A Day in the Desert

The weather has been beautiful this week. Absolutely gorgeous. It is so great, that no one wants to stay indoors. This is a rare - almost never - feeling in Kuwait. We get maybe 20 days a year that make people want to run outside, and I swear, nineteen of those days land on work days - sunny days where I sit at my desk or stare out my classroom door and dream of a game of beach volleyball, just to finally have Saturday roll around and the whole city be enveloped in a sand storm. That is the springtime norm in Kuwait, five nice weekdays followed by an overcast, sandy weekend.

However, this Saturday, the mythical gorgeous weekend appeared and the whole of Kuwait raced outdoors.

On a beautiful Saturday in March, there are a surprising number of options for how to spend your day. You could BBQ on the beach, take a boat out to Kubbar, go visit the farmer’s market downtown, or even just hang out in the courtyard. However, we chose the best option of all, a desert day!

The country of Kuwait is 95% desert and therefore I was under the impression that finding some desert to play-in would be a simple 10-15 minute drive from our apartments. We did have some expectations, though, we wanted no people, no trash, and lots of sand dunes. This seemed like a simple wish – but in actuality it was difficult to find.

The deserts near the city are full of wind blown litter and electrical poles. They are also filled with canvas tents – hundreds of them, maybe even thousands. There is a culture in Kuwait of desert camping, of going off into the desert with just your family and finding your Bedouin roots. This is a cool idea but the reality is miles of canvas cities, with electricity and mini-water towers, situated one after another, mere steps from each other’s doorways.

This tent-filled, litter-covered desert was not the desert of our dreams and so we carried onward, toward the Iraq boarder. We passed the last buildings, the last highways, the last buses,  even the last camel caravan, until we started to see nothing, and then, before we could get excited, we saw something again.

Signs, huge signs, everywhere, stating: No trespassing. Military Installation. No photography. Big signs, little signs, red, yellow, blue – it seemed really clear we were headed into an area we were not supposed to visit, but we drove on.

 Now, before my bravery is spread throughout the interweb, I need to correct a misconception. I would have turned around. I would have turned around immediately. I would have never known the sheer number of signs and tanks and roadblocks and guard towers down the road because I would’ve flipped a U-turn at the first tiny red sign we saw.

But I was not driving, B was and he was following our friend Mace. And Mace is a true adventurer, a man of spirit and bravery and a man holding a Google map that clearly showed how cutting through this military installation would save us many, many minutes and miles. And so, with Mace at the wheel we drove on.

Pulling up to the guard tower we expected to meet some resistance. Off to one side was a desert army tank and all along the road were the numerous signs. A guard walked out in full military fatigues and glanced at our vehicles.

There wasn’t any way he could mistake us for military. The girls wore tank tops and ripped jeans. Our feet were propped up on the dashboard. The guys wore t-shirts and cargo shorts. Pop music was playing on the speakers. We were definitely not military. The guard looked again and waved us through. Clearly, the signs were overkill.

We cruised through the military installation. The desert stretched endlessly in both directions. There were no tents, no litter, and no electricity poles. It would have been the perfect place to play except for the signs. These were new signs, and they didn’t warn us that we were on a military installation, no, they warned us that we were on an active bombing site and that we should touch nothing. The signs were very clear - written in both English and Arabic with little drawings of explosions they made their point. We stayed on the road and then the sand track, hoping to find a place without bombs in which to spend our desert day.

Eventually, we came out the other side of the military installation. The desert was vast and empty. We began off-roading. Mace’s truck was much sturdier than ours and he climbed dunes rapidly, coasting down them casually, while we listened to his passengers’ cheers echo across the desert. We stuck more to the track, occasionally climbing a small dune and getting a rush when our jeep landed on the hard sand again. After a few hours of this, we were ready for a break and found a nice desert berm to picnic near.

Mace had brought an instagrill, a common contraption Kuwaitis use when BBQ-ing on the beach. We had also stopped and bought kebabs. The kebabs were simply labeled “butter and garlic” and were a bright green color. As we tossed them on the grill, we all took bets on what type of meat they might be. The girls were pretty sure they’d be chicken; Mace thought beef and B was starting to be concerned they might be a form of vegetable. Upon biting into one though, we all realized we’d missed the obvious choice – they were lamb.

 After a picnic lunch of lamb kebabs, pistachios, grapes and water, we were ready for our final adventure: magic carpet rides.

Mace had recently watched a YouTube video of some girls in abayas riding a carpet through the desert. He had thought this would be fun and so had decided to recreate it. The night before he had bolted a small carpet to a PCV pipe. He then ran a towrope through the pipe and attached it to his back bumper. One by one we climbed on while he pulled us behind his Pajero and through the soft sand. Watching the rider it looked slow, almost comically so, but when you climbed on the carpet yourself, it really did feel like you were flying. Racing over the sand, the camel dung and the random blocks of concrete that occasionally appeared, you were torn between joy at a carefree afternoon and fear that if you rolled off the carpet you might rip your face off.

We all rode the carpet successfully and no lasting injuries were sustained. In fact, we all felt so capable we agreed that on a future weekend we might have to take the carpet down some dunes. But that was a future plan. For now, we simply packed up our picnic and drove off. Back through the military installation, back across the minefield, and, eventually, back to the city, the buildings, and the people.

The Ruins of Jerash (Jordan, Part II)

If you ever get a chance to visit Jordan, I definitely recommend you rent a car and drive. The country is beautiful and full of so much history. Also, car rentals are insanely cheap -$25-dollars-a-day-cheap – awesome, right?

I also recommend you get a GPS, as there aren’t always signs indicating proper directions for cities and landmarks. However, I will warn you that your GPS will be wrong as often as it is right, if not more so.

Our GPS would often point us in the right direction but eventually lead us to a dirt track in the middle of desert. Now, had we rented a 4-wheel drive truck, this wouldn’t have been a problem, but out tiniest-car-on-earth, just couldn’t hack it. At this point we would have to turn around, curse at the GPS, fiddle with the directions and eventually find out, that although we were only 30 minutes from our destination, we would need to backtrack 2 hours to get there. Needless to say, we developed a very strong, very confusing, love-hate relationship with our GPS.

That first day though, we still had absolute faith in her. And as we cruised down the highway, all we could do was gush about our GPS and her perfect directions. Once we had finally escaped Amman traffic, the drive was smooth. We sailed down the highway heading to the ancient ruins in the city of Jerash.

Jerash is a city located in Northern Jordan. Although it is a modern city, it is a huge tourist attraction due to the ancient ruins located within the city limits. These ruins date back to the rule of the Romans and are some of the best-preserved ruins in the world. More amazing is the lack of rules regarding the ruins. Although, it is clear that the government has carefully maintained them, guests are welcome to climb on the ruins, touch the ruins and crawl through the ruins. It was such a rush to know that the buildings around us had stood for close to 1000 years.

As we walked among the structures, we read about what each portion had been used for and why it was important. My mind struggled to imagine chariot races and festivals being held on these very grounds. The history that I read about and teach about was all around us – it was unbelievable.

As we reached the amphitheater, a local man approached us and offered to take our picture. This was a common offer throughout the day, and although I had declined numerous times before, I suddenly decided to go for it.

I handed him my camera and he immediately took over instructing us. We had expected him to gesture to us to stand there and then he would take one or two photos, but he had something else in mind entirely.

He began by directing us to stand above the amphitheater so he could take a shot with it in the background. He became very agitated when he realized I didn’t have zoom and began mumbling under his breath. He took a few photos and then stepped away. I reached for my camera and he shook his head. Instead, he told B to sit down and then placed me in B’s lap. Next he wrapped B’s arms around me. Both of us were so caught off guard we just followed his directions, laughing awkwardly. Next, he had us stand in an archway and again he wrapped B’s arms around me. By now, we had both begun to feel like we were at prom getting our photos taken. The poses were so uncomfortable and feigned. As he began to move to a different structure, I ran up to him and assured him that those photos were more than enough. I praised his professionalism and gave him a tip. I then took my camera and jogged back to B, trying not to break down and laugh until we were out of earshot.

Once we reached the car, I turned on the camera to review the photos. They were terrible. The settings were all wrong and we were either too dark or too light or too silly. In the end though it wasn’t the photos that made the day, it was the memory. And for the rest of the trip we always debated taking every photo in awkward-prom-pose, but thankfully it didn’t happen.

Escaping Amman (Jordan, Part I)

We arrived in Jordan late at night. We had reserved a car ahead of time but approached the rental desk with trepidation, since B had spent the last 45 minutes of the flight reading terrible reviews of this dealer.

Luckily, the man behind the counter seemed helpful and knowledgeable. He walked us out to the tiniest car we had ever seen. I was excited. It would be easy to maneuver and easy to park. B was worried that his legs wouldn’t fit. The car was quite dirty and when we started it up the gas tank was almost empty. The counter guy assured us that this was how all rentals worked in Jordan - just return it the same way. We shrugged and drove off.

As we raced down the highway toward Amman, we marveled at how cold it was outside. There were piles of snow everywhere. This would have been exciting, but we were currently experiencing the cold firsthand. We had come to realize that the heater in our car didn’t work. Fifteen minutes into the drive we were both shivering and by the time we reached the hotel, we knew we had to call the rental place and swap cars.

Our hotel was very friendly and quite run-down. A large group of men were yelling and drinking in the bar to our left and, as luck would have it, our room was right above that bar. Following the motto, ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’, we decided to head downstairs and have some drinks.

We were both excited for the chance to order alcohol - living in a dry country, makes every bar an amazing place. B ordered a local beer called Philadelphia. We joked about this ‘American’ name, but later learned that Amman was known as Philadelphia when it was under Greek rule. Whoops. I ordered a local wine. Neither of us was very impressed with our drinks and for the remainder of the trip we stuck to foreign wine and beer. I guess we have become a bit of snobs when it comes to our drinks.

The following morning we set out to find the closest rental place. A quick internet search revealed a branch just 5 kilometers away. Perfect. We would head there, get a new car and then get out of town. We loaded our bags, accepted some last minute tips from our hosts and headed down the street - except there was nowhere to go. Every street was jam-packed. No matter where we turned, traffic was stopped. In the end, it took us an hour and half to travel 6 kilometers. We had to laugh, and shake it off, what else was there to do.

The car exchange was easy - same car, different color - and we decided to rent a GPS for the next 10 days since we were finding Jordan very difficult to navigate. The new car had even less gas than our previous car, so, although we were both anxious to get out of Amman, our first order of business was to find a gas station.

Using the GPS it only took us only 12 wrong turns to get to a station.  We were both desperate to pee, but the station had only one restroom and only men were welcome to use it. While B was relieving himself, I was asked by the attendant to pay for the gas. In Kuwait, this is never an issue, as everyone speaks at least some English. But this attendant spoke none. I glanced at the total and tried to surreptitiously pull that amount of cash from the giant roll of bills in my purse.  I handed the attendant the money and he began to shake his head and gesture wildly. I had no idea what was wrong.

I pulled out more money – a mistake, I know – and gestured to it, trying to ask how much more he needed. He grabbed double the amount on the machine. I started to argue. He walked away. I didn’t know what to do. B appeared at this moment, I quickly explained (he just shook his head when I got to the part about pulling cash out) and he went to try to reason with the attendant. The attendant acted like he had no idea why I was upset.

It was at this moment that a stranger appeared. In every travel adventure, I am saved by the kindness of strangers - they are some of my favorite people. The stranger asked us what was wrong and then translated to the attendant. Basically, the attendant was swearing that he had filled up our tank halfway, accidentally erased the total, then continued to fill it and that is why he needed double. The stranger added that the attendants “were all thieves” and I should watch them at all times. I sighed. I hadn’t been watching at all.

In the end, we decided to just leave it. As is often the case, the attendant definitely needed the money more than me and I had been reminded of an important lesson. Only show the money you are willing to spend, not all the money you have. xo.

Yachting Like A Rock-Star

I partied like a rock-star on a yacht this weekend. Like-a-rock-star!*

 

Our morning started off at the docks – where we boarded a dazzling yacht. We are talking full on, rapper-style, all-white yacht. We knew very few (or more like none) of the people along for the ride, but the group could easily be described as a fit, tan and gorgeous. As soon as we reached open sea, girls peeled off their cover-ups to show flat tummies and tight bottoms. The men were just as fun to look at – perfect six-packs, short, tight suits and covered in oil.

The trip to the island took a few hours and was exactly what I expected a yacht full of gorgeous people to be like. The DJ spun tracks, drinks flowed, the sun shone and I genuinely felt like I might be a rock star – or at least part of rock star’s entourage.

The island itself was not much to look at – less than a ¼ mile in length and covered with sand and shrubs, its great appeal is the fact that large groups of people gather there on the weekends to wear bikinis, dance and drink. Technically, this is illegal, but seems to (thus far) have been overlooked by the government.

As the day wrapped up, I looked around at the yachts floating on the bright blue sea, the beautiful people dancing in the sunset, and the many nationalities speaking a variety of languages and it took my breath away.

I love the idea that everywhere in the world there are groups of strangers coming together for a good time – fun, love, and sunshine really can unite everyone.

*And like a rock-star all place/people names have been redacted to protect the peace-loving, party people.