Love and a Long Week

No big, funny event to talk about today.

That's not entirely true, I guess. I got my first double call today in Moscow from a dear friend who looks after me while Hubs is gone. For those of you who don't know what the double call is, it's a technique I've used with friends and my mother to signal emergencies. Let's face it. With the invention of Caller ID, we all ignore some calls if they're not convenient or you don't have the time for what you know will be a long catch-up sesh. But if the caller immediately calls back (the double call...) then you have to pick up. At the risk of past bosses finding this out, I have excused myself from some really important meetings because of the double call and only a handful of times has it not been worth it. But I only have one friend with enough attention-seeking issues to abuse it and I won't say his name or the bar he manages in Corpus Christi in order to respect his privacy.

Contrary to what some people may think, I don't lounge in bed all day. But today, thats all I wanted to do. We're almost done with week four of Hubs being gone and it's getting a little rough. To make matters worse, he hasn't had phone reception since Monday, so I don't even get to hear that goofy laugh, witty one-liners, or tender, loving voice. I miss it all.

I have to interject now and let everyone know that, no joke, Coldplay "The Scientist" (you know, "nooooooobody saaaaaaaid it was eeeeeeeeasaaaaaayyyy...") song just came on in the coffee shop we're sitting in. I can't make this stuff up. I would cry, but there are too many Coldplay jokes out there to not crack a smile.

Anyway, the double call wasn't an emergency for my friend, it was for me. I'm still not sure if she knew that I was moping or not, but had she not called again, I probably would not have left my bed. But I don't have to describe what being sad and staying in would have looked like. We've all done it.

Instead, I want to talk about Hubs. I want to laugh and remember instead of be sad and wait for him to get home.

Here recently, I've been sharing our wild love story to a lot of people I've met. I don't mind, in fact I love telling the story and every time I remember a detail I had forgotten and it takes me back to a time so recent but, having come so far in such a short time feels like forever ago. So here's our story. Some of you have heard it, some of you are a part of it, some of you are in for the surprise of your life when you hear it. But I do believe that you will all love it.

When I met Hubs the first time, it was through mutual friends and he was actually dating someone that I knew. We didn't talk, just a quick introduction and that was it. Fast forward about three years and there were are at a bar, with quite a few different mutual friends. I was freshly out of a relationship and had decided that I would never date, much less marry. I didn't have too much longer before I turned 30 and would be labeled a Career Girl rather than a confused 20-something who can't seem to hang on to a man. So when a tall, handsome man walked in, I purposely ignored him. How cliche, right? Like I should instantly like this guy because he was significantly taller than me? Whatever. Ignore. But he recognized me and says, "hey, I know you." And then he walked off. Oh boy. Where did this guy know me and what embarressing thing had I done to make it memorable? I wish I could say this was the first time this kind of thing had happened, but I had already learned that people will remember the crazy things the lanky tall girl does, whether she notices them or not. And my friends know exactly how to convince me to do stupid things.

Once I mustered the courage to ask him how he knows me, and the relief that came with it not being embarressing for me, we hit it off. We chatted every now and then and I gave him my number. I will swear till the day that I die that I gave him my number because I thought we would be friends. Not that it mattered, he didn't call me anyways. Not for an entire month. And the only reason he did was because he was talking about me to ANOTHER mutual friend (how we didn't meet sooner is beyond me...), our friend put it together, made some texts, which I played very uninterested (he didn't call me for goodness sake!) and THEN he called and we made plans for dinner the next night.

Our first date was a Friday night. I found this incredibly strange. Who plans a first date for a Friday? I mean, if ot goes bad, you've wasted a good going out night. And you can't use the "I have to be up early for work" excuse. But that's Hubs, he doesn't think like that. The idea that our first date could be a train wreck didn't even cross his mind. It sounds so silly but it's the Friday Night Date concept that started to get my somewhat jaded heart ready for loving him.

We talked for hours, then an impromtu trip to the dance hall. Which led to planning a second date wade fishing. Yep, wade fishing. For those of you who know what people look like when they're wade fishing, you can understand what a bad choice for a second date this was. But, I had decided with this one that I would be myself to a complete fault. And the quicker he could see me without makeup, and not being a fan of mornings, the quicker we would know if we're just wasting each others time. He picked me up at 6am, I wore the rubber waders in the form of oversized overalls and out we went into the water. I baited my own hook without any help while still squealing every time I thought a shrimp was going to attack my hand as I was goin in. And silence. We just fished. We didn't need to talk and fill time with empty conversation but we learned that we each love outside. We love birds and sun and water and all the noises that come with it, we don't need to muddy it up with talking just to talk.

Not that we didn't talk ever. It seemed that when we made plans to meet for lunch or dinner, we would need to block off at least two or three hours because there was always a story to tell or laugh about and getting to know each other was so fun. Hubs is an easy person to talk to because he oozes honesty. That little part of his brain that should tell him, "hey that story probably won't impress the ladies..." just doesn't exist and I love that.

Hubs instantly adapted to my off-beat group of friends, our weird hours, even weirder jokes and affection for spontaneous karaoke. You always know where you stand with him, which makes it near impossible not to like him. And he routinely sided with my buddies in our famous shit-throwing battles (proverbial, not literal...) which also helped his likeability.

I could go on and on and on about the small qualities that I saw in those early months that Hubs and I were dating. Little did I know that I would later eat my speech about taking things slow and not jumping straight into talking about marriage. Because just under four months to the day of our first date, we were engaged. And the only reason it wasn't a month earlier was because he had to order the ring...

And those little things that impressed me so much about his character have turned out to be on a much larger scale than I imagined. Which is exactly whats keeping us so happy here so far away from home. If it weren't for his laughter and humor, our story about buying buttermilk instead of milk would have had a different ending. If it weren't for his super social awareness powers, our attempts at guessing what the Russian means without actually knowing Russian would probably have us in a Siberian prison. If it weren't for his thoughtfulness, I would probably cry myself to sleep every night being so far away from home. If it weren't for his easily talked into an adventure spirit we would never have been crab hunting, exploring random cities, dancing in a Russian night club, or a whole host of other crazy things we've tried. If it weren't for his kind heart, we wouldn't be blessed tenfold that kindness by way of friendships old and new. And if it weren't for the combination of all those things, on top of the added qualities like honesty, compassion, hard work, dedication, and enormous capacity to love it wouldn't be near as exciting as it is to look forward to the adventures that will come in the next fifty years.

I miss you so much, honey. Come home to me soon.

Cheers.

Love and the Banya

The long-awaited Banya Blog. Obviously, there will be no pictures, I don't think there allowed in there... I tried to copy some from the website, but no such luck. If you want a visual, the official website has some good ones here.

I've been wanting to go to a banya for awhile now. It's kind of a staple here in Russia. In fact, Hubs actually beat me to it because they have a banya at his rig site in the middle of nowhere. So imagine a forest, twenty miles away from the nearest town or person, a couple old, nasty trailers with bunk beds for sleeping and a complete banya. Something we would consider a luxury is a necessity, even to all the dirty oil men out there working. Fascinating.

So, my friend that I lunched with last week has been a few times, so she offered to take me and I quickly accepted. Hubs had given me a bit of an idea about how it works, but I went in with a pretty open mind and I was so excited to really get into the heart and soul of Russian culture.

The banya we went to is the oldest in Moscow and it is beautiful. 1100 ($33) Rubles will get you in for three hours and you add on other things that you may want. They have everything you can imagine as far as spa treatments go. Scrubs, wraps, massages, you name it. They also serve cafe style food, teas and, of course, booze. Your bill can really start to add up.

This particular banya has two levels, the upstairs is a little more expensive at 1700 Rubles ($55) and offers a little more privacy, but it was closed for renovations. Besides, I wanted to full Russian banya experience, like everyone else. Little did we know that Tuesdays are senior citizen discount day. Now, we haven't actually confirmed that, but its the only explanation for why we were the youngest people there by at least 50 years. No joke.

There's something you should all know about Russians. For the most part, modesty is not a priority to them. But before you judge them, think about this... Before the fall of Communism, there really wasn't such a thing as privacy. A friend of mine helped me understand this by telling me a story about her experience at a doctor's appointment. The doctor wanted her to strip down, even though she just needed a prescription for something like a cold. She, being from America, refused and demanded a new doctor that wasn't such a creeper. But they weren't being creepers, thats just the way they do things. Secondly, after the fall of Communism, Russians went from only receiving propaganda, to being able to get their hands on popular magazines. And these magazines were usually Playboys, and various fashion magazines. This all influenced norms in style and behavior.

So, now that we have some insight into the Russian brain, on to describing this banya experience.

Here's the breakdown. You walk in, rinse off and head to the steam room, a large room with wooden benches and a stove. Actually, from what I've read, it is two stoves. One with the fire that heats up the rocks in the other stove. These rocks heat up and once everyone is in the room, one of the staff throws water on the rocks to create the steam. And boy, does it get hot in there. You just start sweating like crazy, and you feel like you're breathing straight steam. You really can't stay in more than ten minutes or so, partly because it's uncomfortable, but I think it's also unhealthy.

You can buy these branches that are bundled together and you hit yourself with them. It's supposed to promote good circulation and let me tell you, it really does feel great. We didn't pay for a Babushka to hit us with the branches, so I'm not sure how great that would feel, but I'm sure I'll find out as I get bolder.

As soon as you get out, you stand under a bucket, placed high on the wall, pull a string and POW! The coldest water ever is poured on you. I knew it was coming and this was the part I told me friend that I probably wouldn't like. Surprisingly enough, it was awesome. Couldn't get enough. And it's good for you! The heat and sweating cleans out your blood vessels by expanding them and releasing toxins, and by immediately going cold again, those blood vessels retract, leaving the toxins out for disposal.

They also splash some type of oil on the walls. It smells like peppermint and even though my sinuses were fine to begin with, I felt like they were completely cleaned out. I'll definitely be going back at the first hint of a sinus infection. My lungs were squeeky clean afterwards! There really are tons of health benefits to this including circulation, kidney health, better immune system, heart health and it releases endorphins.

You take some breaks inbetween, sitting and having tea and snacks in a waiting room type area, and you are free to bring your own masks and scrubs instead of pay the spa prices. But you really don't need them. My skin felt so great after a few trips even without the aid of scrubs and such. Very, very refreshing. (once you got out of the heat...)

I'm sold and we've already planned to make it a weekly trip. And for those of you who will make fun of my new ritual, I can't wait till I look like I quit aging at 29. You'll be sorry. All of you.

Cheers to doing as the locals do. Only the Russians could find a way to be healthy without working out and eating healthy foods.

Love and the Beach

Monday was a real treat for me. I got to hang out with some new friends. You may know them, Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh? Yeah, no big deal.

The FIVB beach volleyball Olympic qualifiers tour made a stop in Moscow over the weekend and I was able to go on Saturday and on Monday. Saturday was qualifiers, so there were lots of teams playing, mostly men's teams. Monday was the women's playoff day and by far my favorite.

What always strikes me as funny about beach volleyball fans is the fact that they are ready to play. It's like they're just waiting for Phil Daulhausser to get injured so they can stand up and say, "Good think I wore my board shorts today... Sub!" In the land of Speedos, I have never seen so many pairs of board shorts. Not even in our coastal town back home. So strange.

I went on my own, packed a lunch and basked in the sun. It was heavenly. Speaking of Heaven, I then heard some people behind me speaking English! I don't normally go up to people when I hear them speaking English, as tempting as it is some days. Mainly because people are weird. Even English speakers in a foreign country like Russia. In fact, in my experience, I'd say it's a pretty good indicator that one is bat-shit crazy if they're in Russia and English is their first language. But I was in a pretty specific group of people and after finding some courts, I was really jonesin' to find people here to play with.

They ended up being really nice! The guy was from Belgium and his girlfriend or wife was from Russia, but a small town outside of Moscow. We chatted about living in Moscow, volleyball and, of course, Hubs. I still can't go five minutes without dropping a Hubs Bomb into the conversation. My new Belgium friend played beach ball on the national level until he his achilles ruptured. (I can hear the collective virtual "oooooowwww" from here...) Then he moved into coaching. When I told him about the courts in Gorky Park, he seemed excited to play!

After the tournament, I went for a quick walk around Victory Park, where the tournament was being held. It didn't have the garden-like atmosphere I found at Gorky Park, but it was nice all the same. Lots of food and trinket stands, memorials and people eating ice cream and strolling around. The park has a rich history and is a place to pay respects to vetrans of war as well as the strength of a nation. Napolean himself camped out here back when he had the city surrounded and waited for the people to give him the keys to the Kremlin. Now, it hosts fountains and monuments to great wars and vistories. It really is a special place.

So, even though we didn't win (Walsh/May-Treanor came in 2nd to China), it was a fantastic day. I still haven't heard from my new friends, and I might not. but the conversation alone is another indicator that I'm gonna be ok. That life isn't so different here. And to wrap it all up, I got to take in a pretty amazing view of a pretty amazing city. A pretty amazing home.

Cheers to new places, faces and views.

Love and Lunching

I've really hit the meeting cool people jackpot here in Moscow. There is no other way I would survive being away from Hubs for long periods. The other day, I had lunch with one of my cool people and I feel that I should share because the whole experience pretty much sums up what living in Moscow is like.

It started off easy enough, I suggested a cafe that another friend had discovered, so we start walking the right direction. Only we took a wrong turn somewhere, not enough to get us lost, but enough to not be able to find our destination. Oops. Sorry.

So, my friend suggests a place that she's familiar with and off we go. Only we walk a few blocks and she says that maybe it's not the right direction. Oops. Again. Here we are, Red Square in the background, an American and a Canadian walking in circles trying to find a place to sit and eat.

We were close to La Cantina, so we headed there and sat on the patio ready to people-watch and chat. And what a great time we had chatting! And that's the cool part about meeting people overseas. So many similarities. You can't hear or tell a story without the other person laughing before the punchline because we both know the end of the story. We swapped market shopping stories, language barrier stories and husband stories. (All good, Hubs...) And there's a connection. Because I get bullied into buying fruit that I don't want too. And I don't know what to say either when someone starts chattering on in Russian. And I love my husband so much that none of it matters, just like my friend. I won't say that other people don't understand what its like to make sacrifices that don't feel like sacrifices because the love and affection you feel for that person drowns out the rest, but she understood that concept specifically in the way that I did. In the pack your things, tell your friends and family goodbye and hang on.

We ended up staying on the patio for close to four hours talking, laughing and making plans. All the while being interrupted by various transients as they pass by. One spoke English, kind of. It was more like drunk-anese because every time I thought we understood what he was saying, he threw us for a loop. By far the hardest one to get rid of. Other than that, it was an assortment of Babushkas and transients chattering away in Russian. Thinking about it now, I guess I would target the two English-speaking women on a patio for four hours straight on a Thursday.

We ordered the business lunch. These things are awesome. Only 250 rubles ($8) and it comes with soup, a salad and an entree. Today's special was salmon soup, Greek salad and tilapia with rice. Everything was so good leading up to the entree, and I was so wrapped up in conversation that I took the biggest bight of tilapia I could fit on a fork. And thats when I bit down on multiple bones. Now, it doesn't help that I am married to a master fisherman who's filleting skills are out of this world, but I just can't handle bones in my fish. Yuck. Yuck. Yuck. However, if you're on a diet, it is better to have some because you eat very slowly. Like one half-inch flake at a time slowly. Regardless, a delicious meal.

Not ready for our lunch chat to be over, we ordered coffee. Five minutes later, a gentleman at another table ordered coffee and got his in a couple minutes. Thirty minutes later, another gentleman ordered coffee and promptly received his. Eventually, we decided that we should ask again and sure enough, got our coffee. Service in Moscow is so different. Our waitor didn't even blink an eye when we ordered coffee for the second time. Meh. No big deal.

So. To sum up our afternoon... We got lost. Twice. Found a patio with Red Square within our view. Two panhandlers later we received our meal. The preparation was different than I'm used to. Three panhandlers and a drunk later we asked for coffee. Five stories, one panhandler and a second request for coffee later we received said coffee. Ten missed calls and messages collectively later we parted ways. It was a great, great day.

And this is only one instance of the good fortune I've had with great friends.

Cheers to new friends and the stories they bring to the business lunch table.

Love and Independence

Halfway through writing that last blog about holidays, I realized I needed a whole new entry to properly explain Russia Day.

As you just read, we have bad luck with Russian holidays and Russia Day was no exception. But, I tried to ignore the fact that we really need an answer on the second apartment that we've picked out. (even though our contract has been waiting for approval for over a week now...) And instead, I wandered to Red Square to see how people celebrate this holiday. I told a friend of mine here that I was headed that way and she promptly responded cheerfully, "Have fun! Watch out for protestors!" This, of course, made me laugh, and also made me desperately want to find said protestors.

I think I found them. Let me explain.

I walked to a park that was lined with metal detectors and military personnel. Lots and lots of military personnel. I walked all through the park and in the end, I walked right past a major protest without knowing it. I guess I was looking to hard to see what was in front of me. Either that, or the media has sensationalized all of these protests that have been going on. According to one news report I read here in Moscow, protestors claimed to have 100,000 people in attendance to protest Putin in power, but police report 22,000 and another source said 10,000. I imagine that these protest leaders are so passionate about these protests that when people start showing up, the say to each other, "Look at this!! There must be 1,000,000 people here!!" Then the police report a smaller, group that is large enough to make them look tough, overworked and underpaid. I don't know who gives the lowest number. Cranky Babushkas who watch them invade their park, probably. I found the picture online and I have no idea how I missed this. I told a friend of mine about the experience and she said that she's not sure about the legitimacy of these protests. She said that most of the time news stations use stock video and photos and the clips that they show may not even be in Russia at all...

After being disappointed by not finding the protestors, I continued on the Red Square, where surely they were celebrating somehow. And I was getting hungry and I figured I could snack on some street food once I got there. But by the time I got there, they weren't letting anyone in. Everything was blocked off and they were only letting in military. And, get this, there were even MORE military personnel here! Where are they coming from?

In all seriousness, it is a pretty crazy time here in Russia. No cause for alarm, these large protests are very peaceful. (It's the soccer fans that get crazy...) I'm not here to talk Russian politics. I really don't know too much about it. But I do know that they passed a law banning protesters of any number, punishable by large fines ($5,000+ USD) And some top protest organizers had their homes raided by Russian police on the Monday before Russia Day. It's an interesting time to be in Russia, to say the least.
I did stop and get some Kvas, a traditional Russian drink. It tastes kind of like prune juice beer, but its non-alcoholic. Well, it's maybe 1% alcohol content because it's fermented rye bread, but thats practically a kids drink here. Sarsaparilla would probably be the closest equivalent you could find in the States if you really want to try it. Hubs tried it and did not like it one bit. I, on the other hand, knew I wouldn't like it and prepared myself for the worst-tasting beverage, only to be pleasantly surprised.

Other than that, Russia Day was kind of a letdown. I was hoping to experience the culture and pride of Russia, but was severely dissapointed. Unfortunately, I think the day was one big near-miss. Apparently, Red Square was blocked off because they had a huge commemorative concert, and the protest made it on the BBC News that night. I went to the food court in the mall and had a piece of pizza at Sbarros. Not very Russian, except for the keg beer served at all the food court eateries, including Burger King, KFC and Churches Chicken (or Texas Chicken here in Russia...) but I didn't even do that!

Cheers to the near-misses and the stories not seeing them creates.

Love and Holiday

It's official. Russian holidays have screwed us on every deadline for important paperwork. And I have no idea how these holidays work. I mean, I'm all for an extended break or any reason to celebrate, but this is getting to be ridiculous.

It's partly our dumb luck. We're magnets for it, in case you haven't noticed. And luckily for us, we think it's all pretty hilarious. But, you can't help but wonder what the universe is thinking when every...single...deadline falls on a holiday.

It started when Hubs went to Russia for the first time to do the medical testing for his work permit. The company had to schedule his flight literally the night before because Christmas was coming up, and after that, Russia has the month of January off. Technically, it's only the first ten days, but we have confirmation from office staff that since January boozefest is so crazy, they don't get anything done while they're out of the office or the first week they're back. I've named this week "recovery week" and its an in-office holiday. I'm certain its celebrated by making the rounds to cubicles throughout the office, swapping stories and hangover cures. I wouldn't be surprised if they had vodka hour in the break room that week.

So, applying for our first visa over a month-long holiday pushed our time back a bit.

Then, we're so close to getting our visa, we have collected all of our paperwork, filled out the application and the day we go to send everything to the consulate is a holiday. International Women's Day. This is a predominately Communist holiday, apparently (I looked it up on Google...) but I'm not sure what happens except no work. Of course, this year it fell on a Thursday, which means they also took Friday off. And we were left waiting again.

We made it to Russia in March and we lucked out with the holidays for awhile. March and April, when we really didn't need anything done in a hurry, didn't have any non-working holidays. (Not even Easter...)

And then May. May 1st is International Workers Day and no one works, but they take to the streets and protest work. Putin even joined them out there this year. Which is crazy, because if he's protesting his job, he should probably just step down. It doesn't seem like people like him much right now around here. This holiday landed on a Tuesday this year, so Monday was also listed as a non-working holiday.

Then came May 9th, Victory Day! Everyone loves Victory Day here. They pass out ribbons in the street for weeks before, the whole city cleans up and repaints everything to look nice and every other day, they take the tanks out for a practice run before the big parade down the main highway leading to the Kremlin. It really is a pretty cool experience. We missed the actual day because we were in Dubai, but we caught a practice run and watched some videos on YouTube. Victory Day is celebrated in many countries in Europe, but on May 8th. It's the day Nazi Germany surrendered, ending the Second World War. People remember and recognize WWII vets, expressing their thanks with flowers, wreaths, marches, and fireworks galore. Victory Day fell on a Tuesday this year and, you guessed it, Monday was also listed as a non-working holiday.

The fact that these holidays are so close together made it impossible to get anything done that entire week and a half. (Always factor in the in-office recovery time...) And where it became a problem for us was that we had to get paperwork and medical testing done before leaving Dubai since our visas expired June 30th. Important emails weren't forwarded to us and people couldn't be reached by phone. On top of that, we were being kicked out of our temporary apartment on the 2nd (you remember that story...) and roads were closed on major roads to get to our new apartment because of street cleaning and practice runs.

We found out the day after Victory Day that employees here in Russia work on Saturdays to make up for their weekday holidays. Helpful information had it come the week before. I don't blame them for keeping that hush-hush to the rest of the world. I'm sure everyone's main project on Saturday workdays is to avoid work. It would be for me, thats for sure.
This week was Russia Day. A day that celebrates Russia claiming independence from the USSR. It's kind of like their Fourth of July. I found out that it was originally called the Day of the Adoption of the Declaration of Sovereignty of the Russian Federation. But they renamed it. It fell on a Tuesday this year. I'll give you one guess as to what people here did on Monday...

The timing on this one was bad for us because we're waiting to hear back on the apartment that we chose three weeks ago. The paperwork has been sent to the legal department awaiting approval for a week prior to holiday. Then holiday. Definitely makes from some anxiety since this is our second attempt at permanent housing, and our experience with Russian holidays has taught us that for every one day off, there is anywhere between one day to two weeks of in-office recovery time. Don't they know that my mother asks me about the apartment every day? I swear, if we lose this one, I'm giving her the phone number so she can just call them for a daily check-in. We Americans work through hangovers, you can too.




Cheers to holiday. And the day sometime in the future when we will be able to appreciate them.

Love and Rainy Days

A couple days ago marked the second rainy Sunday in a row here in Moscow. June has been very wet and cold here, which, of course, makes me miss home a little. It also makes me point and laugh at my friend's status updates on facebook complaining about the heat. The jury is still out on whether or not I'm a fan of this.

I own an umbrella now! Well, I think I've always owned at least half a dozen umbrellas left in places I didn't need them. Like, my car when I'm in the office. Or my apartment when I'm in my car. You get what I'm sayin. But now, I go out armed with an umbrella to get through June's rainy days.

Owning an umbrella is not as easy as it sounds. Back home, you just make a mad dash for your car and an umbrella only slows you down and gets buckets of rain in your car, so having a reliable umbrella has never been an issue for me. Cheapest, please. (Which, of course, means "stolen from Mom and Dad's house when I visit". It's alright, I take one and two more replace it, I'm sure...love you Dad!) I really think that this is the first time I've ever had to buy an umbrella. And they're expensive here in Moscow!

So, thinking I could outsmart everyone, I bought a $3 umbrella in Dubai. I am a clever girl. And it was blue with white stars. I would say it makes me look American, but the Russians love colored/themed umbrellas, so I look more Russian than anything.

I did NOT look Russian last Sunday, on my way to church. It was raining, my umbrella matched my outfit, I was set. And then the wind came. And my umbrella went to shit. I'm walking down the sidewalk, balancing my bag, umbrella handle and half of my flimsy covering that has completely caved in. Thats a lot to be paying attention to, so there really isn't any room to pay attention to giant puddles that have formed on the sidewalk. Basically, if you can't get a visual, I'm a mess.

But my iPod is playing NeedtoBreathe, and I'm feeling pretty optimistic. Cold? No, alive. Wet? No, experiencing.

I'm probably a good 15 minute walk from church, and my umbrella did that thing where it turns inside out one last time. By the time I finish struggling to put it back in place, one of the metal frames has come unhooked, and is now dangling dangerously close to my face. Convinced at this point that I was going to gouge my eye out, or get my hair tangled in this death trap, I did what any normal human being would do and I made a frustrated groan (probably too loud, since I was still jammin' to my iPod...), wrestled with it to get it to close and stuffed it into a trash can next to a bus station where two babushkas sat comfortably waiting for their bus.

Are you getting this picture? Because if you still can't see it, imagine a Chris Farley-esque scene wrestling with a broken umbrella. Even I couldn't help but laugh. At myself.

I survived the rest of the way to church on a light drizzle. And as soon as I got back to the Metro station, I stopped and bought the most expensive umbrella I have ever purchased. 600 rubles ($20) total. But, I inspected it very well, and didn't get the most expensive one, so I felt better about buying it. What I was inspecting for, I wasn't sure, but the wiring looked sturdy and it fit in my purse, so I left a happy customer.

It ended up being a good day. You can't not smile when you get win any battle, even if it is with a flimsy opponent, in my case, an umbrella. And I've even started to like walking in the rain with my new, much sturdier umbrella. It never fails to make me smile and think about that story.

Cheers to the things that protect us from the elements. Whether they work or just make us smile.

Love and Ballet

We got back to Moscow on Friday, the 25th and on Sunday, joined a couple who have become good friends of ours here at the ballet!

I knew when we made the plans to go to the ballet that it would lead to a blog. If anything, to prove to naysayers that we're cultured, damn it. But the experience had a completely different affect than I thought it would. And I blame a new baby bug.

The ballet was located in the Kremlin, so we got there a little early and took a lovely stroll through the gardens and historic buildings. It would have been more lovely had I worn comfortable shoes, but even coming close to breaking my ankles couldn't distract from the smell of lilac and the green all around.

Once we got inside and to our seats, we saw that we would be sitting behind at least three rows of little girls, sandwiched occasionally by an adult. The girls were distracted, restless and assumedly going to be a pain for us adults who could really appreciate sitting through a professional ballet. I think we all rolled our eyes at our luck. Any open seats elsewhere, maybe? The lights dimmed, the announcement to turn off your cell phones played and the orchestra got situated. All while every single girl sat fidgety and uncomfortable.

But then, the most beautiful thing happened. The lights went out, the curtain was drawn and the first of the dancers came on stage. And every single little girl leaned forward, some crossing their arms on the seat in front of them and resting their head, and they sat, completely engrossed in the beauty of being a ballerina.

Now, I don't remember if I have ever dreamed of being a ballerina, but I do remember childhood dreams of what and who was beautiful and how I wanted to be like that. I think, specifically, it was Vana White. I definitely wanted to be Vana White on Wheel of Fortune. Who knew she would never age and need a successor. (I was waiting, patiently...) I wondered if the cast knew about these little girls up on the balcony, completely absorbed in their talent, beauty and story. I hope that they do. I hope those women on stage feel like princesses and act accordingly so that many more princesses follow in their footsteps. (or tippi-toeing)

It made me think of our new niece. Before we left for Dubai, we got the news that we had become an Aunt and Uncle! We were so thrilled with the news and pictures and instantly began planning how we would get candy-filled drum sets to little baby bug (her new nickname, compliments of Uncle Hubs). But now, I started to think about the little girl turned young lady turned woman she would become and how lucky we are as Crazy Uncle Hubs and Crazy Aunt Me to be a witness to it. And I thought about how lucky we would be if we have children one day and were witnesses to their story. (that day is far, far, far in the future, so lets not read too much into that statement, k?)

What a beautiful thing to see children dream out loud. It was almost a better show in front of us than on stage. And how lovely to have such a beautiful addition to our family to teach us for years to come.

Cheers to baby bug! Welcome to a big world at your disposal. Watch, live and enjoy. (And we eat dessert before dinner when you've over at your aunt and uncles house...)

Love and Tea Time

Everyone told us that we had to have High Tea at the Burj al Arab while we were visiting Dubai. Being the Americans we are, we weren't sure why having tea would cost so much, but we were assured that it is the best experience and that we cannot leave Dubai without doing it.

So, we put it off. I still wasn't entirely convinced. But, one of Hub's classmates went over the weekend during training and raved about it, so we were sold. She, like everyone else talks about the never-ending tea, the seven-course meal and the great view from one of the highest buildings in the city, right on the beach. Sounds perfect, right? And we were on vacation, so we can splurge, right?

First, I called in to make my reservation and they were all booked for the High Tea on the top floor. But Afternoon Tea on the atrium level was still available. So we booked the tea that comes with a "complimentary" glass of champagne and I informed them that we were on our honeymoon, hoping for some extra perks. It's not a lie nor an act. We are in a permanent state of honeymooning. Hubs, who I am convinced cannot even fib if it would save his life, was instantly nervous that someone would quiz us on our marital status and was uncomfortable with the whole setup. He's lucky to have me to cover that stuff.

We took a cab to the Burj and actually had to show a security guard at the gate our reservation and he checked us in. Fancy. We pull up to the front, circling a pretty extravagant fountain. Fancy. We walk inside, greeted by a team of staffers dressed in traditional silk dresses and vests. Fancy. Deeper inside, there are even more fountains, putting on a real show. Fancy. The escalator takes us upstairs alongside a giant fish tank filled with exotic fish. Fancy.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, Hubs gets a little uncomfortable. I know he's uncomfortable because under his breath, he swears that if anyone looks at him funny, or tells him he doesn't belong there, he's kick their ass. To which I tell him that he's wearing khakis, for goodness sakes. Who on earth would kick out the guy wearing khakis? Not to mention the fact that every single person we've passed by has smiled and welcomed us. But, I will agree that there is something about fancy fountains and afternoon tea that is unsettling.

We order tea, and the food starts coming. Everyone was right, it is delicious. Delicious, but miniature. The sandwiches were amazing. Petite little guys on different varieties of bread, all stacked neatly on silver platters. Next, a slice of chicken with gravy and a squirt of mashed potatoes. Delicious, but miniature. And then, the desserts. At least four of the seven courses were the most decadent desserts I have ever tasted. Chocolate, shortbread, tarts galore! By the end, we were so full of sweets, we couldn't handle another bite. That's what people were talking about when they said it was a full meal. Kind of deceiving, but delicious nonetheless.

We finished our first glass of champagne and were offered another. Thinking that they would be comping our glass because we are, after all, honeymooning in Dubai this weekend. But, no such luck. And we spent more on our two refill glasses than we did on the entire case of champagne we bought for the wedding. (True story.) That may not be a good way of describing how expensive our refills were, since we did buy the cheapest champagne for the wedding, but you get the idea.

I think we did pretty well for being completely out of our element. I think the key was the whole "honeymooning fib". We maintained our dangerous, adventurous side, all while sharpening our prim and proper "which fork do I use for what" side. In the end, they gave us a red rose to celebrate our wedding. Don't get me wrong, it was a beautiful rose, and the experience was wonderful, I'll never forget it. But it made me think of a time while Hubs and I were still dating and he got me flowers. He had worked 24 hours out of town and stopped by to see me at work on his way home to give to me Texas wildflowers he had pulled over on a tired, country road and picked for me. He said that every time he passed by them, he thought of me and had to bring some back. He truly is the sweetest, most thoughtful man, whether he's giving me a red rose at an expensive Afternoon Tea or whether he's giving me a splash of colorful wildflowers on a Saturday I had to work.

Cheers to the grand life. Expensive, average or simple, and always filled with love.

Love and a Good Price

I'll give everyone one hint on what they're getting for Christmas and every other gift-giving occasion for the rest of forever...

It starts with "Madame, I give you good price!"

The souks were my favorite shopping. Particularly the spice souk. But the competition is tough. Imagine being one of a hundred small stores selling the exact same thing, all in less than a 500 meter radius. Not that there aren't endless customers coming from cruise lines, tours and Trip Advisor.



Luckily, I had learned some tricks from an AWO friend here in Moscow who had lived in Dubai. 1. Always pretend that you live in Dubai and will bring people to their shop if they give you a good price, 2. Never take an item for more than half of their initial offer, 3. Don't be afraid to walk away. I was pretty nervous because I HATE haggling prices. Hate it. The only time I am good at it is when I don't actually want what they're selling.




I always took the metro to the Textile Souk, got a cup of delicious tea, sat on the creek and soaked up the busy, hectic energy of the place. From there, I would take an Abra ride across the creek to the Spice Souk. Abras were another favorite part of Dubai. For only 1 dirham ($.30), you climbed in a boat with a bunch of other people and took a five minute journey across the creek to the other side. The Abra boats are pretty primitive. The rubber is controlled with some rope and pulleys and the driver is in the center of the boat, literally on top of the engine. But as you're going down the creek, you get a cool breeze and can soak up the scenery and the fact that you're in another world.

Once you get to the Spice Souk, the smells and colors can be overwelming. You're instantly greeted with handfuls of spices to smell, compliments of the gentleman doing the selling. They try everything from explaining spices, offering taste tests and quizzing you on your spice knowledge. Teas, spices, oils, you name it, they've got it. When Hubs and I first went, we nearly made ourselves sick on taste tests. Seemed as though every shop we went into offered us a candy that was an almond inside a date covered in chocolate. I took them all, Hubs stopped. Mostly because he's way more polite than me and felt that he was taking from the venders who thought they would sell us with a treat we had never tried. I, on the other hand, love chocolate. There are no rules in obtaining it. So, I politely stepped in and graciously accepted mine and his share, practically eating my weight in the stuff.

We made some friends, too! Our favorite was a shop had quite a few men working and all of them were fascinated with Hubs. We took pictures with them and they teased each other for being so short. Their selection was fantastic and they answered all of our questions about how to cook with each of the spices and which teas were the best. It was better than Pinterest. Of course, mostly they said that you season your kebabs or chicken with it, but it was enough for me. And one sold me on cloves by saying it was best mulled with red wine and lemon peel. Can't wait to try it. Also, not sure how he knows this since Muslims don't drink, but those are the things you can't possibly think about when you're caught up in the moment. Or when you start thinking about red wine.

I went back often while Hubs was at training. It kept me away from the malls but still got me outside of the hotel. And I loved it. It really is a thing of beauty, the creek as a backdrop for bright, colorful fabrics and tantalizing scents. I felt like quite the world traveler and I was addicted to the tea and friendly people. Even if they were friendly just because they wanted me to buy their pashmina scarves...

And it makes me happy to think that ten years from now, I'll smell some of these spices somewhere, maybe a friend's kitchen, maybe the supermarket, maybe India or somewhere exotic and I can be taken back to this special time with Hubs. And, come to find out, I got to relive it already since I packed the spices between clothes in our suitcase. In fact, I may be still missing some spices, since we still can't fully unpack, so when we move into our permanent apartment, I get to relive it some more!

Cheers to the crazy places we find. Or that find us.

Love and Messy Eating

I love food. I particularly love street food, and any local cuisine I can get my hands on. And in Dubai, I could literally get my hands on local food. (har, har...)

Hands down, the best dining experience I had on my solo, exploratory adventures was this amazing cafeteria close to the Spice Souk by the creek. I would have pictures, but I forgot my iPhone at the hotel. (remember in the previous blog about our flight home, I had other things to worry about...) All of my pictures were on that iPhone because I didn't want to look touristy, so in a couple months, when we go back to Dubai, I'll retrieve the phone and update this blog with pictures...

I was so tired of eating at the overpriced restaurants close to our hotel. Even the food court food at the mall were an average of $10-15. And, even though the food was good, it was usually a kebab and I pretty much had my fill of kebabs day and night. Plus, I think it's a good practice to eat where the locals eat anytime you're in a new place. It's something Anthony Bourdain does, and it got him a few hit tv shows and multiple book deals, so whats the worse that could happen?

This cafeteria was super local. I walked in and everyone stared. Notice, I did not say stopped. They continued eating (with their hands, mind you), but all eyes were on me. I've found that the best way to avoid an uncomfortable situation like this one, is to pretend it's not uncomfortable. It doesn't always work, but in this case it did because I was escorted upstairs and into a separate room for families and women.

(*side note: there are a lot of things that have separate spaces for women and children only and it's not to isolate or treat harshly. It's for the woman's comfort level. South Texas will understand, since there are certain places and people who think that leering is ok when a woman walks by and it's not fun for us. So, the women, who are taught extreme modesty by the teachings of Islam, can choose to be in a space reserved for them away from creepers. It's not that they aren't allowed in the other spaces, it's a matter of preference and they do have a choice in the matter.)

The server who helped me was great! He spoke a little English and fixed me up with the house specialty, which I still don't know what its called. Within minutes, I had a chilled soup of curd, cilantro, carrot shavings, finely chopped onion and chives. There were no actual curds in it, it was just the milk from it. Sounds so gross, I know, but when you've stepped inside from the 120 degree weather outside, it is the most delicious, refreshing thing. Ever. Also refreshing when your mouth is ON FIRE from the hot curry that you generously douse your plate in...

They kept it coming, dropping off a plate of rice, a small bowl of red curry, larger bowl of green curry (both with veggies) and two hunks of chicken. He also brought me a bottle of water, despite the pitcher of water already at the table. And even though I wanted to be local and authentic, I didn't complain.

The rice. Oh, delicious rice. It was flavored with all sorts of spices, but the only one I could really place were cloves. I can place these because it was very strange to feel like you're bighting down on a small piece of a tree branch while eating rice and that tree branch sliver be so packed with flavor. Throw in the curry and rip chunks of chicken straight off the bone and eat with your hand. Luckily, I had gone to the cultural presentation, so I knew how to eat with my hands. You should only use your right hand and on your right hand, your thumb, pointer and middle finger. Way harder than it sounds. My ring finger and pinky got a little messy at times, but for the most part I did good. That dollup of curry keeps it all together for the most part.

About halfway into my amazing meal, my server came back with half a plateful of rice and just scooped it on my plate. As I kept eating, I couldn't help but wonder who in the restaurant hadn't finished their meal, providing me with seconds, but I just keep eating through the disgusting thought.

As I was finishing up, my server returned with my check on a plate full of what looked like seeds and some colorful candies that reminded me of "nerds". Wanting to make sure I got the full experience, I asked it I eat it and he said that it was sweet and meant for eating. So, I dug in, grabbed a handful and tried it. So. Delicious. It was almost like a licorice flavor, so probably not for everyone, but it was a perfectly sweet but not sweet ending to my meal.

Total cost? 15 dirham ($5)

I went back another time and had the same experience, only now I knew to ask for tea. They serve a tea on the streets in that area that is absolutely delicious! Horrible for you, I'm sure, but delicious just the same. If I had to guess, I would say that it is regular black tea with loads of sweetened, condensed milk. Maybe because I ordered tea, maybe because I came back, or maybe because it wasn't sold out that day, I got another dish. Some type of cold salad. No idea what it was or what was in it. Fairly certain it was some type of stuffed grape leaves, but cannot confirm. I just eat what the locals give me. I also earned a spicy sauce. I think it was called pickled mangos or something. It was red pepper paster with pickled mangos. At least, that's my guess. It was a little salty for me, and I preferred the red curry for my spice, but I was still pretty proud to earn the right to use it.

Cheers to the local flavors and their hospitality. Totally worth the trip.

Love and Free Fallin'

I have a bad enough time in planes. In the last three months alone, I've seen my share of experiences, so I don't really feel like I'm in a good place to jump out of one anytime soon/ever.

So, when Hubs suggested we head out with some of his new friends to try a simulated skydiving experience from the comforts of a mall, I was all in. Who wouldn't want to go into a giant plastic container with fans blowing air on you with enough force to make you "fly"? Sounds better to me than actually jumping out of a plane and flying, and it placated Hubs desire to actually jump out of a plane and fly. For now.

We got in, paid the fee and suited up for our big adventure. I have to admit that I was getting a little newvous. I make it a habit to question any activity that repeatedly asks if you have heart problems or shoulder injuries. And I mean, repeatedly. We had to take a class and they asked us some more about any heart issues or injuries, and we all answered that we were fine. We answered a little less confidently, but answered nonetheless.



Once we learned the signs our instructor would be giving us to be in proper flying position, we went to the pod where we would take flight. First couple people went and I watched diligently so that I wouldn't make the same mistakes as they did. The last thing I needed was to get flustered because I couldn't get in the right position while levitating over some high powered fans. Nonetheless, when I did get into the pod, it only took five seconds for me to be a mess. Straighten your legs. Head up. Bend your knees. Head up. Relax. Arms out. Straighten your damn legs! (all of this was signed, so I had no way of knowing if the last piece of instruction was that forceful, but I would've said it had I been the instructor...)

And I slobbered all over myself. I knew this would happen. It happens every time I get on a fast roller coaster, too. Wind blowing in my face with my mouth wide open, screaming my fool head off means slobber everywhere. So gross. Poor Hubs wanted to give me a big hug after I survived my turn, but I was one big drooley mess. Honestly, next to my horrible luck with planes and fear of heights, drooling on myself while falling through the sky is another reason I've never wanted to skydive. Because if it does kill me, I would rather die fairly put together. Not with drool all over my face. And I would feel bad for the instructor, who may get some on him.

Hubs did fantastic! The tube barely fit him, but he made it happen. Proof, yet again, that I married a rockstar. And he didn't drool all over himself. My hero.

We had two turns each to fly, it was a great experience. We laughed the whole time. I'm sure that a lot of people did. Especially while we were walking around the mall in our windblown hair.

You hear the phrase "opposites attrack" often these days. That typically you have a wild one, and a cautious one and between the two they balance out. Not Hubs and I. We balance each other out with two different kinds of crazy and I love it.

Cheers to our different kinds of crazy and the flights that they take us on.

Love and Culture

Hate to break up the hilariousness that usually goes with this blog, this one is a bit more serious, but worth the read.

While Hubs was in training, I was responsible for entertaining myself, which usually meant shopping, as you will read in a future blog dedicated to shopping in its entirity. But there were a couple days that I was able to attend a cultural presentation given Sheikh Mohammed Centre for Cultural Understanding. I cannot say enough good things about this organization. I participated in three activities, a cultural breakfast, lunch and tour of the Jumeirah Mosque.

I had the same presenter for the two meals and he was wonderful. I guess I was expecting something a little more formal and stringent to some type of rules and appropriate behavior, but he did an excellent job of creating a comfortable atmosphere and all but begged us to ask the questions, PC or not. He mostly focused on dress, food/hospitality and the treatment of women and his facts were based in large part on his own experience in the UAE with his own family and were told with a pleasant blend of honesty and humor which made us all a little more comfortable.

The thing that really hit home throughout the presentations is how we have our ideas about Islam and Muslims that encompass an entire population and can be less than positive to say the least. Certainly, I understand that we have troops risking their lives in what extremist Muslim groups lable a jihad, and it turns my stomach to think of the how women are treated in parts of the world in the name of Islam, but we have to also remember that they are extremist groups. Kind of like how I wouldn't want to be lumped in the same group as women who wear too much mascara and cry on tv, only to be caught stealing money from the organization. Nor would I want anyone to assume that I dress in white robes and burn crosses at night in the name of "Protestant Christian values". To us, as Americans, the association seems ridiculous. We see a variety of groups and co-exist with the exception of an occasional riot or clinic burning. But unfortunately, our views of Islam and Muslim people immediately conjur thoughts of oppression, suicide bombings and women's oppression.

If you really look at the Five Pilars of Islam, and Q'uran text, Islam is a very peaceful religion. It's turned into a small project of mine to really dig into it more and debunk the stereotypes that we have created and continue to feed. This may be a reoccurring subject in future blogs.

The theme of each presentation seemed to be that people are people. It's such a great thought that instead of being intimidated by the local dress and see it as a threat when women or men cover their head, we should instead see it as a way of creating equality. In worship, they stand shoulder to shoulder, all age, rank and status and just pray. You would never know by position in the mosque or by dress who was a prince and who was beggar on the street corner. It really is the way it should be, right? We live in an age of status and appearance. How refreshing to see it not be a priority.

As far as women's rights are concerned, I was very impressed. Women in the UAE drive, work and are allowed the same luxuries as men. (This is not the case in some Muslim countries, such as Saudi Arabia) And their clothing is steeped in tradition based on the writings in the Q'uran and needs based on climate. It really did make sense. And did you know that when getting married, the dowry is actually given from the husband to the wife? He actually pays his bride and is not allowed to touch it. The man is expected to provide, so whatever his wife makes is hers, he isn't supposed to touch it without her permission.

It was at this point that I asked a question about resources for women if there is domestic violence in the home. I mean, any group can say that they are peaceful and respectful towards women, but there are bad apples everywhere. Our presenter responded by saying that there are no shelters in the area. That the women will call their family, who will in turn protect her from her husband if he is hurting her. He said that he has actually gotten a call from his sister at 3am and made it to her house at 3:05am to tell her husband that he would seriously regret laying a finger on her. After the family is through with the batterer, he is then convicted in court. (Hubs is an adamant supporter of this way of doing things...)

Negative facts are everywhere, you don't need to look far if you want to argue these things. But why waste time?  I only talk about this experience to say that we should be aware that the crime is not in the dress. It's not in the prayers. It's not in Ramadan. It's not a pilgrimage to Mecca. The crime should not be every follower of Islam's burden to bear. It is hearbreaking to see the mass chaos and killing at the hands of Islam extremist groups, but it's not the end of the story. The cultural center emphasizes "Open doors. Open minds" and I applaud them for that. Through their efforts, people are better able to understand the good.

At the end of the presentation, I asked our presenter what I could do. Here we had just eaten a delicious meal, been given in some cases a story completely different than the one we had been told previously, we can't just leave it at that. I wanted to know what the center really wanted to accomplish, what they needed. I started with, "Hi, my name is Sarah and I'm from America, but I live in Moscow and I'm here for my husband for two more weeks. What can I do?" He said, "Write." No joke! I didn't tell him I have a blog or I love to write, he said thats what they need. So this is me doing something. Something that they hope everyone who attends these presentations does. Pretty crazy how things work like that.

Cheers to people who spread the good. We could all learn a lesson.

Love and Flying

Never in my life have I had such bad luck with planes.

Who am I kidding. Airlines routinely lose my luggage, I've never been seated in an emergency exit (unless theres a small, tantrum-throwing child also seated behind me...) and I've barely made it on countless flights with one actually missed. I should have seen this coming. And forewarned Hubs before he committed to a life of stressful flight experiences.

We start at the beginning, the flight to Dubai. We were so excited to begin earning our badge of "World Travelers" we could hardly stand it. And when the cab company scheduled a pickup for three hours before our flight at 3pm on a Saturday, we accepted, thinking the Russians know best.

When will we learn our lesson?

As we're driving along, completely turned around, I can't help but look at my clock. Inconspicuously, of course. It's unfair to only occasionally be neurotic about being on time and project that on everyone. No one likes it when the person who doesn't panic is panicking.

I think our cab driver was panicking, too, because he was driving more crazy than normal cab drivers in Moscow. And he was taking all these side streets, at one point even cutting through a parking lot to get ahead of the crowd. I was not a fan, and absolutely certain that we would miss our flight. And I'm starting to get frustrated. But, looking at my sweet husband next to me, who was so calm, collected and surprisingly optimistic, I just kept it to loud sighs and private eye rolls to slow pedestrians.

And we were late. Half an hour after the plane took off, we arrive at the airport. Luckily, we were able to make it on the 1am flight. (I use the word, "lucky" very loosely in this situation...) We had to make it by Hub's training at 8am, so we knew it would be cutting it close, but at least now we had eight hours to get through customs and make sure we weren't late for this flight.

We did make it. Barely. Hubs and I checked into the hotel ten minutes after Hub's ride to the training left, so he hopped in the shower, got ready in record time and made it to day one. I was so proud of him. He didn't get any good sleep and now here I was, at the hotel, spoiled rotten with this big fluffy bed andzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....

But that is nothing in comparison to our flight home. Hubs has been dying for me to tell this story, because it's already funny to him. And while it is pretty funny, I must admit, the details may not be for any of you with a weak stomach.

I woke up feeling awful on the day we were set to fly home. Just. Awful. So awful that as soon as I got up, I immediately ran to the toilet and hurled. Yep, I did. I thought I would feel better, but I didn't. So I took a shower, got ready, puked again, brushed my teeth and walked out the door with Hubs. Who was sweet enough to be concerned rather than amused.

I sat in the waiting room. Rather, slumped in the waiting room, and requested a bag (sturdy please...) and a bottle of water. After getting both and settling our hotel charges, off we went in the taxi. We made it less than a mile before I lost it again. Which prompted our taxi driver, in his thick accent to tell us to not get any on the seat. Thanks, dude. I got this.

Made it to the airport, and by now we're running a little late. We really didn't want a repeat of part one, so on we pushed. Carry-on and rolly suitcase in one hand, puke bag in the other. Didn't make it fifty feet before...you guessed it. Right in the crosswalk on the way in. If I was capable in that moment of feeling anything but extreme nausea, I would've been embarressed.

Hubs waited in line at check-in as I sat/slumped, puke bag still in tow. Here it comes again... And poor Hubs looks over in time to see it. Also seeing it, an older British couple, whom Hubs overheard saying, "oh dear, I believe that women is throwing up! Somebody should help her..." I grab the water and start sipping, desperate for anything in my stomach now.

After a slight mix-up with the ticket, we make it. And Hubs, who is trying very hard to take care of my health and us making it home in time, looks me in the eye and says, "honey, I'm so sorry you feel bad. Just stick with me, we're running late and we need to hurry." Big girl pants on now. Got to suck it up. So I do. I'm keeping up, feeling pretty good, and then I wasn't. As I'm burying my face in my puke bag right before security, I'm still walking to keep up with Hubs and get a good spot in line. And that was the last I saw of that bag. Time to get to the terminal, and I'm pretty sure that it wouldn't make it through the x-ray scanner.

In the end we made it. And thank Baby Jesus we had an extra seat on our row, so I could lay down and sleep the entire five hour flight. By the end, Moscow in our sights, I was feeling much, much better. Bold enough to even say I was 100%...

And then I didn't feel better, thanks to some wicked turbulence. And did you know that the bags they give on flights aren't lined anymore? Luckily, I married an engineer, who had proactively lined it with a plastic bag that held an airline blanket.

We landed. Survived. And eventually had a good laugh about it. (Mostly Hubs had a good laugh...) I, on the other hand felt overwelmingly good about Hub's capacity to take care of another human being. Not that there was ever a doubt in my mind that he is gentle, caring and mostly compassionate, but he really took care of me in what I would consider one of my lower moments. Including those where he has to hold my puke bag so I can find my passport. That, ladies, is a man.

Now, he won't stop talking about the firsts that we tackled. "I've never seen someone puke so much!" and "I've never actually seen someone puke on a plane before!" are my favorites. He doesn't often request blog topics, so I had to indulge him in this one.

Cheers to the people who take care of us at our lowest. Better than any medicine.

Love and Crabs

To pick up where we left off, Hubs and I have just arrived at a pretty shady-looking resort to hunt crabs with mini-tridents because we saw it advertised on the internets...

Now, I'm starting to wonder if this is a good idea at all. The front office was completely empty, with one small restaurant that looked closed and the whole place just looked dead. But we made it. And we would hunt those damn crabs if it killed us. The resort didn't offer up too much information on what we should do with the three hours we had to kill now, but we were certain that their had to be a better alternative than sitting in the empty waiting room with no magazines. So we asked if we could go outside and an uninterested front desk employee waved us off.

Outside was much better. We walked down a path to be greeted by a small tiki bar that, had somone not come by and opened, we would have raided anyways. We were tired, hot, a little anxious about how this story would end and we saw Coronas. Delicious Coronas. Two, please. Our bartender was from Malaysia, which is where lots of the staff are from and he was very helpful introducing us to the resort. We found out from him that the resort was owned by a Russian man and that 90% of the visitors at the moment were actually from Russia. Ya don't say... Just another reminder that we need to learn Russia. Because you never, never know when you'll need it.

Once we had our Coronas, complete with lemon garnish, we walked down to the resort's private beach, letting all those familiar sounds and smells of gulf water remind us of home and wash away our anxieties over the trip thus far. We ordered a fruit platter, another round of Coronas and enjoyed the salty water and napping residents unaware of their now bright-red coloring. Hubs and I laughed and talked about our own beach adventures, what we miss about our beach back home and what beaches we would see in the future. It was absolutely picturesque. The scenery and the time of life.

It started to get dark, so we hopped about our little boat with half a dozen Russian couples and surrounded by chatter we didn't understand (again), we were off to hunt crabs! We arrived at our spot once we couldn't see the resort anymore and it had gotten completely dark and hopped into the water with our min-trients and our spot lights. Not two seconds within getting into the water, I remembered that I am terrified of marine life and maybe this wasn't a great idea anymore. Gone are the daydreams about fresh crab and butter, they're replaced with horrifying visions of killer Arabian crabs that I can't see, but are very hungry for delicious toes.

Focus. I am the hunter, not the hunted.

So, you walk around in this shallow water with your spotlight in one hand, spear in the other and you keep a sharp eye out for anything moving. Then, you get right on top of it with your min-trident and STAB! When you pull out your catch, sometimes its wiggling around and can fall off, which is terrifying. Especially when you get to a particularly rich crab area and people are flinging very angry, panicked crabs all at once. I half expected a crab to go flying straight into my life jacket at any given moment. Other than that, I was relatively collected, considering the threat of angry crabs attacking my toes was very real. And I speared my fair shair of crabs, too. Our guide was a little Malaysian dude who spoke limited English, but it was better than his Russian, so he helped us out tremendously. That guy could spot crabs from miles away!

We filled our giant bucket with crabs and headed back to the resort where a feast of all different sorts of foods awaited. They literally threw our catch into a boiling pot and by the time we had turned in our life jackets and water shoes, we had a plateful of fresh, steaming crabs. Delish. It was tough, though, wanting to chatter endlessly about our hunt and wanting to devour as much food as possible. Although, I soon gave up on the crab. It wasn't like eating at Joe's Crab Shack, where things are sort of pre-cracked...

Hard to imagine that a day that started off so uncertain could end up being one of the best there ever was. We ended up just taking a cab ride home ($70) and, to be honest, we probably spent just as much through our roundabout way of reaching our destination as we would have had we just gotten the round trip cab fare in the first place. But that's no fun. And certainly not our style. I mean, had we done that, I would only have one blog entry to share. And now... we have two!


Like all of our adventures so far, Hubs made it even more fun. We've had this crazy romance that neither of us expected nor dreamed would be so perfect in its own rite. And in the spirit of honeymooning, I am getting to know my partner and soulmate more and more with the coolest of backdrops, crab hunting only being one story in the grand storyline. My cup runneth over.

Cheers to the hunt. Whether it be crabs, a Corona or life at its fullest.