Hipsters and Hemp: Transplanting to Colorado

I removed this post one week after I initially posted it because my husband posted a link to it on reddit which caused every millennial, hipster, and grumpster within the great state of Colorado to emotionally cyber-abuse me by leaving truly mean comments.  I am re-posting it because I have been here for 8 months and it is all still true.  Also- I LOVE COLORADO-- so lighten up people.....

I have officially been a resident of Colorado for two months now.  After living abroad for the majority of the past 5 years and traveling as much as possible in Asia and Europe during this time, one would think that moving to Colorado would be the easiest of my travels and that my return to the United States would be an effortless return to normalcy.  However, I am finding that coming back to the US full-time, moving to a state you have never been to and picked because you read somewhere that it was a good place to live, is a lot more difficult an adjustment than moving to Asia or the middle east.  A lot has changed in the past few years and I am pretty much estranged in my own country now.

1.  Hipsters.  I have known about their existence for years thanks to the power of the internet.  However, moving to a town where this sub-culture is the majority is a bit disconcerting. I walk the streets of Fort Collins, gazing upon a plethora of different mustaches perfectly set in place with what I am assuming is wax bought at an all organic, free-trade mustachery.    Every restaurant, even the fine dining establishments, serves PBR, and the fashion of wearing the tightest high-water pants possible and a man bun of the coif is la mode here for the men-folk.

2. Craft Beer: Beyond its love for PBR everywhere, Colorado also loves its craft beer.  Here in Fort Collins, I have visited New Belgium, O'Dells, Funkwerks, Coppersmith, Black-Bottle, and Horse and Dragon and that is just skimming the surface of the amount of craft breweries here.  Beer tasting has become in a social class similar to wine tasting. People stir it, sniff it, and make remarks about its aroma, flavor, mouth-feel etc.. I am not personally into beer very much (which admitting in this town is like admitting I have VD), but I do enjoy that since every place has beer tasting samplers. I can get a 4oz beer and sip on it for an hour while my husband merrily consumes beer after beer.

3. Marijuana is Legal.  One of the most shocking revelations in moving back to the US is that marijuana is legal in some states and that one is able to purchase it in a store.  Moving back from a country where one could be beheaded for possessing marijuana, we felt it was our right as Colorado residents to check out one of these Cannabis Dispensaries. Additionally, my husband suffers from arthritis and I suffer from my own personality, so we figured trying this legalized substance might be good for our health.  I was so nervous entering the dispensary as it just felt so wrong--seeing as for my entire life marijuana has been regarded as an illegal drug and usually sold by some creepy middle-aged guy who rides a 22 inch bike and lives in his mom's basement.  The dispensary was a very nice building.  It was set up like a dentist office with bright lighting and nice couches to sit upon.  Your ID is taken by a well-dressed and hygienically sound person who then calls your name a few minutes later and you are escorted to a different room.  Once in this other room, a sales associate and expert of cannabis asks you a bunch of questions about what you would like.  If you are me, you giggle nervously because you still feel like you are doing something illegal.  If you are my husband, you look at the person and blurt out honestly, "we have no idea what we are doing!".  Then after ten minutes of looking at everything pretending you know what the words they are saying mean, you decide to get the cannabis sour-gummies (yes, you can buy flower, candy, oils, pre-rolled joints, and who knows what else).  The gummies, you think, in theory are not going to be as illegal feeling because they are candy and you convince yourself that they will not be as potent because they are cute.  However, hours later you find yourself unable to speak, trapped under the IKEA bed you are trying to build because you have lost all motor function.  You end up having to lie in your bed under the covers eating popcorn, petting your dog's ears for two hours because they feel like bunny tails, just wishing this horrible ride on the marijuana train would be over.  The moral of this story, kids, is that even if it is legal, that doesn't mean  it is for everyone.

4. Macaroni and Cheese.  Why is everyone in Fort Collins so obsessed with Macaroni in Cheese?  Is this a hipster thing? Is this a Colorado thing?  Is this a national fad? What is happening?  Every single restaurant has some sort of gourmet macaroni and cheese or five different types of macaroni and cheese--bacon mac n cheese, sriracha pork belly mac n cheese, jalapeno chocolate mac and cheese and on and on.  There are even macaroni and cheese food trucks that sit outside of the breweries so you can get your macaroni and cheese fix as you make notes of how floral and nutty your beer is.  I have seen three piles of vomit since I have been here and two out of three times the vomit has been macaroni and cheese.  Why are you eating and puking up all of this macaroni and cheese Colorado?

5.  Dog Poop and Vomit.  For a state and city that prides itself environmental conservation, there is an excessive amount of dog poop and vomit.   The dog parks and trails are the nicest I have ever seen and there are poopy bag and trash stations everywhere, which is really quite lovely. Yet, there is a lot of dog poo on the sides of the sidewalks and on any grassy area.  At the dog park, after my dog does her business, when I go to pick it up there are typically so many piles, I have no idea which one is hers.  I just randomly select one and feel that I have done my civic duty.   Dog poop is toxic, carries tons of diseases, and it is gross and yet here it just hangs out on the street waiting to be admired.

The other odd anomaly is the all of the mysterious vomit....  We came home at 5pm one day to find that someone had vomited on the railing of our stairs to our apartment on the third floor.  It spread out to the floors below covering all three flights of stairs with vomit where it stayed until I contacted the property manager. Last night, at 10pm when taking the dog on a walk along  Mason Trail I came across the largest pile of vomit (mac and cheese vomit to boot) in the history of all vomit.

I would like to state that Colorado is still gorgeous even with a few piles of excrement* and mystery puke.   

One of the comments on post states that what I am seeing is not dog poop, but actually geese poop.  Wrong. What I am talking about is straight up dog doody--but the geese poop is rather impressive.

6. Bicycles: People love riding bikes here which is awesome.In fact, a lot of people here in Fort Collins do not even own a car.  It is flat here and there are more bike paths then you can count. There are brewery bike trails, mountain bike trails, special routes on the street for biking short-cuts and on and on!  It is also nearly impossible to buy a used bike for cheap here.  Since bikes are treasures here, people sell them as so.  You can buy a 20 years old rusted bike here for $200 or you can buy a brand new huffy with a drink holder and a basket at Walmart for $100.  And since hipsters don't shop at Walmart, the inventory is quite extensive. I have not yet decided if I will assimilate into my new culture and buy a used bike or get that really fun piece of junk bike at Walmart with the parrot bell and the neon-pink fender.

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Despite my inability to understand the above aspects of Colorado, I am loving it here.  You can always tell you are in a good place when people who live there love it so much they constantly tell you how great it is.  Also, people here wear clothing that represent the state. Denver Bronco clothing is worn by every generation and you can buy it at nearly every store you go into. Red, White, Blue hats and beanies with a big yellow C that resemble the Colorado flag are part of the local uniform.

It is a place where you can talk to anyone walking on the same trail as you, or sitting next to you at bar or restaurant, or shopping for camping equipment at one of the many outdoor retail stores.   The few people I have met and had the opportunity to hang out with here are genuinely good people who are generous and have a great love for the outdoors and the history of this town and the state.   Perhaps your maintenance man might smell so strongly of marijuana that when he fixes your light-bulbs your apartment smells like your college dorm for an entire day, and you have suffered elder abuse from millennials at least three times because you accidentally said something "labely",  and people here legitimately believe in Bigfoot, but I believe that the combination of the quirks of Colorado is what does make it so magical. 

Never Trust a Funky Nugget: Lessons Learned While Using a Public Toilet in Saudi Arabia

One of the best signs of successful cultural assimilation is the ability to be able to use toilets in different parts of the world with ease.  Whether this be learning how to not urinate on your feet in a squatty potty while on a moving train in Korea, being able to confidently operate the seat warming, bidet functions, and whimsical music functions of a Japanese toilet, or knowing what to do with the tabo in the Philippines, your status as a savvy world traveler directly correlates to lack of mishaps you have had when attempting to perform one of the most basic of natural functions while abroad.

That being said when it comes to Saudi Arabia, my efforts to assimilate have been weak.  Until today, I had actually only used the facilities off compound in Allah's land once and that was when completing my urine test at the local clinic.  For any of those of you who are regular readers of this blog, you will remember that that incident ended tragically with the majority of the sample being on my abaya. There are western toilets as well as squatty potties here (which not to brag, but I am the master of), but my hesitancy comes with how filthy the bathrooms are here, the lack of toilet paper, the difficulty maneuvering in an abaya and hijab and the confusion on how to use the water hose (also known as a bum gun) that is used for cleaning oneself.

This is your standard Saudi squatty potty with bidet hose (aka Bum Gun)

Well, today was a cultural lesson indeed! Every couple of weeks, my husband will be kind enough to take me to the local mall/grocery store to stock up on meats, dairy products, produce, and bakery items that I cannot find on at the compound's commissary.  I get dressed, do my makeup, and hair, and then throw on my black potato sack of an abaya and try to somehow get the hijab to stay on my head and not expose any of my neck or back flesh or, heaven forbid, my blonde hair.  Going out into town with Paul is my favorite and my least favorite activity here.  I like it because going grocery shopping and walking around a place that is not surrounded by barbed wire and guards with guns feels a bit like a normal life, However, I also find it exhausting because I am not yet used to the cultural differences here such as people staring at me, children behaving as if they were raised in the jungle by rabid wolves, and the apathy of  people in customer service jobs.

From time to to time on these outings, we will go to McDonalds. McDonalds is actually the only "restaurant" I have been to off the compound in Saudi Arabia.  Back in the United States, I rarely, if ever, ate at McDonalds.  In fact, I think I would have been ashamed to admit if I ever did eat there. But, here it seems like the greatest treat ever.  Every pink-slime chicken nugget I taste, is a little piece of home, and it is the one food, I know will be consistent (or so I thought). After today's incident, I doubt we will be going on a nugget date again anytime soon.

We arrived at the mall right after Dhuhr prayer*.  We made our way to the food court, ordered our McDonald's, and then ate in the food court among the women in veils eating their food by slightly lifting their veils so their fork or french fry could find its way to their mouths without revealing their faces.  Children ran around screaming and knocking over chairs.  People left their trash on the tables, chairs, or threw it on the ground. A couple of women sat on the floor in the corner with a finger pointed towards the ceiling and their other hand outstretched begging for money .  It was a normal Saudi lunch at the mall.  I did notice that my last nugget tasted a bit off, but I just dipped it more bbq sauce, smiled at Paul and exclaimed how much I loved eating at McDonalds in Saudi Arabia. After lunch, we walk around the corner in the mall went to the Panda (the big grocery store chain here).  We requested our typical pieces of veal carcass ground and in roast form from the meat counter and made our way to the produce and dairy section.  It was then, that I started to sweat and have chills.  By the time we were arguing over which of the three choices of rubber tasting mozzarella to purchase,  my stomach was cramping and the nausea had set in.  I had no other choice but to use the public restroom.

I pretty much ran out of the Panda into the mall.  As I had never used a public restroom in this country, I had no idea how to find one.  I had to stop and sit twice because I was afraid I was going to vomit and my husband had told me it was illegal to vomit, even if on accident, in public in Saudi Arabia. After what was only like 30 meters but felt like the length of a marathon, the signs for Women's prayer room, fitting room**, and toilet pointed back towards the food court where this whole problem began.  I had always assumed that the prayer room, fitting room, and toilets would be in separate areas, but here at the mall, you entered into the prayer room and fitting room and had to walk through it to get to the toilets.  A woman was knelt on her ornate mat praying on one side of the entrance, while a few feet from her a couple of younger women tried on their short dresses in the fitting room, giggling as they looked at themselves in the large broken mirrors.  As soon as I got to one of the two western toilets, got inside and locked the door, I realized I had not brought toilet paper today.  "It is ok," I thought, "You Arwen are a world traveler, you can use the bum gun". I took off my abaya and head scarf to avoid any more potential crisis. As there were obviously no toilet seat covers, I was thankful for the leg strength I had acquired the last few months through PiYo as squatting was a necessity. I had only been in the stall for about two minutes when a little boy started banging on the door.  I said, "occupied" in English because I only know like three Arabic phrases.  I know he heard me, but being a little terror, he still insisted on lying on the floor and sliding under the stall.  Upon gazing at a western woman not wearing an abaya or hair covering with blonde hair squatting over the toilet, the child's expression took a quick turn from mischievous to traumatized.   There were more voices outside the stall door and finally he slipped back under so I could have the privacy I thought I had guaranteed by locking the door.  After a few minutes, I began to feel a bit better and the nausea had subsided enough that I thought it would be safe to attempt to leave the restroom.   There were ants all over the wall and especially on the hose.  I felt like Indiana Jones when he had to put his hand into that dark crevice filled with bugs in order to save the day.  I turned the water on and nothing happened.  I tried at least ten times to turn that stupid hose on in vain before I gave up and started to try to problem solve my situation.  The obvious choice would be a sock, but I was wearing sandals.  I was not about to sacrifice my hello kitty leggings, my hanky panky underpants, or my shirt or bra. I could of used the head scarf, but I did not want to walk past the lady praying without my hair covered.   I looked through my tiny purse and all I had was lip gloss and my grocery list written on a large yellow piece of legal paper.

I did what I had to do and then put my Abaya back on and messily threw my scarf around my head.  There was no soap or mirrors at the sinks, so after "washing" my hands, I went into one of the fitting rooms to fix my hijab.  The praying lady, the teenagers, and the ill-mannered little boy and his family were no longer in the Prayer Room/Fitting Room/Toilet combo facility.  This was extremely lucky for me, for as soon as I got into the fitting room, I notice brown streaks smeared all across the cracked mirrors.  I tried to pretend it was chocolate, but the very obvious smell of feces hit me before I could escape from its presence.  Despite all of my attempts not to throw-up, I project vomited all over the pooped smeared glass.  I then hastily fled the scene of my crime and walked back to the Panda feeling much better.

Paul was still in line to purchase the groceries when I got to the Panda, so I sat on a chair outside waiting for him as I felt I should not take my bio-hazardous self into a place where people buy food.  When he finally came out, he asked me how the experience was, knowing how obsessed I am with cleanliness.  I looked at him through the crazed eyes of someone who has seen too much and whispered stoically, "I will tell you in the car".

Let this be a lesson to you all, that the most important item to ever have on you when you travel is toilet paper and never to trust a funky nugget.


* Note to any future travelers to Saudi Arabia.  The most part of stores and restaurants in Khamis Mushait do not open until after Dhuhr.  If you are hungry at 11:00am. Just eat at home.

**There are not fitting rooms in the clothing stores in Khamis.  You purchase your clothing items (in either the female only or male only line) and then there are fitting rooms in the bathroom, should you want to try on and then return if it is not the correct size.

Traveling Cheap But Like a Mother F*ckin' Rockstar

There are a ton different websites and tips out there on how to travel on basically nothing.
Unfortunately, the majority of those involve sleeping on strangers' couches, working on a farm or volunteering for lodging, staying in a hotel that smells like a prostitute died in the shower, or sharing a dorm in a hostel only to be woken up by some Swiss guy named Gunther as he does his naked calisthenics at dawn with his little cuckoo pointed at your face.

As I am now in my thirties and married, the above do not offer the same intrigue as they once did when I was a bit younger.  However, I still want to be able to travel as much as possible, for as little as possible, be comfortable, see the sights, eat the regional cuisine, and drink and be merry with the locals. Therefore, I have put together some tips and links for you all, who like me, want to save money on travel but still have a great time.

Ok first let's establish some travel priorities.  For me these are them:

1.  I will not have a layover more than 5 hours.
2.  I will not stay anywhere that is dirty, dangerous, has a shared bath, has cockroaches or is on the outskirts of where I will be going.  I want to feel like I am on vacation, not like I am in one of the Saw movies.
3.  Eating out is part of traveling and experiencing the culture.
4.  Alcohol and going to bars and clubs is a much needed expense.  That is where you meet people.
5.  Seeing at least some of the sights is necessary, but my pleasure is more important.
6.  If there is a weird festival, activity or holiday in a place I am going to it.

Arwen and Paul at the Zombie Run in Virginia City 2014

Now that we have gone over our priorities here are some tips.

FLIGHTS

1.  Skyscanner is my favorite travel search engine. I like it because you can search by month or by cheapest time and you don't even have to have a specific location in mind. This is how Paul and I ended up going to Nepal because we left the location open and it showed us the cheapest places to fly.  But DON'T STOP THERE.   Once you have found a deal there, go to other travel search engines (Googleflights, Kayak, Momondo, Hipmunk, TravelZoo, ) and compare.  Then after you do that go to the individual airline websites and see if the price is any different.  Finally, sometimes some of the discount airlines don't pop up on those big search engines, so go to those individual discount airlines and see what they have to offer.  For our Nepal trip we saw that it was $350 roundtrip on Skyscanner but actually ended up getting the tickets for $315 directly on flydubai. 

2.  Always always HIDE YOUR HISTORY and CLEAR YOUR COOKIES after looking for flights and hotels on these sites.  These sites will remember you are looking at them and the prices will go up not down.  Better yet, look at them in your privacy browser.

3. Sometimes it is more cost effective to book a round trip than a one way even if you are just going one way. Just don't get on the flight on the way back and you are OK.  This doesn't work the other way around.  If you book a round trip and do not take the first part, the whole thing will be cancelled and you will be out of your money.

4. Sometimes it is a better deal to book a round-trip flight to a place you are not going and then take a discount airline in-between the place you end up and the place you want to be.  For example, let's say you are planning a trip to Rome, Italy and the round-trip costs is $900, but a round trip ticket to Paris, France is only $500.  You can take a discount airline in-between for sometimes as low as $10.  And then you also get to see two awesome places! We recently purchased tickets from Istanbul to Romania for $40 each and from Romania to Rome for $25 each. 

5.  Check flights on Tuesdays around 6 weeks before you want to go somewhere. This is theoretically the best day to look for good deals.  I feel that this is about 75% accurate.

6.  If you are going anywhere for two weeks or under and you do not need any special equipment (skiis, scuba, etc) then you should be able to fit all of your stuff in a carry-on.  This will cut down on baggage fees and make your life so much easier for you.

LODGING

Paul relaxing in our princess bed in Bali in 2012. We had a private pool, three rooms and breakfast on our balcony each morning for $60 a night. 

1.  Start at Tripadvisor and see where you want to go and what you want to do. Then read the reviews.  TripAdvisor also links you to booking websites for the best prices for hotels, hostels, holiday rentals, and B&Bs.  From TripAdvisor, I then go to lodging's website that I am interested in finding out more about to look at their pictures and see what the prices are there and compare. Sometimes there will be deals or packages at the actual lodging site and you don't want to miss out on that!  I won't stay in a place if it has lower than a 4 out of 5 bubble rating on TripAdvisor.  If I can, I use booking.com as much as possible because most of the rooms have free cancellation and that way I can save a place while I look for a better deal or a better location. Also, it is easier when you have all of your rooms on one app for reservations and I love Booking's  city guides that they send you with restaurants, things to see, and transportation tips based on the exact location of your booking reservation.

2.  I have a bunch of friends who use AirBnB  and they love it.  I would probably do it if I was going to go to stay in one location for more than a few days.

3. I will not stay in a bad hotel, hostel, or inn, but I also think it is a waste of money to stay in a 5 star hotel (unless you are traveling someplace very inexpensive).  I typically try to go 3.5-4 stars and always at a bargain. And trust me, you can always find a bargain as long as you look long enough ahead or if you are going off season.

4.  Private rooms in hostels are a good option for someone who wants to save a lot of money but who isn't willing to sleep on a couch, do farm work for a stay, or stay in a hostel room with strangers.  Most hostels have a double room option where you rent the whole room.  Just make sure you stay in a nice hostel.  Always read the reviews and on multiple sites.  Check out this awesome hotel we will be staying at next month in Istanbul with a private room in the center of the action for $50 a night.  

FOOD and ALCOHOL

1. For the most part unless I am going to some place that has good wine or cheap but yummy table wine, I am not going to drink alcohol with my meals.  Alcohol in restaurants is outrageously priced.

2. When I travel I eat street food and at small local restaurants as much as possible.  If you are traveling in the developing world, you should splurge and eat at  tourist restaurants because the stomach issues that come from poorly cleaned or cooked food are not worth saving the pennies. Make friends with locals or other travelers and ask them their favorite local places.  If you do want to go to that fancy restaurant you read about with all the great reviews, go for lunch if they are open then.  You will get the same food and a lighter sized portion for lunch at 1/3 to 1/2 the cost.

3.  If it is culturally appropriate, share a main course and a couple of appetizers with your traveling partner so you can try more things. Most of the time, people never finish their plate and taking left-overs to your small hotel room which usually doesn't have a fridge is pointless.  This saves you money and you don't waste food.  If you are still hungry after, go for a walk and find the local dessert and share that.

3.  Try to get a hotel that serves complimentary breakfast.  This usually will be a continental breakfast. But honestly, what more do you need than a cup of coffee, some fruit, and a croissant or yogurt to fuel you for your morning tourism adventures?

4. Shop at the local delicatessen.  For some local fare and a good deal, try the local produce, dairy products, meats, and baked goods. Choose items you are going to eat immediately or cured meats that won't go bad quickly  Also, this is great to have in your hotel room if you need some munchies when you come back from your room at 2:00AM and everything is closed.

5. Go to a local convenience store or liquor store and buy some beer or wine.  If you are in an area that allows you to drink in public walk around with it and offer some to other people who are hanging out.  This will save you money and you will make friends and sometimes will lead to adventures.  In Bali, we shared our beer with some guys hanging out on the street  Turns out they worked at a bunch of the local bars in town and for the next week, we were treated like royally.  It pays to be generous.  

6. If you do go out to the bars (which we always do), do what my husband does and drink the local beer. It is always cheaper.  I am still working on not ordering top shelf imported vodka when we travel.  Going to the bars is always going to add up.  We only take as much money as we are willing to spend and I always keep the cab money in my bra for safe keeping until it is time to return.

TOURS and TRANSPORTATION

1.  If you are in an area with very high taxi cost and no other form of public transportation, or if your plans are to stay primarily in the tourist areas of the city you are exploring see if there is a "hop-on hop-off" bus tour option.  Even if you are not using this bus to see the specific sites on their tour it is a great way to get around the city without having to pay taxis and you get the tour too.  Some places have a two day option.

2.  Always use the local transportation if you can over taxis.  Buses, Trains, Metros, Jeepneys, Tuk-Tuks, Ferries...whatever it is the locals use, use that. Locals use their feet a lot so don't be afraid to walk.

3.  If you know you are going to be traveling to an area a lot, stay in that area. Do not pay a little less to stay on the outskirts or in a nicer-hotel. We have made this mistake so many times and waste so much time and money traveling back to the central area. NEVER AGAIN!

4.  See if there is a local walking tour online.  These are usually a lot less than the bus tours or private car tours, it is more intimate and you get exercise at the same time.  We once took a walking tour in New Orleans and ended up hanging out with the tour guide until 3AM. He took us to all of these places off the beaten path and local hangouts we would have never seen as tourists. He even took us to a closed restaurant Louis Armstrong used to hang out at and the manager let us come in and walk around at 1:00AM. It was incredible. 

Hanging with our new friends and our tour guide in NOLA in a locals' bar.

5.  Check out your transportation options before you go so you can make a realistic budget and know what your choices will be.  Rome2Rio is my favorite resource for transportation options and costs.

SOUVENIRS

1.  I stopped buying souvenirs for myself a long time ago, but I still feel compelled to get them for friends.  Compare a few stores or street vendors in high tourist areas for the best prices. Other recommendations will tell you not to buy in the tourist areas, but I found that the more people selling the same items, the cheaper they will be.  Buy things that are small-- local spices, teas, coffees, magnets etc.

OTHER TIPS

1.  Travel with a rain parka that rolls and can fit in your hand back or backpack.  As a tourist, there is no need to ever buy an umbrella and your hotel should loan them to you anyway.

2.  Dryer sheets have many travel uses.  I keep them handy in my bag when I travel so if someone smells bad on the plane I can whiff it in. I also put them in my shoes in my bag so my party dress doesn't smell like feet.  You can use them to get lint or pet hair off of your clothes.  They repel bugs. And if you are super stinky you can put one under your armpit or in your other sweaty spots for a few seconds and absorb the sweat and leave you with a nice fresh smell.

3.  Shop at the local pharmacies for basic over the counter medications you might need on your travels--headache and stomach problem stuff. Coming from the US we have the most regulated and expensive pharmaceutical system.  Get your local needs met at the local pharmacies.

4.  If you are going to a country where things cost significantly less than your own, pack less and get your clothes laundered. You get to carry less which is helpful, especially if you are not paying for checking luggage.  Trust me, no one cares if they saw you in that same pair of jeans and t-shirt three days ago.

5. Pack realistic shoes.  When I travel now, I pack a pair of running shoes, my ugly but completely practical Keen hiking sandals, and some black flats for nights we go out.  You really do not need any more and if you really feel like you need some sexy shoes--buy them for yourself on your trip because you have saved so much money on everything else you deserve them!

On average we spend a combined total of $2,000 (including flights, hotels, meals, tours, transportation, nights out on the town, and souvenirs) for every 14-20 days we are on vacation.  This is by no means traveling for nothing, but we never feel that we are missing out on anything.

Fear and Loathing in "North Yemen"

A few days ago while on my daily walk down to the central facility of the compound I was hit by a tornado.  Obviously, I survived and the only causalities from this event would be my disposable eye-contacts which were completely brown when I removed them from my blood-shot eyes.  I would spend the next few days bragging to people dramatically about my near-death experience, only to be humbled when told that it was not actually a tornado that hit me, but a dust devil.   Dust devils are very common here in Saudi Arabia (the Saudi's actually call them djinn which means genie) and basically it is just a whirlwind that picks up some dust and sand.  Some can be 1000 meters tall and 100 meters wide, but the one that hit me was a runt of a dust-devil at maybe 1/2 meter wide and 3 meters tall.

Living here in Saudi, this dust devil has been the most profound part of nature I have encountered. When I do go off the compound, the landscape here in the south west of Saudi Arabia does not offer much in regards to aesthetics.  Bottles, cans, fast food bags, rubber, plastic and hazardous materials lie together without discrimination along the roads, in the vacant lots, and among the small hills.  When one does see a tree, the bare limbs adorn artificial blooms--the blue plastic bags that have become, in ex-pat mockery, the national flower of Saudi Arabia.

Staring out the window with my vision obstructed by my forever falling-off Hijab,  I try to find beauty in the litter and dust and attach meaning to what is an artless place.  I find solace in seeing the men in thobes standing in the divider of the road pointed towards Mecca at prayer time and the families picnicking on the driveway to the airport because it is most beautiful place in the city.  Despite that I do not share the religion, I enjoy the melodic chants of the prayer calls that echo throughout the city and compound 7 times daily.  However, this view through the car window and hearing the call to prayer through the cement walls and barbed-wire that separate the compound from the city, is as close as I am ever going to get to cultural understanding here and because of my place as a woman and my inability to speak Arabic, that will sadly probably never change here for me in Khamis Mushait.

Luckily for me, the compound itself has become a cultural (dare I say) mecca for me.  On an average weekend, I will find myself surrounded by people (mostly men) from all over the world sitting around a large table talking into the wee hours of the morning. People, who would probably never choose to spend time with each other in the free world, walk arm and arm despite their political, religious, and cultural differences.  Even among my own people from the states, I find that many of the relationships here would never have developed unless put into this exact living-situation.   The common goal of the people here to withstand the hardships (being separated from their families, the extreme cultural and legal differences, the nearby bombings and war; not having taco bell) in order to achieve some sort of expatriate dream of financial freedom has created a unique bond between everyone here, and I absolutely love it.

An average weekend evening will involve a mix of Americans, South Africans, Filipinos, French, English, Irish, Scottish, Germans, Ethiopians, Koreans, Thai and Malaysians intermingling. There are some spouses who live on the compound like myself and during the weekend, female medical workers and nurses from nearby compounds are checked onto the compound as guests to partake in the social activities.  For the most part, the different groups of nationalities start the evening out separately and as the evening goes on, the divisions between countries are divided, new friendships are formed and by dawn you will find yourself speaking bits of french in an Irish accent and promising to visit your new friend's homeland. A few weeks ago, a couple of men brought guitars out and five nationalities of people stayed together singing off-key and merrily until dawn. Pot-lucks, BBQs, and family-style dinners are a typical thing here and inclusiveness is stressed over prestige. I have only been here two and a half months and I have learned more about the world, than in all my years of education and even working abroad for the U.S Military.  Living in an expatriate community allows you to see the world and history from different points of view and you are constantly learning something or trying to unlearn something from your own upbringing.

No matter how diligently I try, I will not be able to find pulchritude in plastic bags floating in the dusty-air. I have yet to travel beyond this city and I know that there is beauty in this country that I aspire to see before I leave, inshallah.  But, for now, I will enjoy the myriad of cultures that are at my finger-tips on this compound, the silliness in the dark that ensues the little compound freedoms shared by all, and the friendships I have made with all of these wander-lusting weirdos that I hope will last a life-time.

  

Being a Chubby Bunny

Ok let's face it, I am not a small girl.  And of my 35 years on this planet, I think I was only thin for around 7 of  them.  These years being when I was a fetus until I was able to eat solid food and then in high school when a combination of teen-age self loathing, metabolism, playing volleyball year round and only consuming skittles and diet coke made it so I was still allowed to enter an Abercrombie and Fitch without being fat-shamed.

I am not going to blame my entire body shape on genetics and slow metabolism and take no personal accountability.  In all reality, I love certain things that have a lot of calories in them-- taco bell and alcohol being among the top two.  I also have been known to eat an entire bag (the family size bag ) of Peanut M&Ms while having a good cry to a Nicholas Sparks movie. But in general, I am not a big eater and I exercise pretty regularly.  Some people are just bigger by nature and with the pressure society puts on girls to be skinny in order to have self worth, it sucks.

The first time I realized I was a fatty was when I was around 11 years old.  Most kids go through an awkward stage in those years leading up to puberty-- their voices crack, their hair and face is greasy and they get giant zits on the middle of their foreheads. Then,  whoosh, magically they go through a metamorphosis where they turn into hot young teens. In my prepubescent awkward stage I looked like a troll that lived under a bridge--a troll with a camel toe and crooked bangs that I had cut myself. I had older sisters who were, and always will be, skinny, who always had boyfriends, and, to top it off, they were cheerleaders.  Four years younger than them and I was already as tall and about two sizes bigger than them, but that did not stop me from trying to make my own dream of being a cheerleader possible.   One fateful afternoon, my sisters and mom went to the store and left me at home alone, and I attempted to make this dream of being a cheerleader a reality.  I grabbed Tiffini's white, blue, and gold cheer-leading uniform and tried to put it on.  It was so tight I could barely get it passed my arms.  I laid on the bed and wiggled, and sweated, and finally I got my my jawbreaker shaped body into it.  I remember looking at the mirror and thinking how unbelievable beautiful I was in that uniform.  I did a few clumsy fat kid jumps and cheer moves and I could hear the seams tearing.  I knew my sisters and mom would be home soon, and I would face the terror of Tiffini if she caught me in her uniform, so I proceeded to try to take it off.  However, that thing was not budging at all.  I tried and tried different positions, but I was stuck.  Panicked, I did the only thing my 11 year old critical thinking skills could manage, I took my mother's sewing scissors and cut it right down the front to get myself out of it.  Once I was free from the uniform and able to breathe again, I realized that my life was going to be over when my sister returned home and saw what I had done.  My only solution was to cover the uniform in BBQ sauce and then try to make the dog chew on it.  Golden Retrievers are not the best dogs for dirty deeds, and it took a lot of convincing to finally get that dog to put the destroyed, sauce covered uniform in his mouth.  Then we played tug of war until it was torn into multiple pieces and I rinsed it off and put it in a corner in the dog's yard. To this day, I can still hear Tiffini's screams when she found that uniform a few days later in the yard.  I got away with it, Tiffini would hold a grudge against that sweet innocent dog for the rest of his life, and I would not confess my crime until 13 years later.

American society puts a lot of pressure on girls to be thin.  It is ingrained in us from the time we are given our first barbie, when we pick up that first copy of seventeen magazine, and we laugh along with fat girl jokes with people at parties all time cringing because we are those fat girls . For three decades,  I thought less of myself and believed I didn't deserve the same happiness as other girls because I wasn't skinny.  If you look at my dating history, until I met Paul, I dated some extremely disturbed individuals.  There is some cheesy saying that goes something like, "you get the love you think you deserve".  This saying is 100% accurate in my case.  It wasn't until I finally had the courage to accept myself for who I am and realized I deserved better that I met someone who treated me like the gorgeous, brilliant and sassy goddess that I am.  But what is disappointing is that it took 31 years to love myself.  I have so many sexy and amazing friends who have learned to think less of themselves because they are overweight.  I think about all of the diets we big boned girls have been on, all of the times we have starved ourselves and did self destructive acts because we didn't like the way we looked, and all of the times we allowed ourselves to feel pity and self-loathing because we was ashamed of our weight and it makes me angry at us girls for allowing ourselves to believe we are less because we weigh more.

I am not going to lie and say that I still don't get my feelings hurt when people make comments to me about my weight or make jokes about fat girls.  When people say douchey things, it always hurts. But, I am learning to accept that people in general are kind of ass-hats. America may put pressure on women to be thin, but the rest of world is just cruel about it.  I have been in stores in Korea, where the shopkeepers come up to me, block me from going into the store, and tell me I can't come in because there is nothing for me.  In Okinawa, I was told I was nearly too fat to go zip-lining and had to go behind a special fat-person screen to try on the harness to ensure I wouldn't take down the whole park with my King Kong thighs.  In the Philippines, I was told I would never get a husband unless I was thinner and I was taken to this place where they put a belt on me that gave me painful electric shocks in order to rid me of my ab fat.  Two weeks ago in Kathmandu, I was almost denied access to a club because I was a "big girl".  Imagine that-- a city that's economy was devastated from an earthquake four months ago, didn't want my fatty boom boom money.  If you are a bigger woman, you will know that you are constantly hearing remarks about weight, being insulted, and being given tips on how to lose weight and because being overweight is such a social disgrace, you are expected to just smile and take it because you are fat and lazy and should be ashamed of yourself.

What really irritates me is that the same standards are not nearly imposed upon men. For the most part, when these jokes are made, when myself and my fellow love handle holders are being insulted, or when the importance of being thin is being expressed by men, they are saying it over their jiggling beer bellies.  Women have come so far in regards to rights, education, and the ability to be a leader in the workplace and society, but when it comes down to it, women are always first judged on their appearance before their intellect.  

I am not writing this to get compliments or for anyone to feel sorry for me or my fellow female fatties. I love the way I look and I think I am fucking awesome. I should exercise more and eat less and I do believe being healthy is important and there are definite improvements I need to make.  I am in no way saying we as women should through all caution to the wind and eat nothing but bacon and ice-cream.   But, I do think it is time for we as women to love ourselves as we are and to stop letting society and these misogynistic expectations control the way we think about ourselves.

I am always going to be just a little bit chubby, a little bit out-spoken, and if you let me go through your closet I will probably try to squeeze myself into something too small and ruin your favorite dress--but that is me and I dig it.

Weird Things About Living in Khamis Mushait, Saudi Arabia (on a Compound)

Weird Things About Living in Khamis Mushait, Saudi Arabia  (on a Compound):

1. The compound workers spray for bugs with what I think is either Kerosene or Diesel Fuel. At night after they spray, I lay on the asphalt on my back with the cockroaches and twitch a bit gasping for air certain I will die. A few minutes later, both the cockroaches and I shake it off and walk away fine.

2. If certain things come into the small commissary, there is nearly a westerner jihad to get them before they are gone. Tortilla chips and tortillas were all the rage two weeks ago. I would shank someone for some Ben and Jerry's Half Baked Frozen Yogurt.

3. The produce and meat selection here is small and not very good. Therefor my diet consists of mainly chicken, carbs, and fried thingies. However, due to the high altitude, my only form of transportation being my feet and being in a self contained sauna when I leave the compound in head to toe covering, pounds just fall off here. I am considering writing a book on weight loss called "The kerosene, home-elixir, deep fried, and abaya diet".

4. Saudi's theory of relativity, and science in general, differ from the west. Time and space work differently here. I have been here only 8 weeks and already I have made and lost friends, switch social groups three times, cried over people moving away or going on vacation, started and quit four different exercise regimes, and traveled 18 hours in order to eat pork and see lush green, nature. Also, we have never been to the Saudi moon.

5. There is an endless supply of boogers here because everything is covered in dust and dust storms are a thing here. Living here is every 6th grade bully's dream. You will never ever run out of giant boogers to wipe on your victims. I find or see boogers in strange places and often quietly ponder how these boogers came to find themselves on the treadmill start button at the gym, on the secret door to PS1, or on my dining room table during taco night.

6. There are cats EVERYWHERE here. When I first got here, there was already a cat living inside the apartment I moved into. We have two stray cats who live outside our villa and then there are probably another 100 cats on the compound. Everyone feeds these cats and gives them different names. I really want to build a cat city behind one of the empty villas where all of the cats can live together in cat houses that are replicas of miniature buildings---a kitty taj mahal, a kitty white house house, a kitty mosque. It would be glorious.

7. People are referred to here by physical description, place of origin, or place of work. So far I have met a Tall Paul, Small Paul, French Frank, Irish Dave, English Dave, Army Chris, Red, Santa Claus, and The Scouser. My Paul is neither the small or the tall Paul, so I have no idea when anyone is talking about him. My name here to most is Erin, and I just go with it as Erin has become my alternate identity here.

I think living here in Saudi on a compound, everyone becomes a version of themselves anyway-- a stereotype, an extreme version of a behavior or attitude they commonly portray, or a version of themselves they would just like to try on for size. Some people have been here for years and years, but for the most part it seems that people come and go and that the life here is a transitional period to a greater goal and so identity, like life here, is temporal and malleable.

The Time Paul Shat His Pants, Momo and Other Tales From Nepal

Living in Saudi Arabia will test even the most patient and open-minded of world travelers.  Living in Saudi Arabia during Ramadan, with a war going on less than an hour away, and during a recent tragedy will drive you nearly insane.

Paul was lucky enough to get a few days off for Eid, the celebration of breaking the fast at the end of Ramadan and so we looked on skyscanner for the cheapest flight to get us out of the middle-east.  To our delight, one of the most affordable locations was Kathmandu, Nepal.  A few days later, strapped with our trusty REI backpacks, we left Saudi Arabia, stressed and emotionally defeated and in much need of some spiritual and cultural love.

The flight from Dubai to Kathmandu is only 4 hours and it was a welcome relief to actually get to sit in my assigned seat and not have the person next to me standing up and making me move during the plane's landing so that he can use the toilet for the umpteenth time. There are stereotypes and there are facts.  It is a fact that many people in the middle-east have no regard for assigned seating, lines, or safety-rules.

To our great dismay, the flight attendant skipped us during the alcohol purchase portion of the flight.  Living in a "dry" country, we just want to exercise our freedom and have an alcoholic beverage (that will not potentially blind us from drinking it) from time to time.  On this flight, the first thing we both did after we buckled in was take out the on-flight food and beverage menu and decide what we would both order.  I was going to have the sparkling rose and Paul was going to purchase the Jack Daniels, coke, and peanut package.  But, sadly, the cart just passed us by and even as we waved our funny looking foreign currency desperately in the air and pushed the attendant button with much determination, the FlyDubai flight attendant just kept going father and farther away until that magic cart and our dreams were lost somewhere beyond row 25.

After a very exciting landing into Kathmandu valley, purchasing our tourist visas from a fun machine, and breezing past customs we exited the airport to begin our adventure.  We grabbed a taxi, agreed upon a price which was probably around 3 times what we should have paid, and headed to our first hotel, Hotel Tibet International. Driving in Kathmandu is best described as organized chaos.  Small Suzuki taxi cabs with dented sides and missing lights, weave in and out of pedestrians, scooters, dogs and cows while honking constantly.   It was night when we arrived, but even in the darkness we could see the after effects of the earthquake in this city.   Foreign-aid tents built to help the families who were displaced after the earthquake lined the streets and fill the open fields. Groups of monkeys huddled together on the street corners eating trash and the sidewalks and streets are full of people walking, selling items, and begging.  However, even in its desperation there is still a feeling of peace and hope in Nepal.

We were greeted kindly by the hotel workers and given a welcome beverage of hot tea and a cold wet cloth to refresh ourselves with.  Hotel Tibet International is right next to Boudhanath a very famous buddhist stupa in Nepal. From our hotel roof you could see the top of the stupa and colorful prayer flags in every direction dancing in the wind.  The city of Kathmandu is massive and engulfs the entire valley, but among the edges of it are beautiful green mountains as far as the eye can see.  Our room was a suite with a separate sitting area and small kitchen, and a large bedroom with a fluffy king sized bed.  Although, our hotel was not in the center of the action, Thamel, I would recommend it to anyone staying in Kathmandu.  It is decorated in Tibetan style, it is very nice and clean, the hotel staff go above and beyond to make your stay perfect, and the food in the restaurant is good and decently priced. The first night we ate dinner in the hotel restaurant where I experienced my first momo, a delicious nepali dumpling that would be pretty much all I ate for the next three days.  We also ate some sort of yak meat pie which was also tasty.  We ended the night early by having a drink at the Yak bar in the hotel and then fell asleep like geriatrics before 11pm.

The next morning after having a lovely breakfast on the roof top terrace of the hotel and finding a pharmacy  for the stomach problems that accompany me to any developing world I visit, we headed off to Durbar Square in Thamel to check out the ancient buildings and the infamous Freak Street.   Foreigners pay to enter Durbar Square (and any other UNESCO heritage sites in Nepal).  The fees are around $2-$10 depending where you go.  Once we bought our tickets, we were approached by an "official tour guide" who showed us his badge and asked if we would like to pay for his services.  His services were around $20 and it was completely worth the cost.  He walked us around to each of the sites explaining the significance. Many of the sites he had to show us in a pamphlet as now they were just remains of sites as the earthquake destroyed much of the sacred and historical buildings in Kathmandu.  My favorite part of this tour was going to the Kumari's castle.  Kumari is the living goddess in Nepal.  She is a child who is the manifestation of devi or the divine female energy.  As soon as the Kumari reaches puberty than she is no longer the living goddess and a new one is selected. I was intrigued by this and bombarded our poor guide with questions about how she is chosen, what she does all day and what she wears.   We were also taken to a mandala shop where we learned all about the art and tradition of mandala and, to my surprise, Paul bought a large one made by one of the masters.  He would soon forget it in the Gecko bar an hour or so later and we would return back to it via rickshaw to find that the owner had kept it safe for him, because that is how people are in Nepal--kind and good.


After another 20 minute cab ride back to our hotel, we cleaned up, and then went back again to Thamel to go get some dinner and drinks.  It was raining on our return and our taxi driver didn't know where he was going, so our ride was a bit scarier than normal.  This will be common in Kathmandu.  The taxi drivers will say they know the location you refer to, but they really don't, so it is always good to have the phone number and a map of your destination.

We went to the Everest Irish Pub where I ate more momo and there was not a single Irish person or westerner in sight.  The bartender let Paul plug in his phone to play music in the bar and we met a very friendly trekking guide named Happy who explained to us the difficulty right now for Nepali people to make a living because tourism is so sparse after the earthquake and it is not trekking season.  We left to find another more lively place to hang out. It was pouring when we left and the streets were flooding, so we took shelter in the first bar we saw.  This building ended up being five flights of small loud crowded bars.  The first was too loud and the second was too crowded. By the time we reached the top, we had just given up on looking anywhere else and decided that even though this place was more crowded than all the others we would give it a try.  As soon as we ordered our beers and tried to hide in a corner, we realized our mistake.  We had gone to an Aussie bar.

Take your worst behaved American red-neck,  put them in some tight board shorts and a plaid shirt, add fifteen beers and a Crocodile Dundee accent and you have an Aussie on holiday.  These Aussies were a bit different though--feral and drunk as usual, but nearly polite.  Neither Paul or I got into a broken beer bottle fight or had a cigarette put out on our arm, so it may be time for us to rethink our opinion of the down-underners.  After a few attempts to talk to the Aussies and to have them either pass out near us, ask us if they should jump off the balcony, or watch them awkwardly as they sit in a chair and cry while wearing a princess crown, two ladies walked in the bar and sat near us.  We started a conversation with them and 10 minutes later we had two new best friends for life.  These two travelers were British, lived in Dubai, and like us had sought a place with some soul for Eid.  After the Aussie bar shut and kicked us out, we as a group went to the only bar we could find open called OMG, a place I would never go to unless I have had a good lubrication of drinks before.  Here we stayed until 3AM, acted silly, took weird selfies and promised to meet up again before the trip was over.

The next day was rough.  The problem with being in your mid-thirties is that your body does not bounce back from a night out on town like it did when you were in your twenties. We also needed to check-out of our hotel by noon and we wouldn't be able to check-in to the new hotel until 3.  I was feeling quite alright, probably because I had consumed 5 orders of momo the day before.  Paul on the other-hand was a strange shade of green and the motion of the elevator was enough to make him have to go wait outside, dry-heaving, while I checked out of our hotel.   We still had not been to the famous buddhist stupa right next to our hotel and we had a few hours to kill, so we headed that way.  Around the stupa are many shops to buy prayer flags, prayer beads, singing bowls, and any other touristy thing you may want.  We went to the Buddha Stupa Restaurant where I had some more momo and we had a great view of the stupa and all the action in the square.  After doing some souvenir shopping for friends, we grabbed our bags, were given a khata by the hotel staff, a Tibetan tradition, and we braved our next taxi to Hotel Shambala.

Hotel Shambala was nice and new and had a roof top infinity pool overlooking the city, but in hindsight we would have rather stayed at Hotel Tibet International or stayed at Kathmandu Guest House in the center of Thamel as we were constantly going back and forth.  We tried to find a restaurant for dinner but the streets were dark and we couldn't find anything open so we had to eat at the hotel restaurant, which was pretty blah and very overpriced.  We went to bed early this night as we were still worn out from the night before and the next morning we had scheduled a half day hike from Nagarkot to Changu Narayan.

The next morning we woke up at 6:45AM, got dressed for our hike, and headed down stairs to have breakfast and meet our guide. Our guide picked us up and we drove around an hour to a lookout above Nagarkot.  In theory, we were to see the Himalayas, but it was cloudy so we couldn't see them. We started our 20KM walk to Changu Narayan.  We walked through villages mainly on pedestrian paths made with rocks.  There were goats, chickens, cows, puppies, children, and barefoot old women along the way and everyone greeted us politely with hands clasped saying "namaste".  The majority of the walk was down-hill, except for the small mountain we had to climb.  Our guide was quick and we never stopped and took a break  I was walking too slow for the guide and Paul, but I wanted to enjoy the scenery and not just stare at the ground in order to walk and not fall on the uneven terrain.  It took us nearly 3 hours to get to the temple at Changu Narayan.  When we did arrive, what we found was a village destroyed, people desperate for tourists to support their economy, and the temple was closed.

 

Our guide then took us to Bhaktapur to look at more temples and get lunch.  By this time we were pretty tired from our power-walk down the mountain and there are just so many temples one can see in a day.  I was able to try Nepali Dhal Bat which was comforting after a morning of physical excursion and we ran into some Americans we had met at the airport which was a strange coincidence.  After another hour drive back where there was a traffic jam due to a cow refusing to get out of the street, we spent the rest of the afternoon in the infinity pool and then took a taxi back to Thamel for some amazing pizza at Fire and Ice Pizza.

Our final day in Kathmandu began by going to the Monkey Temple where we climbed many stairs and watched dozens of monkeys play.  In the early afternoon we met our British friends back in Thamel for the best momo of the trip. Sadly, I cannot remember the name of the restaurant.  We three girls shared three different types momo and Paul made the mistake of being different and ordered some questionable looking pork chow mein which would prove later to be the biggest mistake of the trip.   After lunch, we went and hung out with our new friends at Electric Pagoda, a very cool outdoor hookah bar.  I had a fruity drink called a Yak Attack and we shared a hookah and played games with our friends' kama sutra cards, giggling like teenagers as we made fun of the poses and body parts on them.

At some point at the Electric Pagoda Paul excused himself for quite some time.  When he returned he had a crazed look in his eyes as if something traumatic had happened.  We were running late to get back to our hotel to grab our bags in order to get to the airport on time. We quickly said goodbye to our friends who we would see a bit later as they were on the same flight as us back to Dubai.  It was raining and we were having a difficult time getting a cab in the narrow alley streets of Thamel.  Once we reached our hotel, we got our bags and went back outside in the rain to get another taxi to go to the airport.  I put my backpack in the taxi and reached for Paul's to pull it into the tiny clown sized car.  All of a sudden Paul looked at me and said, "Emergency" and ran back inside the hotel while the taxi driver and I sat in the taxi completely perplexed.  A few minutes later Paul returned to the taxi wearing basketball shorts and obviously no underpants.  He sat down in the taxi, looked at me suspiciously and said, "I have a story to tell you".

I will save you the completely graphic details that Paul shared with me, but from his horrific and hilarious recounting of the events leading up to the taxi incident, I would recommend the following when traveling abroad:
 1.  Never eat something that looks a bit off
 2.  Always carry toilet paper
 3.  Do not trust a fart if your stomach is feeling weird
 4.  Pack your underwear on the top of your bag and not the bottom, so if you do have to change your pants, you do not have to free-ball it in basketball shorts all the way to Dubai.

Even with the dramatic events that happened at the end of the trip, I would say that this trip was nearly perfect and the ending was so funny that it made it just that much better.

Things That Make Me Vomit

Those of you who know me well know that I have an extremely weak stomach and a very sensitive gag reflex to disgusting situations. The following is a list of things that have or will make me vomit:

1.  Loogies. If I see a loogie abandoned on the street, if I see someone spit a loogie in front of me or if someone holds me down and pretends that they are going to spit a loogie in my face.  Once I hear that hocking noise, I am a goner and I will instantly throw up.

2. Dog poop.  There have been at least three times when I have had to not only pick up my dog's poo but I have also had to clean up my own vomit from gagging at the sight and smell of dog poop.

3. A Hair in my food.  You know what is worst than finding a long black hair (or ugh a short twisty black hair) in your food?  Explaining to the waiter that you need something to clean up your own vomit on top of said food.

4. Human feces all over the toilet seat, wall, and sink.  This one goes out to Jason Wooden who knowing how weak my stomach is thought it would be hilarious to "show me something".  What he showed me was the after effects of a 70 year old drunk man with explosive diarrhea.  I can still hear Jason's malevolent laughter trailing behind me as I raced down the hall in that Japanese poop hostel to find another bathroom in order to vomit.

5. Watching old people eat or little babies eat.  I know this one is sort of cruel, but bleh.

6. Being trapped with a really stinky fart.  This actually happened last night after returning home from a late night.  Lying in bed, I was convinced that the person lying next me had died a week ago as that could be the only cause of such a putrid stench.  There is nothing like projective vomiting at 4:00AM because of man-gas.

7. Butt Chugs.  Most of you are not lucky enough to have had the opportunity to witness a butt chug as you are not members of the elitist international running club that I am part of.  One of the optional activities in one charter of this club is to drink a beer that is being dripped off someone else's butt crack.  Yes, I know this is vile and thinking of it is making me gag in this chair. I myself have never agreed to do this act, but I have seen so many...and there are some things that cannot be unseen.... Oh god.  Hold on, I will be right back.

3 minutes later after ridding myself of my breakfast, orally, I have returned to finish this blog.

8. Kissing someone who has eaten raw onions.  Nothing says romance more like gagging and dry heaving during what is supposed to be a moment.

9. Seeing or hearing other people vomit.  If the other vomiter also suffers from this empathetic vomiting, this cycle could go on for quite awhile.  I am reminded of the time, my darling little baby cousin got car sick on HWY 17 on our way to Santa Cruz.  She vomited in a left over food container, then I vomited into the food container, then my aunt nearly crashed the car to pull over to kick us out of the car and we both vomited together laughing at the weirdness of the situation between spews.

10. Milk.

11. Bali.

12. Hangovers.

13.Stress.

14. Laughing Too Hard.

15. Crying Too Hard.

16. Fear.

17. Over exerting myself.

18. Turbulence while Flying.

19. Rollerskating.

20. Peeps.

21. The mix of some people's shampoo and perfume.

22. Being in the bathroom with someone while they poop. 

23. The smell on the flight from Dubai to Saudi.

24. When someone doesn't use food storage containers in their fridge and/or when there is moldy food in food storage containers in the fridge.

25. Thinking about how time travel works.

26. That one time Joanie's brother ate tuna out of a can.

27. The one time I ate a handful of Mike and Ikes candy and it was covered in ants.

28. The one time I accidentally used someone else's used toilet paper because I didn't understand that in some cultures they stack in nicely on the floor instead of flushing it.  (In my defense, I was slightly intoxicated, really had to go,  and there was no TP)

29. Meth mouth.

30. Dead Things.

* Honorable Mention goes out to the hash trail that went through 2KM of pig poo river where there were dad cats floating every hundred or so feet. 

It Souks not getting KFC

A few days ago at ladies' lunch on the compound, two nice women who live here invited me to join them to go on the ladies' bus to the Souk today.  Every Wednesday at 900AM there is a bus that will take the women from the Nassim Compound to the Mall or the Souk for a few hours of shopping.  I was under the impression that only my husband could take me shopping which was not the optimal situation, since I want to browse and investigate all of the items and my husband, being a man, just wants to get the experience over with as quick as possible.

The bus meets everyone at the CF (central facility) on the compound.  I got there 30 minutes early in order to feel out the situation.  The CF is about a ten minute walk from our villa, so I had packed my abaya in my bag to walk down there thinking everyone else would do the same.  However, they all showed up wearing theirs and most of them were wearing veils or scarves covering their hair.  In fact, only 4 of us did not cover our hair out of the 13 women on the bus.  I quickly wiggled myself into the potato sack that is my abaya and went to meet the rest of the women. Some of the women had on sparkly abayas, some had on ones with slits on the side, some had on shorter ones where their ankles shown, and one woman had on floral pattern one that was awesome.  I definitely need to get a more jazzy abaya and hem the ones I currently have because I am constantly tripping all over them.

On the bus, the majority of the women were Filipina.  There were four Americans, a south African, and a Venezuelan. There was also one man on the bus who I felt sorry for because he had to endure all of the squawking and chatter of 13 women who were very excited about the big activity of the week.  In Saudi Arabia, we as women cannot drive or go anywhere for the most part without our husbands.  To be able to go shopping for a few hours a week with other women is the most freedom we get outside of the compound walls.  The trip to the Souk was not long and the bus driver told us to be back by noon and set us free.

A Souk, Suk, or Souq (choose your spelling preference) is an open air market or bazaar typically found in arab countries according to webster's dictionary.  When you go as a woman, you buddy up or get in groups. My group was with two American women and one of them, like me, did not cover her hair.  We went to a pharmacy, to a spice and tea store (I still have not found saffran), a bunch of gold stores where the women I were with haggled and bartered and got amazing deals, and fabric stores with the most beautiful and gaudy fabric I have ever seen.

I do not know if it is because I do not cover my hair, or if it is because I am nearly six feet tall, or if it is because I am obviously not from here, but I have never been stared at the way that people stare at me here.  The third country nationals (people from India, Pakistan, etc.) glare at me intensely as if they want to keep my head as a token in their freezer.  The Saudi women seem to have mix feelings about me, some mean eye me through their veils while others (typically the younger women) will walk up to me, say hello in English, and then smile and walk away. Saudi men seem indifferent to me which is a nice relief. Rarely will you encounter a Saudi actually working in an establishment.  The store clerks and always the restaurant staff are always third country nationals.  I have seen Saudis working at jewelry stores, in administration roles at hospitals, and today there were some Saudi women in the lingerie store and bodyshop in the mall.

The scariest part of the day was not any encounter with any one person.  In fact, for the most part I found shopping in the Souk like shopping in any other foreign country I have been in, just maybe a bit dirtier and with lots of women in black all over the place. The most frightening aspect of the day was crossing the streets.  There are no traffic laws that are obeyed in Saudi. People drive fast, switch lanes, don't drive in a designated lane, stop when they want, go when they want, let 7 year-olds drive, don't pay attention, don't stop at lights...it is complete chaos.  However, to really get your shopping on, you have to cross the streets.

Basically, what you do is jump in front of the first car and hope it stops and then proceed to play Frogger with yourself to cross the additional 3-6 lanes.  I thought I might throw up after crossing the street to the mall, and for the next hour all I could think about was that we were going to have to do it again.  I hear ex-pats talk daily about seeing people run over who didn't quite make it across the street here, and it doesn't help to be wearing a long black dress that is impossible to be stealthy in.  I am just glad I was wearing tennis shoes today.

As it approached noon, we had to cross the death street again and returned to the bus.  There was some confusion about the pick-up location and then the bus driver drove to KFC where all of the Filipina women were with buckets and buckets of chicken.  By this point, I was starving and despite that I never eat KFC, it smelled so good and it was the only thing remotely American I have seen since I have been here.  I sat there pouting in my Abaya in the back of the bus wishing I had got the KFC memo. I was comforted by the thought that I could get some if I really wanted to in two weeks, when the bus would return again to the Souk.

Once the bus comes back to the compound, the bus driver drives everyone to their apartments or villas so they do not have to carry their bags which is really convenient especially if you have 4 bags of KFC like some of the women.

Next week the bus will go to the Oasis Mall and the Panda.  It is the little things here that you have to appreciate and have to look forward to. 

Confessions of a Feral Dirt Child

Several weeks ago after our second bottle of wine, my sister Tiffini and I were having an emotional heart to heart while watching Katy Perry videos on YouTube. My sister and I have become very close now that we are in our 30s, but when we were children both of my sisters pretty much ignored me as soon as they got into those hormonal tween years.  Gulping my last sip of jammy pinot noir, with Katy Perry's Roar in the background, I mustered up the courage and asked Tiffini, "Why didn't you guys play with me when we were kids?".  Her answer was blunt but painful,  "Well.....honestly, you were kind of a feral dirt child". 

In hindsight, I guess I was expecting some sort of guilt-laden answer in which my older sister begged my forgiveness for not teaching me how to french-braid my hair and shave my legs, and then we would finish off another bottle of wine, watch more Katy Perry videos, and she would finally teach me how to french-braid my hair. Her actual response though was like being shown a mirror and for the first time noticing a huge disfigurement and thinking, "oh my god, how have I never noticed that?!".  All these years, I had envisioned myself as this adorable little nature loving princess not a filthy Mowgli-esque creature, eating with my hands, climbing trees, and making friends with half-dead, baby jack rabbits the cats would bring in.

Memories are merely impressions of the truth, so I figured I need substantial evidence to prove that I was, in fact, a feral dirt child.  I have found that pictures lie less than people, so while visiting my family back home in Magalia, I went through the album marked "Turner Girls".  In my high school and college pictures, I was a bit grunge and sometimes thrown together (aka hungover), but not dirty.  In my middle school photos I was awkward and had that typical adolescent struggling with puberty look, but looked clean enough.  Then I found the ones from the years between ages 5 and 10 and there was definitely some truth to Tiffini's theory.

There I was-- matted hair; always somehow covered in dirt.  Many times in the photos, I wore a large grin, proudly displaying or cuddling a random cat or dog who unbeknownst to the that smiling girl would inevitably come to some horrendous death --coyote massacres, heart worm, internal bleeding; car tires. Some of the pictures were family group photos and, to be honest, it was difficult in these to decipher if I was feral or if like the rest of the people in the photo, I was just an 80s fashion victim.

Looking at these pictures, a thousand memories came to me that I had long forgotten.  My trusty generic Swiss Army knife that I would use to cut branches and boxes in order to build non-necessary shelters for myself and my stray animals in the desert mountainside. My walking stick/horse that I affectionately called Trigger and would ride all over my grandparents' property leaving long snake-like trails in the dirt behind me.  The notebook my father gave me when I was six years old with koalas and kangaroos wearing safari clothes on the cover in which I would write nature poems and sketch animal tracks.  Finding a puppy at the dump (why a child was playing at a dump, I will never know) and bringing her home and naming her April and my grandparents keeping her until she died 14 years later.  My dad building me a tree house in a pinion pine tree by putting a pallet in a tree and making me a rope swing. I would spend hours upon hours in that tree playing make-believe until dinner time and my grandmother would then try to get the sap out of my hair, giving up and just cutting off chunks of sticky hair. The horror of finding out I had pin-worms that I probably caught from picking my nose and eating it after handling all of those wild and stray animals and the delicious bubble-gum flavored medicine I was given to kill the parasites. I remembered reading books in trees, on smooth rocks by rivers, and under my California Raisin blanket with a flashlight. Hot summer days lying on the cool grass in front of my grandmother's house with four little kittens crawling all over me, mewing and purring while I drew pictures of clouds and mythical creatures with my set of Crayola 64 colored markers.  Catching my very first trout in the Walker River, naming it Henry and being so proud to get to eat it. Feeding horses and cattle at the farm kids' houses and the sweet smell of rain on hay bales when out of nowhere dark clouds would roll in, raining for just enough time to cool us so we could keep playing in the autumn heat .  I remembered sleepovers with my best friend on her trampoline under the stars and the nights where the moon was full, believing that the reason the snow-capped peaks were glowing was because of magic, not moonlight, and making wish after wish until we both fell asleep hoping when we woke up we would have everything we ever dreamed of.

I had dirt under my finger-nails, and only bathed when my mother or grandmother forced me to, me insisting that all of my My Little Ponies join me in the bath tub. All my clothes became play-clothes with grass stains on the knees and permanent red dirt on the butt.  I never brushed my stringy blonde hair or allowed it to be put in a pony tail except for on picture day, and even then I look a little disheveled.  I stole items from my sisters' room, leaving smudge marks all over everything and hid their precious treasures in the sagebrush, making them arbitrary treasure maps to find their items and always forgetting where I actually hid them. I memorized creepy poems about the men dying in the Yukon and became obsessed with saloon girls and bordellos. My favorite outing was getting to go to ghost town graveyards so I could do charcoal rubbings of the prostitutes' and outlaw grave-stones. I was a little stinky and quite a bit odd.   I was indeed everything Tiffini claimed--this feral dirt child running a muck in the Sierra Nevada mountains.

These past few weeks since this realization was made, I have struggled to imagine what my childhood would have been like if I was not the way I was--if I had been less of a weirdo and more like the other kids and my sisters.  Would I have been a happier kid, had more friends, been less shy? Perhaps my sisters would have played with me more, but most likely they wouldn't have because I would have still been a bratty little sister and they still narcissistic teens. From the pictures, this little girl with her face covered in dirt wearing a ripped t-shirt and cuddling kitties is happier than she ever was when she worried what people thought of her.  Her hair was messy, but she was always ready for adventure, believed she could do or be anything; didn't judge people or feel jealousy, shame, or regret. In a way, she was the best version of myself.

Other than the booger eating and accidentally losing Tiffini's two 1901 silver dollars on a failed treasure hunt, I do not regret being that feral dirt child. I think in times of need, it is that feral dirt child who has been the decision maker in my less traditional and more courageous life choices. I can only hope she comes around from time to time to help me travel the world, make friends without judgment, get dirty for fun, and keep me always just a little bit weird.