Sunday, January 4, 2009
After a fairly early night came a relaxed morning. It did not occur to our group that we needed to make reservations for brunch in the buffet room so we were invited to join the staff in their Italian restaurant. Though we were not prepared for such a formal meal at 11:30, we were pleased at their accommodating service. After a relatively short meal of an hour and a half, we parted ways.
I headed via taxi to the National Museum with two others. This crisp white split level museum was very organized and appropriately spaced out. According to the map, which was a bound booklet a quarter of an inch thick, there was a touring modern art exhibition down stairs and the more traditional findings on the other floors. To the right you will find art from the Dilmun era and to the left, translated manuscripts and other paper forms. On the third floor traditional crafts and trade, as well as religion and culture of the Bahraini life.
A fairly random fact that we have found to be an issue in the worried lives of our families is that there is a lack of postcards in the area. If you happen to find a stand of odd pictures they tend to be browned and torn at the edges. (Not to mention the eight hour time difference.) Telephone communication is rather difficult and the internet is charged by the minute-- A far cry from the wireless land that I have come to depend on.
Tonight’s meal was possibly the most entertaining to come. A middle eastern and Lebanese unseen menu, meaning there was nothing to order, yet course after course kept coming with even more pita bread to accompany it. From two different kinds of hummus, stuffed grape leaves, chicken liver, wings, parsley salad, to smoked lamb and coal grilled duck, I bet we ate enough to feed a small country. Around the dessert course (approx midnight) we were greeted with a belly dancer in a pink silk outfit adorned with gold grommets and tassels. After approaching several tables around us she decided that our blond haired American men would make for the greatest laugh. She was correct. As if their dancing didn’t prove to be enough of an indicator to the events of the evening, our hosts suggested that we retire to a nearby bar to await the 2:00am last call.
I should be used to the extremely late nights by now, yet after the first bar closed I was still surprised that we headed to another—well to a club at least. Club Taboo was what everyone has in their mind when they picture a Euro Techo Club. Stark white floors and walls with white leather ottomans were set off by silver and blue Christmas trees, strobes lights, and a swimming pool, which was not chained off to the patrons. The servers wore white spandex pants and black jeweled tank tops, some had chain belts that they hung their pass keys on. Needless to say I was out of place in my black pants and sweater set.