Adventures

Marrakesh & New York: a tale of Figue love

My friendship with Figue designer Stephanie von Watzdorf had started in Marrakesh with talk of genies and the evil eye -- talk that had never ended.  

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So I swapped the Red City for the Big Apple and found myself in the Figue showroom. 

Oh! Gorgeous bohemian luxury.

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With cool places to lounge.

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And fascinating things from Stephanie's travels...

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There were masses of candles...

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And (yippee!) stacks of my book, Marrakesh by Design.

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But more than all that, there were the clothes.

Because you see Stephanie's vision of nomadic luxury translated from paper....

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to real life....

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A flurry of gorgeous prints, leather fringed bags

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and luscious puddled silks....

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There was even an inkling of what was to come....

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And most exciting.... there were rumors that the Figue Fall campaign would be shot in Marrakesh....

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Not to be missed.....Figue.

 Shop online. Or visit by appointment for a far greater selection.  If you're lucky, you might even run into Stephanie and her little dog, Dash.

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Figue
10 Crosby St., Fifth Floor
New York, New York
(212) 219-8954

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The Alps: and a New Year's tale of speed and risk

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I hired Yves, a Swiss ski instructor, to improve my intermediate skills for an hour or two. And so it was on a ski lift looking down that I saw them - the children on the black diamond slopes.

I turned to Yves. They've always amazed me -- so small but so fast, I said

Yves nodded his head in agreement.  Oh yes, children are much quicker learners than adults.  

Why is that, do you think? I asked.

Yves pushed his goggles up and replied, Unlike adults, children don't over analyze things.  Rather, they watch the instructor to get the general idea, and then they just ski intuitively -- they trust their instincts more. Also children are different than adults in that they don't worry about falling.  And when they do fall, they pick themselves up, and get on with it. They are fearless.

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Hmmm....I think children might have the secret.  And it applies to more than just skiing, I said smiling.

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Yves laughed.  Then he leaned towards me said conspiratorially, Yes, children do have the secret.  But shhhh.....let's tell it to all the grownups we know.  

It's a deal, I said.  And then, we were at the top of the mountain.

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Cairo: and a tale of a man with {maybe} 2 or 3 wives: Part 4

(This is a continuation of the tale:  Cairo: and a tale of a man with {maybe} 2 or 3 wives.  If you haven't already, read Part 1 of the tale here, part 2 here and Part 3 here.}

As soon as I got in the car, Ahmed's phone rang. He silenced it and kept driving.  Then he looked at me and said, So things are not good here in Cairo.  People are in the street.  People are protesting over decisions Egypt's president is making.

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I know - I heard.  This all must be exhausting for you, I said.  

The phone rang again and Ahmed stopped it again.  Then he said, People are going to the presidential palace to protest.  Many people are getting hurt and some even killed!

The phone rang one more time but Ahmed ignored it. 

I think someone's trying to reach you, I said.

Yes, he said.  It’s Fouzia.  You know, my dead brother’s Palestinian wife. 

Oh, I said.  Is she still bothering you, Ahmed?

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No,

he replied.  We’re getting along.  In fact, we’re getting along fine. 

Really?  I asked, my voice wondering. 

He explained, I was just visiting Fouzia in Ismailia where she lives.  She made the very best meal.  She knows how to make incredible fish!  And her eggplant...!  Fouzia had everything waiting for me for when I arrived….a whole table full of food.  I ate like I had never eaten before! 

He paused before continuing, However, my wife is not happy.  She doesn’t like that Fouzia and I are getting along.  My wife said next time I go to Ismailia to visit the family, she is coming with me. 

What do you think about that idea?  I asked.

Ahmed looked at me from the driver’s wheel and shouted,  I think it's a terrible idea, hitting the steering wheel with his hand to make his point.  I’m not bringing my wife, for sure.  My wife is sick, anyway, he said.

Nothing too serious, I hope, I responded.

Ahmed replied, My wife’s too fat is the problem.  She’s so fat that her knees are bothering her.  You should see her belly.  She doesn’t move around enough, he said, shaking his head.  The doctor gave her some medicine, he added.

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I’m sorry to hear that, I replied. 

Well, it’s not good, Ahmed said.  Fouzia doesn’t have that problem --she’s a regular size.  And Fouzia is strong! She works and works, and it’s not a problem.   She’s also smart.  I can see why my brother picked her.  You know how those Palestinian women are.  They are good up here, he said, tapping his temple to show me. 

Picking up a conversation we had had earlier, I asked, So is Fouzia okay now with her daughter marrying your son?  

Yes, Ahmed said, and he smiled a big smile.  As long as things are good between Fouzia and me, there’s no problem for them to get married.  My son is so happy – he really loves that girl.   He said to me, “Papa, make things right between you and Fouzia.  I want to marry her daughter.”  So of course, I had to. They will now marry in the Spring, he said proudly. 

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Are your feelings for Fouzia changing, too, Ahmed?  I asked.  Are you thinking about taking her as a second wife?

Ahmed looked at me from the wheel and then looked back at the road and said, Fouzia wants to marry me.  Every time I go to Ismailia she says, “You’re a good man, Ahmed.  You will marry me.  You know that’s the right thing to do.“ Yes, that’s what she says.

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So, are you going to? I asked.

No, he replied.  Definitely not.  And then he added, At least not now.  My wife would be too angry.  No, not now, not now. 

You mean maybe later you’ll marry Fouzia, I asked? 

Oh I don’t think so, he replied.  I really don’t think so, he said again. And then he paused and said.  Maybe, maybe next year…. 

I was quiet then. 

Ahmed ran a hand over his face wearily before saying, You know, my son went to the Palace to protest,   to make his voice heard.  It's dangerous maybe.  But we need things to be right!

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I hope he is careful, I replied.

And then it was time to get out of the car.  

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Cairo: and a metaphorical tale of a multi-layered cake

Dateline Egypt:  In a dark time, in a complicated time, let us learn a lesson from cake.

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Let us appreciate the cake's many layers and complex flavors.  

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And  not make hasty cuts that destroy the cake's integrity.

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Let ue serve each piece with caution, lest it all come toppling down and {Oh} be ruined.

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And most of all, let us make sure that the cake is shared, not gobbled greedily by just one person.  

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Recipe for vinatarte.

Learn more about what is happening in Egypt here.