Fly Dubai: Like Never Before

I am no stranger to traveling, or to using budget airlines. I have stood for hours in caged waiting rooms to be herded like cattle on to a bare-bones flight knowing that I will see a loved one at the end. I can put up with quite a bit of discomfort in the name of travel.  And this time I was even more unwilling to spend money on a trip we were forced to make in order for Ben to renew his visa.
We settled on Fly Dubai, known for its low cost and frequent flights. As expected, the flights leave at inconvenient times to little used airports, but we figured it would do for a short 48 hour trip out of the country. The very name of the airline is puzzling, suggesting that Dubai is a country, and it is not. It is similar to having a Miami Airlines, or Fly Houston... puzzling.
We received an email asking us to check in online and print our boarding passes, "in order to speed up the process at the airport". I should have seen what was to come when I tried to print these boarding passes at our local electronic shop. The shopkeeper acted as if he had never done this before and had to call for help.

 This morning brought in some heavy fog.  Arriving at the airport we joined the passengers of four other flights to go through security and customs. The customs officials stamped us out of the country, then asked for our boarding passes. When we produced our print-outs they looked puzzled, as if they had never seen one before. They called over a few more officials and claimed that these were not boarding passes. We had to return to the check-in and get boarding passes... but we had already been stamped out of the country. We waited while they figured this dilemma out. Someone would have to go back to check -in for us.

 Most of the signs were in Arabic, although we could recognize the symbols of the coffee cup and the mosque. We finally found one monitor with flight information in a corner and learned that our flight was delayed one and half hours, we assumed because of bad weather. No other information. So we followed the coffee cup sign and settled down to wait.  I was reminded of my time traveling between Rio and London and how the Brazilian Airline would deal with delays. They never came out and said how long the delay would be, "just another few minutes," would be the announcement. This could go on for hours, and finally the pilot himself would come out and commiserate with us and let us know how sorry he was.
Fly Dubai gave us no announcements.  Travelers started to group and complain. When an attendant happened to pass through the waiting room he was immediately accosted and answers were demanded. One man found his flight had actually left, and another woman found out that her flight wouldn't be leaving for anther two hours. Things got ugly and more crew had to be called in.  I followed the coffee cup once again.

Glancing up at the monitor I saw that our flight, along with two others, were now described as BOARDING, but no gate number was given. I grabbed Jon and Ben and we hurried toward where we thought the gate might possibly be. Other passengers were also congregating, crowding the glass doors that looked out onto the runway, and a possible plane.  A set of doors opened and the crowd surged forward.  The monitors were now flashing LAST CALL and still no gate information was available.
The next two events were completely new to me in terms of air-travel.  First, since no one knew where they were supposed to be boarding, the flight crew was having to turn people away at the gate, telling them that they were not on this particular flight. This led to more confusion, and bad feeling. When it was our turn to board, we were told that we were on this flight, but our boarding passes had not been stamped by customs, and we would need to go back to customs in order to get them stamped. What?? I panicked for a minute, then realized that customs was not that far away, and this was doable. I fought my way back through the on coming passengers only to arrive at customs without Ben. This is not the first time we have lost Ben in the rush to catch a flight. Lets just say he identifies with the boy in the "Home Alone" movies. So now we rush back to find Ben in the crowd.

Needless to say, we made it on to the flight and found the Fly Dubai plane to be clean and comfortable.  As we settled into our seats, Ben looked at his choices on the screen in the seat back before him.  I heard him sigh.  The start-up screen gave him two options:
Over 16   or    Under 16
As he is 16, he didn't know how to respond. I told him that is how I felt about our experience with the unhelpful, and often frustrating, communication from the airline.
I have higher expectations for the city. We will find out tomorrow. I am already impressed with their duty free selection and public transport.

Baqala Buys

If you shop in my neighborhood, you shop at a local baqala. These small grocery stores look much the same on the outside, and are crammed full of an amazing assortment of imported items from around the world.  Although you can find American candy, the places don't really cater to westerners.  And until now I had been taking a taxi to the nearest mega-mall/shopping center to buy my groceries at a proper supermarket.  I came home with brands I recognized, and trusted, and avoided having to walk around my neighborhood.
Around here you will find the HIGH QUALITY SALOON FOR MEN, and the HIGH QUALITY LAUNDRY (also for men), but my neighborhood is anything but "high quality".  Walking out of my place I dodge traffic and the worst piles of garbage. I can't avoid the smells or the dust and dirt.  When going to our nearby take-out restaurants for a chicken or curry, I always feel as if I have walked into a private meeting to which I was not invited. While waiting for my order, the Indian owner offered to deliver my food to my apartment, just to get me out of his restaurant.
However, it seems silly to continue taking a taxi to an overpriced hypermarket if I can get something

locally. So I ventured out in search of orange juice and peanuts. My path was blocked by, among other things, a water truck delivering water to our nearest baqala. A group of children were waiting for a chance to play in the water that spilled out of the hose pipe.  This was their evening entertainment and had come prepared to have a bit of fun.  I watched them for a while before edging myself into the extremely narrow aisles of the store. If there are more than three customers at one time, we all have to synchronize our movements to be able to get around. I found no orange juice, so I knew I would have to go further a field.

I next tried my luck at the baqala calling itself a supermarket and advertised "VEGITIBALS".  Since the Arabic word "baqala" literally means "what comes out of the ground," I was not surprised to find sacks of seeds and beans. I had hoped to find the juice section quickly and make my purchases but I became totally engrossed in the products I found on the shelves, and the randomness of their display.  The sugar was by the flipflops, and the pasta sauce beside the screw drivers. Pumpkins were wherever they could be, and the shisha tobacco was in the refrigerated section with the milk.  What more could I find here? It became a quest. Did they have tapioca flour? Did they have peanuts or another favorite snack? What was the weirdest thing I could find?
I did finally find some 'mixed orange' juice, and some 'garlic peanuts'. The owner politely rang up my bill and asked me where I was from.  He then explained that his place was small but he had much, and could he help me find anything. He must of been watching me poke around his shop, wondering

what in the world I could possibly be looking for, and why I was taking pictures of his shisha tobacco.  (It was an interesting package!) I told him not too worry, I was just curious as to what he had.  He said he had so much more than I would be able to find by myself, I just had to ask.
He was right. I have to ask for help to be able to make the most of this neighborhood. Just as those children had been right when they decided to go out and have some fun.
On the way home I saw two colleagues who know more of Kuwait than I do. I stopped to talk for a while and knew that if they asked me if I needed anything, I would let them know. Yes, I need so much, much more than I will be able to find by myself.

Oh, To Feel Normal Again!

We are working in Kuwait, surviving, but not having much fun yet.  The surviving takes too much time and energy.  We have been trying for weeks to furnish our empty apartment with inexpensive furniture. We desperately need some storage so we headed out early to the Friday Market.  This is a large area of vendors and you can find just about anything there.  I've been told that the prices are good if you are willing to haggle.
As we walk around I find myself feeling exactly like a fish out of water: no energy, hot, gasping for breath and having the panicky feeling that I am lost.  I don't belong here.  I have no interest in the shrink-wrapped furniture and TV sets.  No one is looking particularly helpful, a man is following us around like a tail, and we have no way of getting these items home except by taxi.  Jon senses my disinterest and suggests McDonald's.  This is his way of giving me something familiar, air conditioned and a chance to catch my breath. I just want to go to IKEA, be done with shopping and go home.
IKEA isn't much better.  It is another mall with high prices, little service and lots of people. I contemplate taking a nap on one of the show room beds while Jon makes up his mind of which set of shelves to buy.  My job is to bring Jon back down to earth with the question, "but will it fit in the taxi?"  And then we got our first break... after calling our local taxi driver called Abdul, we found out that he has a jeep and could transport us and our furniture boxes back home for no extra cost! We were thankful.

My normal reaction to days like this is to find something that makes me feel normal again. Usually it involves cooking a favorite dish, or enjoying my favorite drink.  It reminds me of better times and by its sheer familiarity I can feel normal again.
Today I had no time to cook, I had booked a hair appointment at a salon nearby.  This meant that I had a 15 minute walk through sandy streets, avoiding both the heaps of trash and the gaping holes of the constructions sites. I passed a cricket match and an Indian couple in the middle of a fight. Sweating, and with sand in my sandals, I skirted the bulldozers and the mosque which was just announcing 3 pm prayers. I don't belong here.  I am a stranger in a foreign land and I don't feel normal.

And then I stepped into ECLIPSE beauty salon and met Bella. "Welcome, maDAM!" She literally ran to greet me, sat me down and said enthusiastically, "How can I help you, maDAM?" and she meant it.
Bella is Filipino and I am truly thankful for the 240,000 Filipinos who work here in Kuwait. They make my life easier and brighter. Always happy, they do everything they can to be of service.
Bella sat me down, put my feet up, started the massage chair, and washed my hair with minty shampoo. I started to feel normal again.
She continued to pamper me over the next hour and she will never know how much I needed that pampering. I let her take care of me and started to reconsider that $3000 Hilton Spa membership.
Back home Jon suggested we go home to the states for Christmas.  I know how he feels, he wants to feel normal again, by sharing familiar things with those who make us happy... relax and feel taken care of.
Here in Kuwait we just haven't yet found those activities that bring us joy, and relax us in the way the old and familiar ones did back home. We haven't yet found the people who remind us of who we are and where we come from. That will take time.... and a gathering like yesterday's Canadian Thanksgiving celebration seems odd to us, but I know exactly why all those Canadians make a big deal out of it. We all need a bit of home with us where ever we go.