Triple Threat...for now.

I have this image of my home. Its an eccentric but wise old lady home. I want there to be pieces of furniture dedicated to showing random shit I've collected. I want to have things that kids like to play with, that kinda gross some people out, that people can't guess where it came from. I want things that I had to hunt for, emblematic things, and things that don't mean anything to anybody else but me. I have done pretty damn good so far, in my not so humble opinion of myself. I have a bronze frog pressed with colorful stones that I bought in China. When you go through the intricate and elaborate process of making tea in China, you pour a small amount of each batch over the frog, a “here’s one for my homies” kind of idea. I have a hand embroidered umbrella from Nepal, a Henna stamp of an elephant from India, a mate cup from Argentina, and a kangaroo skull from Australia. There are two things that I refrained from buying because of their obnoxious size and weight, which I know kick myself for not owning. I sat with a man in Jaisalmer, India on the floor of his shop. There were floor-to-ceiling folded blankets of every color. There was a monsoon going on outside, and he invited me in from the rain to have a beedie and a chai. He had one blanket out and was telling me about its story. It came from the desert, and it was made from the dresses of Sunni and Shiite tribe dancers, sewn together to make a large throw. There were tiny mirrors stitched into it, which he said were meant to reflect the fire light when the women danced at night. I didn’t buy it because it was too big, it would have never fit into my pack. The second thing was a large wooden mask in Zanzibar. I found it while walking with a Maasai I met on the beach. Again, it would have taken up three fourths of my bag. I have decided not to make those kinds of mistakes again, and so I have embarked on my random shit from France hunt. Thing one- a tajine. The North Africans cook a meaty stew to serve over couscous in a dark clay pot with a peaked lid. I believe Creuset is now making them for a few hundred dollars. I bought mine for ten bucks. My coworker Abder took me to Porte de Clichy, where a large community of Arabs and North Africans live. “Magrebiens” have taken over Paris a lot since I was here last, which means wonderful neighborhoods filled with bright dashikis, strong smells of sheesha, and halaal butchers. Abder is French, but his parents were both born in Morocco, so he spoke to the friendly shopkeepers in a smattering of Arabic and French. The tajine we found was in a butcher shop, and it is dark brown, heavy, and has a simple carved design in the lid. Abder says its very traditional, and I can use it in the oven, over an open flame, or on a gas lit stove. Thing two- a copy of The Little Prince…that HAS to be purchased from les bouquinistes, the book sellers who line the seine. For those of you who don’t know, I have a tattoo of the cover on my side that I got in Aix-en-Provence when I lived there. I finally found it the other day, from a sweet old couple who complimented my french and welcomed me to Paris. Thing three- a garden gnome (See previous blog posting about the Gnome Liberation Movement). This one is proving to be more difficult than expected. I have located a bitchin market on the ile de la cite, the big island that separates the left bank from the right, that sells live birds and exotic flowers. I spotted one or two there, which are terribly ugly, but the more I think about it, the more they seem to fit into my requirements for a gnome to bring back with me. Anyone want anything weird?