Tag Archives: expat

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.

 

 

1001 Arabian Facts- Part 1

There are subtleties to any culture that you only notice after the glaring differences fade into normalcy. With time, patterns begin to appear out of the chaos.

For example, when you combine frequent sandstorms and elaborate lattice work, you have to hire three Indonesian guys to clean the acres of intricate woodwork:

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One of the most well-known facts about Saudi Arabia is that alcohol is illegal. However, I suspect there may be a little home-brewing going on, evidenced by the pallets of grape juice for sale at the local grocery store:

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Now I know why everyone drives SUVs with so much cargo space…

Stay tuned, at this rate I’ll have time to learn 999 more things about Saudi culture before global warming turns my villa into a beach-front paradise…  only without the margaritas.

Family Fun Day- Even More Fun Without the Kids!

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Inside this building, there must be some incredibly magnetic force for children; it’s a black hole of time (and parents money). It’s Girl Scouts Family Fun Day. I guess it makes sense that Girl Scouts aren’t going to walk around the Arabian peninsula selling cookies, so this is their yearly fund raiser.

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The great thing about Family Fun Day is that you can give your kids a handful of cash and not see them again for four hours. It’s like a foretaste of college. Then the parents get to have fun, and spend their own money…

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This was like a traditional Arab souq (market), but without the flies and pickpockets. Now that’s family fun!

 

The Edge of The World

Or “The Day I Learned That Camels Like Bananas”

Waking up the kids on a weekend takes tactical decision making. Any activity you have planned had better be well worth the drama and heartache of ruining an entire day of Xbox and compound-roaming with friends. To find the perfect weekend adventure, I cruised the internet until I found The Edge of the World. It sounds like an ominous apocalyptic prophecy, or maybe a cheesy Tom Cruise sic-fi movie, but it was near the top of TripAdvisor for Riyadh, so we made plans.
Early this morning, we harassed the munchkins and loaded them into The Beast (our rented Suburban) and headed for the rendezvous point. Fifteen minutes late, but that’s not bad for a Saturday.DSC_0263
Our amazing tour guide, Maz, advised us that the day would completely revolve around our every whim. With that new-found freedom, we voted for breakfast. This, you might guess, was not a drive-thru fast food joint:
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After enough carb-loading for a marathon, we jumped back in the truck for the 80 mile drive into the desert. I was glad we had hired Maz, as the directions I found on the internet included references to GPS coordinates and bringing extra supplies. As it turns out, once we were in the vicinity, we could’ve just followed the herd of SUVs:
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Along the way, we crossed paths with the other indigenous species of Saudi Arabia, the camel. Our guide expertly paralleled the nearest group, and lured them over with a banana:
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He was then rewarded with a kiss. I think he had mixed feelings about the camel’s amorous overtures.
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The other camels soon figured out the scam, and wanted in on the action…
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and wouldn’t take “I have no more bananas” for an answer..
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Before the kids could really amp up the “are we there yet” chorus, we reached the end of the trail. No signs, no ranger stations, and certainly no guard rails or amenities. The hiking and views were, however, world-class.
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We discovered an invasive species of mountain goat that is notorious for leaving granola-bar wrappers strewn throughout their habitat:
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Most importantly, we had quality family time without losing anyone to a long free-fall.
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Maz gave us a bucket list of places to visit in the Arabian peninsula, and we can’t wait to take everyone along via the blog. Saudi Arabia doesn’t issue visitor visas, so we are looking forward to unspoiled wilderness and many opportunities to ruin our kids’ weekend social lives.

The More Things Change…

It is amazing how similar life in Saudi Arabia can be to North America. The shorter members of the family start school tomorrow, so we’ve been school supply shopping. All the supplies were familiar; the primary difference was handing our list to a nice Pakistani man who found everything for us and filled our cart. You don’t find that kind of service at Wal-Mart! The bookstore that was recommended to us is a popular chain here; sort of the Barnes & Noble of the Middle East. I was expecting a dozen rows of different Qurans, which they had:

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However, the next row over was a little less conservative:

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I think the religious police must not read in English, because this stuff is even offensive to us lewd Americans!

Another familiar experience this week; the president visits, and traffic is a mess. He didn’t stop by to say hello while he was in town, but I did get some quality time staring at the bumper of the truck in front of me while the highway was closed.

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Not surprisingly, people were honking constantly, because that usually helps in a traffic snarl like this. It gave me some time to think about how much of my tax money was being spent on this little trip of the POTUS. In the end, I was able to smile at the symmetry; we both ended up in Saudi Arabia trying to balance our budgets. At least I didn’t have to spend the afternoon with Nancy Pelosi, which makes this view of the Toyota in front of me seem OK after all.

 

 

 

Going Native

I was hoping my children would have a mind-expanding experience (without the mushrooms typically involved back in the states) moving overseas. It might’ve worked too well. We had a fantastic Saudi weekend in the desert, complete with dune-sliding,DSC_0169

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and khabsa-eating. DSC_0241

The views were simply stunning:

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And we got to get a little more mileage out of the “Humpdaaaayyyyyyyy” camel jokes:

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The most memorable moment came in two parts; it began when our 4×4 lost the license plate after plowing into a sand dune. That became relevant later as we were passing through a check-point, and the guys with assault rifles decided we looked like incognito smugglers- since we had no license plate. It all worked out.

To my wife and daughter back in the states: we are really having a rough time here, barely getting by without you. Hope you won’t mind all the sand in the sheets! See you soon 🙂

Any Landing You Walk Away From….

Pilots tend to have a dry sense of humor. The unnatural act of placing yourself in a tin can and being propelled through the air at hundreds of miles per hour leads to a disconnect between one’s opposing senses of wit and self-preservation. A popular cliche is that a successful landing is one you walk away from; a really successful landing is when the plane is still in one piece.

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Following that unassailable logic, my wife and I have been thinking about writing a self-help book based on what we’ve learned from our “take-offs” and “landings”. Having been intermittently separated, we’ve found that cruising altitude is usually smooth and turbulence-free. Like any flight (or fall), it’s the nature of the sudden stop at the end that is critically important. It is so easy to get caught up in the details (buckle your seat belt, here are the exits, can I get some peanuts?) that we lose sight of the headwinds that reduce our relationship groundspeed to a crawl.

There are several things I’ve tried; some successful, others resulting in a flaming pile of debris on the runway. Giving your spouse attention is not simply buying something at the duty-free shop, unless they really like whiskey, in which case you’ll be just fine (or probably not, to be honest). It’s also not like the trash-hoops game the flight attendants play. You know the game, the one where they hustle down the aisle at a half-sprint with the trash bag and you have to toss in your empty cup and napkin as they go by. Three points if you make it from the window seat.

I think we’ve been happiest during aimless walks through the Ozarks, cutting lazy figure-eights while tubing on the lake, or on endless ski runs in northern New Mexico.

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Selfish itineraries, poorly-scheduled connections, and a general tendency to focus on the destination seem to be effective metaphors for all the things we allow to come between us. With all of the tragic imagery on the news the past few days (and our prayers go up for those whose families are forever shaken by the recent AirAsia crash), this is an ideal time to look over at our co-pilot and make sure we do whatever it takes to bring everyone home.