You still blog??????

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Well...kind of...sorta....once in a great while.

Anyway Happy 2013 

2-0-1-3; I have been waiting for those number, in that order for what feels like a very long time (but quite obviously isn’t.) That’s because this date has been the carrot hanging in front of our noses during this whole ‘working experience.’ We are wimps, I know. But when you spend your 20’s bumming around and then finally decide to join the ‘normal’ work world in your 30’s; it makes for a really, really hard transition. Because, in my opinion, there is nothing ‘normal’ about having to get up at the crack dawn EVERY day to do the same thing over and over and over again.

So incase it is not clear, we will not be resigning our contract nor are we on the prowl for another international teaching job. So where does that leave us? Well since it isn’t very feasible to retire in your 30’s, I guess that just leaves us confused.

But before talking about the future, I suppose I should try to finish something I have started (this blog) and wrap up 2012.

In December, I had the unique experience of attending a local wedding. As mentioned before, the local people only constitute 18% of this countrie’s population and so the chances of these interactions are rare, and I use the word rare in both unlikely and strange. The simple facts of a local wedding in these lands are... First, they are completely segregated, as in the groom and bride do not attend the same wedding. Second, the wedding is arranged and often to a cousin. The last thing I will say is I was a bit surprised to see what they wear under those abayas. I’ll stop here.  

I myself I had no idea what to wear so I thought the safest thing was borrow my Pakistani friend’s Sari. After replaying the ‘how to wrap’ yourself in a Sari’ video on you tube many times my friend arrived, when he saw what I was wearing he told me that the people will probably think I am a nanny or servant. Great.

Wrapped and ready

The same night, as I sat awkwardly wrapped in a Sari amongst complete strangers at some teenagers wedding, our friends from the states were landing in Dubai to visit us. I actually never thought anyone (besides Raph) would even consider visiting us here so I was pleasantly shocked to hear that our friends were coming to spend the holidays with us.

Having friends visit, gives you a new perspective on old things. In our case having Jen and Andy here made me suddenly aware of the following:

·            That our car is obnoxiously squeaky!

·            That we spend abnormal amount of time lost.

·            That we have (and believe me this is not a good thing) become way too comfortable with the amount of litter that exists outside first world countries.

·            That we have become completely accustomed to the fact that we live in a country were woman cover from head to toe and a call for prayer echoes through the city streets five times a day.

·            That it appears that this whole country is under construction.

·            That we have become professional profilers – that is we can quickly determine by a person’s dress if they are Indian, Pakistani, Afghani, Omani or Emariti. I believe I can spot Britts too, but SOME people doubt this skill all together; but to my defense there are a lot of Britts here and there is something that sets them apart from Americans. I swear. 

Canal in Dubai, where old dows ship all kinds of goods.

Welcome lunch- Arab style

We actually took them to the mall....and we could not fit in the parking garage so we made do. Worlds tallest building in the back.

So, with in hours of their arrival we were lost and profiling people from the car window as we reversed down one ways, drove over curbs down some stairs in the midst of city construction.  But we eventually made it out of Dubai and up to the northern tip of the country to majestic fjords, with dolphins, calm bays , remote villages and…..RAIN. 

Calm bay before the rain

An isolated village at the base of this massive cliff, only accessible by boat.

Not exactly warm and tropical as we had promised.

Rain is coming to our snorkeling cove.

Prior to their arrival, I may have advised them to only pack a light sweater and simple beach gear. BUT to be fair we have been here for over a year and we had yet to see a raindrop fall from the sky. So I have to say, even we were surprised that our first night together was camping through a gnarly rainstorm. A rough start, I know.

Soggy, we headed back south to show them our home city and the few things it has to offer. They kayaked in the mangroves, visited the mosque, ate cheap Indian and Arab food, got henna on our hands, people watched (in easy thing to do in this city) and that was enough. 

Henna- the woman was not happy with our hairy arms, kind got in the way of her artwork. Shaving arms here is as common as us shaving legs. We are the weirdos who don't do it.

A few wrong turns and visa stamps later, we were in Oman. Our favorite place in this region; we were happy to finally share it’s beauty with friends from a far.

The first few stops were places we had seen before but were more than pleased to see again. From canyons, to the high region and then back down to the coast we drove our squeaky truck loaded with four whities, two kayaks, camping and kite boarding gear through tiny villages were the local people stopped and stared and waved but mostly stared. People of Oman are extraordinarily friendly and they are as equally intrigued by our western oddities as we are with their traditional garb and goats. 

Swimming up the wadi

Great views from down in the wadi.

Evening sun

Destination- swimming whole

The crew in a high country village

Munchkin in a dish-dasha

Small village in Oman

So many ruins....

Camping on the edge

On the coast, we were treated to an amazing experience of watching, in the moon light, a mother turtle dig a whole and lay her hatch. Andy and Jen stayed with her until the wee hours of the morning and watched as she lumbered herself from the whole, down the beach and back into the Indian Ocean. 

Our main destination was the Island of Masirah, located conveniently way out of the way. The drive was long, flat, scattered with camels and fishing villages and a few strange gatherings of Omani twenty-somethings, their trucks, guns and pipes. Not to far off of what one may see in the mountain towns of Montana, minus a dead dear. 

Lets stop here...yeah in the middle of the road- and hang out.

Volleyball in a dress not easy- they had to hike it up for every spike.

Once we were done being lost, we found the discreet ferry terminal and sailed for an hour and half over the shallow waters in the company of some very, very curious Omani teenagers. Okay they may have been in the early 20’s since they were married with kids but their behavior was pure teenage foolishness. They took photos of us, with us, and of us smoking their crazy tobacco pipe and wearing their hats. It is very uncommon for men to be the company of woman other than their sisters, mother or wife. Being westerners, they knew were cheap and tried to get all the action they could. We took the opportunity to snap some photos as well.  

Ferry

Ferry Hoodlums

Smoke this....

Wear this....

A guide or an Internet site, I can’t remember which, boldly claimed that this island held rare unbridled beauty, which can really set one’s expectations rather high. And ours were; so we were clearly disappointed to find, upon arrival, a lackluster port town and then trashy beaches littered with make-shift houses and fishing boats. The first few miles of driving were in silence and we were all thinking, but not saying, why the hell did we just drive across two countries and a ferry to this dump? To our great surprise there was ‘raw-unbridled beauty’ just up ahead and around the corner. 

Not-so raw and unbridled

We made it...to no where land

We found a secluded and very picturesque camp, we all agreed it to be a nice place to spend Christmas. It must be noted, however, nothing feels less Christmasy than being on a beach in the Middle East.

 

I felt like we could have stayed in this place for a week but the vacation was coming to an end and time was calling us back.  While in the midst of this ‘raw unbridled beauty’ we kayaked among a pod of at least 20 dolphins, snorkeled in crystal clear waters with tropical fish, turtles and rays, spared and dined on some tasty lobster, watched the sun sets paint the sky and shared great laughs with friends and hardly saw another soul. 

Christmas dinner -he was SO proud! And they were so tasty

Just jumping with this large whale bone and looking like a warrior

I don't want to leave

Christmas wish lantern

One night sleeping in the sands of the Empty Quarter and we were on our way back to our host country. Not with out tragedy; as we neared the border we came across a gruesome accident that had occurred minutes before our arrival. It was intense, horrifying and memorable. And for those of you who have never shared the road with the crazy drivers of the Arabian Peninsula, you have no idea what a crazy driver is. The street etiquette here makes South American look like an organized parade. People here do what they want, how they want and when they want….but the worst part is the do it all VERY fast; faster than you can imagine; so the accidents here are common and often deadly. I believe I have read that is the leading cause of death to young men in this area.  

So that kind of put a damper on things leaving us quite, reflective and all a bit on edge. Yet, just a hundred kilometers later in the middle of the highway, not far from our city, a local man hollered for our attention while pointing to our kayaks and yelling ‘camel meat’ ‘camel meat.’ We thought this strange but listened as beckoned us to stop in the middle of the highway. He said he liked us, he made this decision based solely on our kayaks, apparently this guys likes people with kayaks. Unlike much of this world, this is one place you do not have to worry about being scammed by the local people, they rarely want anything from you. We all found this a bit strange but were open to seeing where it would go.

Moments later, we were following this man and his family to their camel farm for (from what we understood) to get camel meat. We soon arrived at his farm; which was nothing more than a bunch of sand and camels. His wife, fully covered except her eyes, was uncharacteristically friendly and they all seemed on a mission to get us to love their camels. We kept wondering when the camel meat would be presented. But as the culture goes, the woman quickly separated from the men; the girls went walking in the dunes leaving the men back with the camels and waiting for the men to finish afternoon prayer.

The boss and his babies

Jen....'meating' camel

Move, I need to steal some milk for these white people the boss brought back.

Yela

 

We soon learned that although they were willing to share with us milk straight from the camel’s tit, we would not be having any camel meat. Because, when Aaron inquired about the meat, the man seemed horrified with the idea of anyone ever eating his camels. That is when we realized that when he was yelling ‘camel meat’ he really meant ‘meet camel.’  ESL gets you every time.

Drink some,

The whole thing was surreal and very unusual. I was glad to have shared this experience with friends visiting. I think this coincidental meeting may have left a mark on all of us. Aaron and I have even gone back to visit this family again. It was our first time in a local home, and even though I spent, what felt like eternity, in the living room of the second wife who spoke no English where awkwardness filled the air along with the buzzing sound of the fluorescent light, it was still quite the experience. While I was hiding away, Aaron was met with unexpected nose kisses from the men of the house and was served shish kebobs in the outdoor majelist. It was unforgettable evening, even if quite uncomfortable. 

A surprise in the itinerary made for a hasty departure (dam military time.) With a belly full of greasy Syrian food and unpasteurized camels milk, Jen and Andy were off on their long journey home. 

We spent the remaining week at our favorite deserted trashy beach, kite boarding and chilling. We rang in the New Year mellow style with our Syrian friends and their kids. 

The Bench Yezan and I made

If there is trash everywhere, may as well use some.

All in all a good year, 2012, but I have an inkling that 2013 will be even better.  Four point five months to go until we make our journey back home. And then who knows what’s next. Aaron’s biological clock is ticking but I can’t seem to find mine. The years and wrinkles keep coming, but I am not ready to grow up. Trying not to look too far down the road and staying open to happenstance. If things go well, we will catch some sockeye while visiting with friends and family, from there perhaps sail south and then I will visit my grandma’s homeland with my mom, hopefully I will walk the Via de la Plata in Spain While Aaron may try a new fishery or just surf with some friends. Then we hope to reunite to spend a cold December in NYC and finally Christmas with the family. So many  maybes, what-if’s, and we’ll-sees. So we will have to do exactly that; wait and see. We hope to see so many of you along the way.

But until then we are grateful for this opportunity here; building new friendships and exploring new worlds. Off to Sri Lanka in April and then the true countdown begins.

Until then…

Happy 2013
From one half ass blogger.