The Repatriation of Miss Pickels

Before we moved to Kazakhstan last summer, we endlessly scoured the web for any information about our new residence.  While doing so, we ran across a random blog entry about an American guy who had been living internationally, but was in the process of shipping his bulldog back to the USA.  The entry was written from the dog's point of view and was called, "The repatriation of  Miss Pickles".  It made for good reading and obviously it struck a chord with me because I still remember the title.

We all (me, the husband, 2 terrier mixes and the big boy, Pete) are now living back in OKC, in our new house and enjoying our time being one family again.  Pete had been living at his grandparents' house while his sisters did a little traveling abroad.  He definitely got the better end of the deal because Grammy was always baking something, which invariably ended up on a cooling rack placed on the dining room table, so it was easy pickings for a dog that when standing on his hind legs, is at least 5'4".  The girl dogs on the other hand were restricted to a diet of Russian-grade Purina (who knows what by-products are in that stuff).

Our repatriation is still a work in progress, as the majority of our household goods, including most of our wardrobe, will not arrive from Baku for at least another month.  Our house is a little scarce, albeit a few pieces of just-purchased furniture.  I'm having a little shell shock at the monthly bills that we went without while living internationally.  A mortgage, car payments, car insurance, utilities....I liked it better when someone else was picking up the tab.

Our new house

It's all good though because we are still in that honeymoon phase where we aimlessly roam the Wal-mart aisles, enjoying the variety of everything.  Overly-friendly people are still charming.  The oppressive Oklahoma summer heat is thrilling.  Mowing the yard - fun!  Washing the car - can't wait!

So, yes, we're all settling back in just fine.  It seems that the repatriation is much easier than the expatriation of Miss Pickles.

Old Dog, New Tricks

Under no circumstances do I consider myself old.  I'm just more mature now.  But, I have undertaken a few new adventures recently.  First, the most mundane, I learned how to mow.  I know, it's not at all impressive.  My best high school friend was mowing her parents' yard in grade school.  I guess mowing-wise that I was late to blossom, but I have a perfectly good excuse.  Growing up, we always had a pool (so, I'm spoiled too).  My daily chore in the summer months was to vacuum the pool.  It was no small feat when I slept in until 11 a.m. and then had to complete my task in 100 degree heat.  Dad took care of the yard.  And, what a fine looking piece of grass it was!

So, here we are, owning our sixth house and I'm finally biting the bullet.  Except for now, I mow as early as possible (for the neighbors' sake, I wait until at least 8 a.m.).  I want to avoid the heat, of course, but I'm also slightly embarrassed at the finished product.  So, the less people who see me mow, the more people who think that my husband is the responsible party.  They can assume that he is the one creating bald spots and missing several obvious tuffs.

More to my liking, I also started tennis lessons.  When the instructor was teaching us newbies how to hold the racket, I noticed the women decked out in tennis skirts, over-priced tops and visors looking at us and I'm certain they were thinking, "Have they never even picked up a racket before?"  I wanted to state matter-of-factly that, "No, I have not had the privilege."  But, the instructor quickly drew our attention away by hitting balls at us as we learned the proper way to swing.  My internationally diverse "teachers of the world" experience continues, as this instructor is from Chile.  Doesn't really compare with my harsh Russian boxing coach, but still cool.

And finally, I just registered for my first triathlon.  It will be early in August, so I've expanded my training beyond my usual runs to include laps in the pool and until we purchase road bikes, I'm settling for the stationary ones at the gym.  It's called a "sprint" triathlon because it's only a 500 yard swim, followed by a 13 mile bike ride and a 5k run.  Sounds invigorating.  I can't wait!

It's a Family Tradition

My family has been going to the Alabama Gulf coast since the mid '80's.  Every summer, the day after school got out, we would load up Clampett-style and drive 14 hours to our little piece of sandy paradise, scattered with beach houses and a spattering of mid-level condos.  It's where I learned to "body surf" and "hunt" for sand crabs as a kid.  In the teen years, it taught me the power of a bikini and the importance of sunblock.   And the summer before college, it's where my best friend and I recognized that the whole world lay ahead of us.  A surreal and terrifying realization for two over-achieving, self-described book worms.

As a young newlywed, the hubby and I saved enough money for our own trip to the coast.  Telling a friend and her boyfriend of our impending trip, the boyfriend said, "It's the Redneck Riveria."  Ouch!  What a blow!  Good thing she broke up with him.  We never liked him anyway.

My family's traveling style has evolved over the years.  Now, flying is the norm and hurricanes have change the landscape into a plethora of high-rise condos, remodeled seafood joints and chain restaurants.  But the important stuff is still the same.  Blinding white sand, crashing waves (albeit a little murky) and the smell of salty air.

I like to tell people that my family is notorious for inviting themselves on each others' vacations.  My sister went with me and the hubby to NYC.  My parents were with us in Vegas.  My niece was with my parents in California.  And I have twice been treated to my sister and brother-in-law's trips to the beach.  I am happy to report that on our most recent trip to the coast in June, we did not spot one tar ball or anything else oil-related.

I think most people have a "place" that will always remind them of their youth and will be a sacred second home or a retreat.  Whether it's grandma's house, church camp or the lake, it's some place that holds special memories and life lessons.  For me, it will forever be Gulf Shores.  Learning of the oil spill along the coast last summer, my heart ached.  It was like hearing that Disney World had gone bankrupt.  "What?! My paradise cannot be threatened!"  But as I have witnessed first-hand, the people and the environment rallied.   Roll tide roll.

Things I couldn't talk about - Part 2

Unlike my previous blog on the Baku police, I could have written about the following topic while in Baku and without fear of harm, but I chose to delay the subject, as to not seem too critical or harsh toward Baku. I made many acquaintances while living internationally, several who were local Kazak, Azeri or of Russian descent and while living in their countries, I hated to seem ungrateful for their friendship and hospitality. With some distance and time between us, it's now less of a concern.

One of the first things you notice when driving into Baku city from the airport is the fine walls and impeccable landscaping that line the highway.  And as the drive continues along the busiest street in town, the Bulvar, it is the same sight - palm trees that do not naturally grow in Baku, lush grasses, nicely crafted retaining walls and cobblestone walkways.  And then you walk one block into the center of the city and it's heart-wrenching.  "How can people even live like this?"

The rumor among expats was that Azerbaijan wants to put in a bid to host the Olympics, which seems ludicrous knowing first hand that Baku, the largest city, is completely inefficient.  But according to this gossip, that is why the government is putting a new facade on everything.  It's all for show.  Old, decrepit buildings are given a "face lift" by making the street side seem new and modern, but the interiors are left to literally rot.  And don't even get me started on the 10-mile long wall that randomly runs on the outskirts of town.  I think they are trying to hide the slums that can be viewed from the highway.

Section of wall "hiding" an apartment building

The saddest part is that instead of investing in the future of the city, by actually fixing things, they are throwing money in the wind and making the masses even more resentful.  In referring to Baku, our British friend said, "What a soul-crushing place." To see your government building a ridiculous wall while the city crumbles behind it, must truly be maddening.

Things I couldn't talk about

There's a little more unfinished business from my time in the former Soviet state of Azerbaijan.  I never felt comfortable writing about these topics while living there and have been hesitant to even do so now that I'm back in the USA.  Since AZ claims to have freedom of the press, it may seem overly cautious to self-censor, but when the Baku Women's Club city directory was held up by the Azeri government because it contained a section on the government's censorship (the irony was not lost on us), I thought it was wise to keep the following thoughts to myself, or at least to discuss them only in close company.

By all standards, it was a typical Saturday afternoon, on our way to Citimart, via our driver Hikmet.  It seems absurd to even try and explain just how safe of a driver Hikmet was.  He sometimes drove too slowly and would always let pedestrians have the right of way, even if it meant that we were nearly rear-ended by a Lada.  In the midst of all the craziness of Baku traffic, Hikmet was singled out for a traffic violation.  Who knows what the infraction was, if there even was one.  Nonetheless, Hikmet had to a pay a bribe to the officer to let us go.  The whole ordeal lasted only a few minutes, but as we drove away, Hikmet was indifferent, "that's just the way it is" but I was outraged.  The Baku police drove BMW cruisers and made a nice living off of threatening the public.  No one was immune, expats were just as likely to be taken advantage of as their fellow Azeris, who were poor by all standards.

I remember reading an article by the CNN journalist Anderson Cooper.  Among the discussion points regarding his international assignments was how in most countries of the world, the police are not your friends.  Never a truer statement has been made.  Our run-in with the police was minor compared to what other expats had experienced.  The stories were countless and some were slightly terrifying*.

And the corrupt police were just the beginning of an entirely inefficient government.  The money coming into Azerbaijan from oil exports must be incredible, but besides the numerous parks being constructed around Baku, no one would ever know that AZ is a top exporter of oil worldwide.  The public schools are lousy, groceries cost an arm and leg, medical care is dismal - all in all, it's a tough place to eek out a decent life.

So, it wasn't really surprising that during the previous months' "Arab Spring" movement, that Baku had it's fair share of protests as well.  Expats were warned by their embassies to avoid certain areas of town, as to not inadvertently get swept up in a protest, or worse yet, the squashing of the protests by the police.  I hope for the country's sake that the government takes heed to those brave folks trying to air their grievances because it's a long list of wrongs that could be made right.

*I would like to state for the record (or for my mom, whichever), that while living in Almaty and Baku, we never felt threatened for our lives.  Both cities were generally hospitable and extremely safe, as guns are a rarity, even for the police.  Crime can happen in any city anywhere in the world and we never worried for our well-being.