Yoga, Drinks, and Bellydance

Saturday, I had a bellydance gig in a beautiful home in Manassas. It was a huge, multigenerational, perfectly decorated, around-the-world-themed bridal shower for a cute lesbian couple. I performed downstairs, in Morocco, but I also enjoyed a cheeky taste  of the sangria just outside of Paris, where I waited in hiding for my cue to enter.  

Performing at the party was a joy. Perfect audience and environment and the client left me a juicy tip in the envelope with the balance. So classy!  

Following that, I met a friend at an anniversary party at Malmaison in Georgetown by the water for Grip the Mat. I’d never heard of the organization, but I figured I’d enjoy a party with a supposedly good DJ (he was good) and complimentary Sweet Green. Coming from my gig, I beat my friend there by about 1/2 an hour, so while I waited, I ate my tiny cup of free Spicy Sabzi salad looked up Grip the Mat online. 

Apparently, it’s a company in NY, DC, and Orlando that hosts yoga + social events. They combine yoga class with music, with brunch, with a yacht ride, with an open bar! While I love yoga, and appreciate an open bar, I’m not sure the two go together. I would have to try it to find out. 

Detox with yoga and “re-tox” with a few cocktails? Share a toast with new friends in celebration of having completed the day’s yoga practice? What do you think? Is Grip the Mat on to something here? Would you pay $50 to experience one of their events and decide for yourself? How about $250? Have you ever attended a GTM event?

The Grip the Mat anniversary party was cute. There wasn’t any yoga, just a laid back, happy hour-like vibe, with people dancing, drinking, chatting. I personally lost count of how many of those little Spicy Sabzi salad cups (kale, quinoa, carrots, roasted tofu…) I ate. After the first three, I had to start sending people up to the sample table because I was ashamed to have eaten so many. 

 My friend Crystal is in the black dress with the lace detail. The other two girls are her stylish friends: Amie, in the floral brocade, and Dominique, in the gold sequins. And me? I just have on the knit romper that I threw into my gig bag before my show. I may have been underdressed, but my shoes were to die for. 

Philadelphia, how I love thee!

I’ve been to Philly three or four times, and until recently, I’d always kept it in the “friend zone.” Now, it’s official: I am in LOVE with that city. The way to my heart is mostly through my stomach.  

Clean, green, and bustling, but not crowded, Philadelphia is a finicky citygirl’s dream. Mostly, though, I loved the food–so many all-vegan places to explore! From fancy fare and and chic cocktails (Charlie Was a Sinner) to divey and delicious (Blackbird Pizzeria), this city is something of a vegan foodie destination. 

HipCityVegan was a bit pricey for a small takeout joint with no public toilet (?!), but I enjoyed my sandwich despite having to pee at the nail salon next door. Fries were so-so.  

Grindcore Coffee is full of vegan treats and rather dangerous for a dieter. They get extra points for being doggie friendly, and for their blueberry coffee cake. And their horchata. And their oatmeal cookie sandwich.  

Another cafe and juice bar on the healthier, more expensive side is PS and Co. Organic and gluten free everything. My pad Thai dish was scrumptious, but could’ve been twice as big. I had an avocado key lime macadamia custard cup (YUM) to cap my hunger. 

Capogiro, a gelato joint with a few locations in the city, while not vegan, has a whole row of sorbet, which is vegan. A scoop of it fortified my under-the-weather boyfriend, who was exhausted by my enthusiastic city crawling. Sadly, I was too full of other food to buy any–I could only sample a couple of varieties, and I’m still dreaming about that teaspoon of mojito flavored sorbet. 

Long distance relationships are challenging. Luckily, the drive from DC to Philadelphia is a short one. Philly, I love you. 

Forever yours,

Lara 

   Rittenhouse Square

 Cool looking building
 Buskers putting their hearts into it  

This photo is awkward, but I liked my outfit     Complimentary champagne at the Nail Bar

Secret garden-esque restaurant (no vegan options here.)

 Gloriously gay neighborhood
  

Detours eventually return to the original path

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a dozen times.  Life in Turkey is a roller coaster of events, emotions, and experiences.  In February, I’d decided to trade in this roller coaster of dance and life highs and lows for training and travel in the US.  I bought my ticket, planning to fly in the third week of April.

It was shortly after this decision that I was contacted to participate in a belly dance competition/reality television show in Cairo, Egypt, called Al Raqessa.  As my involvement in the show was slated to finish toward the end of March, resulting in a happy detour in my varied and unpredictable life, it would not conflict with my plans of departure from Turkey in April.

However, a week before my scheduled trip to Egypt came a phone call from a captain I’d worked with a few times.  I was wanted to perform on a Bosphorus boat tour. . .  nightly. . .  for a year.  Although I was on my way to Cairo for a couple weeks, then to the US for an extended period, I agreed to do it, knowing that Burası Türkiye–This is Turkey–and things could change at any moment.  I explained to them that I’d be away filming a television show for 10-20 days, found them a suitable replacement, and performed several times during the week leading up to my departure.  I was pleased with the venue, and I enjoyed performing there, so much in fact, that I began to reconsider leaving Turkey.  Perhaps I’d stay until the end of the year, then find someone to take my place . . .  Perhaps I’d stay until next spring.  Perhaps. . .  I felt quite content, appreciated, and well-compensated performing on the yacht, and when I left for Cairo, I was told to hurry back.

My time in Cairo was amazing and bizarre, frustrating and exciting.  It deserves a blog entry of its own.  I laughed, I cried, I learned, I may have thrown a temper tantrum. . .  I met wonderful new friends and was reunited with old ones.  I learned that all Egyptian food tastes better with tahini.  I was in Cairo for 18 days.

Obligatory jumping in the desert in front of a pyramid photo

I returned to Istanbul and immediately resumed performing on the yacht.  Soon after, there was a misunderstanding with one of the less likeable members of the management team.  I still don’t understand exactly what transpired . . .  They were dissatisfied with one of my subs?  I was gone closer to 20 days than 10?  It’s still unclear, but what I know for sure is that I will not be working with them now or ever again.

So, luckily, I hadn’t yet altered my flight arrangements from Turkey.  I’m taking this as a sign from the Universe to continue the path I was on before Cairo–a combination of training–Rocket yoga, belly dance master classes, aerial dance lessons, aerial yoga teacher training, performing, FAMILY and FRIENDS, and of course a bit of exploring within the US.  Purple mountain majesties and all that.

My incognito gig

I was working with an agency, doing from 1-3 belly dance gigs a night in Bodrum, Turkey this summer, mostly in hotels, but occasionally at a wedding, nightclub, or circumcision feast.  However, I still wanted more gigs, more money, and more excitement, so when a “friend” (not really a friend)–an artists’ manager and event organizer who we’ll call “Nur”–breezed into Bodrum from Istanbul and asked me if I’d be interested in picking up some extra gigs, I was all for it.

Nur, who I still considered a friend at the time, asked me to audition to perform at the Catamaran, a disco that’s actually a ship and sets out to sea at about midnight every night.  The owner of the club is a friend of hers, and Nur was helping her out as a favor.  I didn’t mention the audition to anyone.  The policy for taking work outside of the agency had never been discussed, but I had a feeling there could potentially be some conflict, so I kept it to myself.  After my agency gigs were finished for the night, I sneaked a costume into a handbag and slipped out of the the complex where I and all the dancers lived, passing the agency bosses, who were all having their late night tea in the courtyard.  I figured I’d check the place out, decide if the hours and the pay worked for me, then tell the agency.  No sense in bringing it up at all if I wasn’t interested in taking the job, I rationalized.

I met up with Nur at the Catamaran, and we were treated like VIPs–ushered to the front of the line, first passengers on the motorboat that shuttles party-goers to the Catamaran, free cocktails, excellent table.  While my audition was supposed to be a short solo, the other belly dancer (a transsexual who wears many hats) protested, saying that her performance was coming up, and suggesting we both perform at the same time to her music.  The owner asked me if this was okay, and I agreed, so as not to cause waves.  The performance turned out pretty ridiculously–the other dancer pushed me out of view and launched into some bizarre and acrobatic floor work about 30 seconds into the 2 minute song.  It was as if I wasn’t even there.

Nur spoke with the owner of the club about the audition (the owner hadn’t really been able to see me, but by what she had seen, she decided she wanted me to work there), pay, and hours.  The owner wanted me to come back to start working the following day and we would “work out the details.”  Nur relayed this information to me, and I told her that I wasn’t interested.  The pay was too low, the hours were too long, and I was not going to come back the following day for another performance without an agreement.

Nur assured me that she’d discuss payment and hours with the owner, and that it really was worth my time to come again.  Nur called me after having spoken with the club owner to tell me that she sent her apologies for wasting my time, that she really wanted to work with me, and that she would increase the pay and give me a set performance slot for every night.  She just wanted me to do a solo, without the distraction of the other dancer performing by my side.

I was totally against the idea.  I was skeptical that I was actually going to get the payment and schedule I’d requested, and I didn’t want to sneak out of my complex again without letting anyone know where I was going, and without telling the bosses that I was considering taking additional work outside the agency.  Of course, Nur begged.  “Please, Lara!  This is an excellent place to work!  And Müslüm Gürses will be there tonight!”  Müslüm Gürses is a famous Turkish arabesque singer.  I wasn’t impressed, because he’d been contracted to perform a few weeks in the spring at the venue where I dance in Istanbul, so I’d already met him.  A few times.  He’s cool.

Against my better judgement, I agreed to give performing at the Catamaran one more try.  I packed my purse, sneaked out, got whisked onto the ship VIP-style once more, and waited until it was my time to perform.  When the time came to get ready, I grabbed my bag and headed to the dressing room.  On my way down, who should I see but Rahman, one of my agency’s drivers?  He was waiting there with 3 of our Russian go-go dancers.  The Catamaran had contracted our agency, and they were starting that very night.  “Lara!” Rahman exclaimed.  “What are you doing here?” My secret was out.

“I’m dancing here tonight as a favor to a friend,” I confessed.  “Don’t tell anyone.  I want [the boss] to find out from me.”

He bit his lip. . . .  “Okay. . .  he won’t find out from me. . .  But if he finds out, he’ll be mad.”

What could I do?  I had already given my word that I’d perform there, so I changed into my costume and performed (it was a packed house, and if I do say so myself, the crowd went wild).  After I performed, the place went dark for an instant, then a spotlight lit upon Müslüm Baba, and he began to sing.  The crowd went even wilder.  I changed back into my street clothes, watched our go-go dancers, then rode home with my pal Rahman the driver and the Russians and awaited the consequences.

During my performance, I did notice that there was a cameraman basically lying on the floor directly beneath me.

The following day, I confessed to [the boss] that I had performed at the Catamaran.  He acted like he knew already.  (He was lying, but that’s his style.)  He punished me by reducing my shows to one performance a night for four days.  (Jerk.)  Nur didn’t call me back with the renegotiation of my agreement with the Catamaran, and then, in the evening, 3 friends called me to tell me they’d seen me on Show TV performing at the Catamaran.

So, for the price of free, the Catamaran got a performance from the best belly dancer in Bodrum for their televised event, and I learned the policy on picking up gigs outside of the agency.

Skunked again.

Ballet

Ballet is really difficult and a bit boring and makes you feel weak and slightly uncoordinated, but is still rewarding somehow.