Kazakhstan, wants to clear up a few misconceptions about his country. Women are not kept in cages. The national sport is not shooting a dog and then having a party. You cannot earn a living being a Gypsy catcher. Wine is not made from fermented horse urine.......

These falsehoods, and many others, have been spread by Borat, a character on “Da Ali G Show,” which recently finished its second season on HBO. Like Ali G, Borat is played by Sacha Baron Cohen, a British comedian who specializes in prank interviews. As Borat, Cohen has told a dating service that he is looking for a girl with “plow experience,” persuaded a meeting of Oklahoma City officials to observe a ten-minute silence in memory of the (fictitious) Tishnik Massacre, and, most notably, led a country-and-Western bar in a sing-along of “In My Country There Is Problem,” whose chorus goes: “Throw the Jew down the well / So my country can be free / You must grab him by his horns / Then we have a big party.”

Check out the whole article, it keeps getting better. My favourite is Borat's apparently false suggestion that in Kazakhstan, "a Kazakh man gets a wife by buying a woman from her father for fifteen gallons of insecticide"

Aussies will immediately appreciate the sheer, untainted beauty of this photograph, taken in Mannum, South Australia. Others not familiar with the term "bogan", and its beauty in being used in the name of a bottle shop (liquor store, for the Americans in the house) - just gaze at the general Zen-like beauty of a fine piece of Australian cultural heritage.  

Every new environment you live in makes you realise how wonderful some things are that you never appreciated before. Whether it is something that you once took for granted that you are now deprived of, or something that you have never seen utilised to its full potential before. Living in Ireland made me appreciate just how wonderful hot weather can be (by suddenly getting none of it), the true potential of breakfast (no-one does breakfast like the Irish), the importance of high quality fresh fruit and vegetables (not Irelands strong point), and how awesome it is living within a few hundred kilometres of Europe (as opposed to a few thousand).

Life in Egypt has given me some new things to appreciate - here is just a few of them:

Air Conditioning - You'd think that growing up in Australia would have schooled me on this. Nope. I've never lived in a house with air conditioning, and although I do remember the lovely feeling of walking into a department store, supermarket or upmarket house with the AirCon blasting, I never really felt strongly connected to the air conditioning. As mentioned before, Cairo is a structurally hot city, and living on the upper floors of an apartment only amplifies the heat. Let me clear something up here. Air conditioning is a gift from God. It is the greatest development of the 20th century. It changes your life, at least in Cairo. It makes life worth living.

Night Time - Egyptians do things on a different time scale. Morning means anywhere between 11 and 3. Afternoon begins when the suns starts going down. Evening is from 6-10. "Tonight" means any time until the sun starts coming up again. At first I was thrown a bit off balance by people calling me at 11:30pm wondering if I felt like hanging out. Hang on! This is sleepy time! No it isnt, not in Egypt. The traffic in Cairo is at its most insane between 11pm and 2am, because this is the peak time for nightlife. Me and Thea wanted to go and see a movie the other day so we called the cinema to ask what time they were screening. 11pm, 1am, 2am. Ummm, anything at like....a normal time? Not a chance.

Anyhow, I love it now. Late at night is the best time for hanging out, especially in Cairo, because the temperature cools down, a breeze picks up, and it all feels so naughty to me still. Its like a replacement for not being able to drink booze and act innapropriately. "Sure, I'm not loaded on whiskey and gin and there isnt any half naked receptionists doing the macarena to Britney Spears all around me. But hey - its 3am! I must be doing something bad"

Water - Sure, it is the essence of life. But I've never relished water, loved water, longed for water, like I do in Cairo. Daily life here is a contant search for water - where is the water, I need water, you have water, damn thats good water. It is so easy to get dehydrated here - forget to slug back your hourly litre and you notice really fast just exactly how important water is to your body. Especially cold, cold water. Which leads me to my next point.....

Frozen Water - What is the only thing worse than waking up in a hot room, hair and pillow soaked in sweat, sun beating on your face at 8am, already feeling hot, bothered and dry? Waking up in that situation and remembering that you forgot to put the fecking water in the freezer before you went to bed. A bottle of frozen water is vital in Egypt. First, because Egyptian tap water smells and tastes like a swimming pool. It is, as I have come to describe it, reassuringly chlorinated - anything that smells like a Nazi gas chamber can't possibly be loaded with delicious strains of typhoid and polio. The best way I have found of dealing with the heavy chlorine taste is to drink it freezing cold. I think this is the same logic behind why you keep Vodka in the freezer - not that I would ever pollute our house with the devils liquid, praise be to Allah.

Crusty White Bread - I'm not even that keen on it, but damn, as Joni Mitchell would say, you dont know you've got till its gone. Egypt generally doesnt do "western style" white bread very well - the dimensions by which it seems to be produced are softness and sweetness. It tastes like McDonalds bread, and feels like you could squeeze the whole loaf into something the size of a ping pong ball. Crusty bread is non-existant, at least to my knowledge.

Fruit Juice - Here's something Egyptians have nailed better than anywhere else I have been. Any popular street will have a few juice stores, which you can pick out by the piles of fruit on display at the front of the store, advertising what kind of juices they make. The most common ones are mango, lemon, strawberry and banana, but you find plenty of other weird ones. The Egyptian way of making juice is a fantastically primal one - get fruit, put into blender, pour blended fruit into cup. No sweeteners, no milk, no yogurt or ice cream - normally just a few ice cubes to make it cold. I'm telling you, a whole punnet of strawberries, emptied into a blender makes something a lot better than the sum of its parts.

I could keep on writing like this for hours, but I need to go and find my bottle of ice water so that I can leave the air conditioned office to rush to the Juice bar before it closes at 6am.

From BBC News: Cricket: Australia beat US

Excellent. Finally the US are competing in an internationally competitive team sport. It doesn't help that Australia are the dominant world superpower in said sport, either.

I suppose the US are, you know, moderately competitive at Soccer. More so than Australia at least. This doesnt matter, because we all know, Soccer Sucks.

I don't know why the US do not tend to compete at a very high level at internationally competitive team sports. Probably because most of the international team sports are legacy of the British empire (Soccer, Cricket, Rugby), and the most popular US sports internally are US invented ones (American Football, Basketball, Baseball, Ice Hockey) - OK maybe Ice Hockey is Canadian. Please don't hurt me, Canadians.

Anyhow, I suggest the US take up cricket, so Australia can deliver a crushing whipping every few months. Or do something more arrogant and humiliating like sending our womens team to kick their asses, or our national Under 16 squad, or maybe a group of retarded amputees who don't exactly excel at cricket, but really like to play with all the shiny equipment and wear the white clothes.

Here is what I would have explained to the taxi driver (see below), if only my Arabic was in full swing. It comes from early in the book, but it it one of those moments when a writer just manages to jump out of their own bodies and completely nail an idea:

".....Here is the machine, isolated in time and in space from everything else in the universe. It has no relationship from you, you have no relationship to it...........the mechanics in their attitude toward the machine were really taking no different attitude toward the machine than the manual's toward the machine, or from the attitude I had when I brought it in there. We were all spectators. And it occurred to me that there is no manual that deals with the real business of motor-cycle maintenance, the most important aspect at all. Caring about what you are doing is considered either unimportant or taken for granted.

On this trip I think we should notice it, explore it a little, to see if in that strange seperation of what man is from what man does we may have some clues as to what the hell has gone wrong in this twentieth century……"

So for the last couple of days I have been reading "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" - for some reason I seem to end up re-reading this book every six months or so, every time feeling like I've picked up a new book and a whole new vokume of knowledge and insights. Its a masterpiece, as those who have read it would know, and if you haven't read it, then I can't reccomend it highly enough.

Anyhow, riding home in the cab today, the driver saw that I was reading a book. Summoning nearly the full extent of his English, he asked "What is book?".

"Shit" I think. There is no way that I can even pretend to translate the sentence "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" into Arabic. I still struggle with buying the groceries. So instead of trying, I hold my hands out to grab an imaginary set of handlebars , pump the throttle with one hand, and make the "vroom vroom" noise (which is universal, by the way).

"Scooter?" asks the driver. Something like that, I think to myself.

"What it is about?" he asks. Christ. Now he is asking a bit much. How to explain an enquiry into values, a philosophical critique of 2000 years of western thinking, an examination of the challenges of our century, and a cross country motorcycle trip. Its just not going to happen.

Theres no moral to this story. Or even a humourous ending.....I umm'ed and ahhh'ed, flailed my hands around a bit, and luckily, the taxi got to my place before things got awkward. I paid the driver an extra pound for his interest in the book. But boy, if I knew Arabic like I wish I did, he would have got a schooling.

I've been to three weddings this weekend - and it is still only Saturday afternoon. Anything could happen tonight. Seriously though, this weekend spent in Alexandria has been educational - not just about weddings (although I have learnt a lot) but also about egyptian society. Allow me to elaborate.

Wedding Number One was an upper class affair - it was between a former AIESEC member here and her long term fiancee. It was un-friggin-believable. Madness, like I have never seen before. But strictly in the materialistic, extravegant sense of the word. I have seen a shitload of weddings - my work between the ages of 16 and 19 as a kitchenhand at a function centre means that I have seen, by my estimates....heaps....of weddings. Some were for rich, rich people. Featuring $10,000 cakes, individual gift packs for each attendants worth more than my average Christmas haul, and a crazy attention to minute extravegant detail - silk embroidered scarves wrapped around each glass, etc etc. But none of these weddings held a candle to this particular affair.

The most surreal part of the wedding was the videocreens - giant white video projections hung all around the venue (outdoors, as Egyptians have the benefit of not having to worry "but what if it rains?". The video screens were displaying a live, on-the-fly edited broadcast. Of the wedding. One camera team constantly followed the bride and groom, wherever they went there was a camera man and the lighting guy and the mic operator following them like paparazzi. It adds to the superstar effect that Egyptian upper class weddings seem desperate to create - the couple are contantly bathed in the glare of the spotlights, followed by the film crew. Another film cred roamed the crown, focussing in either on the families and older guests, or on the action on the dancefloor. And a thir camera was swooping over the entire crowd on a sort of motorised crane - like what they use when shooting movies - making a constant sort of birds-eye view of the whole event.

A production team sat in one corner area, with about 6 TV screens and video editing equipment, constantly selecting which video feed should be displayed on which screen, producting what will, in the end, be the "video" of the wedding. Which we saw life, all night. If you ever were wondering during the night where the bride was, or wehat the dancefloor was looking like, then a quick look at the video screens sorted things out no problems. Which was necessary, given the crowd of 1000+ people (apparently 1750 were invited, although it didnt feel that big).

Wedding Number Two was not the wedding party, as such, but the formal legal marriage. It was done in a Mosque, and was fairly low key affair, mainly paperwork and a few prayers. The most interesting thins about this ceremony was the complete lack of involvement of the bride and groom. Apart from greeting everyone with excited girly squeals and manly "i'm not nervous" looking handshakes, the guy and girl had absolutely no role in the wedding, and sat in the crowd with the rest of us. This was family business, and in particular, mens business.

The two fathers sat at the front, with a civil official, and a person from the Mosque. They had to do a lot of paperwork, administrative stuff (at one point I saw them taking out their drivers licenses from their wallets and exchanging them to take down the details). Once the papers were signed, there was a quick piece of recitation and repetition (seemed like the equivelant of "I John Smith" - "I John Smith" - "Do hereby swear" - "Do hereby swear" - "To love and cherish" - "To love and cherish"). Then there was a quick prayer (which only the men in the crowd seemed to say out loud, although some of the women were mouthing the words). After this, the women started ululating - something older women tend to do a lot of at weddings. Its impossible to describe in words - but imagine making a kind of "a-le-le-le-le-le-le" noise, from the throat, while flapping the tongue up and down or from side to side. Its weird. I have no idea where it comes from or what it means. But women do it at weddings, a lot.

And that, was it. At this point the bride and groom stood up, seemed happy, shook hands with everyone, and we all went home. This wasnt the main event, after all. They can't live together, or god forbid, shag each other, until after the wedding party, which will be in a few months time. This was really the technicality, but it was interesting to see. Especially how irreleveant the bride and groom were throughout the whole event. They didnt really even need to be there. This was all about cementing a legal partnership between two families, more specifically, it was about a contract between two fathers.

Wedding Number Three was my personal highlight. Partly because we weren't invited, didnt know anybody, but still ended up in the front row being introduced to the families. But more because out of the three weddings, it felt like the most intensely cultural, and genuine, event of them all. It was a "poor people" wedding, although I'd imagine they were more like lower middle class than poor. It was held in a closed off street, a tight narrow alley where dense strings of colored light bulbs were hung in between the opposing apartment buildings to create a beautiful glowing roof over the tightly packed crown. Everyone was sitting on chairs in a dense, dense group, facing the stage which was at the end of the street - a rickety, dodgy looking contraption which I definately didnt have the confidence to stand on.

But others did. By the hundreds, it felt. All the time we were there, masses of people were cramming their way onto the stage, to dance, to oggle the belly dancer, and to greet the bride and groom, who were sat in the position of honour at the back of the stage. All night they sat there, like King and Queen, with people constantly approaching them with hugs, kisses, words of congratulations, and the occasional bit of paper currency. On the stage was also a band - drummers, percussionists, and a keyboarder - who were hammering out arabic style rhythms all night, and a singer/MC, who was brilliant. He was singing this typical style of music that is well known in Egypt, as the kind of music you have at a poor people wedding. Its like the Arab version of hip-hop - spoken word rhyming sentences, usually telling dirty or political stories, done to a backing beat, lots of repetition, lots of emphasis on the delivery of the words. Its absolutely fantastic.

The belly dancer was impressive too - dressed in an impossibly small, tight bra that did little more than cover the nipples, and a tiny little pair of skin tight satin "shorts", which were more like underwear. Shaking herself around like nobodies business, with the MC encouraging her to go faster, shake it more, I could imagine the words he was saying, with the crowd backing him up with mad cheering, clapping, and a rush to the stage by the men who wanted to show their stuff alongside her. It was all a little bit dirty and lewd, in a sort of wonderful, escapist way - the things that happen in these weddings are at such odds with general life in Egypt that I can't help but thinking everyone just enjoys living in a different persona for the night.

So there it was. We only ended up at this weeding out of curiousity - we were walking along the Corniche when we head the drumming and live music. We went to have a peek behind the barricade and the moment the people saw foreign faces, there was no way they we were going to get away without taking the seats front and centre, which were quickly evacuated for us. Sometimes being a foreigner in Egypt can be the ticket to amazing experiences. They were explaining everything to us, in Arabic, so I didnt understand much. But Thea, with her damn Maltese language ability to understand Arabic (don't fuck with the Maltese - they know more than you can possible imagine. They speak every language. They probably are watching you right now...). Anyhow, it was just a truly genuine egyptian moment, made all the more special by the willingness of the people to welcome us into one of their most special events.

So, rich blinging elite, upper class Egypt at the top of its game. Mosquey, mans business traditionalism. And organic, crazy, crowded lower class energy. The three pillars of Egyptian society, expressed in the form of a series of weddings. Can you ask for a better weekend?

Biblical parallels are always fun, especially in Egypt.

So Aly, one of the members of my team here, is a fundamentally good person. Considerate, caring, peaceful, non-aggressive, religious, tolerant. He opens the door for women. In fact, when we were at the big formal dinner of international congress in Germany, he was sitting next to a girl who he was in deep conversation with. The food arrived, but the girl didnt start eating. Now I know that Aly was starving hungry. We had talked about it just 10 minutes before. But ever the gentlemen, Aly didnt lay a hand on knife, fork or food until the girl did. And she didnt. So Aly didnt. Aly is going to heaven. Aly is a good human being.

And so was Job (Jobe), or Ayyub as he is known in Arabic. If you don't know the story of Job, then have a quick read of the simple version here. Basically, Job, nice guy, never harmed a soul, good man. God and the Devil make a deal. The Devil gets to fuck Job over. Hard. Kill his kids. Take away all his stuff. Inflict terrible physical pain. God believes in Job and bets the devil that at no point will this make Job doubt God. The devil thinks otherwise. Because this is the Bible we are talking about here, of course the story has a happy ending.

Aly drives an immaculate 60's era Volkswagen Beetle. This is one part of what makes Aly supremely cool. It is in beautiful condition. Or at least it was, until for the last few days in a row, someone, or something, has fucked with Aly's pristine piece of German automobile-art. Today was day three, and as we were stopped in traffic, a taxi driver slowly, and calmly, just scraped along the side of Aly's car. It was in such slow motion, and so flagrantly stupid, that it felt deliberate. Even my usually non-violent blood was ready to boil.

But not Aly's. He is made of sterner, better, more Godly stuff. Yeah, he was sad that his beatiful car has been screwed over, again, for the second day in a row - but not angry. And as we were discussing why this is happening, the conclusion became clear.

"You are being punished for something you have done in the past", I told him.

"I don't do bad things" Aly replied. And its true. He doesn't, and hasn't.

"Then you are being punished for something you will do in the future"

"I will not do bad things in the future"

I belived him, but wanted to probe this a little further. "You never know man, anything could happen"

"I will not do bad things in the future".

He was right. This wasnt the correct path to be going down. Then, it came to me. Job. Aly is being tested. God picked a subject that he was supremely confident in. God picked Aly. The Devil isnt going to win this won.

Devil, you're going to have to try a lot harder if you think you can crack this peanut. In fact, I don't think you have it in you. You can't. Wanna know whay? Because Aly is Good. And you are not. And Aly, and God, and all the believers, will win this battle.

And thus the sermon is concluded. Peace be upon you all.

If a bit of good old fashioned Republican hate fucking is your cup of tea, then check out this hilarious article in Gawker.com - pure genius. Someone posted a fake message to the US dating website Craigslist, posing as a hot blonde delegate to the New York Republican convention, looking for a democrat to "hate fuck" them while in NY. Some of the replies are hilarious, and quite revealing.

"Republican Blond Wants to be Hate Fucked - w4m - 24

I'm just in town for the week, and New Yorkers haven't been all that friendly yet, so I figure I better make the most of it. Let's keep it simple, I'm hot, you're fit, and you're gonna take it all out on me. "

The name of a blog is important. It needs to be catchy, but it also needs to make sense. When you are travelling, it also needs to be evocative of the place you are in. I think I nailed it pretty hard with An Irish Experience - a good name, rememberable, made sense as a URL, and it was pretty sweet sounding. However, to keep things interesting, I ruled out using the word "Egypt" in my title this time around.

Shisha and Shawerma, is, to begin with, good alliteration - like Peter Parker or Lois Lane, beginning two words with the same letters is always a good start.

It is also fairly evocative of life in Egypt - not just on the literal sense either. Although yes, a lot of Shisha is smoked (think giant bong where you smoke flavoured tobacco), and a lot of Shawerma, in various incarnations, is eaten (Shawerma, also known around the world as kebab, doner, yiros, giro, pita), there is more to it than this.

Life in Egypt is weird. Things are just different here. And Shisha and Shawerma both epitomise the differences.

Firstly, no-one drinks. Well, some people do. But no-one drinks in Egypt in the same way that no-one eats puppies in Australia. It happens, of course, in dark corners populated by foreigners and strange locals, and no-one wants to have anything to do with it. It is an intensely marginalised and suspected practice. Which suits me just fine, because apart from the occasional Coopers on a hot Aussie day, Guinness on a cold Irish one, and Champagne and Red Bull when my Hungarian influences take over, I'm not big on drinking.

But what replaces the pub, or the club, when the alcohol is no more? What is the replacement for "lets go for a drink"? One word, my friends. Shisha. It fills the social void left where alcohol once proudly sat, plus so much more. Pretty much anywhere you can imagine, you will be able to order Shisha, plus a glass of mint tea, or maybe a cold Fayrouz. If you are a bearded old man, accompanied by a fellow beardie, then all you need to do is click your fingers, and men scurry out of nowhere, bringing stools, shisha, and a table to put the tea on. This happens literally everywhere, and I'm telling you, it causes havoc on the highways in rush hour. OK, that bit is an exaggeration, but only slightly.

Shisha also tells us many things about Egyptian society and values.

1) Lack of government interest in public health - if you tried selling massive water pipes of flavoured tobacco in Australia, the government would probably force you to hang a dead baby from the top, with "smoking kills little babies" scrawled on its bloated stomach in pigs blood. In Egypt, you can get Shisha in the waiting rooms of government buildings.
2) Strange religious interpretations (also known as "hypocrisy") - the Prophet (peace be upon him) said that putting substances into your body that effect your mind is forbidden. Hence, no alcohol. But sucking down the equivelant of 3 cigarette packs worth of nicotine in a three hour Shisha session is odey-dokey, even for the most beardedly devout.
3) Its hot...Let us sit somewhere - Cairo is, scientifically speaking, frigging hot. 40 degree days are the standard, and temperatures get much higher on the "hot" days. Cairo is also a structurally "hot" city - crowded, shitloads of traffic, polluted, dusty.....anything that magnifies heat, Cairo has it. Including that giant magnifying glass that the last city council erected unexplainably over the city centre. Anyhow, Cairenes are usually desperate to seek refuge indoors after anything more than a 15 minute exposure to the outdoors. They are looking for a place where they can buy one cheap thing, that will justify them staying in the place for a couple of hours. And thus, allah created Shisha.
4) People are Talking.... - Egyptians gossip. They love, absolutely love, to gossip. Finding out about the dirty dancing of the daughter of a prominent local politician at a recent wedding, for an Egyptian, has the entertainment value of Terminator 3, plus the news value of who killed JFK, and in an easily accessable format. Where do these discussions take place? Over shisha, of course
5) Men Only - Oh, didnt I mention that already - of course, Shisha is only for men. The average Shisha cafe is strictly for old men, and women simply wouldnt dream of trying to go there, unless they wanted to brand their family as whores for the next 700 years. Some "progressive" younger women will enjoy a Shisha in a trendy modern style cafe, but as long as no-one over the age of 25 is in the room. People talk, you know. Over shisha. And the girls have a reputation to consider, if they ever plan on marrying into a reputable family. They don't want to become the subject of Shisha time gossip.

So, as you can see, Shisha is representative of a lot of things concerning life in Cairo. And it also is a nice sounding word. It wouldn't be part of the title of my blog if it was called Taamiyya (felafel).

So, on to Shawerma. Well, firstly, there is the worldliness of the stuff. After Chinese food, and Pizza, I'd say that Shawerma/Kebab/Yiros is abotu the most globalised fast food you can imagine. I have never been anywhere in the world where the drunken/late night foods of choice did not include a big revolving cone of glistening meat, sliced into bread and dressed in about 200 different ways. In Australia, it is sliced onto a round flat bread, and rolled up with lettuce, tomato, onion and garlic sauce. In Ireland, it is sliced into a pocket, topped with lettuce, and covered in hot chilli sauce. In Belfast, the local favourite is the hot meat, mixed with potato chips and tomato sauce, served in an aluminum tin tray, eaten with a fork. In Turkey, it is sliced into a crusty bread roll, and served with pickles, fried onions and a tomato-yoghurt sauce.

Shawerma is globalisation - intensely ancient and primal, owned by many different cultures, moved across the world and reinterpreted according to local tasted, recognised everywhere.

Shawerma in Egypt is, I say confidently from much experience, the best in the world. In most countries, it is more about the quantity - how much meat and salad can you cram into the bread, and then about the sauce - how good is the garlic yoghurt. In Egypt, it is all about the delicately spiced and scented meat. It is unbelievable. The meat smells like incense, and tastes like heaven. I would have an Egyptian Shawerma stand grilling away in my house - to warn away evil spirits, to make the house smell great, and to have constant access to the worlds best meat. Ever.

Shawerma is also served in so many different ways here - the miracle is that every single one of them is delicious. My current favourite is Fatta Shawerma - chicken and lamb meat, mixed with garlic sauce, served on top of rice and sliced flat bread. Amazing.

So, in tribute to possibly the only thing that Egyptians can claim to being best in the world at, Shawerma deserves an equal place in the title of my blog.

And, well, that is that. Nearly 2000 words later, and I think I have given a small taste of what is to come, as well as explaining my title for this blog. If you have read this and want to let me know you have seen my new blog, how about leaving a comment below - the comment system on blogspot is easy, reliable, and it works, which is more than can be said about the comments system on my last site. So comment away.

Hi. My name is Tom Gara, although most of you probably already know that. This is my new blog, a replacement for the now defunct An Irish Experience, which I kept through my year in Ireland. Shisha and Shawerma is going to be my blog while I spent the next year of my life in Cairo, Egypt.

Anyhow, this is just the mandatory first posting. The real action begins from here, so make sure you keep updated.