So I've been walking a lot lately, when the weather's right. I have this favorite little coffee shop right off of the compound, where the coffee is good and cheap and the service is always with a smile. I guess it's the years I spent in the States buying $6 venti mochas at Starbucks, but I always pay $1 for my $.50 double espresso. The couple that run the coffee shop are always happy to see me and would probably give me the coffee for free if I asked. I look forward to my daily jaunts to that little coffee shop, and I'll usually stay long enough to read a chapter or so in whatever book I happen to be reading at the time. As far as I know, that little cafe has no name, but the lady who runs it is always horrified when I order my coffee without milk. Oftentimes, she'll put the coffee in front of me and say, "pak qumesht," meaning she put a "little milk" in it anyway. I tried to get mad since I'm counting calories, but I have to love the cultural aspect of her doing exactly what she thinks I should have. She's kind of like a mother hen, clucking at me that I need milk to help me grow big and strong. Anyway, that's usually how I begin my walks.
I started this new fitness app called "Noom" that I use almost religiously. It has a built-in pedometer that measures my steps (as long as I have my phone with me) and challenges me to walk so many steps each day. My walks usually consist of me walking from our neighborhood to the Embassy and around it and back again. I always wave to the guards, and they always wave back encouragingly. I can't help but wonder if they think I'm a little "touched" because I just walk around in a circle and then head back toward home.
Then there are the long walks, the ones that take me across town to the various markets. I have always had a friend or my husband with me for these walks, because (so far) I've been to chicken to go it alone. Now, I want to stress that Tirana is a very safe place. There's absolutely nothing to worry about when you're a woman alone here. I feel safer here than I would ever feel walking alone in NOLA or Baton Rouge, and that's the truth.
One interesting cultural observation to make though is that the Albanians STARE at everyone. They don't miss a thing and think nothing of it at all. When I say they "stare," what I really mean is they absolutely gawk at everything. It's the funniest thing, especially to the majority of us who grew up with our mothers whispering loudly in our ears to, "Stop staring; it's rude!!!" My littlest guy is always asking me, "Mommy, why do the Albanians always look at us???" That said, your culture is your culture. I can't take offense to it, because we are but guests here.
Yesterday, the Embassy was closed for MLK Day, but the schools in Albania were open. My husband I took the liberty of a day "date" and decided to walk to Madrese Market, which is probably a mile or so from our house. The walk takes a good hour due to the condition of the roads and sidewalks and the large gaggles of girls who walk side-by-side without a care in the world. Along the way, we stopped at a cafe for a coffee and a crepe. After six months here, it's still amazing to me that two crepes and two coffees came to $4.20.
Our trip to Madrese Market had a purpose this time: My husband is building me at ottoman for the living room, and we needed to find supplies! Now, Madrese Market (I think that's how you spell it!) is a place where you can find almost anything--if you know where to look. It consists of hundreds of stores both along the street and inside what Americans would call a giant, covered flea market. I say, "flea market," but everything there is new. You can get everything from underwear and socks to tuxedos to slingshots under one roof. There are knock off purses, ties for $5 each, and row upon row of suits and sweaters.
The first stop was the section that sells fabric. We looked far and long for the perfect upholstery fabric and finally found a sample of one that we both loved. The woman told us that we should follow her to her "bigger" shop down the road so that she could get it for us and quoted us $7 per meter. After following her there, we were told that they were out of that particular model. Of course. We continued on our way and looked in various and sundry stores for something similar, often meeting shop owners who were only to happy to have us there, speaking in broken English and Albanian. Finally, we found a shop (booth would be a more accurate description) that had the exact same fabric we'd seen initially. They quoted us $10 per meter, and we agreed to the price. But, of course, the fabric wasn't there in the shop; so the shop owner's husband went off to the wholesaler to pick it up for us.
The next stop was the notions store, where one can find pretty much any kind of sewing supply imaginable EXCEPT for fabric. The hubby and I looked at literally hundreds of different kinds of upholstery buttons until we found the ones I couldn't live without. The prices are not to be believed; it's almost like getting something for free. I had my hubby look up the word for "needle;" and between that word, lots of hand gestures and the phrase "for making a chair," we were able to get a huge upholstery needle that he needs to do the tufting on the ottoman. Since I toy with bookbinding, I already have the thick, waxed linen thread that he needs to do the sewing. We did, however, come up empty-handed when I asked if the store carried staple guns, which are apparently called, "pistolettes." The shop keeper gave us jumbled instructions to a hardware and paint store a street over.
The paint store was great fun. I'm a huge fan of the "distressed" look on furniture, and I am not to be deterred when looking for something I want (not even by my husband, who hates asking questions). One big part of living overseas is not being afraid to ask questions, no matter how stupid you end up looking. The man working in the paint store found us the perfect shade of black paint for the wooden part of the ottoman, but his face took on a befuddled look when I asked if they had crackle paint. Ever resourceful, I used my smart phone to show him a picture of what I wanted; and his face lit up in recognition. "Oh, crakele paint! Yes, I have!" I immediately turned to my husband and did the "I told you so" dance. When I showed the shop keeper a picture of a staple gun, he said he didn't have it but that he could show us a place that did; so we took our fabric, buttons, and "crakele" paint and followed him out. Of course, he took us right back to the sewing store where we'd just been; so we explained that they didn't have one either and thanked him for his time.
The next stop was for the padding (the cushion stuffing). My goodness, how funny! The man with the padding was simply a man on the street corner with stacks of what looked like foam mattresses; so we asked him for the thickest one. He charged us $13 for it and tied it up with a piece of fabric. He seemed so pleased to get the money, as they all did. You never know if you're the only customer someone's gotten all day because they're all so darned appreciative of your business!
What we thought would be our final stop was another man on the side of the street selling sewing batting. He had it stacked up (or so we thought) about two meters high. We picked out the thickest one, and he told us that it was $4 per meter and then explained something else that we didn't understand. My husband stated that he needed five meters of the stuff, and off they went to unroll this endless amount of batting. Of course, he didn't have three separate stacks of batting tied up on top of each other; he'd been trying to tell us that the batting is two meters tall. When my husband realized his mistake, he changed the amount to two meters rather than five. That old man was so happy to have the business, and it must have taken the poor thing 15 minutes to unroll and cut our paltry two meters off. He tipped his hat and sent us on our way.
Now, obviously, by this time we were absolutely loaded down to the gills and still on foot. Thankfully, the temperature had dropped about 10 degrees; however, the sky was looking quite ominous. See, the winters here are the rainy season; but this winter hasn't been very "rainy" so far. For a country whose electricity comes from hydro power, the lack of rain has been a grave concern. We started the long trek home but happened by a hardware store. I dug out my trusty smartphone and showed the shop keeper the picture I had of a staple gun. He jumped up and handed us one and then began looking for staples. The total came to $16, and we started scrambling for change. We got to about $14.50; and he waved us off, just thrilled to have the business. I kept trying to explain that I knew I had enough coins in the bottom of my purse, but he was adamant: we had paid enough!
We ended up having to go the ATM anyway, though, because we decided to cab it home. The cabbie was also thrilled for the fare and helped us put our many bags into the trunk. He drove us all across town and charged us $5. I know it adds up, but this country is cheap!
After dropping our packages at home, we realized we needed to eat lunch; so we went to our favorite little restaurant that's right across the street from the compound and feasted on octopus and arugula, fish soup, and seafood risotto. Not ready for our day date to be over, we headed back into town to check out the Coin Building, a store that I'd never been in. Now, there, the prices are anything but cheap. All of the clothes are Armani and Guess and marked up exponentially; so all I left with was my pride. We did, however, get to finish off our day with two pints of beer for $3 total. Yes, I'd say our little walkabout was a great success!!!
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Friday, January 10, 2014
The Grocery Lottery
Grocery shopping in Albania is kind of like playing the lottery: You either win the jackpot or leave thinking about what you could have eaten if they'd only had (insert food product here). Today's shopping experience was a great example, because Carre Four actually had hamburger buns and sliced white bread for the boys! I swear I get an adrenaline rush when I find things like that. I had the same thing happen the few times I found cilantro and corn tortillas. My love affair with Latin food in well-known among my nearest and dearest, and I am always on the look out for the good stuff. The first time I found cilantro in the store, I could feel myself starting to salivate, no kidding. That said, everything here is seasonal and organic; so you never know what you're going to get (and for how long).
Today, for the first time in months, the store also had blueberries. My youngest son is a berry addict; so I went ahead and spent the 545 Lek ($5.45 about) for a cup of them. I'm sure my husband will be peeved, but I never do that! It's funny to live in a place where I've never seen an artichoke at the store but can find Pantene shampoo and Philadelphia cream cheese daily. Aside from beauty products, American products are all but unattainable on the local market; and, when you can find them, you can expect to pay double.
I do love it here, though. As I write this, I'm sitting outside in the gazebo on our compound--a little slice of 1950s-like Americana. My house looks out at the mountains, and there are little stores outside the front and back gates. Everyday foodstuffs are fresh and almost free, and I still get a little rush when the local grocer rings up my five bags of produce for about $8. Yeah, Albania's a class act.
Today, for the first time in months, the store also had blueberries. My youngest son is a berry addict; so I went ahead and spent the 545 Lek ($5.45 about) for a cup of them. I'm sure my husband will be peeved, but I never do that! It's funny to live in a place where I've never seen an artichoke at the store but can find Pantene shampoo and Philadelphia cream cheese daily. Aside from beauty products, American products are all but unattainable on the local market; and, when you can find them, you can expect to pay double.
I do love it here, though. As I write this, I'm sitting outside in the gazebo on our compound--a little slice of 1950s-like Americana. My house looks out at the mountains, and there are little stores outside the front and back gates. Everyday foodstuffs are fresh and almost free, and I still get a little rush when the local grocer rings up my five bags of produce for about $8. Yeah, Albania's a class act.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Stories of Foreign Service Life
I've written before about the quirky things that expats go through when moving around the world. It's not easy to adapt to and eventually adopt: foreign languages, customs, food, etc., while trying to remain quintessentially "American" at home. I know my little family has faced--and embraced--innumerable challenges during our three postings abroad; but I love the fact that we get to see how the world truly "works" in other places.
The truth is that no matter how long you spend in languages classes, no matter how much you research and ask about where you're going, and no matter how many classes you take on the local culture; it's always going to be a huge learning curve when you finally get there. I look back fondly on our first posting in Ecuador, because that was the largest learning curve I think I'll ever have to adjust to. Six months of Spanish and Area Studies classes in no way prepared me for what I experienced there. More than one person told me that "if the invitation says 7 PM, don't even think about showing up before 9 PM." Boy, was that ever the truth. I always showed up an hour before any of the guests did and took to stressing "tiempo Americano"--American time--whenever we had parties. Then there were the parties that lasted until the sun came up. We had more than one row with our neighbors over loud parties (I'm talking rattling walls) that lasted all night. There were no traffic laws that were actually enforced. People drove like maniacs, straddling lines or even putting three lines of traffic where there should only be two. I didn't drive for a year; but once I did, I owned it! Going back to the States was hard after Ecuador. My husband and I had to get re-acclimated to traffic laws, waiting in lines, topics of conversation... Then, of course, I had to get used to cleaning my own house again!
Canadian weather was something I never got used to, but I did learn to drive in the snow. That's really an accomplishment for a girl from South Louisiana! I'll admit that I did zero research on Canada before we got there, because I thought it'd be just like the United States. How embarrassed was I when one of my husband's Canadian colleagues was talking about Stephen Harper, and I had no idea that the man was the Prime Minister!!! I really put my foot in my mouth that time! But, like I said; there's always a learning curve.
I've heard so many stories from fellow Foreign Service families and expats all over the world, and I wanted to share some of them here. I won't give names or even places (unless the writers do), but those back home might like to hear the funny stories from afar! I'm simply going to copy and paste them below.
Our best story out of Barbados (and there were PLENTY) was signing up for our internet. You had to fax the application, at which point they told us they would send us a modem via DHL, and that would take 3-4 weeks. Keep in mind the island is TINY. When we asked if we could just come into the office to pick it up (they were walking distance down the road), they laughed and said they don't do it that way. Four weeks on the nose the modem showed up, and thankfully brought some of my sanity back with it.
Instead of handing cash to the service men to pay for repairs or service to our home we have to go to whatever bank they use (there are at least 6 local Thai banks) and make payment there and then bring back the receipt. Lots of account numbers floating around.
In the Czech Republic I am continually shot glances of horror and yelled at by little old ladies for not dressing my girls in enough clothing during the "winter" months. It will be 55 outside and I am expected to have them in full snowsuits, two hats, gloves, scarf and inside their stroller blankets. I have never figured out what they add when it actually gets cold here. And heaven forbid you undress them inside the buildings that are set at 80! We sweat a lot here
We're just about to leave and my husband has been pleading the internet service to send someone to collect our bill. We have been getting cable for two years and nobody's ever shown up to collect a dime. We don't even know much it's supposed to cost.
I was pulled over in the Philippines for making an illegal left hand turn. I tried to play the diplomat card as it often works but this time he wasn't budging. I gave him a sincere look and told him it promise I would never do it again. He then pulled out a pocket notebook and told me to "write my promise" and sign my name. I wrote down that I promise I would never turn illegally again and signed it. He read it over and sent me on my way. I kept my promise
I laugh remembering the special privileges we get sometimes. One time I has a persistent cough in Italy. My local doc made arrangements for me at the x-ray clinic, where you often have to wait weeks for an appointment. That same day I went to the clinic, told the receptionist my name. She went back, got some expediter guy who put me in the front of the (long!) paperwork line, then they brought me around to the examining rooms past walls filled with waiting patients and directly to the open machine. All the time calling me La Signora Della Consulata Americana. I felt like a queen for a day! (PS, x-ray in doc's office next morning)
In Botswana, the ladies at the grocery store checkouts refused to sell anything to you if there was no pricetag on it. They would refuse to even ask a manager about it. It was just: nope, ain't gonna happen. It was heartbreaking during those times when you're pretty sure you've discovered, for example, the very last box of graham crackers on the continent. With no price tag.
In Pakistan you HAD to pay bills in cash. Not credit card. I'd feel like a mobster carrying large paper bags full of stacks of money for large purchases!
Having blonde kids in the Middle East is incredibly entertaining too. We'd go to the sites to photograph ourselves with the relics, but it seemed that the locals would go to the sites and photograph themselves with our kids! When the kids were little, everyone wanted to touch their hair and kiss their cheeks too. And the folk all honestly love all kids. They really find joy in them and in sharing family photos with strangers. When we'd go out to dinner in Pakistan, the waiters would just hover at the table for the first sign of a wiggle or squeak from the baby (this was when it was a family post) and they'd swoop down and carry him off! I'd see them carry him all over the restaurant... we'd eventually get him back at the register on the way out.
Oh... and that briefing we all get about cultural sensitivities, not discussing inflammatory topics like religion, politics, or personal stuff like families? WE get that briefing... the locals do not. Most places I've been, Egypt in particular, EVERYBODY wants your opinion on all of this stuff and even if you aren't asking, they will TELL you how many kids you should have and how you should be looking for a husband/wife if you aren't married, and who did you vote for anyway?? And you better have photos to share when they pull theirs out (because they will!) .
My oldest daughter was born when we were in the Philippines, and was quite a hit with the locals. The staff at a restaurant printed up a little certificate with her name that said "Cutest Baby of The Day" when we took her out to lunch with us one day when she was about 9 months old. Another time a woman came up to us at the Mall of Asia and said, "He looks like Jesus" then touched the baby's foot and crossed herself. So weird on so many levels!
Our son was 13 months old when we moved to Italy. The first time we went out to dinner, one of the waiters grabbed him and paraded him around -- including disappearing into the kitchen for several minutes so the cooks could admire him, too.
In contrast to the Czech Republic, here in Norway everyone thinks babies sleep best for naps out in the fresh air (I think it's true in all of Scandinavia and Iceland). It has to be more than -15 celsius before anyone will think twice about not napping outside. Which leads to (I kid you not!) lines of prams outside restaurants and coffeehouses all with napping kiddos inside while Mom or Dad is inside! But they are all cozied up in wool and down and sleep like angels, so they must be on to something... I need to get a picture to document it!
A few weeks ago we were down at the Muttrah Corniche and one of the boys was being a jerk to his brothers and got sent back tot he car. We were not far away, in eye shot and certainly in hearing distance. We turned around around and realized problem child had become a minor tourist attraction. Blond kiddo leaning against the car sulking is apparently not something you see everyday around here. Poor thing.
Russians have very different ideas about medicine. One day while I was out of town, my husband came home to find our 3-year-old son bundled up in winter clothing inside the house, with the heat on, in July. He asked the nanny why and she said she was pretty sure our son had a urinary tract infection because he'd peed in his pants. Since I wasn't around she called our local part-time post doctor, who said this was the way to get rid of a UTI. Of course my son didn't actually have a UTI, but for the rest of the summer I couldn't convince the nanny to let my son wear sandals outside unless he had socks on, to prevent any future UTIs.
All of these stories are wonderful. We're loving Albania, but my best story so far happened tonight: I found a live slug in my take out salad. I may never eat again.
I can recall trying to set up a phone at our home in Italy. First of all, "store hours" are like stop signs over there. A mere suggestion. As we only had one vehicle at the time, I'd make arrangements to hitch a ride or bike into town and find that the although the sign SAID open 10-12 and 4-5 (wish I was kidding!), they had often already knocked off for the day by 11. When I finally DID get to talk to someone, I was informed that only my husband was allowed to open the account. Being a young, independent woman, this bothered me very much. All in all, it took us the better part of 8 weeks to get a phone hooked up. Good gravy! This was over 10 years ago though so maybe it has changed.
Another funny that I recall from Italy. My good friend had imported their GINORMOUS vehicle (a Denali as I recall). As the roads were very narrow, we often had to plan our routes carefully. We were going shopping one day in a new village and literally got stuck between two buildings on either side of the road. Stuck. Like knocked off the side mirrors, couldn't open our doors, had to crawl out the back of the vehicle. That was a hoot.
Brazil was a dream with kids. Almost every restaurant comes with a playground and lots of love from the wait staff. My daughter decided at our favorite Arabic place that she didn't want the usual hummus and pita. Before we knew it, she had 3 kinds of juice, a chocolate bar, and French fries. We didn't ask for any of it and weren't charged for any of it either. The owner ( who has 5 kids of his own) just wanted her to be happy. I'm so happy that my kids are so loved abroad. I feel compelled to warn them about crabby child hating adults in the US.
When I lived in Mauritius, I was informed that should I accidentally strike a pedestrian (roads were very narrow, no shoulder, so going through villages, there were many people on the roads) I should NOT stop, just continue to drive to the local police station as I would likely be mobbed and killed if I stopped. As a result, I used a taxi service every. single. day. Until one night, I was leaving a dinner party and was the only sober person so was asked to drive. I was mortified. I hit the round about gong the wrong way, I white knuckled the whole drive. Keep in mind that I had two drunk World Bank guys--one from Syria, one from France--both singing-- in the back seat and it was 3am. But I think I drove about 5mph through each village just in case. I only drove twice the ENTIRE time I lived there. LOL I didn't want to be mobbed and killed. My fear of driving around people has persisted in the years since.
I used to live in Indonesia. In Jakarta, people were generally used to foreigners (i.e. blondes) but outside of the capital and Bali, not so much. I was traveling in East Java at some temple sites when I was approached by a pregnant local woman who asked me to bless her baby. I stopped for a moment, not sure how to respond, then I placed one hand on her belly and rose my other hand to the sky and I hummed. I told her I wished her baby all the best and she thanked me profusely.
I also used to live in rural Japan and was asked by a friend to help her husband's band with the pronunciation of some Beatle's songs they would be singing at a wedding. At the first practice session, I kept trying to get them to pronounce the "r"s when they came upon the idea that I could sing those songs with them at the wedding - before they had even heard me sing. Believe me, no one in their right mind would ask me to be the front woman for their band! I am tone deaf. But there I was a few weeks later singing in a band at a wedding. I even have a video tape of it! I sometimes refer to my time in Japan as my "band years".
While in Tunis I was followed back to my car by two giggly cashiers, one very pregnant. They wanted the mama to be to look at my blue eyes so that her baby could have blue eyes. I got the feeling they didn't believe it would work, but wanted to give it a try just in case.
While in the UK, I was still in the Army, an NCO and female.. meaning I was a 'girl' from 'the colonies' to be teased mercilessly by my UK peers. Of course, being teased meant that I had friends, because they wouldn't tease people that they didn't like, but it was a challenge at times and very different from the more professional working environment I was used to. I had one civilian guy who used to call me 'sweetheart', 'love' and 'girlie', etc. instead of my name and rank... and it drove my command batty, but he only did it because he actually liked and respected me and we worked well together.
I was sent down TDY to Wales to work with a unit there, and there were only 3 of us Americans, against all of them... and I was still the only girl. I had to hold my own on the range, in a batting cage(!), and behind the wheel of whatever vehicle they could throw at me. I hit those darn baseballs, I hit every target with every weapon they handed me (I even shot skeet for the first time in my life), and while driving their tank was fun, it was driving the SUV with the left hand drive that I felt most proud of. They put me in the driver's seat... continuing to tease and try to get me worried about the cost of the thing. I rev'ed the engine and asked if they were ready? The one guy leered at me and said sure, and you're sure you know what you're doing, right? I looked him in the eye and answered truthfully.. 'Nope. I've never driven left hand standard before'... then before he could say anything else, I popped it into gear and took off. I upheld bragging rights for us American ladies very well, thank you! ... That evening, they bought me a pint at the pub instead of a half pint... That was an unforgettable cultural experience!
The truth is that no matter how long you spend in languages classes, no matter how much you research and ask about where you're going, and no matter how many classes you take on the local culture; it's always going to be a huge learning curve when you finally get there. I look back fondly on our first posting in Ecuador, because that was the largest learning curve I think I'll ever have to adjust to. Six months of Spanish and Area Studies classes in no way prepared me for what I experienced there. More than one person told me that "if the invitation says 7 PM, don't even think about showing up before 9 PM." Boy, was that ever the truth. I always showed up an hour before any of the guests did and took to stressing "tiempo Americano"--American time--whenever we had parties. Then there were the parties that lasted until the sun came up. We had more than one row with our neighbors over loud parties (I'm talking rattling walls) that lasted all night. There were no traffic laws that were actually enforced. People drove like maniacs, straddling lines or even putting three lines of traffic where there should only be two. I didn't drive for a year; but once I did, I owned it! Going back to the States was hard after Ecuador. My husband and I had to get re-acclimated to traffic laws, waiting in lines, topics of conversation... Then, of course, I had to get used to cleaning my own house again!
Canadian weather was something I never got used to, but I did learn to drive in the snow. That's really an accomplishment for a girl from South Louisiana! I'll admit that I did zero research on Canada before we got there, because I thought it'd be just like the United States. How embarrassed was I when one of my husband's Canadian colleagues was talking about Stephen Harper, and I had no idea that the man was the Prime Minister!!! I really put my foot in my mouth that time! But, like I said; there's always a learning curve.
I've heard so many stories from fellow Foreign Service families and expats all over the world, and I wanted to share some of them here. I won't give names or even places (unless the writers do), but those back home might like to hear the funny stories from afar! I'm simply going to copy and paste them below.
Our best story out of Barbados (and there were PLENTY) was signing up for our internet. You had to fax the application, at which point they told us they would send us a modem via DHL, and that would take 3-4 weeks. Keep in mind the island is TINY. When we asked if we could just come into the office to pick it up (they were walking distance down the road), they laughed and said they don't do it that way. Four weeks on the nose the modem showed up, and thankfully brought some of my sanity back with it.
Instead of handing cash to the service men to pay for repairs or service to our home we have to go to whatever bank they use (there are at least 6 local Thai banks) and make payment there and then bring back the receipt. Lots of account numbers floating around.
In the Czech Republic I am continually shot glances of horror and yelled at by little old ladies for not dressing my girls in enough clothing during the "winter" months. It will be 55 outside and I am expected to have them in full snowsuits, two hats, gloves, scarf and inside their stroller blankets. I have never figured out what they add when it actually gets cold here. And heaven forbid you undress them inside the buildings that are set at 80! We sweat a lot here
We're just about to leave and my husband has been pleading the internet service to send someone to collect our bill. We have been getting cable for two years and nobody's ever shown up to collect a dime. We don't even know much it's supposed to cost.
I was pulled over in the Philippines for making an illegal left hand turn. I tried to play the diplomat card as it often works but this time he wasn't budging. I gave him a sincere look and told him it promise I would never do it again. He then pulled out a pocket notebook and told me to "write my promise" and sign my name. I wrote down that I promise I would never turn illegally again and signed it. He read it over and sent me on my way. I kept my promise
I laugh remembering the special privileges we get sometimes. One time I has a persistent cough in Italy. My local doc made arrangements for me at the x-ray clinic, where you often have to wait weeks for an appointment. That same day I went to the clinic, told the receptionist my name. She went back, got some expediter guy who put me in the front of the (long!) paperwork line, then they brought me around to the examining rooms past walls filled with waiting patients and directly to the open machine. All the time calling me La Signora Della Consulata Americana. I felt like a queen for a day! (PS, x-ray in doc's office next morning)
In Botswana, the ladies at the grocery store checkouts refused to sell anything to you if there was no pricetag on it. They would refuse to even ask a manager about it. It was just: nope, ain't gonna happen. It was heartbreaking during those times when you're pretty sure you've discovered, for example, the very last box of graham crackers on the continent. With no price tag.
In Pakistan you HAD to pay bills in cash. Not credit card. I'd feel like a mobster carrying large paper bags full of stacks of money for large purchases!
Having blonde kids in the Middle East is incredibly entertaining too. We'd go to the sites to photograph ourselves with the relics, but it seemed that the locals would go to the sites and photograph themselves with our kids! When the kids were little, everyone wanted to touch their hair and kiss their cheeks too. And the folk all honestly love all kids. They really find joy in them and in sharing family photos with strangers. When we'd go out to dinner in Pakistan, the waiters would just hover at the table for the first sign of a wiggle or squeak from the baby (this was when it was a family post) and they'd swoop down and carry him off! I'd see them carry him all over the restaurant... we'd eventually get him back at the register on the way out.
Oh... and that briefing we all get about cultural sensitivities, not discussing inflammatory topics like religion, politics, or personal stuff like families? WE get that briefing... the locals do not. Most places I've been, Egypt in particular, EVERYBODY wants your opinion on all of this stuff and even if you aren't asking, they will TELL you how many kids you should have and how you should be looking for a husband/wife if you aren't married, and who did you vote for anyway?? And you better have photos to share when they pull theirs out (because they will!) .
My oldest daughter was born when we were in the Philippines, and was quite a hit with the locals. The staff at a restaurant printed up a little certificate with her name that said "Cutest Baby of The Day" when we took her out to lunch with us one day when she was about 9 months old. Another time a woman came up to us at the Mall of Asia and said, "He looks like Jesus" then touched the baby's foot and crossed herself. So weird on so many levels!
Our son was 13 months old when we moved to Italy. The first time we went out to dinner, one of the waiters grabbed him and paraded him around -- including disappearing into the kitchen for several minutes so the cooks could admire him, too.
In contrast to the Czech Republic, here in Norway everyone thinks babies sleep best for naps out in the fresh air (I think it's true in all of Scandinavia and Iceland). It has to be more than -15 celsius before anyone will think twice about not napping outside. Which leads to (I kid you not!) lines of prams outside restaurants and coffeehouses all with napping kiddos inside while Mom or Dad is inside! But they are all cozied up in wool and down and sleep like angels, so they must be on to something... I need to get a picture to document it!
A few weeks ago we were down at the Muttrah Corniche and one of the boys was being a jerk to his brothers and got sent back tot he car. We were not far away, in eye shot and certainly in hearing distance. We turned around around and realized problem child had become a minor tourist attraction. Blond kiddo leaning against the car sulking is apparently not something you see everyday around here. Poor thing.
Russians have very different ideas about medicine. One day while I was out of town, my husband came home to find our 3-year-old son bundled up in winter clothing inside the house, with the heat on, in July. He asked the nanny why and she said she was pretty sure our son had a urinary tract infection because he'd peed in his pants. Since I wasn't around she called our local part-time post doctor, who said this was the way to get rid of a UTI. Of course my son didn't actually have a UTI, but for the rest of the summer I couldn't convince the nanny to let my son wear sandals outside unless he had socks on, to prevent any future UTIs.
All of these stories are wonderful. We're loving Albania, but my best story so far happened tonight: I found a live slug in my take out salad. I may never eat again.
I can recall trying to set up a phone at our home in Italy. First of all, "store hours" are like stop signs over there. A mere suggestion. As we only had one vehicle at the time, I'd make arrangements to hitch a ride or bike into town and find that the although the sign SAID open 10-12 and 4-5 (wish I was kidding!), they had often already knocked off for the day by 11. When I finally DID get to talk to someone, I was informed that only my husband was allowed to open the account. Being a young, independent woman, this bothered me very much. All in all, it took us the better part of 8 weeks to get a phone hooked up. Good gravy! This was over 10 years ago though so maybe it has changed.
Another funny that I recall from Italy. My good friend had imported their GINORMOUS vehicle (a Denali as I recall). As the roads were very narrow, we often had to plan our routes carefully. We were going shopping one day in a new village and literally got stuck between two buildings on either side of the road. Stuck. Like knocked off the side mirrors, couldn't open our doors, had to crawl out the back of the vehicle. That was a hoot.
Brazil was a dream with kids. Almost every restaurant comes with a playground and lots of love from the wait staff. My daughter decided at our favorite Arabic place that she didn't want the usual hummus and pita. Before we knew it, she had 3 kinds of juice, a chocolate bar, and French fries. We didn't ask for any of it and weren't charged for any of it either. The owner ( who has 5 kids of his own) just wanted her to be happy. I'm so happy that my kids are so loved abroad. I feel compelled to warn them about crabby child hating adults in the US.
When I lived in Mauritius, I was informed that should I accidentally strike a pedestrian (roads were very narrow, no shoulder, so going through villages, there were many people on the roads) I should NOT stop, just continue to drive to the local police station as I would likely be mobbed and killed if I stopped. As a result, I used a taxi service every. single. day. Until one night, I was leaving a dinner party and was the only sober person so was asked to drive. I was mortified. I hit the round about gong the wrong way, I white knuckled the whole drive. Keep in mind that I had two drunk World Bank guys--one from Syria, one from France--both singing-- in the back seat and it was 3am. But I think I drove about 5mph through each village just in case. I only drove twice the ENTIRE time I lived there. LOL I didn't want to be mobbed and killed. My fear of driving around people has persisted in the years since.
I used to live in Indonesia. In Jakarta, people were generally used to foreigners (i.e. blondes) but outside of the capital and Bali, not so much. I was traveling in East Java at some temple sites when I was approached by a pregnant local woman who asked me to bless her baby. I stopped for a moment, not sure how to respond, then I placed one hand on her belly and rose my other hand to the sky and I hummed. I told her I wished her baby all the best and she thanked me profusely.
I also used to live in rural Japan and was asked by a friend to help her husband's band with the pronunciation of some Beatle's songs they would be singing at a wedding. At the first practice session, I kept trying to get them to pronounce the "r"s when they came upon the idea that I could sing those songs with them at the wedding - before they had even heard me sing. Believe me, no one in their right mind would ask me to be the front woman for their band! I am tone deaf. But there I was a few weeks later singing in a band at a wedding. I even have a video tape of it! I sometimes refer to my time in Japan as my "band years".
While in Tunis I was followed back to my car by two giggly cashiers, one very pregnant. They wanted the mama to be to look at my blue eyes so that her baby could have blue eyes. I got the feeling they didn't believe it would work, but wanted to give it a try just in case.
While in the UK, I was still in the Army, an NCO and female.. meaning I was a 'girl' from 'the colonies' to be teased mercilessly by my UK peers. Of course, being teased meant that I had friends, because they wouldn't tease people that they didn't like, but it was a challenge at times and very different from the more professional working environment I was used to. I had one civilian guy who used to call me 'sweetheart', 'love' and 'girlie', etc. instead of my name and rank... and it drove my command batty, but he only did it because he actually liked and respected me and we worked well together.
I was sent down TDY to Wales to work with a unit there, and there were only 3 of us Americans, against all of them... and I was still the only girl. I had to hold my own on the range, in a batting cage(!), and behind the wheel of whatever vehicle they could throw at me. I hit those darn baseballs, I hit every target with every weapon they handed me (I even shot skeet for the first time in my life), and while driving their tank was fun, it was driving the SUV with the left hand drive that I felt most proud of. They put me in the driver's seat... continuing to tease and try to get me worried about the cost of the thing. I rev'ed the engine and asked if they were ready? The one guy leered at me and said sure, and you're sure you know what you're doing, right? I looked him in the eye and answered truthfully.. 'Nope. I've never driven left hand standard before'... then before he could say anything else, I popped it into gear and took off. I upheld bragging rights for us American ladies very well, thank you! ... That evening, they bought me a pint at the pub instead of a half pint... That was an unforgettable cultural experience!
In Syria, my neighbor thought I was pregnant (I was not). She asked my husband if I was pregnant, and he was so embarrassed he just laughed it off, which she took as confirmation. Several months later she asked me when the baby was due. Much confusion ensued. When the dust had settled and we worked out that she'd been mistaken, she laughed and said, "So it isn't true what we say in Syria -- when a woman's ass if fat, she's having a baby..." We all laughed until we cried.
Nick happily took many a nap bundled up outside in Iceland. When we first arrived there, we couldn't fathom leaving our child outside in a stroller. By the time the LG arrived, I couldn't figure out why he wouldn't nap outside. We would take long walks, I'd return home and let him finish his nap bundled up outside in his stroller. He was nice and warm in everything from tights to blankets (loved those from du pareil au meme), and had the best naps in the nice cool air. Though he no longer needed tons of blankets, we continued the outdoor napping tradition when we moved to California. I'd go for long walks, he'd fall asleep and he'd sleep outside for a good hour or two with the white noise of the birds and wind keeping him sound asleep. Sadly, not sure I have any pictures....
At the end of our tour in Mongolia, the landlord of our housing complex invited us and a couple of other families to travel to her home village with her family about 200 miles from UB. We all took off and at the last town where the roads were paved and there was a proper gas station, her husband came up to us and asked how big our gas tank was. We told him, and he said "you may not have a enough gas to get there and back." At which point he jumped in his car and the convoy took off! I was a nervous wreck the entire weekend thinking we would be stranded out in the middle of Mongolia (we had to leave a day earlier than everyone else) with no language skills and no gas.
In the Dominican Republic, it is very common for stores to not have change. So, if you make a purchase with cash, your change may include 3 pieces of bubble gum, a newspaper, or whatever other random item is handy to the cashier.
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