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.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
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.Wednesday, March 28, 2007
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!
Sunday, March 25, 2007
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!
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.
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!
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!
Friday, March 23, 2007
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?
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?
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
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...
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...
Thursday, March 15, 2007
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!
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!
Prayer Times
Major internet problems kept me offline for a few days, but now I'm back online and wanted to share the prayer schedule:
Fajr-4:32am
Sunrise-5:53am
Dhuhr-11.50am
Asr-3:14pm
Maghreb-5:47pm
Isha-7:17pm
The schedule is printed daily in the newspaper. All businesses close during the prayer times, each one lasting approximately 25 - 45 minutes. The trick is to slide into a restaurant or larger supermarket one minute before the prayer time, so that you get locked in and can place your order or do your shopping during the prayer. Smaller business turn off the lights and kick you out, so you can't get away with saving time at any of those places.
Also, all businesses close from Noon to 4pm, and barely any of them open before noon, so really if you have any errands to run, you have to start your day at 4pm. (Restuarants are usually open earlier, but their good menus don't get served until 4pm).
It has occassionally been quite frustrating to complete tasks within these timeframes. We're literally counting down minutes and gambling to see how quickly we can drive to our destinations. Then we have to run to get in the door so that it doesn't set back our schedule. I actually purchased a wristwatch and have taken to wearing it daily! With these prayers, every minute counts.
The loudspeakers throughout the city play the singing and prayers. It sounds quite nice, a man's voice sings, "Allahhhhh, wakbarrrrrr..."
Fajr-4:32am
Sunrise-5:53am
Dhuhr-11.50am
Asr-3:14pm
Maghreb-5:47pm
Isha-7:17pm
The schedule is printed daily in the newspaper. All businesses close during the prayer times, each one lasting approximately 25 - 45 minutes. The trick is to slide into a restaurant or larger supermarket one minute before the prayer time, so that you get locked in and can place your order or do your shopping during the prayer. Smaller business turn off the lights and kick you out, so you can't get away with saving time at any of those places.
Also, all businesses close from Noon to 4pm, and barely any of them open before noon, so really if you have any errands to run, you have to start your day at 4pm. (Restuarants are usually open earlier, but their good menus don't get served until 4pm).
It has occassionally been quite frustrating to complete tasks within these timeframes. We're literally counting down minutes and gambling to see how quickly we can drive to our destinations. Then we have to run to get in the door so that it doesn't set back our schedule. I actually purchased a wristwatch and have taken to wearing it daily! With these prayers, every minute counts.
The loudspeakers throughout the city play the singing and prayers. It sounds quite nice, a man's voice sings, "Allahhhhh, wakbarrrrrr..."
A True Sandwich
The other day was really windy and muggy. I was walking down the sidewalk when a gust of wind blew all this sand in my eyes and mouth (I was talking, as usual). I ended up crunching bits of sand in my teeth until we made it to the restaurant for lunch. How Jeff made it unscathed with nary a speck in his eye is beyond me.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Back To Prison...
To quote our friend Eduardo as we made our way back to Saudi Arabia, "Back to prison now."
Jeff and Eduardo drove over to Bahrain late Wednesday evening and made it to the hotel in the middle of the night. Jeff called to tell me he was on his way, and I made note to meet him down in the lobby around 1:30 or 2:00am, when he estimated he would arrive. I couldn't keep my eyes open so I decided to take a nap. I set the alarm for 1:20am, but it took me a long time to get out of bed. I finally made it out the door, but didn't walk four steps before seeing Jeff walking down the hallway toward me.
The three of us hung out Thursday and Friday, having a great time going to the movie theatre and eating in non-segregated restaurants. It was nice to have company again, after spending three days alone.
To beat the traffic, we headed to the Saudi-Bahrain causeway around 2pm. We were all sad to be heading back, especially me as I pulled the abaya back on before we reached the Saudi customs checkpoint.
Jeff and Eduardo drove over to Bahrain late Wednesday evening and made it to the hotel in the middle of the night. Jeff called to tell me he was on his way, and I made note to meet him down in the lobby around 1:30 or 2:00am, when he estimated he would arrive. I couldn't keep my eyes open so I decided to take a nap. I set the alarm for 1:20am, but it took me a long time to get out of bed. I finally made it out the door, but didn't walk four steps before seeing Jeff walking down the hallway toward me.
The three of us hung out Thursday and Friday, having a great time going to the movie theatre and eating in non-segregated restaurants. It was nice to have company again, after spending three days alone.
To beat the traffic, we headed to the Saudi-Bahrain causeway around 2pm. We were all sad to be heading back, especially me as I pulled the abaya back on before we reached the Saudi customs checkpoint.
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Abaya-free Time
Jeff was chosen to go to London and ferry a plane back to Dammam. He left on Sunday and would be gone for two days. Upon arrival, he emailed and said it'd be more like 3 or 4 days, which translates to 30 or 4o days in single-woman-in-Saudi time.
On Monday I hightailed it outta Saudi and hopped on a bus to Bahrain. I had booked a random hotel off Expedia, taxi'd from the bus stop to it, and arrived at a very modern, art-deco-ish hotel lobby. The room is very cool-looking, very much my style. It is very different from the hotel the company has us in, which is decorated in the traditional Middle Eastern way, but in a very old way. (Their marketing materials still boast that they were the HQ for the international press during the Gulf War. Dude, that was like the lifespan of a newborn-to-high school graduate ago!) I've taken 1 1/2 hour walks both days I've been here, been able to wear short-sleeves, lie out at the pool in mixed company, and walk around town by myself. I think it still is a funny sight to the locals here though, to see a pregnant lady walking about. Everywhere I've been, people ask about the baby and rub my belly. Didn't get that in Saudi. Wait, maybe that's because with the abaya on, people just think I'm fat!
On Monday I hightailed it outta Saudi and hopped on a bus to Bahrain. I had booked a random hotel off Expedia, taxi'd from the bus stop to it, and arrived at a very modern, art-deco-ish hotel lobby. The room is very cool-looking, very much my style. It is very different from the hotel the company has us in, which is decorated in the traditional Middle Eastern way, but in a very old way. (Their marketing materials still boast that they were the HQ for the international press during the Gulf War. Dude, that was like the lifespan of a newborn-to-high school graduate ago!) I've taken 1 1/2 hour walks both days I've been here, been able to wear short-sleeves, lie out at the pool in mixed company, and walk around town by myself. I think it still is a funny sight to the locals here though, to see a pregnant lady walking about. Everywhere I've been, people ask about the baby and rub my belly. Didn't get that in Saudi. Wait, maybe that's because with the abaya on, people just think I'm fat!
Sunday, March 4, 2007
An Inconvenient Truth
I'm not shocked by squat toilets. Visiting Taiwan as a child, often that was the only option in public spaces. So although it's not a big deal, I certainly don't enjoy using them.
Having thought Saudi Arabia was a relatively developed country, I was surprised the first time I encountered squat toilets in the shopping malls. And in the restaurants. Thankfully, each place has at least one sit-down toilet, and I've stubbornly waited to use it. I'm already off-balance with my 24-weeks pregnant belly, wearing a floor-length abaya over my jeans, so it's not exactly the easiest task to handle if I have to squat on the floor as well. Also, the floors are usually sopping wet since (I only learned about this two weeks ago) ablution is required before praying, and THEY PRAY 5 TIMES A DAY! There are hand-held little showers in each stall, and please, I don't even want to imagine what they are cleaning with these hoses, much less what residue I am stepping on.
Actually, some of these public restrooms are quite clean, as there is an attendant that cleans up each individual stall after every use. Each stall has a little drain on the floor, and the attendant sprays everything with the hose. It's kind of nice, and weird, to go into a pristine Starbucks bathroom.
Hi, my name is Pauline and I carry toilet paper in my purse.
One other thing I learned quickly was to keep a roll of toilet paper with me at all times. Many places either do not restock, or never had any in the first place, toilet paper in the bathroom. At least they have the little dispenser contraption nailed on the wall, so at first glance you'd think they just ran out. And then the panicked realization sets in after sticking your head in every stall. And of course, there are only hand dryers by the sink, so you don't even have hope to use the rough paper towels. I am taunted by the empty dispensers! At least in China they don't even have any toilet paper dispensers mounted in the stall, so you know for sure you're never gettin' any!
One other phenomenon is that many toilets are missing toilet seats! I'm balanced precariously on the edge of these enormous toilet bowls. I thought the first one was a fluke, but then I came face-to-bowl with another, and another... Where have all the toilet seats gone, Pete Seeger?
Having thought Saudi Arabia was a relatively developed country, I was surprised the first time I encountered squat toilets in the shopping malls. And in the restaurants. Thankfully, each place has at least one sit-down toilet, and I've stubbornly waited to use it. I'm already off-balance with my 24-weeks pregnant belly, wearing a floor-length abaya over my jeans, so it's not exactly the easiest task to handle if I have to squat on the floor as well. Also, the floors are usually sopping wet since (I only learned about this two weeks ago) ablution is required before praying, and THEY PRAY 5 TIMES A DAY! There are hand-held little showers in each stall, and please, I don't even want to imagine what they are cleaning with these hoses, much less what residue I am stepping on.
Actually, some of these public restrooms are quite clean, as there is an attendant that cleans up each individual stall after every use. Each stall has a little drain on the floor, and the attendant sprays everything with the hose. It's kind of nice, and weird, to go into a pristine Starbucks bathroom.
Hi, my name is Pauline and I carry toilet paper in my purse.
One other thing I learned quickly was to keep a roll of toilet paper with me at all times. Many places either do not restock, or never had any in the first place, toilet paper in the bathroom. At least they have the little dispenser contraption nailed on the wall, so at first glance you'd think they just ran out. And then the panicked realization sets in after sticking your head in every stall. And of course, there are only hand dryers by the sink, so you don't even have hope to use the rough paper towels. I am taunted by the empty dispensers! At least in China they don't even have any toilet paper dispensers mounted in the stall, so you know for sure you're never gettin' any!
One other phenomenon is that many toilets are missing toilet seats! I'm balanced precariously on the edge of these enormous toilet bowls. I thought the first one was a fluke, but then I came face-to-bowl with another, and another... Where have all the toilet seats gone, Pete Seeger?
Saturday, March 3, 2007
Friday, March 2, 2007
Saudi Arabia, I hardly knew ye
I have now been here for two weeks. It feels like two months. Without the Iqama, we cannot commit to housing, or a car, or anything else necessary to making a life here. The iqama should be in place soon, we are told, but when? Until then, we are in limbo. We are living out of a hotel. We don't have a kitchen, we don't have any privacy. The connection to the internet is often down. I am the only wife here (since I'm pregnant I was on a tighter traveling schedule than the other wives, they made an exception to allow me in) so there is a huge female void. (All male pilots, you ask? Yes, because female pilots are not allowed to fly in Saudi Arabia!)
In new cities, I love touring on foot and taking in the sights and sounds. Unfortunately, as a woman I am prohibited from such activities. There are separate entrances to all the eating establishments-- Singles (meaning bachelors or men without their wives) and Families (Women and children). If I happen to sit in the Singles section by accident, I can be arrested for prostitution. In fact, the first time Jeff and I went to a fast food restaurant and sat in the wrong place, four employees jumped up shouting and waving their hands, shooing us out of there and banishing us to the upstairs family section.
People like to stare here. I have been in (Far East) Asia and even back home, where people have stared at me, but it has occurred pretty infrequently as to not really be bothersome. Over here, I feel like a circus freakshow. I think any woman who doesn't wear a headscarf gets the same stares, but it sure doesn't make me feel any better. Jeff doesn't get the same stares, even though he is tall and Caucasian. I would think that I could blend in better than he, but he's not as noticeable probably just because he is a man.
These are not the type of embarrassed, or discreet stares. These are full-on, making eye contact, follow you from left to right type of stares. The most disconcerting are the ones in the hypermarkets, with women covered head-to-toe in black with the veils, with only eye slits showing. You don't know they are watching you, but then all of a sudden, you see the whites of their eyes moving the same direction as you are.
By the way, hypermarkets are these great places, with names like Carrefour and Geant. They are like Targets or Wal-Marts, I guess, but supersized. Groceries and electronics and clothing, and everything else you could need, laid out in huge, clean, organized spaces. We often time our visits to coincide with the prayer lock-ins so that we can browse around since you can't do anything else during prayertime (we Americans and our efficiency!)
The best part about these past two weeks has been spending time with Jeff. I've also gotten to know the fellow pilots and they are warm, funny people. We have the instant bond that is created when you're all stuck in the same situation.
In new cities, I love touring on foot and taking in the sights and sounds. Unfortunately, as a woman I am prohibited from such activities. There are separate entrances to all the eating establishments-- Singles (meaning bachelors or men without their wives) and Families (Women and children). If I happen to sit in the Singles section by accident, I can be arrested for prostitution. In fact, the first time Jeff and I went to a fast food restaurant and sat in the wrong place, four employees jumped up shouting and waving their hands, shooing us out of there and banishing us to the upstairs family section.
People like to stare here. I have been in (Far East) Asia and even back home, where people have stared at me, but it has occurred pretty infrequently as to not really be bothersome. Over here, I feel like a circus freakshow. I think any woman who doesn't wear a headscarf gets the same stares, but it sure doesn't make me feel any better. Jeff doesn't get the same stares, even though he is tall and Caucasian. I would think that I could blend in better than he, but he's not as noticeable probably just because he is a man.
These are not the type of embarrassed, or discreet stares. These are full-on, making eye contact, follow you from left to right type of stares. The most disconcerting are the ones in the hypermarkets, with women covered head-to-toe in black with the veils, with only eye slits showing. You don't know they are watching you, but then all of a sudden, you see the whites of their eyes moving the same direction as you are.
By the way, hypermarkets are these great places, with names like Carrefour and Geant. They are like Targets or Wal-Marts, I guess, but supersized. Groceries and electronics and clothing, and everything else you could need, laid out in huge, clean, organized spaces. We often time our visits to coincide with the prayer lock-ins so that we can browse around since you can't do anything else during prayertime (we Americans and our efficiency!)
The best part about these past two weeks has been spending time with Jeff. I've also gotten to know the fellow pilots and they are warm, funny people. We have the instant bond that is created when you're all stuck in the same situation.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Big Underpants
Out of all the pilots, there is one American and one Hungarian. The rest are Brazilian. Jeff has a great ear for languages and has quickly picked up some new words. He’s learned absurd phrases in Portuguese such as “Big underpants.” All the guys laugh when he says it. Every single time. Even I got a big laugh when I said, “Big underpants!” (It was an accident! The Brazilians tricked me!) Other phrases and words the Brazilians have graciously taught him… only seem useful if you drop a brick on your toe or if someone runs off with your wife. How heartwarming it is to know that dirty words really are the bond that brings the world together. How lovely it is to reaffirm my belief that grown men have the same sense of humor as eight year old boys.
This reminds me of a funny joke:
President Bush met with his staff one morning. An aide announced, “One Brazilian died in Iraq today.” The President slumped over and moaned, “Oh no, oh no, what are we going to do?” The staff members exchanged glances as they had never seen the President react so emotionally to this type of news.
President Bush uncovered his face with his hands, “How many is a Brazilian?”
This reminds me of a funny joke:
President Bush met with his staff one morning. An aide announced, “One Brazilian died in Iraq today.” The President slumped over and moaned, “Oh no, oh no, what are we going to do?” The staff members exchanged glances as they had never seen the President react so emotionally to this type of news.
President Bush uncovered his face with his hands, “How many is a Brazilian?”
Apu has nothing on these guys...
As anyone who knows me well, I am partially deaf. Not in a clinical sense, but I've been cursed with an inexplicable inability to understand the different accents of non-native English speakers. Give me Chinese-accented English all day long, I could translate for you before the person is done talking. I grew up around these sounds. Length of time and practice is the only way I can decipher them.
All employees in the area are men. I don't know if it is against the law for women to work in the service industry, but none do. Restaurant workers, taxi drivers, hotel staff, lingerie store clerks, travel agents... you name it, and there is a man in that job. This brings many non-Saudi nationals to the area, hoardes of men lured by the better wages than they could make in their home countries. Most of these workers are Pakistani, Bangladeshi, Filipino and Lebanese. Throw in some Egyptians and Saudis, and there's not an accent-free interaction for me all day.
Luckily, I have no qualms about looking foolish. I often bluff by just nodding and saying "Yes," but most of the time that is not the right answer. I am sure they think I am some weird girl who doesn't understand English!
All employees in the area are men. I don't know if it is against the law for women to work in the service industry, but none do. Restaurant workers, taxi drivers, hotel staff, lingerie store clerks, travel agents... you name it, and there is a man in that job. This brings many non-Saudi nationals to the area, hoardes of men lured by the better wages than they could make in their home countries. Most of these workers are Pakistani, Bangladeshi, Filipino and Lebanese. Throw in some Egyptians and Saudis, and there's not an accent-free interaction for me all day.
Luckily, I have no qualms about looking foolish. I often bluff by just nodding and saying "Yes," but most of the time that is not the right answer. I am sure they think I am some weird girl who doesn't understand English!
A shopping experience like no other
Shopping malls are huge in Saudi Arabia. Literally. One nearby mall here in the Eastern Province is 1 million sq ft. of space. There is no theatre, cinema, museum, or any other cultural-type activity; no bars, no clubs, no nothing. Shopping and eating are about the only activities you can do outside of the home. In the evenings, malls get really crowded with entire families roaming around together.
The malls are filled with that familiar Asian scent, a mixture of cigarette smoke and incense. Every store clerk is male. No music plays in the shops, the employees most often do not greet me, or acknowledge my presence. It makes for strange, silent browsing... one that most perky American store managers would never allow.
The stores carry the latest fashions (so that's what they're wearing under the abayas!) There are food courts with the worst America has to offer-- McDonald's, KFC, and Popeye's. There is a baked potato stand named Taco Taco. There is Baba Habba's, which sells chicken and beef shawarma, this great invention of meats carved off a rotating, vertical spit and wrapped in arabic bread. Shawarma reminds me of the tacos al pastor I had in Oaxaca. Mmmm.
There are no fitting rooms in any of the stores. They do not allow trying on of the garments. They do allow exchanges or store credit within 7 days. Some stores offer a refund if you return in 24 hours. This is quite annoying. I have not purchased any clothing here yet, and probably won't be doing so until after I'm done being pregnant, but this policy still irritates me. It's like someone tried to think of the least convenient way to do business with a customer, and this is the result.
The malls are filled with that familiar Asian scent, a mixture of cigarette smoke and incense. Every store clerk is male. No music plays in the shops, the employees most often do not greet me, or acknowledge my presence. It makes for strange, silent browsing... one that most perky American store managers would never allow.
The stores carry the latest fashions (so that's what they're wearing under the abayas!) There are food courts with the worst America has to offer-- McDonald's, KFC, and Popeye's. There is a baked potato stand named Taco Taco. There is Baba Habba's, which sells chicken and beef shawarma, this great invention of meats carved off a rotating, vertical spit and wrapped in arabic bread. Shawarma reminds me of the tacos al pastor I had in Oaxaca. Mmmm.
There are no fitting rooms in any of the stores. They do not allow trying on of the garments. They do allow exchanges or store credit within 7 days. Some stores offer a refund if you return in 24 hours. This is quite annoying. I have not purchased any clothing here yet, and probably won't be doing so until after I'm done being pregnant, but this policy still irritates me. It's like someone tried to think of the least convenient way to do business with a customer, and this is the result.
Ahhh, Bahrain
On Tuesday we went to Bahrain. Beer for the men, and abaya-free time for me. Women in Bahrain enjoy much more freedom than in Saudi Arabia. We can drive, hold jobs, and wear regular clothes. There are movie theatres and the city is much cleaner and prettier (read: green) than the Eastern Province. Only an hour and a half's drive for a reprieve from the restrictions of the Kingdom.
It was Jeff and me, with two fellow pilots, Jeronimo & Eduardo. We didn't have the necessary paperwork to take the rental car across the border, so we called up a driver and had him take us over. Made for a squishy ride, with three of us in the backseat, but it was our first taste of Bahrain, so we were too excited to care, anyway.
There are 7 checkpoints on the Saudi-Bahrain causeway. I really don't know why they need that many. Here is a list of the checkpoints:
1. Toll payment of SAR20.
2. They check that your car is insured.
3. They give you a piece of paper with Arabic words on it. I don't know what this paper says.
4. Show your passport to the customs guy.
5. Pass that Arabic piece of paper to the attendant.
6. Show your passport again, and pay the visitor's visa fee.
7. Stop your car and get out, and they inspect your car.
Why can't this process be condensed? Why do they need someone to sit in a booth and pass you a piece of paper?
On the return to Saudi from Bahrain, there is an even more absurd booth. A guy sits in there, and waves you through. We thought we had to do something at this checkpoint, but all we did was slow down, and the booth guy waved his fingers to let us through. Turns out no one has to stop at this checkpoint, just slow down. Wha? They're just creating jobs for the sake of creating jobs.
It was Jeff and me, with two fellow pilots, Jeronimo & Eduardo. We didn't have the necessary paperwork to take the rental car across the border, so we called up a driver and had him take us over. Made for a squishy ride, with three of us in the backseat, but it was our first taste of Bahrain, so we were too excited to care, anyway.
There are 7 checkpoints on the Saudi-Bahrain causeway. I really don't know why they need that many. Here is a list of the checkpoints:
1. Toll payment of SAR20.
2. They check that your car is insured.
3. They give you a piece of paper with Arabic words on it. I don't know what this paper says.
4. Show your passport to the customs guy.
5. Pass that Arabic piece of paper to the attendant.
6. Show your passport again, and pay the visitor's visa fee.
7. Stop your car and get out, and they inspect your car.
Why can't this process be condensed? Why do they need someone to sit in a booth and pass you a piece of paper?
On the return to Saudi from Bahrain, there is an even more absurd booth. A guy sits in there, and waves you through. We thought we had to do something at this checkpoint, but all we did was slow down, and the booth guy waved his fingers to let us through. Turns out no one has to stop at this checkpoint, just slow down. Wha? They're just creating jobs for the sake of creating jobs.
The causeway is pretty spectacular, though. It looks pretty new, although I read that it was built 20-some years ago. In any case, it's held up well, and there's a man-made island in the middle of the water where all the checkpoints are located.
Photo credit: Brian J. McMorrow.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)