Greece- The Faeries May Be Real, But the Ferries Are Not

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Greece is the cradle of democracy, but the baby grew up and became a screaming toddler of revolution and discord. You might be surprised to learn that Greece is actually a fairly young democracy in its current form, as there was a military coup that held power from 1967-1974.  My children now say that I am older than Greek democracy (and the wheel, and dirt).

You have to love, or at least tolerate, historical facts like this if you are going to visit Greece. The deep and rich history of the region permeates everything, including the people, and is a part of every experience. Even the subway system was subverted by history; there were so many historical finds during the construction, Athenians joke that it was excavated entirely by archaeologists with toothbrushes.

Most people visit Greece during the warm months, leaving the tourist destinations abandoned during the winter months. If you love a  bargain, winter is a great time to go. One awkward lesson that we learned was that the ferries run much less frequently during the off season, and the fast ferries don’t run at all. Luckily Aegean Air has cheap last minute tickets!

Being good little democrats, we began in Athens. We even walked up the hill where Pericles would lead the men of Athens for their primitive voting exercise; they probably held their open-air town hall meetings early in the morning to avoid the rush of tourists from the cruise ships. The Acropolis is just high enough above the city to rise above the human tsunami that crashes ashore in the summer, but in the winter is easily accessible and really an impressive sight.

Athens is very urban, and you can interpret that however you wish. If you are looking for bustling nightlife, clubs, and general debauchery, its a nice destination. If you don’t like pickpockets, traffic jams, or overpriced hotels, one or two days will be plenty.

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If you seek relaxation, escape to the islands…

Crete is still a surprisingly wild place, given the thousands of years that it has been inhabited. There are snow-capped peaks, deep gorges with ancient switch-back paths, and New Zealand-esque sheep around every turn.

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Luckily, there doesn’t seem to be any significant risk of intestinal parasites despite drinking fresh spring water during a hike. You get lucky sometimes….

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Another important part of Greek island culture is the interwoven influence of Roman, Turkish, Greek, and Venetian colonization. We rented a house next to this cool Greek Orthodox church that has a belfry and a minaret; it had been a church and a mosque at various points, and nobody seems to mind the juxtaposition.

Crete has a large enough population that life goes on after the tourists leave in the fall; we found several great local restaurants, and enjoyed hiking the mountains and the ancient sea wall in Chania. It was a restful place to spend Christmas, and I’d go back in a heartbeat.

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An ironic pattern to our trip is that Crete was the home of the Minoan civilization, which was destroyed by a tsunami created by the explosion of a volcano later known as Santorini, our next stop!

Santorini is rumored to have the best sunsets in the world; I don’t know that the sunsets are any better than in the southwestern US, but the views really are fantastic.

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The many small Greek islands only have one speed; it is that speed at which the setting sun travels while you sit in a taverna sipping a glass of local red wine. Its a great pace. Another winter warning: similar to the ferry availability, around Christmas Santorini apparently dwindles to 4 open restaurants, a few stray dogs and cats, and my family. Luckily that’s exactly how we like it! My kids especially enjoyed petting the cats.

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One of my favorite discoveries in Oia was a little bookstore in a converted cave house. In summary, this had been a cave, then a house, and now a bookstore. Barnes and Noble this is not.

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I don’t think the Greek economy is going to boom anytime soon, so you probably have a few years before prices begin to rise; plan ahead ( or don’t, remember Aegean has cheap fares to bail out your failed plans to take the ferries…) and soak up the sun, sand and history of Greece while it lasts. At this rate, it might not be around in two or three thousand years.

 

 

 

Finding the Not-So-Lost-City of Petra

One of the coolest scenes from the third Indiana Jones movie was the canyon leading to Petra (remember the old knight? “He chose… poorly”).

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Since then, Petra has represented the pinnacle of exotic places I’ll probably never visit. However, now that we live in the neighborhood, the lost city is just a long weekend away.

Visiting Jordan was a pleasant surprise; the people are friendly, and for centuries people of all faiths have lived, worked, and coexisted in relative harmony. Many of the most popular tourist sites are those that are at the intersection of the three monotheistic religions (Christianity, Judaism, and Islam), where Moses and Abraham are revered by all.

Our first morning in Wadi Musa, the village next to the Petra site, welcomed us with a sun-kissed view of the mountain where Aaron, Moses’ brother, was buried. At the very top of the peak, there is a spot of white where the tomb is claimed to be.

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Our awesome driver and tour guide, Hasan, explained that prior to the Arab Spring and the economic downturn, we would have been joining thousand of tourists on various pilgrimages and vacations; it was bittersweet that we never faced crowds, but it’s clear that the local economy has been left barren by the lack of tourist dollars.

Several opportunities arose during this trip that were certainly “off the beaten path”. Each time, a tour guide would mention something off-hand, usually followed by some reason why sane tourists don’t go there. Our attitude was that we never expected to visit this area at all, so we were already in bonus time.

The first course correction was at Petra. In an area where the canyon opened up to allow a marketplace, most of the tourists spend  their day swarmed by Gypsies, flies, and other tourists.

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Our guide pointed out a series of royal tombs above the canyon floor, one of which had been converted to a Byzantine church around 400 AD. Of course, that would require an extra hour of hiking. Perfect! Our views were much improved by the extra elevation, and we had this area of the site to ourselves.

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The village next to Petra, Wadi Musa, means “Moses’ Valley”, and is the site of Moses striking the rock to provide water for the Israelites. In true modern fashion, there is now a gift shop and convenience store next to the rock…

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After Petra, we had a simple itinerary- jump in the van and drive to the Dead Sea for one night at a resort there. During the otherwise boring drive, Hasan was telling us about the history of Jordan, and we passed a sign for Shobak Castle. It is an ancient fortification built atop an isolated hill; it has been controlled through the millennia by Nabateans, Romans, Crusaders, Ottomans, and Arabs.

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When Saladdin was sweeping out the crusaders, the impenetrable fortress was beset by a siege. It is easy to see why a direct assault would be futile. However, the defenders held out for at least 16 months, primarily due to a secret tunnel from the castle to a spring in the valley below. Hasan mentioned that you could even take flashlights and go through the tunnel… Heck yeah! So off the itinerary we went:

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In the US or Europe, there would be helmets, hand rails, a waiver of liability, and more than one flashlight. In this case, a teenager who was hanging around the entrance to the castle takes off his sandals and waves us into the darkness. An hour, 385 steps, and probably 200 vertical feet of descent later, we emerged into the valley below, met by a group of curious locals who probably had bets on our odds of success.

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It is comforting to see how Jordan has found a path to common ground with Israel and the west. We sometimes forget how close these neighbors are; at the site where John the Baptist baptized Jesus, you can enter the river from either side. Swimming fifteen feet to the other bank would require a passport, visa, and the permission of the guy with the assault rifle.

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A sad reminder that all is not well in the neighborhood: on the way to the airport in Amman, we passed the Syrian embassy. Refugees waited outside; it’s hard to imagine that they’ll receive anything but bad news there.

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After taking in the majority of the Palestinian refugees just a generation ago, Jordan again has demonstrated a generous spirit that is inspiring, and has provided a refuge for the Syrians fleeing the chaos in their home country.

Of all the beautiful things we discovered in this country, the tolerant and welcoming people will be what we remember best. The treasures of Jordan were never really lost, just waiting to be rediscovered by the rest of the world.

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In Search of Art

A desert mirage is a dance of distorted light and a willingly altered perspective; the shimmering waves in the distance look liquid, and believing it makes it so.  Finding art is like that; the critical mind only sees desert and desolation, but if you look for the fantastical oasis, it will be there.

This is a collection of random and spontaneous photos that represent the art that is always in the background, or otherwise hiding in plain sight. You can find it on your commute:

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Or even as a backdrop for the escalator at the mall:

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This one is hard to guess:

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Obviously, it’s the multi-colored soap on the windshield at a car wash.

Sometimes the context is everything:

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Some of the coolest moments are at home. With office supplies:

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Mother’s Day is a good excuse to find art, just don’t go to Hallmark..

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In fact, my favorite artists are all right at home. Not only are they talented, their work is affordable!

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You might find something inspiring at school, with some local flavor:

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Sometimes you have to get lost in the hills,

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or take a moment at work to engage the other side of your brain.

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This is a foreign world, but one very close to home. (40x Gram stain)

Signs, Signs, Everywhere Signs

There’s a reason “lost in translation” is more than a movie, its a cliche. Phrases that make sense to a native speaker may not impart the message they intended. The fun starts when you make your own interpretations; this is a collection of some of my favorites.

In Norway, motorcycles are not allowed to jump over cars. Not on this street anyway.

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IMG_4853 This cafe sells ridiculously huge hot dogs. Are they the biggest in the world? Probably.

This is something I found at the market while looking for gloves for doggy clean-up duty. Not sure what their intended use is, and I didn’t want to take any chances that the check-out guys would make fun of me, so I didn’t buy them.

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I think this next one is a travel brochure for spring break in Mexico:

 

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Reminds me of college.

Speaking of liver damage, this was an unfortunately ironic sign in the New Orleans airport:

IMG_2502New Orleans is probably also #1 in tattoo removal and nicotine patches. At least in Turkey they warn you when things are bad for your health (this is a carton of cigarettes):

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On the topic of nannyish signs, we were protected from all types of dangerous behavior while staying at a hotel in Oman:

IMG_4129I can see how you might hurt yourself with hand sanitizer. But a phone? And the restroom?

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My wife the risk-taker.

And really, is this some type of tourist-eating Venus flytrap?

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And lastly, on the juvenile side, here a few of my kids’ favorites.IMG_5107IMG_4331IMG_4297They particularly like the “historical diarrhea” sign. Gets a laugh every time.

 

 

London, Old and New

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London is the ultimate international city; everyone is drawn there, and everyone is welcome. (Well, everyone with a credit card.) Perhaps more than any other metropolis, London lays bare the schizophrenic effort required to balance the history and future of a place and a people. Walking through London is an exercise in choosing culture or couture, past or present. Every neighborhood is a young city trying to push aside the shell of the old.

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Do we really think Churchill would want to be immortalized next to a delicate tree in full bloom? I think he might’ve preferred his name on a cask of Scotch, with cigar smoke obscuring any other perspective of history.

Lord Nelson keeps a vigilant eye on the coast; never mind that you can ride a train from France, no matter the weather in the channel. He doesn’t seem to notice the even more archaic creature sneaking up behind him, distracted as he is by the Eye of London.

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Give the brits credit for trying to integrate the past with the future. Where else can you find a phone booth like this- with Wi-Fi?

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Some buildings look to the past, but many more just gleam into the future, without any granite or gargoyles, and no apologies.

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In places, the old and new are blended, with a beautiful harmony:IMG_5448

 

There is a tragic abundance of war memorials; seems such a pity that some are for wars against France, others to liberate France, and still others yet for places nobody cares about any more.

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The only “peace memorials” were statues of Nelson Mandela and Mahatma Ghandi. I liked that they were not up on grand pedestals, and were humbly life-size; I think they would’ve wanted it that way. Or maybe we are just making their humility as grandiose as Admiral Nelson’s military brilliance or Queen Victoria’s nobility,

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because that’s what we want them to be. That’s how we want to remember them.

I shouldn’t be too critical,  I like being able to buy a hot dog and an ice cream at Westminster Abbey…

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… but it does seem to detract just a little from the holiness of the place.

Once you escape the watering holes where the tourist herds gather under the watchful eye of various lions, there is a genuine vibrance in London. I found the entrance to this place of worship much more welcoming than any of the cathedrals in my guidebook:

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I also found it ironic that one of my favorite Banksy street paintings has been defaced:

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Every memory and its memorial fades eventually. London taught me that.

 

The Ozark Special

When you are stressed, tired, or just have nothing left to give, there’s nothing quite like comfort food. After trying edgy reimaginations of the classics, restaurants that try to fuse anything and everything with Asian, and international mystery plates, sometimes you crave some homemade goodness.

This past week we indulged in the travel equivalent of momma’s cookin’. For several years we have been spending a long weekend in the Ozark mountains along the Missouri/Arkansas border, and decided to go back for another helping this summer. To spice up a classic, we sent the kids off to camp and rented a cabin at Table Rock Lake. After our recent adventures, it was nice to visit someplace where the native language was (a version of) English, the food was familiar, and there was no rush to ingest every exotic moment before it faded back into the haze of “someday”.

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The verdant hills of the Ozark range are not as impressive as those farther west, but have an attainable beauty that is more apple pie, less caviar and pate’.

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Of course, any barrel has a few bad apples. We weren’t impressed with the guy driving a $400 pickup with a 4’x5′ confederate flag trailing behind, but you can find bigots and scared people with small minds anywhere. Like every place we’ve visited, people are generally kind and generous…

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The best part was a hiking trail behind our cabin that was virtually unused by anyone else; it’s like finding that hole-in-the-wall cafe where the waitress knows your name, and you can sit with your coffee for hours and feel right at home. It might not make the Michelin list, but it is special all the same.

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Comfort is the standard by which we judge newer experiences; just like momma’s cookin’, sometimes the standard is hard to beat.

Open Doors

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Saudi Arabia has undergone a generational shift that would leave the Baby Boomers’ heads spinning. Thirty years ago, it was common to live in “muddy houses” made of an adobe-like brick.

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Those same Arabs are now driving Land Cruisers and helping me get up to speed on the latest apps for our smartphones. Most Saudis have visited more places in Europe and North America than I have. This rush to catch up with western culture has inevitably left traditional Arab culture behind in some ways; only the silly visitors from outside the kingdom want to visit the old places and see the old ways!

A colleague invited me to his family “farm”. I wasn’t sure what to expect, so we brought sleeping bags and bug spray.

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Turns out that those were not necessary. This was the guest house we “camped out” in:

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Oh, it felt like roughing it in the wilderness- we only brought one iPad charger! The kids even had to share a room, and the air conditioning worked so well they were a little cold. Tragic. I was disappointed that I didn’t have the opportunity to milk a camel; maybe next time.

Our hosts took us on a tour of “Old” Saudi Arabia, which started with an open-air souq (market):

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I wanted to buy the ’63 T-bird and the black powder pistol from the Ottoman Empire era. Neither would make it through customs I suppose, so I was forced to leave them behind.

I don’t recall the name of the pastries we tried, but I will always remember the woman working over a gas-fired oven in the midst of the desert heat. Any North American would have been reduced to a puddle of sweat with a slick of sunscreen on top as the only remains.

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The old village, which was occupied only 30 years ago, is slowly melting back into the desert it was molded from. The occupants have all moved to modern housing in the small city nearby, or on to the glitzy lifestyle of Riyadh and Jeddah. The guard/guide at the entrance looked surprised to see us; I got the feeling he doesn’t typically receive many visitors when the temperature is over 110.

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An acquaintance of our acquaintance collects antiquities, and was more than happy to let us share his air conditioning and private collection. I liked the display of Arab media consumption through the past 6 decades:

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This gentleman farmer also collects birds, and led us through his garden aviary filled with birds of paradise.

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As a gift, he insisted we take two Love Birds; if only they could be fed the enormous box of dates we also couldn’t refuse, we would be in great shape for bird-caring. We accepted the birds, thinking they must have the life span of goldfish or Sea Monkeys, but it turns out they may live up to 15 years. If getting an antique Ottoman firearm through the airport would be difficult, I can’t imagine what trouble these birds will be.

 

 

Norwhere?

There should be a way to discover the places that should’ve been on the top of your list of places to visit, but weren’t. Norway is now at the top of my retroactive “I should’ve known I have to go there someday” list.

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Sure, I suspected it was cold there, and from my experience watching the Swedish chef on the Muppets, knew that the language would be easy to make fun of, but that was about it. I know, they don’t speak Swedish, but I can’t tell the difference. Anyway, I also knew that Norway has trolls, because Trollhunter was an awesome movie, and it was one of those “lost footage” pseudo-documentaries, so it must be true.

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So what could Norway reveal to earn the top spot on the Greatest-places-you-didn’t-know-you-wanted-to-go list? Like any European city, it has beautiful old churches and a sense of history that’s hard to imagine in the US.

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There is ample weird food. We ordered a hot dog and a hamburger for the kids, and got this:

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Our kids were not impressed. They ate the fries.

Culinary wrong-turns aside, the train from Oslo to Bergen was vacation travel at its best. Unlimited pizza and hot chocolate for the kids (OK I had pizza and hot chocolate too), beautiful scenery, and no security shaming/screening like you endure at the airport.

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In the middle of May, there are places in Norway still buried in snow. People were skiing on the glaciers! Of course, even Scandinavian public transportation has to submit to mother nature; a rock slide blocked the train tracks, and we were then re-routed via bus then ferry then train again. This involved 30 minutes of standing in the rain next to a stack of tires at a dubious looking dock.

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Good times!

Bergen was our final destination; this small sea-side city has loads of charm.

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I caught the biggest fish ever!

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We were fortunate enough to be in town during Norway’s Independence Day celebration. This seemed to consist of wearing traditional clothes, standing in the rain watching a parade, and drinking beer. Norway was starting to grow on me.

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Evidently Bergen has burned down a few times over the past 500 years, which isn’t surprising when you look at this fire-marshal’s nightmare arrangement of wooden buildings:

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It would probably burn down more frequently, but it does seem to rain every day. Combined with the melting glaciers, Norway must have the highest concentration of waterfalls anywhere.

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The Norwegian culture seems to embrace the strange combination of their Viking heritage and quirky troll-loving liberal modern state. On a hike to Mt Floyen, we discovered a garden of tree stumps that had been carved by chainsaw into cute (and a little creepy) sculptures.

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For a change, we didn’t stumble into this hidden glade because I was lost. My wife had been looking forward to this hike for weeks, and we had finally made it into the wild (you could almost not quite see our hotel). We were following the well-marked and thoroughly-mapped trails, when suddenly she leads us off onto a seldom-used path into the woods. Very Robert Frost. “And I, I took the one less Googled-by“.

For anyone who read JRR Tolkein before seeing the movies, you probably have a mental image of the Misty Mountains; I think Norway was the inspiration. Lonely, glacier-capped peaks shrouded in icy clouds:

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Isolated fishing villages from another time:

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Deep fjords whose depths harbor lost viking ships and cold runoff from glaciers that were old before humans set foot in Scandinavia:

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One thing that is found in Europe but missing in the suburbs of the US is the way cemeteries are integrated into the church and community in general. As morbid as it might be, Heather says there is something powerful about being reminded of your own mortality when thinking about spiritual things. I think she’s right.

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Anyone who fantasizes about living in an isolated cabin in the wilderness will be over-stimulated in Norway, especially if your fetish includes homesteads next to a waterfall, the ocean, or a mountain. You can have all 3 at once here!

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My sophisticated european friends dismissed my trip to Norway- “it’s outrageously expensive” (soda is $5 a bottle, so they have a point), “there’s nothing to do there” (if a lifetime worth of hiking, skiing, fishing, and boating doesn’t appeal to you, you probably would be bored there), “it’s cold and rainy” (no argument there).  I may never get to go back, but for next few months I’ll be annoying anyone who listens with stories about how amazing Norway is.

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Oman- California of the Middle East

There is a certain cultural undercurrent that you can sense in almost every seaside community. Living next to the ocean must instill a sense of patience, and an understanding of how small we really are. The waves have a rhythm of their own, and the pace of the tides changes for no one.

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Muscat, Oman, is one of those pearls. It sits on the southeastern coast of the arabian peninsula, and draws the fortunate triple of sun, mountains, and warm seas. When we (after a lengthy delay- for rain of all things!) finally arrived at the modest airport, the friendly customs and immigration officer was concerned that it was so late at night, and made sure we found a taxi to take us to our hotel. Upon leaving the airport, we noticed an immediate change in atmosphere- there was a salty ocean breeze, and courteous drivers were using turn signals!

The next two days were devoted to lounging on the beach, letting the sun melt away our stress and worries.

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However, the true beauty of Muscat wasn’t apparent until we left the hotel. The Omani people were as warm and inviting as the beaches, and we were constantly amazed at their desire to share their country with us. Our tour guide, Yousuf, took us to the Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque, which is simply amazing.

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The people of Oman adore their Sultan. He had been out of the country for medical treatment, and just returned during our visit.

DSC_0802The streets were filled with people honking and celebrating; I never thought I’d see a woman standing up through the sunroof of a Hummer dancing- while wearing an Abaya! This brings us to the title of this post. I’m convinced that Oman is the California of the Middle East. In fact, if you turn the map just right, it even looks like California:

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Muscat is right around where Santa Monica would be. The crazy people who live in communes are found towards the top of the map (Yemen/Oregon). Dubai is a few hours’ drive through the desert away, allowing Las Vegas-like escapades. Iran is like Mexico, if the drug cartels had nuclear weapons.

The mountains of Oman are a must-see. Once again, following the SUVs into the wild:

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Jebel Shams is the “Grand Canyon of Oman”. I think our kids will mostly remember feeding dates to the goats.

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To celebrate our successful trek through the mountains, we headed out to sea. A traditional Dhow cruise comes with a new-traditional serving of Pepsi.

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To summarize the rest of the trip: souq shopping, snorkeling on a coral reef, eating a traditional Omani meal on a boat while looking for dolphins, and getting a Henna tattoo.

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On that note, one of my children exhibited his lack of impulse control when my wife suggested she get a face tattoo; he immediately, enthusiastically says “that’s a great idea!”. I’m not looking forward to the teenage years..

Another great Omani moment was when our taxi driver asked if he could take a detour. I didn’t really understand what he was saying, but agreed anyway. That habit will probably get me in trouble one day, but it paid off this time. He drove us to a point above town to watch the sunset, and showed us his home and the best places to fish. The view was worth the detour:

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I will never forget the beautiful people and scenery of Oman. Maybe after a month or a year it would all seem normal, but for one week every moment was worthy of a post-card.

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Not Exactly What We Planned…

This weekend started out very typically. I left work at 5:08, which counts as working late by the appearance of the parking lot:

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At least I missed the rush I suppose. The next morning, we packed up Sandy (our new-to-us SUV, named for her locally appropriate color) and took child #2 to Girl Scouts camp. Once again, we followed the herd of SUVs into the desert.

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Saturday, feeling twinges of responsible parenting, we decided we should go pick up child #2 from camp. Everything was going according to plan thus far, so I decided to add a little excitement to our day. Google maps put us close to an amazing stretch of sand dunes in Thumama park, the kids were all lost in their iPads anyway, and I made an executive decision to take the family exploring.

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This plan (or lack of…) probably had several flaws, but the most important was in my estimation of Sandy’s off road ability. I love the chrome 20 inch rims, but a fat 2-wheel drive bloated pig of a truck does not do well in the desert. Not surprisingly (at least in hindsight), we were soon buried to the axles in sand. No pictures were allowed at this point, so you’ll have to use your imagination. We were lucky enough to flag down a passing Bedouin in an old pickup, and that’s when our adventure really began…

After pulling us out of the sand, he motioned for us to follow him. I didn’t want to disagree and then end up as vulture bait again, so we tried to keep pace along the hardscrabble wadis, through a gap in the fence meant to keep us on the correct side of the highway, onto the highway driving the wrong direction until we reached a crossover, and so on… My long-suffering family might have been questioning my judgement at this point. I certainly was.

Soon we arrived at a modest tent with a herd of sheep and an ATV; his family was gathering, and he had invited us in. At least, I really hope he was inviting us, because otherwise we were probably the most unlikely party-crashers of all time. Since his English and my Arabic did not intersect, we may never know. Fortunately his younger brother arrived, who spoke English and was very amused at our circumstances. However, if you’ve read my previous blogs, you know what happened next.

Sheep chasing:

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Camel feeding:

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Khabsa eating:

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Arabian coffee drinking (I’m not sure the fire is actually necessary):

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And friend-making:

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Our new friends were eager to show us their corner of the desert, so off we go in their 4×4. Perhaps the coolest thing I have seen in Saudi Arabia, if not anywhere, was the desert version of an RV:

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If you want to take your 40′ camping trailer into the sand dunes, this guy with a 6-wheel drive monster truck will pull it there for you. I want one. Really.

As part of an impromptu cultural exchange, they demonstrated a folk dance, and we showed them the Texas Two-Step. There is a video, but it will only be released under great duress. Tonight we are shaking the sand out of our shoes, enjoying the air conditioning, and wondering just how lost I’ll have to get to top this one.

 

 

A blog about travel and other random events, hoping to bring clarity to the chaos