Once again I find myself rather floored by my job. Last night I was sitting in the mid-ship lounge sipping wine with my sister-in-law, today I’m leaning against my desk watching a gold-clad belly dancer ply her trade on the dance floor in the upstairs bar behind me (my office has no back wall, it open straight onto and wraps around said dance floor).
She’s really very good, certainly much better than I or anyone I know could do. Apparently she was originally from Scotland but found herself enchanted by Cairo and ended up living and working there. Goes to show you that you’re never sure where on earth life will drop you.
Belly dancing is one of those things I’ve often been intrigued by but never had the nerve to try. Too sensual and too much on display for my confidence level. But it is fun to watch, especially since all I have to do is spin my chair around (there are days when the best thing about my job is the fact that the chair spins, but this isn’t one of them).
I’ve always found belly dancing somewhat fascinating; what makes it sexy isn’t the dance itself, it isn’t the costumes (though the costumes are usually amazing) it isn’t even the fact that the dancers are usually beautiful. It’s the sheer amount of confidence it requires. If you’re going to get up there and literally let it all hang out – you have to have the most amazing love for your own form, whatever shape that may be. I seriously envy that, it takes work to get to that point. Especially since to be a belly dancer you can’t exactly be a skeleton like so many women today are.
Anyway, I own a belly dancing skirt, which is probably about as close as I’ll ever get to attempting such a thing myself.
The reason the performance is taking place is – of course – part of our port-oriented programming, we offer port-specific/cultural entertainment/food/shopping opportunities whenever we’re going into a port that’s particularly important, or if there’s an overnight.
In this case?
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Turkey…