Arriving in London was a little odd. I’m pretty sure they put us in the currently-being-renovated “Send those crazy Americans where we can’t see them” basement and picked the twisty-est, concrete-iest, pipe-iest hallway to shunt us through. I had the urge to moo, but felt it might be insulting to the people around me to be compared to beef. (“No, no, Sweet-British woman. Yes I moo’d. No, it was not in reference to you. Please ignore the American Blonde.”) I whisked through customs, Trevor flirted and made a friend with his customs-lady who proceeded to ask him many questions about his trip. Trevor’s a charmer, what can we say? We dropped our bags at the “Left Baggage” (a storage place, but it made me quite nervous that it might produce a self-fulfilling prophecy), bought an outrageously expensive ticket on the Express train to London Paddington and arrived 15 minutes later at the gigantic, arching, metallic fork in the road. (Not literally a fork, please note the metaphor of Paddington being the split of a journey…) After asking a question to a brisk man with a whistle (thankfully he waited until we turned our backs to surprise us with that neat sound, don’t worry, we only jumped out of our skin a little) we ran to buy Tickets to Oxford.
The path to Oxford was beautiful. Though the clouds hung low, the earth was green and rolling, rimmed by fluffy trees and bejeweled by incredible architecture and quaint apartments. The cities rolled in and out again, merely marked by an increased frequency of squashed apartments and a break in the farm/field/cow/church schema. Trevor bravely attempted such names as “Slough” (slaw… not slog or slof) and Reading (RED-ing, not to rhyme with Seed or bead), and we finally arrived. We wandered into the station, and around a bit before seeing the beautiful face of my friend Samuel Roberto. Perhaps the most inquisitive, deep-thinking, philosophical souls I’ve encountered, Sam’s artistic nature and curiosity make him one of my favorite people to spend time and discuss things with. He has studied in Oxford before at New College, and is now at Trinity College studying Philosophy and Christian Apologetics. He led us through Pubs, antique shops, around the town and through his schools, helping us in and out of Libraries and the Oxford Union. It was incredible, absolutely beautiful, and perfectly tranquil. I was insanely happy and satisfied there. I bought this phenomenal journal and had one of my favorite quotes: “I AM incapable of insignificance.” And the Oxford Insignia imprinted in gold lettering on the soft red leather. I anticipate its arrival highly and I cannot wait to use it. There was no better place to wander the winding cobble stones and discuss God, relationships, faith and reason. My favorite store was the Scriptorium where I bought the journal. It was lined with creative, unique and antique-y quill pens, old globes, old journals and masks. The Pink-Mohawked Rebecca was so sweet and I asked her to put her favorite quote and signature in the journal when it arrived. I honestly could live there and be happy. I think that I am more of an old soul myself, and the architecture, the stained glass, the quirky cobblestones and dark-wooded holes-in-the-wall pubs thrill me more than I can say. In visiting Trinity we saw one of the quadrangles… the Monk’s…. Insert nifty name here… where some of Harry Potter was filmed. (It was the scene where Malfoy gets turned into a ferret). Sadly, I recognized it before he described the scene and I felt positively nerdy (and secretly joyful that my brain could recognize such things.) The hallways (see the photos on Facebook) were so amazing… arching ceilings, decorated open windows and old tombstones that line the walkway… it does make you believe in magic a bit. J As we were leaving, we were accosted by friendly Canadians who wanted to discuss Health Care Reform. They were adamantly against socialized health care and strong advocates for a free market economy. Rid Health care of the government, the insurance companies and make doctors/medical companies/pharmacy companies compete for customers, and thus, create lower prices. He cannot stand the fact that people wait for hours and hours in ERs because there are no primary care doctors and no real preventative medicine. Canada also excluded health care for the blind and deaf (a point that got me quite heated… of all the people, to exclude the disabled or different… idiotic.) He also advocated Ron Paul for President. It was a lively discussion and was quite enjoyable.
We meandered from the cobbled street to the main thoroughfare and went to the oldest tea house in England and one of the pubs where CS Lewis and his fellows discussed literature, logic, and religion. I had a Pimm, a sweet, mojito like Soda-Juice-liquor and the boys had an Ale. We almost talked so long that we missed our train back (a fast 3.5 hours later) but a skip on a cab and we barely made it as it chugged out the station. I supposed now is a fair enough time to mention that upon arrival at Oxford, I realized that I had only grabbed one set of tickets (an arrival and a return ticket) for one of us … and left the other two in the machine. Brilliant. So I had to buy another return ticket which sucked. Alas, alas, such things happen. Things went smoothly back at London Heathrow and we meandered through the inner International MALL of the airport. Part of me wishes I was drowning in money and could just walk into the Chanel/Coach/Hermes etc. stores and purchase whatever the heck I wanted to. But oh well… we went to this Bar/restaurant and I had a salad (that DIDN’T make me sick!!!! GASP!) and we boarded the plane. There was a shocking amount of white, blonde folk, but it seems that they were all heading to Dubai. Four British girls sat in front of us, and I have officially decided that, while indeed American tourists can be obnoxious, arrogant and rude, the same can be said about some British tourists… just in a more pretentious sounding accent. They named their plastic, smiley-faced Penis “Alejandro”, so that was neat… (bachelorette party??). I was further annoyed when we arrived in Oman and they took off their over layers, showing cleavage, skin and their lack of cultural awareness. But lets move on… and discuss more of the flight.
Oman Air is the most luxurious airline I have ever flown on. I was expecting a nice flight, as all the Middle Eastern Airlines are known for their customer care and extravagance, but the warm towels, the cloth pouch (with toothbrush, eye cover, ear plugs, etc), the free movies, video games, video capability (we could look under and in front of the plane via a live camera during the whole flight) and the food. Oh the food. I could eat the food. That in and of itself should make your jaw drop. Not the bad tasting roll (stupid corn) but it was this tasty tomato chicken with salad, cooked carrots, and fruit. Plus, the orange juice was amazing. Corny bread excluded, non-US, European/Asian countries are so wonderful because they don’t use corn predominately. It’s such a relief. I can drink orange juice without asking. Which is good, secondarily, because I think there was drama in the Flight attendants… that or they are naturally foul tempered and increasingly so throughout the flights. They seemed irritable, cold and positively bothered by us. Perhaps it’s my own perspective to their culturally different social cues. I wonder if it’s just the absence of false smiles like we have in the states…. Who knows… but they seems annoyed anyhow. Oman Air showed this awesome cartoon Safety Demonstration video. Pictures will be posted of that too. J I enjoyed it thoroughly
I watched two movies (stupid.), slept only 3 or 4 hours (more stupid.) and struggled with jet lag (most stupid, silly body not instantly adjusting… should take notes from the iPhone). But slowly, slowly the little plane on the map went from the UK, through Europe, sat atop Turkey, swept through Syria and meandered over the dry, hot expanse of the Saudi Arabian desert. And then we were here. Suddenly the sun was up, the earth was sandy and most of the trees fled in desperation, leaving tough, small-leaved bushes and squatting palms in their wake. The language slowly transitioned from British English to Arabic and I felt more and more unprepared for this trip. My very brief exposure to Arabic helped me hear the sounds and I recognize some letters, but not well and not quickly enough. I did bring my Rosetta Stone, so I look forward to learning and prepping in that way. Getting off the plane was quite the cultural shock. The rooms were filled with men, with very few women. And all the blondes disappeared until I was left. Certainly Trevor sticks out because he’s clearly Caucasian, but even his darker hair and male status help him blend a bit better. My height and my hair are not helpful to blending. Thankfully, the Omani’s haven’t been as obvious in their staring as the Japanese were and thus far, I haven’t been stalked by video camera men or accosted by photographers, lol. They stare, of course, but I understand that its mere curiosity than anything else.
Ps. We are now into Tuesday, the 7th. Time morphs when flying 18 hours in 2 days
We landed far from the terminal, walked off the plane onto the tarmac and onto a bus. Entering the terminal, I was grateful to see a shorter, kind, wrinkly faced gentleman holding a sign for “Sultan Qaboos” University. He greeted us with a firm handshake and asked for 20 Rials (60 USD). Both Trevor and I weren’t 100% sure this was even our guy and then he asked for our money, so we were newly skeptical. But the money was to buy Visas, and so we breathed a sigh of relief. I was so very excited that we had no issues here at the airport, especially with Visas. The website said the Visa could be gotten at the airport, but I wasn’t sure. The guide led us through all the stops, skipping the lines and getting us through in literally no time. We couldn’t have done it without him. He got us on a taxi, who took us to our hotel/apartment, who led us to our two bedroom (four bed), two bathroom apartment. It’s really nice actually, in terms of space. There aren’t towels, and the showers are just in the corners of the bathroom with no separation and so the bathroom floors get soaked. The hotel speaks English, but I can’t find internet in the hotel (supposedly there is some in the restaurant nearby), and we couldn’t figure out the TV. Our main contact at the medical school called and so that was most excellent reassurance. He knows we are here, and that we would love a trip to the market. We need food and water. I just want internet. I’m literally going insane. I don’t know where we are relative to the school, I can’t google, post this or comment on facebook. So. I’m losing my mind. We need ATMs. We need a market. We need cheap towels. We need English speakers to explain to us what in the world is going on, lol. Cue the out-of-comfort-zone-experience. This trip is going to be great, but man, this is an adjustment. J (In reading back over this paragraph hours later, I’d like to reassure the reader that indeed I was stressing, but things have resolved... mostly. Don’t worry, I was just mid-culture shock)
The view outside is a different kind of beautiful. Everything here is the color of the earth: a bland, yellow to red sandstone shade. The buildings are accented with beautiful arches and splashes of color, but everything is yellow-white. There is a double-towered mosque perhaps a block away, laced with a sort of dark sea-green. I admit I look forward to hearing the calls to prayer. The lilting voices in the early morning are so haunting and beautiful to me. I loved hearing them walking through Old Jaffa in Israel. Ironically, past the mosque is a McDonalds, and in our own building resides a Dominos. So far and yet so close to home. We saw the mountains/hill today. They are naked, rocky ridges that sort of blend into the pale sky at the horizon. The sky isn’t really a blue… it’s not really a white or grey either. The horizon is the same yellow, while straight overhead is an off-white with blue hints. There are no clouds. And no mercy from the Sun. 98 degrees night and day. The Seas that surround Oman are kept hot from the up swinging Equator water and it shows in its atmospheric temperatures.
Medically, we are exhausted, jet lagged, and have pitting edema +4. A Too-Much-Information moment if you please: Travelling on your period sucks. Badly. Why does it always wait to start until the day you have to spend 18 hours on planes, away from amenities, where you can be pushed to the extremes of fatigue?! Monitoring irritation levels are difficult in the best of circumstances, add exhaustion, close quarters and sickness from food/pain from T.O.M, means that self-control is at its peak difficulty level. Good thing I’m pretty well practiced: no one has lost their head, Trevor is still my friend (so it seems) and I still am happy and optimistic J. (NOTE: Trevor’s addition: STILL friends??? Who said we ever were??!) and (T.O.M = Time of the Month. The best name for it ever. Freaking Uncle TOM.) I may go sleep some….zzzzzzzz
I had hoped to stay awake all day so that this didn’t happen, but it has. It’s 2 am and I’m still awake (please someone else sing the Anna Nalick song with me in their head). We napped, which felt amazing, but was probably a mistake. Alas, we will rise early and stay awake more tomorrow. Thankfully , our clerkships don’t start until Saturday. When we rose from our naps earlier it was 2 hours til 7, the time I believed Claire was to arrive. Then it was 7, then 8, then 8:30. No Claire. I admit I felt a mild panic when she hadn’t called, and I would have double checked her arrival time, but again, no internet (I’m just about losing it over here on this issue…. –Sigh of SERIOUS frustration-). We went to dinner, hoping I had mistaken the time and we’d see her at 9. Thankfully, that was the case. Soon after dinner, Claire texted and arrived looking fabulous, even if a little windswept. A note: Dinner was incredible. Very excellent Chicken Masala (a curry like dish) with epic amounts of rice. Trevor is set on saving money and so is ordering the cheapest of the cheap (soup .8 Rials, for example). I think this is brilliant. But terrifying too. My meal was certainly more (2.9 Rials, but for two meals, hopefully) but… when I feel uncomfortable, or afraid or out of control, I find munching soothing… it’s a terrible habit. I start thought processes that go “I don’t know the next time I’ll eat, what if I can’t, get hungry and feel horrible/grumpy/DIE HORRIBLY etc.” Clearly, absurd thinking. So, with a deep breath and a prayer, I am following suit. Eat Slowly, breathe regularly, pray often. Trust in the God of all provisions. What’s odd is I have literally had one meal per day over the last couple days, and been fine. Give me a drink and I’m happy, I guess… Keep me distracted and I’m happy might be closer to the truth…
I really prefer travelling with friends who are locals and who can guide and protect and explain. This whole, jumping into an ocean without knowing really how to swim is new and scary. I haven’t prepped on the language (usually I know at least 15 phrases or so to get around), I haven’t prepped on the culture (shake hands or not? Walk behind or beside Trevor? Is eye contact important??), and I haven’t seen where we are specifically on the map. I feel completely blind, to be frank. And for the control-freak I am, being blind is uncomfortable. Thankfully, I am satisfied that we will learn soon, I have hope that we will find internet soon, and I trust that even if I screw up culturally, the generosity of the Omani’s will overlook my mistakes. Plus, I’m so happy to be here, that I’m okay being uncomfortable. It also helps that I have been watching CNN on the Mid East and finished the night off with Mary Poppins. I need a spoonful of sugar, or perhaps a handshake from a Chimney Sweep….
It just dawned on me again that I’m halfway around the world, travelling and doing things I had only imagined or dreamed or planned. That soon I will be in Rwanda (culture difference much???) and with my sweet roommates. But for now, I will dwell on the whole “Holy Crap, I’m in the Middle East” feeling. That mentioned, whenever you read Café here, you must translate it to “Hookah bar.” Though I’m not a huge fan, they do have the only internet nearby. Seems we will have to go Hookah soon. I’m sobered by the idea that the smell of Hookah means so many things to so many people. Friendship, fun and frivolity to some, and yet to others: war, being far from home, and the sounds of mortars and gun-fire. Allow me to take this moment to honor the soldiers who are seeing a different, darker side of the Middle East, you are not forgotten.
To bed to bed, I rest my head. I have now written what needs be said. Peace.
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