Shiny on the outside, Rotten on the inside

I often feel that living here is like going backwards in time 30 years. There's a strange mix of old and new ideas constantly butting heads. On the one hand, it's common to see Arabs in traditional clothes driving around in glossy BMW 750s. On the other, you go into the airport and there's an entire wall of squat toilets.

The shopping malls carry the latest fashions but you go into the grocery to buy a tube of toothpaste and you find out that in this area they only manufacture tubes with the old screw caps, there's no flip-up cap to be found anywhere.

Water is still suspect around these parts. Sweetwater, which is desalinated seawater, is said to be safe for drinking, and is used as a selling point in compounds. We still don't drink it though.

I bought some plastic cling food wrap (ya know, Saran wrap) and there's not even an included cutting edge on the box. I got home and opened the box and to my dismay, had to find scissors to even cut off a stupid piece.

When Elena was born, I used the Pampers & Huggies that were sold here, thinking they were the same as in the States. Plastic diapers with plastic tape fasteners. Whoa, when I went back to Seattle a couple months later, was I surprised to find the REAL Pampers and Huggies with Velcro fasteners, elastic waists, and breathable materials. Same brands, but different standards for manufacturing. One is made for the American consumer, with the so-called advanced technology; the other made in Saudi Arabia for the laggards living in the Middle East.

They are building sleek, modern-style office towers here. Tall, futuristic shapes; shiny green glass windows, skyscrapers of the 21st century. But then down on the ground, many roads are unpaved so the shiny, fancy cars driving along get covered in layers of dust blown up by the wind and traffic.

In my opinion, the quality-of-life here just cannot live up to what I am used to. On the surface, you see many nice things, but then you realize that everything is just for show-- there is no substance. Fancy cars, designer handbags... everything nice is pretty much limited to retail consumerism. There are no recycling programs, trash is EVERYWHERE, people just throw bags of trash out the window while they are driving. Many people are uneducated. Many people don't have the opportunity to travel. The internet is censored. In Saudi, tampons are freakin' banned-- there's such limitation on unknowing people who don't read broadly and aren't aware of what it is like around the world.

I feel like there are many resources available to this area, for the number one reason that oil $$$ can buy a lot. There should be no reason why I feel like I'm living in the past. I don't want the nice cars and designer shades if I can't even tear off a piece of Saran wrap.

Merry Christmas!

Let the record show

That today, I was able to turn off the air conditioning in the house. It is about 68 degrees in the daytime, I'm still wearing sandals and no jacket. The Pakistani and Bangladeshi workers here are wrapped in big scarves covering their heads and faces; the gas station attendants are wearing winter jackets and gloves! Arab little kids are in thick coats and ski hats! They're selling fleece infant buntings in the stores!

At night it just started getting nippy, around 55 degrees. I better start wearing socks.

Yoga comes naturally to babies

I noticed that Elena started incorporating Yoga into her daily calisthenics. She also does the Cobra but I couldn't snap the picture in time. She can use some improvement in her form but with practice it will come. Namaste.

Downward facing dog

Plank

Child's Pose

Elena's Hungarian Grandma

This woman is the mother of a fellow pilot at Jeff's company, a Hungarian by the name of Jozsef. He also happens to be our neighbor. Both his mother and mother-in-law (not pictured) came for a three week visit and these grandmas took great care of Elena. They cooked dinner for us many times and while I ate the grandmas watched Elena so that I could relax while eating. We went to a friend's BBQ and they did the same.

I'm sorry to say that I don't even remember their names, because I only called them "grandma." Neither of them spoke English, but one was brunette and the other blonde, and I remembered the blonde as the in-law, so that's how I kept them apart. We did lots of sign language and sometimes Jozsef's six-year old daughter had to do some simple translating, even though she has only begun learning English six months ago! I guess it shows that human kindness transcends words.

This grandma cried so much on her last day in Bahrain when we said our goodbyes.

Introducing Elena as... Erykah Badu!

Yesterday we met Osama...

Osama is an 8-year old boy with a mop of curly brown hair and long, thick, naturally curled eyelashes. Elena and I were at the mall when Osama came up and started talking to us. He had obviously seen "Ice Age" because he came up to Elena in her stroller, pulled down the sunshade and said, "where's the baby?" then pushed the sunshade back and exclaimed, "there he is!" He did this about 8 times and each time his mother told him, "The baby is a girl!" But Osama didn't listen.

He proudly announced that he spoke Arabic, English, and French. So I responded with, "Salam Alaykum" (a standard Arabic greeting meaning Peace Be Upon You). He squinted and stated, "You are American." Bright kid! I must've had a horrible accent.

It figures that it would take a child to be the first person, ever, since I've come to the Middle East, to guess that I was American. It's probably because he could decipher how I spoke English, and my physical looks didn't factor into his assessment. Adults on the other hand, already have all kinds of preconceived notions, and the way I look obviously doesn't fit into their profile of what an American looks like.

Osama was a smart, cute kid, with a friendly, abaya-wearing mom and Elena and I had a good time chatting with them. (I was waiting for my friend who was breastfeeding her baby in the dressing room, so we sat with Osama and his mom for about 15 minutes.) These are the kinds of encounters that I find so enjoyable-- just being able to interact with locals and see the good side of them and how normal and pleasant it can be... because honestly about 90% of the time interacting with locals only brings frustration, confusion, and heartache!

Unh...unhhh...unnnhhhh!

That's the sound Elena makes when she's trying to crawl. She has been obsessed with flipping from her back to her tummy, and now she wants to crawl, but doesn't know how to coordinate her arm and leg movements. She wakes up in the middle of the night to practice crawling. She flips onto her stomach and enjoys the view, then waves her arms and digs in her knees, then cries because she gets stuck on her stomach and doesn't know how to fall back asleep. Just take it easy, girl!

Really?

Did you know that Jihad is a popular male name in this part of the world? To me, this word has only had a negative connotation to it.

But since I've been here for many months now, I have met quite a few people named Jihad. I'm sure their parents thought this name had a really good meaning. Being named Jihad is probably as ordinary as being named Jerry.

Happy Thanksgiving!

So it's November 22 and still 90 degrees. As you can see, Elena is enjoying the afternoon in the shade by the pool, with no need to bundle up as we would have to in Seattle. We are heading to our American friend's house for Thanksgiving dinner.

It's the Great Pumpkin, Elena

So it only took 38 hours...

...but we made it back to Bahrain!

Magic Trick

Ta da! Elena made a giant zucchini appear out of thin air!

The Kingdom

Yesterday Jeff and I saw The Kingdom, the movie starring Jamie Foxx. It was good. It was set in Riyadh, in the aftermath of a compound bombing and the ensuing search for the evil Abu Hamza, the Saudi mastermind behind the plot. It was your basic action movie but pretty entertaining so that's all it takes to get a thumbs-up from me.

Jeff and I exchanged glances all through the movie because they got a lot of the details RIGHT! Can you believe it. But they also got a lot of details WRONG. Here's are my thoughts:

RIGHT:

• Saudis want to get in your way of doing things efficiently
• Saudis do a lot for show, when in reality nothing is happening behind-the-scenes
• Saudis do not have the right equipment (ie. water pump) for the job, thereby forcing you to complete the job in the least efficient way possible
• Saudis command you to do something, or go somewhere, or show them your passport, all without telling you why
• American old lady at the compound said Saudis wouldn't be doing the gardener's job because they feel it is beneath them
• All the barbed wire and security at the compound
• You really do see convoys of big, black, shiny SUVs

WRONG:

• Saudis would never, ever be the workers cleaning up after the explosion. The clean-up workers would never be speaking Arabic; they most likely would be Pakistani or Bangladeshi.
• The movie played off the crazy driving and flipped over cars as being a result of a high-speed car chase; in reality, that is an average Tuesday commute
• Al Rammah compound (or whatever it was called) looked too shoddy to be a target of that severe of an attack; most likely an attack would be at those luxurious compounds that are nicer than the Ritz.
• There are no more Americans in Saudi, least of all the Texan-twang kind like the one Tim McGraw played (who looked really bloated, BTW)

OK, so these are major generalizations, but as with these things, there is a grain of truth to them.

Also, I was excited that I understood some of the Arabic words. Just the simple phrases like greetings and such, but still it was exciting!

We really wanted to see this movie before we went back to Bahrain because it would never play over there. Every movie is censored- I think only Mr. Bean's Holiday was not. I didn't know that at first, until after I went to a few movies and was like, why is every movie less than an hour and a half? Why are there messy splices / abrupt scene changes? But it's the best we can get. Movie theatres do not exist in Saudi, so the only place we can watch movies is an actual movie theatre is in Bahrain.

Summer's end

Our time in Seattle is quickly coming to an end. Jeff's visit came and went; he just departed for Bahrain today.

It's been amazing to be back home. Coming back here after a stint in the Middle East has taught me not to take my home for granted. What do they call it? Perspective.

Is this a dream?

I took Elena for a walk around the neighborhood yesterday. Outside. It was 75 degrees with a light breeze. Clear, blue sky. Green grass and trees. Life in Technicolor.

Yay! I am back in Seattle!

OMG! Article on Bahrain in the NYT...

In the Travel section. It's talking about the Formula One, which was in April. It also makes Bahrain sound a lot more glamorous and cosmopolitan than it really is.


http://www.nytimes.com/2007/08/05/travel/05explorer.html?ex=1343880000&en=94f3aab6df722222&ei=5124&partner=permalink&exprod=permalink

Hot Ghetto Mess

I read somewhere that this was going to be the title of some BET show, but it was renamed because "Hot Ghetto Mess" was deemed offensive. Well, offensive maybe only because this term is completely outdated, so summer '06. But sometimes it is the way we describe Bahrain.

We new moms call it ghetto Bahraini-style, that is, the method by which you travel by car without securing your infant in a carseat.

There are no child carseat laws here or in Saudi Arabia. Are you kidding. The average Arab family has 3-4 toddler children, and they overrun the car's capacity by at least two or three people at a time. You know grandma and auntie have to come along, too. It's the clown car phenomenon. I would laugh all the time back in the States, seeing the Asian families drive down 405 in the Honda Accord, 6 people to each 5-seat sedan. Only I can laugh because I'm Asian.

It's absolutely the norm over here to carry your infant or toddler in the lap. In the US, you can't even bring your baby home from the hospital without a properly installed infant seat. The nurse probably walks out with you to check. Since Elena came early, we didn't have a carseat yet. All we had was this plastic baby carrier gifted by one of the pilots. It is so flimsy I could sit on it and crush it. In no way was it made to be a car seat, but Jeff hooked it into the car and we drove merrily home. (Not really, we were terrified the whole way since the American in us made us paranoid)

But wouldn't ya know how quickly we slide down the slippery slope of laziness. The island is small. My friends live literally 3 miles away. It takes more time to snap the baby in the carseat than it is to drive to their houses. So I admit to taking risks and not always using the carseat, just keeping the baby in the bassinet and putting it wholesale in the backseat (but always with someone sitting back there with her, like this makes it safer.) This other American new mother hasn't even used her car seat yet, just uses this travel basket. Amazing how when it is not law, we don't feel the need to be diligent.

But I'm not going to do that anymore. It's dumb. I have this great, heavyduty carseat, and I'm not going to think of it as a hassle to use it. I don't know if carseats were around when I was a baby, but I doubt it. Seat belts weren't even compulsory until I was probably 8 years old. But now that we have a car seat, wouldn't I feel silly if something happened to the baby because I didn't use it?

The Emerald Isle

Jeff has been stranded in Ireland for the past week. He went to pick up an airplane that is being added to the fleet, but of course it has been delayed due to repairs. His company told him this would be an overnight trip.

I had suspected this would happen. It happened previously when Jeff went to London in early March, and when we went to Paris in late March. What was supposed to be an exciting trip from Ireland has turned out to be more of a punishment- losing out on accumulating flight hours, losing sector pay, losing time with his family. At least he's gotten to go sightseeing and says it's beautiful over there.

Here's a picture I sent to him of lil' Penelope Charmosa (that's Portugese for Penelope Pitstop). See what he's missing!

Hot Town, Summer in the Bahrain

We have now entered August, supposedly the worst month to be in Bahrain. Temps are between 45 and 48 celsius (that's 113 to 118 F), with 60 - 90% humidity. I am M-I-S-E-R-A-B-L-E.

I've never been to a place where my face was Literally Dripping Sweat after being outside for three minutes... until now.

Just the Thing To Carry Your Conscience In

(Is that even proper grammar?)

This is the headline from a NYT article the other day. It was talking about Anya Hindmarch's (a vendor of mine from Neimans!) limited edition re-usable canvas bags that are being sold by Whole Foods in NYC, to promote alternatives to plastic bags. You know that if I was there, I'd definitely be buying that bag. Loove that kind of stuff.

Anyway, the concept of recycling doesn't exist over here. I still feel like I'm committing a crime when I mix cardboards and glass and aluminum together in the big trash can. Reducing the use of plastic bags would be a total bust over here. Plastic bags are made from oil by-products-- so why do you think they are in abundance over here? Not only do people rely exclusively on plastic bags here, they blatantly waste them! The first time I went to the Saudi supermarket, my 18 items went into 15 plastic bags! The baggers put like one item in each bag! When I have to bag my own groceries because the girl cashiers don't approve of my bare arms, I fill each plastic bag until it's bulging in some wacky attempt to balance out the count.

I actually don't mind being stuck with the grocery bags since I use them as trash can liners at home. (And now they make good nappy sacks.) But I hate clothing store bags-- they are narrow and wide at the same time, have awkward handles for tying, and who wants to advertise that you actually shop at a store named Mango? Back home, after my first purchase at the mall, I would get the one bag and then at subsequent stores, have the clerks add my purchases to that one bag. No one ever blinked an eye. It's pretty normal, right? Well, over here, they look at me like I'm a freak!

"You can put it in this bag," I say, opening up the bag from the previous store.

"Uh, can't do that ma'am. It will make the bag too heavy, and you are pregnant."
"Uh, can't do that madam. It is better to put in this bag."
"No, sister!" (Laughs)

What? Do any of these responses make sense to you?

Plane Crash

Very sad news out of Sao Paolo today. All of the other pilots here are either from Sao Paolo or Porto Alegre. Most of them have done many, many landings at the Congonhas airport, used the very same runway. The runway was built for DC-3s, not jets, so yes it was short, but still land-able. However...

Pilots may be very skilled and adept at handling tough situations, but my opinion is that the companies (airlines, airports, etc) ought to set them up for success. Make it as safe as possible, don't cut corners because your pilots are skilled enough to "get-by" and you want to save a few dollars.

Just two days ago, one of the planes in Jeff's company had mechanical problems, the computer couldn't read conditions correctly, and the airplane stalled. It dropped 3000 ft. To passengers, it may have just felt like hard tubulence. To a pilot, there was something wrong with this plane.
The environmental conditions in this part of the world cause the planes to get really dirty really fast. The sand just grinds through metal. Plane maintenance needs to be done very differently than for, say, an Alaska Airlines plane. Planes that are not regularly cleaned are covered with layers of oil which then act like a magnet to the sand. This can mess with a lot. Let's protect pilots (and passengers) and make conditions within control as safe as possible for them.

Today I Made A Grown Man Cry

Jeff was carpooling with another pilot to the airport today. Jeff was still upstairs getting ready, so I answered the door to let in this pilot from the second class, whom I met for the first time today. I led him into the living room where Elena was in her bassinet, so I introduced them, and he leaned down and patted her little hand. I asked him, “Do you have any children?”

Tears welled up in his eyes. “Yes, I do. I will show you.” He took out his wallet and showed me a picture of this beautiful, brown-haired six-year old girl. Then he took out a palm pilot and showed me more family pictures of his wife and daughter. He was really sniffling now.

“It’s really hard to be away, I know,” I said.

It got me thinking about the sacrifices people have had to make in coming here. Working in Saudi Arabia is unusual in that when men (and it’s mostly men who are hired in this country) from foreign countries are hired, they must come over first, without their families. There is a waiting period before the family is added onto the iqama, so for the 6-12 weeks before the process is finalized, the men must live as bachelors in their new country of residence.

Thus, I can’t even put into words how inadequate and negligent the company is. I, for example, still have not been added to the iqama. This is seven months after the process supposedly began. I came to Saudi on a 3-month visa that Jeff had to fight for the company to write the invitation letter. Luckily, being a US citizen, it was granted (Brazilians not so lucky). Two months into my visit, we contacted the company to have them extend it. They refused to help. (Actually, they told me I simply had to fly back to the US for one day for the extension- like that was realistic, also I was 8-months pregnant at the time- ludicrous!) That’s why we hastily got my black-market residency in Bahrain.

Saudi is known for being slow, very bureaucratic, and mostly, suffering from very unmotivated workers. The iqama process is not unlike applying for a US Passport, which quotes a leadtime of 4-6 weeks, but in reality, would only take about one week. So why, 28 weeks later, are many pilots still without their families? Because the company people here sit on the paperwork. And sit. And sit. And we are at their mercy.

In fact, had Jeff not fought for my visit visa, we would have been apart for the duration of my pregnancy, the birth, and first few months of Elena’s life. I understand I have to make sacrifices—Jeff beginning a new career by definition requires sacrifice. But that would’ve been ridiculous.

The Brazilians, on the other hand, left their home country for various reasons. A few have sadly left forever, believing family life elsewhere will be safer, the others plan to be in the Middle East for a few years before going back. There were massive layoffs that caused them to look elsewhere, and this current situation suits them since they are effectively quadrupling their salaries by being here.

People need jobs, and more importantly, people want to love what they’re doing. And pilots love to fly more than anything else. I think they would go anywhere the job is. And in this situation, they happen to be separated from their families for long periods of time. Many of them have young children, and months apart can seem even longer given how quickly children grow.

Seeing the pilot get emotional today punctuated just how difficult it can be to establish a life in Saudi Arabia. There is no real recourse for getting things done in a timely manner. Everything is inshallah, which may wreak havoc on your family life. Don’t you think if it really was inshallah, He would want your family to be together?

The Pinking of the Baby Has Begun

People must really enjoy buying things for new babies. How else can one-month old Elena already have a closet full of clothes? Upon opening the door, you see the whole spectrum of pink, from pastel to hot, folded or hanging neatly, grouped by size. Here and there you see a smattering of yellow and lavender. It’s like Easter Sunday in there.

My only contribution to her wardrobe is one-piece pajama thingies, in white and green patterns, purchased when she was still known as Eggbert.

The friends I’ve made in Bahrain have been so excited about Elena’s arrival. We’ve had many visitors to the house. Each time someone visits, they come bearing a pink outfit, and honestly, there is no requirement to bring us something pink when they visit.

My friends are women, so it really isn’t a stretch for them to bring these gifts. Jeff’s colleagues, however, have been so cute. These male, Brazilian pilots have brought Elena pink outfits and pink stuffed animals and pink balloons when they visited me in the hospital. They are characteristically very familial with us; they come from a culture that makes us family, not just friends. One bought us a playpen/bassinet, another this carrier/swing thing… one of them even got me an electric breast pump!

Hmm...

A pensive Elena wonders when she will grow a neck.

Eternal Sunshine of the Grandma's Mind

So a friend of mine invited us to dinner last night. She had given birth just one day after me, so our babies are almost exactly the same age. My mom was getting Elena ready to go. She was holding Elena in her arms, looking down at her and telling her how cute she was, and that she was going to meet another baby just like her tonight.

My mom turned to me and whispered, "I don't think you should bring Elena, because your friend will see her and get jealous."

Brava, mom! Spoken like a true Grandma.

Meet the little peapod

Here she is... Elena was born on June 10!

Smelly Cat

This cat looks content sitting in the shade, but this is just one of thousands of homeless, skinny, starving, feral cats. I've seen them all over in both Saudi and Bahrain. The concept of spaying and neutering pets doesn't exist here. In every Dumpster and trash can lives a few of these cats. I've seen many with half a tail, or bitten off ears. I guess they get in some vicious fights. It is too bad.

You don't see any dogs since Islam does not permit owning a dog as a pet. (They are viewed as unclean)

Yogi Berra on my mind

Everyday I am interacting with tons of people for whom English is a second language. Some funny things come out of this:

• "Do you want one ball or two balls of ice cream?"
• "Are you growing a baby in your stomach?"
• "I'm thinking of buying a RangeCruiser"
• "Want to go see Shutter?" (Mark Wahlberg movie Shooter) Jeff's response, "Is that the movie about the photographer?"
• They don't laugh at the fellow pilots' surname of Titzmann.

OK, so maybe these aren't really malaprops, but they do make me giggle.

To C or Not To C

I am very surprised at how many people have asked me if I'm choosing to have a C-section (or Caesars, as I've noticed the British and Australians call it) or not. I realize that elective C-sections are on the rise, but I know for a fact that my doctor in the US would not allow me to choose a C-section if there was no medical reason to have one. I've received this question from Brazilians, British, Bahraini, and Australians.

Thankfully, my pregnancy has progressed normally and as of today, there has been no medical reason found why I would need to undergo surgery. Now when it's time to deliver, who knows what will happen and I may end up in surgery, but that really will be an emergency situation-- not something that I planned.

I didn't realize it was so common for women around the world to choose this option! I always thought it was used as a last resort. Around here, an elective C-section is always an option. Sure, have one because your doctor will be out of town around your due date. Yes, have one because the due date will interfere with the religious holidays. I think I always end up comparing the medical practices here to what I'm familiar with from my doctor in the US (she was very much skeptical of me having the baby in the Middle East, believing that the testing and practices were not up to par), this would be another tsk-tsk to add to her bias.

Our Daily Bread

A piece of bread from the hole-in-the-wall Lebanese place near our house. We often get takeout from here.

Whew!

I can breathe a sigh of relief. Today I am 37 weeks pregnant, meaning that there is no chance I will need to go to the government-run, Arabic hospital. On this island, if your baby comes early, no hospital will admit you except for this particular one... and it is a hospital that I visited when I first moved here. I quickly decided that I didn't want to use this place. Everything was written in Arabic, and no one manned the nurse's station in the maternity ward. I stood around for a long time, with nurses walking past me not bothering to acknowledge my presence, because I was not Muslim.

This hospital does not allow epidurals or any men in the delivery room. Meaning, I would have to deliver without any options for pain relief and without my husband. It is the only one on the island with a neonatal ICU, so that is why women delivering early get funneled here. (They also have a policy of not disclosing the baby's sex to expecting parents at the sonogram appts, for fear these families will abort the girls)

I must admit the prospect of delivering in a place like this made me very nervous.

Life Revolves Around the Weather

It's strange adjusting to living life around the weather. I met some people for lunch today, so my car sat out in the midday sun. When I got in to leave (around 2pm) the temperature gauge (which reads outside temps) read 54 celsius (that's 130 F!)

There's a lot of construction going on here, since Bahrain is modeling itself after Dubai and really wanting to expand its tourism industry, as well as just the general influx of expats wanting to live in Bahrain vs. Saudi. Because of the weather, construction pretty much halts in the afternoon. Therefore, we hear construction noise at 5:30am! What a rude awakening. They work at night until 11:30pm! So you pretty much cannot sleep, day or night. I guess this is good practice for when the baby arrives.

People have told me not to go out during the afternoon. Most have adjusted to either doing things in the morning (although most stores don't open until 10am, so you can't start too early) or after 4pm.

Also, daylight hours here are so different from Seattle. Sunrise is around 4:20am, sunsets by 6pm. You'd think it'd cool down by dark, and yes, it does by around 20 degrees-- although that still leaves it 90 degrees at 9pm!

The Liquor Store!

I wanted to take pictures, but wasn't sure if it was allowed. We made it to the tucked-away liquor store in Bahrain! This is a big deal because even though alcohol is allowed on this island, it is not readily available in every restaurant or hotel. Also, it is not stocked by the regular supermarkets. This liquor store is not well-marked, small, and located behind a petrol station. At night the white corrugated gate goes down the front door and you can't even find it. In the daytime, for the first-time visitor, you can't even find it until you spot the emptied out liquor boxes by the Dumpster.

Inside, the store is cool (temperature-wise) and immaculate. It's stocked with a lot of goods, everything lined up so neatly with no holes in the displays.

(I've noticed this about retailers here- liquor store, supermarket, or coffee shop open fridge- they spend a lot of effort to quickly refill stock on display so that you never see any "holes". If you take out a soda, someone always mysteriously shows up to replace the one you took.)

I really expected to just see white faces in the store- thinking this store was only for ex-pats. But surprisingly (or maybe I shouldn't be), there were many locals in there, many of whom I'm sure were Muslim. I'm sure there are many degrees of how strictly you adhere to the religion, but I still think it's so crazy that this huge country of Saudi is dry, but Saudis can drive just 40 minutes to a miniscule island and go to a liquor store.

Ultrasound, Schmultrasound

I was so excited to go to my first ultrasound in the States. I was 5 months pregnant, and I brought the VHS tape the nurse recommended I bring, so that the technician could make a recording. I was crying when I made the appointment, because Jeff was in Casablanca and would not be able to sit next to me. My mom came with me instead, and it was so exciting to see this little being moving and kicking and sucking its thumb. We saw the little feet and ribs and fingers and alien-like head. My doctor told me that this would be the only ultrasound for me. Barring complications, in which case she would order another one around 8 months, I wouldn't need a 2nd ultrasound. The ultrasound tech printed out two pictures for me, each of which she put in a pink and blue keepsake paper frame. I pressed these in a notebook to bring to Saudi to show Jeff. Again, very exciting and special.

When I got to Saudi and started seeing the doctor there, she informed me that I would get an ultrasound at every appointment. So my first appointment in Saudi, Jeff stood next to me and got his chance to view the little alien on the screen. It was really exciting again.

I've now been in the Middle East for about three months now, and have adjusted to seeing my new doctor in Bahrain, and still get an ultrasound at each appointment. Each time he prints out keepsake photos and I dutifully take them home to store.

Just today, I was cleaning out my handbag and crumpled at the bottom was the sheet of ultrasound photos from last week's appointment. I threw them away. Am I terrible mother? The novelty of the ultrasound has completely worn off for me. I asked the doctor if it actually was necessary to have an ultrasound each time, especially since I'm now at the point where I visit the doctor weekly. He smiled and said, "No, it really is just for impressing the patients. You will find that public hospitals in the Middle East will rarely do ultrasounds."

This also made me think about the difference between healthcare costs in the US and the Middle East. Why, if these hospitals all have sonogram machines, do the costs vary so greatly? My ultrasound in the US was $804.09, part of which I was responsible for out-of-pocket. My ultrasounds in Bahrain are free. I pay the co-pay for my consultation with the doctor, which is $7.95. Does this discrepancy make any sense?

By the way, for many weeks now the baby's head was consistently measuring larger than its gestational age. Only last week did its femur catch up. The doctor thinks it will be a tall baby. Yeah, a tall baby with a huge head!

Larger than Life

Huge billboards of two of the three main guys in Bahrain- the King and the Prime Minister. I can't imagine a presidential billboard of this size being erected anywhere in the US. It would be defaced and torn down within a day!

Excess Gas

Gasoline in Saudi Arabia costs $0.36/gallon. Yes, that's right. Not much motivation to carpool or walk. It's also 91 or 95 octane-- higher than what's used in the US.

Gasoline in Bahrain is sooo expensive compared to Saudi. It is $1.00/gallon!

Gimme a break

I am a problem solver at heart. I seek information. When I don’t know something, I look it up. I ask someone. I like to know about things.

This has been immensely helpful in our relocation to the Middle East. There is so much conflicting information everywhere, and we have had no support from the company. I am still sorting through visa and residency issues…which is technically the company’s responsibility. After a bit of floundering, I am quite proud of what I have accomplished in terms of getting us settled down in Bahrain. Jeff works very long hours; often there are flight delays, so when he comes home, it is either 3am, or 7pm and he has been awake since 3am. So whichever shift he is doing, he is exhausted and therefore pretty useless when he comes home. This is a new job, a new career for him, and I can imagine it is pretty overwhelming, so I take care of everything else so that he can focus on it.

What this means is that I have become the source of information for relocating here, being the first to do it. I understand that all the other pilots families have not arrived yet, so they’ve yet to deal with the day-to-day issues of moving to another country. A couple of wives have come to visit, and a few pilots planning to relocate here have visited. We’ve had some overnight guests, many daytime guests, and each one is bursting with questions. This is understandable—I am still bursting with questions, although I’ve already found many answers. But… I am a little resentful. They are getting their answers so easily… from me. I am so tired of answering the questions about how much things cost—housing, internet, phone, groceries, furniture. Of course people want to know—you move to a new country, you have no frame of reference. I did all the legwork and comparison shopped for everything—you know how long that takes? I worked my butt off to learn about this place and didn’t know a single soul in this country. I didn’t have the advantage of having a friend who could show me the ropes. Every answer I have was hard-earned through each false lead, each dead-end I ran into, every drop of sweat, all the kilometers logged in the rental car while my back ached from driving with this big belly!

I have about 6 weeks to go before the baby arrives (if it is on time) and I’d like to concentrate on preparing for that. In the meantime, I am entertaining guests and being a counselor to nervous wives and a cheerleader to a husband who is going through a rough time and exploring Bahrain and researching for resources. I am exhausted. Everything is coming at the same time. Ordinarily I love being the hostess. I love helping people and if they have questions or problems, I love helping them find answers and solutions. But not now. I am just too tired. (Would you like having a grown woman dumped on you at the last second, babysitting her for two days- someone who is very nervous about moving here- who is scared of the “black-colored people” and Indians? Get over it, lady! Oh how Jeff owes me…)

I really wish I didn’t feel resentful. It feels like I’m being selfish. I’ve even suggested that I be the relocation liaison for the company since I’ve already done all the work, so that at least something positive can come out of this. This being a screwed-up company though, this was seen as an outrageous proposition. I am a big believer in being honest with yourself, and at the end of the day, and these are the feelings I have. So be it. Now it is off my chest and I can be done with complaining.

Forever Shopping

So there was an interesting article in the NYT today about Forever 21. I’ve always liked this store. It’s cheap, cheap, cheap in both prices and quality, but for trendy items it can’t be beat. I’ve always noticed their offerings of designer knockoffs getting in store a lot faster than any other retailer. I like to visit the store before going on vacation, because you can get very cheap sundresses and t-shirts and other novelty items that are good for the beach, and I don’t care if they pill or come apart in the wash a couple of months later. A stuffed shopping bag will only set you back around $75. (Although in LA, visiting the huge new Pasadena store, I noticed they have a warning sign at the registers that say something like, "These materials have been known to have lead and cause cancer- I'm paraphrasing but it's equally spooky. Turned me off a bit- as much as I like cheap clothing, it's no longer cute if it puts my life in danger)

Forever 21 is very popular in Bahrain. It is always packed with young girls, wearing abayas or not. I’ve noticed the girls and women here are very fashion-forward. Most of the stores in Bahrain (and Saudi as well) carry the latest fashions and the females who don’t choose to wear the abaya are decked out in the latest trends. I’m sure the same outfits are underneath the abayas as well. In Bahrain however, Forever 21 is not cheap! Same with Topshop. Same with Zara. Places I could count on for cheap fashions are no longer cheap over here. It takes all the fun out of it.

They just opened Gap here in Bahrain. In the States, Gap is crap. I’ve purchased things once they get marked down to $6.99, but it’s because the low price overrides my derision of the bad sewing and fits. Over here, a $24.50 men’s pique polo from the States costs $60! It’s ridiculous. Unfortunately Jeff and I ended up here because he was looking for some lighter weight pants and polos. (It’s reaching 100 degrees every day now). In the end we purchased his clothes from Banana Republic, more expensive than Gap, because it was the only place that had his size! We tried local Arabic stores but they really don’t make clothes to fit American (read: large size) men.

A true tale: At Gap, we asked the salesperson for a size, and she looked in the stockroom but they didn’t have it. She came out with one size smaller and said, “These might work- they follow American sizing which is huge.” Jeff replied, “I am American and I am huge, but these won’t fit.” Oh, she was mortified... tee hee...

The British Invasion

So there’s a supermarket near our house, which we refer to as the “pork store.” It is one of two stores on the island that sells pork. We are lucky one of them is near us. It has a completely separate room in the store that exclusively sells pork products. (They even sell the Jell-O in this room, that’s how strictly the pork is segregated)

My first impression of the expat population here is that it is overwhelmingly British. I don’t know if it’s true, but 9 out of 10 expats I’ve met are from the UK. This store is completely geared toward people from the UK. There are rows of baked beans, spotted dick, and a million kinds of marmalades (yeah, however stereotypical, it’s what I always thought British people eat. Apparently, so does the supermarket buyer).

My first visit there, I was surprised to see so many white faces! Every single customer was Caucasian. Since then I’ve come to the conclusion that this must be an expat grocery store. It feels like I’m cheating when I go there; like I took a trip to NYC and ate at Olive Garden or something. I feel like I should be shopping with the natives instead.

The Kindness of Strangers

I went to my new friends B and L's house the other night. They are a wonderful couple with two small children. B's mom was there also, she goes by "mommy," at least that's what she told me to call her when I asked her how I should call her.

It all started on my first trip to Bahrain, when we were still living in the hotel in Saudi. Jeff was called away to London so I spent a few days in Bahrain alone. I stayed in a hotel that was about a mile away from a giant mall. One afternoon, I walked to the mall, and walked around and watched a movie. It was around 9pm when I headed back to the hotel. I didn't immediately see a taxi stand, but I didn't look very hard since it was only a mile walk and thought it'd be good to get the exercise.

But of course, it was dark outside by then.

I started walking and realized that this is not a walking part of town. Because of the new construction, the area was deserted at night. My brightly lit hotel was like a beacon in the sea, the only "live" structure in this area. I had heard Bahrain was pretty safe, so I continued, thinking that if I walked fast, I would be OK.

I didn't count on every other car honking at me at I walked down the street. What was going on? Were they friendly honks? Menacing honks? I didn't know! I shook my head at each car, seeing as it was usually just one man in the car. Even though Bahrain allows more freedom for women compared to Saudi, it is still a conservative place, especially compared to US standards. I don't think they see many women walking alone at night. Still, I wasn't too keen on hitching a ride with a total stranger.

Another car honked as it passed by slowly. Again I shook my head. It passed me. Then stopped. Then the white backing lights lit up. It slowly made its way backwards on the street toward me. Oh no, I thought. Should I run across the street? Turn back around? The passenger door opened. The driver yelled over, "My family is with me. Let us give you a ride." I peered inside. The driver was a man, the passenger seat empty. The backseat held a woman, an older woman, and they each were holding one child. Phew. I couldn't be in danger with a grandma and two toddlers on board! I climbed in and pointed to the hotel. They dropped me off right in front of the hotel.

During the car ride, we introduced ourselves and they couldn't have been nicer. The husband gave me his business card, and said to look them up if I was in Bahrain again. When Jeff and I decided to move here, I contacted them and since then, struck up a friendship. It's nice to spend time with some "locals!"

At dinner they told me they were so worried about me walking alone! They said no one does that. They said people might mistake me for being Filipino and kidnap me and make me clean their house! Bwah! That might be a little paranoid, but I like hearing this combined with other tidbits-- makes me feel like I'm getting tutored in local mores.

Ma'am (Not Mom)

When I first arrived in Saudi, I noticed that the hotel staff would always greet me with, "Hi, mom." I always returned their hellos, even though I thought it was a little strange. They would ask about the baby, if it was kicking today, stuff like that.

After a few weeks, I mentioned this to Jeff. I said, "Don't you think it's weird, although kinda cute, that they call me mom? It's always mom this, mom that."

Jeff stared at me. "Um, they're calling you ma'am. In their accent."

D'oh!

Muslims and "ham"

I feel somewhat ashamed, but the other day I went to McDonald's. I think I can only take so much kebabs and hummus and shwarma.

American fast food places are everywhere throughout Saudi and Bahrain. It's kind of sad, to see the American contribution to the Middle East being a lifestyle of obesity. These places are jam-packed with Arabs in traditional clothes, scarfing down french fries and ketchup.

I peered at the menu in the McDonald's drive-thru line. They have a McArabia sandwich, which is a burger in a pita bread with spicy sauce. They call a hamburger a "beefburger," which I assumed is because the word Ham is bad and misleading.

I ordered a cheeseburger and it tasted exactly like a McDonald's cheeseburger. Which I guess fulfills the McDonald's corporate mission.

Online once again

We finally have internet access in our house. I felt strangely deprived not having the internet at my fingertips. We had to go to coffee shops to use the free wi-fi, and then I felt pressure to purchase something each time.

We signed up for the service about 10 days ago, and they came out to the house 4 days ago to hook it up. I thought it would be like Comcast where they supply you with everything to get set up right then and there. But no. We found out we needed a filter and ADSL router. We couldn't purchase from the installation guy. We had to go to the store and buy it separately. So that took another day. Then the following day some random contractor rang the doorbell and said, "We are here to hook up your service!" Was this some sort of scam? Jeff told them, "No, it was hooked up yesterday and working fine." He then went over to check the line and it had been disconnected by the contractors.

He had to tell the contractors that they had actually disconnected our service, and they must connect it again. So they did. Then they presented a bill to Jeff. OK, this was really looking like a scam now. We paid the bill from the other guy the previous day, the "official" guy from the internet company. So Jeff refused to pay this new guy. There was a lot of confusion and calling of the office, and finally the contractor apologized and was embarrassed. Now this didn't seem like a scam, because he acted really apologetic. He left.

And now we couldn't get the router to work. I thought it was a broken router. I took it back to the computer store to return it. The guy tested it out and it worked perfectly at the store. He said, "Ah, it is the circuit. You have to get it fixed by the internet company. Since you are foreign, they will come out next day to fix it."

OK, if it is an advantage to be foreign, I will take it.

I called the internet company, using my perfect, American-accented English. They came out the next day.

We are finally online.

Blockbusting

Those Brazilian pilots we know sure are scared of the Shi’a.

In Bahrain, the Shi’a are the majority I believe, still without political power but in population I think they outnumber the Sunnis. Shi’a villages are denoted by black flags that dot the perimeter of their areas. (Back in the States, I only knew of them as Shiites, but over here they are called Shi’a, I think it’s just another way to say the name)

Anyway, Jeff and I live just a few blocks away from a Shi’a village. We found this compound first, but it was out of our price range. After searching and searching, we really couldn’t find anything we liked. This place was OK, we didn’t love it, but we could stand it, which is 10x better than anything else we saw. So I went back to the agent and asked if we could negotiate the price. We met with the landlady and spent some time with her, and told her that we could get other pilots moved into this compound (as it is brand-new, there are many vacancies) since so many of the pilots were re-locating to the area from Saudi. She dropped the price and we got a home.

We showed the Brazilians the compound and they all loved it. It’s brand-new, it’s right on the water, has a great pool, and is really close to the causeway leading to Saudi Arabia, where everyone has to go for work. We had eight pilots signed up, and they wanted to bring over more, to the point that I thought I’d only have Brazilians for neighbors. After two weeks, several had signed contracts and were about to pay deposits.

Then… one of them saw the Shi’a village and Freaked out. He told everyone that this area was an unsafe place to live. He told Jeff that the Shi’a are dangerous and he shouldn’t leave his wife alone all day near the Shi’a.

Every single Brazilian then backed out of the compound.

Jeff and I just shook our heads. We saw Shi’a villages all over the island. You see black flags everywhere.

Most of the Brazilians moved all the way to the other side of the island, which adds approximately one hour roundtrip to the Saudi airport commute. Guess what’s a few blocks away from their new neighborhood?

A Shi’a village.

Round and Round

OK, so I don't have a lot of experience with roundabouts. I think they're common in Europe, and they are absolutely unavoidable here in Bahrain. The only roundabouts I've encountered driving in Seattle are the teeny tiny ones that force you to slow down in residential areas-- which in the world of roundabouts, don't even make a blip on the radar.

The biggest roundabout I've ever seen was recently in Paris, around the Arc de Triomphe. I think it's called Charles de Gaulle Place, or something like that. It seemed to me like 6 lanes (maybe more or maybe less) of speeding traffic going round and round. Everyone there had these tiny little cars and as a mere witness, looked much like a cartoon of scale to me, with the big arc looming in the background.

Over here, roundabouts are a total free-for-all. Take no prisoners, grab your opening and floor the accelerator. So I'm new to roundabouts, but I think I'm clever enough to figure it out.

Here are my observations:
1. Logic dicates that the outside lane is for people exiting the roundabout. Why do people try to exit from the inside, thereby needing to cut across traffic? Forcing the outside lanes to slam on the brakes, therefore slowing down traffic flow.
2. If you are circling 270 degrees to the left, you ought to stay on the inside lane at least 180 degrees and make your way to the outside as you near your exit, thereby allowing merging traffic to join the roundabout smoothly.
3. 50% of the people are very timid. They come to a complete stop when approaching a roundabout... when there are no other cars in the roundabout. Why, oh why, would you need a complete stop? It then creates a line of cars waiting to enter the roundabout.
4. The other 50% of the people are crazy aggressive, screeching around the curves at top speed and cutting in front of you.

Could we just get some normal drivers to obey the rules and maintain the dignity of the roundabout? Isn't the point of a roundabout to control traffic, without traffic signals? To maintain the flow, not create chaos?

Our compound

Here are a few pictures of our compound. Compounds in Bahrain are very different from the ones in Saudi-- no machine guns, no barbed wire. They are more like apartment complexes or housing developments. A lone guard stands watch at the gate, and that's about it. He signs in guests and helps with deliveries. Apartments are called flats, and stand alone houses are called villas. The first picture is the view as you drive into our complex-- they are villas all lined up neatly. The second picture is the view of the common area swimming pool at dusk. The 3rd picture is of our family room, connected to the dining room, which leads out to the private pool.

The Housing Sitch

Ever since I arrived in Saudi, we've been searching for a place to live. I know I annoyed Jeff by pushing him to take me looking around at places, but he didn't seem to have the same sense of urgency I had. Excuse me for not wanting to have a baby and bring it back to a hotel room.

I was perfectly fine with living in Saudi, since I had read up on all the compounds and it seemed like decent living. We went around and viewed the compounds that were targeted in the Al-Khobar massacre of 2004, as it is known around here. (After all, wouldn't these be the greatest places for Western living?) They were NICE. I'm talkin' beautiful pools, playgrounds, state-of-the-art gyms, abaya-free living (in fact, abayas are prohibited inside the compounds), cafeterias, lounges, etc.

Jeff didn't like the machine guns, the miles of circular barbed wire surrounding the tall compound walls, the security checkpoint where you drove onto a huge mirror so the guards could check for bombs under the car, or in other places, endured the simpler, mirror-on-a-stick thingy.

We found out that these compounds were astronomically expensive! The housing allowance we had would probably cover 40% of the annual cost. Um, no thanks. And, each compound was already full, with waiting lists until 2008. So that's how these compounds got crossed off our list. Most other companies pay directly for expat housing, so I guess that's how these places can charge the high prices. But in our situation, we receive no assistance from the company, so we are on our own, with definitely less leverage as individuals than if the company negotiated a block of villas for everyone.

We ended up in Bahrain because if you don't live in a compound in Saudi, you have to live in an apartment. And apartments in Saudi for women mean prison. It would have meant that I would be stuck inside the apartment anytime Jeff was at work. We could hire a driver, but that would be an added expense. And, after the baby arrived, I wouldn't be able to even take it outside for walks. In Bahrain, we can pretty much have a similar-type of life to back home. There are still restrictions, but after being in Saudi these restrictions seem quite reasonable!
It's all about perspective.

On the road again

So I've been driving around Bahrain the past couple of days... by myself... alone... just me! And I can go anywhere I want! It is so different here compared to Saudi.

We moved into our house a couple days ago, and Jeff has been working both days. He is carpooling with Eduardo, who got a place in Bahrain a couple weeks before us. Therefore, the rental car is all mine. For nine weeks now, I've been a captive of the Saudi hotel room, or at the mercy of the hotel shuttle, with its pre-determined schedule and stops (no exceptions). Or, I've had to wait for Jeff and ask him to drive me places. Uh-uh. That's not a way to live.

How nice it is to go where I want, when I want! Jeff especially is happy since I can run errands while he is out. I know he absolutely hated having to take care of the administrative stuff for our household-- in Saudi, I wasn't allowed to do anything. Over here, I can open a bank account and sign us up for internet service, and run around looking for deals on the TV that he wants... all the things he would be forced to do himself if we lived in Saudi.

Ahhh, I think I just figured out why the King of the 15-minute-commute-or-I'm-not-taking-the-job was willing to move to Bahrain.

Finally, a place to live

Been offline a few days. We moved into our rental home a few days ago. We got a place in Bahrain-- it means a longer commute for Jeff to the airport, but better quality-of-life for our family. Jeff will have to cross the causeway each day, passing through immigration and customs, insurance, -- all 7 checkpoints they have along the way. On a good day he will probably make it to the airport in one hour total; on a bad day, two and half hours probably. The worst traffic is on Saudi weekends (Thursday-Friday) when all Saudis escape to Bahrain to drink alcohol and talk to girls.

We heard about a "VIP" pass that will allow Jeff to bypass all the checkpoints and virtually eliminate any stops on the causeway because it's a hidden lane with no queue. It costs $3500 annually, so we are hesitant, but time being money, it might make life a lot easier. Probably this money goes to "hong bao-ing" the government officials... we are not sure, but some guy that forges documents can get this for us. Our new neighbors, a British couple, have this pass, so I will have to ask them all about this before proceeding. We are probably going to do our shopping in Saudi, so we will be over there frequently, even on Jeff's days off. One thing about Bahrain is that everything is so expensive-- like groceries are 3x higher here than in Saudi. And the produce is all wilted, I don't know why.

By tomorrow all our furniture should be delivered, and things should start settling down. I've been in limbo for 9 weeks and I finally see the light at the end of the tunnel!

Got the Iqama!

Finally, finally Jeff has received the iqama, the residency permit required to get anything done in this country. And the only reason why we now have it in our hand? Because we are American. I know that sounds terribly ethnocentric, but I am still worked up about this. We went the "extra mile," literally and figuratively, and I didn't see anyone else doing that.

When other people started receiving their iqamas, (people with less seniority than Jeff) it was because a company rep stopped by the hotel one day and collected their passports. We happened to have been kicked out of the hotel by the company, because our 30-day temp housing was up, and moved into another hotel. NO ONE bothered calling Jeff to tell him the rep was at the other hotel. So because Jeff wasn't physically there, his passport was not picked up for processing.

When Jeff persistently called the guy to take his passport to Riyadh, he got the run-around. Oh, someone will be by tomorrow. The next day, Oh, it will be tomorrow... And so on. And then four days passed by. Now at this point, if you didn't already know, I have seriously had it. I'm not someone who is happy cooped up in the hotel room, with no voice, with no ability to get things done. But that is the life of a woman here. So I said (OK, maybe I screamed), "Tell him we will drive to Riyadh and deliver it ourselves!"

Riyadh is a three to four hour drive, depending on traffic, and how much dinging in your ears you can take. But we made the trip. Jeff got to the office in Riyadh and stood in front of the guy and held up his passport and said, "This needs to be done. And it needs to be done by tomorrow." And lo and behold, the iqama was completed the next day.

So for the other guys whose iqamas took 14 days to get, we know it actually only needs to take one day. And other guys whose passports didn't get picked up like Jeff's, they haven't taken any steps to get it completed. They cannot believe we took matters into our own hands. They are still willing to sit around in limbo, waiting for this phantom company rep to swing by and pick up their passports.

And how does being American have to do with getting this job done? I'm not so sure it can be attributed to that exclusively, but I do think our personalities are shaped by growing up and working in the US. Jeff and I are pretty similar in that we are both resourceful when it comes to getting things done. I'd like to think we are not overtly pushy and obnoxiously aggressive, but I do think there's definite culture clash with how we like things done vs. how they are actually done here. And to see the Brazilians sitting passively and letting things like that happen to them drives me up the wall!

Jeff fears something called Eggbert*

My strong, strapping husband is scared of a negative-three-month-old baby. The baby has been kicking for quite awhile. It kicks in a wave your hands in the air, like you just don't care kind of way-- sweeping motions from left to right. It could be elbows or knees. I like to put Jeff's hands on my belly when this happens. He jumps and yelps. He recoils, shaking his hand like it burns.

"But it's so weird," he repeats over and over.

"But it's natural," I say.

"It feels too weird. How can you stand it? There's an alien in your stomach."

And that's why women get pregnant, not men.

*Shortly after finding out we were pregnant, we named the embryo Eggbert, in honor of its humble beginnings. This would give us something to refer to him by. It felt too cold to call it... "It." Afterall, that's how we refer to other people's children. Also, our apologies to our unborn child for causing gender-confusion, if Eggbert turns out to be a girl.

Please pay 275% more for 30% less magazine

Jeff bought me an American magazine. He was very proud of himself-- it was a pregnancy magazine, and the cover boasted articles on breast-feeding and pre-natal exercise; subjects he thought I would like. And I would like them-- if these articles were actually in the magazine!

As I went through the magazine, I noticed entire pages had been torn out. Pictures of women wearing skirts, or tank tops, had been defaced with a black Marks-a-lot. I didn't know men here actually had jobs where they had to go through each individual magazine and cover up bare skin! They literally use the black marker to cover up bare legs, or bare arms. Then they decided (for me) that it was inappropriate or see or read articles on breastfeeding and prenatal exercise-- two very healthy, normal subjects. But what do I know.

The magazine cost $15, the US cover price was $3.99. Talk about not getting your money's worth!

The Driving School exit no one has ever used

I can’t have a blog about Saudi without mentioning the poor driving skills of its residents. I feel like I am going to die whenever I ride in a car. The people here simply DO NOT know how to drive.

A couple years ago I was riding around in a van in Shenzhen, China. We went through several busy four-way intersections that had no stop signs, nothing to regulate traffic. I asked the driver, “How do you know whose turn it is to go?” He answered, “Whoever is bravest.”

In Saudi, it is not about bravery, but rather stupidity.

-They straddle two lanes, and I wonder if they think the proper way to drive is to have the painted line in the middle of the car.
-No one uses a turn signal. They like to surprise you with their next move.
-They drive on the shoulder of the highway… IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION!
-They back up… ON THE HIGHWAY!
-They come to a complete stop… ON THE HIGHWAY!
-They will change lanes right into your car. It becomes our responsibility to honk to tell them this spot in the lane is occupied.

In the Al-Khobar/Dammam region, there’s an exit on the highway marked Driving School. I am not exaggerating when I say that I have never seen a single car go down that path. I don’t think it takes much to get your driver’s license here.

Cars speed in excess of 180 kph on the highway, coming up right behind you with flashing lights. It is up to you to get out of the way! The posted speed limit is 120 kph. The most annoying thing is, the rental car we have sets off an alarm once you go above 120 kph. Ding, ding, ding. And it won’t stop dinging. We made a trip down to Riyadh two days ago, which is about 400 km away. We endured the almost three hour trip with this dinging in our ears. Both of us just about had a meltdown.

I’ve seen many a father driving with a child in his lap. Children don’t sit in car seats—they ride in the front seat, hanging out the open windows, or sitting on a parent’s lap. Or, they stand backwards in the backseat, facing the rear window, staring at us in the cars behind. This is actually not what really bothers me, after all, I grew up during the time before seat belts were compulsory. I know all about rolling around in a station wagon trunk and sitting on the front armrest next to my dad. But here, with 10 lane streets, at least 30 cars zooming through the intersection after the light turns red, cars driving on the on-ramp shoulder to pass, frequent emergency braking—it just somehow seems crazy not to use some kind of safety restraint.

They line up burned out, crumpled, wrecked cars on the side of the highway from Khobar to Riyadh, as reminders of what can happen when driving recklessly. Somehow, I don’t think these reminders are very effective.

These drivers are just oblivious. It creates more chaos and more traffic with everyone’s “me first” attitude than to actually just slow down and abide by normal traffic rules.

Country Bumpkins

For all the oil money around here and ornate, palatial homes, many Saudis remain quite unsophisticated; or as we say in Chinese, hao tooh. I am surprised, although I probably shouldn't be. When you think about it, this area was desert for a long, long time, and these cities should be considered new, relatively speaking. It is very dirty here, and there are obviously no ADA laws around here. If you're crippled here, you're screwed. Sidewalks are woefully uneven, with huge concrete crevasses that could easily swallow a whole foot. The area is under constant construction, many stretches of land unpaved, with random cinder block walls guarding hollow squares.

Saudis drive around in their cars, the plastic wrap still covering the seats. Plastic cling wrap lines the inside of the doors. The mileage chart sheet / specs list are still for show in the back passenger windows, corners frayed and soft over time and tape yellowed and unsticky from the sun. The little blue foam squares on the sides of the doors the factory sticks on to prevent dings? Saudis leave them on, like badges of pride for a new car.

The plastic cling gets left on stroller handles. It starts to curl up from use and the invisible grime that sneaks underneath, leaving a semi-brown/clear protection on the handlebars.

They are just like grandmas with plastic slipcovers!

It cracks me up to see Saudis driving in these huge SUVS- they really love Toyota Landcruisers, and a version of the Landcruiser called Prado, GMCs, Suburbans, Yukons, and Ford Expeditions- and you peek inside, the entire family is sitting on the original plastic wrap. Isn't it going to rip? Doesn't the rustling sound annoy you? I want to ask them. It seems like they travel with all their belongings in the trucks at all times. The rear cargo area is always stuffed to the gills- you see thick prayer blankets rolled up, toys, trays, racks, boxes. We once saw a pallet stuffed into the back of a car.

I love wearing a black gown in the sunshine

This is me at the Al Khobar corniche. Seems a little cruel to have to hide every inch of skin under the abaya. Technically I should probably cover my neck with the scarf, but I have not been doing that and it seems OK.

Bread

I have a pet peeve about TV shows- they always show French people or try to denote French people as those carrying the grocery bags with one loaf of French bread sticking out.
But guess what? When we were in Paris, we saw people walking around like this everywhere. Around dinnertime, there would literally be tens of people walking down the street carrying unwrapped loaves of bread like this, either one or two loaves at a time. They all had a little tissue paper wrapped around where their hand touched the bread, as if that kept it sanitary-- like all the dirt and pollution from the cars wouldn't dust up the bread with black specks by the time they walked the few blocks home.

We were lucky enough to stay in a neighborhood that happened to be mostly Egyptians and other Africans. We made friends with this cool Egyptian guy that owned the little sandwich shop we stopped in our first day. The other customers were like from Senegal, and they sat around drinking coffee with the Egyptian guy, playing sudoku. He made really, really tasty ham sandwiches for us, with cheese, tomato and onion... and very, very good bread. He was really happy for us when he saw that we were pregnant. He told us about his own family, and how he met his wife (only one month after meeting her and she got pregnant! tsk tsk- oh! but they've been together now some 20-odd years), and how he actually got a scholarship to study engineering in Walla Walla so many years ago, but his dad died and he had to go to work instead. His daughter is now studying engineering in England, and he is so proud that she gets to complete the circle that he began a couple decades ago. How awesome is that!

Do you trust this place with your life?

Another story from the hospital--

For my 2nd doctor's visit, we felt the aftermath of poor record keeping. Turns out my file was under Polleen Shoden, nationality Philippines. I'm sorry, did I see that correctly? Not to mention, the wrong birthdate. Not to mention, THEY PHOTOCOPIED MY PASSPORT AT MY FIRST APPOINTMENT and it was in the file!

This makes me worry that they won't give you the right blood type if you need a transfusion, or that they might not even give you the right baby when you leave the hospital!

9pm Doctor's appt

So I had my 9pm doctor's appointment yesterday. It was my 28-week checkup for the baby and everything seems to be OK and normal. I asked the OB about my illness, the shooting pains in my kidney and all that, told her that I thought I had a sinus infection, but she didn't think antibiotics or anything like that would be good for the baby. Hrrumph. We'll see about that.

I had to take a glucose test for gestational diabetes, which meant I had to drink a bottle of this carbonated sugar water that kind of tasted like orange Fanta. Then we had to hang out in the lobby for 1 hour before drawing blood for the test. By the time we finished up, it was 11:45pm. I am not used to these night owl hours for doctors! Can you imagine any doctor in the US working office hours until midnight!

Today Jeff and I saw another doctor, this time a GP to see about getting antibiotics. We both are feeling better (no more fever) but have hacking coughs and gross outputs of phlegm. When the nurse was taking my vitals, she recommended that I don't use antibiotics because it would be bad for the baby. Uh oh... At the end of each of our appointments, the doctor said he would prescribe some appropriate medications for each of us. Over here, prescriptions are typed into the computer system and go directly to the pharmacy downstairs, so you don't have to mess around with the little white piece of paper. But on the other hand, you don't really know what you're getting until you pick it up at the pharmacy...

So we got our # at the pharmacy and waited. Jeff got an antibiotic and I got a topical analgesic for my kidney pain! Thwarted again. They must have some policy against giving antibiotics to pregnant women! And I don't think that cream is what my kidney needs! I guess I will be the control group while Jeff gets to feel better in 3 days with his hoity-toity meds.

What is the hold up?

The iqama is still not ready. It means we cannot purchase a car. We are wasting money on rental cars for the past six weeks and counting. Without an iqama, we cannot get housing in Saudi Arabia. Everything is dependent on the iqama. Without an iqama, wives and children cannot come over to join their husbands. I was an exception because I am pregnant; but imagine if I wasn't granted a visa. I'd be stuck apart from my husband for the duration of the pregnancy.

We are going into the 6th month of this process. C'mon. Absolutely unacceptable. I've heard it takes an average of 3 months to get this done. Mostly delays come from the Saudi side, with their Inshallah attitude, but I know in this case it is the company. Reps at the company are now not responding to people's repeated, and increasingly panicked, attempts to get information. A few guys gave up their passport to a visiting company rep seven days ago-- he had promised to return the passport with the iqama the very next day. One week later, these guys are pretty worried. You can't just be walking around Saudi without a passport or an iqama. They have no identity in the eyes of the govt.

The most ridiculous thing is, the 30-days comp'd relocation housing has come and gone. We are now paying for the hotel. But, is it our fault we are staying in a hotel? No. We don't have a choice because we don't have the iqama. I say, if we don't have choices due to the ineffectualism of the company, the company must pay! I say, the company must pay for the rental car as well! If the necessary documents were provided for us in a timely manner, we would have housing and transportation already!

Tee hee hee...

Bought what I thought was a canteloupe, but look what was inside when I opened it up! Reminds me of the apple/orange on the cover of "Freakonomics"

All good things must come to an end

Somehow caught the flu on the way back from Paris. Either on the airplane, or during our last day in Paris, when it was snowing. We arrived at Dammam airport late one night, and the next morning, I was full-blown sick.

Body aches, fever, sore throat, congestion, coughing-- everything. Worst thing is, Jeff is feeling exactly the same. So guess who gets to do the caretaking? Yup, you know it. We've been laid up for four days now, and couldn't get a doctor's appt until tomorrow night at 9pm. Isn't that a strange time to visit the doctor? But I wanted to specifically see my OB instead of some random non-OB. Just in case. My ribs are killing me from all the coughing, and there's pain in my right kidney, and I am just miserable.

We just moved to a hotel with a kitchenette, so even though it is in no way convenient, we have a hot plate. We gathered enough strength to cab it to the supermarket yesterday, and got all all the supplies we needed. Jeff was quite good in the brute strength category, doing all the lifting. I could barely walk down the aisles. As soon as we got back, I made the soup, which we really needed since we hadn't eaten in probably 15 hours. Then I had some toast, which I was forcing down because I was afraid I was starving the baby. Before doing all this, I had to wash all the dishes we just purchased from the supermarket, in order to heat the soup and have bowls and spoons to eat with. I think Jeff sometimes forgets I am pregnant, because it sure would have been nice to collapse on the couch and have him serve me, instead of the other way around. (But I guess it's better this way: A few hours later I asked him to make hard-boiled eggs for me-- later he called to me that they were ready-- I found two eggs in the sink and unpeeled them, but they were only 20% cooked so I couldn't eat them anyway!)

My fever has already started to go down, so I feel better about the baby. I looked up on the internet and it said fetal development is usually not affected until 102 degrees, and my temp never got that high. My highest temp was 99.7, which Jeff didn't think was too bad, but I reminded him that my healthy temp is 96.8, so that's already 3 degrees higher than my normal. Of course he thinks that's just another part of my alien-nature, but that's just how it is. I sweated all last night and I think that means I broke the fever, because my temp this morning was 97.1 and felt less achy and my skin was not as sensitive to touch. I guess another alien thing about me is that I travel with a thermometer, but it sure came in handy this time, huh?

More on Paris

I luh-huved Paris. There are so many things to look at. Chic Parisians prance around in high heels and tall boots. Impossibly tall and thin young girls stroll by, their long, straight hair pulled into simple ponytails. Handsome, dark-haired men in black skinny trousers walk quickly down the sidewalk, speaking into cell phones.

I'd been fashion-deprived since arriving in Saudi, since everyone is in the abaya, there's not too much to look at. In Paris, cigarette pants with flats are still the rage. Trench coats-- from hip to knee-length--still big. Scarves were everywhere. Most people were into solids-- not too many prints from what I saw. Skinny denim tucked into knee-high, heeled boots. I dragged Jeff to Printemps, my dream store. Every fashion-forward item you could ever wish for under one roof, from baby to adult clothing, luggage, linens and home decor. With the weak dollar, we laughed at how in most other places in the world, Americans are seen as being rich; while in Paris, they probably saw us as poor Americans!

Mastered the bus, Metro and RER, and got around like a local. I was adamant about taking public transporation because to me, it's the best way to get to know a city. Exploring Paris really felt like being in NYC again. Jeff said he liked Paris more than NYC, because there were more pretty girls and no fat people. I told him, "Hey, we saw pee, poop, and vomit. It's just like NYC."

We hit all the big spots: The Louvre, Eiffel Tower, L'Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame, and walked miles and miles all over the city. There were still long lines to get into each of these places, even though it was only March. I would hate to be there during peak season. Seeing the Mona Lisa was a bit anticlimactic, just as I'd heard other people tell me. After winding through the museum following the signs, you get a glimpse through the hundred people ahead of you's shoulders, and it's kind of like, "Oh." Jeff really wanted to see the section on Mesopotamia so we went there, and I really enjoyed it. Also really liked seeing all the sarcophogus(es? gi?) on display.

Where are we?

Jambon, Jambon

I can't get enough of ham sandwiches/crepes and bacon over here. When I was heading over to Saudi, I foolishly thought that I wouldn't miss eating pork, but the beef bacon and chicken sausage over there just doesn't cut it. It figures that once I can't have something, I want it even more.

Here in Paris, I've eaten bacon and ham every day! Mmmm! And I had braised spare ribs at a restaurant yesterday... Oh I will miss it...

Vive la France!

What am I doing? I am in Paris now, having taken a 1:40am flight out of Dammam and into Charles de Gaulle. Last night Jeff was asked again to ferry another airplane; this time from Paris to London. Unfortunately, they couldn't find the right co-pilot but made the strange decision to have him leave for Paris right away (with four hours notice), even though it could be a few days before another pilot arrives. Does anything related to this company make sense?

Since he could be gone for possibly one week, we decided I should accompany him, and purchased a $900 ticket at the airport (whittled down from $1555, thank you very much) and now here I am. Another long plane ride was the last thing I wanted to do, and two hours into it, I was seriously doubting my wisdom. But when I bit into my first chocolate croissant, all shadows were erased.

We have great internet connection now in the hotel room, making it easy to want to binge on this availability, since we know we ain't gettin' this in Saudi. But we are in the City of Lights! I don't want to stay in the room. Au revoir, mon ami!