Opposite World
I need to write this post while I am freshly back home, because it wears off, you forget the sharpness of the differences . . .
You have to think about how you will manage your bags when you get here, because there will be no willing men with carts to do it for you.
Getting on the highway . . . people are so polite. People drive exactly at the speed limit, or maybe up to 4 miles over. If you put on your turn signal, they slow down and allow you to enter their lane. No one weaves back and forth, no one gets on your tail and insists you get out of their way. Traffic flows smoothly, predictably. People are wearing seat belts; their babies are in baby seats and their children are buckled in the back seat. It’s five lanes, and it’s all very tame. Our testosterone drivers in Kuwait would find it very very dull. I didn’t see a single accident, or single wrecked car all the way home, about twenty miles.
At the grocery stores, there are places for inviduals to put their grocery carts back – and they really do. There are also enough parking places. The cashiers also put the groceries in a bag for you, but there is no one who carries them out to your car.
The streets are immaculate – not because we have hoards of people to pick them up, but because people here have a horror of littering – and huge fines that discourage the rare few who would toss a kleenex out a window.
Service providers are more helpful, and less servile. There is a sense of interchangeable rolls – the guy behind the counter at Starbucks might also be a full time IT student at the local university, just piling up a few barista bucks to pay his way through school. (There is always a tip jar in every Starbucks – Have you ever noticed there are no tip jars at the Starbucks in Kuwait?) The gal behind the counter at the grocery store might live just up the street from you. The guy at the Half Price book store has kids at the same school where your child goes to school. It’s different when all the workers are part of the same community.
The health care worker living with my parents to take care of my father is treated like family. He’s from Ghana. I watch him watch us as we gather. I imagine some of it is very familiar to him – the way women communicate when family gathers, laughter, tears, family business, making plans and arrangements. And I imagine some of it is very . . . foreign. I would love to read HIS blog!
There are seasons here. You need to have socks with you to keep your feet warm, and closed-toed shoes. There are trees that were green two months ago, and are now a flaming red, or orange, or yellow. I need a sweater outside, over a shirt. It’s cool, but not yet really cold.
Part of the transportation system here is ferry boats. People take them to get to work. My home town is, like Kuwait City, on the beach, but the water is not jade green, but a deeper, colder blue.
Karma Payback
When I started this blog, one of the first posts I wrote was about getting an upgrade. This trip, it was karma payback. I booked a ticket and paid online, and later when I tried to reserve my seat online, I kept getting an error message. When I got to the airport, (confirmation in my hand, thank God) the clerk said my reservation had been cancelled. I had paid extra to have an upgradeable ticket, and to be able to change dates if I need to – it took the fixer-guy over an hour and a half to figure out how to re-instate my reservation.
And I asked for an upgrade – I have thousands and thousands of frequent flyer miles; I don’t need a free ticket but it helps on the night flights to be in business class because you can lie down and sleep! Makes a difference when you have a long way to go. But they didn’t give any upgrades – and when I got on the place, the entire business section in front of where we were sitting was . . . EMPTY. Go figure!
In Europe, I asked for an upgrade for the next leg – not free, I am willing to cash in miles, but the snotty desk clerk told me my ticket was the non-upgradable kind. It doesn’t do any good to lose it in those circumstances, but I was steamed. What did I pay extra for??? When the guy who fixed my reservation fixed it, I guess he didn’t put in the right code. I’m screwed.
After the next flight, which was very long (had a good seatmate, though, quiet, like me, but when we talked it was about books and families and comfortable stuff) I went through immigration and because this was my fifth trip back home this year, when I filled out the immigration form, I listed that I wasn’t bringing back anything. And I wasn’t. I barely have the right clothes. But that got the attention of customs, and I got the full inspection, which after you’ve been travelling for more than 28 hours is annoying. They were cordial enough, but they went through everything, suitcases, carry-ons and purse, very thoroughly. And found nothing.
Last, but not least, I went to pick up my rental car, only to discover I don’t have my stateside driver’s license with me. After half an hour of desperate searching (I am an organized person; things are where they are supposed to be! but it wasn’t!) I offered her my Kuwait license, which she couldn’t read and said she couldn’t accept, and then, miracle of miracles, I came across my old Germany driver’s license. A German license is good for life. And, thanks be to God, she accepted it. And on top of that, for some amazing reason, using a German license made the rate even better than renting in my own state with a state license. Again – go figure.
And I just figure all of that is karma payback for all the good luck I have had in previous trips. We have a saying: Every monkey gets his turn in the barrel. I guess it was just my turn.
“Ill be there for you”
We Go Back a Long Time
I was a freshman at a big university, back home after years of living overseas. Never have I felt so alien as trying to figure out how I was going to survive in my own culture. I was really homesick. I missed my old life.
My first day in French 203 a group of laughing, talking girls walked in, one girl, a blue-eyed blonde, the center of it all. I hated her immediately, mostly for being so happy when I was so alone and so miserable. The semester dragged on.
The next quarter, there she was again, in French Literature. She walked in, saw me, and came and sat down next to me as if we were old friends. “What’s with that?” I thought, but there were a lot of students, and I guess I was a familiar face. I still didn’t like her. I didn’t like anybody very much.
But as the semester progressed, her smart-mouth sotto-voce remarks got me cracking up. I couldn’t help liking her in spite of all my determination not to. She was smart, and funny, and for some reason seemed to like me, even at a time when I wasn’t making much effort to be likable.
The third quarter, there we were once again, in Sociology. By this time, we knew that something was up in the grand scheme of things – This was a huge university, and you don’t end up in the same classes with anyone. We started meeting for coffee before class, after class, sometimes – skipping class! We became good friends. We never had another class together.
We graduated, and bought season tickets to the Symphony together. We would meet for a quick dinner, someplace cheap – we weren’t earning a lot. We would catch up on the latest boyfriend, the latest heartache, one another’s families. We each had our own busy life, but we made time for each other.
We married in the same year. We had our first babies within months of one another. No matter where I was in the world, we would write, we sent tapes, and I would visit whenever I was back in town. She also visited me, once with her husband (now ex) and many times with her children.
Our fathers are the same age. She called me night before last, my good friend, all these years. She knows Dad is in the hospital and I am coming back, she calls my mother and takes her to dinner sometimes, my family includes her in the family circle.
“No matter what you’re going through,” she said, “I’ll be there for you.”
All these years. She always has.
Mining the Kuwait Times: 4 October 2006
Ya gotta love the Kuwait Times. I admire their spirit so much, I forgive their weak editing and poor grammar.
Six KAC Officials Quit
Six officials were transferred from their posts by the operations manager at Kuwait Airways, so they submitted their resignations, which were accepted without any investigation, so says the Kuwaiti Times (and also the Arab Times). Appearantly, they were transferred because they refused to recommend for promotion two unqualified candidates for captain, and were horrified to discover that these assistant pilots were promoted – verbally – to full airplane captain flying A310 aircraft in spite of most of the training officers having (previously) rejected this decision.
(This is actually a compilation from both Arab Times and Kuwaiti Times. They seem to be saying these six men resigned because unqualified pilots will be flying planes they are not qualified to fly, and the Director of Operations and his deputy know this and promoted them anyway. Arab Times adds that the director and his deputy are also jeopardizing KAC’s reputation in the international community when they refuse to investigate technical flaws found recently in some KAC aircraft. )
Think I’ll pass flying Kuwait Air for a while . . . .
Driving Sheepish
I actually speak English fairly well, and I don’t have a clue what “driving sheepish” is. The article states:
Policemen suspected a motorist driving sheepishly in Kabd. They ordered the Kuwaiti to stop his car and found a hunting rifle and a number of drug tablets inside. Police registered a case and referred the man to authorities.
Non-Halal Meat
“While residents of Kuwait are still reeling from shock, where cases of contaminated fish imported from Iran were allowed in by the municipality’s food imports division, a new scandal has just appeared on the horizon, reported Al-Seyassahl. A report indicates that one of the officials in the same department tried to cover up a crime he was involved in, by permitting some local foodstuff companies to import frozen meat without being slaughtered in accordance to the Islamic law. They presumed they could get away with the deceit, as, since no one was aware of the fact, could get away with murder.”
This is buried way down near the bottom of page 4. In most countries, it would be at the top of the first page, and heads would roll.
And last, but not least, to the tune of “La Vie en Rose” . . . French Smokers Fume as Public Ban Looms
My husband and I hate breathing second hand smoke so much that we will request another table in a restaurant if someone should be so gauche as to light up near us, disregarding the no-smoking signs in a restaurant, or pay our bill and go. It just isn’t worth it, not for our health, not for our state-of-mind. And all the same, it is very hard to imagine a France with a smoking ban in public places.
French cigarettes just smell different. French smoke reminds me of early mornings at the flea markets, picking up a cup of cafe au lait and a fresh buttery croissant, watching the early risers through a haze of smoke tossing back shots of Pernod to get their day started. I guess, because they are French, I can forgive them just about anything.
Building New Kuwait
I have a thing about safety. When living in Doha, we watched buildings go up with no discernible regards to building codes. I don’t even know that codes exist, or perhaps they are still being written. At least one construction worker per week “fell to his death”. Workers worked round the clock, trying to get the skyscrapers up before a deadline. People who scouted buildings for major corporations would shake their heads, and turn buildings down with serious foundation problems, girding problems, unbelievable structural faults.
Here in Kuwait, maybe things are minimally better. I had to stop shooting these workers when they started waving and only holding on with one hand. They are standing on a plate of glass being taken up to be installed.
I love these scaffolds. I hope you can see how this one curves in and out as it scales up the building.
The high tech joints close up:
DWP – Driving While Poor – to Be Outlawed in Kuwait
I’ve been watching the blogs, and I haven’t seen a mention of this, not a whisper. In yesterday’s Kuwait Times, front page, is an article about the proposal that all cars over ten years of age be taken off the road. The intention is to reduce congestion on the road.
I am guessing this will not apply to collectors of classic cars. I imagine this is aimed at the poorest of the poor, driving what they can afford, and holding their car together with prayer, shoestrings and chewing gum.
If Kuwait had a good public transportation system, this might be part of a solution. As it is – do you ever see a woman on a public bus? Taxis are available, but expensive. Domestic workers tell us that when they have any control over their transportation, they only go with a driver they know and trust.
I would guess that most of the cars 10 years and older on the road are owned by people who really need them, to get their children to school, to get to work, and to get groceries, etc. Legend has it that all these old cars on the road were brought in after the 1st Gulf War and sold – at great profit – to people who previously had been unable to own cars. For the working poor, cars give a smattering of dignity and luxury to a life full of scraping by and saving as much as you can. Yeh, the POS car puttering along in front of you is inconvenient, but have a heart – people need their cars, unless there is a good, reliable, decent and reasonably priced public transit system available to men and to women, which there is not.
I am also hearing friends telling me about the rules about driver’s licenses being enforced – you must be working, or you must have a college degree . . . but it is only applied to some, not to all. . .
“Only Trashy Girls Get their Ears Pierced”
“Only trashy girls get their ears pierced!” my Dad roared as the nightly battle at the dinner table commenced. Every night, I presented facts and evidence supporting my need for pierced ears, only to engage his fierce and fiery disapproval.
“No daughter of MINE will ever have pierced ears!” rang in my ears, but I wasn’t giving up. The battle raged on.
Meanwhile, my next youngest sister went out and got her ears pierced, and showed up at dinner with bright, shiny gold earrings. I was dumbfounded. Flabbargasted – and aghast. What would my Father do?
I expected rage. He looked at her is shock. I think he went a little pale. He was angry, but . . . so mild! She really looked cute in those new gold earrings.
“You’re grounded for a week.” he told her coldly. The rest of the meal passed in silence, my sister grinning and preening quietly.
I went out the next day and had my ears pierced, too, so we could “serve our time” on restriction together. The next week, my Mom and youngest sister went downtown and had their ears pierced too. They didn’t get grounded.
Now he lies in a hospital bed, weak, old, and subdued, sliding between hallucinations and lucidity. What I wouldn’t give to see his fiery spirit back again.
Kuwait Skyline
I used to use Nikon. I had ones with big lenses, and a small one. Then, one day, my sister put a Panasonic Lumix in my hands and said “just try this. Don’t even read the instruction book, just see if you can figure it out.”
She was ordering one for her daughter and wanted to know if I wanted one, too. Five minutes later, I said “yes” and I never looked back.
The first year, I shot both film and digital, but this little Lumix (Leica lens, Panasonic body) just knocks my socks off. It fits in my purse, it is light as a feather, and has the equivalent of a 420mm lens. It shoots in low light, and it shoots fast. It is quiet, just a little tiny “tink” when you shoot.
My only regret is that I didn’t go digital sooner.
I hate concrete box apartments. I love it when people add a little interest. It may not always be my taste, but it brings a grin to my face. Here’s an apartment building in Salwa that we watched going up – underneath this fabulous Yemani-style facade is – a plain, dark, concrete block! But you would never know it from the outside:
And the next is just down the road from it – I think the two are related, and I believe both are facades. They brighten my day.
The photos are weird because I shot them through the window driving along 30/Fehaheel Expressway – not the camera’s fault. And no, I wasn’t driving. 😉
Date Night in Kuwait
Because my husband’s weekend is Friday, Thursday night is our date night in Kuwait. We have a tradition of going out for a nice dinner together.
We used to drive our son crazy. We would say “Hey, want to go to Rio Bravo (Mexican) with us?” and about a third of the way there, my husband would say “You know, I just have this yen for sushi!” and I would go “Oh! Me too!” and our son would pipe up “No! No! No! That’s ‘bait and switch!’ No! That’s not fair!”
(Now he laughs and tells us that it runs in the family; that he and his wife do the same thing – and, he now also eats sushi. My sisters’ families tell me they do it too – it must be a family culture thing.)
So last night we were on our way to Biella’s at the Marina Crescent. But oh, the traffic on the Corniche! Maybe we should just eat Chinese in the neighborhood? What about the seafood buffet at the Crown Plaza? Or . . . finally we decided on Paul’s down at Fehaheel, and hoped there was a parking space.
They have a new mall opening just across the main street from the Al Kout Mall, Al Manshar, with a great big apartment building and a great big new hotel, a Chili’s, a Johnny Rocket’s and a food court – a few of the merchants and restaurants are already open – but only like 40 parking spaces???? Go figure! Even worse, it is right next to a beautiful mosque, so at prayer time, there is NOWHERE for anyone to park. And the driving in Fehaheel at night is crazy . . . minimally better than Gulf Road. Take another look at the photo – those two outcroppings are perfect for a bridge, a la Marina Mall – connecting one mall to the other, and sharing parking spaces.
At Paul’s in Fehaheel it was comfortable enough, with their fans, to eat outside, by the big shallow water-fountain pavillion. Great food – we had the Camembert – noisette salad, onion soup and the smoked salmon pasta, most of which we brought home because the soup and salad had been so good. Best of all was just being together, sharing our week and having a relaxed, delicious meal together.
And it was there I told him about my blog. I don’t like keeping secrets from my husband. I wanted to see if blogging was something I really wanted to do before I told anyone. Last weekend, when he was asking me to explain blogging to him, I was afraid he was on to me. He wasn’t; it was a co-incidence, but I knew someone was bound to figure it out sooner or later, and I really wanted to tell him. I was ready.
Last night when we got home I showed him the blog and he was amazed. It is so cool to have such a great evening together, great meal, great conversation, and, after all these years being married, to be able to surprise him now and then – in a good way. It was one of our best dates.
Breaking Out the Sweaters
This morning, checking the weather forecasts, I exclaimed to my husband “Wow! 100 degree (38 C) maximums for the next five days!”
“Break out the winter sweaters!” he exclaimed.
It’s a family joke. We’re from the same country, but different cultures. I was raised in a very cold climate, he was raised in a very hot climate. I need it to be cold enough to sleep; he sleeps in a nightshirt with an extra blanket.
When we were first married, he looked at me one night and said “Don’t you ever fry anything?”
I looked at him in horror. “No! – and you’ll live a lot longer! We only grill and occasionally saute!”
When I first met his family, they fixed all their best dishes for me.The food was wonderful, but used a lot of cream and lard and butter. Not used to eating such rich foods, I got really sick. Later, I did learn to cook several of the dishes that he grew up with, and he learned to like grilled fish and shrimp.
Although I do not think 100 degrees is “cool,” I am seeing changes in the weather – it is lovely at night, sweet for sitting outside. The color of the sea changed yesterday, from it’s normal jade color to a more blue color. There are huge flocks of birds, landing, resting and taking off – migratory birds? Two days ago, I could see silvery fish jumping in the waters, and last night, late late into the night, there were fishing boats just yards off the shore, with their lights gaily dancing up and down. I grew up on fishing boats – a part of me yearns to be out there with a line in the water.
Think I’d better go pull out the winter boxes.;-)
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