Good day to you, fair reader!! I am positively pumped J. I shall tell you why later in this post for certain.
Before that, I forgot to mention last night that we went to the Supermarket. After Claire arrived, we allowed her no time to really settle in before whisking her into the Sauna-hot night and down the street. The market is perhaps a block or so away, down past a strip mall of sorts, the mosque and a Petrol station. When we arrived yesterday morning, I thought we were in a deserted, suburb and far from people or events… I was wrong. It just happens that people come out at night. As we were walking, it was a serious game of Dodge the Cars. Literally hundereds of people poured into the strip mall to go to the Barber, smoke hookah, eat cheap food, and of course, watch the Sweden/Finland Futbol game. Also, the women went AWOL. The night, and all the aforementioned events are definite realms of the men. Give them some soccer and Hookah and it seems that’s all they need for a good time.
As you walk at night, the earth radiates heat. It felt as if I was standing too close to a radiating fire or had just opened the oven to pull out my pizza. That’s the kind of heat here. It wasn’t oppressive, it’s not humid, but it is absolutely impressive. Strangely, I’m not drowning in sweat. Perhaps it evaporates before I can really get into the pouring, but it’s not bad. The wind is fairly subtle, and so as you walk, at least in a skirt, it goes from hot, to REALLY HOT in seconds, binding the cloth to your ankles and tripping you with the incredible intensity of the heat. It is a real surprise as you meander along. We bought basics: water, veggies, apples (I know I know, don’t eat raw food, ya ya ya. We’re going to. You can maybe expect a later post of “Ha… traveller’s diarrhea anyone?” but as for now, we brush our teeth and wash our dishes with it and haven’t yet died. ) We also bought bread, pineapple preserves and peanut butter. PB was my staple in travelling Europe, but, wouldn’t you know, they shoved soy and corn in it. Seriously. I left the US to avoid stupid extras in food, but it seems the practice of feeding people cheap-crap continues abroad. I’m enraged. Well, mostly just mildly perturbed, but rage sounds more exciting. Finishing with noodles and sauce, we walked the sandy road back and unpacked.
Like a fool, I also forgot to tell you about our apartment. Absurd!! ((Ps. As I write this, I’m sitting in the middle of the hall with Trevor in beautiful, dark, wooden chairs, keeping Claire company as she washes the dishes and makes coffee. I have to take the opportunity to tease Trevor a bit. He’s reading Harry Potter Book 6 and as he sits he shifts LITERALLY EVERY 15 SECONDS. It’s hilarious. Scratch leg, touch face, rub belly, scratch nose, repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. It’s the funniest thing ever. Being obnoxious as I am I asked him if he was aware, and with an embarrassed ear-scratch and sheepish grin he declared he was now self-conscious and would ne’er do it again. Little does he know, that when he’s trying not to shift with his left, non-dominant hand, his right hand escapes and rubs his eye brow, or his left twitches rhythmically against the book cover. Seems Trevor prefers active reading. Haha. Now his feet are shifting. Poor Trevor, little does he know his every movement is captured on Blog. We appreciate him wildly though… Claire uses him to open everything. Claims she’s been married too long and can’t do anything anymore. Good things for us all Trevor is here. J Now back to the apartment). So. We arrive, they tell us the price, we extend the credit card, and of course, they only accept cash. Ouch. It’s 500$ per person to stay here for two weeks. Which is more expensive than a hostel perhaps, but this place really is incredible. But… 500$ is 240 Rials, and that’s a lot of cash to carry around. Especially when your debit card refuses to give you cash bucks. So, we are paying day by day for now… hopefully to pay much of it soon. BUT. The whole place has 12 or 14 foot ceilings, and dark mahogany or a deep chestnut color. We have an expansive 22 by 14 foot living room, two bathrooms (with the previously mentioned awkward showers), and two big bedrooms. We have an armoire, several drawers and storage places. There are also 4 wooden chairs, three small tables and three couches. It’s lovely. The key locks you in and out and it’s easy to forget the locking in part. I’m used to dead bolts, but this is fine. Every room has a lock, and two rooms have refrigerators (but they don’t really work, they are more of an energy drain than efficient cooling systems. But my Chicken Marsala sits in there now… and I’m going to choose to believe that it’s cool enough to allow the Staph Aureus or E coli to grow/produce toxins that may or may not be killed by heating. I want to eat it, so I will follow the illusion of refrigeration and pretend. If I die, my brother gets my stuff J. The kitchen is…. Neat. It has many cupboards with cheap lining, cheap hinges and questionable stability. The stove is a portable gas burner and there is a microwave. Everything in this place turns on by a switch. They seem really energy conscious here and it’s making me aware of my own habits that probably cost me. To turn on the microwave, you have to turn on the plug. Same for the gas, AC, fans and water cooler. The water cooler is interesting. Without it, you burn yourself (Thanks to Trevor for being the guinea pig for this… sorry your shower was more like boiling a lobster) but with it, it hardly gets hot enough. Oh the dilemma. I might heat up the room, use the coolant, and suck it up. There is also a knob on the kitchen wall that has a cool blue sticker. I might twist it and ask Trevor to Guinea Pig again. Muahaha, maybe next time he showers… too bad I just told him, would have been a funny shock to be in the shower, thinking the cooler was on and then suddenly be rained on my Omani Lava Water. Haha. Or I’m just a sadist and should reconsider my calling to help people. Hmm. J But. All in all, though I was freaked out at first by the newness, the painting going on outside and the elevator that hates me, I really am glad to be staying here. The elevator, if you were wondering, is this European brand that doesn’t have buttons, but you have to have a magic touch to get it to light up. I don’t have that magic touch, I guess. Maybe it’s the place to touch… maybe I need to do a “Please let me in” dance (similar to a rain dance) and that will be the key.
We went back to the supermarket this morning to buy silver wear, water, soap, sunscreen, and paper towels… we also walked out with incredible juice, watermelon, sugar, mint (we thought it was basil… shut up… don’t make fun of us.) I must say, the walk today was 10x more painful than yesterday. Turns out, the sun is hot! Shocking, I know, but instead of having JUST the earth’s heat radiating up and tripping you, you have this swollen magma globe that beats you down to kiss the pavement with its sizable solar stick. No sweat. Much heat. Long walk.
After Mother Claire did the dishes, made up the kitchen (utensils and food and plates in the appropriate places) she made us this incredible lunch. Taking the mint leaves, she placed them between cherry tomato halves and cheese (mozzarella for them, goat cheese for me), and drizzled Palestinian olive oil with salt and pepper over top. Dessert was fresh watermelon, laced with mint again. Adele sang to us sweetly throughout making dessert. (A nod to WK, stalking me even from abroad). I feel truly joyful. The happiness I’m experiencing is inexplicable, I could dance, or worship or sing. Cue the happy song in a musical. Where are my talking animals?! The sun is out, we are in the Middle East, the food is so good, and the company is priceless. At the present moment, we are in the Girls’ Bedroom, Claire and Trevor are reading (Time Traveler’s Wife for Claire) and I might pick up my Sun Tzu’s Art of War… or try to learn Arabic again…. Hmm… Or watch Music videos. Wow. So, the music videos we watched were really really bad. Then they started over again with the first of 5 bad music videos. One was the Arabic version of Justin Bieber, except with absolutely no emotion in his face and a dramatic girl who can’t act. One was this video about studying, we think and another was a woman who didn’t feel loved by her husband. But she didn’t say anything to him, but instead made a music video. At least she was pretty.
OH MY WORD. We are now watching Camel racing. Yes, you heard right. Camels. The announcers yell like the Kentucky Derby, or a Spanish soccer game (where’s the GOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLL!!!?) But they have mechanical riders that have a rotating arm with a whip that sits on its back. The camels lick and snort and grunt and cough like barrel-chest old men attempting to run at the gym after a 5 Guys burger and fries. As if this wasn’t weird enough, there are cars, SUVs and trucks in the background, behind the fence, that are racing the camels? Racing each other? Who knows… it’s odd though. Now back to jumping Arabs who clap and trill their way through Religious songs. The television here is a great reminder that we are no longer in Dayton. There are stations from every Arab nation mostly showing news, but some music, some soap operas, some music videos or old style movies. I can’t wait to read the alphabet. Even reading the words scrolling across the page would make me feel better. May I add that on the music video stations have weird emoticons on the bottom of the screen? There are rolling granny faces, kissing lovers, a devil… that may or may be flipping us off….
Rosetta’s Stone may be the best way to learn a language, but land sakes, Arabic is incredibly difficult. Perhaps it’s that my American tongue doesn’t pronounce the sounds well, or that Rosetta doesn’t teach you the letters, but allows you to figure it out on your own, but I’ve gone through Lesson One twice and still don’t feel much better about my ability. The sentences are in reference to boy, girl, he, she, they (f,m), man, woman and all the plurals (single girl, two boys, three women, etc). These characters then eat, swim, read, write, drink, cook, run etc. But I really couldn’t tell you what the word is for “run” yet… I’m getting there maybe, but it’s slow. I have hope that perhaps I will stop sucking so much and my brain will switch into Arabic gear. It’s funny to me how thirsty I am to keep learning. Though it feels incredible to not have the stress of school looming overhead or some great and intimidating test pressing down on my shoulders from the future, I also feel like a fish out of water. Not learning? Not busy? No internet? No phone??? No way. How do I survive?? We can’t go outside, because in temperatures of 45 degrees Celsius, you can’t make it far without feeling like you’ve just run a marathon… or been beaten with a red hot cast iron swatch… or thrown into an easy bake oven… or like Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego (for a throwback to the O.T.). So, I’m watching absurd TV, journaling here, chatting there, eating, drinking (juice, people), and resting some. But my mind, while feeling free and bouncy from no school, is also feeling squirmy and shifty from the lack of focus and direction. Hence, the Arabic. Wouldn’t it be incredible to come back with some ability to speak???? UGH! So. Freaking. Awesome. Alas, alas, I will press on. Even though I feel frustrated with my slowness to learn and the difficulty in the language. It will be worth it. It will be beautiful. I believe I can learn it.
So. Tonight was absolutely incredible. I am stunned by Omani generosity, their beauty and their kindness!! Let me tell you what happened:
I was blogging and learning Arabic with Omani cartoons playing o n the screen, Claire was napping and Trevor was reading (so he claims, really, he was dozing too.) I went to eat food in the kitchen when Claire let out an exclamation and came running in the room. We had received a text that read “Dear Claire, Some medical studnts.are arranging a social.program for 2 days starting from tomorrow morning. The trip will include visiting some of the.finest oasis in Oman and attending.a traditonal weeding, camping on the beach and.watching the turtles. This trip.costs OR15 each for two days including the food. A.student.from.Finland.is.involved.Please let me know if you are interested in this program, I.may.ask.a.student.to.provide.with.details. Regards, Salim” ( I had to include the actual text, capital by period by misspelling. I looked forward to the “Weeding”) What this means: We were invited to go with some medical students (4th and 5th years of 7 years of medical school) to Oases, to a traditional wedding (we guessed this was the meaning of “weeding”), and to camp on the beach, rise at 4 am and watch Green Sea Turtles hatching, then to watch the sun rise. This place where the sun rises is the first point in the entire Arab Nations where the sun first is seen. After reading this, we literally WENT INSANE! What were we supposed to be more excited for?! The cultural experience of the wedding?! The relaxing nature of the beach and oasis experience?! The Free food?! The Zoological experience of watching new life struggle to the water in the early dawn?!?! Are you freaking kidding me?!!?! We nearly peed our pants. This was only an hour after the hotel clerk (who had helped us find food, internet, and was genuinely sweet to us) offered to, after his shift had completed, to take us to the City Center “mall.” We gratefully accepted of course, and ran to our room with glee for our new found friend. Now, we not only had a friend and an event for that night, but had plans for the next two days that included LITERALLY EVERYTHING on my things that I would love to see in my LIFETIME (well, maybe not everything on that list, because that list is infinite, but you know what I mean). After a swift text from the school administrator Salim saying that some students would be over in 15 minutes (“Mints” in the text), three young Omanis knocked on our door. ((Cue frantic thought processes: Offer them juice? A place to sit? Come in? Please may I buy you something incredible?!)) They waited until we walked in, they waited for us to sit, and at the end they waited for us to stand. I, by an unfortunate habit, extended a hand before I caught myself, but they accepted gracefully and even shook our hands on the way out. They sat and we discussed medical school, the changes in the curriculum and the differences between our educations. In Oman now, they go straight from high school into a seven year medical school program – four years hard science (no clinical correlations) and three years clinical experience. They are changing to three years hard sciences with correlation to clinical practice and two and a half years clinical experience. The two 5th years are interested in Pediatrics, the 4th year (names to come) doesn’t know yet, but he’s in his surgery rotation now and is loving it. They described the day and then we had to rush to meet our new friend from the hotel, Abdul (Full name Aburramen???). He whisked us away in his car, and, with an uneasy glance from Claire, we swiftly drove to the city center. Abdul and Trevor made best friends almost instantly, continually conversing throughout the entire night. I see a “Bromance” in their future, no doubt. We drove through the night and arrived at a HUGE three story parking garage. A swirl to the top and we entered into one of the nicest, expansive mall I’d seen. We bought an Omani SIM card (a grand 5.50 USD), and I bought long sleeve shirts. I didn’t bring enough, I honestly thought we’d need to buy more clothes here to fit in better and not offend, but it seems people really, really don’t care. They still stare, so I might buy some traditional clothes as it is. Certainly some to bring home so you can see them. J. Claire and I merrily shopped and she was my cheerleader and size finder. Her influence is evident on the clothes choices, but I like them a lot too. I bought this awesome long sleeved suit shirt (that was cheap) yet fitted, two looser fitting hippie/eastern style, definitely Indian influenced and one thin sweater for the hospital. The boys were not distractible as they talked… and talked… and talked… and talked… So Claire and I went were we wanted and they followed, lol. I felt a little bad, but they were having such a good time, I couldn’t refuse the opportunity to grab what I needed. I hope the traditional market offers more clothing, unique jewelry and things that encompass the essence of Oman. We were certainly stared at at the mall, but I did see a short haired, tall, fair Caucasian, so that was interesting.
Oh! Also many women in burkas (eyes together in one hole, or separated by a strip of cloth wearing gloves) and some women with faces fully covered by a sweeping swatch. I’m certainly they could see, but it was eerie to look at them, to know they are human, but not to know where they were looking or not. Their hands were exposed though, which I found highly interesting. Claire and I had an interesting discussion as we followed the boys through the mall about Burkas and Identity and gender roles. When Omani men where the traditional outfits (white long “dresses” with long sleeves and structured cylindrical hats), they have as much self-expression as the women – head coverings basically being the only changeable thing. Women can change how they wrap and how the wrap is designed, but that’s about it. Some guys change the color from white to brown, but really, the genders are fairly well represented. What’s different is that men are allowed to wear casual “western” clothing, where as a women, who is Arabic, in public would feel social pressure to never wear her hair exposed. Very few women will wear jeans/leggings, etc under long sleeved, long waist-ed shirts. Some families do, but you never see them near our hotel, and we only saw a few at the city center. Then, to see the women fully garbed, I have to admit I felt my soul ache. I really understand conservatism, I understand dressing to protect men from temptation and maintain purity, even to extend to clothing. But, where did the woman go? Where is her beauty, her unique power, her identity? Only a close women friend and eventually her husband get to see her as she really is? Are all marriages arranged or is every wedding night a moment of terror for the man as he unwraps his bride to see the face beneath? Am I just devastatingly shallow? Perhaps this dress provides opportunity for deeper exploration of a soul and mind without taking a physical person into account. But if that’s the point, then put the men in veils as well. It is the differences in the sexes that offends me most, I think. I respect the dress, but I, as an American woman have such a passion about empowerment, equal opportunity (to succeed, fail, win, lose, etc) and IDENTITY. My motto since college has been “Know thyself.” Literally. I’ve tried on many mottos over time, searched through much wisdom and read hundreds of quotes. But there is nothing so true to me as “Know thyself.” Know who you are, who you are in your creator, who you are not and what you will not accept, believe or do. Know this, and act. Where is the freedom in a burka? Where is the unique creature beneath its black folds? Where is her strength? In her man? In her father? In her wealth? In her family? Where is her love? In her Man? In her children? In her woman friends? In her family? Where is her identity? In her man? In her father? In her children? In her wealth? In her family? Where is her voice? Where is her passion? Where is her soul? I hope my western mind is not clouding the issue, but I know that my perspective can never be unbiased. I hope to learn more, and be open to hear what people here have to say. Needless to say, THIS is THE REASON I wanted to come here in the first place. Expect more entries about this in the future.
But I digress on my favorite soap box. We left, and went to the Oman Gulf. We walked on silk sand toward the dark water and stepped into our ankles. The water was about 15 degrees Fahrenheit cooler than the air (give or take - so like 75 degrees). I took many pictures… but they cannot express the beauty of the dark water, or the strings of lights that laced the highway reflecting in its quiet waves. The heat is still shocking when you leave the confines of air conditioned air, but after an adjustment, you hardly notice. We got back in the car and went to a Shook (an outdoor market). He pulled over in the midst of traffic, spoke in hurried Arabic to a man in a stylish hard hat and pulled to the side, blocking some parked cars. “Do we like spice?” he asked. Well, that is a dangerous question in a land of predominantly indian influences… spice as in burn off your tongue? We said yes. The hard-hatted man ran toward a row of windows with grills and placed our orders. As we waited we spoke as ruffian children ran in the streets, played dodge the vehicle and sit on the back of our car. Abdul has 20 brothers and sisters for his father had two women. And an exponentially greater number of cousins. We were stunned… that’s a lot of family. His father, it turns out owns 40% of the hotel. Abdul has his degree in computer science and wants to bring American cars to Oman because Omani cars are so very expensive. Talk talk talk. Enter the food. Swiftly Abdul paid (we tried to thwart him) and accepted 14 sticks in foil. He handed us girls in the back 8 and Trevor and Abdul shared the others (please read Abdul may have had two, but Trevor had the other four… and some of ours…. He loved these J). Called Meshikiq, these were absolutely INCREDIBLE!!! Some sort of darker meat (lamb? Goat?) soaked in seasoning and spice and fat and the most incredible flavors of my life. It dripped joyfully on my lap (better than the seat of the car) and even more merrily filled my soul and belly. It was perhaps the most incredible meal of my life. Simple thin strips on a simple wooden stick, and I could eat them all the time. Abdul then got us the most phenomenal juices (mango for the girls, strawberry for the boys) and we headed home, weaving through the market places. So many people at night. So many lights. So many signs. ((I’d like to add that I can read some of the signs now… maybe the Rosetta’s Stone is working better than I anticipated, lol. Still rough because some signs don’t have vowels (like Hebrew), but I’m improving. It’s not gibberish any more. Not legible, yet, but it will be)). He talked about Yemen and how he believes there will be change and it will happen in a month and about how dangerous Saudi Arabia is even for him. The drugs, the violence, the oppression… it’s not a place he chooses to go. We discussed how the women there are fully covered, never let walk alone without male accompaniment and the general loss of power of women. We discussed how the women we saw at the mall with face fully covered are from the rural villages. I asked if there was air conditioning, and he said yes, but even though the government built the “desert dwellers” housing, they fill the houses with their animals and continue to live outdoors, saying “Our home is the desert.” With further conversation, we arrived at home, said our goodbyes and sincere thanks, and went inside.
I have an interesting couple bug bites in rows and singlets on my legs and backs. I’m having flashbacks of bedbug bites in Greece and so I tore apart my bed, cleaned my sheets and will sleep in my silk tonight. I also cleaned my backpack and jeans and skirt. Ps. The skirt bleeds purple. It’s outside, please don’t fly away.
Trevor: it upsets me that there is such a misconception about Oman. The people here are so incredible, and people back home are so misinformed. They all think it’s Yemen. But it’s a different country! Are WE the same as Mexico? Certainly not!
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