Road Tripping to Oman
What four women and one eight year old thought would be a casual drive to Turtle Bay in Oman turned into a fourteen hour nightmare. Sure, we knew the trip was sort of ill-planned. Rachel had gotten a hold of someone at this desert camp, and we were signed up to sleep there for four nights. If the camp was two hours south of Muscat, how far could it be? When you look at a map, the UAE and Oman are both smooshed up there in the top of the Arabian Peninsula. There was a mountain range between us and the east coast of Oman, but nothing that looked too hairy to navigate. Plus, in our two cars, we would have the supreme navigation skills of Sylvia, Bethany and Neena’s GPS, who delivered directions in a clipped, toneless, British fashion and my more emotional Gert, a hot pink GPS set to American English, who made her directional pronouncements in a voice alternating from one of maternal pride, when I was on track, to chiding annoyance, if I inadvertently took the wrong route.
Our first mistake was a late start. I had emphatically insisted on an 8:45 a.m. start for our car, which would contain Neena, Sam, all our gear, and me. Bethany and Rachel were to go in the other car, and they were ready at the appointed hour. Neena was not. She had another Master’s degree online course paper due, and its spectral presence was to haunt us on this trip. Having worked on it late the night before, Neena overslept, so by the time she got herself and her computer with the half-written paper sorted out, it was close to 10 a.m.
We still weren’t worried. The trip looked to be about eight hours long, so without turning on our GPS’s, we made our way to the border. We’d already been there three times to have our visitor visas renewed. The border is an hour away, and the check-through usually takes about 45 minutes. We were finally on the Omani side when Bethany had a spirited discussion with an Omani guard.
“He seems to be saying we can’t get to Muscat from this border,” she said, puzzled. Was there a language barrier? “He says we need to go back to Fujairah and drive to the border that way.”
“No. I am not doing that,” I said, in disbelief. We were in the country already, couldn’t we just start heading right, over to the eastern coast?
“Well, yes,” said the guard in Arabic, “but it is a four wheel drive road and your Yaris’s will never make it!”
We had unwittingly driven to the wrong border. There was no real road to Muscat from this border! This was a major setback. Now we needed to drive back to the UAE, across the country, and enter Oman from the west coast. Tempers frayed as we negotiated our way back through the border checkpoints. Whose damn fault was this? No one’s apparently. Just a wrong assumption, that if we drove to Oman, we could get to where we were going. At 1 p.m. we were headed back to the UAE and to Fujairah.
At this point we relaxed into knowing that it was going to be a very long trip. As we neared the second border crossing, we had the Arabian Sea to our left, and the imposing, dry, wrinkled and jutting Hajar Mountains to our right. At least the drive was picturesque. We were passing through a succession of small coastal towns, with fishing boats and center roundabouts, and the beautiful omnipresent mosques in every town.
The second border crossing was nearly painless, and with Sylvia and Gert bleating directions, we pressed on. At one point, many hours later, and after a quick meal at one of the ubiquitous, yet unnervingly friendly (our first exposure to sunny Omani personalities) McDonalds, Gert and Sylvia began to quarrel. The lead car had different directions. Sylvia barked repeatedly, “When possible, make a u-turn!” Gert sounded disappointed by our failure to follow her directions. In the pitch dark, Rachel was now driving my car, and Neena and Bethany were in the lead. We had gotten separated twice, so Rachel made the decision to turn our GPS off, and just follow their directions.
Once past Muscat, and with an almost full moon hanging overhead, we turned onto a brand new road, which headed up into the mountains to Sur, close to our final destination. This road was so new, that the tollbooths were unmanned, and they loomed ghostly, as we squeezed through one unblocked gate. Even more alarmingly, big thick white arrows painted on the tarmac pointed toward us on our side of the road, showing that the flow of traffic was coming towards us, yet we were one of several cars moving in our direction. We finally concluded that the road was so new, they were using it as a dual carriageway, and would later cut off traffic moving in our direction and reroute it onto a yet to be built road.
Soon after midnight the GPS (which I had sneakily turned on again) revealed the merrily waving black and white checked flag marking our final destination. Gert beamed, “You have reached your final destination!” Turtle Bay Beach Resort was eerily quiet. There were cars in the parking lot and the gates were open, but no one was around to check us in.
Finally, Bethany and Rachel decided to put up their tent in a strongly whipping wind. A late arriving Indian family helped them to secure the tent to the car. Neena originally planned to sleep in the car, but finally she settled on my choice. An old shipping boat had been reconstructed into an open-air restaurant by the beach. I tucked Sam into his sleeping bag on some cushions and stroked his wiry hair until he calmed down enough to sleep. Then Neena and I sat by the beach and enjoyed arrival cocktails while watching the millions of stars in the sky compete with the glitter of phosphorescent algae sparking in the waves by the beach. It was such a beautiful spot that Neena, a self-proclaimed “I’ll flirt with a fly” kind of girl, told me that because it was so beautiful out, with the wind and the waves and the stars, that she thought she might have to propose to me. I declined, much to her relief. But it was a special spot, with its thatched date frond huts on the beach, and gaily-strung Christmas lights. For those romantically inclined, and with the right person, mind you, I would highly recommend it.
The next morning, we awoke in the stern of the boat to the disapproving face of an Indian worker. “Where are your reservations,” he demanded prissily. “Poff? Rachel? Osius? Lanier? Engman?” I said helpfully. The long and short of it was we had crashed at the WRONG resort, and a significantly more expensive one at that. We hastily packed our sleeping bags, repacked the cars, and after misplaced key hunting for twenty minutes, (Neena, the other car) we beat a hasty retreat. We arrived at the second resort by 9 a.m. The Nazreeb camp, at first sight, was daunting. Where was the promised beach? The turtles?
Tiny, squat huts surrounded the perimeter, which was encompassed by barbed wire, to keep the goats out, we later learned. Tall, parched mountains ringed the camp. The sun beat down, the wind whipped through the camp, throwing sand up into our faces. The place looked deserted.
“This place looks like a refugee camp!” a disappointed Rachel exploded. I sank down onto the rickety wooden platform behind my ugly hut. Bethany and Rachel and I looked around, disheartened. Suddenly I began to laugh, and laugh. “Wow. I’ve never seen you laugh like this,” said Bethany, slightly disconcerted. My laughter turned into tears. After hours of traveling and after seeing the beauty of the other resort ($135 a night), we were going to stay here? Rachel comforted me. We’ve all broken down at various times here. Apparently my time had come. “It’ll be alright, Lucy! You and Sam take a nap. This will seem better after you have rested.” I knew she was right, so I took Sam into the hut, read him a few bedtime stories at 11 in the morning, read my own book, and fell into a deep sleep to the relaxing sound of the date fronds, which made up our hut walls, swishing in the wind. It sounded like ocean waves crashing on a shore, when in reality, the shore was three or four kilometers away.
Four p.m., and we were all awake, if groggy. The desolate camp had been transformed during our nap. The light was softer. The camp bustled with activity. Now it seemed more like a United Nations gathering than a refugee camp. Families of all nationalities roamed around in colorful clothes. We all walked over to the central gathering area in the middle of the camp, which was split into two parts: two cement ledges, 25x25 feet each, covered with carpets and pillows and the fire pit area, and a second, open-air dining area. I walked into the dining room. There were several Bedouins lounging in plastic chairs. “I am Ali,” said one. He flashed me a blinding white smile, delivered with a quick wink. He would later tell us that the wink to Arabs is somewhat naughty, signifying dishonorable attentions. Dressed in a floor length kandora and with a turquoise blue patterned scarf wrapped jauntily around his head, the sight of dashing Ali brightened up the camp, and our spirits, enormously.
In the course of our two nights at the camp, Ali would become our ally, and Neena’s romantic interest. Ali was 27 years old, heart stoppingly handsome, with a contagious, devilish smile. He smelled heavenly, and we would later learn that he scented himself with two colognes, alternating between his favorite scent, “First Love,” and another, “Love in Tea City.” In fact, Ali was all about love, with his “sweetie” of a truck, rakishly decked out with red crushed velvet and tan fur, and his ceaseless flirting. Like Neena, I had the feeling that Ali could also “flirt with a fly.” They were well matched. Ali, who had worked at the camp for 6 years, attached himself to our little coterie. He would become our friend and bridge to the Omani/Bedouin culture, and he’d been around enough westerners, that even the worst faux pax (like Neena repeatedly asking him if she looked like a pig, while we tried to shush her, and he feigned a lack of understanding) left him unfazed. Handsome Ali had never been to school, yet he had traveled around Europe with a previous Austrian girlfriend, “who broke my heart,” he told us somberly. He had also never brushed his teeth with a toothbrush, ever. He used water and some type of metal pick, accompanied by chewing some native plant for fresh breath. I thought of the European mouths we’d seen on this trip, with their gnarled, greyish teeth. Ali of the strong white teeth might be onto something.
While Ali lent his own flair to our visit, so did many of the other guests, who hailed from Canada, New Zealand, the Czech Republic, and other far flung locales. Rachel named the cement block meeting spot “the Peace Couch,” because of all of the nationalities hanging together and talking peacefully. Sam played soccer, or “football” with kids from four or five different countries, while we talked to the parents. The food at dinner was surprisingly good, with chopped cucumber, carrot and tomato, hot Arab bread, Dahl and rice, and roasted lamb and chicken.
Later that night, we drove en caravan to the science center for turtle viewing. Because of the full moon, the turtles were scarce, but we saw a large mamma, who had ambled onto the beach to lay her eggs, and who was making her laborious way back to the sea, having found the sand an unsatisfactory texture and temperature for laying eggs. The beach was pockmarked with huge holes, where the turtles dug with enormous flippers and buried their eggs. The babies, buried a meter down, spend three to five days digging up to the surface, where they make their break for the sea. If they do make it (and only three in one thousand do), they swim for three days without stopping or eating.
Our guide, Saeed, was knowledgeable, but his English showed his Arab origins. The p and b are often confused. Please becomes Bleaze, and the g is often mispronounced. Saeed was a stern guide. “Ladies and Gentlemen! (Pronounced with a hard g) I have some important scientific information for you. Bleaze! Be quiet!” A particularly recalcitrant and annoyingly amorous group of dark skinned males continued to talk during his presentation, draped all over each other, giggling and interrupting.
“Excuse me. Excuse me. INDIANS!” roared Saed. We gasped and giggled at his very un-PC comment, but the Indians didn’t seem to mind, and quieted down to listen. We saw a little baby boy turtle struggling to the sea. Turtles follow the brightest light, so we were not allowed to take photos with flashes. At one point, someone slipped up, their flash lighting up the dark night. Saeed hurried over, shouting, “Give me that camera this instant!” I was glad it wasn’t one of us.
I fell asleep early, with the book on my chest and the light still on. The generator shut down at 11:30 p.m. I woke up some time after that, cold and needing a bathroom badly. Outside of the hut, the wind moaned and the sky was lit up with millions upon millions of stars. It was dark and cold. I decided it was too dark to try and get to the outhouses, and thought to relieve myself behind the fence, the choice of hundreds before me, I suspected. I looked over by the girls’ cabin and saw a tall,wide, dark mass, with what appeared to be an arm up in a crooked position. I froze. It froze. I stared into the darkness for a long time and finally decided it was some sort of sign or something. The next day I saw it was a squat firebox on long, spindly legs. Rachel and I laughed. She’d seen it the night before as well, and decided it was a man, but because of his skinny legs, she thought, ever the ex-cop, that she could probably take him out if she needed to. I could just imagine her crashing into the firebox, fullback style, to the sound of splintering wood.
The next day we woke up, had coffee, fruit, boiled eggs, and a delectable dish, inauspiciously named foul medammes. Foul medammes are not dirty maidens, but tomato, onion, and garlic navy beans, as far as we could tell, and they are delicious. More lounging around for all of us, and a trip to the beach occupied our day. Neena and I walked to and from the beach, several miles round trip. Bethany and Rachel took Sam straight there in the car. In the daylight, the beach was lovely, and full of dozens of chattering, kandora wearing teen-age boys, who were much interested in our group. We posed for pictures with them and Sam clambered up on the beach cliffs, with the other boys leading the way and guiding Sam over the rough spots.
We decided to leave the next day. The camp was lovely after all, and colorful and warm, despite my first, very tired impressions. We met friendly people, exchanged cards, and in the case of Ali and Neena, pictures and phone numbers. Ali met us in Sur on our way out, where we toured the souk and bought traditional Omani hats, as well as perfume, insense, and Omani long, colorful dresses.
While we explored Sur, Sam planted himself between Neena and Ali, firmly seat belted in. He wasn’t budging, a formidable eight-year-old chaperone, while I chauffeured them around, alone in the front. We made quite a sight, I am sure. And since Ali couldn’t get to Neena, he covered Sam’s sweet little head and cheek with his Bedouin man kisses, thirty of them at least. Ali is one of 12 children, and apparently he is quite comfortable with little squirts like Sam. Neena pronounced herself jealous, since Sam was the recipient of all of his attention. When we parted, with the three of us going north, Ali saluted us goodbye by doing a donut on the tarmac in his truck. Then he and Neena proceeded to send each other googly text messages. His ran along the lines of “Ali x yoar beckshar,” which meant he was kissing Neena’s picture.
While Bethany and Rachel headed back to the UAE, Neena and Sam and I decided to spend one more night in Oman. We’d finally found an internet site to send off her dastardly paper, which had reared its ugly head on each of the successive days. So, since that responsibility was dealt with, and everyone we met was so nice, and the scenery was spectacular, why hurry home? We headed for Sohar, a town halfway home, and got there about 7 p.m. at night. We stayed in a bizarre, crumbling, and previously 5 star sort of fortress. There was a manicured lawn and pool, but the gates to the beach had all fallen away, and there was a sense of general disrepair. Sam had spaghetti through room service, as he’s becoming quite fond of it. After he fell asleep, Neena and I crept over the balcony on our ground floor room, and made two forays out onto the grounds, with frequent stops back to the room, where Sam remained slumbering deeply.
Our first stop was the pool bar, where an appallingly drunk member of Omani royalty, a gentleman by the name of Hassan, tried to lure us into his cherry red Hummer, parked on the beach. “We would love to show you our beautiful beaches,” he pronounced, while his trench coated bodyguard lurked around nearby. We declined. We also made a short trip to a nightclub about 50 yards away, again, after a check on Sam.
I’ve read somewhere that if the split of men to women in any given place is ever more of a disparity than 60/40, get out of there (sorry guys, but this is supposed to be true). This garish bar was awash with bored looking men, idly watching three scantily clad Filipinas belt out rotten 70’s tunes. Though it was not frightening, it was depressing. I talked briefly to a lovely Brit, a sad man who had just been dumped by his much younger Korean wife of three years. She had left him for one of his richer, younger friends. He was quite morose, and surprisingly surprised by this turn of events. In this small Omani city, the close-knit expat crowd was all apprised of this turn of events in Simon’s life. We were only there a short time, but I got a strong sense of what life in conservative, out-of-the way Sohar might be like for the average expat male, and it looked lonely and frustrating. “A real sausage fest,” said Neena correctly, albeit raunchily. Again, I hear Muscat is different, with a lively social scene and females making much more of an appearance.
The final day of our trip we lounged around the pool. Sam swam me around the pool, pushing me in front of him while I clutched a swim board for buoyancy. Sam declared us to be a “big boat with a very small engine,” as indeed we seemed to be.
Our drive back was uneventful, and we were back an hour or two after nightfall. I was sorry to see our trip end, because despite the mishaps, partially arising from poor planning and the lack of an Omani map, we were all entranced by the Omani culture. We talked to Omani men and women alike, an experience that has eluded us completely with the Emeratis here. Their warmth and friendliness was astonishing after this veritable desert of cultural mingling. We were repeatedly asked by locals, “Do you like our country?” They were also pleased we were American, and except for one muttered comment about Obama made to us on the beach in passing, there seemed to be nothing but warmth and hospitality extended in our direction.
Today I have devoted to clean up and preparation for next week’s teaching and next weekend’s trip to India with Sam and Ryer. But today has not been without its own small drama. I have been out on the balcony typing for hours. I kept hearing small pathetic mewing noises coming from the ground. As this was unnerving for me in particular, I decided to take the elevator down to explore. There on the balcony were two tiny, shivering kittens. Sam and I reached through the gate and held them--they must be no more than four weeks old. When I rang the buzzer to the real estate business that was connected to the balcony, a woman answered and said a litter had been found inside one of their buildings, and of the five kittens, these two pathetic balls of fur were all that was left. The rest have been adopted. I am here to tell you, these are not going to be our cats! But they are in our apartment for the moment. They were famished, and after tripping in and out of the food and milk bowls and eating in a famished fashion, they are now sleeping together on soft towels inside a very large, clear plastic box. They are so small and were shaking and afraid, and now they are well fed and sleeping together, all curled up. That is very satisfying. Anyone want two small kittens? I think we will name one of them Gilman, after the small, defunct mining town just outside of Leadville. And the other, the small black and white runt, we will name Beckshar, in honor of a very memorable Omani trip.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Monday, December 1, 2008
Sam's B-day
Hi everybody:
I am just sending a quick update. Thanks for individual emails. I just emailed Mom and Deb with a tentative summer timeline for Sammy and me, which has us arriving in CO June 12, spending much of July in MD and flying out of Colorado and back to Dubai around August 15. So it looks like we will have two months at home.
I had my 90-day professional review with my principal yesterday. It went well. He says I have a job next year. Of course I remain concerned about the low student recruitment-I still have only one student-and the prohibitive price of enrollment. Will there be a school next year? I believe so. There remains the challenge of a somewhat divided staff. There are really strong personalities on this staff. Some people have had different professional responsibilities in the past, and are bringing that baggage to the new job. Old habits die hard, sort of thing. Our CEO told me, "This too shall pass. Right now, you guys are like a bunch of relatives who have all overstayed your welcome in each other's houses. It will be better after the two December breaks." I bet he is right. That was A LOT of together time in that trailer in La Joya Bay before the school opened. Meanwhile, I enjoy my nice friends here, as does Sam, who now has four friends his age.
Sam Osius is having a great time with his teacher Rachel. He is learning a ton. I mean a ton. Double digit addition and subtraction, place value up to 1,000, he is reading more fluently, and she is tackling phonics with him, so he is learning how to sound words out. He is still a terrible speller, but they are working on that too. Essentially, he has a private tutor 5 days a week, and I think he will be caught up in no time. I am very proud of him, as is she. He is working so hard. Yesterday my son Sam, and my student Sammy, both made presentations on the UAE and RAK, respectively. They both had projects to present, and posters, and maps, as well as fact sheets on their assignments. Both boys did a bang up job presenting yesterday. Son Sam read in a tremulous voice, but you could hear him!
Thanksgiving was a very interesting, and super exhausting day. I was up at 6 a.m., and Sam and Rachel and I drove to Dubai. Rachel drove, because I hate Dubai traffic so much. She is an ex cop, so she drives really well. We found the Indian Consulate, and spent most of the day there. I will need to go pick up our visas this Wednesday, another all day affair. This would have been a painless process, if I had just had our residency visas here in the UAE. We were there the morning after the Mumbai shootings. I expected a weird vibe, but all seemed to be (extremely slow) business as usual.
Today is UAE National Day. Something like our July 1, without the beer and barbeque, I suspect. Sam is going to the beach with Neena and Rachel, and I have a day to organize before Lizzie arrives. Plus I need to turn my attention to planning next week’s Oman camping trip.
Back to Thanksgiving Day... We rushed home in time to get our eleven-pound turkey “Tom” in the oven. Then we cooked frantically. I had eight people. I have a picture of our dinner up on Facebook, lots of pics there, if you are in a position to check. We had a fantastic meal, and I slept like a log that night after the cleanup. Turkey has some natural sedative in it, doesn’t it?
One other element made the day unique. We had torrential rain here in RAK. Luckily this all happened after the trip to Dubai and during turkey dinner preparations. Sam was so excited he called the taxi stand where he is assistant manager, and Mohammed drove him up to the fort hotel. He always has his phone with him, and the General Manager, Mr. Nicholas, has taken a very fond and proprietary interest in him. Sam eats at the buffet free, whenever he wants to, and sometimes arrives home after his fort forays with a take-away box stuffed with buffet delicacies.
So, I was in phone contact with him when the fort went into lockdown. No one was allowed in or out because of the rain and lightening. Meanwhile, back at my building, Rachel and I were cooking like mad. Suddenly, lightening hit the building and the fire alarm went off. I called Sam, Sam told Mr. Nicholas, and someone came to turn it off. But all was wind, lightening, flooding and chaos. At this point, Sam was calling me telling me that he was sending Mohammed to pick us up because the building was not safe. I told Sam to stop making arrangements for me (!) and to come home in a taxi. So they let him out of the fort, and a taxi made its slow and careful way the ¾ mile to my building. The road was flooded, and Sam’s taxi got stuck in the flood! He was calling me all excited, saying, “Mom, I can’t open the door or all the water will come in!” We ran down, and a worker pulled him out through the window (the car was not buoyant, just stuck in high water) and delivered him to his mama waiting on the sidewalk in the rain. Very, very exciting for a seven-year-old boy, as you can well imagine. Bethany went downstairs and took photos, so when she puts them up on Facebook, I will pass them along. (Speaking of Facebook, Mom, Fred Lewis is my friend on Facebook. Don’t you guys want to join? Then you can see pics that don’t get sent to you directly.)
The next day, Sam turned eight, and I drove him to Fujairah for an overnight stay. We ordered room service for his birthday dinner, and the food came in a rolling cart with a heated compartment underneath. This was terribly exciting. My friends Neena and her sister Eda (both half Puerto Rican, Eda is the visiting sister from the US, and Neena works at my school) had a suite there, so we dined on their especially elegant balcony. The next day Sam took a paddleboat out into the Arabian Sea with Eda, and I sailed a little Sunfish around. We wrapped up our weekend with a little bit of pool time, and then home we came.
During my review, my principal told me that the way that he is proudest of me is that I had the courage as a single mom to come over here and expose Sam to this culture/experience. I am enjoying it, to be sure, but I have my professional frustrations, with a delayed start, and a class of one student! I do think the experience is proving to be very beneficial to Sam, most of the time. There are times when he misses home, family, and Kiwi and Daisy (Not necessarily in that order!). But overall, he continues to be pretty engaged in what is going on here. Let’s hope he is a better educated, more open-minded adult as a result.
Well, that is it for the latest summary. If there is a blurb I can produce out of camping on the beaches of Oman with friends, I will send it out in the next 10 days.
If anyone wants a personal correspondence, I have these lovely 10 days off, so send me an email and this time I will write back, I PROMISE. Right now I am not working 7:30 to 3:30 (with no permission to use email at work) and commuting 40 minutes each way, plus trying to exercise, and the usual Sam routine in the evening. So I have the luxury of time! Yum yum.
Much love, and hope you all are well, happy and enjoyed the Thanksgiving holiday.
Lucy and Sam too
I am just sending a quick update. Thanks for individual emails. I just emailed Mom and Deb with a tentative summer timeline for Sammy and me, which has us arriving in CO June 12, spending much of July in MD and flying out of Colorado and back to Dubai around August 15. So it looks like we will have two months at home.
I had my 90-day professional review with my principal yesterday. It went well. He says I have a job next year. Of course I remain concerned about the low student recruitment-I still have only one student-and the prohibitive price of enrollment. Will there be a school next year? I believe so. There remains the challenge of a somewhat divided staff. There are really strong personalities on this staff. Some people have had different professional responsibilities in the past, and are bringing that baggage to the new job. Old habits die hard, sort of thing. Our CEO told me, "This too shall pass. Right now, you guys are like a bunch of relatives who have all overstayed your welcome in each other's houses. It will be better after the two December breaks." I bet he is right. That was A LOT of together time in that trailer in La Joya Bay before the school opened. Meanwhile, I enjoy my nice friends here, as does Sam, who now has four friends his age.
Sam Osius is having a great time with his teacher Rachel. He is learning a ton. I mean a ton. Double digit addition and subtraction, place value up to 1,000, he is reading more fluently, and she is tackling phonics with him, so he is learning how to sound words out. He is still a terrible speller, but they are working on that too. Essentially, he has a private tutor 5 days a week, and I think he will be caught up in no time. I am very proud of him, as is she. He is working so hard. Yesterday my son Sam, and my student Sammy, both made presentations on the UAE and RAK, respectively. They both had projects to present, and posters, and maps, as well as fact sheets on their assignments. Both boys did a bang up job presenting yesterday. Son Sam read in a tremulous voice, but you could hear him!
Thanksgiving was a very interesting, and super exhausting day. I was up at 6 a.m., and Sam and Rachel and I drove to Dubai. Rachel drove, because I hate Dubai traffic so much. She is an ex cop, so she drives really well. We found the Indian Consulate, and spent most of the day there. I will need to go pick up our visas this Wednesday, another all day affair. This would have been a painless process, if I had just had our residency visas here in the UAE. We were there the morning after the Mumbai shootings. I expected a weird vibe, but all seemed to be (extremely slow) business as usual.
Today is UAE National Day. Something like our July 1, without the beer and barbeque, I suspect. Sam is going to the beach with Neena and Rachel, and I have a day to organize before Lizzie arrives. Plus I need to turn my attention to planning next week’s Oman camping trip.
Back to Thanksgiving Day... We rushed home in time to get our eleven-pound turkey “Tom” in the oven. Then we cooked frantically. I had eight people. I have a picture of our dinner up on Facebook, lots of pics there, if you are in a position to check. We had a fantastic meal, and I slept like a log that night after the cleanup. Turkey has some natural sedative in it, doesn’t it?
One other element made the day unique. We had torrential rain here in RAK. Luckily this all happened after the trip to Dubai and during turkey dinner preparations. Sam was so excited he called the taxi stand where he is assistant manager, and Mohammed drove him up to the fort hotel. He always has his phone with him, and the General Manager, Mr. Nicholas, has taken a very fond and proprietary interest in him. Sam eats at the buffet free, whenever he wants to, and sometimes arrives home after his fort forays with a take-away box stuffed with buffet delicacies.
So, I was in phone contact with him when the fort went into lockdown. No one was allowed in or out because of the rain and lightening. Meanwhile, back at my building, Rachel and I were cooking like mad. Suddenly, lightening hit the building and the fire alarm went off. I called Sam, Sam told Mr. Nicholas, and someone came to turn it off. But all was wind, lightening, flooding and chaos. At this point, Sam was calling me telling me that he was sending Mohammed to pick us up because the building was not safe. I told Sam to stop making arrangements for me (!) and to come home in a taxi. So they let him out of the fort, and a taxi made its slow and careful way the ¾ mile to my building. The road was flooded, and Sam’s taxi got stuck in the flood! He was calling me all excited, saying, “Mom, I can’t open the door or all the water will come in!” We ran down, and a worker pulled him out through the window (the car was not buoyant, just stuck in high water) and delivered him to his mama waiting on the sidewalk in the rain. Very, very exciting for a seven-year-old boy, as you can well imagine. Bethany went downstairs and took photos, so when she puts them up on Facebook, I will pass them along. (Speaking of Facebook, Mom, Fred Lewis is my friend on Facebook. Don’t you guys want to join? Then you can see pics that don’t get sent to you directly.)
The next day, Sam turned eight, and I drove him to Fujairah for an overnight stay. We ordered room service for his birthday dinner, and the food came in a rolling cart with a heated compartment underneath. This was terribly exciting. My friends Neena and her sister Eda (both half Puerto Rican, Eda is the visiting sister from the US, and Neena works at my school) had a suite there, so we dined on their especially elegant balcony. The next day Sam took a paddleboat out into the Arabian Sea with Eda, and I sailed a little Sunfish around. We wrapped up our weekend with a little bit of pool time, and then home we came.
During my review, my principal told me that the way that he is proudest of me is that I had the courage as a single mom to come over here and expose Sam to this culture/experience. I am enjoying it, to be sure, but I have my professional frustrations, with a delayed start, and a class of one student! I do think the experience is proving to be very beneficial to Sam, most of the time. There are times when he misses home, family, and Kiwi and Daisy (Not necessarily in that order!). But overall, he continues to be pretty engaged in what is going on here. Let’s hope he is a better educated, more open-minded adult as a result.
Well, that is it for the latest summary. If there is a blurb I can produce out of camping on the beaches of Oman with friends, I will send it out in the next 10 days.
If anyone wants a personal correspondence, I have these lovely 10 days off, so send me an email and this time I will write back, I PROMISE. Right now I am not working 7:30 to 3:30 (with no permission to use email at work) and commuting 40 minutes each way, plus trying to exercise, and the usual Sam routine in the evening. So I have the luxury of time! Yum yum.
Much love, and hope you all are well, happy and enjoyed the Thanksgiving holiday.
Lucy and Sam too
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Desert Storm
A long convoy of flimsy, American-rented Toyota Yaris’s, interspersed with expensive Emerati-owned vehicles, wended its way toward the heart of the desert flanking Dubai. After a short stop to park and reshuffle our belongings, our motley crew resorted ourselves into an assortment of luxury SUV’s and powerful pick up-trucks. Turning off the blacktop and onto sandy roads, we resumed our trip. Cars packed with people and camping gear bounced along. Occasionally, an errant sleeping bag would fly out of a truck bed, and a passenger from a following car would hop out, pluck it up from its sandy resting place, and pop it into the back of another vehicle. Sorting out our belongings once we reached the camping site would later prove to be a challenge.
We were a consortium of Americans, Tunisians, Emeratis, and Kiwis, all gathered here for the sole purpose of having an authentic desert camping trip together. Our primary host, a dashing, and extremely generous Emerati named Atef, was determined to provide his guests with an authentic Emerati camping experience. Other Emeratis supporting the trip were Essa, husband of Donna, our RAK American School Vice Principal and Kindergarten teacher, Saeed, and another friend and driver for the group, Ahmed. All four men were friends, conspiring to show American teachers overseas a true desert . Also along were Arabic teacher and Tunisian, Wafa, her soft-spoken husband Bashar, and their six-year-old son, Yousef. A professed eremikophobe (fearer of sand), Wafa had never been desert camping before, but was determined to be a good sport, and spend a night outside. The rest of us were our usual mishmash of Americans and lone Canadian, along for the ride, and with varying degrees of desert compatibility and prior camping experience.
Once we reached our campsite, a low, flat wash surrounded by higher dunes, our hosts rounded the SUV’s, much like the circling of the wagons in early American westward expansion. “This is to protect you from dune-bashing vehicles, “ explained Essa, our resident Emerati, in his impeccable English. We would look to him frequently during this experience as our cultural and linguistic translator. I imagined waking up in my sleeping bag to the crushing weight of an off-course Land Cruiser smashing down onto my tent. I readily complied with Essa’s instructions to set up our tents inside the protective ring of cars.
Along with our nearly dozen tents, our hosts brought huge rugs for the group gathering, a newly purchased, rumbling generator, and a myriad of electric lights, as well as festive, mood-inducing tikki torches. As I looked around at our newly constructed campsite, I realized that no detail, and no expense had been spared in creating a comfortable, luxurious camping experience for this group of expatriates. In addition to planning a lavish dinner, our hosts had also given a polite nod to our western culture by providing us with some German beer for the event. Neena, our resident Puerto Rican American and future winner of the evening’s dance contest, would later proclaim that it was just this liquid courage that allowed us a glimpse of her slightly more provocative and renowned Shakira (I mean, Beyonce), signature dance moves.
After everyone had settled in, and tents were erected, cots constructed and sleeping bags laid out, our crew assembled around the campfire. Essa showed us how to sit in the sand like a true, tribal nomad. We contorted our legs and knees into the customary posture, and Essa regaled us with tales of his father’s desert experiences, and stories of the way the country used to look before the arrival of western people, and modernity in its present state.
Later, we were provided with a true desert meal, complete with roasted goat, head and body nestled into a plate of saffron rice, grilled lamb, and fresh salad. Donna thoughtfully provided everyone with dessert S’more’s, Emerati style, with toasted marshmallows and chocolate served on digestive biscuits. Rick Sailors entertained us by strumming on his guitar and serenading the group with a smattering of rock, pop, 80’s, blues, and folk songs, and we accompanied him, singing happily, loudly, and occasionally VERY, off key.
In another act of unsurpassed generosity, our host Atef, along with Essa and Donna, had planned a quiz night event on U.A.E. trivia, including questions such as the name of the ruling family and the date the U.A.E. was created (December 2, 1971). Atef provided a wrapped luxury gift for every participant, which we chose from a pile of gifts on the carpet. Personally, I have never excelled in trivia questionnaires. Luckily, Wafa bent down and fed my son Sam an answer to one of the questions, which he proceeded to bellow out, winning us a wall-mounted night light screen with floating water, fish and coral scenes playing on a continuous feed. Other gifts included DVD players, microwaves, and a women’s Neet Hair Removal kit, received by our perplexed, and not particularly hirsute P.E. teacher, Alan.
The last event of the evening was the bonfire dance club. One of the Emerati gents backed his SUV up to the bonfire, and people started dancing. The Sailors’ son John busted a move, along with Neena, Amanda, and sylph Casey, who was in full desert rat regalia and in rave mode, shimmying up a storm to techno beats. Sam provided a disco light aspect, by continuously gyrating two flashlights over the dance scene. At one point, Neena fell to her knees in front of her cohorts and shouted the ultimate challenge. “Get up and dance!” she screamed. “Get up and dance! I can dance better than you on my knees, B-----s!”
We slept in our tents until first light, and the sound of Essa’s welcoming voice roused us. We planned a hasty departure, and after a campfire-cooked pans of eggs and sausage and fresh coffee, we dismantled the tents and lights, packed the trucks and headed out again, just in time to miss the scorching afternoon sun and bothersome flies. We took an afternoon excursion in the cars up near the Oman border to visit the Hatta Fort Resort and to lunch on more sumptuous fare, again, courtesy of our host Atef.
Later that night, Sam and I returned to our flat in RAK. We were in bed at 7:57 p.m., too exhausted to even make dinner and eat. I fell asleep to the shimmering glow of our new picture show nightlight with two memories still playing rewind in my mind. The first was the realization that Sam and I had very nearly died today. While driving to Dubai post-camping, and in the morning after collecting our cars, we were whizzing along, returning to Essa and Donna’s villa in Dubai for a quick shower before our lunch soirée. Suddenly, Rachel, who was in my passenger seat, shrieked, “Look out!!!” We were driving about 135 km an hour, zooming along on a 5 lane highway, my Yaris manfully revving its sewing machine engine, in order to keep up with one of the SUV’s. In one instant, I saw what appeared to be an enormous, car-sized piece of foam rubber in my lane. I swerved left, narrowly missing a car and just slipped by the object, all in 1/10th of a second. As we passed it, Rachel realized it was not a piece of foam at all, but a couch that had been sitting in the center of our lane--and the Ottoman--along with the car following on our tail, had both come inches away from carving us into an accordion- shaped heap of scrap metal.
The second scene to replay in my mind as I tried to fall asleep after a full day’s worth of excitement was exactly this… After lunch, we all filed back to the parking lot to divide up into the cars for the ride back to RAK. Atef and Ahmed were in the front seats of our car, Amanda, Bethany and I were in the middle, and Rachel and Neena were in the way back of the GM Denali. Donna had commented on the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. “We might just get rain, “ she said to us just before we set off. On our drive south, we eagerly scanned the horizon. Suddenly, two drops, then four, then ten splashes hit the windshield of our car. Atef turned on the windshield wipers and began to speak excitedly to Ahmed in Arabic. We squealed with excitement, all of us straining to get our hands out the window to touch the falling raindrops. I breathed in the wet smell of dampened desert that was filling the car.
But as quickly as it had begun, the short drizzle of rain was over. “It’s been a year and a month since we’ve had rain,” Ahmed told us. “How long will it be before it rains again?” asked Bethany. “Another year and a month,” he replied. Perhaps something was lost in translation, but in this part of the world, we are learning to make hay while the rain falls.
We were a consortium of Americans, Tunisians, Emeratis, and Kiwis, all gathered here for the sole purpose of having an authentic desert camping trip together. Our primary host, a dashing, and extremely generous Emerati named Atef, was determined to provide his guests with an authentic Emerati camping experience. Other Emeratis supporting the trip were Essa, husband of Donna, our RAK American School Vice Principal and Kindergarten teacher, Saeed, and another friend and driver for the group, Ahmed. All four men were friends, conspiring to show American teachers overseas a true desert . Also along were Arabic teacher and Tunisian, Wafa, her soft-spoken husband Bashar, and their six-year-old son, Yousef. A professed eremikophobe (fearer of sand), Wafa had never been desert camping before, but was determined to be a good sport, and spend a night outside. The rest of us were our usual mishmash of Americans and lone Canadian, along for the ride, and with varying degrees of desert compatibility and prior camping experience.
Once we reached our campsite, a low, flat wash surrounded by higher dunes, our hosts rounded the SUV’s, much like the circling of the wagons in early American westward expansion. “This is to protect you from dune-bashing vehicles, “ explained Essa, our resident Emerati, in his impeccable English. We would look to him frequently during this experience as our cultural and linguistic translator. I imagined waking up in my sleeping bag to the crushing weight of an off-course Land Cruiser smashing down onto my tent. I readily complied with Essa’s instructions to set up our tents inside the protective ring of cars.
Along with our nearly dozen tents, our hosts brought huge rugs for the group gathering, a newly purchased, rumbling generator, and a myriad of electric lights, as well as festive, mood-inducing tikki torches. As I looked around at our newly constructed campsite, I realized that no detail, and no expense had been spared in creating a comfortable, luxurious camping experience for this group of expatriates. In addition to planning a lavish dinner, our hosts had also given a polite nod to our western culture by providing us with some German beer for the event. Neena, our resident Puerto Rican American and future winner of the evening’s dance contest, would later proclaim that it was just this liquid courage that allowed us a glimpse of her slightly more provocative and renowned Shakira (I mean, Beyonce), signature dance moves.
After everyone had settled in, and tents were erected, cots constructed and sleeping bags laid out, our crew assembled around the campfire. Essa showed us how to sit in the sand like a true, tribal nomad. We contorted our legs and knees into the customary posture, and Essa regaled us with tales of his father’s desert experiences, and stories of the way the country used to look before the arrival of western people, and modernity in its present state.
Later, we were provided with a true desert meal, complete with roasted goat, head and body nestled into a plate of saffron rice, grilled lamb, and fresh salad. Donna thoughtfully provided everyone with dessert S’more’s, Emerati style, with toasted marshmallows and chocolate served on digestive biscuits. Rick Sailors entertained us by strumming on his guitar and serenading the group with a smattering of rock, pop, 80’s, blues, and folk songs, and we accompanied him, singing happily, loudly, and occasionally VERY, off key.
In another act of unsurpassed generosity, our host Atef, along with Essa and Donna, had planned a quiz night event on U.A.E. trivia, including questions such as the name of the ruling family and the date the U.A.E. was created (December 2, 1971). Atef provided a wrapped luxury gift for every participant, which we chose from a pile of gifts on the carpet. Personally, I have never excelled in trivia questionnaires. Luckily, Wafa bent down and fed my son Sam an answer to one of the questions, which he proceeded to bellow out, winning us a wall-mounted night light screen with floating water, fish and coral scenes playing on a continuous feed. Other gifts included DVD players, microwaves, and a women’s Neet Hair Removal kit, received by our perplexed, and not particularly hirsute P.E. teacher, Alan.
The last event of the evening was the bonfire dance club. One of the Emerati gents backed his SUV up to the bonfire, and people started dancing. The Sailors’ son John busted a move, along with Neena, Amanda, and sylph Casey, who was in full desert rat regalia and in rave mode, shimmying up a storm to techno beats. Sam provided a disco light aspect, by continuously gyrating two flashlights over the dance scene. At one point, Neena fell to her knees in front of her cohorts and shouted the ultimate challenge. “Get up and dance!” she screamed. “Get up and dance! I can dance better than you on my knees, B-----s!”
We slept in our tents until first light, and the sound of Essa’s welcoming voice roused us. We planned a hasty departure, and after a campfire-cooked pans of eggs and sausage and fresh coffee, we dismantled the tents and lights, packed the trucks and headed out again, just in time to miss the scorching afternoon sun and bothersome flies. We took an afternoon excursion in the cars up near the Oman border to visit the Hatta Fort Resort and to lunch on more sumptuous fare, again, courtesy of our host Atef.
Later that night, Sam and I returned to our flat in RAK. We were in bed at 7:57 p.m., too exhausted to even make dinner and eat. I fell asleep to the shimmering glow of our new picture show nightlight with two memories still playing rewind in my mind. The first was the realization that Sam and I had very nearly died today. While driving to Dubai post-camping, and in the morning after collecting our cars, we were whizzing along, returning to Essa and Donna’s villa in Dubai for a quick shower before our lunch soirée. Suddenly, Rachel, who was in my passenger seat, shrieked, “Look out!!!” We were driving about 135 km an hour, zooming along on a 5 lane highway, my Yaris manfully revving its sewing machine engine, in order to keep up with one of the SUV’s. In one instant, I saw what appeared to be an enormous, car-sized piece of foam rubber in my lane. I swerved left, narrowly missing a car and just slipped by the object, all in 1/10th of a second. As we passed it, Rachel realized it was not a piece of foam at all, but a couch that had been sitting in the center of our lane--and the Ottoman--along with the car following on our tail, had both come inches away from carving us into an accordion- shaped heap of scrap metal.
The second scene to replay in my mind as I tried to fall asleep after a full day’s worth of excitement was exactly this… After lunch, we all filed back to the parking lot to divide up into the cars for the ride back to RAK. Atef and Ahmed were in the front seats of our car, Amanda, Bethany and I were in the middle, and Rachel and Neena were in the way back of the GM Denali. Donna had commented on the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. “We might just get rain, “ she said to us just before we set off. On our drive south, we eagerly scanned the horizon. Suddenly, two drops, then four, then ten splashes hit the windshield of our car. Atef turned on the windshield wipers and began to speak excitedly to Ahmed in Arabic. We squealed with excitement, all of us straining to get our hands out the window to touch the falling raindrops. I breathed in the wet smell of dampened desert that was filling the car.
But as quickly as it had begun, the short drizzle of rain was over. “It’s been a year and a month since we’ve had rain,” Ahmed told us. “How long will it be before it rains again?” asked Bethany. “Another year and a month,” he replied. Perhaps something was lost in translation, but in this part of the world, we are learning to make hay while the rain falls.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
New Times Ahead...
I remember 11/00 when Al Gore lost the election. I was enormously pregnant, and so sad to see our country go downhill. 11/04 wasn't much better, with Sammy a challenging 3-year-old. We were living in Denver and I was in school to be a teacher. That time, I stayed up all night long crying, and watching the results come in, and in the morning, after I dropped Sam off at daycare, I went to the Democratic Headquarters for some consolation. Everybody there was packing up their belongings to go home. I told them how very sad and sorry I felt about the current course of events in our country. Then I got in my car, at 11 in the morning, and backed into a pole, causing $1,500 in damage to the rear door.
In the last few years I have heard the song, "And I am proud to be an American, God Bless the U.S.A.!" I have heard it with derision. What a joke, I have thought. And then today, I asked Sam if he would be willing to call Grandmom and say the same, and he did, somberly. He is a small, proud boy to have an African American in the White House, finally, at last. I am filled with gladness.
In the last few years I have heard the song, "And I am proud to be an American, God Bless the U.S.A.!" I have heard it with derision. What a joke, I have thought. And then today, I asked Sam if he would be willing to call Grandmom and say the same, and he did, somberly. He is a small, proud boy to have an African American in the White House, finally, at last. I am filled with gladness.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Dune Bashing
Dune-Bashing in the U.A.E.
"It's normal, it's normal," mutters Josef Abdul, our dune-bashing driver, as he gets out of the Land Cruiser to assess the damage. We are straddling a dune, sand trailing down at precipitous angles to the left and the right of us, and we are stuck.
"Don't worry. I will call my friends to pull us out. This is normal," he emphasizes. "We will be free shortly to continue on."
Until this momentary hang-up on one the dunes, we’d spent the last half hour sliding and gunning up and down 45-degree angles and popping up over dune precipices absolutely blindly only to roll at break-neck speeds down the other side. It had been a bone-jarring, breath-stealing experience. We’d had no idea what we were getting ourselves into on this desert safari trip. I’d imagined something more along the lines of a tame camel ride to an oasis, followed by a delectable Middle Eastern repast. This was not turning out the way I had planned.
"How do you all not hit each other? " I ask our driver nervously, as I watch another Land Cruiser pop over the dune 20 yards to my left. I am not so sure I want to continue on shortly. Sam's eyes are closed and Ted looks a bit green around the gills.
"We drive on assigned routes. Every dune has a name and we know all of them. I have been doing this for 10 years. Trust me," replies Abdul, as he starts punching rescue numbers into his cell phone.
Earlier in the day, the three of us had signed up for one of the fabled desert safari trips in the UAE. Under the banner of adventure tourism, the desert safaris of the last 10 years cater mainly to tourists, and take place all over the Rub’ al Khali Desert, otherwise known as the Empty Quarter, a huge expanse that covers much of this geographic region. The tours are generally a six-hour, $50 per person deal, including dune bashing, sand boarding, a trip to a camel farm, a ride on a camel, and a barbeque dinner, complete with local cuisine, sheesha smoking and henna painting. Our driver works for RAK events, and adventure outfit operating out of Ras Al Khaimah, the northern most Emirate, where I have chosen to live for the next 2 years.
I have recently moved to the UAE to teach at Ras Al Khaimah American School, the first American school in this Emirate. Uprooted from our home on the western slope of Colorado, my son Sam is also with me on this adventure. My brother and his partner (who wisely decided not to join us tonight) have flown over to visit us for a few days, a getaway from their home in New Delhi, India. My brother has just received a job offer for the DCM post at the U.S. Embassy in Jakarta. He is about to ascend to a very important position in the international world, and I am going to feel pretty guilty if he doesn’t live through this experience… if we flip over and roll sideways down two hundred feet of dune. Not to mention Sam, who has his whole life in front of him.
Earlier in the evening, we'd stopped off the highway to let air out of the tires in preparation for this experience. Abdul had cautioned us to stay away from all food and beverages, except the water that he
would provide for us on the dunes. Now I knew why. My stomach churns in the aftermath of the earlier lurching and spinning we’d been through.
Right now our desert safari is stalled out because Abdul, though a deft and confident driver, has bottomed out on a dune. He asks us to exit the car, and I walk to the end of the dune, enjoying the stillness and wide desert views below us. Soon help arrives in the form of a turban-clad driver in a kandora, who hooks a piece of 50 foot nylon webbing to both cars and hauls us out. We are on our way again.
It seems that all dune drivers have signature dune driving music. Abdul plugs in his MP3 player, and cranks up a tune that was popular in 1984. Performed by Modern Talking, a German pop band, the lyrics boom out into the car. "You're no good, can't you see, brother Louis, Louis Louis? I'm in love, can't you see, brother Louis, Louis, Louis!" What on God's green earth was this 20-something kid doing with this 25-year-old Euro trash pop?
Listening to it, I am instantly transported back to Spain, during my junior year of college, when I’d studied in Madrid for a semester. This jingle played constantly at that time. In my mind's eye, I can almost see Madrid's boisterous streets, and taste the Cordero Negro champagne we'd drunk while dancing in Mediterranean-themed clubs. This was also the year my father died unexpectedly. And in just a few short months, I would be meeting a Moroccan, a man who was to become one of the great romantic interests of my life. Who knew where he was now? Yet I am, in part, here in the Middle East because of that long ago liaison, which started in me an appreciation for the Arab culture.
After a few initial show-off turns and spins, Abdul suddenly points the car downhill, and at breakneck speed, we float down an endless dune. "Brother Louis, Louis, Louis," pounds in my ears. I turn and look over my shoulder at Sam. His eyes are screwed shut. Then I look back at Ted. He just shakes his head at me. What have we gotten ourselves into this time? The brochure had looked innocuous enough.
"Please sir," I croak to the young driver. "Could you go a little more slowly, please?"
"Just relax," he counsels. And I do. In this minute, I open my eyes, force myself to unclench my hands from around my shoulder harness, and try to enjoy it. I am afraid of heights, but I tell myself this driver is experienced. And suddenly, it is sort of fun, if only a little bit. Sam crows from the back seat. It feels like we are flying over the sand, catching air, gliding and turning and swirling. The sun is setting over the desert. I decide we might survive after all.
An hour later, while seated on cushions in the open air, sipping Coronas and eating a sumptuous meal of savory daal bat lentils over rice, grilled vegetables and khandahar red curry spiced lamb and chicken, we talk to our neighbors at the adjoining table. They are two women who hail from Miami.
"Oh, no way!" says the short, pretty one. "We were told absolutely, under no conditions, were we to go on the dune pashing part of the safari. People throw up and hyperventilate and stuff all the time. You guys did that?"
We had, and we'd lived to tell the tale. A moment from it remains minute frozen in time, where we are all in that car, Abdul, Sam, his mother and uncle, three of the four mouths making perfect O's of fear and delight, as Modern Talking tells us, "Life is Life, come on stand up and fight!" The desert floats below and the sun melts into the horizon in sandy waves of orange heat.
--
"It's normal, it's normal," mutters Josef Abdul, our dune-bashing driver, as he gets out of the Land Cruiser to assess the damage. We are straddling a dune, sand trailing down at precipitous angles to the left and the right of us, and we are stuck.
"Don't worry. I will call my friends to pull us out. This is normal," he emphasizes. "We will be free shortly to continue on."
Until this momentary hang-up on one the dunes, we’d spent the last half hour sliding and gunning up and down 45-degree angles and popping up over dune precipices absolutely blindly only to roll at break-neck speeds down the other side. It had been a bone-jarring, breath-stealing experience. We’d had no idea what we were getting ourselves into on this desert safari trip. I’d imagined something more along the lines of a tame camel ride to an oasis, followed by a delectable Middle Eastern repast. This was not turning out the way I had planned.
"How do you all not hit each other? " I ask our driver nervously, as I watch another Land Cruiser pop over the dune 20 yards to my left. I am not so sure I want to continue on shortly. Sam's eyes are closed and Ted looks a bit green around the gills.
"We drive on assigned routes. Every dune has a name and we know all of them. I have been doing this for 10 years. Trust me," replies Abdul, as he starts punching rescue numbers into his cell phone.
Earlier in the day, the three of us had signed up for one of the fabled desert safari trips in the UAE. Under the banner of adventure tourism, the desert safaris of the last 10 years cater mainly to tourists, and take place all over the Rub’ al Khali Desert, otherwise known as the Empty Quarter, a huge expanse that covers much of this geographic region. The tours are generally a six-hour, $50 per person deal, including dune bashing, sand boarding, a trip to a camel farm, a ride on a camel, and a barbeque dinner, complete with local cuisine, sheesha smoking and henna painting. Our driver works for RAK events, and adventure outfit operating out of Ras Al Khaimah, the northern most Emirate, where I have chosen to live for the next 2 years.
I have recently moved to the UAE to teach at Ras Al Khaimah American School, the first American school in this Emirate. Uprooted from our home on the western slope of Colorado, my son Sam is also with me on this adventure. My brother and his partner (who wisely decided not to join us tonight) have flown over to visit us for a few days, a getaway from their home in New Delhi, India. My brother has just received a job offer for the DCM post at the U.S. Embassy in Jakarta. He is about to ascend to a very important position in the international world, and I am going to feel pretty guilty if he doesn’t live through this experience… if we flip over and roll sideways down two hundred feet of dune. Not to mention Sam, who has his whole life in front of him.
Earlier in the evening, we'd stopped off the highway to let air out of the tires in preparation for this experience. Abdul had cautioned us to stay away from all food and beverages, except the water that he
would provide for us on the dunes. Now I knew why. My stomach churns in the aftermath of the earlier lurching and spinning we’d been through.
Right now our desert safari is stalled out because Abdul, though a deft and confident driver, has bottomed out on a dune. He asks us to exit the car, and I walk to the end of the dune, enjoying the stillness and wide desert views below us. Soon help arrives in the form of a turban-clad driver in a kandora, who hooks a piece of 50 foot nylon webbing to both cars and hauls us out. We are on our way again.
It seems that all dune drivers have signature dune driving music. Abdul plugs in his MP3 player, and cranks up a tune that was popular in 1984. Performed by Modern Talking, a German pop band, the lyrics boom out into the car. "You're no good, can't you see, brother Louis, Louis Louis? I'm in love, can't you see, brother Louis, Louis, Louis!" What on God's green earth was this 20-something kid doing with this 25-year-old Euro trash pop?
Listening to it, I am instantly transported back to Spain, during my junior year of college, when I’d studied in Madrid for a semester. This jingle played constantly at that time. In my mind's eye, I can almost see Madrid's boisterous streets, and taste the Cordero Negro champagne we'd drunk while dancing in Mediterranean-themed clubs. This was also the year my father died unexpectedly. And in just a few short months, I would be meeting a Moroccan, a man who was to become one of the great romantic interests of my life. Who knew where he was now? Yet I am, in part, here in the Middle East because of that long ago liaison, which started in me an appreciation for the Arab culture.
After a few initial show-off turns and spins, Abdul suddenly points the car downhill, and at breakneck speed, we float down an endless dune. "Brother Louis, Louis, Louis," pounds in my ears. I turn and look over my shoulder at Sam. His eyes are screwed shut. Then I look back at Ted. He just shakes his head at me. What have we gotten ourselves into this time? The brochure had looked innocuous enough.
"Please sir," I croak to the young driver. "Could you go a little more slowly, please?"
"Just relax," he counsels. And I do. In this minute, I open my eyes, force myself to unclench my hands from around my shoulder harness, and try to enjoy it. I am afraid of heights, but I tell myself this driver is experienced. And suddenly, it is sort of fun, if only a little bit. Sam crows from the back seat. It feels like we are flying over the sand, catching air, gliding and turning and swirling. The sun is setting over the desert. I decide we might survive after all.
An hour later, while seated on cushions in the open air, sipping Coronas and eating a sumptuous meal of savory daal bat lentils over rice, grilled vegetables and khandahar red curry spiced lamb and chicken, we talk to our neighbors at the adjoining table. They are two women who hail from Miami.
"Oh, no way!" says the short, pretty one. "We were told absolutely, under no conditions, were we to go on the dune pashing part of the safari. People throw up and hyperventilate and stuff all the time. You guys did that?"
We had, and we'd lived to tell the tale. A moment from it remains minute frozen in time, where we are all in that car, Abdul, Sam, his mother and uncle, three of the four mouths making perfect O's of fear and delight, as Modern Talking tells us, "Life is Life, come on stand up and fight!" The desert floats below and the sun melts into the horizon in sandy waves of orange heat.
--
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Uncles Come to RAK
Ted and Clayton just left after a 5 day visit. This weekend I will do a big individual email session to my buddies, whom I miss. I have a bunch to answer. I am sorry. Please know how much I enjoy getting news from you all. Thank you for writing me and for your patience.
My brother Ted just got a kick ass new job as the DCM, or number 2 guy at the embassy in Jakarta, Indonesia. I am excited, as is Sam, to go visit them there. But they were just here! We had a great visit. We did a lot, and I am pretty tired, so I bet the uncles are even more bushed. Sam was sorry to see them go, and Kulsum said Sam seemed so happy to have them here. There was a desert safari with dune bashing, which I will write about in detail this weekend, and a dinner party here, plus a trip into Dubai for us to go visit them at their swank hotel, and sailing, boating, pool time and book time. We loved having them here. It makes Sam so proud to have visitors.
Sam and I went to the Oman border again today on a visa run. I hope for the last time. When we returned, Sam did 8 pages of homework, and some of the best, most confident reading aloud that he has ever done. He is starting to get it, thank goodness. And he was sweet about it, which is not always the case. I worked like crazy on curriculum all day and into the evening. I thought I would have enough energy to get a dune bashing description onto my blog tonight, because it was such an amazing experience, but I am too tired to do it justice right now. Ted and I spent some time speculating who in our family would or would not agree to go dune bashing, and you'll see why when I tell you what it was like. I bet twice as many people lose their lunch dune bashing than on the Salt n' Pepper Shaker amusement ride.
More later. We are fine here. Sorry to see our guests go, but looking forward to some R and R this weekend. I keep promising photos, and Bethany has already taken them of Sam in his kandoora, so now she has only to upload them and they are on their way to you. School opening is looking more like Nov. or possibly even later, but I have full work weeks every week. Admin is definitely keeping us busy with work and deadlines. I heard Sheryl Crow on the radio when I was driving into Dubai last Thursday night and I felt a huge wave of homesickness. But overall, we are happy. Just too far away!
My brother Ted just got a kick ass new job as the DCM, or number 2 guy at the embassy in Jakarta, Indonesia. I am excited, as is Sam, to go visit them there. But they were just here! We had a great visit. We did a lot, and I am pretty tired, so I bet the uncles are even more bushed. Sam was sorry to see them go, and Kulsum said Sam seemed so happy to have them here. There was a desert safari with dune bashing, which I will write about in detail this weekend, and a dinner party here, plus a trip into Dubai for us to go visit them at their swank hotel, and sailing, boating, pool time and book time. We loved having them here. It makes Sam so proud to have visitors.
Sam and I went to the Oman border again today on a visa run. I hope for the last time. When we returned, Sam did 8 pages of homework, and some of the best, most confident reading aloud that he has ever done. He is starting to get it, thank goodness. And he was sweet about it, which is not always the case. I worked like crazy on curriculum all day and into the evening. I thought I would have enough energy to get a dune bashing description onto my blog tonight, because it was such an amazing experience, but I am too tired to do it justice right now. Ted and I spent some time speculating who in our family would or would not agree to go dune bashing, and you'll see why when I tell you what it was like. I bet twice as many people lose their lunch dune bashing than on the Salt n' Pepper Shaker amusement ride.
More later. We are fine here. Sorry to see our guests go, but looking forward to some R and R this weekend. I keep promising photos, and Bethany has already taken them of Sam in his kandoora, so now she has only to upload them and they are on their way to you. School opening is looking more like Nov. or possibly even later, but I have full work weeks every week. Admin is definitely keeping us busy with work and deadlines. I heard Sheryl Crow on the radio when I was driving into Dubai last Thursday night and I felt a huge wave of homesickness. But overall, we are happy. Just too far away!
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Changes
I have just spent the day creating an overview for my curriculum. We are going to use the Aero Standards, which are often applied to overseas schools to help teachers align curriculum from one grade to the next. It took me 6 hours of nonstop Internet research, flipping through my teacher guides, and typing and cutting and pasting. I now have a reasonable month-by-month overview of my third grade year for math, science, reading, writing and social studies. It was a huge project and I am tired! I’ve planned on starting teaching in November, and if I have to condense curriculum more than that, I have a plan of sorts for each subject as to how to mush it even more. It is seriously challenging to figure out a way to cover a year’s worth of material in one semester, if that is what ends up happening. I am more thankful every day that Sam is in a school already. Even though a transfer will cause a disruption, at least he is learning now. The other set of parents who have not enrolled their two children are getting a bit frantic, and I am so glad I just went ahead and did it! Again, thanks to my sibs.
Yesterday was a watershed, turning point kind of day. In the last week or two, I have felt so frustrated. There was no end in sight to the school’s construction, teachers were fighting and snarking at one another, I didn’t yet have my own car, Sam and I got sick, and I could not get my second paycheck to clear at my bank. Then yesterday, my check cleared, so we have money again (Sam celebrated by having both cake AND tea at the fort in one seating. He also told Kulsum in the car yesterday a.m. before the check cleared that I didn’t have enough dirhams to buy him potato chips. She called me to loan me money and I had to explain the difference between Sam’s perception of our financial situation and reality, which was dismal, until the check cleared, but not THAT desperate).
Ryer also called in the evening to tell me he had bought a ticket to India. Yippee! Ted, I will send you his itinerary when I get it. He does arrive one day earlier than me, and I remember you all will still be out of town. Yesterday I also took the reigns of control over my broken oven and my Internet problems, and I went to Carrefour and Etisilat, the store and phone company who hold the keys to my respective problems. I made progress! Also, when I visited the school yesterday, it is clear that they are beginning to wrap up the building process, so I have renewed hope that I will be in front of a classroom in the not so distant future. Last, I drove from our office in La Joya Bay, to the new school ½ hour away, to the bicycle repair shop, to the bank, and to Etisilat and Carrefour and then back to Al Hamra, where we live, all WITHOUT getting into a car wreck or hopelessly lost. For the first time, I finally felt like I had a modicum of control in my life again, after total disruption. So, I am feeling happier and better, even without Alison’s dietary suggestions of wild salmon and blueberries, though I read the article with interest, Als, and will duly note the foods that help brighten one’s mood.
I keep meaning to drag a notebook around for a single day and write down everything that happens that is a cultural disconnect. It happens all the time, every day, too frequently to mention, but I don’t want to lose it all as I make the transition from what is not normal to what feels more normal with each passing day. I suppose this transition happens to every expat. The first few days after arrival are a total blur, then certain things about one’s day start standing out as being exceptionally strange, and then, over time, one just comes to accept it. My Italian washing machine, for instance. It was a simply unbelievable mechanism in the beginning, with its random wash, spin and dry cycles, but now I just wash my clothes and hang them outside on the balcony, like I have been doing that every day of my life. And Sam’s having a cell phone…seemed so strange in the beginning, but makes perfect sense now. He is extremely careful with it, and knows how to find numbers, and change the ring tone. Ditto for trips to the supermarket, with offerings such as quail eggs nestled in next to the hen’s eggs, or the boxed milk and Indian TV dinners. It is all just starting to feel more normal.
Ted, the consummate mover, always recommended suspending judgment for the first six months in a new culture where everything feels so strange and impossible to manage. It takes time and energy to break down a life and rebuild it again, but here we are. Instead of driving through the early winter snow to school with Sam in a car seat in the back, he puts himself into his uniform, eats his breakfast, and either scooters or rides his bike. We say goodbye at the elevator everyday. If I hurry out to the balcony, I can watch him down below, wheeling away down the street to the Khan’s house, (with his long blue shorts and RAKESS golf shirt, his “Civic Sisters” black backpack full of British Curriculum materials, front zip pocket stuffed full of dirhams to purchase the pseudo Indian/Arab cuisine he’ll eat at noon), where a different family puts him into a different car and takes him daily to a British School in the northern part of an equatorial, Arab country. Wow. I can’t help but marvel at all that can change in just six short weeks.
I want to be in better touch. I seem to be able to access Internet at home, so if you have a skype address, please tell me what it is. I am leadvillelucy. Mom, you said Fred set you up. Can you get the skype address and send it to me? I can’t yet talk computer to phone, but I can talk computer to computer.
Yesterday was a watershed, turning point kind of day. In the last week or two, I have felt so frustrated. There was no end in sight to the school’s construction, teachers were fighting and snarking at one another, I didn’t yet have my own car, Sam and I got sick, and I could not get my second paycheck to clear at my bank. Then yesterday, my check cleared, so we have money again (Sam celebrated by having both cake AND tea at the fort in one seating. He also told Kulsum in the car yesterday a.m. before the check cleared that I didn’t have enough dirhams to buy him potato chips. She called me to loan me money and I had to explain the difference between Sam’s perception of our financial situation and reality, which was dismal, until the check cleared, but not THAT desperate).
Ryer also called in the evening to tell me he had bought a ticket to India. Yippee! Ted, I will send you his itinerary when I get it. He does arrive one day earlier than me, and I remember you all will still be out of town. Yesterday I also took the reigns of control over my broken oven and my Internet problems, and I went to Carrefour and Etisilat, the store and phone company who hold the keys to my respective problems. I made progress! Also, when I visited the school yesterday, it is clear that they are beginning to wrap up the building process, so I have renewed hope that I will be in front of a classroom in the not so distant future. Last, I drove from our office in La Joya Bay, to the new school ½ hour away, to the bicycle repair shop, to the bank, and to Etisilat and Carrefour and then back to Al Hamra, where we live, all WITHOUT getting into a car wreck or hopelessly lost. For the first time, I finally felt like I had a modicum of control in my life again, after total disruption. So, I am feeling happier and better, even without Alison’s dietary suggestions of wild salmon and blueberries, though I read the article with interest, Als, and will duly note the foods that help brighten one’s mood.
I keep meaning to drag a notebook around for a single day and write down everything that happens that is a cultural disconnect. It happens all the time, every day, too frequently to mention, but I don’t want to lose it all as I make the transition from what is not normal to what feels more normal with each passing day. I suppose this transition happens to every expat. The first few days after arrival are a total blur, then certain things about one’s day start standing out as being exceptionally strange, and then, over time, one just comes to accept it. My Italian washing machine, for instance. It was a simply unbelievable mechanism in the beginning, with its random wash, spin and dry cycles, but now I just wash my clothes and hang them outside on the balcony, like I have been doing that every day of my life. And Sam’s having a cell phone…seemed so strange in the beginning, but makes perfect sense now. He is extremely careful with it, and knows how to find numbers, and change the ring tone. Ditto for trips to the supermarket, with offerings such as quail eggs nestled in next to the hen’s eggs, or the boxed milk and Indian TV dinners. It is all just starting to feel more normal.
Ted, the consummate mover, always recommended suspending judgment for the first six months in a new culture where everything feels so strange and impossible to manage. It takes time and energy to break down a life and rebuild it again, but here we are. Instead of driving through the early winter snow to school with Sam in a car seat in the back, he puts himself into his uniform, eats his breakfast, and either scooters or rides his bike. We say goodbye at the elevator everyday. If I hurry out to the balcony, I can watch him down below, wheeling away down the street to the Khan’s house, (with his long blue shorts and RAKESS golf shirt, his “Civic Sisters” black backpack full of British Curriculum materials, front zip pocket stuffed full of dirhams to purchase the pseudo Indian/Arab cuisine he’ll eat at noon), where a different family puts him into a different car and takes him daily to a British School in the northern part of an equatorial, Arab country. Wow. I can’t help but marvel at all that can change in just six short weeks.
I want to be in better touch. I seem to be able to access Internet at home, so if you have a skype address, please tell me what it is. I am leadvillelucy. Mom, you said Fred set you up. Can you get the skype address and send it to me? I can’t yet talk computer to phone, but I can talk computer to computer.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Go Obama!
Thanks for the nice emails. I am actually at my house emailing this while Sam watches cartoons. This is how I envision it will be, once we get it all squared away. Sam and I hosted a dinner party last night. I invited Kulsum and her family, which made five, then Bethany, and Sam and I made a total of eight. I have a nice oblong dining room table, and we all sat around it. I was attempting to serve them an American meal, stolen from Mexico, so I set up a fajita bar, so they could help themselves to chicken, beans, rice, salsa, cheese and sour cream. I think everybody enjoyed it. Khalid commented that my flat feels very homey and comfortable, which made me happy. I still haven't figured out how to hang anything on these cement walls, but there are other ways to add personal touches. Scents are big here, so I burn lavender oil for guests, and hope the soothing smell will calm Sammy down. He is not at his best when we have guests with kids. Of course then he has to share his toys, and he does not shine at this AT ALL. He looked quite nice, however. He dressed himself in a kandora, typical arab gear, complete with the headress. I will take a photo of this, along with a pic of Sam in school gear and send it out.
We are so looking forward to Ted and Clayton's visit. I will host another dinner party next week when they are here. I have invited my principal and his wife, who I think the uncles will very much like, and I am trying to invite a Tunisian husband and wife, as well as Khalid (Kulsum won't consider a sitter), and Bethany. I think the uncles will enjoy the view of the resort from our balcony. Now, if the lasagna turns out, then everybody will forgive the brightly colored plastic plates.
Still no news on the opening of the school. In any case, thanks to my siblings, Sam is paid through this semester, and we will be open by next, surely, if not before. I am not sorry we are here. I know it is a hard time to be in the U.S. I have not registered to vote, but I am going to try to do it online after I send this email. I like having Sam see another way of living, though it made me more than a little nervous when Sam suggested I might want to start wearing an abaya and head scarf. He may take this all too far, our Sam! I guess what has been hard is how long it takes to get things done, and how little power I have over the process.
We continue to work, and now that Ramadan is over, our work days will of regular length. Sam and I did not go to Oman as hoped. Sam brought a cold home on his last day at school before break, and then promptly gave it to me, so we've been ailing. Still, it has been nice and tomorrow, our last day of break, we are to go on a desert safari, which will be fun.
About the heart stuff. Thanks to everybody for help and input. My last day of school is June 11th, I believe. I would much rather have the minimally invasive surgery with the repair. I don't want the pig valve. Besides having to take medicine for the rest of my life, Als pointed out that I couldn't eat pork anymore because I would be eating my brothers and sisters. Not to mention that Sam's favorite food in the world is bacon, which I am always having to sneak around and buy for him here. How could I watch all that meat snapping and sizzling in the pan, knowing that it was my own flesh and blood that I was cooking? Just kidding, but the repair sounds better all around. Anyway, there is nothing more boring than someone else's health problems, and I am boring the crap out of myself just thinking about it here. So, I will sign off. I am going to take Sam to the pool later, but in the meantime, it is my duty to sign up to vote! Go Obama!
Miss you guys.
Love,
Lucy
We are so looking forward to Ted and Clayton's visit. I will host another dinner party next week when they are here. I have invited my principal and his wife, who I think the uncles will very much like, and I am trying to invite a Tunisian husband and wife, as well as Khalid (Kulsum won't consider a sitter), and Bethany. I think the uncles will enjoy the view of the resort from our balcony. Now, if the lasagna turns out, then everybody will forgive the brightly colored plastic plates.
Still no news on the opening of the school. In any case, thanks to my siblings, Sam is paid through this semester, and we will be open by next, surely, if not before. I am not sorry we are here. I know it is a hard time to be in the U.S. I have not registered to vote, but I am going to try to do it online after I send this email. I like having Sam see another way of living, though it made me more than a little nervous when Sam suggested I might want to start wearing an abaya and head scarf. He may take this all too far, our Sam! I guess what has been hard is how long it takes to get things done, and how little power I have over the process.
We continue to work, and now that Ramadan is over, our work days will of regular length. Sam and I did not go to Oman as hoped. Sam brought a cold home on his last day at school before break, and then promptly gave it to me, so we've been ailing. Still, it has been nice and tomorrow, our last day of break, we are to go on a desert safari, which will be fun.
About the heart stuff. Thanks to everybody for help and input. My last day of school is June 11th, I believe. I would much rather have the minimally invasive surgery with the repair. I don't want the pig valve. Besides having to take medicine for the rest of my life, Als pointed out that I couldn't eat pork anymore because I would be eating my brothers and sisters. Not to mention that Sam's favorite food in the world is bacon, which I am always having to sneak around and buy for him here. How could I watch all that meat snapping and sizzling in the pan, knowing that it was my own flesh and blood that I was cooking? Just kidding, but the repair sounds better all around. Anyway, there is nothing more boring than someone else's health problems, and I am boring the crap out of myself just thinking about it here. So, I will sign off. I am going to take Sam to the pool later, but in the meantime, it is my duty to sign up to vote! Go Obama!
Miss you guys.
Love,
Lucy
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Eid Holidays
Hi Guys:
Sam and I are reporting in from RAK. We are on week 6, with no school opening in sight, as of yet. Ramadan will be over next Wednesday, and boy, am I ready. First, it is not so safe to drive now from about 5 to 6:30 in the evening, as everyone is rushing home for Iftar, the breaking of the fast. Second, it is very, very hard to get things done this month. I continue to not have internet because the people at Etisalat, the phone company here, all go home by 1 p.m. each day, so there is some kind of huge backlog of people waiting. I am one of many. My friend Tara asked me in an email if I am becoming less American in my approach to this experience. In this one way I am. I will get internet at home when I get it, and not before, so I have stopped stressing out about it. I just go up to the hotel, or over to a friend's, and use internet when I have the opportunity.
Yesterday everyone in my group went on a desert safari for Iftar. We woke up that morning and Sam had a bad cold, so I bowed out. I felt bad when everyone came back and said what fun they'd had, but sometimes you just have to miss stuff. Sam feels better today. We are on Eid holiday, which signifies the end of Ramadan. Sam is out of school for a week and two weekends. I am not expected to go into the office. It is sort of like a fall break. I am trying to save money, so we didn't plan any exotic holiday. Bethany and Sam and I are going to go up to Oman for two nights and two days to visit Musandam, which is the town at the northern tip of this peninsula on which we live.
Sam is relieved to have a few days off. He has a truly daunting package of homework for the holidays. There are twelve sheets, many having to do with writing in cursive, or double-digit addition, or multiplication. Right now they are working on the three times tables. It is weird. It is like I am tutoring him at home because he skipped a grade. That is what it feels like. The work is WAY, way harder. I want to get to the bottom of this. Is this because the British Curriculum is that much harder than ours, or is this the result of Sam going to a private school, where expat and local kids are challenged more because they come from monied parents who push their kids harder and expect more? In any case, I try to help Sam understand complicated addition and multiplication by setting up long lines of uncooked spaghetti shells. Bethany has tutored him in her flat as well, but she indulged him more, and allowed him to "flick" the noodles after he counted them, which was extremely satisfying to Sam. When Sam has finished three pages of homework, the most he can possibly hack in one day, I give him money for cake, and off he goes to the fort.
The tragic news is Sam's dear friend Mohammed, manager of the Al Hamra taxis, was relieved of his post. Since he was the one who had declared that Sam was assistant manager, we both fear that Sam has also lost his job. Sam declares that the new manager is not as nice, and that "the company is no longer kid-friendly," his exact words. So, instead of regally riding around in the resort taxis, Sam is once again going to be dependent upon his bike.
My friend Bethany is patienlty waiting for me to finish so we can start calling Oman hotels. I wish I weren't in such a news vacuum, but I did hear that Obama was 8 points ahead in the polls, so that gives me hope. Sam and I miss you guys. Brother Ted and Uncle Clayton will be visiting for three days in early October, and Ryer is planning to come to India over the Chrtistmas break. My cousin Lizzie will be here in early December. Visitors are welcome! We miss our family, friends, cats and Colorado, in that order. It is REALLY dry and sandy here, but I knew that... Sam really likes it, though he may change his mind once he experiences the full reality of his demotion.
Hugs to all,
Lucy and Sam
Sam and I are reporting in from RAK. We are on week 6, with no school opening in sight, as of yet. Ramadan will be over next Wednesday, and boy, am I ready. First, it is not so safe to drive now from about 5 to 6:30 in the evening, as everyone is rushing home for Iftar, the breaking of the fast. Second, it is very, very hard to get things done this month. I continue to not have internet because the people at Etisalat, the phone company here, all go home by 1 p.m. each day, so there is some kind of huge backlog of people waiting. I am one of many. My friend Tara asked me in an email if I am becoming less American in my approach to this experience. In this one way I am. I will get internet at home when I get it, and not before, so I have stopped stressing out about it. I just go up to the hotel, or over to a friend's, and use internet when I have the opportunity.
Yesterday everyone in my group went on a desert safari for Iftar. We woke up that morning and Sam had a bad cold, so I bowed out. I felt bad when everyone came back and said what fun they'd had, but sometimes you just have to miss stuff. Sam feels better today. We are on Eid holiday, which signifies the end of Ramadan. Sam is out of school for a week and two weekends. I am not expected to go into the office. It is sort of like a fall break. I am trying to save money, so we didn't plan any exotic holiday. Bethany and Sam and I are going to go up to Oman for two nights and two days to visit Musandam, which is the town at the northern tip of this peninsula on which we live.
Sam is relieved to have a few days off. He has a truly daunting package of homework for the holidays. There are twelve sheets, many having to do with writing in cursive, or double-digit addition, or multiplication. Right now they are working on the three times tables. It is weird. It is like I am tutoring him at home because he skipped a grade. That is what it feels like. The work is WAY, way harder. I want to get to the bottom of this. Is this because the British Curriculum is that much harder than ours, or is this the result of Sam going to a private school, where expat and local kids are challenged more because they come from monied parents who push their kids harder and expect more? In any case, I try to help Sam understand complicated addition and multiplication by setting up long lines of uncooked spaghetti shells. Bethany has tutored him in her flat as well, but she indulged him more, and allowed him to "flick" the noodles after he counted them, which was extremely satisfying to Sam. When Sam has finished three pages of homework, the most he can possibly hack in one day, I give him money for cake, and off he goes to the fort.
The tragic news is Sam's dear friend Mohammed, manager of the Al Hamra taxis, was relieved of his post. Since he was the one who had declared that Sam was assistant manager, we both fear that Sam has also lost his job. Sam declares that the new manager is not as nice, and that "the company is no longer kid-friendly," his exact words. So, instead of regally riding around in the resort taxis, Sam is once again going to be dependent upon his bike.
My friend Bethany is patienlty waiting for me to finish so we can start calling Oman hotels. I wish I weren't in such a news vacuum, but I did hear that Obama was 8 points ahead in the polls, so that gives me hope. Sam and I miss you guys. Brother Ted and Uncle Clayton will be visiting for three days in early October, and Ryer is planning to come to India over the Chrtistmas break. My cousin Lizzie will be here in early December. Visitors are welcome! We miss our family, friends, cats and Colorado, in that order. It is REALLY dry and sandy here, but I knew that... Sam really likes it, though he may change his mind once he experiences the full reality of his demotion.
Hugs to all,
Lucy and Sam
Friday, September 19, 2008
Sam Rocks RAKESS
Sam is really enjoying his school, Ras Al Khaimah English Speaking School (RAKESS). He missed the first two weeks, but not too much content. Today, when I watched him scooter to the elevator in his long, powder blue shorts and white collar shirt and new black backpack, I thought he looked so grown up. He scooters two blocks in the morning to Kulsum's house. They drive him to school and back in that fancy BMW SUV. The kids watch movies in the car on the way to school. She picks him up at the end of the day too. I feel very lucky. I have given her that big, beautiful tablecloth (Ted and Clayton, I will get you something else and better for Christmas) to thank her, and as an early Eid present. Really, Sam would not be in school if it weren't for her.
He came home with a homework packet that is due in a week. He was proud of the fact that he has homework. He is also very proud of his fancy black school shoes, and he has borrowed shoe polish from the cleaners at the fort, and he polishes his shoes each night before school. Since we have our membership cards (which allow for multiple pool and gym use and big discounts on site), I decided to have a little birthday party up at the fort. Tomorrow we will convene at one of the pools for a swim, and people can order cocktails and appetizers if they want, then Bethany is serving a cake for me at 6 p.m. That sounds like more of a party than I would even want at the blaah age of 44, but it was fun to send out a group text invite. I don't think mobiles have that capacity in the U.S.
As for work, I told you I have been in charge of editing the norms, and I hope I will have a lot of input in creating the mission statement. I have put together a skeleton framework of a curriculum for my third grade kids, and I have a bunch of classroom management tools on my computer from the previous job. One of the big education gurus of classroom management is Harry Wong, and I have been to a lot of his trainings and have read his book. So, it was kind of nice to be ahead on one item here, as we're adopting his philosophies at RAK American School. One area of obvious challenge for me is technology. I am determined to get better this year at the phones/computers/i pods/cameras, promethian board for classrooms, etc.
There will be more chrons. on Sam's foray into the British curriculum, which is referred to as the National Curriculum. Not nearly as touchy-feely as American Schools. I had left my phone number for Sam's teacher, but she never called me. That would NEVER happen in the states. If a parent left me a message to call, it became top priority, but their system is different. Anyway, I am pleased overall, even if I do feel out of Sam's educational loop because I am used to being right there. He should be transferring to my school before Christmas break.
He came home with a homework packet that is due in a week. He was proud of the fact that he has homework. He is also very proud of his fancy black school shoes, and he has borrowed shoe polish from the cleaners at the fort, and he polishes his shoes each night before school. Since we have our membership cards (which allow for multiple pool and gym use and big discounts on site), I decided to have a little birthday party up at the fort. Tomorrow we will convene at one of the pools for a swim, and people can order cocktails and appetizers if they want, then Bethany is serving a cake for me at 6 p.m. That sounds like more of a party than I would even want at the blaah age of 44, but it was fun to send out a group text invite. I don't think mobiles have that capacity in the U.S.
As for work, I told you I have been in charge of editing the norms, and I hope I will have a lot of input in creating the mission statement. I have put together a skeleton framework of a curriculum for my third grade kids, and I have a bunch of classroom management tools on my computer from the previous job. One of the big education gurus of classroom management is Harry Wong, and I have been to a lot of his trainings and have read his book. So, it was kind of nice to be ahead on one item here, as we're adopting his philosophies at RAK American School. One area of obvious challenge for me is technology. I am determined to get better this year at the phones/computers/i pods/cameras, promethian board for classrooms, etc.
There will be more chrons. on Sam's foray into the British curriculum, which is referred to as the National Curriculum. Not nearly as touchy-feely as American Schools. I had left my phone number for Sam's teacher, but she never called me. That would NEVER happen in the states. If a parent left me a message to call, it became top priority, but their system is different. Anyway, I am pleased overall, even if I do feel out of Sam's educational loop because I am used to being right there. He should be transferring to my school before Christmas break.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
One Month Overseas now...!
I am emailing back my regular emailers. I truly cannot stand not to have email at home, but Sam loves any excuse to come to the fort/hotel, so here we are again. Sam and I went to Oman today, with our friends Neena and Bethany. Bethany is the one I rent the car with, but by October 4, I will be renting my own. It was a very dry, dusty drive to the border, 45 minutes or so. We marvelled at the goats walking around in no man's land between the two countries. One poor befuddled goat with only one, long, curving horn, jumped up against the side of our car while we waited for the Oman border patrol to process our papers.
Basically, both countries collected a fee, we drove onto Oman tarmac, made a u turn, and came back through the UAE border. It was blistering hot, and Sam kept asking ,"Why are we getting out of the car again?" in a whining way. Three stops, two fees, and a wasted day, but as today was the day our visas would run out, I feel good about my fresh stamp. With a little luck, I will have been processed as a resident by next month. If not, I know the drill!
Things have quieted down a bit. I spent the weekend helping the departing teacher to pack her belongings. Her spirits were good, and I think she will find another job. She has a ton of experience, and apparently this short stint here goes unrecorded. While I was typing this a phone text came in. My babysitter just got a permanent job, which means she will not be working for me any more. I have plans to visit this new British school tomorrow. Please keep your fingers crossed that they will find a spot for Sammy. If he could start on Tuesday, I would be thrilled. I want him in school, and I don't want to have to miss any work to solve the babysitting issue. Well, I will keep this one short.
I am forgetting stuff, but Sam just arrived in the business office with an alarmingly large bag of candy, and I must investigate the where and the why of this. He is also extremely excited because a guest just arrived at the hotel in a helicopter surrounded by a cadre of security guards, "with real pistols!" said Sam.
Basically, both countries collected a fee, we drove onto Oman tarmac, made a u turn, and came back through the UAE border. It was blistering hot, and Sam kept asking ,"Why are we getting out of the car again?" in a whining way. Three stops, two fees, and a wasted day, but as today was the day our visas would run out, I feel good about my fresh stamp. With a little luck, I will have been processed as a resident by next month. If not, I know the drill!
Things have quieted down a bit. I spent the weekend helping the departing teacher to pack her belongings. Her spirits were good, and I think she will find another job. She has a ton of experience, and apparently this short stint here goes unrecorded. While I was typing this a phone text came in. My babysitter just got a permanent job, which means she will not be working for me any more. I have plans to visit this new British school tomorrow. Please keep your fingers crossed that they will find a spot for Sammy. If he could start on Tuesday, I would be thrilled. I want him in school, and I don't want to have to miss any work to solve the babysitting issue. Well, I will keep this one short.
I am forgetting stuff, but Sam just arrived in the business office with an alarmingly large bag of candy, and I must investigate the where and the why of this. He is also extremely excited because a guest just arrived at the hotel in a helicopter surrounded by a cadre of security guards, "with real pistols!" said Sam.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Week Three
Hi everybody: I can get on the internet with my computer every day at work for a few minutes, but I type pretty slowly, and I have been spending my time corresponding with the CEO's secretary, as I decide whether or not to rent or buy a car, and whether I want a new or used car, cost of insurance, etc. Every time I think I have made a decision, we get one more piece of information. I'll let you know what happens.
Right now I have a signal at my house, but Sam is bugging me every minute, so I am having a hard time finding a time to email. If I continue to be able to pirate off someone else's signal at night, I will be able to do a better job of staying in touch. We are supposed to have our own email at home by the end of the week, but I find in general, things take longer, so I will let you know when I am up and running online on a daily basis. Today is the first day of Ramadan. Our work hours will be shortened throughout the month of September. We still don't have a date set for when the school will open, but my guess is mid-October. Sam will miss a bit of second grade, but I figure what he is gaining in multicultural experiences will make up for the loss. And we read every night before bed, of course.
Right now at work we are working on setting up a curriculum, a mission statement, norms for the staff, and we are giving each other professional development workshops. I will do a mini presentation on reading strategies and how to run a book fair. We get daily classes in survival Arabic. I have a terrible ear and memory for this language! I hope it will improve. Of course everyone we are dealing with speaks English, but I still want to try. Sam will have rudimentary Arabic as well. He seems to have no ear either, unfortunately.
As we predicted, Sam has many, many friends here. There is the doting school staff of women, and all the workers here at the resort. Sam has the director of transportation at Al Hamra's phone number programmed into his phone, in case he is ever in a bind and needs a ride in the resort in one of the staff taxis. He has befriended all of the security guards at the check-in point for the resort and goes down there (it is right next to my apt. building, and I can see him from the balcony) and drinks coffee with them and talks about various things. He also has friends at the fort, where the luxurious rooms are, and he's toured the fanciest suites with the cleaning staff. The cake eating in the front lobby is slowing down, thank goodness, as funding this hobby is not cheap. He has a new bike, and his old scooter. He has been hired by some of the school staff to take heir trash out for a dirham a pop (25 cents), so he's making some money. He also bought a sqeegee and is offering to do windows and "organize" people's belongings, but no takers on these services as of yet.
It is still quite hot, but not unbearable. We do laps at 6 p.m each night, and I add two each time, so I am up to 30. I have had two get-togethers on my balcony, which is the only one to face the golf course (right below), lagoon (across the street), and the sea (1 mile away).
I am enjoying the other hires. There are various alliances forming, but I remain unencumbered, as a single parent. The vice principal, Donna, has married an Emirati (unusual) and we are becoming friends. She and her husband have a 2 year old boy, much treasured, and I have gone over to their house to help them unpack and to eat supper. Sam's teacher Rachel is a lively Canadian, and we do laps together. There is an American librarian who I go to for professional expertise. I especially like a 28 year old woman who has taught overseas in two posts and grew up in Lebanon. She is from Georgia, originally, but doesn't seem American. She is fluent in Arabic, and sweet and gentle, also kind to Sam, which is always a plus. I get more phone calls and texts here than I care to answer, so my social life has speeded up considerably since my lazy summer days in Paonia, when the only game in town was a trip across the railroad tracks to visit Mary. And a good game that was! But this is nice too.
I am cooking more as well. The way that food is presented in supermarkets here is more conducive to cooking. Lots of spices and tempting fruits and vegetables, plus I have a tiny freezer, so processed foods won't fit. Sam likes his Filipino babysitter, Arlen. They enjoy ironing together, and watching cartoons. Sometimes they go to the pool. Sometimes they walk up to the fort. She has a phone, and so does he, so even though I am in meetings several miles away, I can get a hold of him quickly. He called me the other day, while I was in a more formal meeting, I might add, to tell me he had located the secret pork room at the back of Spinney's supermarket near our house. He was excited to find that they had his beloved bacon. I noted the sign when I saw it, PORK ROOM NON MUSLIMS ONLY. There is everything pork in there, including Cambell's pork and beans. It is kind of a trip. So is the secret door next to Spinneys, innocuously labelled SP Beverages, with an array of alcoholic beverages, if you can brave the nondescript storefront.
Sam is pretty desperate for me to stop this nonsense typing. He's a guy of action, and I am a part of the plan, apparently. We miss you guys. It is so different here, that it is hard to make the connection home. But I miss the mountains, and friends, and family. It is such an abrupt stop between the old way of life and the new. A plane ride away... Now I think I understand a little better how Meg and Ted might feel. We are happy and comfortable, and well taken care of (a cleaning lady comes in two days a week, and Sam's babysitter irons everything, from our clothes, to fitted sheets and Sam's ties!). We are happy, but still exprerience some culture shock, for sure. I hear it is worse returning home, after a year overseas. I am making a little mental list of things I like better here, like the tupperware! I know that sounds kind of stupid, but it seals shut in such a practical way, with little locks on all four sides. We should have this invention back at home!
Right now I have a signal at my house, but Sam is bugging me every minute, so I am having a hard time finding a time to email. If I continue to be able to pirate off someone else's signal at night, I will be able to do a better job of staying in touch. We are supposed to have our own email at home by the end of the week, but I find in general, things take longer, so I will let you know when I am up and running online on a daily basis. Today is the first day of Ramadan. Our work hours will be shortened throughout the month of September. We still don't have a date set for when the school will open, but my guess is mid-October. Sam will miss a bit of second grade, but I figure what he is gaining in multicultural experiences will make up for the loss. And we read every night before bed, of course.
Right now at work we are working on setting up a curriculum, a mission statement, norms for the staff, and we are giving each other professional development workshops. I will do a mini presentation on reading strategies and how to run a book fair. We get daily classes in survival Arabic. I have a terrible ear and memory for this language! I hope it will improve. Of course everyone we are dealing with speaks English, but I still want to try. Sam will have rudimentary Arabic as well. He seems to have no ear either, unfortunately.
As we predicted, Sam has many, many friends here. There is the doting school staff of women, and all the workers here at the resort. Sam has the director of transportation at Al Hamra's phone number programmed into his phone, in case he is ever in a bind and needs a ride in the resort in one of the staff taxis. He has befriended all of the security guards at the check-in point for the resort and goes down there (it is right next to my apt. building, and I can see him from the balcony) and drinks coffee with them and talks about various things. He also has friends at the fort, where the luxurious rooms are, and he's toured the fanciest suites with the cleaning staff. The cake eating in the front lobby is slowing down, thank goodness, as funding this hobby is not cheap. He has a new bike, and his old scooter. He has been hired by some of the school staff to take heir trash out for a dirham a pop (25 cents), so he's making some money. He also bought a sqeegee and is offering to do windows and "organize" people's belongings, but no takers on these services as of yet.
It is still quite hot, but not unbearable. We do laps at 6 p.m each night, and I add two each time, so I am up to 30. I have had two get-togethers on my balcony, which is the only one to face the golf course (right below), lagoon (across the street), and the sea (1 mile away).
I am enjoying the other hires. There are various alliances forming, but I remain unencumbered, as a single parent. The vice principal, Donna, has married an Emirati (unusual) and we are becoming friends. She and her husband have a 2 year old boy, much treasured, and I have gone over to their house to help them unpack and to eat supper. Sam's teacher Rachel is a lively Canadian, and we do laps together. There is an American librarian who I go to for professional expertise. I especially like a 28 year old woman who has taught overseas in two posts and grew up in Lebanon. She is from Georgia, originally, but doesn't seem American. She is fluent in Arabic, and sweet and gentle, also kind to Sam, which is always a plus. I get more phone calls and texts here than I care to answer, so my social life has speeded up considerably since my lazy summer days in Paonia, when the only game in town was a trip across the railroad tracks to visit Mary. And a good game that was! But this is nice too.
I am cooking more as well. The way that food is presented in supermarkets here is more conducive to cooking. Lots of spices and tempting fruits and vegetables, plus I have a tiny freezer, so processed foods won't fit. Sam likes his Filipino babysitter, Arlen. They enjoy ironing together, and watching cartoons. Sometimes they go to the pool. Sometimes they walk up to the fort. She has a phone, and so does he, so even though I am in meetings several miles away, I can get a hold of him quickly. He called me the other day, while I was in a more formal meeting, I might add, to tell me he had located the secret pork room at the back of Spinney's supermarket near our house. He was excited to find that they had his beloved bacon. I noted the sign when I saw it, PORK ROOM NON MUSLIMS ONLY. There is everything pork in there, including Cambell's pork and beans. It is kind of a trip. So is the secret door next to Spinneys, innocuously labelled SP Beverages, with an array of alcoholic beverages, if you can brave the nondescript storefront.
Sam is pretty desperate for me to stop this nonsense typing. He's a guy of action, and I am a part of the plan, apparently. We miss you guys. It is so different here, that it is hard to make the connection home. But I miss the mountains, and friends, and family. It is such an abrupt stop between the old way of life and the new. A plane ride away... Now I think I understand a little better how Meg and Ted might feel. We are happy and comfortable, and well taken care of (a cleaning lady comes in two days a week, and Sam's babysitter irons everything, from our clothes, to fitted sheets and Sam's ties!). We are happy, but still exprerience some culture shock, for sure. I hear it is worse returning home, after a year overseas. I am making a little mental list of things I like better here, like the tupperware! I know that sounds kind of stupid, but it seals shut in such a practical way, with little locks on all four sides. We should have this invention back at home!
Saturday, August 23, 2008
First Impressions of RAK
We are still really jet lagged, but I wanted to check in and say that we really miss everybody! It is a strange feeling to be so far away for such a long period of time. I told Meg in an email that I am a little homesick, but I guess that is normal. I am so glad I have Sam with me! I could not do this alone.
Okay, here is the scoop. First of all, everything we are experiencing is first class. The resort is beautiful, right on the water, and the apartment is lovely, with a big balcony and marble counters. My apartment is the envy of the single people living on the resort. Families have opted to live in RAK where the accomodations are roomier. But Sam and I have the only 1 bedroom, so our place is 3 times bigger than anyone else's. So last night Sam and I hosted the first get-together on our balcony. We served drinks and nuts and cheese and crackers, and 6 teachers came. Two (female) teachers ended up spending the night. One had a broken toilet, and the other one has a front door that won't lock (corrected today). Because we are the first occupants in these apartments, and they've only just been built, there are some kinks to fix. I gave Sam a bath a couple of days ago but couldn't get the plug out, so we had a bathtub full of water for a day and a half. Things like that...
The school will also be brand new, and they are behind on construction. There are very few children enrolled yet (two!) because of the delays. We are all assured our jobs, but it is not like coming to a school that has been established for years. Everything is for the first time, so I bet we will be open by the first week of September, and I will have several children. In the meantime, the owner of the company is buying us all phones and sim cards, and 32 inch plasma televisions. It is a bit like being on vacation in a very hot place in the middle of nowhere, with the most luxurious accomodations. We meet every day at the resort "fort" and have a big lunch, then swim in the pool! Work will start tomorrow, and there are so many things to become familiar with: technology, culture, community.
I like the other teachers, and Sam is one of the few kids, so he is receiving a ton of attention from all the female teachers. He likes how "fancy" everything is. He is mostly being a good boy. I am so, so glad to have him here with me. It is grounding. I can't think what else to tell for the moment. I will know more after work starts. I also think it will be helpful to go to Dubai a few times, as we are scheduled to do, because this place is beautiful, but totally in the sticks. There is a ton of construction, and Pakistani workers everywhere, but a lot of the places are uninhabited. It is sort of like this town is poised, waiting, ready for a big boom that hasn't quite started yet, but is coming. I will not have regular computer access for a month, at least. I will check email when I can, but for some reason, this computer internet piece of the puzzle takes longer to put in place. I don't know why, but I will write when I can.
Okay, here is the scoop. First of all, everything we are experiencing is first class. The resort is beautiful, right on the water, and the apartment is lovely, with a big balcony and marble counters. My apartment is the envy of the single people living on the resort. Families have opted to live in RAK where the accomodations are roomier. But Sam and I have the only 1 bedroom, so our place is 3 times bigger than anyone else's. So last night Sam and I hosted the first get-together on our balcony. We served drinks and nuts and cheese and crackers, and 6 teachers came. Two (female) teachers ended up spending the night. One had a broken toilet, and the other one has a front door that won't lock (corrected today). Because we are the first occupants in these apartments, and they've only just been built, there are some kinks to fix. I gave Sam a bath a couple of days ago but couldn't get the plug out, so we had a bathtub full of water for a day and a half. Things like that...
The school will also be brand new, and they are behind on construction. There are very few children enrolled yet (two!) because of the delays. We are all assured our jobs, but it is not like coming to a school that has been established for years. Everything is for the first time, so I bet we will be open by the first week of September, and I will have several children. In the meantime, the owner of the company is buying us all phones and sim cards, and 32 inch plasma televisions. It is a bit like being on vacation in a very hot place in the middle of nowhere, with the most luxurious accomodations. We meet every day at the resort "fort" and have a big lunch, then swim in the pool! Work will start tomorrow, and there are so many things to become familiar with: technology, culture, community.
I like the other teachers, and Sam is one of the few kids, so he is receiving a ton of attention from all the female teachers. He likes how "fancy" everything is. He is mostly being a good boy. I am so, so glad to have him here with me. It is grounding. I can't think what else to tell for the moment. I will know more after work starts. I also think it will be helpful to go to Dubai a few times, as we are scheduled to do, because this place is beautiful, but totally in the sticks. There is a ton of construction, and Pakistani workers everywhere, but a lot of the places are uninhabited. It is sort of like this town is poised, waiting, ready for a big boom that hasn't quite started yet, but is coming. I will not have regular computer access for a month, at least. I will check email when I can, but for some reason, this computer internet piece of the puzzle takes longer to put in place. I don't know why, but I will write when I can.
More on RAK
Hi everybody:
I have a phone now. Sam is also extremely proud to have his own cell phone. He wears it in a holster on his shorts. I would like to tell you my address, but I still have no clue. All will come in time! At the moment, our only mode of transportation is taxi, walking, and Sam's scooter, but this too, will be fixed. I will get a car here for sure. I should have internet at home in the next week, and that will make communicating so much easier. I would like to write on my blog about my Italian washer/dryer. It is all one machine, and it is brand new, and highly dysfunctional. It hums and whirrs for four hours per load, clicking, gently swishing, blowing, and then spitting out wet, warm, still soiled clothes, but I will have to wait until I have regular internet access to fully describe it in all its inneffectual glory.
We have made two trips into Dubai. The first visit was to a cultural center for cultural sensitivity training. The second visit was to the Mall of the Emirates, where Ski Dubai resides, sitting ensconced grandly in its enormous metal casing. Sam and I skied for two hours. We were provided with outter garments, boots, skis and poles and a ticket. There is one lift and one poma, and three little ski school moving ramps. There is also a tiny ski chalet mid-slope, where Sam insisted we stop to get hot chocolate. It was a completely surreal experience, with the ceiling painted a calming blue, chilly air, real snow, fake trees and boulders, and diners and shoppers outside the glass windows peering in to see the skiers in our winter wonderland fishbowl.
Sam is pacing around the fort, having already had his chocolate cake and tea, and he is ready for a swim. Tomorrow, it is back to work, for the workweek is Sunday through Thursday. It looks as if the school will open the last week of September, or possibly a week later than that. I have yet to see the school, because it is still under construction, but it is supposed to be a real showpiece, the first international school in this emirate.
In the meantime, we visit with new friends in our apartment buildings, or go to the pool, which is just a block away. Grocery shopping at Spinneys provides real entertainment, with its international clientele and foreign brands. Sam watches our huge TV, with its Showtime channels, and cartoons in arabic (he doesn't seem to notice or particularly care). We are having fun. Sam is remarkably unsentimental about our old life, old pets, old town, old state. Maybe homesickness comes later for him, or not at all, depending on how regularly he gets fancy cake at the hotel, I suspect.
I hope all is well, and thanks for keeping the news from home coming my way. It is grounding!
Love,
Lucy and Sam
I have a phone now. Sam is also extremely proud to have his own cell phone. He wears it in a holster on his shorts. I would like to tell you my address, but I still have no clue. All will come in time! At the moment, our only mode of transportation is taxi, walking, and Sam's scooter, but this too, will be fixed. I will get a car here for sure. I should have internet at home in the next week, and that will make communicating so much easier. I would like to write on my blog about my Italian washer/dryer. It is all one machine, and it is brand new, and highly dysfunctional. It hums and whirrs for four hours per load, clicking, gently swishing, blowing, and then spitting out wet, warm, still soiled clothes, but I will have to wait until I have regular internet access to fully describe it in all its inneffectual glory.
We have made two trips into Dubai. The first visit was to a cultural center for cultural sensitivity training. The second visit was to the Mall of the Emirates, where Ski Dubai resides, sitting ensconced grandly in its enormous metal casing. Sam and I skied for two hours. We were provided with outter garments, boots, skis and poles and a ticket. There is one lift and one poma, and three little ski school moving ramps. There is also a tiny ski chalet mid-slope, where Sam insisted we stop to get hot chocolate. It was a completely surreal experience, with the ceiling painted a calming blue, chilly air, real snow, fake trees and boulders, and diners and shoppers outside the glass windows peering in to see the skiers in our winter wonderland fishbowl.
Sam is pacing around the fort, having already had his chocolate cake and tea, and he is ready for a swim. Tomorrow, it is back to work, for the workweek is Sunday through Thursday. It looks as if the school will open the last week of September, or possibly a week later than that. I have yet to see the school, because it is still under construction, but it is supposed to be a real showpiece, the first international school in this emirate.
In the meantime, we visit with new friends in our apartment buildings, or go to the pool, which is just a block away. Grocery shopping at Spinneys provides real entertainment, with its international clientele and foreign brands. Sam watches our huge TV, with its Showtime channels, and cartoons in arabic (he doesn't seem to notice or particularly care). We are having fun. Sam is remarkably unsentimental about our old life, old pets, old town, old state. Maybe homesickness comes later for him, or not at all, depending on how regularly he gets fancy cake at the hotel, I suspect.
I hope all is well, and thanks for keeping the news from home coming my way. It is grounding!
Love,
Lucy and Sam
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Wrapping It Up In The U.S.
Sam is upstairs sleeping, and I've just finished some last minute packing. The past few days were a bit of a ride. Sam and I had to move out of Ryer's house for three days (Thurs., Fri. and Sat.) during the Leadville 100 bike race. We've had the last two nights back here, which was lucky, because I needed to get suitcases, paperwork, and cats ready for our departure. The cats now have enormous self-feeding water and food dishes, so Ryer doesn't have to hassle with them as much.
We spent the first rainy night away (it rained all three days, continuously, and it is freezing up here at 10,000 feet) on my lot of land down in Twin Lakes. I blew up two kid's rafts to keep me off the tent floor, which was wet. I spent a restless night, with both rafts twisting and skidding out from under me. In the morning, Sam declared in no uncertain terms that he would NOT spend another night in the tent, I could do what I wanted, etc., etc. So, the second night we slept in Leadville on our friend Brian's couch.
The third night I rented a small cabin in Twin Lakes, and my friend Sheryl and her two boys came from Durango to stay with us and say goodbye. We got up in the morning and hiked into the old ghost town/turn-of-the-century resort called Interlaken on the Colorado Trail. The USFS is restoring these buildings, and the boys loved touring the site and speculating about ghosts.
Back to the 100 race. Sam and I were like storm chasers on Saturday, racing around the race course in the Suzuki with my friends Emily and Brett leading the way in their van. We saw Lance Armstrong four different times out on the course, where he was duking it out with Dave Wiens, the five time winner of the 100. It was amazing to be on the side of the course, peering right into Lance's sweating face from four feet away. Dave Wiens won a sixth time, beating Lance by about three minutes. At the last aid station, Lance Armstong's crew member reached out to hand him his water and food and promptly fell down, scattering Lance's supplies all over the ground. Dave Wiens waited on his bike until they'd picked it all up. That was an amazing display of good sportsmanship to witness.
Last night Ryer, Sam and I had dinner (a last bite of pork!) at Sally Lien and Jeff Dick's house. Sam played with their two year old, Hector. Ted, Sally was the one who got all the way through the foreign service process, test, oral, background check, only to be rejected because they'd honeymooned in Cuba. It was a nice way to spend a final evening (for a while) in the U.S.
We leave for my doctor's appointment in about an hour. I am getting an echocardiogram in Vail, on the day of departure, due to the just noted presence of a class 3 heart murmur. The cardiologist thought it would be good for me to go overseas knowing just what is causing it and whether or not it is reason for worry.
Well, we'll say goodbye for now, and promise to post from RAK, as soon as we are settled in and I can get online.
We spent the first rainy night away (it rained all three days, continuously, and it is freezing up here at 10,000 feet) on my lot of land down in Twin Lakes. I blew up two kid's rafts to keep me off the tent floor, which was wet. I spent a restless night, with both rafts twisting and skidding out from under me. In the morning, Sam declared in no uncertain terms that he would NOT spend another night in the tent, I could do what I wanted, etc., etc. So, the second night we slept in Leadville on our friend Brian's couch.
The third night I rented a small cabin in Twin Lakes, and my friend Sheryl and her two boys came from Durango to stay with us and say goodbye. We got up in the morning and hiked into the old ghost town/turn-of-the-century resort called Interlaken on the Colorado Trail. The USFS is restoring these buildings, and the boys loved touring the site and speculating about ghosts.
Back to the 100 race. Sam and I were like storm chasers on Saturday, racing around the race course in the Suzuki with my friends Emily and Brett leading the way in their van. We saw Lance Armstrong four different times out on the course, where he was duking it out with Dave Wiens, the five time winner of the 100. It was amazing to be on the side of the course, peering right into Lance's sweating face from four feet away. Dave Wiens won a sixth time, beating Lance by about three minutes. At the last aid station, Lance Armstong's crew member reached out to hand him his water and food and promptly fell down, scattering Lance's supplies all over the ground. Dave Wiens waited on his bike until they'd picked it all up. That was an amazing display of good sportsmanship to witness.
Last night Ryer, Sam and I had dinner (a last bite of pork!) at Sally Lien and Jeff Dick's house. Sam played with their two year old, Hector. Ted, Sally was the one who got all the way through the foreign service process, test, oral, background check, only to be rejected because they'd honeymooned in Cuba. It was a nice way to spend a final evening (for a while) in the U.S.
We leave for my doctor's appointment in about an hour. I am getting an echocardiogram in Vail, on the day of departure, due to the just noted presence of a class 3 heart murmur. The cardiologist thought it would be good for me to go overseas knowing just what is causing it and whether or not it is reason for worry.
Well, we'll say goodbye for now, and promise to post from RAK, as soon as we are settled in and I can get online.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Suzuki Road Trip
All’s well that ends well. That’s what I can say today, after a good night’s sleep, a leisurely breakfast, and an afternoon tourist train ride in Leadville with Sammy. Yesterday was a different story. I woke up at 7:01 a.m. in Paonia, in a panic. My landlord was to do her inspection of the rental house at 9 a.m., and I had floors to mop, two beds to drag down the street to a neighbor, who had lent them to me, and the Suzuki Samuri to pack with more stuff than I could possibly put in it. Two nights before, I had a bon voyage party, with 50 plus people, a surprising turnout, plenty of fun, and a last minute mess of a house to deal with...
After two hours of frantic moving, packing and cleaning, I showed the house and it passed inspection, so I got back my full security deposit. I made a final trip to the storage locker, to shove a last item in (wall-to-wall packed), stuffed the back of the open Suzuki to the roof, tied down the load, put the cats in their carrying cases in the front seat, and went to pick up Sam at the park, where he was playing with our neighbors, mother Mary and son Calen. He arrived at the car for our 4 hour roadtrip soaking wet and fussy. I’d been dreading the drive for weeks, because the Suzuki is a wreck of a car, with bent bumpers, flapping soft top, and a maximum speed of 50 mph. Ryer wants the car back when I am in Dubai, and I’ve sold my “real”car to my sister Alison. The Suzuki was all I had to get myself, Sam, two cats, and all of our belongings going to the UAE over two mountain passes in the screaming midday heat. And then there’s the Latin crooner Hector Lavoe tape stuck in the tape deck, looping continuously at full blast. Nothing to be done about that.
We were having an inauspicious beginning. A rock cracked the windshield in the first 5 minutes, and then Sam started complaining that he was cold. He also didn’t like the two meowing cats on his lap. In one hour’s time over McClure Pass, he told me he wanted to stay in Paonia, he hated me, and he wanted a new family. He also asked me to pull over so he could let the cats out by the side of the road. Never mind that the Suzuki was shaking as it neared the dreaded 50 mph, the roof was flapping and cracking like a jib, and the cats were yowling in their cases. As we reached the top and coasted down the other side of the first pass, the temperatures began to soar with the mid day sun. By the time we reached Carbondale, it was ninety, I was drenched with sweat, Sam was dry, and both cats were panting in a scary way.
We met Als in a parking lot across from her work to say a final goodbye. “You look like the Beverly Hillbillies!” she exclaimed when she saw us. She helped us retie the load. Sam “peaked” here in the baking sun. He ran around the car, unplugging all the tire plugs. Then he asked if he could move in with Als. instead of move to Dubai. I reminded him about the camels, and he momentarily reconsidered. Then, another fit, as Alison tried to get him back in the car, seatbelt him in, and place the cats safely on his lap. In a last desperate attempt to break away, as we pulled out of the lot, Sam unlatched the door (no small feat, as the door handles are broken), which swung out into the street. Alison’s last glimpse of us was of me shrieking at Sam and leaning over him to relatch the door.
I’d like to tell you it gets better, and it did, but not before two traffic jams, and Sam crying that he had to go to the bathroom that second (no warning) or he’d pee in his pants. The sun beat down, the roof flapped, the cats panted, and Sam whined as we crawled along in our faulty car.
And then, we were in Aspen! And it got better! Ryer drove over Independence Pass to Aspen to escort us over Independence Pass, which is the highest pass in the state. We met him at Johnny McGuire’s Deli, where Terrence, the owner and a longtime friend, comped our lunch. Ryer took half my bags (which was lucky, because at this point, one bag was hanging over the side, connected to the car by a cat leash tied through the handle. I was wondering why someone in a red car was following a quarter mile behind me in that traffic jam) and my kid, and followed us up and over the cool, breezy pass. The Suzuki cruised like a champ. “I was admiring how zippy the Suzuki was going over the pass!” Ryer commented later. The cats cooled down, I cheered up, as did Sam, now that he was in a cool, air conditioned SUV, and by 4 p.m., we pulled into Leadville. We were in bed by 9 p.m.
I told mom it was one of my top 20 most harrowing days, due to the age of the car, and its questionable running condition, the yowling cats and miserable kid. But Ryer saved the day, and we are here in Leadville safe and sound, and right in time for Boom Days before leaving the country on the 12th of August. Meanwhile, I peer off Ryer’s porch and look admiringly at the Suzuki, the car that didn’t let me down!
After two hours of frantic moving, packing and cleaning, I showed the house and it passed inspection, so I got back my full security deposit. I made a final trip to the storage locker, to shove a last item in (wall-to-wall packed), stuffed the back of the open Suzuki to the roof, tied down the load, put the cats in their carrying cases in the front seat, and went to pick up Sam at the park, where he was playing with our neighbors, mother Mary and son Calen. He arrived at the car for our 4 hour roadtrip soaking wet and fussy. I’d been dreading the drive for weeks, because the Suzuki is a wreck of a car, with bent bumpers, flapping soft top, and a maximum speed of 50 mph. Ryer wants the car back when I am in Dubai, and I’ve sold my “real”car to my sister Alison. The Suzuki was all I had to get myself, Sam, two cats, and all of our belongings going to the UAE over two mountain passes in the screaming midday heat. And then there’s the Latin crooner Hector Lavoe tape stuck in the tape deck, looping continuously at full blast. Nothing to be done about that.
We were having an inauspicious beginning. A rock cracked the windshield in the first 5 minutes, and then Sam started complaining that he was cold. He also didn’t like the two meowing cats on his lap. In one hour’s time over McClure Pass, he told me he wanted to stay in Paonia, he hated me, and he wanted a new family. He also asked me to pull over so he could let the cats out by the side of the road. Never mind that the Suzuki was shaking as it neared the dreaded 50 mph, the roof was flapping and cracking like a jib, and the cats were yowling in their cases. As we reached the top and coasted down the other side of the first pass, the temperatures began to soar with the mid day sun. By the time we reached Carbondale, it was ninety, I was drenched with sweat, Sam was dry, and both cats were panting in a scary way.
We met Als in a parking lot across from her work to say a final goodbye. “You look like the Beverly Hillbillies!” she exclaimed when she saw us. She helped us retie the load. Sam “peaked” here in the baking sun. He ran around the car, unplugging all the tire plugs. Then he asked if he could move in with Als. instead of move to Dubai. I reminded him about the camels, and he momentarily reconsidered. Then, another fit, as Alison tried to get him back in the car, seatbelt him in, and place the cats safely on his lap. In a last desperate attempt to break away, as we pulled out of the lot, Sam unlatched the door (no small feat, as the door handles are broken), which swung out into the street. Alison’s last glimpse of us was of me shrieking at Sam and leaning over him to relatch the door.
I’d like to tell you it gets better, and it did, but not before two traffic jams, and Sam crying that he had to go to the bathroom that second (no warning) or he’d pee in his pants. The sun beat down, the roof flapped, the cats panted, and Sam whined as we crawled along in our faulty car.
And then, we were in Aspen! And it got better! Ryer drove over Independence Pass to Aspen to escort us over Independence Pass, which is the highest pass in the state. We met him at Johnny McGuire’s Deli, where Terrence, the owner and a longtime friend, comped our lunch. Ryer took half my bags (which was lucky, because at this point, one bag was hanging over the side, connected to the car by a cat leash tied through the handle. I was wondering why someone in a red car was following a quarter mile behind me in that traffic jam) and my kid, and followed us up and over the cool, breezy pass. The Suzuki cruised like a champ. “I was admiring how zippy the Suzuki was going over the pass!” Ryer commented later. The cats cooled down, I cheered up, as did Sam, now that he was in a cool, air conditioned SUV, and by 4 p.m., we pulled into Leadville. We were in bed by 9 p.m.
I told mom it was one of my top 20 most harrowing days, due to the age of the car, and its questionable running condition, the yowling cats and miserable kid. But Ryer saved the day, and we are here in Leadville safe and sound, and right in time for Boom Days before leaving the country on the 12th of August. Meanwhile, I peer off Ryer’s porch and look admiringly at the Suzuki, the car that didn’t let me down!
Friday, July 18, 2008
packing and hot
We are down to the last closets full of clothes, and the planning for a bon voyage party here in Paonia. We have 12 days left before we are out of this rental house... so ready! We will be in Leadville for 12 days after we leave here, and then we fly out of Denver on August 13, straight to Heathrow, then on to Dubai.
I can't imagine what our first glimpse of the apartment will be like, or our first look at the brand new school, where we will be spending a lot of time. Our first effort will be to purchase a used car, hopefully a 4x4, so we can explore the desert. Right now, Sam is quite the man about town here in Paonia, spending as much time on his bike, and with his friends, as he possibly can before we leave. My duties aren't quite as cavalier, and involve endless lists, packing, emails, and phone calls, but we are getting there!
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Chapter One
I have just accepted a teaching position overseas in the UAE. We will be living in Ras al-Khaimah, at the Al Hamra Village, a five star resort on the Arabian Sea. Work begins August 17, but there is major bureaucratic hoopla to jump through, and bags to pack, shots to grimace through and a storage unit to jam full of stuff before our departure date.
I will be teaching third grade and Sam will be attending second grade at the American International Community school, a brand new school with state-of-the-art facilities, and marble floors, so I hear. The temperature outside should be a paltry 110 degrees Fahrenheit when we get there. It cools down in October, through the month of May, so after we give you the skinny on what the place really looks like, plan a visit!
Now that someone has shown me how to set up a blog, we'll add travel adventures, mishaps, and ethnocentric moments to our blog. Please check in with us, as there are sure to be more than a few homesick days, and we would love your comments. Bye for now.
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