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Rhea Recounts, Part II
Of Belly Dancers, Bullets & The Men in Blue, or A Change of Scene:
Rhea moves to Greece
by Rhea of Athens

Years went by and I eventually went on to dance all over the Bay Area in all the "important" clubs and earned a name for myself. I only left and went to Greece to live and work because life and times had changed, and so had I. I was, alas, no longer a hippie, but a confirmed belly dancer, and wanted to have a "career." In those days, a dancer of 40 was considered too old to dance anymore, and I was 35. Dum da dumm dum! More and more people had television and now video. San Francisco and many large cities became too dangerous to go out for a date at night. People didn't go out every night as they had once done (by this I don't mean literally every night. I mean that, although Friday and Saturday and to some extent Sunday were always the most popular nights to go out, many people thought nothing of going out on any given night and just getting less sleep. Those were the "go-go sixties" and no one wanted to miss out on anything. People still hadn't cottoned on to the idea that they were supposed to become millionaires and retire young).

So this brings us to the end of my stay in America and some of my last days while still dancing at the Casbah. On this particular night, I had brought Marliza Pons from Las Vegas with me to see me and hang out with Fadil Shahin, a friend of hers and the owner of the Casbah. I had met Marliza when we both were judges at Sula's Belly Dancer of the Year competition, now hosted by Leea Aziz after the untimely death of Sula. We had stayed late, and Fadil had locked the doors and ordered a pizza while he and Marliza hashed over old times and we plotted to do a workshop and show in Las Vegas where Marliza would bring us; me to teach, and he to play for a star studded show including members of my troupe. Finally, at about 3 o'clock, we left to go to my car which was parked in the closest parking lot, because it had become too dangerous to park on the street as we had been able to do in the earlier days.

That day I had noticed that my horn honked automatically when I turned left or right, so I had taken it to a garage only to be told that there wasn't time to fix it properly. I would have to bring it back on Monday. In the meantime however, the mechanic did me a favor and unhooked the wire to the horn. Now it no longer honked at all, but at least it wasn't honking every time I turned. Thus it was with some surprise that I heard a horn honking continuously - a horn that sounded exactly like mine. I turned to Marliza and said: "that's funny. If I hadn't disconnected my horn, I would swear that that is it." As we turned into the parking lot we saw my car, the only one still there, being attended to by two men, who had the hood up and were searching around inside.

"Hey," I shouted at them, "That's my car. Get away from it." Whereupon, they whirled towards us like in a gangster movie, brandished a gun, and shot at us. Where the bullet went, or how close it came to hitting us, I'll never know.

Ignoring it's probable trajectory, I turned and ran, dragging the fazed and startled Marliza with me, and you never saw two ladies dressed fit to kill with evening gowns and high heels running so fast up the street as we did. When we came to the door of the Casbah, we saw a police car parked just outside the club, but no policemen inside it, so we pounded at the locked door, yelling and screaming with all our might. A bemused Fadil opened the door with a questioning look, and we burst into the room, pushing him aside in our haste, while gibbering and sobbing. Once having been apprised of the devastating circumstances that had just taken place, he reacted immediately. Without a further word, he reached behind the bar, grabbed a pistol which he kept there and raced in the direction of the parking lot.

Marliza and I looked at each other in horror. Fadil, the crazy Palestinian, was about to risk his life for my stupid car. Remembering the police car that was outside, and being more worried about Fadil than about ourselves at this point, we ran to see if we could locate the missing policemen. They were nowhere to be seen, but we observed that the doors to the cruiser were not locked and the windows were open. We then proceeded to lean on the horn continuously, hoping that the police would recognize the sound of their own horn, and come from wherever they were to check out what was happening. After all, they couldn't be too far away, we reasoned. Their doors and windows were unlocked. Maybe they were somewhere nearby. After about two or three minutes of continuous honking, the policemen did, indeed, appear.

Above the Casbah was rumored to be a house of ill repute. The police had evidently gone to check it out, and, in the line of duty no doubt, had decided to attempt a "sting" operation. In any case, they came running down the stairs partially clothed, buttoning their jackets, stuffing their feet in their shoes, socks hanging out of their pockets, their hats awry, trying to find their holsters to unholster their guns, while yelling "who's honking our horn?" Imagine the dedication of San Francisco's finest.

They could hardly have been able to miss the preceding gunshots, yet so immersed (as it were) in the carrying out of their duty were they that they valiantly soldiered on with their egregious task in a noble attempt to rid San Francisco of these nefarious nubiles of the night, thus making the streets safe once again for the likes of the ordinary citizen. After trying to arrest us and truss us up for honking their horn, we managed to get them to listen to our story. Naturally, it wasn't as important as ridding the city of sin, but they dragged themselves to the parking lot to find Fadil still there with his gun and a car with it's hood open honking continuously. We all decided that the best thing to do was to disengage my horn again, so that we could all leave. After bidding Fadil a good night, we drove off into the city towards our various destinations, leaving the police to carry on with their unpleasant duty in the house of ill repute.

By this time crime was rampant in San Francisco and Oakland and we hardy belly dancers congratulated ourselves for our heroic efforts to stay on the job. I was soon to leave to check out the Middle East and Greece and investigate the dance scene there. One of the things that attracted me to Athens was that it was a very safe city. Men followed you, to be sure, but were merely talkative and harmless. So it was with regret that I left this lovely playground where I had danced from 1969 to 1977. But, with topless entertainment taking over North Beach and the disappearance of all the classy clubs like Finnochio's, The Committee, The Bocce Ball, The Olde Spaghetti Factory, The Mabuhay Gardens, the jazz club where Mose Allison and Theolonius Monk used to gig, and no customers to speak of most nights, I saw no other choice.

I resettled in Athens, Greece, to pioneer being a belly dance attraction in the various Athens by Nightclubs around the Acropolis. Did I miss America? Of course. But the excitement of dancing in clubs that looked like they came straight out of the scenery for the movies "Zorba the Greek" and "Never on Sunday" made up for it. I applied myself to learning Greek and returning to America to do the various seminars that presented themselves and in many ways I thank God and my lucky stars that tragedy turned out, for me, to be opportunity. See you in Greece!

Ready for more?
More of Rhea's adventures!
Rhea reminisces
We weren't the Beat Generation, we were the Belly Generation
Rhea's Adventures -continues "Egyptian Dance Festival--Intrigue & Chaos" Part 2
"Strike!" I cried, and we all stood up and marched to the bus!

Eating in Cairo (Part 2) by Fred Glick
You splash da'a on your koshary like a real Egyptian. Perhaps you've even learned how to pronounce da'a. You've had fuul for breakfast and laughed in the face of many an expensive buffet. But all the feelings of superiority aside, you're beginning to feel the need for something, well, different.

An Interview with MARLIZA PONS, by Robyn ("Maya") Hallmark
In a tiny bikini, I'd dive into a lighted pool outside the restaurant, and come up with a pearl in my mouth!