“Why Would They…?”

(Written February 2012) During our years in Cairo, my husband devised a game called “Why Would They?” It proved to be an expat game of trying to hold your tongue.

The rules in Cairo were simple, for every, "Why would they?" exclamation -- typically uttered when witnessing some fantastical, or wildly amazing, or just implausible and gravity-defying feat, such as "Why would they carry a plate glass window on a motorbike?", or "Why would they step out into traffic without ever looking?" -- you would get one point against you. If you were somehow able to NOT exclaim this constantly, then you were probably asleep; there's really no other explanation. Our favorite supplementary game, was to see how long it took visitors to utter their first “Why would they” sentence, which was sometimes within minutes of leaving the airport.

We have tried to play the game outside of Egypt, but frankly it’s just not as fun. Yes, wild and wacky sights can be spotted in Venice, or London, or Alaska, or Muscat, but so far nothing can compare with the sheer volume of wondrous mind-bending sights in Cairo.

Life is much more sane and less like a carnival in Kuwait, but having said that, we have come up with two “Why Would They’s”. The first is quite simply, “Why would they constantly drive with such recklessness?” No, it’s not as much fun as “Why would they put grandma on top of the pile of watermelons in the back of the truck (in Cairo)?”, but we work with what we’re given. The driving remains a constant source of stress here, but I am trying to train myself to fully expect to be passed on an on-ramp and cut-off in a merge lane, so as to lessen the stress spikes. Not to mention constantly checking rear and side mirrors; I’ve learned all too often that just because it’s clear one second doesn’t mean there won’t be a Hummer H2 climbing up your tailpipe in the next.

Our second “Why Would They?” comes from something I have failed to share, until now. It’s not because I’m trying to hide it, but frankly I find it so baffling that I can’t wrap my head around it. It’s simply this, is certain areas of town, Kuwait City stinks.

It really stinks. The sewage smell can be overwhelming in some neighborhoods, particularly those close to the water. I've heard all sorts of rumors as to why, including a broken sewage pipe flooding Kuwait Bay and the Persian Gulf with raw sewage, and an on-going search for an engineering firm to fix it. I don't know what the real story is, but I can certainly attest to the real result. Pew.

So, sadly, one of the best parts about Kuwait, their 180 miles of coastline, is strongly affected by this. No one wants to come to the beach, when the beach doesn't smell like a beach should. Personally, I would think that the high-end resorts lining the waterfront would team up and demand that the problem be addressed. I can’t imagine paying $500 a night for a room with a waterfront view (and complementary smell), let alone trying to take a dip in the water and dodge the debris (I'm making an assumption here; I have yet to take a dip in the Gulf and frankly can't see it happening anytime soon).

And so, it still stinks. We recently visited friends who had a gorgeous villa, just a block from the water, but when we parked and open the car doors the stench was so overwhelming we ran for their front door with our breaths held. We’ve taken walks along the beach on the promenade, and one minute everything is lovely, the next the wind changes and you’re suddenly speed-walking to the car.

So it comes down to this. In a country as flush with cash as Kuwait is, "Why Wouldn’t They Fix the Sewage Smell?" Okay, one point against me; let the game begin!

With a Whimper

(Written December 31, 2011) To mis-quote T.S. Eliot, “This is the way the [year] ends: Not with a bang but a whimper.” And I’m okay with that.

Our riotous New Year’s Eve activities this year may have surpassed any past or even future pathetic activities we may have for the next several decades. I’ll blame it on the rotten cold I got 48 hours earlier, which left me sniffly, achey, and whiney. And which subsequently left my husband with lots of free time to mutter “stupid pigs” and “how did I just mortgage that?” into his SmartPhone (with Angry Birds and Monopoly being the latest addictions).

We did manage to stumble up to our roof with minutes to spare before midnight, where we got a lovely view of several fireworks displays all around us (some just a little too close for my husband’s comfort, so he blamed the “cold weather” on his desire to go back inside, where we watched from the safety and "warmth" of our family room).

I have to admit that I was quite pleased to see some recognition of the delineation between this year past and the one to come. Not just because Cairo failed to acknowledge it at all (in the last three years, we were lucky if we heard a neighbor hoot or a local woman offer up her ululation. to mark the “midnight” moment), but also because I’m more than ready to walk away from 2011 and dive right in to 2012.

To say 2011 was fraught with stress could be a contender for understatement of the year. Yes, every year brings heartache and disaster, pain and suffering, but personally 2011 ranks at the highest for me. And my dentist will agree, pointing out that the grinding and acid reflux have completely worn down my teeth and practically dissolved my enamel (and I doubt “Arab Spring revolution” qualifies under our dental insurance for pretty new crowns).

But then again, we had the most miraculous news of our child coming next February (via adoption), and we celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary, and all our friends and family are safe and healthy, and we did get to spend time with all our friends and family over the summer. But most of all, we survived, stronger than ever. And for that, I am thankful, grateful, and very appreciative (though not necessarily willing to do it all over again).

So as we creep into 2012 ahead of the U.S. folks, we’re sending all our love to everyone for a wonderful 2012 full of miracles, magic and blessings, with peace and kindness reaching out to all corners of the Earth.

More Expat Wife Doings

(Written December 2011) In Cairo my Expat Wife outings usually revolved around shopping or exploring some ancient, or at least fairly old, structure or site. Here in Kuwait, my latest Expat Wife outings involved organized tours to two local hospitals. Surprisingly there wasn’t a waitlist for tickets.

However, in fairness to the exploration opportunities afforded us in Kuwait, it wasn’t a bad way to spend a few hours. We toured two hospitals, the New Mowasat Hospital and Royale Hayat Hospital. Both are fully functioning hospitals, but they definitely specialize in birthing the babies – and make quite the pile of money doing so.

Now, there were several ways in which these were different from any other hospital I’ve ever visited. To sum them up, I’ve never felt so severely under-dressed in a hospital before. At times I had to stop myself from confirming in a passing mirror that I was not clad in soiled dungarees with hay peeking out of the pockets that were covered in dried pig snot all way down to my cow-pat-covered wellies.

Everyone we saw was dressed and pressed and made up to the nines. From the spotlessly white dishdashas that many of the men wore, to the black galabeyas on the women, showing only their eyes with curled luscious lashes, dramatic eyeliner and eyeshadow application that would make Max Factor proud. This is how many people look when they leave the house here, regardless of whether they’re perusing the mall with their nanny and kids in tow, or shopping for $8 broccoli, or apparently heading to the hospital either as a patient or a visitor. But regardless of how often I see it, it always has the pig-snot affect on me.

In addition to the human component, both of these hospitals were by far the swankiest, poshest, most luxurious hospitals I’ve ever seen. In truth, the Royale Hayat felt more like the Four Seasons, than a hospital. And New Mowasat visitors are greeted with a towering wall of water cascading down in the lobby; a definite indication that this wasn’t going to be like the Emergency Room at George Washington University Hospital in DC (no offense to DC ERs).

As the pre-tour PR presentation at the Royale Hayat began, I found that I was completely distracted by a beautiful young woman sitting near us wearing the full black galabeya, hijab and niqab, with only her eyes showing (fluttering eyelashes and all), eating a sandwich. With each delicate bite she would raise the sandwich up to her mouth, lift the niqab covering her face ever so slightly to slide the sandwich underneath, take a dainty bite, place the sandwich back on the plate, and wipe her fingers. This went on for a few bites, until she got a phone call and since she couldn’t do the double-handed method anymore, I watched as she nibbled on French fries while she chatted. There was also a man in traditional Gulf Arab attire (white dishdasha and red and white checked kefiya) speaking with a woman who might have been a hospital employee. They themselves weren’t that interesting, but I was noticing the Chocolatier shop in the corner behind them selling gourmet Lebanese chocolates from Alpina. A bit of a variation from the carnations, mylar balloons and stiff teddy bears selections I’m used to in the U.S. I was able to tear myself away from the glittering distractions, including the water feature behind me that looked like a wall of water droplets falling endlessly, in time to hear that the hospital has been open for less than ten years, and they perform 250-300 births a month. And then it was time to head off on the tour. We were shown all the floors and were even taken into the NICU (not all the way in, of course). But the highlight, and I do mean highlight, was seeing the poshest of the posh guest rooms for birthing mothers.

The basic is the Lily room. For a mere $4,000 you can have this room for two nights that comes with a kitchenette, sofas and chairs, living quarters in addition to the mother’s bed, multiple TVs, and two marble bathrooms. From here they only get better. The two top of the line go for $16,000 (Lotus) and $20,000 (Orchid) and are large enough to hold about 100 guests, in addition to the same amenities. (If you'd like to check out the panorama view, see http://www.royalehayat.com/oursuiteshome.html) They are both about 1,400 square feet, with reception and living areas, but in addition the Orchid comes with its own rooftop garden/patio and, as we were told on the tour, “much higher quality wood and marble… you’d notice the difference.” Right, don’t let the pig snot get on your Donna Karan chiffon bodysuit, lady.

The reason for the grandiosity is that in Arab cultures it’s customary to receive lots of visitors after the birth of a child, so in traditional Arab hospitality, you “host” them. Now, in less wealthy environments, i.e., the normal world, these people come to your home. But here in Kuwait, you can just rent a room that puts the presidential suites in five-star hotels around the world to shame. We also heard that you can apparently have your own furniture brought in if the dregs they offer you are just too vile. I wonder if that goes for the immense crystal chandelier as well?

We ended our tour of “how the other half lives (and births)” at the Elements Spa run by Bayan Tree, which takes up half of the second floor. To say it was like no other spa I’ve been to would be obvious, but I’ll say it regardless. We then sat in their reception area and were offered fresh fruit cocktails, little hors d'oeuvres (perfect for niqab manipulation), and five-minute neck massages, which I gratefully took advantage of.

As we stood to leave, we were handed gift bags full of brochures on the dentistry practices (whiting and straightening are very popular) and the myriad of services offered by the cosmetic surgery wing. We also got a bit of hospital swag, with a key chain, letter opener, and the ever-practical Royale Hayat money clip (no, it’s not any larger than any other money clip, but I, too, thought it might be). So with the promises of luxury glimpses, a bit of shiny swag and a free massage, all I can say is “When's the next tour?”

Christmas in Kuwait - 2011

(Written December 2011) My husband called me at home last week with some good news!

Hubby: “Remember I put our names in for a raffle at work for a real Christmas tree? Well, we won!”

Julia: “A real tree?” … pause for thought… “We have a tree already, and it’s up and decorated.”

Hubby: “Yeah, but this is a REAL tree and it’s six feet tall!”

Julia: “But we have a tree already, and it’s up and decorated.” (silence on the line) “We’ll have to water it. And did it come with a stand? Where are we going to put it? Are you going to take down the other tree and then put new lights and decorations on this one?” [This actually is a fair point as I am the designated decorator in our house if we want decorations at all.]

Hubby (sotto voce): “But I’ve never had a real tree.” (Cue “Charlie Brown heartbroken” theme.)

And what happened, then? Well, in Whoville they say - that the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day. And then - the true meaning of Christmas came through, and the Grinch found the strength of *ten* Grinches, plus two! So squelching my inner-Grinch, and with a new-found burst of holiday enthusiasm, I said, “A second tree is great. We can keep it in water until we can get a stand.” Sigh.

I’m not usually the Grinch at Christmas. In fact, I’m typically obnoxiously festive. In our first year of marriage, my husband made me agree to wait to put up Christmas decorations until the first weekend in December, despite my intent to start after the first load of dishes was done on Thanksgiving.

I love everything wonderful about Christmas; the music, the feelings, the lights and ornaments, the movies, the concerts, the parties, the gift-buying. I love it all. But this year has been a bit of a struggle for me and I’m going to blame my sluggish holiday enthusiasm on the year we’ve had.

I did manage to push through my holiday-apathy and decorate our house, a little. I only put up about a quarter of our decorations, though I did throw up our fake-tree with lights and a handful of ornaments (mostly those that were at the top of the box). Part of this festive push came from our decision to throw our annual cookie party, which we started when we lived in Cairo. But I have to say that without the pressure of people coming to the house for a holiday bash, I might not have done even this much.

Conversely, Kuwait is bustling with seasonal joy. I have to admit that seeing all the stores decorated for Christmas is a bit of a shock to my senses. Even the grocery store Lulu’s is decked out to the nines with trees and lights and even that classic beauty the fuchsia-tree. I guess I had come to Kuwait with the assumption that it was more religiously conservative than Egypt, and therefore would not be doing the whole fuchsia-tree thing. And yet, they are far greater Santa enthusiasts than the Egyptians ever were – at least from a commercial sense!

But, now with our new real Christmas tree waiting in a bucket outside, we added one more task to our holiday preparations list and headed off to True Value Hardware (I’m not kidding, it’s located right next to Ace Hardware – I’m telling you, it’s so western here it’s almost disappointing), because my husband had heard that they carry stands for trees. After perusing the Christmas aisles, of which there were many, we came up empty. I did spot a nice red velvet bow that I thought might look festive on our front door, but then seeing that they were charging $24 for it, I quickly put it down.

After thoroughly wandering, we were still sans tree stand. We asked a few people if they carried stands and were told, “No,” “Check the Christmas aisle”, and otherwise got some blank stares. My husband, being ever so determined went back to the Christmas aisles and scoured them again. While I was wandering through the housewares (not really shopping, moreso checking out very expensive dishes made in China), my husband popped back and said he’d found one, sort of. I followed him back and saw that he was pointing to a sturdy plastic stand, definitely designed for real Christmas trees, but it appeared to be part of a display. “This is the only one I found,” he said. So, with a practiced move, such might be used to swap prices in a thrift store, I casually rearranged the fake poinsettias and grabbed the stand and we headed out with quite possibly the last remaining Christmas tree stand in Kuwait (made in Troy, Michigan). Maybe it was the excitement with which my husband embraced his new tree, or maybe it was the fact that he actually helped put the ornaments on (which he typically has no interest in), or possibly it was the festive scent of citrus in the air to discourage all the felines from munching on either tree, or maybe it was just the distant sound of the Whos down in Whoville singing wa-hoo wa-hoo that finally ignited my Christmas spirit. Whatever it was, I’m finally ready and eager to welcome Christmas in this year. ‘Tis definitely the season for miracles. God bless us, every one!

Moving In...

(Written September 2011) So, I’d love to say that I’m able to fully regale everyone with my immediate impressions of Kuwait and our neighborhood and our home, but honestly on the ride from the airport, I was dividing my awareness between our new surroundings, and Louie the kitten in a quiet rage in the carrier next to me. I was also just so damn happy to be off that plane that I could have wept.

My very very first impressions of Kuwait, though, were in the airport. First, it was spotless (compared to Cairo – which I remember as being dusty and slightly dirty), the floors were marble and shiny, the signs were in English and Arabic, and as I sat in the waiting-for-a-visa chairs with the three cat carriers around me as my husband and mother wandered off to figure out how to get the visas, I started to realize just how schlubby and exhausted I felt. This was exacerbated by the Arab women around me, who I assume had also just disembarked from a plane, and yet they all looked like they were ready for their photo shoots. Their makeup was perfectly applied, and they looked stunning. Their abayas (loose dress- or robe-like garment worn over their clothing) and hijabs (headscarves) were unwrinkled, matching and thoroughly bedazzled. I was wearing my elastic plants, loose shirt and crocs. I felt like a toad among roses (no offense to toads).

So I focused on keeping my croakings quiet while I waited; then we trundled off to find our six suitcases (we had saddled my mother with a second bag of our crap). With those in hand, we were driven to our new home in Jabriya, which is a neighborhood just southeast of Kuwait City proper.

We pulled in next to our house, or rather "Villa 21". There’s a cement wall surrounding the property and there were two gates, one for pedestrians, one for cars. The interior “yard” area was fairly large (certainly for us, since we’ve only lived in apartments). There’s a large carport area, some grassy bits that were rather tufty and dead, a table and chairs, and about twenty little trees lining the wall. Yup, we have trees.

The house itself was described to us as a townhouse. But it’s not like any townhouse we knew. It’s more of a very large, duplex. We share a common wall with our neighbors, but if we didn’t periodically hear their kids, we’d think we were in a single family home.

The front door opens into the dining room, with the living room off to the left, and kitchen, laundry room, and half-bath (with three sinks, for some reason) off to the right. The stairs also lead off from the dining room and up to the second floor’s family room. The master bedroom are to the left, above the living room. There are two more bedrooms off to the right, one will be my husband’s office (for all our cable-storage and harddrive nesting needs), and the other will be our guest room and nursery. Plus there’s one more full bath here. From the family room there are steps leading up to the roof, but other than accessing the a/c unit or fussing with the satellite dishes, I don’t see us using it much. It’s got a nice sunny landing that Ricky likes, though.

All in all, we love the house. It’s far larger than we need, but we’re thoroughly enjoying the space. There are marble floors throughout and large built-in closets lining the wall in all the bedrooms, plus a separate “dressing area” with more closets in the master bedroom. The kitchen is nice, though I wish it had some natural light. But otherwise it’s big, has tons of cabinets, and room for a little table and chairs.

As with any new house, there are some quirks. First and foremost is that you need a key to not only get in, but also get out. You can actually get locked in. There’s no doorknob. There’s a handle for pulling and pushing, but it’s placed so close to the edge that if you’re holding it when you’re outside shutting the door, you’ll peel the skin off your knuckles. Plus the whole door is metal, and with the sun blasting on it for hours a day, you can’t actually touch it. So we’re getting accustomed to that. The oven and stove are a bit small, and the oven only has Celsius indicators. We call it our little Easy Bake.

We also discovered a door that leads directly into our neighbor's villa. They had piled up some furniture and lamps against the door, signaling the property line, I guess, but it felt weird to have that access. We may be piling up some miscellaneous items on our side as well. We haven’t fully explored the neighborhood yet, but it’s mostly residential; not a lot of shops. During the few days my mother was here, I suggested we go for a little walk around the neighborhood to see what we could find. She was game, but we both quickly realized two things. First, this area of Kuwait is not pedestrian-friendly. Everyone drives. There are nice sidewalks, but frankly I’m not sure why. I think we saw two other “walkers” while we were out. The second realization was that Kuwait is hot, even in September. We didn’t bring any water with us (stupid, I know, and when he heard, my husband railed, “We’re living in the desert, never leave without water!” My husband may have water issues, but he’s right on this count). We were only out for about thirty minutes, but we were red-faced and thoroughly pooped by the time we got home. We later learned that it had been a balmy 108 degrees Fahrenheit that day. Could explain the mini heatstroke. We did manage to find a Pizza Hut, a Burger King, and a KFC a block away, and an odd little grocery store that seems to only sell fruits, vegetables and eggs. Well, so much for my plans to see Kuwait on foot. It did, however, spur me into buying a large thermometer I can put outside on the window, so as to not repeat such lunacy. The irony here was that most window thermometers only go to 120 degrees apparently, but I finally found one that went to 140. If we get that high, I can assure you that I'll be inside with some iced tea watching my new thermometer melt down the window.

Even though it makes the windows too hot to touch, we get lots of sun throughout the day, and it's lovely. We’re learning the best sunspots in case we need to locate a feline. So far the nursery has top marks.

We’d love to say that we're hoping for lots of visitors, but we realize that there are many ways in which Kuwait is nothing like Cairo, and for most of those very reasons, it’s not a highly-rated vacation spot. We’ll share more about “all” that Kuwait has to offer as we dig into it. But I have to admit, that for the first time since January 25 of this year, I feel at home. I feel calm and relaxed and so happy to be here. I think Kuwait is going to be very good for us.