Driving. I know, I Just Can't Get Over It

I know I kvetch a lot about driving in Kuwait. But if you threw yourself into the melee with each outing, you'd be stressed, perplexed, astonished, and filled with international road-rage as well; I assure you.

Because of the preponderance of speeding idiots, we try to keep our road-time to a minimum. In doing so, we have managed to survive life in Kuwait without any accidents; though there have been far too many near misses. We have, however, been witness to many many post-accident scenes (keeping us well-stocked in horrendous car-cass photos). I did witness my first actual accident, from conception to crunching, just on the Gulf Road by our house a few weeks ago. I was at the stoplight, waiting for a green left-hand turn signal, but the traffic to my right was continuing straight as they had a green light. Opposite us they had the same configuration, with a turn lane with its own signal. But apparently their signal was optional, as I watched Mr. Idiot pull into the left-hand turn lane, and without any care, or a noticeable pause, made an immediate u-turn into the steady flow of traffic, causing an instant four-car pile-up. Luckily no one appeared injured, but I may have swallowed a fly when my mouth was stuck in the what-the-*#$! position.

Bean and I have also seen two fly-swallowing feats during our Gulf walks. First we saw two motorcycles come racing towards us (we were waiting at the light for our cross-now-quickly signal) and as they passed us, they both popped up on their back wheels and continued racing down the road, perched high on their bikes, no helmets, no sense. Two o’clock in the afternoon, no parade in sight. I think Evel Knievel and Darwin both would have shaken their heads at that one.

Then, as we were walking home another time, crossing at the same light, we noticed a police car parked in the intersection. This was just days after we witnessed the four-car pile-up, so I thought maybe they were there to discourage speeders and idiots. However, as I walked by, I noticed at the driver had a leopard-print neck pillow tucked under his sleeping head and the passenger was absorbed in whatever electronic gadget he held in his hands. To snore and protect, indeed.

Then, as if the idiocy of the drivers wasn’t enough fun, there are other issues to contend with on top of the incredible rates of speed, carelessness, and overwhelming dearth of concern for others. The first can be summed up as: Traffic, traffic everywhere, and not a street to be signed. All over the city, street signs are either missing, have been swallowed by a nearby tree, or have been placed so close to the exit (for instance, on the highway), that you were given no notice you needed to get over and you’ve subsequently missed your exit. This latter one can then lead to the often-used double-u-turn, which is always a hoot and can add a good 20-60 minutes to any trip. Of course, if you’re a typical Kuwaiti driver, then you shun safety and physics and the silly double u-turn, and just throw yourself and your Lexus LX570 across five lanes of speeding traffic and into those folks who somehow got word and queued up on the off ramp ahead of time. Sadly I’ve seen it done more often than not. Luckily without any crunching, crashing, or spilling of bodily fluids.

The second obstacle, is the “no left-turn” problem. This one can also lead to hours of fun. The only place you can make a left turn in Kuwait City appears to be at a stoplight; and there seem to be about twenty of those. So in order to turn left, you have to employ the next available u-turn lane (of which there are thousands) or the traffic circle (of which there are hundreds). In theory it works, and even in practice it works, for the most part. But there are some places where the next available u-turn is two miles down the road, so relax and enjoy the view, you have no choice.

So, add up the combination of no left turns, absent street signs, and speeding reckless idiots and you’ll find that driving in Kuwait can be physically, emotionally, and psychologically painful. Apparently it causes also continuous venting to occur as well. (Sorry, folks)

Expat Blues

It’s a fairly common theme, at least with me. I’ll be plodding along, enjoying my overseas life, then WHAM; I get hit with the blues. I’m sure it’s typically triggered by something or someone, but honestly I haven’t been keeping track. However, this last time I know exactly what it was; girlfriends.

Bean and I were at the mall. We had an exciting day of buying batteries ahead of us, and were also using the mall space to get in our 10,000 steps a day. Typically we go to the mall after dropping Daddy off at work, which means we’re there before the employees are. So, for an hour or more, we walk the quiet halls and enjoy the wooshing of the zamboni-like floor washer in the distance. By the time we’ve clocked 10,000 steps, the shops are opening and we can buy our bread, veg or Ikea purchases, which is pretty much all we buy.

However, this past week Bean and I got to the mall just before noon, so it was already buzzing with shoppers and employees and those who just tend to mill about. So, as we were clocking our steps, we were dodging group after group of women in bunches. They were everywhere. Walking along in small clumps, shopping and cooing over overpriced items together, pausing for a spritz of the latest must-have perfume being offered by the poor woman whose job it is to offer to spray people, sitting around tables stacked high with little mezza plates (typically appetizers like hummous, baba ganoush, tabouleh, etc.). It’s not that they were doing anything extraordinary, but that they were doing it together.

By the end of our 10,000 steps, I was thoroughly home-sick and missing my girlfriends. Now, I have met some great women here in Kuwait, and I am forever grateful for their friendship and shared kvetch-time, but it’s not the same as the girlfriends who have known you for twenty years. They know your secrets, your triumphs, your lower-than-lows and higher-than-highs (emotionally and/or chemically). They know when you’re lying, they know when you need to confess something, and they know where all the bodies are hidden and probably brought the shovel. These are friendships that I felt could endure anything.

There were five of us. When we all first met, we ranged in ages from 20 to 31. We survived boyfriends and husbands, hirings and firings, knock-down fights, moves to India and Portugal and back, two of us got married, one had a baby. If you’d have asked me ten years ago if we’d remain friends forever I would have screamed yes at the top of my lungs. But I would have been wrong.

Two of them are still in my life and are as dear to me as ever. But two have faded away through apathy and lack of effort, on both our parts. Initially, when my husband and I moved to Cairo six years ago, I did everything I could to keep in touch via email and phone. But I came to realize that some people just don’t want long-distance friendships. So I accepted that and stopped hoping to hear from them. When I came home I always contacted them to get together and initially they were receptive. But by year three, they were suddenly too busy to see me when I flew home 5,000 miles, so I eventually stopped asking them.

It hurt a lot to lose them. These were women whom I considered sisters. But I also came to realize that our dissipating friendship wasn’t because I moved overseas. And no matter what I did, or didn’t do, it wasn’t really anyone’s fault. This very well could have happened if I’d remained within a mile of them. Maybe it was just fate’s course. It doesn’t make it any less painful, but at least I don’t assign blame.

So, as I travel the world and see clumps of women sharing their lives, whether they’re in wellies in a café in London, or in full burkas in a café in Kuwait, I smile and allow myself a little envy for them. Then I say a silent thanks to the amazing girlfriends I still have in my life and send out a wish that these representative clumps of women enjoy every second they have together. Maybe they’ll truly be BFF, or maybe they’ll just be BFFN (for now), but regardless, enjoy the chattering, the sharing, the laughter and tears, and don’t forget to pass the hummous. Now, whose turn is it to keep the shovel?

Mouse Games II

The last time my husband left on a business trip, Bean was five months old and I was still getting my head, feet, and hands around this parenting thing. I had great trepidations about being a single parent for three weeks, but in the end it all went fine and Bean and I survived and dare I say, even thrived. However, when my husband recently left again, I felt secure in my parenting tasks, but it was the time-filling tasks where I had my doubts. So, lists were made, crafts were lined up, and Kuwait destinations for exploration were selected. We were set!

The first day of his absence didn’t start off well, though. Bean was a grump most of the day (either due to the arrival of four new teeth, or because she was missing Daddy), and after finally getting her to nap in the late morning, I happened to walk by the kitchen and saw it was flooded. There was water everywhere. I waded through it and tracked it back to our washing machine, which was happily spewing out waves. My first instinct was to grab towels; not the best idea (requires continued use of said-malfunctioning washing machine), but then I remembered the floor squeegee we have and I proceeded to fight back the waves and direct them to the drains in the floor.

I will admit that I did a second load after this. I wasn’t sure whether something was actually broken, or I had somehow over-loaded the machine. Following the next round of wave squeegeeing, I knew I hadn’t overloaded anything. Since I typically just call my husband when something breaks or needs repair in the apartment, I called his boss to get the number of the repairman. They were there within an hour and discovered a loose hose in back. They fixed it and suggested I let it dry fully for a few hours before using it again. I wasn’t taking any chances; I let it dry for 48 hours. The towels can wait.

Our time-filling list of things to do included “create Kuwait bucket list”, which I did, “visit malls”, which Bean and I did and you can read about all the excitement in my last mall posting, and “daily outings”. This last one was a bit nebulous, but I figured I had the car, I had a curious 10-month-old, and I had 12+ hours a day to entertain her; so we managed to go grocery shopping every few days by buying very little at a time, we walked along the Gulf and on our favorite shaded walking path in Mishref, we did quite a bit of mall walking, and we window-shopped and looked at things we couldn’t afford and wouldn’t know where to hang if we could afford them.

We did some pool-bobbing with a friend and her daughter, and Bean learned how to splash and pedaled her legs under the water like a budding Olympian (hey, high expectations are good for a child). I attempted to water our little garden three times, but for whatever reason the hose was always dry. I did manage to cart some watering-cans from a distant hose, but Bean’s patience level that day had been reached, so the garden only got a dribble. But regardless of the drought, I harvested seven pea pods and kept my eye on one small zucchini. However, based on the rate of growth, I wasn’t planning any large dinner parties anytime soon.

While at home, during Bean’s naptimes, I puttered around the house and attempted to address my list of tasks, crafts and other time-suckers. I bought some anti-slip decals for our shower and artfully peeled and stuck them down. During my next shower, as soon as the water hit them, I watched as seven of the nine decals wiggled loose, floated a bit and then gently rode the current to the drain where they all collided. Gotta love Chinese-made and Kuwait-bought products! I finally started to put together the mobile I designed for Bean’s room a year ago. And I attempted to burn down a jar candle that had broken during the move. So every day, for hours, we had geraniums and cedarwood wafting through the air. Yes, folks, that is the smell of expat-excitement.

All in all, it wasn’t horrible, but admittedly I was counting the minutes until my husband returned. It wasn’t that I needed his help with Bean, though it’s ALWAYS appreciated, and nothing unmanageable happened with the house, but my evenings were boring. And the last time I was bored I got a new job, self-published a book, and applied to grad school. And frankly, I just don’t have the time or energy for all that right now. So, welcome home, sweetie! Oh, and watch out for the safety decals in the shower.

Weekend Excursion: Closed Museums, Absent Nature and Some Bedouin Weaving

As we’re nearing our six-months-to-go point, I have amassed a list of places and things that I want to see in Kuwait before we depart. However, I did this with some trepidation. The last time I did our six-months-to-go list was on January 25th, Police Day in Cairo, and what officially became the first day of the Egyptian Revolution in 2011. Six days later, I was evacuated out and separated from my husband and our kitties for three months. But, feeling that I couldn’t live in fear forever, I made up our Kuwait list and have posted it on the fridge for all to see. Admittedly, I realize that the majority of these are probably of very little interest to my husband – for example, the Sha’ab Duck Park he could probably live without seeing, and the Japanese Gardens he might forego, as well. However, I did give him the chance to review the list and tick off any things he’d like to see, and surprisingly he actually chose a handful; which have been duly noted for future weekend family excursions.

So, always wanting to start checking things off a list, I suggested we head out for a few hours and start seeing the sites! Our plan was to visit the Kuwait National Museum and the Sadu House, located right next to each other, and providing there was time, maybe head out to the Sulaibikhat Nature Reserve. The Kuwait National Museum supposedly contains a Heritage Museum, an Archeological Museum, a Planetarium, and an old traditional Kuwaiti house (from pre-skyscraper days). The bemusing thing about this, is that the building itself is tiny; at least to hold all that. But the bottom line is, that we cannot prove or disprove any of these claims because by the time we got there, they were closed. Or quite possibly, they were never open. For whatever reason, our GPS that morning decided to take us in the complete opposite direction (it was only 4 miles from our house) and plunked us down in car-parts alley instead. So, thanks to horrendous traffic, an hour later we had done a big loop, passed our house again, and drove the four miles up the Gulf to the museum; and it was closed.

But, next to it was the Sadu House, and it was open. The Sadu House is an old-fashioned Kuwaiti house. It was originally built in 1936, and was the first house in Kuwait to be constructed using stone and concrete. It was built in the traditional style, with open courtyards with rooms jutting off like flower petals. Twenty-five years later, the government of Kuwait bought the house in order to preserve it for its historical significance. The house is currently used as a cultural center, with speakers and presentations, as well as housing a permanent exhibit on the history of Bedouin weaving.

“Al Sadu” is a Bedouin term, referring to traditional desert weaving done on a horizontal loom. The house also has some of the original wooden doors from Karachi, Pakistan and ornate iron windows; the details and designs on the doors are really stunning. While we were walking around the exhibits, they were setting up for a speaker in the main courtyard for that evening. They invited us to return, but we thanked them and declined the offer. My husband was probably just hoping to return home, but I still had designs on heading out to the nature reserve.

For a bit of background on this nature reserve, let me start a month or so ago. As I was poking around on Google Earth one day, trying to plan a route to some place or another (we’ve found that it’s far easier to do this ahead of time, than hope for street signs or building numbers, or – as we learned on our trek to car-parts alley – rely on GPS here), I saw “Sulaibikhat Bay Nature Reserve” located in a green bit just north of us along the Gulf. My wildlife-spotting reserves are perpetually low here, even with the ladybug I found in our lettuce the other day, so I was thrilled! I made note of the reserve’s location and tagging it on to one of our outings,

I dragged Bean along one day. And when I say “along”, I really mean a loooooong. We must have driven for three hours (luckily she slept most of the way). And once we left Kuwait City proper, and passed the Shuwaikh Port where all the container ships dock, we were in traffic-construction hell, which accounted for the drastically delayed progress. While dodging traffic cones, we passed Kuwait University, a whole pile of specialty hospitals, a falcon veterinary hospital (falconry is very popular here), and even Entertainment City (I’m assuming the sign was being ironic). I had mistakenly hoped that there would be a) a sign saying, “Nature Reserve, This Way”, and b) that it would be in English. I was wrong, on both counts, and I finally relented and turned around and headed home. Not ready to fully give in, I told my husband that we needed to use the GPS function on his smart phone so we’d know exactly where to turn. And somehow I managed to convince him to head that way following our foray at the Sadu House.

Unfortunately the endless road construction was still a factor, so we got some concerted family time in the car as we puttered along following our little blue triangle on the smart phone. As my husband was watching our progress on Google maps, he said with just a little concern, “I had no idea Basra was so close!” In actuality it’s about 80 miles, but he made it sound like we might swing by for tea on our way home.

Despite our alleged immediate proximity to Iraq, and our lack of passports, using Google maps and the GPS, we found it! We turned at the correct intersection, just passed all the hospitals, and there, located directly behind the Kuwait Ministry of Health was a sign (in Arabic) saying “Nature Reserve” positioned in front of a rusting chainlink fence that corralled knee-high dead grass, three trees, and bunch of trash blowing in the wind.

We parked, got out and verified the sign, and then laughed until we cried. So much for my nature needs. Now, in all fairness, the “nature reserve” part could be the shoreline, which we could not see from our vantage point. I did note that there appeared to be large white somethings floating in the water in the far distance. They could have been birds or just plastic bags, but until proven otherwise, I’m going with the former. So, we took a few pics to prove we were there, fed Bean her bottle, changed her diaper, and dove back into the traffic mess and headed home.

As we were musing about our rather unsuccessful outings that day, my husband said, “Next time you see something that looks interesting, see if there are articles written about it, or if anyone else has blogged about it, before we trek out to see it.”

“So we can only see things that others have discovered? Where’s your sense of exploration and adventure?” I asked.

He didn’t reply, but I swear I heard him mutter something about his idea of adventure not being quite so close to the borders of Iraq.

Chatting Up the Locals, Finally!

A few months ago, my husband and I were invited by some expat friends of ours to a Thanksgiving dinner. They’ve lived in Kuwait for over seven years now, so they’ve been a great source of living-in-Kuwait information for us. But for all the find-a-framer, find-a-jogging-path, discover-a-good-movie-theater help they’ve offered, the best introduction they’ve made was to some friends of theirs: a genuine Kuwaiti family!

You may be a bit perplexed as to why I’m so thrilled with this. I mean, we’ve lived in Kuwait City for almost 18 months now and we’re just now getting to meet some Kuwaitis? Two years ago, when we learned we were heading for Kuwait, we were told by several people who’d lived here, that it wouldn’t be unheard of for us to spend two years and never meet a Kuwaiti. This was not due to an inherent reclusiveness on the Kuwaitis part, nor our part, but for the simple fact that most of the people we would interact with in shops or restaurants or typical places we’d frequent, would be expats like ourselves, most commonly from India, Pakistan, Egypt, or other Middle Eastern countries. So getting the chance to sit and chat with a Kuwaiti sounded like a pipe dream, at best.

I thought I had one opportunity on a plane, when I sat next to an Arab woman and we began chatting. I was trying not to show how eager I was to find out if she was from Kuwait, and when I learned she lived here I was thrilled! But then I learned she was originally from Morocco, but married a Kuwaiti. But we did chat and I learned that she loves the Kuwaitis and Egyptians, but had some rather strong opinions about Jordanians. In a funny twist, she was describing a neighbor of theirs, an American and his wife, who taught at the university. I’m not sure what prompted me, but I asked, “Is his name John? Is he really tall?” “Yes,” she said, “how did you know?” I have no idea, but I somehow knew instantly that she was talking about other friends of ours. Small world, indeed.

But back to last Thanksgiving. This family we met was delightful. The father was born and raised in Kuwait, and he told stories of growing up just ten miles away, in a small house with his parents and grandparents. His wife was from Greece, and their two adult daughters (who were there, also), had been raised in Kuwait primarily, but were also very well-traveled, and currently both lived outside of Kuwait. They were charming and chatty and at one point when Bean decided to projectile her stomach contents all over the floor, the Kuwaiti father was immediately at my side offering to take the drippy baby while I cleaned up.

Knowing how rare this opportunity was, and fearing I may never get the chance again, I just couldn’t resist asking all the questions I’d been dying to know, which basically came down to traffic, sewage, and tourism.

For the traffic question, Father Kuwaiti readily admitted that driving here is insane and very simply told me to avoid driving as much as possible. But if I couldn’t avoid it completely, to just stay in the right lane, the alleged slow lane, and stay away from as many other people as possible. When I told him that I sometimes gave a little wiggle of the wheel to get someone off my tailpipe, he admonished me and reiterated, “stay off the road, or stay to the right.” Both daughters felt very strongly that Kuwaiti women were the worst drivers on the road. Frankly when they fly by me at 120mph, I don’t have a chance to check the gender of the driver, so I don’t really have an opinion. Someone else pointed out that there were more and more traffic cameras about, and wondered whether that might help matters. Father Kuwaiti didn’t think so. Unfortunately, he held strong to “stay off the road, or stay to the right.”

I mentioned that we had recently visited Dubai, and casually commented that there seemed to be a lot of similarities between the two countries, in terms of money, land, and room for growth. What I was really trying to ask was, “Dubai has built this amazing global mecca, with gleaming skyscrapers, retail monstrosities, and pristine beaches; Kuwait has more money and more beaches, but lacks any tourism draw. Why?” Understanding my comment completely, one of the daughters said quite simply, “Kuwait has no interest in competing with Dubai. We have no interest in tourism.” She may not be an official spokesperson, but based on what I’ve seen around Kuwait, she’s definitely spoken for the people.

My final question required some delicacy, and I honestly wavered about asking it at all. But fearing I may never get another chance, I finally said, “Why do certain areas of town smell?” We’d been hearing rumors since we’d arrived that a sewer pipe had cracked and the foreign company who had built and installed it had been fired by the government, and no one else had been brought in to repair it. Frankly it seemed like a rather stupid excuse, but I’ve learned to never doubt the stupidity of any government. Father Kuwaiti’s story was similar, but involved aging sewage treatment centers that were in desperate need of repair. But it still comes down to the fact that a country with piles of cash, who proudly maintains an enormous desalination project so they can grow geraniums along the highway, should also be able to fix the poo smell.

All in all, it was a delightful evening, in spite of baby projectiles and obnoxious expat questions, and I left wanting to see them again. I wonder how they’d feel to an invite for a vegetarian lasagna night and they can bring the Kuwaiti history lesson slides?