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.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Monday, June 4, 2012
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.
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.
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...
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.
Love and Getting There
On the day we were set to go crab hunting, we woke up early, super excited to get going and have this crazy adventure. It was like Christmas morning excited. So, I go online to get specific directions. Only to find that the resort where the crab hunting is taking place is a little over an hour north of Dubai. Huh? Sooo...not there's not a Metro stop to this place? Excuse me? $125 cab ride round trip? No, no, no. That can't be right.
(If you are asking yourself why I didn't notice where the resort was located when I booked the excursion, you don't know me very well, and I refuse to answer...)
So, I get to work finding a better route. There has to be a better, less expensive way. $125 is more than we're spending on both of our crab hunting experience. (and it includes dinner!) So, I talk to the resort and they mention a bus that goes through Umm al Qwain, where the resort is located. Cost? $3. Done. The only problem, she says, is that they don't go back to Dubai. It would only be a one-way. That didn't make sense to me, so I brushed it off as a language barrier misunderstanding. If I bus goes there, it has to come back right?
Wrong. I called the public transportation office and they confirmed that we would not be able to get a round-trip to our location. I spared her my thoughts on why this was inefficient and got the address to the bus station.
We left early, since now we had to depend on public transportation that didn't make round trips. We got to the station by cab ($25 fare), bought our ticket ($3) and waited for the bus. Only then did we realize that we didn't actually know what bus we were looking for. Back to the ticket station we went, where we were told that the next bus would bet here in half an hour. That's not so bad. So we wait and when our bus came up, we hopped on, ready for our adventure.
And as we sat in a back corner, I saw more people crammed into a tiny bus than I had ever seen before. And the bus was one of those that retirement homes use to transport residents on day trips. Only this one had no spare room for walkers and wheelchairs. They just put more seats in those spots. But, we were still blissfully excited about our destination, and nothing, not even these cramped conditions that were really starting to get stinky could bring us down. Off we go! On our way to paradise! We passed through desert, saw camels, more desert and an occasional building going up. Strange scenery, but it only heightened the anticipation for the oasis that awaited us. An oasis filled with crabs and good times.
With the cab driver who spoke no English and who did not know how to get to the resort. Had I known I would need to know the Arabic word for "Flamingo", I would've looked it up. I called the resort, and passed the phone on to the cab driver who had at least a five minute conversation with the reception desk which, I assumed meant he was getting detailed directions.
Two stops to ask random construction workers and pedestrians which way the resort is, we finally made it. (cab fare - $10) To the least extravagent-looking "resort" I had ever seen...
Cheers to making it to our destinations the exciting way.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Love and Directions
Ah, Dubai. You are beautiful, extravagant, luxurious, and everyone gives awful directions.
This I found out within the first couple days in town, and dealt with for the duration of our three weeks. The first time I tried to find the beach, which I could see from our hotel room, I asked the lady at the front desk. She politely said, "straight and straight and right." (Still trying to figure out the best way to describe her accent when saying this, because thats half the fun...) I go straight, and dead end into another hotel close by. So I ask the attendant outside, "where is the beach within walking distance?" To which he responds, "left and straight and straight and left." What?!?
So, I gave up. From then on, Hubs was in charge of asking for directions, because I'm not sure he completely believed me when I was complaining about the bad direction giving. And his attempts at getting good directions despite the fact that it is impossible was very entertaining. We really do know how to have a good time.
I don't blame them entirely. The city is constantly changing. The skyline is littered with skyscrapers, most of which are in various levels of completion. Roads change on a regular basis to make room for another iconic building to rival that last one. It's no wonder people are so horrible at giving directions. Who knows what road is still open? On top of that, I was given a statistic from a cultural presentation that about 80% of Dubai residents are from other countries, so I guess they're not too familiar with the place yet. But still. Something needs to happen, it is way to hot outside to get lost from lack of good direction givers.
The worst case of bad direction blues I had while in Dubai was my first trip to the Gold Souk. There's lots of Souks in Dubai, most of the famous ones in the same area north of town and directly on the creek. It's where all the local, inexpensive cafeterias are and it was, by far, my favorite area to be in. Our hotel was in the Marina, a man-made extension of the creek filled with high rise buildings, Starbucks, fancy restaurants and yachts like you wouldn't believe. A lovely area, but not the same character and storytelling that can be found in the Souk district.
I had to spend quite a bit of time figuring out how to get to the Metro station from our hotel and it was a good 500 meters. (about a quarter of a mile) Having finally figured out how to get there and unable to get a straight answer about how easy maneuvering the Metro is, I went in completely blind. Thankfully, Dubai is also filled with very helpful people, so not only did the ticket agent help me figure out which stops to make, but the security guard noticed my confused expression and directed me to the right pick-up location without any prompting! Blew my mind.
I did make it to the stop I assumed would drop me off right to the enterance of the Gold Souk. Boy was I wrong. Instead, I stepped out of the station to see the creek on one side and a whole lot of dirty-looking storefronts. Corpus folks, think Ayers street old stores selling pinatas and you'll see what I saw. Only most of the stores sold rugs. It was very strange. And I was completely shocked that things weren't going the way I imagined them to. I had looked up images on google, watched YouTube videos of people walking through the souk. I knew what it was supposed to look like and this was not it.
So I walked. Well, I sweat and moved my feet. That might be a better description. And I was getting nervous. I had no idea where I was and I knew I would get a lost look on my face if I didn't take action soon. I hate that look. So I turned down a street corner. Naturally. Cause I believe that when life gives you side streets, there's probably something really cool down it. Or something scary, but if I gripped my bag a certain way, it makes a great weapon.
I found the souk. I don't know if I should tell the story of how I found it, since my sometimes fearless nature already worries Hubs when he stops and thinks about it. Let's just say that I had done my research, so following someone selling knock-off Prada bags wasn't a bad idea. And it got me to the Souk. Unfortunately, it was in such a roundabout way that I had no idea how to get back to my Metro station.
It really was for the best I was lost the entire time I was shopping. It made me unafraid to explore some of the side alleys full of sweet shops. (I don't know if anyone has every described shops selling belly dancer clothes as sweet, but they were...) And I had some great conversations along the way. I had learned from a friend that you tell store owners that you live in Dubai and they will work with you a little more on haggling a good price. (usually more than half of the originally quoted price.) So, posing as a newly transplanted American from Texas to Dubai via Moscow, I was able to experience the epitomy of the city's hospitality.
But lets not get away from the fact that I was now hopelessly lost. And hungry. I thought for sure there would be food stands or something. Thats what every outdoor market should have, right? But no such luck. So I scowered the area for anything that said food and eventually found a gyro cafeteria that was absolutely delicious. I don't know if they would call it a gyro. But it looked like one, and for the sake of time, we'll leave it at that. It was served with pickled stuff. I don't usually use the word "stuff" in this blog, but, I had no idea what all everything was. But I tried everything and it was all definitely pickled. Not bad, either. Except, of course, the carrot. You can't pickle carrots enough for me to ever like them.
Now, with renewed strength, a full belly and a the largest bottle of water in all the land, I set off confident that I would find my way home.
A half hour later, I was back where I started. I asked for directions, but it never made sense. I was starting to feel hopeless. How would Hubs even find me? What would become of me? I could always sell all the scarves that I had bought and continue searching for home, which is how most of the sellers probably got their start, I'm convinced of that now.
And it was so hot. So, I stopped in the only commercial store I had seen all day, a Baskin Robbins. I sat down with my ice cream and decided to not even think about being lost. To relax and instead get lost in my "java chip". It worked. Because I walked outside, right and straight and right and there was a Metro station. Granted, it was not the one I had gotten off on earlier in the day, but I made it.
And I had a great day! I got lost, I saw more than I would have and that was enough to not ever want to go back. I definitely had my fill. Although, two weeks later, after countless more trips to different souks in the area, I turned a corner and found the Gold Souk. 150 meters from an even closer Metro stop.
Cheers to our lost travels and the people that get us there.
This I found out within the first couple days in town, and dealt with for the duration of our three weeks. The first time I tried to find the beach, which I could see from our hotel room, I asked the lady at the front desk. She politely said, "straight and straight and right." (Still trying to figure out the best way to describe her accent when saying this, because thats half the fun...) I go straight, and dead end into another hotel close by. So I ask the attendant outside, "where is the beach within walking distance?" To which he responds, "left and straight and straight and left." What?!?
So, I gave up. From then on, Hubs was in charge of asking for directions, because I'm not sure he completely believed me when I was complaining about the bad direction giving. And his attempts at getting good directions despite the fact that it is impossible was very entertaining. We really do know how to have a good time.
I don't blame them entirely. The city is constantly changing. The skyline is littered with skyscrapers, most of which are in various levels of completion. Roads change on a regular basis to make room for another iconic building to rival that last one. It's no wonder people are so horrible at giving directions. Who knows what road is still open? On top of that, I was given a statistic from a cultural presentation that about 80% of Dubai residents are from other countries, so I guess they're not too familiar with the place yet. But still. Something needs to happen, it is way to hot outside to get lost from lack of good direction givers.
The worst case of bad direction blues I had while in Dubai was my first trip to the Gold Souk. There's lots of Souks in Dubai, most of the famous ones in the same area north of town and directly on the creek. It's where all the local, inexpensive cafeterias are and it was, by far, my favorite area to be in. Our hotel was in the Marina, a man-made extension of the creek filled with high rise buildings, Starbucks, fancy restaurants and yachts like you wouldn't believe. A lovely area, but not the same character and storytelling that can be found in the Souk district.
I had to spend quite a bit of time figuring out how to get to the Metro station from our hotel and it was a good 500 meters. (about a quarter of a mile) Having finally figured out how to get there and unable to get a straight answer about how easy maneuvering the Metro is, I went in completely blind. Thankfully, Dubai is also filled with very helpful people, so not only did the ticket agent help me figure out which stops to make, but the security guard noticed my confused expression and directed me to the right pick-up location without any prompting! Blew my mind.
So I walked. Well, I sweat and moved my feet. That might be a better description. And I was getting nervous. I had no idea where I was and I knew I would get a lost look on my face if I didn't take action soon. I hate that look. So I turned down a street corner. Naturally. Cause I believe that when life gives you side streets, there's probably something really cool down it. Or something scary, but if I gripped my bag a certain way, it makes a great weapon.
It really was for the best I was lost the entire time I was shopping. It made me unafraid to explore some of the side alleys full of sweet shops. (I don't know if anyone has every described shops selling belly dancer clothes as sweet, but they were...) And I had some great conversations along the way. I had learned from a friend that you tell store owners that you live in Dubai and they will work with you a little more on haggling a good price. (usually more than half of the originally quoted price.) So, posing as a newly transplanted American from Texas to Dubai via Moscow, I was able to experience the epitomy of the city's hospitality.
But lets not get away from the fact that I was now hopelessly lost. And hungry. I thought for sure there would be food stands or something. Thats what every outdoor market should have, right? But no such luck. So I scowered the area for anything that said food and eventually found a gyro cafeteria that was absolutely delicious. I don't know if they would call it a gyro. But it looked like one, and for the sake of time, we'll leave it at that. It was served with pickled stuff. I don't usually use the word "stuff" in this blog, but, I had no idea what all everything was. But I tried everything and it was all definitely pickled. Not bad, either. Except, of course, the carrot. You can't pickle carrots enough for me to ever like them.
Now, with renewed strength, a full belly and a the largest bottle of water in all the land, I set off confident that I would find my way home.
A half hour later, I was back where I started. I asked for directions, but it never made sense. I was starting to feel hopeless. How would Hubs even find me? What would become of me? I could always sell all the scarves that I had bought and continue searching for home, which is how most of the sellers probably got their start, I'm convinced of that now.
And it was so hot. So, I stopped in the only commercial store I had seen all day, a Baskin Robbins. I sat down with my ice cream and decided to not even think about being lost. To relax and instead get lost in my "java chip". It worked. Because I walked outside, right and straight and right and there was a Metro station. Granted, it was not the one I had gotten off on earlier in the day, but I made it.
And I had a great day! I got lost, I saw more than I would have and that was enough to not ever want to go back. I definitely had my fill. Although, two weeks later, after countless more trips to different souks in the area, I turned a corner and found the Gold Souk. 150 meters from an even closer Metro stop.
Cheers to our lost travels and the people that get us there.
Love and the Bu Qtair
This blog does not get an ironic title. It is an entire story of its own, and I probably won't do it justice. But I'm not too worried about it. This is one of those stories that I will remember the rest of my life, without writing it down.
Let me start by saying I have had a celebrity crush on Anthony Bourdain since I first saw him on the television show "No Reservations". Now that I have met the man that I love more than anything else, Bourdain has taken a back burner, but I'm still a huge fan of his shows, blogs, books, wit....
Enough. I dig Anthony Bourdain, I think you get it now.
So, naturally, I watched the "No Reservations - Dubai" episode to get some inspiration for our upcoming trip. I highly recomment watching it, so that you can get a better idea of the Bu Qtair. Hubs and I were both excited after watching the episode, we had to get our hands on the fresh fish and prawns marinated for hours in something and drenched in a spicy fish curry that looked deliciously orange, if that makes any sense. We found it online and hopped in a cab, certain that we had great directions if our cab driver had been living in a hole the last twenty years and didn't know where the place was.
Apparently, cab drivers in the UAE are just as bad at getting directions as giving. Because he had no idea what we were talking about. Even when we showed him the google map of how to get there. So, we asked to be dropped off at a bus stop and hoofed it. Through the dimly lit side streets and alleys, we managed to find it. A brightly lit but small building in the middle of a suburban area. Apparently, this is a high volume fishing area, and the fish served at the restaurant is nothing but the freshest.
We waited in line for close to an hour. Mainly because the family of six in front of us (this included the four small, hyperactive children) turned into a family of twenty during the course of that hour. And thats with the kids (at least 15 by now) going outside to sit in a "waiting area" (we'll get to that later...) The inside of the building was incredibly small and unairconditioned. Not the ideal place for men who have been outside all day either fishing or working construction jobs. I'm surprised I have a sense of smell at all anymore.
Conveniently, they had a hand washing station, which I thought was great! We may eat outside and on plastic tables, but no need to behave like barbarians. Hats off to the Bu Qtair's dedication to cleanliness. These thoughts were quickly reversed as we witnessed a customer blow a pretty forceful "snot-rocket" into the sink. Hello. We're surrounded by tissue boxes, dude. Why the sink? Why?
We finally get to the front, pick out a raw fish and watch the fresh prawns measured out to a manageable amount for our dinner. This is the stuff. This is what brought us here. This. Is where Anthony Bourdain ordered the exact. Same. Thing. Then the bill. 100 dirham for not that much food. Excuse me? Family of 23,974,283 just gave you 100 dirham and got change back. Ugh. Take your dirty money. Give us our prawns.
We ordered. We paid. Now we wait. Outside. For our plastic chairs around a plastic table. And we pray that the host of children (all under four) either stop screaming and running rampant between said tables, or are not sitting close to us. Hubs and I split a Coke and waited till poor Hubs could wait no more and decided to stand closer to the man calling out orders. Nothing like a 6'10 handsome man to bring a real presence to the room. So, I was able to sit and take it all in. A circle of mothers, again, all with children under four, sat with their children and visited. Maybe it was a rare night out or a regular Thursday night ritual to get together with their families. But they soaked up each other's stories and gave hearty laughs. I saw a couple show up in a cab. (how did that cab know where this place was and ours didnt?!) The girl was dressed to the nine's in a skirt, fashionable top and, of course, heels, and was not thrilled in her date's choice of venue. Especially considering that the Burj al Arab was within view and a much pricier and air-conditioned place. They left on foot after a relatively quick conversation and after giving up hope on a taxi driving by to pick them up.
When we did get our food, it was pure Heaven. (despite the fact that we had to pay another ten dirham for bread and curry sauce...) The whole fish is fried without breading, so it's crispy goodness is purely blackened in its marinade and the flavors left behind from the hundreds of fish fried in the oil before it. The prawns? Oh, delicious prawns. There's no way to describe the melt-in-your-mouth goodness that made such a silent dinner table. We were seated at a back table, essentially in the dark, so we were blindly grabbing at more fish and occasionally went too heavy on the curry which was so spicy delicious, but we didn't care. 
We talked about that meal the rest of our trip in Dubai and even now that we're back in Moscow. We love to brag on how we found the local hideout and what good foodies we are for following the trail of Anthony Bourdain. Sometimes, we even include these horrible facts about our night, but we mainly save that for our private memories and teasing.
Cheers to the stories we cherish. Dirty, hot, stinky, delicious stories.
Love and a Side Note
I don't take the power of words lightly, and I do hope that anyone who reads mine create a place where we can all see the universality of life. It's by far the greatest lesson I've had the priviledge of learning while living abroad and that fact that it makes us laugh in the process is a bonus. And while I do dream of the day my words (from this blog or elsewhere) will someday be published and reach people (adding "bestselling author" to a resume would'nt be awful, either...), I use this time and these entries for my family.
I imagine a time in the future, when we're all gone, and a new form of archaeology exists. Where people carefully dust off and dig through ancient http:// addresses and the archaic art of email writing. I createimaginary conversations in my head that they talk to each other about what it must have been like to type an email that would take as long as five seconds to get to its recipient. Or the facination with someone like me, who wrote a blog with no video. (hey, it's not for lack of trying...) What will they find? Deep in our facebook pages, twitter posts, flicker albums, how do we hold up in history? Hopefully these researchers don't stop with all the "duck-face" pictures and Justin Beiber, and maybe they'll see me.
Even moreso, I want our future children to be able to see these and think that we were pretty cool before we got to be weird parents. And I want them to learn from twenty-something me (soon to be thirty-something me...), because if my mom continues to pray the way she does, I'm certain they will be able to relate and hopefully learn a little.
It also doesn't help that I'm reading a book right now by one of my very favorite authors, Anne Lamott, about writing. Only I've just gotten as far as the part where she talks about how hard it is for her to sit and write. And if it's difficult for my favorite best-selling author to sit and write, how on earth am I supposed to get these words out of my head and into a story?
So, I do apologize for taking a leave of absence, but the blog is for me. Well, 90% for me. Probably 9% so that my mother doesn't spend thousands of dollars on daily international phone calls (your welcome, Dad...) and 1% major publishing companies.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Love and Moving
Hubs won the "keep your cool" award yesterday.
But, I do think that after reading the story of why I lost my cool, you'll all understand. And, spoiler alert: everything is all worked out and fine now. As per usual.
So, yesterday was moving day. Again. It's strange, I've had some big moves, in fact, I think I've moved every year for the past six years. All were miserable, as anyone who has ever moved knows, and this one turned out to be no exception, despite the fact that we only have four duffle bags to move. We were told by our temporary apartment people that we would have to be out by noon on Tuesday and when we asked if someone would be waiting for us at our new apartment, we were assured there would be. At noon. So, we made the necessary taxi arrangements, packed our bags and thought everything would be taken care of. Easy peasy.
Our taxi driver was so wonderful. Probably because he didn't speak English, so we couldn't understand snarky comments, even if he tried, but thats ok with me. There aren't many perks to not knowing the language in the country you are living, this is one of my favorites. And he was very gracious considering that the main road that our new apartment was on was completely blocked off due to holiday. (another blog entirely about how I don't understand Russian holidays...) We found the apartment and waited for someone to meet us. The phone number Hubs had been given for our apartment was no longer in service and we had no one to contact.
This is when I start to get a little nervous. (and by nervous, I mean furious) Hubs has taken care of everything and done all that he could, but I still couldn't help but want to ask more about what we could do, or what we could have missed or where else we could be or WHY ISN'T ANYONE HERE TO MEET US WHEN THEY SAY THEY WILL?!?!?!!?! After an hour of saying not kind things about everyone involved in our entire move to Moscow, Hubs suggested I go across the street to Starbucks and see about finding a phone number. He didn't specify who I should try to find to remedy the situation, I think he may have just wanted me out of the picture, because I was probably making him and the taxi driver nervous with my pacing, mumbling, and sometimes outright yelling. Not sure going to my favorite coffee shop would be a good idea, especially since I don't know how to order skinny drinks in Russian yet, therefore getting loaded on caffeine AND sugar, but like I said, it was probably better that I was out of the picture.
Once I got online, I did find a number to the main office and with all the sweetness I could muster (had to really scrape the bottom of the barrel...) I explained to my new friend what had happened. I believe that no matter how angry you are, you should always be nice until you get what you want. I waited tables, so I know this to be a good rule. So, the guy is shocked, or as shocked as a Russian can be (which isn't very) and says he will call the manager, and he will be there in ten minutes.
You know how when something makes you mad, then the solution turns out to be really easy, so you just get more mad?
So, I walk back, tell Dan that someone will be here in ten minutes, and we wait. For another half hour.
AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!
I call back. Front desk dude is shocked (again) and says he will call the manager. Again. Twenty minutes later, I call again. Turns out, dude had just walked past us while talking on the phone and headed up to the apartment without noticing the two very tall, very out of place, VERY disgruntled Americans next to the taxi outside the apartment building and went straight up to the apartment.
So now, two hours later, we're all settled in to our new apartment, which we love and that makes up for some of the days events. That, and the fact that Hubs let me fly off the handle. (within reason, of course) and didn't get mad, didn't get stressed and just let me have my moment. In a way, it was probably a big combination of all the stressful things that are new and different that we're getting used to and I just needed to get it all out. Journaling, blogging and talking to my mom are all great ways to cope with some of the stuff, but sometimes you just need to wave your arms wildly, use some descriptive words you wouldn't normally and stomp off in public.
Anyway. I couldn't get to crazy, because this is yet another temporary apartment and we may have to do this exact same thing on June 1st. *sigh*
Cheers to those tantrums we throw, whether they get results of just feel good.
But, I do think that after reading the story of why I lost my cool, you'll all understand. And, spoiler alert: everything is all worked out and fine now. As per usual.
So, yesterday was moving day. Again. It's strange, I've had some big moves, in fact, I think I've moved every year for the past six years. All were miserable, as anyone who has ever moved knows, and this one turned out to be no exception, despite the fact that we only have four duffle bags to move. We were told by our temporary apartment people that we would have to be out by noon on Tuesday and when we asked if someone would be waiting for us at our new apartment, we were assured there would be. At noon. So, we made the necessary taxi arrangements, packed our bags and thought everything would be taken care of. Easy peasy.
Our taxi driver was so wonderful. Probably because he didn't speak English, so we couldn't understand snarky comments, even if he tried, but thats ok with me. There aren't many perks to not knowing the language in the country you are living, this is one of my favorites. And he was very gracious considering that the main road that our new apartment was on was completely blocked off due to holiday. (another blog entirely about how I don't understand Russian holidays...) We found the apartment and waited for someone to meet us. The phone number Hubs had been given for our apartment was no longer in service and we had no one to contact.
This is when I start to get a little nervous. (and by nervous, I mean furious) Hubs has taken care of everything and done all that he could, but I still couldn't help but want to ask more about what we could do, or what we could have missed or where else we could be or WHY ISN'T ANYONE HERE TO MEET US WHEN THEY SAY THEY WILL?!?!?!!?! After an hour of saying not kind things about everyone involved in our entire move to Moscow, Hubs suggested I go across the street to Starbucks and see about finding a phone number. He didn't specify who I should try to find to remedy the situation, I think he may have just wanted me out of the picture, because I was probably making him and the taxi driver nervous with my pacing, mumbling, and sometimes outright yelling. Not sure going to my favorite coffee shop would be a good idea, especially since I don't know how to order skinny drinks in Russian yet, therefore getting loaded on caffeine AND sugar, but like I said, it was probably better that I was out of the picture.
Once I got online, I did find a number to the main office and with all the sweetness I could muster (had to really scrape the bottom of the barrel...) I explained to my new friend what had happened. I believe that no matter how angry you are, you should always be nice until you get what you want. I waited tables, so I know this to be a good rule. So, the guy is shocked, or as shocked as a Russian can be (which isn't very) and says he will call the manager, and he will be there in ten minutes.
You know how when something makes you mad, then the solution turns out to be really easy, so you just get more mad?
So, I walk back, tell Dan that someone will be here in ten minutes, and we wait. For another half hour.
AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!
I call back. Front desk dude is shocked (again) and says he will call the manager. Again. Twenty minutes later, I call again. Turns out, dude had just walked past us while talking on the phone and headed up to the apartment without noticing the two very tall, very out of place, VERY disgruntled Americans next to the taxi outside the apartment building and went straight up to the apartment.
So now, two hours later, we're all settled in to our new apartment, which we love and that makes up for some of the days events. That, and the fact that Hubs let me fly off the handle. (within reason, of course) and didn't get mad, didn't get stressed and just let me have my moment. In a way, it was probably a big combination of all the stressful things that are new and different that we're getting used to and I just needed to get it all out. Journaling, blogging and talking to my mom are all great ways to cope with some of the stuff, but sometimes you just need to wave your arms wildly, use some descriptive words you wouldn't normally and stomp off in public.
Anyway. I couldn't get to crazy, because this is yet another temporary apartment and we may have to do this exact same thing on June 1st. *sigh*
Cheers to those tantrums we throw, whether they get results of just feel good.
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