Sophie’s World

It’s early evening in the village surrounding Qala’at al-Bahrain. The creatively decorated houses remind me of pictues in fairy-tales, especially through the filter of the setting sun. Five horsemen appear out of the dusk in front of the cool silhouette of a large 16th century Portuguese fort. This is the home of Iranians, says Aziz, my guide for the evening. This is a shia village.

On UNESCOs World Heritage List since 2005, Qala’at al-Bahrain has been inhabited for 4 500 years – apparent through 12 metres of layers. The tell has been partially excavated and various types of buildings have appeared: houses, shops, churches, military installations. This Arabian/Persian Gulf port city was capital of the Dilmun civilization, trading partner of ancient Mesopotamia.

On top of the tell (mound) is the Portuguese fort, the qala’a. As darkness descends, the old battlements seems a bit eerie. I notice I’m drawn to the areas that are lit-up. Aziz used to work as a guard here at the fort. After locking the heavy wooden doors, he would often be the only one about during the night. Must have been a veritable feasting ground for the imagination. Although he appears to be a very sensible, no nonsense type of guy.

There is a good museum on the site, which we barely make before closing time. After the slightly oppressive heat, it’s pleasant to enter the cool stone building.

Inside are artifacts from the various layers of human habitation.

An unusual practice in Dilmum was sacrificing snakes. In this area, snakes were associated with fertility, long life and divine protection. See the snake in the bowl above?

Bahrain National Museum

For an even closer look at Bahraini history, I’ll warmly recommend Bahrain National Museum. Located in a large building by the waterfront, it’s high-ceilinged, light and airy and has wonderful exhibits of daily life in Bahrain through the ages. The “people” are life-like; colourfully dressed women and some of the men slightly scary-looking ;). There are wedding scenes, a souk and a great outline of pearl fishing history.

Back from Kuwait, Bahrain felt a bit like coming home. I had an early morning flight, so I checked into the Mövenpick Bahrain on Muharraq Island. The Mövenpick is beautiful; very rare for an airport hotel.

On the down side, everything cost extra, incl. use of wifi. Even breakfast is extra. A hefty 7 BD. Hadn’t my flight been so early, I would have sprung for that, though - to get my last fill of haloumi, yogurt, mint tea, hummus, Arabic bread, lebneh… yum!

On Muharraq Island, my trusty guide book told me, I had to see the traditional houses, reminding me I was in the Middle East, and not in some futuristic version of London or New York. I asked the concierge how long a walk it was. “Half an hour, at least,” he said. “And it’s much too hot. I will get you a taxi.” He proceeded to call over a driver, eagerly waiting nearby. To his disappointment, I insisted on walking; for me an essential part of travelling.

Setting off for the houses, I found them 10 minutes later (so much for ‘at least half an hour’…) It was a nice, toasty 40 degrees C and after ambling around for an hour, I longed for shade and a place to sit. Finally finding a ledge, I dug out a tattered blue notebook and a bottle of tepid water while I considered the old Noel Coward song. It should probably be amended: “Mad dogs, Englishmen and Vikings go out in the noonday sun.”

No one was in sight, except for a haughty Bahraini cat, whose ledge I must have pinched judging by the look she gave me. I began jotting down notes, random thoughts. (In my note book, I had actually stopped mid-sentence, mid-word, even. I have written “for me an essen…”.)

You see, as I was sitting there writing, two young men from a large house across the street approached. “My name is Yousef,” said the tallest. “I would like to invite you to my home. This is Hassan, my cousin. We are having a family gathering. Please come in and join us.”

I hesitated. A single woman, going inside a house with two complete strangers? Hm… Handsome strangers, it must be said, but still…

What the hell. Curiosity got the better of me. I got up from the ledge (Haughty promptly reclaimed it) and went with them. Inside the house, I was welcomed by the entire family - about 20 of them, mostly women.

They had just finished lunch. Had I already had lunch or should they set a small table for me? I said no, afraid of imposing (silly me for turning down a no doubt fabulous meal). Instead, I joined them for coffee.

Every Friday, the extended family meets for a long lunch, I was told. Everyone brings dishes. They insisted I try everything: pancakes, bakhlava, creme caramel, sweets, fruits, nuts. Along with delicious Arabic coffee.

I jotted down the recipe, spilling a bit as I went. Another stain. I can be very clumsy. On the other hand, it nicely matches the squashed bug blood on the opposite page.

After having made sure I wrote it down properly, one of the women went into the kitchen. She returned a few minutes later with a jar containing some coffee and a bag of accompanying spices: cloves, cardamom and saffron. “Take this home with you,” she said. “Of course, with Arabic coffee you must have this,” she continued - and produced a large bag of ripe dates.

After a while, afraid to outstay my welcome, I got up to leave. But by then it was time for tea. I stayed for nearly two hours, made new friends, learned heaps and had a great afternoon. (Probably gained a few kilos as well - but worth it.)

Arab hospitality is legendary. I don’t know where else people would ask a total stranger into their home like that. Certainly not in my part of the world. Sadly, Scandinavians, like many other Westerners, are much too sceptical of strangers.

Oh, and the dates? Didn’t take them home. Ate them all. Instead of dinner. Ambrosial.

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