After 31 hours of travel time, I held up relatively well until the plane touched down in Oklahoma City. "If you're from Oklahoma, welcome home!" the flight attendant announced. I was sentimentally struck by the remark. My eyes watered up and my heart filled with happiness. These are my people. I know my rights. I speak the language. I understand the cultural nuances. I was home.
My parents met me at the airport at midnight. There was dad in a sweatshirt from 1990 and mom was as cute as ever. Hugs and kisses all around. My luggage was the first off of the carousel. It doesn't get any better than that.
Jet lag set in, prompting me to wake up at 4:30 a.m. Perfect time to walk the dogs (seems to be the story of my life; somewhere, there are always dogs that need to be walked). Crisp, almost-winter air filled my lungs. No car horns, no smog. I think I could even smell cow manure, and I'm certain that I heard a rooster crow.
Luckily, driving a car is like riding a bike, you never forget. Oh, the sweet taste of freedom. To drive a car (a sweet PT Cruiser rental in my case) all by myself, felt fantastic. I cranked the radio to Christmas music, turned up the heat and blew bubbles with my gum. First stop was to pick up my 13-year-old niece who was playing hooky from school so that she could hang out with Aunt B. Next stop was Sonic for a diet Dr. Pepper with vanilla and then Victoria's Secret for proper pjs and undies.
I just can't get enough of this stuff. I love the USA.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
My Big Fat Azeri Wedding
There was the beautiful blushing bride, Yegana, a co-worker of Kyle's, and then there was me. An extremely embarrassed, red faced American, attempting to do a traditional Azeri dance right in the middle of a grand reception. All because the mother of the bride insisted that Adriana and I join the rest of the women on the dance floor. It was our first Azeri wedding and not fulling understanding the customs, I was worried that I might inadvertently insult someone with my booty shakin'. I just followed the other women and tried to make my body move like theirs. The dance resembled the hula, but with less hip movements. After two dances, I feigned exhaustion and headed to our table. Thankfully, Kyle had snapped a few photos of us dancing.
(Brooke & Adriana pre-dancing)
(Showing off our mad Azeri dancing skills)
(The mother of the bride is in aqua. She was a fabulous dancer. Seriously.)
(Brooke & Kyle attempting to dance Azeri style.)
The Azeri custom is for the bride and groom to obtain their marriage certificate in a small unceremonious business transaction. There is a not an official ritual for the guests, so the reception is the entire celebration.
I loved seeing the western-meets-eastern influences throughout the reception. The bride and groom entered the banquet hall walking down a center aisle with fireworks lighting the way (yes, we were indoors). The bride wore an elegant wedding dress, complete with a white veil. The couple sat on a raised platform at one end of the room, reigning over their guests, as it appeared to me. Kyle and I were seated with the only other American couple, Max and Adrianna, and then 3 more English-speaking guests dined with us as well. Food was served for 4 hours straight. Fish, chicken, caviar, Russian-type salads, fruits, rice. It just kept on coming.
(Yegana & Viegao walking down the aisle.)
The MC would alternate between folksy-sounding Azeri music, played by a large band, to a DJ spinning popular dance music. There was a performance by a traditional Azeri dancer and a trio of drums. By all measures, it was traditional reception, until the lights were dimmed and then the MC announced that there was a special guest from the USA. My faced turned red again. "Oh no!" I groaned. "He's going to introduce us to everyone!" But then, Michael Jackson's "Billy Jean" blasted from the speakers and out walked a MJ impersonator. It was one of the more random things I have ever seen at a reception, but he was incredibly good - moon walking and crotch grabbing - he didn't miss a beat!
(Traditional Azeri dancer)
(Traditional Azeri drummers)
At 11 p.m., we called it a night. We missed the cutting of the cake, but I heard it was delicious. Maybe next time...
(Brooke & Adriana pre-dancing)
(Showing off our mad Azeri dancing skills)
(The mother of the bride is in aqua. She was a fabulous dancer. Seriously.)
(Brooke & Kyle attempting to dance Azeri style.)
The Azeri custom is for the bride and groom to obtain their marriage certificate in a small unceremonious business transaction. There is a not an official ritual for the guests, so the reception is the entire celebration.
I loved seeing the western-meets-eastern influences throughout the reception. The bride and groom entered the banquet hall walking down a center aisle with fireworks lighting the way (yes, we were indoors). The bride wore an elegant wedding dress, complete with a white veil. The couple sat on a raised platform at one end of the room, reigning over their guests, as it appeared to me. Kyle and I were seated with the only other American couple, Max and Adrianna, and then 3 more English-speaking guests dined with us as well. Food was served for 4 hours straight. Fish, chicken, caviar, Russian-type salads, fruits, rice. It just kept on coming.
(Yegana & Viegao walking down the aisle.)
The MC would alternate between folksy-sounding Azeri music, played by a large band, to a DJ spinning popular dance music. There was a performance by a traditional Azeri dancer and a trio of drums. By all measures, it was traditional reception, until the lights were dimmed and then the MC announced that there was a special guest from the USA. My faced turned red again. "Oh no!" I groaned. "He's going to introduce us to everyone!" But then, Michael Jackson's "Billy Jean" blasted from the speakers and out walked a MJ impersonator. It was one of the more random things I have ever seen at a reception, but he was incredibly good - moon walking and crotch grabbing - he didn't miss a beat!
(Traditional Azeri dancer)
(Traditional Azeri drummers)
At 11 p.m., we called it a night. We missed the cutting of the cake, but I heard it was delicious. Maybe next time...
Friday, November 26, 2010
Egypt
So, there we were, laying under a huge umbrella in Sharm el-Shiek, Egypt, a Cancun-type beach resort on the Red Sea popular with Russian tourist, when I came up with the brilliant idea for us to both get desperately needed haircuts. In Baku, Kyle had visited a barber a couple of times and always came back with the same result - a shaved head. This was enough to convince me that my Russian speaking skills were not adequate enough to communicate with an Azeri hair stylist. Five months in Baku and my hair was a stringy mess.
"What could possibly go wrong?" I asked. "The Egyptians speak English. We can tell them what type of haircuts we want." My first sign that something was awry should have been when the lady kept telling me that my hair was "too tall." Needless to say, our haircuts were a long way from perfection. At least mine was doable, but it was Kyle's that was bad news. He thought it resembled a certain North Korean dictator.
(Kyle's new haircut)
My next great brainchild was for us to leave our resort for a little adventure. We signed up for a 4-wheeler/camel ride tour of the desert. It had been explained to us that we would meet up with a group of tourists and ride out into the desert on 4-wheelers. We would all stop and have tea with bedouins and then ride camels back to camp. And as these things seem to always go, actual events somewhat differed.
Arriving at the assembly point, we were given lightweight scarfs to protect our noses, ears and mouths from the relentlessly blowing sand. The guides helped us out by wrapping our heads "Osama Bin Laden" style, as one guy explained to us. As we waited for the tour to begin, the guides asked each couple where they were from. This is the tricky part of any trip outside of Western countries:
1. Assess the situation.
2. Are there any real or imagined threats that might endanger my life?
3. Should I tell them that I am Canadian?
4. If I commit to #3, can I remember to say "Eh" for the rest of the trip? (as in "I'm from Canada, eh.")
As the preceding couples announced that they were from Lithuania, Poland, India and Lebanon, I hedged my bets and decided I could truthfully say the USA. No one cared, except for the rather imposing looking tour guide. We set out on the 4-wheelers into the desert surrounding the Sinai Mountains. It was littered with water bottles and the sand resembled gravel more than a fine powder that I had expected. 30 minutes later, we stopped for a break, the "tea with bedouins" that we had been promised. Turned out that the bedouins were just trying to sell bottled soda and their children were thrusting jewelry into our faces. "You want?" they'd say over and over to each tourist.
(Brooke & Kyle with "Osama Bin Laden" head wraps)
(Kyle on 4-wheeler)
Another half hour on the bikes and we were back at camp. It was time for the big camel ride part of the show. We met up with the camel herd (is that the right word?) and their handlers - a father in traditional bedouin dress and his 5 workers - er children. The camels kneeled as we clamored on top and then each camel was persuaded to stand up by its handler. In Kyle's case, his camel was urged on by a 5 year-old boy without shoes. My guide wasn't much older, probably 9 years old, but at least he had sandals. We walked a straight line 15 minutes out into the desert and then the boys abruptly decided to turn around and we walked the exact same path back. The whole "adventure" reminded me of those pony rides at carnivals, where the animals are tethered to a carousel and they just walk endlessly in a circle. Not exactly a thrilling time. I spent the whole ride fretting about the child labor exploitation.
(Camel herd)
(Kyle's young camel guide)
(Brooke & Lithuanian couple on camels)
So, later, back on the beach, I decided that I would not propose anymore suggestions. The beach was daring enough for me. A pina colada and a bit of sunblock - I was set. I loved this Egypt.
(Pool area at Savoy Resort)
(Sharm el-Sheik, Egypt)
"What could possibly go wrong?" I asked. "The Egyptians speak English. We can tell them what type of haircuts we want." My first sign that something was awry should have been when the lady kept telling me that my hair was "too tall." Needless to say, our haircuts were a long way from perfection. At least mine was doable, but it was Kyle's that was bad news. He thought it resembled a certain North Korean dictator.
(Kyle's new haircut)
My next great brainchild was for us to leave our resort for a little adventure. We signed up for a 4-wheeler/camel ride tour of the desert. It had been explained to us that we would meet up with a group of tourists and ride out into the desert on 4-wheelers. We would all stop and have tea with bedouins and then ride camels back to camp. And as these things seem to always go, actual events somewhat differed.
Arriving at the assembly point, we were given lightweight scarfs to protect our noses, ears and mouths from the relentlessly blowing sand. The guides helped us out by wrapping our heads "Osama Bin Laden" style, as one guy explained to us. As we waited for the tour to begin, the guides asked each couple where they were from. This is the tricky part of any trip outside of Western countries:
1. Assess the situation.
2. Are there any real or imagined threats that might endanger my life?
3. Should I tell them that I am Canadian?
4. If I commit to #3, can I remember to say "Eh" for the rest of the trip? (as in "I'm from Canada, eh.")
As the preceding couples announced that they were from Lithuania, Poland, India and Lebanon, I hedged my bets and decided I could truthfully say the USA. No one cared, except for the rather imposing looking tour guide. We set out on the 4-wheelers into the desert surrounding the Sinai Mountains. It was littered with water bottles and the sand resembled gravel more than a fine powder that I had expected. 30 minutes later, we stopped for a break, the "tea with bedouins" that we had been promised. Turned out that the bedouins were just trying to sell bottled soda and their children were thrusting jewelry into our faces. "You want?" they'd say over and over to each tourist.
(Brooke & Kyle with "Osama Bin Laden" head wraps)
(Kyle on 4-wheeler)
Another half hour on the bikes and we were back at camp. It was time for the big camel ride part of the show. We met up with the camel herd (is that the right word?) and their handlers - a father in traditional bedouin dress and his 5 workers - er children. The camels kneeled as we clamored on top and then each camel was persuaded to stand up by its handler. In Kyle's case, his camel was urged on by a 5 year-old boy without shoes. My guide wasn't much older, probably 9 years old, but at least he had sandals. We walked a straight line 15 minutes out into the desert and then the boys abruptly decided to turn around and we walked the exact same path back. The whole "adventure" reminded me of those pony rides at carnivals, where the animals are tethered to a carousel and they just walk endlessly in a circle. Not exactly a thrilling time. I spent the whole ride fretting about the child labor exploitation.
(Camel herd)
(Kyle's young camel guide)
(Brooke & Lithuanian couple on camels)
So, later, back on the beach, I decided that I would not propose anymore suggestions. The beach was daring enough for me. A pina colada and a bit of sunblock - I was set. I loved this Egypt.
(Pool area at Savoy Resort)
(Sharm el-Sheik, Egypt)
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Field Trip
Saturday was a perfect fall day in Baku. We opted for a day outside of the city. I desperately needed to see open land, smell fresh air and hear silence, or I might have gone crossed-eye. We set out mid-morning, with Hikmet at the helm and the dogs in the back of the SUV. An hour and a half later, we arrived at Gobustan, a small village known for pre-historic cave drawings and mud volcanoes.
(Sign, welcoming us to Gobustan)
(First sights in Gobustan: cow wandering the streets)
(Kyle and Bailey at the Gobustan cave drawings)
(Pre-historic caving drawings, a UNESCO World Heritage Site)
(The Massies, Kyle, Brooke, Zoey, Bailey, atop a lookout point at the Gobustan cave drawings)
(Sign in parking lot at cave drawings site: no grills, no cigarettes, no hookah pipes, no alcohol)
(Leaving cave drawings, driving toward mud volcanoes, shepherd with his flock)
(Mud volcano)
(Brooke at mud volcanoes)
(Another planet: mud volcanoes)
(Bailey and Zoey after enjoying the mud volcanoes - notice the mud-covered paws)
(Oil seeps from the ground near mud volcanoes; that's how much oil there is in Azerbaijan!)
(Sign, welcoming us to Gobustan)
(First sights in Gobustan: cow wandering the streets)
(Kyle and Bailey at the Gobustan cave drawings)
(Pre-historic caving drawings, a UNESCO World Heritage Site)
(The Massies, Kyle, Brooke, Zoey, Bailey, atop a lookout point at the Gobustan cave drawings)
(Sign in parking lot at cave drawings site: no grills, no cigarettes, no hookah pipes, no alcohol)
(Leaving cave drawings, driving toward mud volcanoes, shepherd with his flock)
(Mud volcano)
(Brooke at mud volcanoes)
(Another planet: mud volcanoes)
(Bailey and Zoey after enjoying the mud volcanoes - notice the mud-covered paws)
(Oil seeps from the ground near mud volcanoes; that's how much oil there is in Azerbaijan!)
Usual Suspects
When you are living in a country where your native tongue is not the dominant language, you make fast friends with anyone you can communicate with. Such is the case with many of the people who work with Kyle. We routinely have drinks and dinner with the "rotators," men who work in the Caspian for 28 days and then rotate back to their home countries for 28 days. These guys are usually middle-aged, married with children, and working offshore is a great way to make good money.
So, as we regularly do on a Friday, we begin the evening meeting up with Chris, not a rotator. He's a British citizen, having grown up in Rhodesia (now called Zimbawe) with permanent residence and a fiance in South Africa. Not much older than us, he served in the British army before joining the oil field biz. We then spot Graeme, a 50-something rotator, who is from northern England, but has residence, a wife and several rescued dogs in Orlando, Florida.
Our little group grows larger with Rod, a Canadian who lives with his children in Perth, Australia. And then Scott, appropriately enough from Scotland, where his wife and children still live. He also served in the military before working for the company in Dubai and now rotates. Also with us is Eric, born in Canada, raised in The Netherlands, residence and a wife in South Africa. Quite the eclectic bunch. And as I usually think in these situations, you just never know about people. What has happened in their lives up to this point. What they have experienced to bring them to Azerbaijan.
I love questioning these guys about the nuances of their lives. The Australians do not like Halloween, "It's too American," I was told. Or, "My wife refuses to travel with me. She never wants to leave South Africa." Scott's kids in Scotland have to wear bicycle helmets, it's the law. And Graeme's wife in Orlando thinks that she gets too much sun and it's making her skin age prematurely. Chris spends his vacation back in South Africa, going on unofficial safaris in his Land Rover.
It's such a big world, made a little smaller with each story. I soak up every detail.
So, as we regularly do on a Friday, we begin the evening meeting up with Chris, not a rotator. He's a British citizen, having grown up in Rhodesia (now called Zimbawe) with permanent residence and a fiance in South Africa. Not much older than us, he served in the British army before joining the oil field biz. We then spot Graeme, a 50-something rotator, who is from northern England, but has residence, a wife and several rescued dogs in Orlando, Florida.
Our little group grows larger with Rod, a Canadian who lives with his children in Perth, Australia. And then Scott, appropriately enough from Scotland, where his wife and children still live. He also served in the military before working for the company in Dubai and now rotates. Also with us is Eric, born in Canada, raised in The Netherlands, residence and a wife in South Africa. Quite the eclectic bunch. And as I usually think in these situations, you just never know about people. What has happened in their lives up to this point. What they have experienced to bring them to Azerbaijan.
I love questioning these guys about the nuances of their lives. The Australians do not like Halloween, "It's too American," I was told. Or, "My wife refuses to travel with me. She never wants to leave South Africa." Scott's kids in Scotland have to wear bicycle helmets, it's the law. And Graeme's wife in Orlando thinks that she gets too much sun and it's making her skin age prematurely. Chris spends his vacation back in South Africa, going on unofficial safaris in his Land Rover.
It's such a big world, made a little smaller with each story. I soak up every detail.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
My New Friend
My efforts to show the Azeris that dogs can be good pets has produced exactly one convert. His name is Baruse (I think that's what he said). He works in the police impound yard next to our apartment. From what I can tell, his job is to open the gate to allow tow trucks to enter or exit. He is young, not even 20 years old and always has a big, innocent grin on his boyish face. The dogs and I have to pass by the car lot every day to take our walks. He has candidly watched us parade by for months now and recently he started shouting, "Salam!" (hello!) and waving in big gestures to us. Cautiously, I usually respond with a half smile and a simple head nod....until a few weeks ago.
Zoey, Bailey and I were within view of our apartment. We had trekked the 2 miles there and back from the Bulvar and we were all a little tuckered out. Like horses headed to the barn, our pace unintentionally quicken when we rounded the corner and could spot our building still several blocks away. My mind was shifting through thoughts of, "how much exhaust fumes am I inhaling right now?" and "what is this air quality doing to my skin?" When I heard the familiar, "Salam!" and turned to see our friend walking right next to us. Without the smile ever faltering, he reached out to take Bailey's leash. I was absolutely astounded. He wanted to walk with us and not just that, he wanted to walk Bailey!
We strolled the several blocks back in silence. The language barrier is such a hindrance in these odd situations, but as we approached the apartment the few workmen outside started smiling at the spectacle: the American woman with the little brown dog and the young Azeri man with the fat black dog, it's not a combination you see very often in Baku. At the security entrance, Baruse relinquished the leash and headed to his job next door. I smiled the entire elevator ride up to the apartment.
And then again today, the exact scenario played out: bumping into Baruse on the street, him walking Bailey to the apartment, me silently thinking, "what a sight we are!" I think we've made a friend or hopefully at least broken the mold.
Zoey, Bailey and I were within view of our apartment. We had trekked the 2 miles there and back from the Bulvar and we were all a little tuckered out. Like horses headed to the barn, our pace unintentionally quicken when we rounded the corner and could spot our building still several blocks away. My mind was shifting through thoughts of, "how much exhaust fumes am I inhaling right now?" and "what is this air quality doing to my skin?" When I heard the familiar, "Salam!" and turned to see our friend walking right next to us. Without the smile ever faltering, he reached out to take Bailey's leash. I was absolutely astounded. He wanted to walk with us and not just that, he wanted to walk Bailey!
We strolled the several blocks back in silence. The language barrier is such a hindrance in these odd situations, but as we approached the apartment the few workmen outside started smiling at the spectacle: the American woman with the little brown dog and the young Azeri man with the fat black dog, it's not a combination you see very often in Baku. At the security entrance, Baruse relinquished the leash and headed to his job next door. I smiled the entire elevator ride up to the apartment.
And then again today, the exact scenario played out: bumping into Baruse on the street, him walking Bailey to the apartment, me silently thinking, "what a sight we are!" I think we've made a friend or hopefully at least broken the mold.
Baku Pictorial
(Kyle at Maiden's Tower)
Probably the most popular destination in Baku, and maybe all of Azerbaijan, is Maiden's Tower in the Old City. It is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and one of Azerbaijan's most recognizable national emblems. Maiden's Tower dates to the 12th century when it was situated right off of Baku Bay. It is believed to have been a watch tower or for those that relish in romance, the legend says that a maiden threw herself from the top, drowning in the waves below.
(Cats perch on carpets and authentic pottery in the Old City)
Once inside the Old City, visitors can purchase "Oriental" rugs and other artifacts. In order to leave Azerbaijan with such items, you must have an original certificate from the rug dealer.
(Old meets new in this view from atop Old City wall, looking at new apartment high rises under construction)
(Notice the man standing precariously at the top of the tree. He was using a stick to beat/shake down olives from this tree inside the Old City)
(View of Azerbaijan flag from atop of the Funikulyor)
Baku recently hoisted the national flag on the world's largest flag pole, as designated by the Guiness Book of World Records.
(View of the Bulvar and smaller Azeri flag from atop of the Funikulyor)
Notice the city scape beyond the Bulvar. Baku is approximately 4 million people.
(Mosque at the top of the Funikulyor)
(Large poster of former Azeri President Heydar Aliyev)
President Aliyev served from 1993-2003. Billboards featuring the past president are seen throughout Baku.
(Pimped out Lada. Notice the painted on white walls.)
Friday, November 5, 2010
Humble Pie
So, the dogs and I are walking along the railroad tracks next to our apartment in Baku. It might sound a little ghetto, and well, it kind of is, but it's a main pedestrian thoroughfare for all sorts of people. We usually see kids walking to school, women in skirts heading to work and men is suit jackets talking on their cell phones. A high point is that it is void of cars, so we get to meander without fear of being roadkill.
Bailey had just found a discarded bone and was pulling on her leash to get to it, when I noticed a young couple, maybe 17 years old, heading in our general direction. The boy hesitantly approached us and held out a camera, gesturing to me. I immediately copped an attitude. I am so sick and tired of being the tourist attraction! Yes, I have dogs and yes, I am wearing boot cut jeans and a hoody and yes, I look completely out of place! "No you cannot take a picture of us!" I said. The boy looked at his female companion for help and again held out the camera to me. I was really on my high horse now. Knowing that they did not speak English, I just said, "No! No! No!"
The boy offered a pleasant smile and kind of tossed the camera at me. I caught the camera as he joined his friend a few feet away. The were posing side by side....wanting me to take a picture OF them. My faced turned red, but was thankfully partially hidden by the camera as I snapped a quick picture of the smiling couple, linked arm in arm.
The boy took his camera back, thanked me in Russian and strolled away. I chuckled to myself and felt extremely sheepish. It's not always about me.
(Railroad tracks. That is NOT our apartment building.)
Bailey had just found a discarded bone and was pulling on her leash to get to it, when I noticed a young couple, maybe 17 years old, heading in our general direction. The boy hesitantly approached us and held out a camera, gesturing to me. I immediately copped an attitude. I am so sick and tired of being the tourist attraction! Yes, I have dogs and yes, I am wearing boot cut jeans and a hoody and yes, I look completely out of place! "No you cannot take a picture of us!" I said. The boy looked at his female companion for help and again held out the camera to me. I was really on my high horse now. Knowing that they did not speak English, I just said, "No! No! No!"
The boy offered a pleasant smile and kind of tossed the camera at me. I caught the camera as he joined his friend a few feet away. The were posing side by side....wanting me to take a picture OF them. My faced turned red, but was thankfully partially hidden by the camera as I snapped a quick picture of the smiling couple, linked arm in arm.
The boy took his camera back, thanked me in Russian and strolled away. I chuckled to myself and felt extremely sheepish. It's not always about me.
(Railroad tracks. That is NOT our apartment building.)
Friday, October 29, 2010
Something Nice
I feel like I pick on Baku too much. Sure, it's a tough place to live, with the fake milk and crazy drivers and pollution and inconsiderate locals and.....see, there I go again. A few good experiences have happened to me recently and it's enough to (almost) cancel out the negativity.
Back when temperatures were in the 90s and I was without a driver, I set out on a walking adventure through the city. I wandered aimlessly, taking pictures, shopping for a new summer dress and finally perused a local market, settling on some non-too-exciting bananas. I was heading in the general direction of home when the sweat rolling down my backside became too much to bear. I needed something cold to drink, stat. I entered the first cafe featuring a Wi-Fi sticker on the window and plopped down into a vinyl booth. The place had only a few patrons and the waiter approached and systematically offered me a Fanta (preferred soda of Azeris). I gladly accepted and then had him punch the Wi-Fi code into my I-phone. I let the sweat dry and enjoyed my orange drink, sitting with no particular purpose for at least 45 minutes. As I went to pay, the waiter refused my money. The drink was complimentary, he indicated. He gave me a big smile and said, "Free!" I returned the smile, thanked him repeatedly and left a good tip.
I will be making my grand appearance on Al-Jazeera television soon. The caption will read, "Uncovered woman has dogs on rope and picks up their poop." It was mid-afternoon and the dogs and I were enjoying the warm weather along the Bulvar. We were minding our own business, strolling through the grassy areas, when a Muslim family starting pointing at us. The mom was completely covered, the dad was videotaping and their two young boys were smiling in disbelief. They slowly approached, partially fearful, partially excited at the chance to experience such a spectacle. The children wanted to pet the dogs, but they were acting so erratic that they sent Zoey into a tizzy. The dad kept filming us as the boys touched each dog and then hurried back to their mom's protective cloak. This played out several times over the next few minutes. Pet, laugh, run back to mom, repeat. Kyle is of the opinion that the encounter is already posted on youtube. However, I stick by my first thoughts of that day: that this was my chance to show other cultures that dogs are not vicious creatures, but a cherished part of the family.
After a trip to the farmer's market, Kyle and I discussed pomegranates on the ride back to the apartment. We had noticed that the fruit is very popular in Turkey and just as common here in Baku. We joked that we'd love to try them, but have no idea how exactly one is supposed to eat it. The conversation was interrupted as we told our driver, Hikmet, good-bye. A few weeks later, as Hikmet was helping me to unload my groceries from the car, he handed me a large bag of pomegranates, "for the testing," he said. He had recalled our fascination with the fruit and bought a bag of them for us to try.
See, it's not all bad.
Back when temperatures were in the 90s and I was without a driver, I set out on a walking adventure through the city. I wandered aimlessly, taking pictures, shopping for a new summer dress and finally perused a local market, settling on some non-too-exciting bananas. I was heading in the general direction of home when the sweat rolling down my backside became too much to bear. I needed something cold to drink, stat. I entered the first cafe featuring a Wi-Fi sticker on the window and plopped down into a vinyl booth. The place had only a few patrons and the waiter approached and systematically offered me a Fanta (preferred soda of Azeris). I gladly accepted and then had him punch the Wi-Fi code into my I-phone. I let the sweat dry and enjoyed my orange drink, sitting with no particular purpose for at least 45 minutes. As I went to pay, the waiter refused my money. The drink was complimentary, he indicated. He gave me a big smile and said, "Free!" I returned the smile, thanked him repeatedly and left a good tip.
I will be making my grand appearance on Al-Jazeera television soon. The caption will read, "Uncovered woman has dogs on rope and picks up their poop." It was mid-afternoon and the dogs and I were enjoying the warm weather along the Bulvar. We were minding our own business, strolling through the grassy areas, when a Muslim family starting pointing at us. The mom was completely covered, the dad was videotaping and their two young boys were smiling in disbelief. They slowly approached, partially fearful, partially excited at the chance to experience such a spectacle. The children wanted to pet the dogs, but they were acting so erratic that they sent Zoey into a tizzy. The dad kept filming us as the boys touched each dog and then hurried back to their mom's protective cloak. This played out several times over the next few minutes. Pet, laugh, run back to mom, repeat. Kyle is of the opinion that the encounter is already posted on youtube. However, I stick by my first thoughts of that day: that this was my chance to show other cultures that dogs are not vicious creatures, but a cherished part of the family.
After a trip to the farmer's market, Kyle and I discussed pomegranates on the ride back to the apartment. We had noticed that the fruit is very popular in Turkey and just as common here in Baku. We joked that we'd love to try them, but have no idea how exactly one is supposed to eat it. The conversation was interrupted as we told our driver, Hikmet, good-bye. A few weeks later, as Hikmet was helping me to unload my groceries from the car, he handed me a large bag of pomegranates, "for the testing," he said. He had recalled our fascination with the fruit and bought a bag of them for us to try.
See, it's not all bad.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Dubai Part Deux
My parents have been married for 34 years and I grew up in an affectionate household. I remember attending a family friend's wedding in junior high. At the reception, names were "randomly" selected to show the newlyweds how to do certain things. My parents' names were called to show the couple how to kiss. Right there in front of God and all of the guests, my parents kissed, I mean REALLY kissed. I was mortified. It was all in fun and everyone cheered and applauded. I wanted to crawl underneath the table.
I've grown up a bit and with almost 8 years of marriage under my belt, I can bare small amounts of PDA without turning bright red. It's very common for me to unconsciously reach out to hold Kyle's hand or give him a kiss on the cheek. Arms around the waist are nice too. These seemingly benign actions can cause quite a stir in Dubai. We had been forewarned that any touching between males and females is strongly discouraged. We have close friends who after a long day of shopping, leaned in to each other for a quick peck. A man approached them and said that they could be arrested for such behavior. They separated and apologized. The fear of witnessing any unsightly acts has prompted the malls to post signs asking for modest dress and behavior, although we have spotted a few non-conformists.
We have visited Dubai twice now, but still all of this makes me a little nervous. I was terrified that I would unknowingly engage in bad behavior. Just as my fingers interlaced with Kyle's, I would jerk my hand away like a hot potato. Or as we sat down for a nice dinner, we pulled our chairs closer together and then realized the error of our ways. Some of our actions come so natural now, that we wouldn't even know that we were committing minor grievances. Kyle feeding me a bite of his ice cream or me fixing the collar of his shirt suddenly became, "I hope no one saw that..."
Maybe I'm just paranoid outside of my comfort zone, but my advice: always leave room for the Holy Spirit and you will stay out of trouble in Dubai.
I've grown up a bit and with almost 8 years of marriage under my belt, I can bare small amounts of PDA without turning bright red. It's very common for me to unconsciously reach out to hold Kyle's hand or give him a kiss on the cheek. Arms around the waist are nice too. These seemingly benign actions can cause quite a stir in Dubai. We had been forewarned that any touching between males and females is strongly discouraged. We have close friends who after a long day of shopping, leaned in to each other for a quick peck. A man approached them and said that they could be arrested for such behavior. They separated and apologized. The fear of witnessing any unsightly acts has prompted the malls to post signs asking for modest dress and behavior, although we have spotted a few non-conformists.
We have visited Dubai twice now, but still all of this makes me a little nervous. I was terrified that I would unknowingly engage in bad behavior. Just as my fingers interlaced with Kyle's, I would jerk my hand away like a hot potato. Or as we sat down for a nice dinner, we pulled our chairs closer together and then realized the error of our ways. Some of our actions come so natural now, that we wouldn't even know that we were committing minor grievances. Kyle feeding me a bite of his ice cream or me fixing the collar of his shirt suddenly became, "I hope no one saw that..."
Maybe I'm just paranoid outside of my comfort zone, but my advice: always leave room for the Holy Spirit and you will stay out of trouble in Dubai.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Things I have Learned
While living outside of the USA, I've gathered a few tidbits of information:
1. When someone asks me where I am from, it is improper to say "America" because people from South America are also Americans. I am supposed to respond United States or in ex-pat lingo, "the states."
2. You should never refer to someone from the United Kingdom as English. Only people born in England are English. People from Scotland, Northern Ireland and Wales will grit their teeth if you refer to them as English. They are British.
3. When pronounced, my name is very similar to the Russian word for pants.
4. Chatting with a few locals in both Kazakhstan and Azerbaijan, I was surprised to find out that not everyone dislikes the Soviets, as we are led to believe in the West. Under the Soviets, everyone who wanted a job was given one, education was a priority and most people felt generally safe. The yearning for the opportunity to work and learn is universal.
5. Even though Azerbaijan has been ranked as one of the least religious countries in the world, the locals still view dogs as unclean and pork products are extremely rare.
6. The US Embassy in Baku is staffed with Russians.
7. PB & J is as foreign as GMC.
8. Survival of the Fittest is an every day occurrence. Just walking to school, a child can be lost in an uncovered manhole, struck by a Lada or hit by construction equipment.
9. The mustache is alive and well in Baku.
10. McDonald's hamburgers and fries taste the same, but Diet Coke does not.
1. When someone asks me where I am from, it is improper to say "America" because people from South America are also Americans. I am supposed to respond United States or in ex-pat lingo, "the states."
2. You should never refer to someone from the United Kingdom as English. Only people born in England are English. People from Scotland, Northern Ireland and Wales will grit their teeth if you refer to them as English. They are British.
3. When pronounced, my name is very similar to the Russian word for pants.
4. Chatting with a few locals in both Kazakhstan and Azerbaijan, I was surprised to find out that not everyone dislikes the Soviets, as we are led to believe in the West. Under the Soviets, everyone who wanted a job was given one, education was a priority and most people felt generally safe. The yearning for the opportunity to work and learn is universal.
5. Even though Azerbaijan has been ranked as one of the least religious countries in the world, the locals still view dogs as unclean and pork products are extremely rare.
6. The US Embassy in Baku is staffed with Russians.
7. PB & J is as foreign as GMC.
8. Survival of the Fittest is an every day occurrence. Just walking to school, a child can be lost in an uncovered manhole, struck by a Lada or hit by construction equipment.
9. The mustache is alive and well in Baku.
10. McDonald's hamburgers and fries taste the same, but Diet Coke does not.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Irk
Azerbaijan has been an independent country for only 20 years. They were previously ruled by the heavy Russian iron fist and the Soviets left their undeniable mark on the native people and resources. I look at the locals and their infantile, yet respectable infrastructure and think, "They've come so far." Then, I also mentally put a "but..." at the end of the sentence. As an American, I have had the benefit of a country that is 200+ years in the making. I'm going to overlook all of the major problems Baku faces right now and instead dwell on a couple of insignificant items.
When Kyle visited Moscow a couple of years ago, he was told by a local to never stand in a line, unless you know exactly what you are waiting for. After the collapse of the USSR, long lines formed for everything from bread to clothes. Some people waited for not nearly hours, but days to obtain their necessities. As a result, many Russians will still to this day, see a line and assume that people must be waiting for something really important, so they will join the queue, not even knowing what they are waiting for. So, it comes as a surprise that the Azeris, once so heavily influenced by the Russians, would have absolutely no idea or desire to form lines. The bad habit is particularly maddening at places such as McDonalds and passport check at the airport. People just gather, a floating amoeba, everyone jockeying for the front. No distinct lines anywhere. Maybe it's a left-over notion that whatever it is that they are waiting for will run out, but for Westerners, it means running out of patience.
As my sister-in-law Cassidy, who's a 2nd grade teacher said, "We learn lines on the first day. Line up for lunch, line up for PE, line up to catch the bus. Wait your turn." I tell myself every time I encounter a line-less scenario that I will be rude and push my way to the front. And I always get really close. And then something happens, maybe it's the elementary school training seared in my mind, but I just can't seem to to override my inherent nature to let the person who was there before me go next. I can't stop being considerate. Maybe after a few more months in Baku, I will get over it.
It is recommended that you do not drink the tap water in Baku. It's fine to bathe in, wash dishes, we give it to the dogs, but not safe for human consumption. So everyone, ex-pats and locals alike, buy large jugs of water and consume many thousands of smaller bottles of water every day. The used bottles are not recycled and even though there is an abundance of trash cans along the sidewalks, a lot of people just simply throw the bottles, gum wrappers, cigarettes, tissues, paper scraps, wherever they happen to be. It's interesting to watch the large crow-like birds or the hundreds of stray cats pick through the litter. They are quite adept at finding the remains of popcorn and crackers and scattering the leftovers. Maybe the Azeris know that the babuskas with the homemade brooms will be right there to sweep up the trash, but whatever the case, it makes for a crazy, depressing walk on windy days.
Like I mentioned, not life or death issues facing us in Baku. Just annoying habits that drive type-A people (yours truly) absolutely crazy.
When Kyle visited Moscow a couple of years ago, he was told by a local to never stand in a line, unless you know exactly what you are waiting for. After the collapse of the USSR, long lines formed for everything from bread to clothes. Some people waited for not nearly hours, but days to obtain their necessities. As a result, many Russians will still to this day, see a line and assume that people must be waiting for something really important, so they will join the queue, not even knowing what they are waiting for. So, it comes as a surprise that the Azeris, once so heavily influenced by the Russians, would have absolutely no idea or desire to form lines. The bad habit is particularly maddening at places such as McDonalds and passport check at the airport. People just gather, a floating amoeba, everyone jockeying for the front. No distinct lines anywhere. Maybe it's a left-over notion that whatever it is that they are waiting for will run out, but for Westerners, it means running out of patience.
As my sister-in-law Cassidy, who's a 2nd grade teacher said, "We learn lines on the first day. Line up for lunch, line up for PE, line up to catch the bus. Wait your turn." I tell myself every time I encounter a line-less scenario that I will be rude and push my way to the front. And I always get really close. And then something happens, maybe it's the elementary school training seared in my mind, but I just can't seem to to override my inherent nature to let the person who was there before me go next. I can't stop being considerate. Maybe after a few more months in Baku, I will get over it.
It is recommended that you do not drink the tap water in Baku. It's fine to bathe in, wash dishes, we give it to the dogs, but not safe for human consumption. So everyone, ex-pats and locals alike, buy large jugs of water and consume many thousands of smaller bottles of water every day. The used bottles are not recycled and even though there is an abundance of trash cans along the sidewalks, a lot of people just simply throw the bottles, gum wrappers, cigarettes, tissues, paper scraps, wherever they happen to be. It's interesting to watch the large crow-like birds or the hundreds of stray cats pick through the litter. They are quite adept at finding the remains of popcorn and crackers and scattering the leftovers. Maybe the Azeris know that the babuskas with the homemade brooms will be right there to sweep up the trash, but whatever the case, it makes for a crazy, depressing walk on windy days.
Like I mentioned, not life or death issues facing us in Baku. Just annoying habits that drive type-A people (yours truly) absolutely crazy.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Like a Candle in the Wind
Autumn has always been Kyle's favorite time of year. College football, colder weather, leaves turning colors...."What's not to love about it?" he always says.
Our pumpkin carving goes back to college when I bought the cheapest pumpkin and Kyle told me that it was too decrepit to do anything good with. Or our first fall as a married couple, living with our best friend Ryan in Tulsa. Kyle carved an impressive OSU logo into a large pumpkin. It sat on Ryan's front porch halfway through November. We moved to OKC a couple of years later, and Kyle cheerfully performed uncle duties by carving pumpkins with my nieces. And so the pumpkin creations continued in Houston (they molded quickly in the humidity) and Denver (they froze under several feet of snow).
Wherever we were, we invested in mums, gourds, corn stalks, hay bales, scarecrows and many different sized pumpkins. Our displays were not the talk of the neighborhood, but they brought us an unexplainable joy. Maybe we were just nesting, but the task of decorating and carving were rewarding.
So, here we are in Azerbaijan, where autumn is just a passing of time, nothing notable about it. No decorations in school windows, no Halloween or trick-or-treating, no cutesy Target fall dinnerware sets and definitely no pumpkins.
To make up for the lack of enthusiasm in Baku, I retrieved our fall decorations from our "garage" and set about making our apartment as festive as possible. It helped to lighten our spirits, and then I took it one step too far. I lit an autumn scented candle that brought back a flood of olfactory spawned memories, "How can one Pumpkin Carnival scented Wal-mart candle make me feel so many emotions?" But, it was a bell that could not be unrung, so we spent the rest of the day searching online for "favorite fall recipes/comfort foods." With our limited ingredient availability, Kyle settled on a variation of beef stroganoff. It wasn't exactly ribs on the grill or a simmering stew, but it satisfied our need to feel fall-y.
On a day-to-day basis, we are just fine in Baku, just living as normal of life as possible. I'm positive that my autumn themed home sickness is strong simply because there is absolutely no outlet for it here. Maybe I only miss it because when you are a stranger in a strange land, you long for something familiar. Whatever the case, I'm just thankful that we're coming home for Christmas. I can't wait to enjoy pieces of Americana Christmastime. I will appreciate it now more than ever!
Our pumpkin carving goes back to college when I bought the cheapest pumpkin and Kyle told me that it was too decrepit to do anything good with. Or our first fall as a married couple, living with our best friend Ryan in Tulsa. Kyle carved an impressive OSU logo into a large pumpkin. It sat on Ryan's front porch halfway through November. We moved to OKC a couple of years later, and Kyle cheerfully performed uncle duties by carving pumpkins with my nieces. And so the pumpkin creations continued in Houston (they molded quickly in the humidity) and Denver (they froze under several feet of snow).
Wherever we were, we invested in mums, gourds, corn stalks, hay bales, scarecrows and many different sized pumpkins. Our displays were not the talk of the neighborhood, but they brought us an unexplainable joy. Maybe we were just nesting, but the task of decorating and carving were rewarding.
So, here we are in Azerbaijan, where autumn is just a passing of time, nothing notable about it. No decorations in school windows, no Halloween or trick-or-treating, no cutesy Target fall dinnerware sets and definitely no pumpkins.
To make up for the lack of enthusiasm in Baku, I retrieved our fall decorations from our "garage" and set about making our apartment as festive as possible. It helped to lighten our spirits, and then I took it one step too far. I lit an autumn scented candle that brought back a flood of olfactory spawned memories, "How can one Pumpkin Carnival scented Wal-mart candle make me feel so many emotions?" But, it was a bell that could not be unrung, so we spent the rest of the day searching online for "favorite fall recipes/comfort foods." With our limited ingredient availability, Kyle settled on a variation of beef stroganoff. It wasn't exactly ribs on the grill or a simmering stew, but it satisfied our need to feel fall-y.
On a day-to-day basis, we are just fine in Baku, just living as normal of life as possible. I'm positive that my autumn themed home sickness is strong simply because there is absolutely no outlet for it here. Maybe I only miss it because when you are a stranger in a strange land, you long for something familiar. Whatever the case, I'm just thankful that we're coming home for Christmas. I can't wait to enjoy pieces of Americana Christmastime. I will appreciate it now more than ever!
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Operation: Oktoberfest
We were asked to join three other couples in Munich, Germany for Oktoberfest. Despite what you might have heard or imagined about the beerfest, it is extremely organized fair-like event and tickets for seating inside one of the festival tents are rare, especially with 2010 being the 200 anniversary. With the promise of yummy Bavarian food, steins of beer, traditional German folk songs and fun friends, we eagerly accepted this once-in-a-lifetime invite.
Our cohorts are an American couple living near us in Baku, another American couple who live in Beijing and another couple, she's Swiss, he's Dutch. Quite the eclectic bunch, makes for good times....which explains how an otherwise sane, normal person goes from, "I'll just wear a sweater and jeans" to a dirndl - that's the traditional dress for German women. And yes, men dress up too. Their outfits are called lederhosen. Old, young, short, tall, almost everyone is dressed up to celebrate. In the middle of the day, people are riding their bikes or taking the subway, looking like they stepped out of a cheesey movie.
(The Baku Bunch: Max, Adriana, Brooke, Kyle)
Our reservations allowed us to enter the Schottenhamel tent at 6 p.m., along with 6,000 of our closest friends. The crowd is subdued for the first hour or so. Everyone is eating a variety of sausages, potato dumplings and huge pretzels.
(Kyle with gigantic pretzel & Bavarian flag)
As the food is washed down, the mouths are freed up to start singing along with the band. Most of the songs are in German, but the tent goes crazy when "West Virginia, Mountain Mama...take me home" is played. The band really ups the ante with "La Bamba" and "Sweet Home Alabama." Apparently these songs cross all international borders, because everyone is yelling out the chorus. By now, no one is left sitting. We are dancing on the wooden benches and the tables shake from the vibrations, spilling drinks and rattling the silverware. You're so close to the other patrons that your butt is always rubbing up against someone else's. By the end of the evening, which comes at 10 p.m. when the tents officially close, everyone is hugging their neighbor, arms draped over necks of strangers who are now friends. The last song is played, everyone links arms, sways back and forth and belts out lyrics to now familiar music. Camaraderie is felt all around.
(Brooke & lederhosen covered butts)
The whole event was thrilling. The excitement in the air was contagious and you couldn't help but love every minute of Oktoberfest. We had so much fun, I solemnly asked, "What do I do with my dirndl now?"......Halloween costume?
(Our tent at 10 p.m.)
Our cohorts are an American couple living near us in Baku, another American couple who live in Beijing and another couple, she's Swiss, he's Dutch. Quite the eclectic bunch, makes for good times....which explains how an otherwise sane, normal person goes from, "I'll just wear a sweater and jeans" to a dirndl - that's the traditional dress for German women. And yes, men dress up too. Their outfits are called lederhosen. Old, young, short, tall, almost everyone is dressed up to celebrate. In the middle of the day, people are riding their bikes or taking the subway, looking like they stepped out of a cheesey movie.
(The Baku Bunch: Max, Adriana, Brooke, Kyle)
Our reservations allowed us to enter the Schottenhamel tent at 6 p.m., along with 6,000 of our closest friends. The crowd is subdued for the first hour or so. Everyone is eating a variety of sausages, potato dumplings and huge pretzels.
(Kyle with gigantic pretzel & Bavarian flag)
As the food is washed down, the mouths are freed up to start singing along with the band. Most of the songs are in German, but the tent goes crazy when "West Virginia, Mountain Mama...take me home" is played. The band really ups the ante with "La Bamba" and "Sweet Home Alabama." Apparently these songs cross all international borders, because everyone is yelling out the chorus. By now, no one is left sitting. We are dancing on the wooden benches and the tables shake from the vibrations, spilling drinks and rattling the silverware. You're so close to the other patrons that your butt is always rubbing up against someone else's. By the end of the evening, which comes at 10 p.m. when the tents officially close, everyone is hugging their neighbor, arms draped over necks of strangers who are now friends. The last song is played, everyone links arms, sways back and forth and belts out lyrics to now familiar music. Camaraderie is felt all around.
(Brooke & lederhosen covered butts)
The whole event was thrilling. The excitement in the air was contagious and you couldn't help but love every minute of Oktoberfest. We had so much fun, I solemnly asked, "What do I do with my dirndl now?"......Halloween costume?
(Our tent at 10 p.m.)
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Hugged or mugged
I usually don't tell my mom stories like this. They just make her worry, but this one is too crazy to keep quiet.
We recently had dinner at a patio cafe preferred by ex-pats. I was the only girl among Kyle and several of his co-workers, The Baker Boys. Dinner was fine. Salad, pizza and good conversation carried on for a couple of hours. It was getting late so the tab was settled and we exited the restaurant into Fountain Square, one of the most jovial areas in town. Families linger on benches, kids kick a soccer ball, teenagers sit at the edge of the fountains. The Baker Boys are talking business, so I'm walking a few paces behind, just enjoying the summer night.
Out of nowhere, I'm grabbed around the waist and a vice-like grip is squishing my pelvis. The culprit: a seven year old Azeri girl, cute as a button. She keeps hugging me as I put my arms straight up in the air, indicating that this is an unwelcomed hugging. I firmly say, "No touching." And then, "that's enough honey" to no avail. The Baker Boys start to laugh until they see the fear in my eyes. She is not letting go of me and she really is squeezing me hard. I try to pry away her scrawny arms as I'm telling her, "No! No! Off! Off!" I feel bad because it's the same way I talk to my dogs, but really, she is starting to worry me. I look to the Baker Boys, and I've never seen four grown men utterly helpless. If the attack was being carried out by a teenage boy or a grown man, the Baker Boys would have jumped in to save me, but what do you do when the assailant is a female child under four feet tall and less than 60 pounds?
One of the Baker Boys says, "tickle her!" to which I respond, "absolutely not!" Baker Boy is a father himself, so he rushes over and sure enough, once he starts tickling her, she involuntarily lets go of me, but not before her little paw reaches into my skirt pocket, looking for loose change. It's finally dawning on me that someone has put her up to this. I hurriedly walk away, but she comes back for a second assault. Baker Boy starts with the tickling again and she breaks out into giggles and scurries off.
I'm thankful that when I put my arms in the air, I had kept my purse out of her arm's reach. But then I start to think, why didn't I just give her a few coins? The whole scenario was funny, but sad. Next time we visit that cafe, I will be on the look out for the tiny hugger and will be prepared. Either I have to out run her or I need to be ready to part with spare change.
We recently had dinner at a patio cafe preferred by ex-pats. I was the only girl among Kyle and several of his co-workers, The Baker Boys. Dinner was fine. Salad, pizza and good conversation carried on for a couple of hours. It was getting late so the tab was settled and we exited the restaurant into Fountain Square, one of the most jovial areas in town. Families linger on benches, kids kick a soccer ball, teenagers sit at the edge of the fountains. The Baker Boys are talking business, so I'm walking a few paces behind, just enjoying the summer night.
Out of nowhere, I'm grabbed around the waist and a vice-like grip is squishing my pelvis. The culprit: a seven year old Azeri girl, cute as a button. She keeps hugging me as I put my arms straight up in the air, indicating that this is an unwelcomed hugging. I firmly say, "No touching." And then, "that's enough honey" to no avail. The Baker Boys start to laugh until they see the fear in my eyes. She is not letting go of me and she really is squeezing me hard. I try to pry away her scrawny arms as I'm telling her, "No! No! Off! Off!" I feel bad because it's the same way I talk to my dogs, but really, she is starting to worry me. I look to the Baker Boys, and I've never seen four grown men utterly helpless. If the attack was being carried out by a teenage boy or a grown man, the Baker Boys would have jumped in to save me, but what do you do when the assailant is a female child under four feet tall and less than 60 pounds?
One of the Baker Boys says, "tickle her!" to which I respond, "absolutely not!" Baker Boy is a father himself, so he rushes over and sure enough, once he starts tickling her, she involuntarily lets go of me, but not before her little paw reaches into my skirt pocket, looking for loose change. It's finally dawning on me that someone has put her up to this. I hurriedly walk away, but she comes back for a second assault. Baker Boy starts with the tickling again and she breaks out into giggles and scurries off.
I'm thankful that when I put my arms in the air, I had kept my purse out of her arm's reach. But then I start to think, why didn't I just give her a few coins? The whole scenario was funny, but sad. Next time we visit that cafe, I will be on the look out for the tiny hugger and will be prepared. Either I have to out run her or I need to be ready to part with spare change.
Monday, September 20, 2010
A Day in the Life of Me
I wake up as Kyle heads out the door. I prepare a quick cup of coffee with a dash of "still milk." It's the only kind of milk available here, has a shelf life of twelve months and never has to be refrigerated. Take the dogs in the elevator, down 15 stories for our daily walk on the Bulvar, a popular boardwalk along the Caspian Sea. We cross several major roads that have pedestrian crosswalks, which are never respected by motorists. We wait, not so patiently for a break in traffic and haul tail (literally) across four lanes of Lada traffic. Once on the Bulvar, we see many bizarre things: young lovers out for a stroll at 8 a.m. (are they still up from the night before?), men "jogging" in full track suits and sandals (it's 85 degrees outside), a man practicing his nunchuck skills (I'm not kidding) and a local wearing a walkman and singing, "I'm a Barbie Girl." I feel like I'm in the twilight zone.
(The Bulvar)
We get back to the apartment in time to meet Tamila, our housekeeper/dog sitter. Of course, we don't need a housekeeper for a 3 bedroom apartment. It's more of a retainer so that she's available to stay with the dogs while we travel. Tamila makes some killer potato pancakes (a fav local snack) and her lemon bars rival Nancy's. Tamila does not speak English and I do not speak Russian, so I use Google Translate to communicate. Not always a perfect system.
Tamila gets working on the floors, and I head out to the gym, via Hikmet, our driver. I specifically chose a gym that was near our apartment, thinking I could walk there. You can practically see it from our balcony, but with the way traffic flows and the lack of sidewalks along a major highway, Hikmet is my safest choice.
The state-of-the-art gym is in the Excelsior Hotel and is immaculate. Tons of cardio equipment, indoor/outdoor pools, brand new free weights and machines. Unfortunately, or fortunately for me, I am one of the few people who work out there. It is simply too costly for the locals, so my only other gym companions are the rare hotel guests. Within the 4,000 square feet, I've never seen more than 5 other people.
Hikmet picks me up and we stop at the biggest super market in town. It has 5 aisles of food plus a frozen foods section and toiletries. They are out of any type of sandwich bread again, but the peanut butter shipment has come in, so I stock up and buy 5 jars at $6 each.
Lunch back at the apartment and take the dogs down the elevator again. I start some laundry in the washer/dryer combo. Sounds efficient? Not if you want to do more than one load or more than three towels at a time. Most items I hang from a drying rack, discreetly placed in our third bedroom, which doubles as our garage of sorts.
The dogs join me on the balcony, where I sit to read and do e-mails. The sounds of the city are overwhelming: car horns, horns from tankers coming into port, traffic cops yelling at people on their megaphones, tires squealing as a driver accelerates way too quickly. It's not very relaxing but at least I'm sitting in the sunshine.
(View from our balcony)
(Zoey enjoying the balcony.)
Dinner prep can be quite the ordeal, as most of the ingredients in my cookbooks are unavailable here. Or if they are available, I do not know it, as most labels and directions are in Russian. Maybe just baked potatoes tonight. We figured out which carton was sour cream. It will be a special treat on top.
Kyle and I crash on the couch to watch the fifth season of "Bones." We bought it for cheap from the guy who sells pirated DVDs. Just before bed, we take the dogs down 15 stories, one more time. Sweet dreams.
(The Bulvar)
We get back to the apartment in time to meet Tamila, our housekeeper/dog sitter. Of course, we don't need a housekeeper for a 3 bedroom apartment. It's more of a retainer so that she's available to stay with the dogs while we travel. Tamila makes some killer potato pancakes (a fav local snack) and her lemon bars rival Nancy's. Tamila does not speak English and I do not speak Russian, so I use Google Translate to communicate. Not always a perfect system.
Tamila gets working on the floors, and I head out to the gym, via Hikmet, our driver. I specifically chose a gym that was near our apartment, thinking I could walk there. You can practically see it from our balcony, but with the way traffic flows and the lack of sidewalks along a major highway, Hikmet is my safest choice.
The state-of-the-art gym is in the Excelsior Hotel and is immaculate. Tons of cardio equipment, indoor/outdoor pools, brand new free weights and machines. Unfortunately, or fortunately for me, I am one of the few people who work out there. It is simply too costly for the locals, so my only other gym companions are the rare hotel guests. Within the 4,000 square feet, I've never seen more than 5 other people.
Hikmet picks me up and we stop at the biggest super market in town. It has 5 aisles of food plus a frozen foods section and toiletries. They are out of any type of sandwich bread again, but the peanut butter shipment has come in, so I stock up and buy 5 jars at $6 each.
Lunch back at the apartment and take the dogs down the elevator again. I start some laundry in the washer/dryer combo. Sounds efficient? Not if you want to do more than one load or more than three towels at a time. Most items I hang from a drying rack, discreetly placed in our third bedroom, which doubles as our garage of sorts.
The dogs join me on the balcony, where I sit to read and do e-mails. The sounds of the city are overwhelming: car horns, horns from tankers coming into port, traffic cops yelling at people on their megaphones, tires squealing as a driver accelerates way too quickly. It's not very relaxing but at least I'm sitting in the sunshine.
(View from our balcony)
(Zoey enjoying the balcony.)
Dinner prep can be quite the ordeal, as most of the ingredients in my cookbooks are unavailable here. Or if they are available, I do not know it, as most labels and directions are in Russian. Maybe just baked potatoes tonight. We figured out which carton was sour cream. It will be a special treat on top.
Kyle and I crash on the couch to watch the fifth season of "Bones." We bought it for cheap from the guy who sells pirated DVDs. Just before bed, we take the dogs down 15 stories, one more time. Sweet dreams.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Corfu & Constantinople
I guess I had subliminally expected uncontrollable weeping and harps from heaven because I was quite surprised that my 30th birthday came and went in a very pleasant, if not subdued fashion. It was our fourth day on the Greek island of Corfu that the clocked slipped to midnight and I moved from the youth of my twenties to a respectable 30. I suppose that my incredibly sweet husband had not so subliminally thought that I might freak out on this big day, thus he had planned the trip to Greece to prevent any outbursts.
A little rugged around the edges, Corfu offered a genuine Greek experience, complete with a gregarious innkeeper, dancing Zorbas, feta cheese and olives, rolling hills leading to adorable seaside towns and bearded Greek Orthodox clergymen, but all of the interesting stuff happened on the European-style beaches. Having spent the past month in Baku (modest dress, ceaseless horns) I had sensory overload with the English and French retirees in tiny bikinis and Speedos or more oft than not, nothing at all. As a bonus, I don't recall hearing one car horn the whole week.
Maybe it was the carefree attitude of those lacking clothing or the sound of waves that put me in a zen-like state, but as I sat staring out over the Ionian Sea, late afternoon sun on my face and a daiquiri in my hand, a handsome spouse sitting close by, I felt truly content. A feeling that has escaped me many times, always having a to-do list in my purse and a feeling of "what comes next," I shucked all thoughts of anything else and watched the sunset, feeling deeply happy and loved. I could not have asked for anything better. Maybe "aging gracefully" isn't about appearance, maybe it's all about attitude.
No Massie vacation is complete without a little chaos, so we spent one day in Istanbul, Turkey (previously known as Constantinople). A lot like Baku on steroids and with thousands of tourists, Istanbul is one of the world's oldest cities and is currently the fifth largest city, and it sure felt crammed. Home to many famous places of worship, notably Hagia Sophia (once a basilica, then mosque, then basilica, now museum), you could almost imagine the sultans ruling over their empire.
We enjoyed a traditional Turkish dinner of lamb, rice, potatoes and pita served steaming in a terra cotta dish and then headed to the roof of our hotel for a look at the evening skyline. Taking in the lighted minarets of the massive mosques, suddenly, the Muslim call to prayer could be heard throughout the city. The slow, somber song in deep tenor is played from loudspeakers atop every mosque and it's hard to not stop and appreciate the moment. I reached out to hold Kyle's hand and realized that even though it might not be my particular brand of religion, it was an amazing experience to cap off our trip.
A little rugged around the edges, Corfu offered a genuine Greek experience, complete with a gregarious innkeeper, dancing Zorbas, feta cheese and olives, rolling hills leading to adorable seaside towns and bearded Greek Orthodox clergymen, but all of the interesting stuff happened on the European-style beaches. Having spent the past month in Baku (modest dress, ceaseless horns) I had sensory overload with the English and French retirees in tiny bikinis and Speedos or more oft than not, nothing at all. As a bonus, I don't recall hearing one car horn the whole week.
Maybe it was the carefree attitude of those lacking clothing or the sound of waves that put me in a zen-like state, but as I sat staring out over the Ionian Sea, late afternoon sun on my face and a daiquiri in my hand, a handsome spouse sitting close by, I felt truly content. A feeling that has escaped me many times, always having a to-do list in my purse and a feeling of "what comes next," I shucked all thoughts of anything else and watched the sunset, feeling deeply happy and loved. I could not have asked for anything better. Maybe "aging gracefully" isn't about appearance, maybe it's all about attitude.
No Massie vacation is complete without a little chaos, so we spent one day in Istanbul, Turkey (previously known as Constantinople). A lot like Baku on steroids and with thousands of tourists, Istanbul is one of the world's oldest cities and is currently the fifth largest city, and it sure felt crammed. Home to many famous places of worship, notably Hagia Sophia (once a basilica, then mosque, then basilica, now museum), you could almost imagine the sultans ruling over their empire.
We enjoyed a traditional Turkish dinner of lamb, rice, potatoes and pita served steaming in a terra cotta dish and then headed to the roof of our hotel for a look at the evening skyline. Taking in the lighted minarets of the massive mosques, suddenly, the Muslim call to prayer could be heard throughout the city. The slow, somber song in deep tenor is played from loudspeakers atop every mosque and it's hard to not stop and appreciate the moment. I reached out to hold Kyle's hand and realized that even though it might not be my particular brand of religion, it was an amazing experience to cap off our trip.
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