Searching for a seamstress

Go to the fabric souk, she said. Ask for Sara, everyone knows her. And eventually, I found someone who did. In the first souk, a couple of kind people asked around for me, then someone redirected me to another building when I gave an extra piece of information. But it won't open til after 4.30 - it was about 3pm. I wandered around, admiring the beautiful silks, satins, sequins, beading and beautiful fabrics. And the sound of the call to prayer. This wasn't expat q8, this was a little more local, but at that time, the only people out were the shop owners - the Indians and Pakistanis. But  felt like I was somewhere different, which is hard to feel here. It was not quite deserted, a couple of people were wandering around, one or two shops were open. I decided to find a coffee shop. Not that easy either on a Saturday afternoon. It felt strange though, a little uncomfortable, not only didn't I recognise where I was, I eventually realised I'd only seen one other woman on the streets. I'd walked five minutes from Souk Safat, and it was just a shopping area, and mosque. I found a cafe, and sat for a while. Then headed back to the souk, some stared, some got on with their own business. In the souk, I went upstairs - it was all ladies' tailoring. But men in each shop; I didn't understand. I decided to ask a fabric seller - he knew of only one female tailor. I found her, and she and her customers told me to go to another building. I still hadn't found the right place. And apparently there is one or two women in each tailors who does the measuring. Ah, that makes sense given how conservative this society is. I found Building Mariam in Block 2 and headed to the second floor. It was a really narrow, but long building, with shops on the ground floor, and room after room of tailors from India/Pakistan on the second floor. Maybe 500 metres of shops. I looked and looked and eventually asked a woman (the only one I saw) in a shop for Sara. She knew who I meant, but told me she'd left the Souk and now worked in a suburb, but didn't know where. I needed this dress altered for an upcoming engagement. Try the man two doors down - he's Pakistani, he's a good tailor. One of his seastresses sorted me out. It'll be ready within a week. I was happy, but said I wondered if I'd ever find the shop again... A quote was given, which was a bit pricey, but all too hard... I wandered around gazing in the windows in awe of the beautiful evening dresses - some elegant, some flaunting all (in such a conservative society) and some lovely fabric shops. I was the only foreigner and it's always fun to see the women out shopping together, or with their husbands taking them to buy fabric and be fitted. 

I then headed towards Al Hamra tower which the guy in the coffee shop had pointed out. I knew it as a beautiful mall which I'd not yet visited, so decided now was the time. It was an interesting wander through the city, and amazing to see how much dust had come down in the storm from yesterday. I discovered another small mall on the way - next to the Marriott - probably five shops selling desserts with chocolate, and one chocolate shop, in among the clothing shops, handbag shops and other luxury items. Of course I had to admire the chocolates, and they gave me tastes. I protested, I won't buy anything. But in the end I did - chocolate with cardamon, chocolate with rose, chocolate with pistachio, pomegranate, saffron-infused - my kind of flavours. The Kuwaitis like luxury they told me - I could get used to it. I then headed to the tower, and saw more chocolate shops on the way. Once there one could see why it is liked so much; the shops and cafes were beautiful. It's also quiet there. Elegant and quiet. But there's something surreal about seeing these foreign cafes with outposts out of their usual settings in Paris. But it's how it's done here. It's a stunning building, and I will go again as there's apparently a good cinema there.

Back to reality as I caught the bus home. Once the driver and I finally understood each other - I knew it was the right bus number, he knew it was the wrong direction and at first he thought I should also be on a different bus, but we eventually worked it out and I changed buses. More evidence that I can just survive with my Arabic, but lessons should continue! Saving on taxis means greater chocolate consumption. And they were delicious. 

Nice to explore a bit more today.