Travel Mercies
Every morning, before we leave the house, my husband and I pray together. We give thanks for all the blessings we receive, we pray for people and their needs, we pray for God to guide us in every thing we do, great and small.
Before a recent trip, we prayed for travel mercies. Most of these trips are long, endurance tests really. About the best I can do is to bury myself in a book or magazine or puzzle.
I remember when travel used to be fun. I remember when there were ladies lounges on board, and even bars (not that I ever hung out in bars). I remember the thrill of adventure.
Praying for travel mercies helps me to see blessings when they appear. And this last trip, they did appear. Every line I entered, I ended up at the front, or almost. I was able to shower in Amsterdam, and to be the first one, so (I’m a little compulsive here) the bathroom had been thoroughly cleaned overnight and I worried less about foot fungus and other invisible threats to my well-being.)
I had one very funny travel mercy – this has to be the hand of God.
It was what I call a high testosterone flight – mostly men, heading back home for a few weeks before coming back to Kuwait, or Iraq. When I found my seat, the buy behind me had his foot up on my armrest, at the very back of the armrest. The truth is, it doesn’t bother me, it is not the part of the armrest I use, but when I sat down, I smelled the most awful odor. . . sweaty feet.
In one book about life in the Gulf, I read that it is wise to wear sandals so that your feet can breathe, that wearing closed shoes makes your feet sweat. I can tell you, it isn’t just the Gulf – any hot climate, even cold climates, and track / tennis shoes will cause smelly feet. Hot weather just accelerates the process and accentuates the results.
What to do? It’s a full flight, and I don’t want an angry, insulted man behind me kicking my seat all night because I had the audacity to mention his smelly feet were invading my nostrils. If I keep my head turned away, I can bear it, but the flight is getting longer and longer with the thought of having to bear smelly feet all the way. This was a first for me.
I had a plan. As soon as the plane would take off, I would cover the guys foot with my blanket, and hope that would take care of the odor. I was just waiting for the right time.
Instead, I heard him complain to the flight attendant that his head set wasn’t working. The flight attendant brought him another head set, and that didn’t work. When the third one didn’t work – he changed his seat! Woooo HOOOOOOO, how is that for a travel mercy? I slept like a baby.
Mubarakiyya Basket Man
The basket man in Mubarakiyya has a new selection of baskets; unfortunately none are made in Kuwait. There are baskets from Pakistan, and some that look like they are from the Asir. Some are woven of recycled plastic bags!
Old Time Kuwait
Last night, driving around our area, we saw something new, something I love. In place of the now-departed semi-permanent constructed diwaniyyas with their comforts and air conditioning, we saw a return of the old diwaniyya benches, with cushions, and traditionally dressed men lounging, conversing, solving the problems of Kuwait and the world out in the relative cool of evening in Kuwait.
It looked like the old days. It could have been ten years ago.
I wonder if there isn’t a new feeling, with a change of venue? I wonder if the absence of walls and modernity will bring a new openness in diwaniyya attendance? At one diwaniyya, I even saw coffee being brewed in the old pots, over coals, in a brass brazier.
Poor AdventureMan. He knows I always have my camera with me. He is terrified I will embarass him by stopping and asking if I can take photos. Rest easy, AdventureMan, I don’t have that much courage. 🙂
AdventureMan wants to know: In Qatar, gatherings are called Majlis, the room is called a majlis. How does majlis differ from diwaniyya?
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