It’s 1 a.m. Monday now, and I’m just getting to a computer, finally -- but I'm at Bzhwen's house this time. He and his sister were playing Kurdish musicfor me. They gave me a book of folk songs for violin and piano. They also gave me my first lesson on a Kurdish scale called rast and taught me how to play the quartertones in that particular scale. The music is really beautiful.

Yesterday afternoon, I filmed a number of students playing Kurdish, Iranian (Persian) and Arabic music, including some 5th and 6th graders in the youth orchestra. You'll love it, but I have no idea how to email video to you. I can’t figure it out at this time of night.

Barbecue in the mountains

Photos by Marc Thayer

 Friday is the holy day, so most people weren't working. We, however, had a normal schedule since the concert in Suleimanya is tomorrow (Tuesday).  The orchestra that rehearses in the evening asked if they could cancel that evening to take us on a picnic. In return, they would stay later the other evenings.

Of course we agreed: It is a city-wide custom on Fridays to go up the mountain area called Goyzha to eat, drink, to barbeque and to enjoy the sunset and the cooler air.  We -- and what seemed like 100,000 other people in cars -- went up the very steep roads around 6 p.m. and pulled off to the side, parked, set up tables, made salads, drank beer, set up a small barbeque pit, and saw an incredible sunset and the city way, way down below.  I'll send photos as soon as I can. 

The days are going quickly. These are long days of teaching and rehearsing. We had dinner Saturday night with Zana Jalil and his wife, Rezhwen, then a nice walk in a park. Zana is one of the violinists coming to St. Louis in August. He was very proud to show me the new U.S. visa in his passport, and it was hard for me to believe until I actually saw it.

He and Alan had to go to Amman, Jordan, to the U.S. Embassy for their visa interviews. No one thought they'd actually be approved.  I contacted every senator, representative, governor, mayor and deity I could think of to help with the visas.  I don't know who did what, or what made the difference, but many thanks to them all. 

Sunday we followed a regular schedule but we're feeling the pressure of having only one or two more rehearsals with these groups before Tuesday.  Some of them are ready and some are not. 

Youth orchestra members

The youngest ones are doing very well and are angels, to use James' word.  They really are precious, like children everywhere, and they're so excited about playing. They have the same technical problems as young students in the U.S., but there's something cute about them when they speak a different language. They giggle at my occasional Kurdish word and a few of them speak good English, thanks to a special school here. 

We were discussing aliens today, marching in the song called “Starfleet.” James was trying to explain what that means and one of them came up with the word aliens coming to Earth in the march-like part of the song.

The Kurdish String Orchestra sounds very good and should be a fun part of the concert. The intermediate orchestra, well, we'll see. James said it was like the movie "Groundhog Day" because it seems like we're starting from scratch every day fixing the same problems. I wish I knew what the interpreters were saying during rehearsals. But it will probably all come together as usual.

A violinmaker from Halabja came to rehearsal today to show us his new violin.  He does pretty well with little to work from, and he'll benefit greatly from the supplies and tools sent with me by Clemens' Violin Shop in St. Louis. I'll deliver them tomorrow, and he'll be thrilled. He really wants to go to Europe or to the U.S. to study with a master craftsman. I don't know what to suggest, other than being in touch with makers like Robert Clemens, by email. Any ideas from readers?

This morning was fun dealing with government bureaucracy, much like getting new tags for my license plate in St. Louis. To stay in the country more than 10 days, you need a visa with photo, so we went to the government  “office” that handles this (along with100 other pushy people who needed baths), waited in 4 lines, two of them twice, paid someone to staple our photo onto a green piece of paper and scribble something on it, go up some stairs and then come back down, get searched, frisked, ordered into single file lines (like herding cats), and then we're told that we needed to go to the hospital for blood tests before coming here. 

None of us was too excited about the idea of needles and blood tests, so we decided to wait until Erbil where you don't need a blood test, another brilliant governmental inconsistency. We'll just have to pay a fine since it's after 10 days but apparently it's not a big deal. We'll find out.

Karwan

 This afternoon, one of the classical guitarists came to my room, a 21-year-old named Karwan, and asked if I could play a piece with him in the concert. He didn't have the music with him. I asked who wrote it.  He said, “Anonymous,” so I said to play it for me. I recognized the melody, fortunately; it’s an old Italian song, I think. I filmed him playing it, and it was absolutely beautiful so I played along with him the second time.

When we finished I shook his hand, told him it was so beautiful and he broke into tears. I couldn't talk for a minute but then asked him to play something else. We'll play it again Monday and I may sneak us into the concert,  just walk on unannounced. We'll see.

New students show up every day and want to be a part of the academy. My lessons have turned into 10-15 minute sessions. I listen to something like an etude, convince them to play scales and arpeggios, fix one or two things and tell them they are great. 

We're running out of time but trying to enjoy every minute. After a quick dinner earlier this evening, three students took me to buy some beers and go to an area off the road where people literally sit on benches and drink beers. I felt a little like an outcast of society, but what else is new?  It was fun.

Bzhwen just came into the room in traditional Kurdish men's clothing, usually worn on special holidays, although many older men wear it daily. It looks great -- but must be really hot.

There’s more to come from Suleimanya.