James Bond vs. Aston Martin – Who’s the Bigger Draw?

Think of two things that by themselves are great, but combined are even better (beyond the obvious chocolate and peanut butter). The most obvious combination, of course, would be James Bond and Aston Martin. And in a very clever move, they’ve been paired in a small show celebrating 100 years of Aston and 50 years of Bond, now on display at the 360 Mall in Kuwait City. Never one to miss an exciting opportunity like this, I packed up the baby and all her gear, and we set off on our weekly exploration adventure. Let me first say that 360 Mall is just one of many many malls here. But it’s definitely one of the fanciest (i.e., most expensive), with a mere handful of shops I’d feel comfortable walking in to, let alone dropping wads of cash in. However, I do thoroughly enjoy the ambiance of 360 Mall and have to say that it’s probably one of the most attractive malls in Kuwait.

They’ve designed it with elegant woods and marbles, lush carpeting, beautiful fountains (with daily shows for the kids), and two Chihuly glass sculptures that are breathtaking. They even have an entire area designed as a “vertical garden” with plants growing right out of the walls. This area was designed by a French scientist and encompasses 60 different species with over 21,000 individual plants. It really is impressive! I wasn’t sure where to find the Bond show, but as we were wandering the mall, I happened to see it just under the yellow and orange Chihuly. There was a tuxedo-clad gentleman seemingly guarding the door so I asked if we could enter and he gestured us in.

The “show” was one large room; the walls draped with black cloth to add an air of mystery and elegance. Large screens were set up throughout showing different Bond films. There were six life-size replicas of the different Bonds, and a photo-op for you to stick your face in a hole like at a carnival to be your own Bond. But the big draw, I’m assuming, were the four Aston Martins proudly displayed before their respective movie posters. For car aficionados who can’t afford their own Aston (which seem to average around the $200k mark), I’m sure this is a great opportunity to get up close and personal and I’d recommend you visit immediately. During our self-guided tour, we were the only two females present, and definitely the only ones with a stroller. Otherwise there were a handful of men wandering and admiring, as well as a few employees setting up and doing a quick vacuum (we’d arrived just as the mall was opening). All in all, it was an amusing fifteen minutes spent, it cost us nothing, we got to admire the Chihulys, and we made it home without any traffic incidents. Definitely a good day in Kuwait.

Golden Jubilee - Kuwait-style

This past Saturday we were witness to a world-record-breaking fireworks show from the comfort of our very home. To mark the 50th anniversary of Kuwait’s constitution, the government decided to celebrate with a $15 million show made up of over 77,000 fireworks, breaking the previously held world record by Madeira on New Year’s 2006. On November 11, 1962, Kuwait became the first Arab country in the Persian Gulf to get a constitution and have a parliament. Fifty years later, it’s dropping $15 million on an hour-long fireworks and laser show, spanning over 2.5 miles along the Gulf.

During my Gulf walks, I got to see them prepping for this all week. They had fireworks strapped to pontoons, and teams of jet-skis would then drag the floats out to designated spots along the coast and around Green Island; and multiple times I had to navigate the stroller around scaffold-towers holding up enormous speakers. From our apartment, we weren’t able to hear much at all, but we saw enough to be duly impressed. Congratulations, Kuwait! (November 2012)

This is Where the Sidewalk Ends

(Written September 2012) When we first arrived in Kuwait, I was delighted to see long stretches of beautifully paved walkways along the Gulf. I could picture us on a jaunty stroll on a weekend morning, or taking a brisk walk with the stroller and my floppy sunhat. Then, when we had to move and were suddenly within half a block of the Gulf, I was thrilled! Moving into the apartment in July meant I had to wait until the temperatures dropped a bit before venturing out. But last weekend, seeing that temps had fallen into the 90s in the early evening, I convinced my husband to go do some reconnaissance with me and see just how walkable this area is. End result? You really have to want this in order to make it happen.

The primary problem (and there are several) is getting out of our apartment building, which is not handicapped accessible, meaning not stroller-accessible either. But I’ve had experience with this when we go shopping, and either I remove the baby and carry her while bumping the stroller down the stairs, or I get lucky and one of the guards comes to my rescue and helps me.

Once you make it outside, the gauntlet changes and now, in order to reach Gulf Road, you have broken or craggy or even missing sidewalks to navigate over and around, which often places you in the road which adds the difficulty of dodging traffic as well. There are multiple curbs to clamber over, but finally you find yourself at a stop light with a cross walk. And here you wait.

I’m not quite sure why there’s even a crosswalk, because, a) there’s no button to press indicating you’d like to actually cross, and b) they’ve timed the lights so cleverly that it’s impossible to cross the street in one motion. I did finally figure out, on my third outing, that if I take the long way around, meaning go through three crosswalks versus just one, I can do it without actually running for my life.

So after our evening recon outing (family time in Kuwait), we determined that crossing the street and turning right took us through the marina where we could see lots of pretty pretty yachts, but the “walking” part was less even with lots of curbs and it appeared to come to a dead end at one point. So this past week, following the baby’s morning nap, she and I prepped ourselves and headed out to explore going left.

After discussing my exploratory intentions with my husband, he suggested I go without the stroller and just use the carrier. He felt I could better dodge traffic this way, and he was right (note, this was before I figured out using the three-crosswalk-method). So I got the baby suited up with her sunhat, sunglasses, and pacifier on a leash. I donned my own wide-brimmed sunhat (far less cute than her’s, I might add) and sunglasses, strapped on my pedometer, and stuck a small bottle of water in my pocket.

We walked for an hour, covering 2.5 miles, and discovered several things. First that going left is far preferable in terms of walk-ability. However, just because you manage to cross the street, doesn’t mean the gauntlet ends. You still have a handful of curbs to bump up and down, plus you’re right next to the Gulf Road, which is basically equivalent to a 6-8 lane highway, so the noise and speed are disconcerting. But once you get passed that, there’s a sidewalk that leads away from the cars to the beach and the water, and from there you can walk far more peacefully.

During our first outing, I had slightly underestimated what an hour walk in 108 degrees while carrying the equivalent of three bags of sugar strapped to my chest would feel like. Halfway through, we stopped in the shade of a pergola out on a jetty and shared my bottle of water before heading back. I vowed our next outing would involve the stroller and lots more water.

Two days later, we tried it again. This time we walked for almost 90 minutes and clocked over 3.5 miles. We also consumed 32 ounces of water between the two of us. I have to say that I’ve heard of some parents who have trouble getting their child to switch from the bottle to the sippy cup. I’ve found that bringing on the beginning stages of mild dehydration sharpens their concentration immensely and they catch on quickly. My daughter’s quite delighted with her Pooh cup now. (No, not my best mommy moment, but I’m trying to see the sippy cup half full here.)

I did wake up in the middle of the night with radiating pain up and down my arms. Realizing it wasn’t just from the sun I got (I was far more concerned with keeping the baby protected, and as a result I neglected to protect myself and have the pink arms to prove it), but apparently the “stress” of steering a stroller over, around and through a gauntlet for 90 minutes results in some protesting muscles. We’ll work on building those up for next time.

So bottom line, there are snippets of Kuwait that are walkable, you just really have to want to find them. We’ll continue our walks, especially once the temps leave triple digits. My goal is to walk to the Kuwait Towers one day, which we can see in the far distance. I’m not sure we can walk that far, but we can at least go until the sidewalk ends.

To Nest or Not To Nest

(Written August 2012) Living any nomadic life, whether you’re an expat, military family, wayward soul, or just have itchy roots, presents you with the constant question of, “Do I take it with me?” And if you’re lucky enough to be moved by someone else, then you have the added question of, “Is this worth its weight - literally?”

Having just completed our fourth overseas move (four homes in two countries), I find I am still flummoxed by what constitutes “home” out of our pile of possessions; just how much stuff is nest-worthy? If we lived a stable lifestyle, with a constant zip code and the metaphorical picket fence, then I’d be happily rearranging our lamps and pictures to accommodate our latest acquisitions from travels abroad. However, instead I find myself wondering whether us carting around the Pharaonic plates from Cairo or the Turkish bowls or Italian ceramics are necessary for us to truly feel safe and secure.

With every move, I find myself sending another 10-15% of unnecessary items off to storage, and yet we’re still overflowing with beloved personal possessions. With our first move, over four years ago, we admittedly had no idea what we “should” and “should not” bring, in terms of practical items as well as nesting items. So we brought it all. Not literally, but close. Our two big lessons learned from that move were leave the furniture at home (many of the houses are furnished), and leave the 1,000 pounds of books at home (we’re avid readers and also considered books a design attribute, until we had to personally pay to ship them home).

To add to the quandary, we now have a baby, and regardless of her mere 12 pounds, she comes with piles of stuff and from what I hear, her piles will only get larger. Which means ours will conversely need to get smaller. It all seems fairly simple on the surface. Pare down to the bare basics. Do I need sixteen spatulas in varying colors and sizes? No. Do I need twenty-seven pairs of shoes, including four-inch heels I’ve never worn? No. Do I need all our framed artwork and photos and wall-hangings and decorative lamps? No. There, done. Oh wait, there’s one more towering obstacle: my beloved husband and his squirrel-like tendencies.

My husband is a self-admitted, level 12, blackbelt, highly ranked, packrat, and more than happy to stay that way. Admittedly I knew what I was getting in to when I married him; during our dating years, before my first visit to his apartment in Baltimore, he apparently (I found out later) looked around at all the bundles of cables, stacks of books, unopened mail, mounds of clothes and decided that the “deal breaker” for me would be the brand new large red funnel for changing car oil (still with the label on it). So in preparation for the love of his life coming to call, he wedged the funnel in the top of the closet. To this day, this remains his method of “cleaning” - it’s all about the wad and stuff. Any cubby or hole is fair game and any and all horizontal surfaces will be assimilated for “storage”, and that has included the wayward snoozing feline.

Despite all the forewarning and glaring red flags trying to wiggle out from under the piles, which he has lovingly named Mylandias, I can’t deny a secret hope that upon being exposed to the gleaming other side, he too would find great inner peace in a tidy home. He hasn’t. So over the years I periodically don my chain mail and rubber gloves, and with piles of trash bags in hand I stage a full frontal attack on any Mylandias I feel are getting too unwieldy and may start organizing and rising up against the regime (me).

My initial caveat, which has mostly been granted, is that he keep his Mylandias within designated boundaries with a door that must close. Then whatever happens within the boundary, stays in the boundary; until I periodically stage a coup.

Following our second move, I initiated another caveat entitled, “Do you really need that?” Unfortunately a packrat’s answer to that question is always a panicky “YES!” Which makes purging and sorting practically impossible. Which has resulted in over four years of carting around the world bins filled with telephone line and extension cords, knotted masses of wires, 1,000 feet of “4-pair communications cable” (a must for every happy household), 650 various-sized cable ties (though I will admit these are handy for “locking” suitcases), and hundreds of blank DVDs. This is only the top layer of stuff; the bottom layers can only be even more obscure. I’m not doubting the usefulness of any of these items, but when your organizational method is left up to the “wad and stuff” ways, the likelihood of you finding even one foot of the “4-pair communications cable” is not good. And in more than one case, my husband’s reaction when he can’t find something is just to to buy more. Hence further impeding the underlying issue.

As I see it, our basic problem is that we need to recognize that the “I may need that someday” method of decision making when it comes to moving, needs to be radically altered. While the answer to that question will always be a resounding yes, it doesn’t mean you have to strap it on your back as you move through life.

As I said, I have my own spatula-like 1,000 feet of communications cable that I’ve been lugging around the world. But Mylandias aside, because they will require either a psychiatrist or a backhoe to address, I have truly come to realize that home is not what you fill it with, or decorate it with, it’s not even how much you nest in order to make it feel “homey,” it’s really just the people (and cats) who live within its walls.

So going forth, for the next overseas move, I vow to leave the stilletos at home, pick my favorite three spatulas, bring just a few “nesting” items and maybe allow 100 feet of “4-pair communications cable”. You have to have something to feed to the Mylandias; let them eat cable, I say.

Farewell Ramadan; Welcome Back Taco Bell

(Written August 2012) We’ve just finished our first Ramadan in Kuwait. Having gone through three Ramadans in Cairo, I had thought it would be similar. We’d spend a month sneaking sips of water in bathrooms, we’d avoid being on the road in the hour before iftar each night, and we’d reduce any hopes or expectations that anything would get accomplished for a month.

However, Kuwait is far more strict than Egypt. There are actual Kuwaiti laws on the books, apparently, making it illegal to eat, drink, smoke or chew gum during the day during Ramadan; so it’s not just a matter of being polite, it’s a matter of legality. And it’s even more imperative to avoid being on the road as the sun is setting here when you factor in the inability of Kuwaitis to drive safely under non-Ramadan conditions. So throw in twelve hours of no food, no water, and 130 degree temps, and you have the Kuwaiti 500 every night; we adjusted our driving times accordingly.

During my morning mall-walks, I noticed that as most of the stores were opening, the restaurants and coffee shops were remaining dark and silent. I hadn’t realized that all the restaurants throughout the city would be closed during the day, but they were, without fail. Even the food court in the mall was desolate. Grocery stores remained open during normal business hours, however I once made the mistake of wandering in around four in the afternoon and it was a madhouse. There wasn’t a mushroom or banana to be seen, and this was one of our large stores. I resumed my shopping in the morning after that.

We did everything we could to initiate our move to the apartment before Ramadan, however logistics were just too tangled. So our move took place the first full day of fasting, which meant our poor movers were heaving and lugging all our stuff for eight hours in the high summer temps with not a drop of water passing their lips. I wasn’t sure the protocol on this; are you exempted from the water deprivation if you’re performing manual labor? Typically we’ve offered endless water and tea and even lunch to our other movers, but in this case I just made sure to leave water bottles out where they could be seen and taken, if desired. As they were loading stuff into our apartment, one of them came to me and asked for water and I quickly obliged. I asked him if the others would like some and he told me that two of them were fasting, but he and another were not. I kept those two hydrated, and kept my eye on the other two for fear of collapse. They all managed to get through the day, but I felt horrible about it.

In addition to fatigued movers, we of course had other move-in issues. Our landline phone didn’t work and we had trouble accessing the free Internet. Reaching Rami, the apartment manager, to inquire about these proved to be a lesson in patience and perseverance. After more than a week of never reaching him on the office phone, regardless of what time of day I called, I finally found his cell number and texted him. This proved to be effective, as we got a new Internet router within a day. Fixing the phone proved to be slightly more complicated. Initially he told me he’d send someone up; he never did. Then he told me that someone else dealt with it; that wasn’t true, and it was punted back to him. Finally, he agreed to call in a technician. Two days later, at midnight, our internal phone rang and rang and rang. My husband stumbled to answer it and I heard him say, “Right now? It’s midnight. (pause) No, we’re asleep.” As he fell back into bed he said, “The phone tech is here and wants to check the line. I told him no.”

If that wasn’t fun enough, two nights later the internal phone rang again, this time at ten o’clock. Husband again, “No, now is too late also. The baby’s asleep. You need to call and arrange this ahead of time.”

Third time they actually called ahead and arranged it for the weekend at two in the afternoon. So we waited. And waited. By three I texted dear Rami to find out where the tech was. He said he’d send a fax and find out. I didn’t even bother questioning that. Bottom line, two techs came later that day, my husband walked them around and got our phone up and working. We now have a home landline on which we can receive wrong number calls and on which I have yet been unable to figure out how to dial out on. Perfect.

So now with Ramadan over, the traffic has resumed its normal, constant, insanity (it’s like iftar all day long again), businesses have returned to their regular working hours (no more dentist appointments at 10pm, as a friend experienced), and I can wander over to our neighborhood Taco Bell and get a bean burrito for lunch, if I so choose. Ramadan kareem, indeed!