Christmas Travel

Many of us are traveling for the holidays. Some are going home and others are going away.  We are traveling in the opposite direction from home, for a break that might be considered "skipping Christmas".  I know there is some appeal to the avoidance of shopping, baking and decorating.  We just needed a rest.

This is not the first time Jon and I have taken advantage of the school holidays to get away. During our first Christmas break after getting married we traveled around Argentina and Chile. In those days we just went, with not much of a plan and no reservations. After a long, dusty train ride across the pampas, we arrived on Christmas Day in a picturesque resort town in the Andes mountains.  All the nice hotels were booked up and we had nowhere to stay. Someone finally directed us to a camp site outside of town.  Fortunately we did have a tent and sleeping bags with us, so that is where we headed. It was a cold night on the hard ground. I'm not sure what we did for food, but I am certain there was no restaurant serving hot food nearby.

The next December we took advantage of being in Southern Europe and decided to spend Christmas touring Egypt. I was pregnant, expecting my first son. Probably not the best time to travel to a country where everyone chain smokes and locally cooked food is suspect. I spent most of my time feeling sick.  There were times when I had to sit out and let the tour go on without me.
The only evidence of the season were a few strands of tinsel hung in the greasy window of a KFC.  The taxi drivers and vendors were quite aggressive.  All, in all, apart from being a fascinating part of the world, it was not the most welcoming.

Since then, Jon and I have spent every other Christmas with family, making and keeping our own traditions. But those traditions have less to do with the real Christmas story than our first travels. The real story has a young mother traveling away from home, cold and uncomfortable. There was no room in the inn, and she had to stay out in the cold.  She couldn't return home either, but had to go live in another land where all was strange, with no one around to welcome and support the new family.

It seems that Christmas follows us wherever we are.
Wherever you find yourself this Christmas season, whether near or far, you can be sure that the season has not passed you by.
                      Emanuel: God with us.

You know you've been overseas too long when...

When an unexpected four day weekend was announced, my colleagues immediately booked flights and hotels. Since their recent move into teaching overseas they are following their dream, and traveling the world.  So why am I at home, watching the sun go down over the desert from my 12th floor apartment? Why am I not posting from Abu Dhabi, Muscat, or Amman? I considered my options: the price of the flights, the time spent in airport security, the disappointing cheap hotel, and decided not to travel just for the sake of travel. On a teacher's salary and two sons in college, I must do things cheaply, which means, simply, doing things simply.
I have given up sending Christmas cards. I haven't been able to keep up with address changes and unreliable post services over the years.  I follow friends on Facebook and so I know exactly where they are for the holidays down to the time their flight takes off.  Family will have to wait till I see them in the summer months. I have also given up decorating for the holidays. We now travel during our time off school and spend Christmas in someone else's home. I wonder if guesthouses in Sri Lanka decorate a tree in December?

Not that my house lacks for decorative items.  I have altogether too much stuff.  It is like I am a tramp, traveling the world, and trying to take all my meaningful trinkets with me, if not in a shopping cart, then in cardboard boxes.  A table by the door displays a Brazilian wooden bowl that was a wedding present, a clay fish coaster made for me by a dear friend on the remote island of Kwajalein, and an opera ticket from Sofia, Bulgaria. I like to see them when I enter.  They remind me of who I am, where I've been and how I got here. How can I part with the art and keepsakes that now hang on my walls and clutter my shelves?
I find myself in limbo; in a place where I both appreciate my opportunity to travel, and my cultural roots which started me off on this life overseas.

        I went to the mall today, in part curious as to how the Muslim country of Kuwait handles a Christian holiday. But I also wanted to find some ingredients to bake traditional treats like mincemeat pies and gingerbread.  I think Kuwait finds itself in the same state of limbo, between wanting to embrace all that is beautiful of a foreign holiday without giving up its culture and religion.
The result is that the mall doesn't decorate for Christmas but the stores do.  Everyone shops, I found mincemeat, and no one questions the meaning the bed-sheets covered in Grinch motifs.

While out walking the mall, a friend in Brasilia posted this picture.  It instantly brought back my earliest memories of Christmas with my family.  I remember the lights, the organ music in the church, my parents singing in the choir and fruit cake. I remember going out to play soccer Christmas morning and playing party games into the evening, and lots of food that was not only hard to find in Brasilia, and in fact many of the ingredients had to be sent over from England, but was a labor of love designed to bring together our time overseas with our cultural roots in perfect, and delicious, harmony.  PEACE BE WITH YOU, WHEREVER YOU ARE THIS CHRISTMAS!

Hope Rains!

"I lift my eyes to the mountains - whence my hope comes."
Advent is a season of expectation...of hope.  But there are no mountains here in Kuwait. I have no problem with the other three themes of advent, love, joy and peace. We celebrate, reunite and the twinkle lights add a rosy glow to all that is right with the world.
But what should I hope for? Mountains? Better days? If I fall into that way of thinking; looking back at what I hoped for at this time last year, and how the reality of 2016 might have been less than what I had hoped for;  I begin to feel disappointed. I see only the walls of my classroom, the traffic on my commute to school and the images on my screen.  Nothing really changes.

It rained here in Kuwait. Yes, this is a desert, and it doesn't rain much in the desert.  It not only rained, but stormed with thunder and lightening. The traffic slowed to a crawl, and children shouted excitedly as if it was their first downpour. As I was contemplating the unexpected change in weather, a colleague came by to tell me that a two day holiday for Mohammad's Birthday had been declared, giving us an unexpected four day weekend. Things happen like that here. Just when you think the landscape, the weather, the daily grind will never change, that you are stuck in an infinite loop, things change. I was reminded that change is not only possible, but inevitable.

 Children understand hope.  They hope for something with a certainty that it will happen. They actively seek out that which they hope for. Why don't I do the same? I look forward to what I know is coming, if not yet.. then later.
I hope for a change in the weather, for warmer days, or cooler ones.  Spring will eventually be here.
I hope that when I come home each evening knowing that I did my best, I can rest in peace.
I hope that I will see my family again and spend time with them, being able to share in their joys and disappointments.
I hope for an opportunity to travel to far away places that I never dreamed of going before, to develop a sense of wonder and an appreciation for beauty in this world.
I hope that this time next year I will be able to look back and see things differently.

 I hope to find beauty, love, joy and peace wherever I am: here, home or far away.  Enjoy the season and look forward with hope!

Thanksgiving Over Time

It isn't my best Thanksgiving. Since last year I have less money, I'm further from my loved ones, have fewer options, more gray hair and wrinkles, and less faith in political systems. It is easy to say I don't feel very thankful.
Sheila died last week and her memorial service is this weekend. I feel an inexplicable urge to go to that service and share with someone how much I appreciated Sheila in life. She was a family friend since I was little, worked with a remote tribe in Brazil and opened her house in Cuiaba to us whenever we went that way. With no children of her own, she 'adopted' some of us and watched out for us through visits and phone calls. Over the years she never lost track of where I was or what I was doing. She let me know she was thinking of me and I am thankful for her caring friendship.

This got me thinking outside of my present day experiences back to the places I have come from, to who I am thankful for because of how they have shaped my life. It is like zooming out on a map to see the bigger picture instead of the limited view of one tiny pinpoint.
I realize how thankful I am for the opportunity to travel in Europe over the last two years with friends and family. I dined with my brothers, traveled with my mother and drove to Italy with two retired friends.  I am thankful for all of them and the time they shared with me. Time with family is precious these days.

I am thankful for Minnesota, my adopted home, and the people who are always there for me and my family.  They have seen us come and go, stored our boxes, solved our emergencies and payed our bills. Every time we go back, they welcome us into their lives and make us feel a part of the family.  I know I always have somewhere to go back to.
I may never make it back to Kwajalein, but I am truly thankful for the 8 years spent on that island. It was a time of healing for me and my family. I had just come through a hectic ten years giving birth and running after three small boys. I was worn down and feeling isolated and worthless. The island community took us in, built us up,

and taught us that true happiness is sharing a beautiful place with beautiful people. We felt appreciated and, on leaving, knew we would be missed as much as we missed those we left behind.
While I am going back in time, I might as well share my thanksgiving for the people who turned out to be some of our best friends while we were in Rio. These wonderful people invited us over even though we came with three loud boys. They sailed with us through rough seas and engine trouble. They cooked for us and saved our middle child from falling overboard. They made

our Christmas, Thanksgiving and New Year's holidays more memorable by joining the party.
When our time there was up, and we moved on, it was sad, but that only strengthens my feeling of appreciation and thanksgiving for the people we shared the experiences with. I  will always have those times to look back on and feel thankful.
I cannot say in what ways I will look back on my present situation.  I do know that I am looking forward to an invitation to a Thanksgiving dinner with turkey and ham.... yes, ham! The fact that I was invited to share the meal with new friends is more likely to make it into my memoirs than the ham we eat together.

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.