Disclaimer: the following are the writings, ramblings, grammatical errorings, and observations of one educational intern (me) living overseas (Middle East) for a semester. Some are intended to incite laughter, others are meant to be informative and still some are intended to be completely random. All are written by me, mostly thought out, often contain specific details about weird things and are completely sincere. Feel free to leave comments and questions. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did writing.
Note from the Author: This will probably be one of the last entries in which I try to keep the events chronological.
One thing that I hope the reader can appreciate is that these first two or three days of our trip were much like a walk off home run in the World Series, a baby’s first steps, or a major tragedy (for some more than others it ABSOLUTELY felt like the latter). The events that occurred in our whirlwind first few days were so emotional, so ridiculous and so different that they are engrained in our minds as if they happened only yesterday.
Those who were in the stadium the night Joe Carter hit his famous homerun in 1993 could tell you every detail of the at bat. My father, for example, had shut off the television on a 2-1 count I think, maybe a 3-2 count... anyways it doesn’t matter. He turned off the television because he could not bear to watch, he was too nervous. By the time my mother convinced him to turn it back on the “World Champion” Toronto Blue Jays were celebrating and I don’t think mom has ever forgiven him for making her miss that home run.
I have no idea who that is and I don’t really like baseball you might say. Well then that entire analogy was lost on you, but just know that I used two minutes of your life to tell you that I am not going in chronological order anymore in the blog because quite honestly the rest of the opening days blur together. Most of the rest of the blog will be by themes of ideas I have been writing down and think would be fun to write about.
As the sole author and contributor to this blog I also reserve to the right to completely reverse this policy without so much as a nice note like this one. So, let’s pick up our story from where we left our hero shall we? Hello...? Anyone? Okay mom just me and you I guess... Anyways here goes!
***************************************
After a sticky walk home the bulk of us were left to kill time until the “bus” came to pick us up at around 2 or 3 in the afternoon. The “bus” was supposed to take us out to the local mall in order to get groceries and other household items that were all sorely needed.
Why does he keep putting quotes around the word “bus”!? It is because I am doing air quotes, but since you can’t see me do air quotes I have to use regular quotes... it’s sarcasm. I don’t know I am in a weird mood for this post just keep reading... seriously please keep reading.
I mentioned in a previous post that I was surprised we had to physically move in to these residences that are really just fancy dorm rooms. If this is the first entry you’re reading then WELCOME! Where the heck have ya been!? Anyways to catch you up we were not provided with basic domestic amenities that strange western people have in their big plastic sided houses. Things like soap (of the hand or bar variety), shampoo, garbage bin, laundry basket, iron and ironing board, groceries, hangars, towels, bath mats, dish racks, etc. had been left off the list of things we would need. Bars of soap wouldn’t be the last of the ‘bar’ family that we strangers found difficult to find in this wonderful new country. The goal of the shopping trip was to rectify some of these problems and then we would just ask for reimbursement later. This left me with my own personal dilemmas that we will get to in a bit, but first a quick recap.
If you are unsure of my role here in the country of Oman then it is probably because I have done a terrible job of explaining just what I AM doing here. Although this blog would serve as evidence to the contrary, I dislike talking about myself. Let me briefly recap why I am here.
I came to the beautiful country of Oman as an educational intern from the University of Lethbridge. I am in my third professional semester and thus I am required to begin the school year with a certain amount of responsibility and stay with the school in that role until what we know as the Christmas holiday break. I chose this location because of the unique experience of living overseas for a semester as well as the opportunity to experience Muslim culture, one that has long fascinated me, firsthand. I had a contact at the school and a close friend already locked into going himself. It seemed like a good fit for the semester. I can honestly say that no matter how loud the cricket was or how many frustrations we have at the school, I do not regret coming... at all. Oh good! Now you’re all caught up.
If you remember we were about to head out onto our first shopping tour. I remember locking my door thinking that how nice it was not to have a cricket interrupting my thoughts every three seconds. I hadn’t heard from Jiminy all day and hoped he had died, moved, or some combination of those two. I headed down stairs to meet the group and bus out front. One problem... there was no bus.
When we arrived the night before we were supposed to be picked up in a bus, but we had no bus. The group going for groceries was supposed to also be picked up by this bus, but again we had no bus. (As I was proofreading I realized I dropped the airquotes for bus starting in this paragraph... I didn’t change it because I liked the joke above. That is all the explanation you get... sorry.)
Already the story is starting to get hazy in my mind so teacher friends I apologize if this next part is incorrect. I am pretty sure that our favourite driver and his friend showed up with a Toyota SUV and a mini bus, like a 15 passenger van type thing. Now, when I was thinking “bus trip for house things” I was thinking like a Western style school bus that we could load up with things and be cool with one trip because there was a dozen or so of us and we would all be purchasing items. This did not appear to be the case and I was thinking it was gonna be a tight fit with all of our things to be purchased.
An SUV and a 15 passenger would be how we got around for the next week or so. It was either that or piling into a couple SUV’s, riding with one person in the very back trunk area and 5 across the back seat as if we were first years going out to Studio 54 on a Thursday night (shout out to Studio 54 Lethbridge veterans).
Crammed like excited sardines in a really hot new pond we set off on our first shopping adventure. Our first stop was the still unfinished school in order to score some Wi-Fi and then it would be off to the mall. We pulled up to the school and piled out into the hot, muggy afternoon.
Yes I said muggy. The humidity in this country continues to surprise me. But you’re in the Middle East! Humidity doesn’t exist there! You’re in the desert! I see it on the news every day! Yeah... not quite.
The humidity here is intense and it results in none of your clothes being dry... ever. I think it has something to do with how close to the ocean we are. It makes me appreciate the true purpose of an undershirt and it is my firm belief that we should bring any underage kid who calls it a “wife beater” and wears it as a shirt to this country and make them see the true purpose of this sweat sponge.
NOW what the hell is he ranting about? Why I thought you would never ask. Do you remember my travel companion/roommate/close friend who has been thrust into a leading role for most of these blog entries? Well he isn’t a big believer in undershirts, mostly (I think) because of the “wife beater” stereotype attached to them. Guess what happens when he steps outside and starts sweating his *EYYYAAHHHHH* off (that was the sound of a donkey... when you read the sentence make the sound of a donkey in your head, or out loud would be WAY funnier,... see what I did there?).
If you guessed that the sweat shows through the shirt and it looks like he stepped out of the shower and then just through his shirt on... you would be right! Guess what happens when I wear my undershirt and sweat my *EYYAAAAHHHHHH* off (did you get it that time?)? My “wife beater” functions correctly as an undershirt (ie: sweat sponge) and makes my outside shirt look fairly normal. For those of you that enjoy those weird little things about living in other places in the world (remember the light switch? That was fun) I present to you the true purpose of the “wife beater”. If you hated the light switch part of the original draft then you probably hated that part about undershirts too in which case I politely apologize, remind you that in the disclaimer I said I would rant and ramble and thanks for reading!
This is a lot of side stories even for me today. I promise I will try to keep us on track.
We get into the school and immediately pull out our various electronic devices, for me my iPad (shout out to my iPad purchaser/life saver). I can’t quite describe how hilarious it is to watch 12-18 highly educated individuals walking around with devices held up in the air. Suffice it to say it must have looked like we were trying to catch wireless with our phones and tablets as if they we were going after butterflies with a net. Once someone DOES catch some internet then we become like the kids you see in Timbits hockey where we huddle around the kid with the puck just hoping it bounces our way. Eventually one of the kids gets either bored or bold and moves away from the group. The puck (Wi-Fi) somehow always ends up where the cast off is and we begin the process anew.
I hope to write an entire blog post just on how desperate the Wi-Fi situation here can be sometimes, but suffice it to say most our relationships to Wi-Fi here are like that of a newborn to a breast. There are few hotspots that we are confident will be readily available and they have become sacred ground to us. Teachers at home in Canada sure as hell aren’t upset about getting kicked out of the school at 9 o’clock at night on the weekend.
After repeated failures at FaceTime (internet not strong enough), Skype (banned by Sultan apparently) and all those other fancy things, the majority of us manage to send messages home saying we arrived safe. I messaged my parents and Grandma, the only people I knew that if they didn’t hear from me in under a week would assume I was abducted and would be figuring out how to contact Liam Neeson (that was a Taken movie joke.)
We were forced to move on to the mall after about half an hour of suckling at the Wi-Fi. We pile into the vehicles and hit up the mall. (Another blog post I plan to write about is of the uniqueness of shopping in another country at a very Western looking mall, for now let’s keep moving).
The reason I made a point of reiterating that I was only here for a semester and was surprised at having to move in to these residences was that I am living on a strict budget. By budget I mean “always try to find the cheapest option possible and no luxury items.” Luxury’s like margarine, body wash, snacks and ‘fun’ juices are no go’s.. At the same time I didn’t want to buy things like shower rods and garbage cans when I wasn’t really living here, just sort of renting for a few months. I wasn’t being forced to pay for the actual rent or utilities so any of these extras I saw as unnecessary costs. I did buy 1 towel and 2 face cloths (they came as a package or I would have only bought one) because I am on a budget, not homeless. I skipped the shower rods and strainers because I felt those were luxuries I couldn’t afford and secretly hoped they would get provided for us eventually (I turned out to be kind of, sort of, half right.) Other’s bought mops, garbage cans, drying racks on top of all the groceries they purchased. All good items to buy when you are moving into a place, but I was sure we weren’t making it home in one go.
Somehow we loaded up the SUV to the top of the seats and the back of the 15 passenger was stuffed. Most of us sat with bags on our laps and prepared for the drive home. When we GOT home was when the real fun started as everyone’s groceries were in the same kinds of bags. We then had to try to remember where we put our own things and then divvied up the spoils from there. Thank goodness we did it that way because I am 5’8, prolly a buck sixty... I aint winning any fights over groceries. At least ALL if not more of the girls that came over with us are stronger than me, and I’m a baby to boot.
Anyways no harm done and it turned out to be a very successful trip. It was dark by the time we had gotten back and I had eaten at the mall so I wasn’t hungry. I took the stairs up to the fifth floor and as I walked out of the stairwell and approached my door I heard a sound that made me stop and chuckle...
*Chirp, Chirp*
That is correct ladies and gentlemen, Jiminy the floor cricket was awake, alive and well.
A day with this much excitement and laughter ended much the same way it started: me laying on my right side, fuming, ear plug in my right ear, iPod ear bud in the left.
*CHIRP, CHIRP* *CHIRP, CHIRP* *CHIRP, CHIRP*
“Stupid, Jiminy Floor Cricket”.
Note from the Author: This will probably be one of the last entries in which I try to keep the events chronological.
One thing that I hope the reader can appreciate is that these first two or three days of our trip were much like a walk off home run in the World Series, a baby’s first steps, or a major tragedy (for some more than others it ABSOLUTELY felt like the latter). The events that occurred in our whirlwind first few days were so emotional, so ridiculous and so different that they are engrained in our minds as if they happened only yesterday.
Those who were in the stadium the night Joe Carter hit his famous homerun in 1993 could tell you every detail of the at bat. My father, for example, had shut off the television on a 2-1 count I think, maybe a 3-2 count... anyways it doesn’t matter. He turned off the television because he could not bear to watch, he was too nervous. By the time my mother convinced him to turn it back on the “World Champion” Toronto Blue Jays were celebrating and I don’t think mom has ever forgiven him for making her miss that home run.
I have no idea who that is and I don’t really like baseball you might say. Well then that entire analogy was lost on you, but just know that I used two minutes of your life to tell you that I am not going in chronological order anymore in the blog because quite honestly the rest of the opening days blur together. Most of the rest of the blog will be by themes of ideas I have been writing down and think would be fun to write about.
As the sole author and contributor to this blog I also reserve to the right to completely reverse this policy without so much as a nice note like this one. So, let’s pick up our story from where we left our hero shall we? Hello...? Anyone? Okay mom just me and you I guess... Anyways here goes!
***************************************
After a sticky walk home the bulk of us were left to kill time until the “bus” came to pick us up at around 2 or 3 in the afternoon. The “bus” was supposed to take us out to the local mall in order to get groceries and other household items that were all sorely needed.
Why does he keep putting quotes around the word “bus”!? It is because I am doing air quotes, but since you can’t see me do air quotes I have to use regular quotes... it’s sarcasm. I don’t know I am in a weird mood for this post just keep reading... seriously please keep reading.
I mentioned in a previous post that I was surprised we had to physically move in to these residences that are really just fancy dorm rooms. If this is the first entry you’re reading then WELCOME! Where the heck have ya been!? Anyways to catch you up we were not provided with basic domestic amenities that strange western people have in their big plastic sided houses. Things like soap (of the hand or bar variety), shampoo, garbage bin, laundry basket, iron and ironing board, groceries, hangars, towels, bath mats, dish racks, etc. had been left off the list of things we would need. Bars of soap wouldn’t be the last of the ‘bar’ family that we strangers found difficult to find in this wonderful new country. The goal of the shopping trip was to rectify some of these problems and then we would just ask for reimbursement later. This left me with my own personal dilemmas that we will get to in a bit, but first a quick recap.
If you are unsure of my role here in the country of Oman then it is probably because I have done a terrible job of explaining just what I AM doing here. Although this blog would serve as evidence to the contrary, I dislike talking about myself. Let me briefly recap why I am here.
I came to the beautiful country of Oman as an educational intern from the University of Lethbridge. I am in my third professional semester and thus I am required to begin the school year with a certain amount of responsibility and stay with the school in that role until what we know as the Christmas holiday break. I chose this location because of the unique experience of living overseas for a semester as well as the opportunity to experience Muslim culture, one that has long fascinated me, firsthand. I had a contact at the school and a close friend already locked into going himself. It seemed like a good fit for the semester. I can honestly say that no matter how loud the cricket was or how many frustrations we have at the school, I do not regret coming... at all. Oh good! Now you’re all caught up.
If you remember we were about to head out onto our first shopping tour. I remember locking my door thinking that how nice it was not to have a cricket interrupting my thoughts every three seconds. I hadn’t heard from Jiminy all day and hoped he had died, moved, or some combination of those two. I headed down stairs to meet the group and bus out front. One problem... there was no bus.
When we arrived the night before we were supposed to be picked up in a bus, but we had no bus. The group going for groceries was supposed to also be picked up by this bus, but again we had no bus. (As I was proofreading I realized I dropped the airquotes for bus starting in this paragraph... I didn’t change it because I liked the joke above. That is all the explanation you get... sorry.)
Already the story is starting to get hazy in my mind so teacher friends I apologize if this next part is incorrect. I am pretty sure that our favourite driver and his friend showed up with a Toyota SUV and a mini bus, like a 15 passenger van type thing. Now, when I was thinking “bus trip for house things” I was thinking like a Western style school bus that we could load up with things and be cool with one trip because there was a dozen or so of us and we would all be purchasing items. This did not appear to be the case and I was thinking it was gonna be a tight fit with all of our things to be purchased.
An SUV and a 15 passenger would be how we got around for the next week or so. It was either that or piling into a couple SUV’s, riding with one person in the very back trunk area and 5 across the back seat as if we were first years going out to Studio 54 on a Thursday night (shout out to Studio 54 Lethbridge veterans).
Crammed like excited sardines in a really hot new pond we set off on our first shopping adventure. Our first stop was the still unfinished school in order to score some Wi-Fi and then it would be off to the mall. We pulled up to the school and piled out into the hot, muggy afternoon.
Yes I said muggy. The humidity in this country continues to surprise me. But you’re in the Middle East! Humidity doesn’t exist there! You’re in the desert! I see it on the news every day! Yeah... not quite.
The humidity here is intense and it results in none of your clothes being dry... ever. I think it has something to do with how close to the ocean we are. It makes me appreciate the true purpose of an undershirt and it is my firm belief that we should bring any underage kid who calls it a “wife beater” and wears it as a shirt to this country and make them see the true purpose of this sweat sponge.
NOW what the hell is he ranting about? Why I thought you would never ask. Do you remember my travel companion/roommate/close friend who has been thrust into a leading role for most of these blog entries? Well he isn’t a big believer in undershirts, mostly (I think) because of the “wife beater” stereotype attached to them. Guess what happens when he steps outside and starts sweating his *EYYYAAHHHHH* off (that was the sound of a donkey... when you read the sentence make the sound of a donkey in your head, or out loud would be WAY funnier,... see what I did there?).
If you guessed that the sweat shows through the shirt and it looks like he stepped out of the shower and then just through his shirt on... you would be right! Guess what happens when I wear my undershirt and sweat my *EYYAAAAHHHHHH* off (did you get it that time?)? My “wife beater” functions correctly as an undershirt (ie: sweat sponge) and makes my outside shirt look fairly normal. For those of you that enjoy those weird little things about living in other places in the world (remember the light switch? That was fun) I present to you the true purpose of the “wife beater”. If you hated the light switch part of the original draft then you probably hated that part about undershirts too in which case I politely apologize, remind you that in the disclaimer I said I would rant and ramble and thanks for reading!
This is a lot of side stories even for me today. I promise I will try to keep us on track.
We get into the school and immediately pull out our various electronic devices, for me my iPad (shout out to my iPad purchaser/life saver). I can’t quite describe how hilarious it is to watch 12-18 highly educated individuals walking around with devices held up in the air. Suffice it to say it must have looked like we were trying to catch wireless with our phones and tablets as if they we were going after butterflies with a net. Once someone DOES catch some internet then we become like the kids you see in Timbits hockey where we huddle around the kid with the puck just hoping it bounces our way. Eventually one of the kids gets either bored or bold and moves away from the group. The puck (Wi-Fi) somehow always ends up where the cast off is and we begin the process anew.
I hope to write an entire blog post just on how desperate the Wi-Fi situation here can be sometimes, but suffice it to say most our relationships to Wi-Fi here are like that of a newborn to a breast. There are few hotspots that we are confident will be readily available and they have become sacred ground to us. Teachers at home in Canada sure as hell aren’t upset about getting kicked out of the school at 9 o’clock at night on the weekend.
After repeated failures at FaceTime (internet not strong enough), Skype (banned by Sultan apparently) and all those other fancy things, the majority of us manage to send messages home saying we arrived safe. I messaged my parents and Grandma, the only people I knew that if they didn’t hear from me in under a week would assume I was abducted and would be figuring out how to contact Liam Neeson (that was a Taken movie joke.)
We were forced to move on to the mall after about half an hour of suckling at the Wi-Fi. We pile into the vehicles and hit up the mall. (Another blog post I plan to write about is of the uniqueness of shopping in another country at a very Western looking mall, for now let’s keep moving).
The reason I made a point of reiterating that I was only here for a semester and was surprised at having to move in to these residences was that I am living on a strict budget. By budget I mean “always try to find the cheapest option possible and no luxury items.” Luxury’s like margarine, body wash, snacks and ‘fun’ juices are no go’s.. At the same time I didn’t want to buy things like shower rods and garbage cans when I wasn’t really living here, just sort of renting for a few months. I wasn’t being forced to pay for the actual rent or utilities so any of these extras I saw as unnecessary costs. I did buy 1 towel and 2 face cloths (they came as a package or I would have only bought one) because I am on a budget, not homeless. I skipped the shower rods and strainers because I felt those were luxuries I couldn’t afford and secretly hoped they would get provided for us eventually (I turned out to be kind of, sort of, half right.) Other’s bought mops, garbage cans, drying racks on top of all the groceries they purchased. All good items to buy when you are moving into a place, but I was sure we weren’t making it home in one go.
Somehow we loaded up the SUV to the top of the seats and the back of the 15 passenger was stuffed. Most of us sat with bags on our laps and prepared for the drive home. When we GOT home was when the real fun started as everyone’s groceries were in the same kinds of bags. We then had to try to remember where we put our own things and then divvied up the spoils from there. Thank goodness we did it that way because I am 5’8, prolly a buck sixty... I aint winning any fights over groceries. At least ALL if not more of the girls that came over with us are stronger than me, and I’m a baby to boot.
Anyways no harm done and it turned out to be a very successful trip. It was dark by the time we had gotten back and I had eaten at the mall so I wasn’t hungry. I took the stairs up to the fifth floor and as I walked out of the stairwell and approached my door I heard a sound that made me stop and chuckle...
*Chirp, Chirp*
That is correct ladies and gentlemen, Jiminy the floor cricket was awake, alive and well.
A day with this much excitement and laughter ended much the same way it started: me laying on my right side, fuming, ear plug in my right ear, iPod ear bud in the left.
*CHIRP, CHIRP* *CHIRP, CHIRP* *CHIRP, CHIRP*
“Stupid, Jiminy Floor Cricket”.