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.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
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.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Henry Ford's Legacy
Like most of my friends in the USA, high school meant homework, part-time jobs, Friday night football and if we were lucky, keys to a car. For some, it was a rite of passage and for most, it signaled our first taste of freedom. We enjoyed this luxury and were thankful that we could go to Blockbuster, Crossroads Mall and Whitewater all without supervision. Some of us contributed whatever our meager minimum wage paychecks allowed - maybe enough to cover monthly insurance or to help with the car note. At any rate, our vehicles were a reliable source of transportation. A way to get from point A to B without having to ask mom and dad.
Regardless of age, the majority of residents in Baku cannot afford a vehicle and for most, owning a car is an unnecessary extravagance, which is just as well, as the main roads are already overcrowded with crazy drivers, who all act like 16-year olds out for their first spin. A two lane road quickly morphs into 3 or maybe even 4 lanes at the whim of a driver. Shoulders are used for passing and pedestrians never have the right-of-way. All too often, you witness cars moving the wrong direction down a one-way street and traffic can be at a stand still if someone haphazardly abandons/parks their car, blocking a lane.
As you might expect, horns are used at will and are as much a part of life as breathing. A leisurely stroll through a docile neighborhood is accompanied by a plethora of horns at various octaves, making me imagine a horn-dominated symphony where all of the instruments have been mutilated. Ranging from beep-beep to honk-honk, everyone has a horn, including the elderly man I witnessed pushing an electric lawnmower across a busy intersection, using a small bicycle horn attached to the mower's handle. The diabolical orchestra continues even where these signs are posted:
Those not fortunate enough to have access to their own ride, indifferently spend their commutes in public buses, which my friend Ryan so eloquently taught me is all "A & A: armpits and a--holes" - never a truer description has been said:
The few that have saved enough money for their own wheels, a sense of pride is noticed in the almost-obsessive rituals of daily car cleaning.
Step 1: Park car on sidewalk (the fact that Baku is a pedestrian community is irrelevant).
Step 2: Find a recycled bottle of air conditioning condensation water (readily available underneath every unit overhanging a public sidewalk).
Step 3: Go Mr. Miyagi on the car.
Vehicles are not merely for transportation, they enable many to make a living. Hence, the overwhelming numbers of taxi throughout the city. The Russian-made Ladas are a favorite in this former Soviet state. There are whole web sites dedicated to the "Loaded Lada." Clearly, this guy understands that:
Now, you are all caught up on the role of personal vehicles in Baku.
Regardless of age, the majority of residents in Baku cannot afford a vehicle and for most, owning a car is an unnecessary extravagance, which is just as well, as the main roads are already overcrowded with crazy drivers, who all act like 16-year olds out for their first spin. A two lane road quickly morphs into 3 or maybe even 4 lanes at the whim of a driver. Shoulders are used for passing and pedestrians never have the right-of-way. All too often, you witness cars moving the wrong direction down a one-way street and traffic can be at a stand still if someone haphazardly abandons/parks their car, blocking a lane.
As you might expect, horns are used at will and are as much a part of life as breathing. A leisurely stroll through a docile neighborhood is accompanied by a plethora of horns at various octaves, making me imagine a horn-dominated symphony where all of the instruments have been mutilated. Ranging from beep-beep to honk-honk, everyone has a horn, including the elderly man I witnessed pushing an electric lawnmower across a busy intersection, using a small bicycle horn attached to the mower's handle. The diabolical orchestra continues even where these signs are posted:
Those not fortunate enough to have access to their own ride, indifferently spend their commutes in public buses, which my friend Ryan so eloquently taught me is all "A & A: armpits and a--holes" - never a truer description has been said:
The few that have saved enough money for their own wheels, a sense of pride is noticed in the almost-obsessive rituals of daily car cleaning.
Step 1: Park car on sidewalk (the fact that Baku is a pedestrian community is irrelevant).
Step 2: Find a recycled bottle of air conditioning condensation water (readily available underneath every unit overhanging a public sidewalk).
Step 3: Go Mr. Miyagi on the car.
Vehicles are not merely for transportation, they enable many to make a living. Hence, the overwhelming numbers of taxi throughout the city. The Russian-made Ladas are a favorite in this former Soviet state. There are whole web sites dedicated to the "Loaded Lada." Clearly, this guy understands that:
Now, you are all caught up on the role of personal vehicles in Baku.
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