This article first appeared in the St. Louis Beacon: July 21, 2008- I realized yesterday that I take grass for granted. Everything is so dry and brown here, so dusty and hazy, that the few plants that grow have to be drowned daily. Houses have no grass, just cement sidewalks and walls. Hotels have some green around them but they seem hardly worth the trouble. Our hotel, the ChwarChra (Four Lanterns), has a nice green lawn in front where guests sit outside for dinner.
Drinks are available, but beer in a can is the most common sight, although only a few people are imbibing. My colleague James Nacy and I laugh about how much water we drink every day and how few times we have to take a leak. I'll spare you the details of the rest of my digestive system, although I did go to a pharmacy for some Imodium and almost ended up with some kind of glucose pills because the guy thought I said "diabetic.” It's my own fault. The food is too good to resist.
Today is Monday, my last full day. I'll teach tomorrow morning and help with one orchestra rehearsal and then run to the airport. Because of flight schedules, we have to stay in Vienna overnight, then back to St. Louis Wednesday. I have mixed feelings about leaving. I hate to leave in the middle of this second institute here in Erbil. I am just getting to know the new students, and there are some surprisingly good players here. It will be sad to say goodbye to old and new friends. But I'm also exhausted mentally and physically and can't wait to get back to the St. Louis humidity!
Again, we're teaching or rehearsing from 9 a.m. to 7 p.m. or longer. Every minute someone is asking for a book for viola, or an exercise for a certain finger, or to listen to them play, or to try their instrument or to take a picture with them. It's hard to know where to start. They think they need a new string and actually they should throw their instrument away and start over because it's in such terrible condition. But you have to play it for a minute and tell them it's just fine in order to encourage them.
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Last night a former student, Alan Abdulruzka, invited me to his home for dinner. I taught him violin last year and have been in touch a lot during the year via Internet. He's now 21 and his younger brother is playing viola in the program. He has three other brothers and a sister.
The father is in his 70s and has serious heart problems but seems OK. He speaks some English, and couldn't be nicer. He said, “You're part of the family and welcome here anytime.” His mother was very welcoming and after talking for a while on the couches they lay carpets and a plastic cover on the floor, set all the food on it and we sat around it leaning on the couches. Great food again, similar to every other meal I've had here, we don't realize what variety Americans have and expect in food.
After the meal, Alan asked if I wanted to change into my nightclothes and I said, “No, I'm fine,” not quite knowing what that meant. Later we had tea and then watermelon and honeydew for dessert. Then, the father said I could take a bath. A little alarmed, I asked if I were sleeping there. He said, “Yes, with me.” I laughed, but then realized he didn't really have a sense of humor. At that point I understood that dinner included bed and breakfast. I said I had work to do and would just get a taxi.
After some more persuasion, five of the guys got into their SUV with a machine gun to take me back to the hotel, but not before many hugs and photos and requests to come back and live there and teach there, a tempting invitation.
I wish it didn't take so long to get here and get back. I would love to spend a few days every month. I'll write once more after I get back to the States.