Introduction
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. (Special shout out to my proof reader and resident English major.)
So there I was lying in bed one morning and I received a brain wave. These are not uncommon for me as I often get all sorts of insane ideas lying by myself in bed. I decided that I had been in a new country long enough, experienced enough crazyness, and had enough free time and motivation on my hands in order to try to take this blogging thing seriously.
This will be my first of what I hope to be many entries. The disclaimer will appear in every entry to remind veteran readers (of which I am sure there are none) and newcomers alike of just what they are about to dig into. Some entries will be longer than others, but I assure you all are 100% based on actual things that happened to either me or others. Enjoy.
The Arrival
The flight to get here spanned over three days and took over thirty real life hours (counting time changes) in order to execute. Needless to say when we landed all of us were smelly, tired and very excited to finally be at our destination. Turns out when your destination is literally on the other side of the world it takes awhile to get there... whoulda thunk? (in case you missed it “whoulda” is “who” and “woulda” combined into one word. I do not own this new word I made up by accident and you may use this in all future non-academic writings. You’re welcome.)
We touched down, walked into the airport and proceeded to customs. Looking back, the friendly and lackadaisical manner that the various customs officials and security officers greeted us with really should have been a preparation for our basic interactions with the local population here.
No one ever seems to be in a hurry. The five or six security personnel on duty at customs talked loudly and joked in Arabic as eleven or so white people approached. We were the only ones left in that part of the airport (it was 2am, I think) and they moved us through without so much as a, “what is your purpose of being here?” We didn’t fill out customs cards and we sure as heck didn’t feel like asking if we needed to at that point. There was only one thing on our mind at the time... BED.
******************
The First Night
We arrived at our residency building at around 3 am and received keys for our various accommodations. I received a key for the first room on the fifth floor, the single fellas floor. We were informed that our places were not quite ready for us yet, and for that they were sorry, but we were here, we needed a bed, and we were sort of sure that we had enough of those for the people that had arrived.
My proof reader joked that it was as if we were being sent to prison. We were given a ration of one pillow on the bottom floor and were sent up to our rooms. I took the stairs up to the fifth floor and stuck my key into the door, I was about to enter my new home for the next 4 months for the first time.
(Sidebar: one thing that people may, or may not, know about me is that I hate elevators. Have since I went to University. I always take the stairs when I can because I cannot help but think at some point in the future I will look at a set of stairs and not be physically able to climb them. Therefore I made the decision in my early twenties to always take the stairs while I am able, it makes me feel better about myself. This is not to say I am better than you, I understand and appreciate the effectiveness of elevators. I just choose not to take them. Anyways I have had my first official sidebar rant. Back to the apartment we go)
*Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp*
I know what you’re thinking, “Man what a weird country! They have birds that chirp at 3am in the morning.” Umm, not quite. This chirping was not from a bird, but from what sounded like a cricket. I could not see him, but I could hear him. I assumed, like any regular Canadian, that the chirping was coming from somewhere outside and then that was it. I never really paid any attention to the sound for the next half an hour, besides, a whole new kind of dilemma awaited me inside.
I was told when we received our room keys that I was going to be in a shared suite and should be expecting to have a roommate at some point in the near future. If you’re reading this then chances are you have not been in my apartment so let me paint the picture for you.
When you walk into this shared suite you are attacked by rooms to your immediate left and right. Although weary from journey I assessed the threat to my left quickly. Toilet, sink, bidet?, some alien like object in the top right corner and what appears to be an open shower in the back left corner.
“Bathroom.” I said confidently.
The threat to the right is mostly empty, save for a glass table with four white leatherish chairs and a television, we’ll call her 32”, mounted in the far corner of the room.
“Alright, sitting room,” I thought, “those are two good things to have in a sitting room.”
I explored deeper into the dark suite, down a narrow hallway, and found a small light switch on the right hand wall about midpoint in the wall and about halfway through the hallway, a logical position.
The light switches are different here than at home. At home most basic light switches are of what I would call the “flick” variety. Flick up to turn on, flick down to turn off. Simple. In my new home there was not a noticeable difference in difficulty with the light switch, but it instantly felt different. (TRANSLATION: it was still simple, just weird)
In Oman the basic light switch still “flicks” on and off, but it is a small rectangular type of switch. Many of them have English guidelines with them too. The first time I plugged my laptop into the wall to charge... it told me I needed to plug it into a power source before it died.
“You ARE plugged in you silly computer,” I said to my laptop as if it would apologize to me in response. I then proceeded to examine the outlet, seeing the same type of rectangular switch in the middle of the outlet. I pressed the bottom half that was sticking out and, like any good switch, the top popped gently out of the wall to reveal the word “ON”.
“OHHHHHHHH, I GET IT.” I said out loud to myself in my own apartment. If you are one of those people who like the funny little things that are different about living in another country, I present to you the light switch of Oman.
For those of you still following along after 200 words about a stupid light switch, thank you, and I can give no guarantees I won’t get off track again. Moving on.
*Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp*
I get to the end of the hallway and am faced with a three prong assault of rooms. Staring at me down the gun barrel was the kitchen which is essentially a short narrow walkway between the hallway and “balcony” (by “balcony” I mean a small, maybe 3 feet by 6, area outside of the apartment that houses a washing machine and lets in bugs and dust).
This “kitchen” is lined with cupboards and countertop on both sides. I had a fridge, a stove, a sink, several boxes filled with home appliances (toaster, microwave), some random dishes on the counter and a strange almost alien looking contraption up in the top corner of the room. I pay little attention to any of these things as exhaustion starts to set in.
*Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp*
The rooms on my Left and Right flank are quickly discerned to be bedrooms. My evidence for this was that they both had beds and wardrobes. The bedroom on the right was a nice size, bigger than the one I have in my parent’s house.
“This is pretty decent,” I thought to myself.
*Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp* *CHIRP, CHIRP*
“Is that thing getting louder? I’m on the fifth floor; boy does sound carry up in this country.”
I left those thoughts in order to scope out the room on the left. This room was set up a little bit different and from what I could tell was exactly the same dimensions as the other one except that this bedroom had a bathroom attached to it, like a master room.
I now had a dilemma on my hands. Clearly I was going to be getting a roommate, and, from what I was told at the time, not a Western one. Do I take the “master” room and leave him to fend for himself with the bathroom at the end of the hall? Or do I play the nice guy card and take the other bedroom and spend the entire semester regretting how nice I am. I decided to be selfish and take the room with the bathroom.
*Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp*
As I settled into the “master” room I put my suitcases in the corner of the room and took stock of the bed. It still had the plastic “bed condom” on it from the store. When I reflect on how unready the country was for our arrival, I often think about having to “undress” my mattress from its plastic wrapping. But I had a pillow, a bed and had just discovered a pillow case, a bed sheet and a comforter.
*Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, CHIRP* *CHIRP, CHIRP *
“What the father time is going on in here?” I said out loud to myself. I began to investigate where this cricket sound was coming from.
Within minutes I was on all fours attempting to pry the plastic lid off the drain in my bathroom floor because I was sure that this cricket was down there. I managed to get the lid off and was greeted by an open hole in my floor that was one foot deep and had a plastic pipe sticking out horizontal, but no cricket. I had no tools to poke around with, although I did attempt to see if the bidet would reach and blast him out. (lots of pressure in those bidets, story for another time.) I returned to the edge of my bed, defeated, and beginning to feel taunted.
*Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp*
About this time a good friend and travel companion came in to check on me. At least I assumed he was checking on me, it was close to 4am by this point and I was starting to doubt many things.
My companion started asking me difficult questions like, “do you have a bed?” and “hey nice place”. To which I think I responded “Yes, do you?”
*Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp*
Companion: “No, I don’t have a bed in my place.”
Me: “Is there one in my other room?”
Companion: “I don’t know.”
Me: “Check.”
Companion: “Yep, well you are getting a roommate for one night at least.”
*Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp*
This was fine with me and seemed like an easier solution than physically moving said bed into his room at 4am. I helped him take off his bed condom and he grabbed his pillow and began to get settled in.
*Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp*
“Okay can you hear that? I swear that there is a cricket in my floor.” I said to him. We went to investigate.
“I think it is in your water heater,” He said pointing at the alien like structure hanging above my bathroom door, “I’d run the water and try to roast him out.”
(OHHHHHHH THEY ARE WATER HEATERS!!! For those of you following along this was the same alien like structure in the kitchen from before... back home we just have one big water heater, usually in a basement. In my apartment we had one big one for the whole building. In Oman every sink essentially has its own water heater and water heater on/off switch on the wall. This was very strange to me. It turns out this water heater in my bathroom is also faulty. It did not work. This resulted in me having to have hot showers in the bathroom at the front of my apartment, which means that essentially I could have taken the other room, been without a cricket and used the same bathroom... but I digress).
“No way, I’m telling you he is in the floor.” I said half convinced.
We both decided it wasn’t really necessary to figure it out tonight because we hadn’t gotten to sleep in over 30 hours. After all, how loud can one little floor cricket be?
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. (Special shout out to my proof reader and resident English major.)
So there I was lying in bed one morning and I received a brain wave. These are not uncommon for me as I often get all sorts of insane ideas lying by myself in bed. I decided that I had been in a new country long enough, experienced enough crazyness, and had enough free time and motivation on my hands in order to try to take this blogging thing seriously.
This will be my first of what I hope to be many entries. The disclaimer will appear in every entry to remind veteran readers (of which I am sure there are none) and newcomers alike of just what they are about to dig into. Some entries will be longer than others, but I assure you all are 100% based on actual things that happened to either me or others. Enjoy.
The Arrival
The flight to get here spanned over three days and took over thirty real life hours (counting time changes) in order to execute. Needless to say when we landed all of us were smelly, tired and very excited to finally be at our destination. Turns out when your destination is literally on the other side of the world it takes awhile to get there... whoulda thunk? (in case you missed it “whoulda” is “who” and “woulda” combined into one word. I do not own this new word I made up by accident and you may use this in all future non-academic writings. You’re welcome.)
We touched down, walked into the airport and proceeded to customs. Looking back, the friendly and lackadaisical manner that the various customs officials and security officers greeted us with really should have been a preparation for our basic interactions with the local population here.
No one ever seems to be in a hurry. The five or six security personnel on duty at customs talked loudly and joked in Arabic as eleven or so white people approached. We were the only ones left in that part of the airport (it was 2am, I think) and they moved us through without so much as a, “what is your purpose of being here?” We didn’t fill out customs cards and we sure as heck didn’t feel like asking if we needed to at that point. There was only one thing on our mind at the time... BED.
******************
The First Night
We arrived at our residency building at around 3 am and received keys for our various accommodations. I received a key for the first room on the fifth floor, the single fellas floor. We were informed that our places were not quite ready for us yet, and for that they were sorry, but we were here, we needed a bed, and we were sort of sure that we had enough of those for the people that had arrived.
My proof reader joked that it was as if we were being sent to prison. We were given a ration of one pillow on the bottom floor and were sent up to our rooms. I took the stairs up to the fifth floor and stuck my key into the door, I was about to enter my new home for the next 4 months for the first time.
(Sidebar: one thing that people may, or may not, know about me is that I hate elevators. Have since I went to University. I always take the stairs when I can because I cannot help but think at some point in the future I will look at a set of stairs and not be physically able to climb them. Therefore I made the decision in my early twenties to always take the stairs while I am able, it makes me feel better about myself. This is not to say I am better than you, I understand and appreciate the effectiveness of elevators. I just choose not to take them. Anyways I have had my first official sidebar rant. Back to the apartment we go)
*Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp*
I know what you’re thinking, “Man what a weird country! They have birds that chirp at 3am in the morning.” Umm, not quite. This chirping was not from a bird, but from what sounded like a cricket. I could not see him, but I could hear him. I assumed, like any regular Canadian, that the chirping was coming from somewhere outside and then that was it. I never really paid any attention to the sound for the next half an hour, besides, a whole new kind of dilemma awaited me inside.
I was told when we received our room keys that I was going to be in a shared suite and should be expecting to have a roommate at some point in the near future. If you’re reading this then chances are you have not been in my apartment so let me paint the picture for you.
When you walk into this shared suite you are attacked by rooms to your immediate left and right. Although weary from journey I assessed the threat to my left quickly. Toilet, sink, bidet?, some alien like object in the top right corner and what appears to be an open shower in the back left corner.
“Bathroom.” I said confidently.
The threat to the right is mostly empty, save for a glass table with four white leatherish chairs and a television, we’ll call her 32”, mounted in the far corner of the room.
“Alright, sitting room,” I thought, “those are two good things to have in a sitting room.”
I explored deeper into the dark suite, down a narrow hallway, and found a small light switch on the right hand wall about midpoint in the wall and about halfway through the hallway, a logical position.
The light switches are different here than at home. At home most basic light switches are of what I would call the “flick” variety. Flick up to turn on, flick down to turn off. Simple. In my new home there was not a noticeable difference in difficulty with the light switch, but it instantly felt different. (TRANSLATION: it was still simple, just weird)
In Oman the basic light switch still “flicks” on and off, but it is a small rectangular type of switch. Many of them have English guidelines with them too. The first time I plugged my laptop into the wall to charge... it told me I needed to plug it into a power source before it died.
“You ARE plugged in you silly computer,” I said to my laptop as if it would apologize to me in response. I then proceeded to examine the outlet, seeing the same type of rectangular switch in the middle of the outlet. I pressed the bottom half that was sticking out and, like any good switch, the top popped gently out of the wall to reveal the word “ON”.
“OHHHHHHHH, I GET IT.” I said out loud to myself in my own apartment. If you are one of those people who like the funny little things that are different about living in another country, I present to you the light switch of Oman.
For those of you still following along after 200 words about a stupid light switch, thank you, and I can give no guarantees I won’t get off track again. Moving on.
*Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp*
I get to the end of the hallway and am faced with a three prong assault of rooms. Staring at me down the gun barrel was the kitchen which is essentially a short narrow walkway between the hallway and “balcony” (by “balcony” I mean a small, maybe 3 feet by 6, area outside of the apartment that houses a washing machine and lets in bugs and dust).
This “kitchen” is lined with cupboards and countertop on both sides. I had a fridge, a stove, a sink, several boxes filled with home appliances (toaster, microwave), some random dishes on the counter and a strange almost alien looking contraption up in the top corner of the room. I pay little attention to any of these things as exhaustion starts to set in.
*Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp*
The rooms on my Left and Right flank are quickly discerned to be bedrooms. My evidence for this was that they both had beds and wardrobes. The bedroom on the right was a nice size, bigger than the one I have in my parent’s house.
“This is pretty decent,” I thought to myself.
*Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp* *CHIRP, CHIRP*
“Is that thing getting louder? I’m on the fifth floor; boy does sound carry up in this country.”
I left those thoughts in order to scope out the room on the left. This room was set up a little bit different and from what I could tell was exactly the same dimensions as the other one except that this bedroom had a bathroom attached to it, like a master room.
I now had a dilemma on my hands. Clearly I was going to be getting a roommate, and, from what I was told at the time, not a Western one. Do I take the “master” room and leave him to fend for himself with the bathroom at the end of the hall? Or do I play the nice guy card and take the other bedroom and spend the entire semester regretting how nice I am. I decided to be selfish and take the room with the bathroom.
*Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp*
As I settled into the “master” room I put my suitcases in the corner of the room and took stock of the bed. It still had the plastic “bed condom” on it from the store. When I reflect on how unready the country was for our arrival, I often think about having to “undress” my mattress from its plastic wrapping. But I had a pillow, a bed and had just discovered a pillow case, a bed sheet and a comforter.
*Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, CHIRP* *CHIRP, CHIRP *
“What the father time is going on in here?” I said out loud to myself. I began to investigate where this cricket sound was coming from.
Within minutes I was on all fours attempting to pry the plastic lid off the drain in my bathroom floor because I was sure that this cricket was down there. I managed to get the lid off and was greeted by an open hole in my floor that was one foot deep and had a plastic pipe sticking out horizontal, but no cricket. I had no tools to poke around with, although I did attempt to see if the bidet would reach and blast him out. (lots of pressure in those bidets, story for another time.) I returned to the edge of my bed, defeated, and beginning to feel taunted.
*Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp*
About this time a good friend and travel companion came in to check on me. At least I assumed he was checking on me, it was close to 4am by this point and I was starting to doubt many things.
My companion started asking me difficult questions like, “do you have a bed?” and “hey nice place”. To which I think I responded “Yes, do you?”
*Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp*
Companion: “No, I don’t have a bed in my place.”
Me: “Is there one in my other room?”
Companion: “I don’t know.”
Me: “Check.”
Companion: “Yep, well you are getting a roommate for one night at least.”
*Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp*
This was fine with me and seemed like an easier solution than physically moving said bed into his room at 4am. I helped him take off his bed condom and he grabbed his pillow and began to get settled in.
*Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp* *Chirp, Chirp*
“Okay can you hear that? I swear that there is a cricket in my floor.” I said to him. We went to investigate.
“I think it is in your water heater,” He said pointing at the alien like structure hanging above my bathroom door, “I’d run the water and try to roast him out.”
(OHHHHHHH THEY ARE WATER HEATERS!!! For those of you following along this was the same alien like structure in the kitchen from before... back home we just have one big water heater, usually in a basement. In my apartment we had one big one for the whole building. In Oman every sink essentially has its own water heater and water heater on/off switch on the wall. This was very strange to me. It turns out this water heater in my bathroom is also faulty. It did not work. This resulted in me having to have hot showers in the bathroom at the front of my apartment, which means that essentially I could have taken the other room, been without a cricket and used the same bathroom... but I digress).
“No way, I’m telling you he is in the floor.” I said half convinced.
We both decided it wasn’t really necessary to figure it out tonight because we hadn’t gotten to sleep in over 30 hours. After all, how loud can one little floor cricket be?