Some Things Just Can't Be Explained

Sadly, I cannot take credit for shooting this photo, but I thought I would post it as an interesting cultural observation. These are some of the more conservative abayas (which are sometime referred to as burkas, depending on which country you live in), but believe it or not, they are not the most conservative that I have seen. You can still see their hands sticking out, and if they were a bit more modest, they would be wearing black mittens too. If they were a bit less conservative, they would have slits for their eyes, instead of their whole faces covered in the black veil.
While I am glad that I don't have to wear an abaya every day, I must admit that they come in quite handy sometimes. For example, you are in your pajamas, in gym clothes, in a tank top, or just plain don't want to get dressed--put on the abaya and run to the grocery store. Nobody will be the wiser. I wore my abaya to work a few times, thinking that it would make me a bit more inconspicuous. Oh contraire. The men loved it. They gave me these speeches on how "it suits you" and how it made my skin look even paler. The pasty white skin is a real crowd pleaser, and random men (and women) have told me how beautiful I am because of my light skin. Beauty is definitely in the eye of the beholder, and I keep trying to tell them that my skin is not attractive in the US. The just can't comprehend why I would like to go home with a tan.

Dates

Dates are a big deal here. If you are like me, the kind of dates you are familiar with involve dinner and a movie. I don't think I had ever eaten a date, which my coworkers found quite strange. So in an effort to make me culturally acceptable, Deema (my coworker) brought in some dates from a tree in her yard. And of course, they had to be on a silver platter (and set on top of the confidential paper shredder bin for a special presentation effect).
Dates kind of remind me of quince, though I had never eaten quince until I moved to Spain (where we ate it almost every day) and I haven't eaten it since I returned, so I imagine that will not help anyone understand the taste/texture. They are really sweet and have an almost grainy texture, and there is a big seed in the middle that panicked me for a minute. I was not sure of the polite way to remove it from my mouth, and was glad to see my coworker just use her fingers to take it out and set it on the table. Dates are an important part of religious tradition in the Middle East. Muslims believe that Mary gave birth to Jesus all alone. I don't know if they believe in Joseph, or where they think he was at the time, but their story says that Mary was very afraid and weak (she was in the desert and hadn't had anything to eat or drink) and was clutching a palm tree and asking God to help her. They believe that God made some dates fall from the palm tree, and she ate one, and then gave birth to Jesus. They also believe that Jesus came out of the womb talking, with a fully formed intellect, but that's a different story. Women here still eat a date before they go into labor, as it is said to give you strength and stamina for the ordeal.

The palm trees here are very short, and not like the Hawaiian palms we are used to seeing. The one in this picture is one of the tallest ones I have seen, and you can see the dates hanging in bunches (almost like grapes) above me. Besides childbirth, the date is also very important during Ramadan, and is eaten at the beginning of the iftar meal. Muslims believe that after fasting all day, it is best to start with a date, which will help your strength return quickly. There are lots of fancy date shops in the malls here around Ramadan (think temporary kiosks selling Pepperidge Farms gift baskets or Honey Baked hams around Christmas) , and Saudi dates are famous for being especially delicious. You can buy plain dates, dates dipped in chocolate, carmelized dates, and dates that appear to me to be rotten, but I assume are probably just covered in some special spice or cooked in a traditional way. I like dates, but they are not going to be making it to the top 10 list of my favorite fruits anytime soon.

Why I Love Brits

Mostly, because they are funny. Their dry humor is my absolute favorite, and they will tell it to you straight (whether or not that is your preference). For example, I passed on dessert telling them I was trying to lose weight. "You should go to the gym," said the man. That won him a sharp jab in the ribs from his wife. I laughed. I like them because they will invite you to their house for "tea" when they really mean "dinner," and at said event they will serve you yorkshire pudding and you will feel quite proper indeed. I like them because they will tell you to go home when they are ready to go to bed and are tired of having company. I like them because they say "bin" when they mean trash, "boot" when they mean trunk, and sometimes you can't understand what they mean and you have to ask them to repeat themselves. Three times. And then they mutter "Yankee" under their breath. I especially like the 10-year-old variety. They tell you stories about their older sister who snogged her teacher (snogging is like making out). And they have funny conversations with you over text message, like the following:
Holly: Where are you Kimbley (this is how they pronounce my name)
Me: I'm on my way, I had to wait for my laundry to dry (I can't figure out how to use the washing machine in my apartment, so I had to use the common laundry room. I had a small altercation with a miserable excuse for a gentleman, and if I had not been running late, I probably would have gone back to my apartment for a pair of scissors and cut small holes in his underwear. I hope to never see him again.)
Holly: Ok only one person has arrived (it is a going away party for a mutual friend)
Me: (I didn't respond to this message because by now I was on the freeway, and texting while driving has never been pretty for me. Prettier than Blackberrying while driving, though.)
Holly: When you get here do you want to play a board game
Me: Sure
Holly: My mum says we can't
I pull up to their house a few minutes later, and Holly informs me that her mum told her she couldn't ring me, which is why she had decided on the texting. Clever girl. I love the British accent. And even British teeth. And I will forever be indebted to the Brits because they gave the world Cadbury chocolate--more specifically, those little candy coated chocolate eggs that I have to stockpile at Easter. My advice is this: Find some Brits to love. They will edify your life and bring you endless joy and neverending happiness. Especially if you live in a foreign desert and you need a surrogate family.

A'ali Pottery

Pottery is one of the most important traditional crafts in Bahrain. Bahrainis believe that the art of pottery making began here more than 4,000 year ago, when the country was known as Dilmun. A'ali is known as the center of the craft, and at one time, most of the families in the town made their living as potters. Now there are only 7 families who are still in the pottery business, but the techniques and tools they use remain practically unchanged, as they are handed down generation to generation.
I loved how the pottery was intricate and simple at the same time. Clean lines, neutral color, each one unique.

Here I am trying my hand at throwing a pot. They still use the foot-powered wheel, and I think I got the easy job, since the man helping me was doing all of the work to keep the wheel moving. I made one small pot (the one on the very right, in a row by itself), and stood up to leave, and the potter pinched off another piece of clay and motioned that he wanted me to try again. After #2, I again stood up to go, and he pinched off some more clay and motioned me back. I really was done after pot #3--a girl can only have so much potting fun in one day, especially when she is out of shape and has to squat for long periods of time.

I would have liked to see them make this one.

After much deliberation, I finally decided on a piece to purchase. I bought one of the vases on the bottom shelf on the left. It is actually open on the top and on the bottom, so I figure it would look nice with a candle in it.

Church

This is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Bahrain. I thought it might be interesting to post a picture, since it doesn't look like a church. That's because it was a villa and a family lived here until a few years ago. But it was the villa of a very wealthy family, so all of the rooms are huge. And there's a pool in the backyard. Church here is on Friday, because that is the Muslim sabbath. So my workweek is Sunday-Thursday, and I have Friday and Saturday off. It is kind of strange, but I am getting used to it. Bahrain is much more tolerant of Christianity than its neighbors. One interesting fact that I learned about Muslims--they believe in Jesus Christ, but they believe that he was a prophet and not the literal son of God.

I rode a camel. Bareback.

Last weekend I went to the camel farm, owned by His Highness the Shaik Mohammed Bin Salman Al Khalifa (he's the king's uncle). The camels here are bred for racing, which is a big sport in the Middle East. We pulled up in our little bus, waved to the security guard, and just walked onto the property, where we saw this:
No fences, no glass, no barriers of any kind between us and the camels. There were a lot of workers around, but they ignored us, and continued on with their tasks of feeding, landscaping, and using their donkey cart to haul things around. As I got closer, I realized that the camels had their front two legs tied together, and the rope typing their legs was attached to a tether on the ground. So they could walk with baby steps in a circle about 10 feet in diameter. In case you were wondering, they don't like it when you try and touch them.

This guy was a bit curious about my camera, and decided to come in for a closer look (much to my surprise).

Further back on the property there was a large pen of camels. I wish I could make this face.

Some of the workers took us to the nursery, where all of the mothers and babies were. This little guy was only 5 days old. He was pretty adorable, and I wish that you all could have heard the funny noises he made.

Nobody wanted to ride the camel first, so I volunteered. I was looking for the saddle, but realized that there wasn't going to be a saddle. They made the camel sit down, I got on, and then they made her stand up. I almost got bucked off the back. Camels are not graceful stander-uppers. Plus, they had me sit so far back that I was already in a precarious position without the extra jarring. Luckily the guy grabbed me and saved me from falling. If my career in HR doesn't work out, perhaps I will be a camel racer. And no, pastel yellow shorts were not the thing to wear riding bareback on a dirty camel. I had a black bum for the rest of the day, which I'm sure was very attractive.

I couldn't get enough of this little guy. And he couldn't get enough of licking my toes. I thought of him all day, because although I enjoyed his soft fur, I could have done without his smell, which despite washing my hands a few times with extra soap, still managed to linger. Camels stink.

Ramadan Kareem

That means "Happy Ramadan." If you are like I was, you have no idea what Ramadan is or why it is celebrated. Allow me to explain... Ramadan takes place for a whole month every year, and this year it started at the beginning of September. It is based on the lunar calendar, but not all Muslims start on the same day, because they must wait for their specific religious leader to tell them that the moon is at just the right stage. Apparently this gets a bit political among the different Muslim groups, with each group claiming they are starting on the correct day. Ramadan is a celebration of the revelation of the Quran (the Muslim's book of scripture) to the Prophet Mohammed. Muslims believe that the Prophet Mohammed could not read or right, and so he had to learn and memorize small pieces of the Quran over the month time period. They believe that the Angel Gabriel came to him each day to help him memorize, and then the Prophet Mohammed went back to town and recited back what he had learned to his friends who could read and write. During Ramadan, Muslims fast from dawn until dusk. During this time period they abstain from smoking, drinking, food, and sex. It is illegal to eat or drink in public, and doing so can get you a fine or land you in jail. Muslims believe that if you fast all month, any sin you committed during the year is forgiven. They are also supposed to be extra kind to those around them, and engage is charitable work/donations. At the end of Ramadan, they give 2.5% of their assets to charity. Work hours are also reduced, which I am loving. A typical work day for me is 9am-1pm and 3-6pm. (A two hour lunch break is definitely something I could get used to...) During Ramadan, the workday changes to 8:30am-2:30pm. This is to allow people time to spend with their families, read the Quran (everyone is supposed to read the whole thing during the month), and sleep (they stay up really late, and get up early for the morning prayer). Many restaurants are completely shut down for the month, and others open at 5:58pm, or whatever time the sun sets. The evening meal is called Iftar. My friend at work invited me to her house for Iftar last week, and it was delicious. She has gotten used to my weird quirks, and told me I should come early if I was going to feel the need to take pictures of the food, because they were hungry after fasting all day and wanted to start eating on time :) I passed on the pictures--it would have been a bit socially awkward. But she did tell me that I could come over any time and the cook would show me how to make any recipe I liked. I will definitely be taking her up on that offer. I feel very lucky that she is so willing to invite me to her home--everyone told me that Muslims are very cordial in social settings, but do not like to have non-Muslims in their homes. At the end of the evening, her husband told me that Deema (my coworker) would by my sister while I was here. It was very sweet, and I am glad to have her as my sister. Another tradition is the gobga gatherings. I don't know what gobga means, but it is essentially a party that starts late at night, and is held in a big Arabic tent. Most of the nicer hotels have Ramadan tents set up in their parking lots, and Citi hosted a gobga night that I attended. Here are some highlights:
Some of the beautiful lanterns that hang in the tent. The could be compared to our Christmas lights--they are only used during Ramadan.

This is me getting a henna tattoo. I had never had one before, but it is a traditional thing to do. Henna nights are also customary before weddings. The bride-to-be invites all of her friends over and hires a henna artist. It is their version of a bridal shower or a bachelorette party.

The henna looks a bit like puff paint, and when it dries it flakes off, leaving the dark brown imprint behind. I liked my tattoo for about an hour, and I have hated it ever since. It last for about two weeks, and I can't wait until it fades completely. I keep thinking my hand is dirty, and no matter how hard you scrub witha pumice stone or how many times you wash your hands, it is not going anywhere (I speak from experience when I tell you this).

Falconry is a traditional Arabic sport, and here I am with the falcon. As you can see by his face, the falconer was pretty excited to be in my picture. But I wanted you to see the traditional clothes here. The white man dress is called a thobe. It usually doesn't have the gold embellishments, but this must be his special ocassion thobe. The black robe I am wearing is called an abayah. I am not wearing the head scarf because it does not stay put, and so I usually wear it around my neck.

Gas and broccoli

I hate to rub it in, but gas here is cheaper per liter than water. Gas costs .08 BD per liter, which is about 80 cents a gallon. Sorry. If it makes you feel any better, broccoli is about $7 a head. I guess thats what happens when you live in the dessert and things don't grow, but your neighbors have a lot of oil.
This is not a great picture, seeing as how it was taken from a bus, but all of those pipes you can see are carrying oil from Saudi to Bahrain. Bahrain doesn't have nearly as much oil as Saudi does, so we (I can say we, because I've got the resident stamp in my passport) just refine it. It's a great arrangement, and those pipes add so much to the scenery...

Anyway, a bit more on grocery shopping. The big grocery stores here are called hypermarkets, and they are all located in large malls. I thought it was a bit strange at first, but now I really enjoy the convenience. The produce section is my favorite because I think it is so interesting. First of all, they advertise the country that each of the products come from. Today I stocked up on the following produce:

Avocado (Sri Lanka)
Honey Dew Melon (local)
Tomatoes (local)
Necatrines (Jordan)
Grapes (Turkey)
Pears (Africa, I think)
Oranges (Spain)
Plums (Spain)
Bananas (Philippines)
Watermelon (Jordan)

I have a very diverse refrigerator. Once you pick out all of your produce, you must have it all tagged at little produce stations in the department. If you don't have your produce bagged and priced there, you can't buy it at the check out counters. The produce cashiers recognize all of the varieties of produce, and have all of the produce numbers memorized, which is no small task, considering there were bananas from 3 different countries, oranges from 4 countries, and watermelon from 2 countries today. There are usually swarms of people around, and most people are like me and have at least 10 different bags to weigh and tag. There is a separate produce counter labeled "ladies only," and there is also a ladies only line at the the check out counter, right next to the "10 items or less" line. I have found that there are far fewer product choices here, but any American brand is translated to Arabic on one side of the package (even though the English side is displayed, and all of the signage, receipts, etc. are in English). And the flavor of choice seems to be "Cheesy Cheese." I'm not sure how it is different from just plain cheese, but you wouldn't believe how many different products have the flavor. Here are a few examples of products I have around my apartment:
This would be a good time to start singing "Bring out the Best Foods, and bring out the best."

Our friend Orville makes an excellent flavor called Honey Butter that I haven't seen in the states. It is tasty.

They really like their scents over here. I can smell my laundry all the way down the hall. Of course, that could also be because they don't have those little cups that tell you how much to put in, and I had to eyeball it...

This one is my favorite. Please notice the Spanish, Arabic, and Brisith English all on one package. I was very skeptical when I bought these, thinking that they wouldn't be very good, but I have to say they are probably my favorite store bought tortilla chips.

The moral of this post is you eat lots of broccoli, and I'll use lots of gas, and we'll call it even.

If you don't speak the language

I almost wish that everyone here didn't speak English, because imagine the fun to be had using this:
I got it from my travel nurse. I love her--really I do. In the midst of feeling stressed to the max and dealing with a lot of unhelpful people who were supposed to be helping me, she went above and beyond to get things settled for me (and due to the 3 hour appointment, I missed all of my morning meetings). Not only did she give me my shots and fill out my immunization record (and called my mom twice in the process), she also dispensed plenty of advice. She tried to give me a lecture on safe sex in foreign countries, which I assured her I didn't need. She gave me a knowing smile, and continued on. "You don't understand," I said, interrupting her again, "I'm Mormon." That put an end to the talk. Before I left her office, she gave me this folding card with pictures on the front and back. She told me to carry it with me to help with the language barrier. Here are the instructions:

The card has everything (she was sure to point out the X-rated section, and no I am not going to show it to you--this is a family friendly blog) and I am sure that one day it will come in handy. And if I don't end up using it on this trip, you can bet that as soon as I get back to the US, I am going to go to the post office, pretend that I don't speak English, and start pointing at pictures.

In the news

I really get a kick out of reading the newspapers here. The things that they report on are very unique, and often entertaining. For example, on my flight from Frankfut to Bahrain, I read a whole 2 page spread on how to pump your own gas. Apparently, there is a pilot program being launched in some parts of the Gulf for self-service gas stations. The article was a pep talk to the residents telling them that they could learn the art of gas-pumping, and it was complete with diagrams illustrating the process. The weather report included a table on the chances of sunburn for the day. The chart showed different skin tones and the risk of sunburn for each one. Hilarious. (I saved the newspaper so I could post it on my blog, but I think that the cleaning people threw it away... ) Anyway, I came across this article, and thought that I would post it for your cultural enlightenment :)
In case you can't read the caption, "Camel-vehicle collisions are on the rise as camels often stray on to highways... right to safe passage."

What not to do

Unfortunately, it appears that I have moved from one island lacking good beaches to another one. Not that I would have wanted to take a dip in the Hudson River, even if the opportunity had presented itself (I've seen the police trolling for what I can only assume are bodies offed by the mafia, and I want no part in that). I'm just saying that living on a island really should have more perks. But I'm not one to sit around when there are new places to explore, so I set out with my new friends (who work on the US military base here) for Al Dar Islands. I had heard good things about them--beautiful, relaxing, a must see, etc., etc., etc. so I was looking forward to the excursion. Unfortunately, it was about 125 degrees (with the heat index) on the day that we went. Unfortunately, the Perisan Gulf water temperature is in the high 80s/low 90s, and not a bit refreshing. And unfortunately, the water is so salty that even if you don't put your face in, your eyes feel like they are on fire when you get out. Perhaps we should have taken a hint when we arrived and the place was desserted. Apparently, Bahrainis know when it is too hot to go to the beach...

On the boat on the way over. This was the best part of the whole day--the breeze felt great, and the awning kept us out of the sun.
See those little straw huts? I spent the whole time underneath one of them. I am definitely not afraid of a sunburn, but I didn't think that spontaneously combusting sounded like very much fun (and even in the shade I came close).Another view of the beach area. Thank goodness for the little cafe with cold bottles of water, and the man walking around with trays of watermelon on ice. You will notice that this picture is quite aesthtically displeasing. I realized after I posted it that nobody would want to look at it, but I couldn't figure out how to unpost it, so it stays. This is why I am looking into a photography class. I apologize for the ugliness.

As you can see, the place was really hopping. Notice the oil refinery in the background. Lovely.

So while I can't say that it would be on the top of my list of recommended places to visit, it was fun to see something new, and if nothing else, now I can say I have swam in the Persian Gulf.

Deliciousness

This post is dedicated to my lovely and beautiful friend Shalise, who sent me an email asking about the food here. I smiled when I got it, because this is one of the many reasons that she is my friend forever. I took the pictures in this post weeks ago (even though my coworkers thought I was very weird for doing so), because food is my hobby. My perfect day in NYC? Starting at 96th St. and Broadway, and walking down to Chinatown, eating bagels and gelato and creme puffs and other tasty treats along the way. And who gained 5 pounds during a weekend trip to Paris, and ate more crepes than the boy she was challenging? Yours truly. And who has only learned Arabic words for food items? That's right. I like to call it cultural appreciation.

Who knew that I would love Middle Eastern food? I have always liked to try new cuisine, but I don't think the culinary world gets much better than Manhattan, so my expectations were low. But I have been pleasantly surprised at the deliciousness that is to be found here. My coworker Deema (a local Bahraini) is spending lots of time teaching me about the culture. My first week on the job, she announced that I needed to eat the local dishes, and that she would have her cook make lunch for us, and have her driver deliver it to the office (more commentary on the household help later). She wanted me to try fatoosh and mach boos. Here they are in all their glory:

Fatoosh starts out as a typical green salad (tomatoe, cucumber, cabbage, lettuce), with croutons made from fried pita bread. But the dressing is delicious--pomegrante sauce, lemon, and a spice called sumak. You can't see it very well in the picture, but sumak looks like of like a bright purple course salt, and has a bit of a sour taste. This is the perfect dish for a hot day.
Mach boos means "up to the neck" in Arabic. This is mach boos rubyan. Rubyan means shrimp. It is made kind of like a Spanish paella--everything thrown together in one large, full pot and cooked (hence the name--the pot is full "up to the neck"). The ingredients that I could taste were: saffron, onion, carrot, tomatoe, cloves, some cinnamon, and those are fried onions on top for garnish. Trust me, this dish is a winner.

**While typing this post, I remembered a date I went on to a restaurant in Salt Lake called Babba Afghan (Afghani food, in case you didn't pick that up from the name). The food is good and really unique, so if you live in Utah and want to try Middle Eastern food, you should go.

I almost forgot

My favorite part of my apartment: The sticker that points to Mecca, which is posted on my ceiling right above my couch. I didn't even notice it until I was laying on the couch talking to Garrett one night. Qibla means "holy place" in Arabic, or so I am told.

The view is blinding...literally

I have had to get used to the fact that whenever I go outside, I am temporarily blinded. I have never been in a place so bright, and I literally have to give myself a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the massive amounts of light. Why do I not wear sunglasses, you ask? I do, and they don't solve anything, because as soon as you walk outside, your sunglasses fog up IMMEDIATELY. Worse than the bathroom mirror when you get out of the shower. They take a few minutes to de-fog, and by the time that happens, you have already squinted your way to the car. But once they de-fog, they definitely come in handy, and I would never think about leaving home without my sunglasses (it's a good thing I decided that I really DID need that 4th pair of sunglasses that I bought before coming here...). So you will imagine the sacrifice that it was for me to snap these pictures for you, my dear readers, since I did it from the terrace of the gym, and didn't have sunglasses with me. I actually just closed my eyes and took a few shots and hoped that at least one of them worked out all right. This should give you a decent idea of what it looks like here.

Notice the cranes. There is a TON of construction. And you will see lots of "sand." The sand here is not what we have back home. It is more of a hard packed very fine dirt, but everything is coated in it, and people here get their cars washed A LOT. Not me, of course, because I don't care if I have a dirty car. But maybe that is because I have a very ghetto Mitsubishi Galant (that shakes when you drive over about 90 kilometers and has blue interior and red rugs), and not a Range Rover, a BMW, or a Porshe, which many people here seem to be driving.

Honesty

I love honesty. My favorite friends are the ones who will tell me when those jeans make me look fat. I've decided that Americans are not honest enough for my liking, but people here definitely are. An example. It's day 4 on the job, and my coworker and I are heading to a hotel to meet with some consultants who are helping us with a salary survey of banks in Bahrain. We are at a red light, and my coworker turns to me and says "I notice you're breaking out." Thanks for noticing, I think. "It's probably because of the humidity." "It probably is," I agree. And we keep driving. I love it.

The examination

I asked to borrow this book from my coworker on my first day in the office. I figured I had better learn what I was talking about so as to avoid situations where I look like an idiot. Please note that this book is a bit outdated, and we are now called the Kingdom of Bahrain, and not the State.
There are some pretty interesting labor laws here, but the one that I found strangest (probably because you would be sued immediately if you tried this in the US) was the mandatory health examination before you can be legally employed. On my third day in the office, our government affairs coordinator informed me that I would need to see a doctor before he could apply for my CPR card (Central Population Registry--kind of like a Social Security card) and my Bahrain residency. So the next morning the driver picked me up at 8am and off we went to the government health facility. I thought it was going to be like my previous forays into Socialist healthcare (when I was dying in Spain and when I was crippled in Sweden), but what I was not expecting was the large room filled with HUNDREDS of men and lots of lines that snaked around and through each other. The driver told me to wait there while he went to check on something. I didn't really want to wait there by myself, since by this point I was getting lots of stares (I had been there for 20 minutes before I saw another woman), but I was also fascinated by all of the people. I imagine that this is much what Ellis Island was like (except for the fact that there were probably Irish, Italians, and Germans instead of Bangladeshis, Indians and Filipinos). Most of them have probably come here to be construction workers and day laborers, and work for very low wages, and in many cases in unsafe conditions, trying to make a better life for themselves and the families that they left behind. But before they can get to work, they come here and wait in lines all day. And I cut. That's right, apparently Citi has contacts in the health department, and they sent me right to the front. I was pretty uncomfortable about that, but nobody seemed to care, and I was still feeling too unsure of the situation to argue with the driver, who was now shepherding me around. First I went to a room where they took my picture, then I went to another room and had a chest x-ray (to make sure I was TB free), then I went to another room where I had my blood pressure taken and an eye test, and then I went upstairs to another room where a doctor listened to my heart, and then I was finished. I must have had the short version of the exam, because there were all sorts of doors I didn't go into (like the dental room, and the bloodwork room, etc.). Apparently, they thought that I was healthy enough to work here, because my residency was issued the next day.

Home sweet home

So I didn't have a place to live until less than a week before I flew out. Let's just say that it caused a bit of stress in my life, and I was tempted to take my old coworker's offer to let me borrow his son's tent in case I had to pitch it in the dessert somewhere. I didn't know if I would be staying in an apartment or a hotel, and I got both--an apartment inside a hotel. I haven't made my bed once since I got here, or emptied my garbage, or cleaned the bathroom. That is the beauty of daily room service. The one downside is that I don't have a dishwasher, and dishes are the one thing that housekeeping doesn't do. Too bad. But it is definitely a lot bigger than the 425 square foot studio I left behind in Manhattan, and it is about a 3 minute drive from work, so I am pretty happy with it. And it came with a TV. Anyone who has stayed with me knows that I kind of hate TV, and I haven't had one for 2 years. I don't plan to watch it, but if you come and visit me, I will let you have full control of the remote :) Without further ado, I present to you Elite Seef Residence #2220:

This bed is not nearly as comfortable as the one I left behind, but I also don't have to wash the sheets, so I'll take it.

Most mornings I am too lazy to get up early to wear proper makeup, but I do love that on the mornings I do, I have a proper place to apply.

The living room. The table is to the left, but you can't see it in the picture. I am out of the habit of eating at a table, though, and usually take my food to the couch.

The bathroom. I also have a biday (this is not how you spell it, but I don't speak French, and I can't even come close enough to the proper spelling to get a match on Google) that is lovely for shaving my legs since my shower is so tiny.

The kitchen. Notice the washer/dryer combo next to the sink. Very European.

This is the view if you walk in the door and look left. It is my little entry way, and the door to my neighbor's.

Won't you be my neighbor?

This is for those of you who didn't pay attention in geography class. When they first told me about this assignment, I had heard of Bahrain, but I couldn't remember if it was a country or a city. Bahrain is an island nation off the coast of Saudi Arabia. The two countries are connected by a bridge, and I used to be afraid of accidentally getting lost and driving into Saudi, until I found out that they wouldn't let me over the halfway point of the bridge, even if I wanted to go. Now I just have to worry about getting lost in hostile villages.