Monday, August 21, 2006

The Best Of DC

The Washingtonian does it, so I'm going to, too.

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Hair: Hands down, no contest: Trim Salon.

Nails: Color Nails on 17th and R. $35 Mani/pedi, and a nice massage in the package. Can't beat that.

Facials: Andre Chreky Salon, 16th and K. Seriously, go to Mila. She will FIX YOUR SKIN.

Shoe repair: George's Shoe Repair on U street. He's been fixing shoes for 57 years. When he fixes your high heels, they don't break again after 2 weeks, like every other shoe repair store. Also, he's very old and cute and he laughs a lot.

Coffee: Tryst's Cuban Coffee is the best cuppa I've tasted in DC.

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That is all. I have updates from Marrakech when I return. Stay tuned!

Friday, August 18, 2006

Only in LA, man. Only in LA.

An interesting variation on the idea of a sushi platter.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Fresh Figs

Figs are best when picked straight from the tree in the morning, after they've had a few hours to wake up and warm up in the sun, after you've had a good night's sleep on the roof under Jordanian stars. They are especiailly good with fresh mint tea.

Dead Sea Marriott (18)

I went to Jordan for work, but the last few days I spend not working at all, mostly eating figs and swimming in the Dead Sea. Don't worry, your tax dollars didn't pay for that.

Dead Sea Marriott (29)

Dead Sea Marriott (23)

Despite warnings that it would be TOO HOT, JUST TOO HOT, it was not in fact too hot. It was fantastic, beautiful weather, dry and hot and blue and brown. I heard reports that DC was sticky molasses hot, and I could smell the sweat through the e-mail.

Dead Sea Marriott (22)

The Marriott at the Dead Sea has three pools on different levels with fountains and waterfalls. The bogainvilla's bright magenta is appropriately brilliant in the blinding sun, and the Dead Sea's blue gray swirls spread down the horizon.

Dead Sea Marriott (13)

There is a patio where you can sit outside at night when the stars come out and smoke sheisha and drink mint lemonade. A brunette bellydancer comes out and twirls her hips. You can walk down the stairs to the shore of the Dead Sea and listen to the lapping of the waves on the rocks.

Dead Sea Marriott (26)

I find most spa experiences to be much the same--soft new age music playing over the speakers, scented candles, and intense herbal smells. I thoroughly enjoy it, but sometimes doubt the effectiveness-besides the feeling of being pampered-of spas. But if you go to the Dead Sea Spa and get a Mud Envelope, they will rub you with oil and salt, much like a chicken before it is roasted, and then rinse you off and lather your whole body in mud. Then they wrap you in the spa equivalent of Saran wrap, put a few heavy layers on you and leave you to roast for a few minutes. When they unwrap you, you still feel rather like poultry, but then they rinse the mud off and you see that your skin is new and soft, baby skin, and you're drowsy with the salty thick smell of the sea.

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I think that this is more enjoyable after you've been wearing the same clothes for a full week. One week of laundering your clothes in the hotel sink because Air France sent your luggage to the wrong Middle Eastern country and you feel ready for a spa treatment. (You also feel ready for a new wardrobe, courtesy of Air France.) Despite the fact that Air France promised us each 100 Euros to go shopping, 100 Euros doesn't go far, even in Amman. In fact, it will buy you exactly one pair of trousers, two cheap shirts, two undershirts, and possibly a pair of underwear. Needless to say, these are not business clothes, but teeny-bopper store clothes--camisoles with sequined hearts on the bust and underwear with cheap bows.

Air France insisted that of COURSE it would send my luggage STRAIGHT AWAY to the Marriott in Amman. In fact, it would be there the next morning! Then they insisted that of course they would sent it to the Dead Sea Marriott! Then they insisted that of course they would forward my luggage STRAIGHT to my permanent address in the States. It's been two weeks and there's no sign, no news. It's gone. Air France owes me a new business wardrobe. And a new Huit swimsuit. A Tahitian pareo. My purple Anthropologie kimono, and a pair of purple suede flats. An international adapter/converter kit. My favorite white pants. All my t-shirts. And a grey Christian Dior suit.

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The day before the real work began, Peter and I drove with Fares to his parents' house in Madaba. There is nothing like the smell of the country--the desert and the stars and the cool night air, the plates of fresh fruit and figs and pomegranate, the cups of mint tea. Better, the people you love with you. Friends and family, celebrations and weddings and good Tawjihi scores. A new garden that has your favorite plant, named after you: "Catherine's Majnouna." Dinner made from vegetables fresh from the garden, organic cucumbers and ripe tomatoes. The girls slept on the roof under the stars on mattresses under bright felt blankets and woke up to the dawn. The first thing we did after waking up was pick figs and drink mint tea, and it made me wonder what I was doing living in Washington riding the Metro everyday when really all I want to do in life is eat figs at dawn and drink mint tea.

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