My tale starts some 5 years ago, Angela my wife, was off to her first belly dance lesson. All seemed fine, she was off to have a good time and I was settling down to a beer on the settee, probably watching football or some other very important act. I should have felt the vibrations, the tiny tremor of the earth, because my life was about to change!
At first there was the jingling of bells and it wasn’t even Christmas. Next, there was the impromptu shimmying, usually during some mundane act, such as washing dishes.
These things went by, me with my usual rye smile and some very witty comment (well I thought so) and on it went. The costumes came next, always getting a little wilder, the panic I went through not knowing the right answer to questions such as, ‘I don’t look stupid, do I?’ or the ultimate one ‘Does my bum look big in this?’ what do you say to someone shaking it so much?
As time passed the word ‘Tribal’ was coming more and more into conversations, I say conversations, I think conversations are supposed to be two way! More and more time was spent dancing, Angela took the step into teaching, and our time together was becoming less frequent. My first encounter of the masses that belly dance came at a Christmas hafla (I remember a time when such words weren’t even in my vocabulary) We arrived early, all seemed quiet, I chatted at the bar with a couple of people, I became aware that the noise level was beginning to rise, not just with the usual talking but something else. Was I starting to get tinnitus? No, worse, it was the mass jingling of many belly dancers!
Angela started to host her own Tribal Hafla’s; I would look after the souk (another new word) or take the tickets at the door. What struck me (and still does) that the room was full of women all shapes and sizes and all were dancing, having a good time, being a goddess for the evening, in their various costumes. I, of course declined the temptation to wear the fez, Angela had bought me, declaring that I looked like Tommy Cooper on a bad day! We have always travelled, my day job is a Travel and Tourism Lecturer, but we hadn’t been to any of the Belly dance countries. We decided that Istanbul would be a good introduction, east meets west etc…
So at Easter of last year off we went, I couldn’t expect what happened to us, but those that have been to Istanbul, know that the city possesses some sort of magic. Coincidences flew at us from every direction, one of the most bizarre happen at the bazaar. We were looking at lanterns on one of the many stalls when a voice said ‘Can a help ya’ in a Geordie accent, did I say that we were from Northumberland? Anyway it turned out the lad on the stall was from Pegswood, a village next to us, he even had a ‘Made in Pegswood’ tattoo to prove it. We sat and had tea and bought a lamp, at a special discount!
Of course Angela had purchased half of the bazaar and I was encouraged to buy a drum, I didn’t know why, yet another life change was about to happen. We came back from the trip, knowing that we would return, in fact we were already planning the next trip in October with those students who were brave enough to come with us. Months passed by, lots of dancing and Hafla’s and eventually October arrived. A mixture of some of Gypsy Fire and Angela’s students joined us on our expedition to Istanbul.
We arrived at the hotel in the middle of the night, I lay in bed unable to sleep, I must admit I was not expecting to hear the call to prayers from the mosque across the road. It sounded enchanting but at 5.00am, I probably missed some of its charm. Dawn arrived, still no sleep, we all went for breakfast and then set of for the Dolambache Palace. The first day passed in a bit of a daze but the week was just warming up. The first dance lesson was with a Turkish dancer called Gumza. No warm up with that dancer, they were straight into it, 2 hours later everyone was fit to drop, well not everyone, I didn’t find it too exhausting using a video camera.
The week went on, Karen the Tribal teacher had arrived from the US, and she brought an enthusiasm that made everyone feel important, even the cameraman! The women danced in the mornings and we toured around Istanbul in the afternoon, in the evenings we all piled into restaurants, just about taking the places over, many a waiter was impressed at my harem, one man and eleven women, some men would call that bliss! I suggest that they go to the Grand Bazaar with their eleven wives!!! We went to the Orient House cabaret club for an evening, usual folk dancers and belly dancers, lots of singing, and then victims from various countries are dragged up on stage to belly dance. Angela was the UK’s victim, up she went and wiped the floor with the opposition, she carried away the Gold medal for Britain!
The climax of the week came with the group performing at the hotel at a party for fellow guests, for a warm up and then off to a nearby restaurant, to do it all again. About two hours later the restaurant was still rocking, or should I say shimmying, the group danced all night, on table and chairs, the whole restaurant was up at one point. As we headed home one of the group declared that they had a life changing experience every day, how true. I know that we’ll be back every year.
I will end my tale here, needless to say my life has changed because of belly dancing and I don’t even participate, I’ll just say to any of you husbands that may be reading this excellent magazine, you can’t beat them so you might as well join them. What about the drum? I hear you cry, well obviously I’ve started drumming lessons, so ‘dum, tak dum, dum, tak’ to you all!
Until next time, goodbye, Mark Rossi.
Last Updated: February 22, 2007