Notes from Kuwait and Dubai
June 1, 2007
Never Hire Retired Wadi Bashers in Dubai
It's pointless to throw out numbers about Dubai. It's just the most amazing city I've ever seen. I thought Shanghai was a boom town, but Dubai has more than 20% of the world's construction cranes and earth movers, all working around the clock. Money, money, money. You hear about the palm-shaped island and it doesn't sound like any big deal. Then you see it and try to grasp that it's a city of 30,000 with 65 five star hotels, all built on reclaimed land. The current airport, which I thought was wonderful, is just one of the three terminals they're building, planned as the world's largest airport. Today I visited the world's largest shopping mall, the one with a ski resort built inside it. It's next to the world's tallest building.
Don't think it's all oil money. That's what got things going, but petroleum now accounts for just 7% of GNP here. The rest is all trade and tourism. So, with the biggest airport, and the most amazing (world's tallest) hotels, and an on-fire tourism market, what's to be done out here in the desert where it's over a hundred almost always? (I think it got down to the high 90s before sunrise today.) If all the tourists are coming to fill all the hotels, what are they going to do?
Wadi Bashing, of course! A "wadi" is a Arabic for a dry riverbed, but the term is loosely applied to expanses of desert and dunes. "Bashing" is the local term for driving around in the dunes in 4WD vehicles. Although I generally avoid anything that sounds like a planned group tour, I did weaken and sign up for a "Desert Safari" featuring wadi-bashing. This means you cram into the back of an almost new Toyota Land Cruiser and drive far enough away from Dubai that you can no longer see the world's tallest everythings (and that takes a while) until you're out in the dunes. The driver pulls off the road, lets most of the air out of the tires so they have more "grip" in the red sand. and head out over the dunes.
But, you're not alone. There are 20 other identical vehicles from the same company, all converging on the same expanse of dunes. To avoid crashes in the desert, the vehicles follow each other's tracks. The drivers are mainly having fun playing at terrifying their passengers. I'm not sure of the precise angle at which such a vehicle rolls over, but we were just about two degrees shy of it for much of the experience. It's not comfortable. It is exciting, though.
The odometer read 115 km after an hour, but we'd only gone about 30 km through the sand. The odometer, of course, measures wheel rotation, and they spun and spun as we roared up the steep faces of 40 foot high dunes, crested them, then spun our wheels down the other side. Not straight down, mind you. It's far more exciting to turn to an almost perpendicular path and descend sideways, tempting gravity. Ahmed, our driver, spoke no English, so I just assume he was having a great time scaring us.
The sad thing to me is that there were discarded trash bags way out there in the desert dunes. It's amazing that the tour company, which, last night at least, collected a hundred bucks from each of the 60 or 70 guests for the wadi-bashing experience, doesn't pay someone to go out and clear away the trash.
If you're interested in wadi-bashing, you'd better get over here. With all the most-ever, tallest-ever, biggest-ever goings on here, those dunes and wadis will be trashed and bashed before long. On the other hand, if you have even the slightest sense of environmental consciousness, don't.
And if you're going to rent a car, or as they say here, "hire" a car, make sure it's not one that has been used for wadi bashing and then retired. The shocks will be shot, all the bearings will be filled with grit, and the air cleaner will be clogged with dust. I don't see how any of those vehicles can survive even a few months of wadi bashing. An hour is more than enough for me.
---
May 30, 2007 - Leaving Kuwait for Dubai
Smoking Armpits Made Memories Much Warmer After a 109 Degree Day
Although the temperature was in the hundreds, Kuwait felt cold and unwelcoming...until Arab hospitality kicked in yesterday. What I'll take with me from Kuwait is the gracious welcome and sometimes strange ritual of making visitors feel at home in a Kuwaiti household.
Here's how it happens:
My Kuwaiti contact, Ali, offered to show me the home where he grew up so I could meet his mother and sister. "Mom" is about a 70 year old woman who spoke no English, wore Arab traditional garb, but signaled her unusual openness by letting her face show. This wouldn't happen in a more traditional Arab home, and certainly never in a more conservative Arab country, like Saudi Arabia. Though a scarf covered her hair and neck, she did not wear the "abeya" that many Arab women use to conceal all features but their eyes. Sister "Moo-nah" (phonetically) is in her forties and unmarried, thus a spinster. She's a lovely person, though the reason for her lack of a man is not discussed and questions about the shameful subject are deflected. Ali told me that their deceased father used to cry about his daughter's misfortune, as it's believed that a woman cannot really function if a man isn't in charge of her life. (She's doing fine, has a good government job, lives in her childhood home with mom, and seems fine without a man.)
The house was unimposing and might have been an apartment in the Bronx. But the hospitality, ahhhh, that was something different.
First, we stepped into her simple living room. Just two long couches, a television, a tray filled with old perfume bottles, some plastic flowers and an array of fading family photos atop the TV and on the walls.
Immediately, the Indian housekeeper brought a tray of ice water. She's worked for the family for 10 years and is treated as a family member. She stayed in the room during our "conversations," smiling, but she was clearly the person responsible for doing the work.
Next came tea in little clear glasses with miniature handles, along with various bowls of seasoned nuts, all neatly arranged. Again, a silver tray and lots of smiling with Ali doing the translating. I'd read in my guidebook that the Arab symbol for "No more, thanks" is a waggle motion with your cup. If you hold it out, you want more. If you use the same motion you'd use to turn a key in a lock back and forth a couple of times, that means "no more." Thinking I'd really impress my hosts, I was surprised when they broke into laughter as I made the motion. Turns out that that particular sign is only for coffee, never for tea. They were highly amused that I'd almost gotten it right.
So, a minute later, the coffee came out. Apparently it's normal to serve tea first, and then coffee. This was delivered on the same tray in almost the same little glass cups, except these lacked handles. It didn't taste like any coffee I've had before. Very thin and tea-like, but with the taste of cardamom, which is boiled with the finely ground coffee. This time, I got to do the cup waggle and everybody smiled and laughed and marveled that I knew just what I was doing.
A minute behind, a tray of various sweets followed, including a Syrian concoction that was a sort of pastry filled with a fig-like paste and topped with crispy "strings" of some baked dough about the diameter of threads.
And then something very strange that's known throughout the Arab world: "Bakhur" (baah-KOOR). Moo-nah produced a smoking incense burner about three inches tall. Little chunks of what appeared to be tree bark smoldered and she held it in front of each guest and while making a wafting motion with her open hand, directing the musky smoke over our bodies. Then, she had us raise each arm and wafted the smoke under each armpit. She then placed the burner on the floor and stood above it, allowing the smoke to rise up under her robe. She and Ali explained that if I were wearing a "dish-dasha," or man's robe, I would stand over the burner to be sure that I got plenty of smoke up under it, apparently to de-odorize my genitals. Hamming it up a little, I stood and tried to hold my pant legs open so a little smoke could waft up each leg. This produced great gales of laughter.
As we said our goodbyes, I resisted my Western urge to hug Mom and Moonah, instead reaching out for a gentle handshake. Ali watched carefully, wondering if his mom would allow me to shake her hand, as any contact between men and women who are not related borders on taboo. Later, he told me that it was a sign of her open-mindedness that she even allowed my hand to touch hers. (Good thing I didn't embrace her as I wanted to!)
Upon returning to my hotel later in the evening, I found a gift bag waiting on my bed containing a dish-dasha, incense burner, and my own supply of musky bark. Understand that these were simple people without any sign of wealth, yet they'd noted my interest in their customs, quickly went shopping, and left me a parting gift.
This encounter with Kuwaiti hospitality is what I'll always think of when I reflect on my visit to Kuwait. Without it, I'd just think of this as a hot, awful, dusty place with nothing but oil going for it. People with simple gestures of hospitality can make even the hottest place much warmer.
----
May 28, 2007 - Kuwait City
Contemplating Kuwaiti Cavorting? I'd Recommend You Wait.
"You don't have to love a place to love having been there" is what I've said on multiple occasions. Siem Reap, Cambodia was awful and I'm so glad I was there a few years back. Being stuck outside Mpika without a ride for three days while hitching through Zambia was dreadful, and I'm grateful for having had the experience three decades ago.
Before you plan on a vacation in Kuwait, let me offer you an overview of my first day here:
It's well over 100 degrees and very humid, so it feels hotter. One of the periodic dust storms blew in today, so you can't see more than a couple of blocks. Everything is gritty with blowing sand that penetrates door seals and cloaks awnings and ledges. My client here was kind enough to arrange for a big huge stretch limo to show me the town. So, we went to see the highlights: The biggest Burger King in the Middle East was first; then on to view largest wooden fake boat ever built. We did pass many gigantic and tasteless shuttered homes, apparently owned by sheikhs who are off in Cannes. That was it.
Comparatively speaking, it was much more fun inside the car. The limo had "Shrek" running on the video screen and a full bar setup stocked with crystal decanters filled with festive confetti, since alcohol is strictly forbidden in Kuwait. I did enjoy several Perrier waters and felt a little looped. Jet lag, I guess. This was quite a luxury, as water is far more expensive here than the 70 cent a gallon gas.
Oh, there is a large national Kuwaiti museum, except that the Iraqis destroyed it during the invasion before the first Bush routed them. "W" isn't well-liked at all, but buildings are named after his father. You no longer see bullet holes or burned up Iraqi tanks along the road, but everybody who was here during the invasion has stories to tell. My Egyptian immigrant cab driver on the way in from the airport showed me where the machine-gunning Iraqi soldier had stopped him on the main airport road. He then went straight home and stayed there for 28 days while the Iraqis looted Kuwait.
I'd put off that planned vacation in Kuwait for now, if I were you. Try Mpika, Zambia, or Siem Reap, Cambodia. They're so much nicer.
-------------
May 27, 2007
Keep Your Eye on Dubai
Americans hear of "Dubai" and probably think vaguely of some Arab oil place. Isn't it near Saudi Arabia or Kuwait or somewhere over there?
You're going to be hearing a lot about Dubai in the next few years. It's booming. I haven't even left the airport yet, and I can already tell that this is one burgeoning and successful global crossroads. You're not going to spot any Alaska Airlines jets or Southwest 737s here. The tarmac is filled with taxiing 777s and A340s dressed in the unfamiliar colors of Qatar Airways, Royal Brunei, Yemenia, SriLankan, Biman, and the dominant Dubai-based airline, Emirates.
This is an airport that works. Signage is all clear, and placards abound reminding global travelers that this airport is here to serve. Where have you ever seen an airport with an advertising slogan like this one's: "Allow us to make you feel special?" One of the many roving airport information people gave me directions to a lounge and when he saw me wandering about two hours later, exploring the in-terminal grocery store and big display of the latest PlayStation models, he approached me with concern. "Didn't you find the lounge? May I show you where it is?" I was amazed that he even remembered me.
Yes, there is a Starbucks, and you wouldn't want to go halfway around the globe and not find a Dunkin Donuts in the transit lounge, would you? There's also a new Harley set up as a raffle prize if you patronize the duty free store. A $1200 bottle of cognac, just what I need. There are also doors leading to mosques "For Women Only" and the modern bathrooms are thoughtfully provided with little sprayer hoses for those unfamiliar with toilet paper. (Remember, most of the people on this planet have never seen toilet paper. They use another form of sanitation.) Many women are completely concealed except for narrow eye slits in their burkahs. (I wonder what their passport photos look like.) I just love being abroad.
Do you think there's some charitable group of generous souls working hard to provide air conditioners for Eskimos so they may endure the above-freezing temperatures of mid-summer? Seems doubtful.
However, there is a Kuwait-based charity that raises funds to buy warm underwear, gloves, and coats for impoverished workers so they can cope with those harsh winters in Arabia when the temperature can plunge below 70 degrees for days. Really. I'm giving a speech for "Operation Hope Kuwait" (http://www.operationhopekuwait.com/) in a couple of days. It seems that oil sheikhs don't care to do any actual work, so they import unskilled laborers from Pakistan and pay them just about nothing. The poor Pakistani sweepers and maids can't handle the cold weather in Winter, so charitable souls raise funds to help them. I'm speaking at their charity fund-raising event, along with my travel buddy, Scott Friedman.
It's fashionable to complain about air travel. My view is that it's even more miraculous and wonderful than GPS. Fewer than 24 hours ago, I was in the familiar USA surrounded by "normal life." Then, I walked into an aluminum tube, had a perfectly adequate meal, had my choice of 600! channels of movies, TV sitcoms, audio books, classical music, cartoons, and whatever you can imagine, in any imaginable language. Now, I'm in a wonderfully modern airport with airplanes I've never seen before, and I'm the whitest guy around. Sri Lankans and Ethiopians and travelers from Brunei are all walking past, looking at me, the oddball. And they all smile back. I'm the stranger here.
I'm so grateful to be a citizen of this world. I vow to be a good one and work to counteract the image of my US passport.
-----
May 26, 2007
From JFK to the Black Cube
I know there are lots of smart people in NYC. So, why can't they get their airports straightened out? Good thing I had a long connection time at JFK. There's a train connecting the terminals, but the fancy electronic signs telling which train to board are just plain wrong, as well as being confusing. Once you finally get on the correct train (after riding the wrong one to the end of the line and changing to another) each terminal stop is clearly signed, but you cannot see the signs from inside the train. The people who are standing at the station already know where they are. It's us, the confused travelers who need to know what station we're approaching!
I'm hoping to send this from Dubai's airport as I connect to my Kuwait flight, but we'll see.
Uneventful flight, slept about 6 hours and grogged for another 4 or 5. Didn't watch a movie. Cramped in coach, but OK.
This plane has one of those neat tracking displays on all the screens so you can always see your airspeed, remaining flight time, etc. Every now and then, the 3-D map is replaced by a black cube with an arrow pointing to it. Took me the whole flight to realize that this is the prayer-aid, letting Muslims know the direction toward Mecca, and tipping them off to prayer times. Since Muslims pray at sunrise, Noon, sunset, and a couple of other times, how do they figure out when to do it as we cross all these time zones?
We're above Saudi Arabia as I type, and I'm getting a preview of what I'm in for on my adventure. The uninterrupted sand dunes stretch to the horizon. Once in a great while I see a perfectly straight road, and almost no variance of geographic features. Makes me want to rent a car and head for the lost city of Ubar in Oman, or Nahwa, the enclave-within-an-enclave. Going to Hawaii has so little appeal for me, as compared with trekking off to an unpleasant place nobody I know has even heard of, much less wanted to visit.
Never Hire Retired Wadi Bashers in Dubai
It's pointless to throw out numbers about Dubai. It's just the most amazing city I've ever seen. I thought Shanghai was a boom town, but Dubai has more than 20% of the world's construction cranes and earth movers, all working around the clock. Money, money, money. You hear about the palm-shaped island and it doesn't sound like any big deal. Then you see it and try to grasp that it's a city of 30,000 with 65 five star hotels, all built on reclaimed land. The current airport, which I thought was wonderful, is just one of the three terminals they're building, planned as the world's largest airport. Today I visited the world's largest shopping mall, the one with a ski resort built inside it. It's next to the world's tallest building.
Don't think it's all oil money. That's what got things going, but petroleum now accounts for just 7% of GNP here. The rest is all trade and tourism. So, with the biggest airport, and the most amazing (world's tallest) hotels, and an on-fire tourism market, what's to be done out here in the desert where it's over a hundred almost always? (I think it got down to the high 90s before sunrise today.) If all the tourists are coming to fill all the hotels, what are they going to do?
Wadi Bashing, of course! A "wadi" is a Arabic for a dry riverbed, but the term is loosely applied to expanses of desert and dunes. "Bashing" is the local term for driving around in the dunes in 4WD vehicles. Although I generally avoid anything that sounds like a planned group tour, I did weaken and sign up for a "Desert Safari" featuring wadi-bashing. This means you cram into the back of an almost new Toyota Land Cruiser and drive far enough away from Dubai that you can no longer see the world's tallest everythings (and that takes a while) until you're out in the dunes. The driver pulls off the road, lets most of the air out of the tires so they have more "grip" in the red sand. and head out over the dunes.
But, you're not alone. There are 20 other identical vehicles from the same company, all converging on the same expanse of dunes. To avoid crashes in the desert, the vehicles follow each other's tracks. The drivers are mainly having fun playing at terrifying their passengers. I'm not sure of the precise angle at which such a vehicle rolls over, but we were just about two degrees shy of it for much of the experience. It's not comfortable. It is exciting, though.
The odometer read 115 km after an hour, but we'd only gone about 30 km through the sand. The odometer, of course, measures wheel rotation, and they spun and spun as we roared up the steep faces of 40 foot high dunes, crested them, then spun our wheels down the other side. Not straight down, mind you. It's far more exciting to turn to an almost perpendicular path and descend sideways, tempting gravity. Ahmed, our driver, spoke no English, so I just assume he was having a great time scaring us.
The sad thing to me is that there were discarded trash bags way out there in the desert dunes. It's amazing that the tour company, which, last night at least, collected a hundred bucks from each of the 60 or 70 guests for the wadi-bashing experience, doesn't pay someone to go out and clear away the trash.
If you're interested in wadi-bashing, you'd better get over here. With all the most-ever, tallest-ever, biggest-ever goings on here, those dunes and wadis will be trashed and bashed before long. On the other hand, if you have even the slightest sense of environmental consciousness, don't.
And if you're going to rent a car, or as they say here, "hire" a car, make sure it's not one that has been used for wadi bashing and then retired. The shocks will be shot, all the bearings will be filled with grit, and the air cleaner will be clogged with dust. I don't see how any of those vehicles can survive even a few months of wadi bashing. An hour is more than enough for me.
---
May 30, 2007 - Leaving Kuwait for Dubai
Smoking Armpits Made Memories Much Warmer After a 109 Degree Day
Although the temperature was in the hundreds, Kuwait felt cold and unwelcoming...until Arab hospitality kicked in yesterday. What I'll take with me from Kuwait is the gracious welcome and sometimes strange ritual of making visitors feel at home in a Kuwaiti household.
Here's how it happens:
My Kuwaiti contact, Ali, offered to show me the home where he grew up so I could meet his mother and sister. "Mom" is about a 70 year old woman who spoke no English, wore Arab traditional garb, but signaled her unusual openness by letting her face show. This wouldn't happen in a more traditional Arab home, and certainly never in a more conservative Arab country, like Saudi Arabia. Though a scarf covered her hair and neck, she did not wear the "abeya" that many Arab women use to conceal all features but their eyes. Sister "Moo-nah" (phonetically) is in her forties and unmarried, thus a spinster. She's a lovely person, though the reason for her lack of a man is not discussed and questions about the shameful subject are deflected. Ali told me that their deceased father used to cry about his daughter's misfortune, as it's believed that a woman cannot really function if a man isn't in charge of her life. (She's doing fine, has a good government job, lives in her childhood home with mom, and seems fine without a man.)
The house was unimposing and might have been an apartment in the Bronx. But the hospitality, ahhhh, that was something different.
First, we stepped into her simple living room. Just two long couches, a television, a tray filled with old perfume bottles, some plastic flowers and an array of fading family photos atop the TV and on the walls.
Immediately, the Indian housekeeper brought a tray of ice water. She's worked for the family for 10 years and is treated as a family member. She stayed in the room during our "conversations," smiling, but she was clearly the person responsible for doing the work.
Next came tea in little clear glasses with miniature handles, along with various bowls of seasoned nuts, all neatly arranged. Again, a silver tray and lots of smiling with Ali doing the translating. I'd read in my guidebook that the Arab symbol for "No more, thanks" is a waggle motion with your cup. If you hold it out, you want more. If you use the same motion you'd use to turn a key in a lock back and forth a couple of times, that means "no more." Thinking I'd really impress my hosts, I was surprised when they broke into laughter as I made the motion. Turns out that that particular sign is only for coffee, never for tea. They were highly amused that I'd almost gotten it right.
So, a minute later, the coffee came out. Apparently it's normal to serve tea first, and then coffee. This was delivered on the same tray in almost the same little glass cups, except these lacked handles. It didn't taste like any coffee I've had before. Very thin and tea-like, but with the taste of cardamom, which is boiled with the finely ground coffee. This time, I got to do the cup waggle and everybody smiled and laughed and marveled that I knew just what I was doing.
A minute behind, a tray of various sweets followed, including a Syrian concoction that was a sort of pastry filled with a fig-like paste and topped with crispy "strings" of some baked dough about the diameter of threads.
And then something very strange that's known throughout the Arab world: "Bakhur" (baah-KOOR). Moo-nah produced a smoking incense burner about three inches tall. Little chunks of what appeared to be tree bark smoldered and she held it in front of each guest and while making a wafting motion with her open hand, directing the musky smoke over our bodies. Then, she had us raise each arm and wafted the smoke under each armpit. She then placed the burner on the floor and stood above it, allowing the smoke to rise up under her robe. She and Ali explained that if I were wearing a "dish-dasha," or man's robe, I would stand over the burner to be sure that I got plenty of smoke up under it, apparently to de-odorize my genitals. Hamming it up a little, I stood and tried to hold my pant legs open so a little smoke could waft up each leg. This produced great gales of laughter.
As we said our goodbyes, I resisted my Western urge to hug Mom and Moonah, instead reaching out for a gentle handshake. Ali watched carefully, wondering if his mom would allow me to shake her hand, as any contact between men and women who are not related borders on taboo. Later, he told me that it was a sign of her open-mindedness that she even allowed my hand to touch hers. (Good thing I didn't embrace her as I wanted to!)
Upon returning to my hotel later in the evening, I found a gift bag waiting on my bed containing a dish-dasha, incense burner, and my own supply of musky bark. Understand that these were simple people without any sign of wealth, yet they'd noted my interest in their customs, quickly went shopping, and left me a parting gift.
This encounter with Kuwaiti hospitality is what I'll always think of when I reflect on my visit to Kuwait. Without it, I'd just think of this as a hot, awful, dusty place with nothing but oil going for it. People with simple gestures of hospitality can make even the hottest place much warmer.
----
May 28, 2007 - Kuwait City
Contemplating Kuwaiti Cavorting? I'd Recommend You Wait.
"You don't have to love a place to love having been there" is what I've said on multiple occasions. Siem Reap, Cambodia was awful and I'm so glad I was there a few years back. Being stuck outside Mpika without a ride for three days while hitching through Zambia was dreadful, and I'm grateful for having had the experience three decades ago.
Before you plan on a vacation in Kuwait, let me offer you an overview of my first day here:
It's well over 100 degrees and very humid, so it feels hotter. One of the periodic dust storms blew in today, so you can't see more than a couple of blocks. Everything is gritty with blowing sand that penetrates door seals and cloaks awnings and ledges. My client here was kind enough to arrange for a big huge stretch limo to show me the town. So, we went to see the highlights: The biggest Burger King in the Middle East was first; then on to view largest wooden fake boat ever built. We did pass many gigantic and tasteless shuttered homes, apparently owned by sheikhs who are off in Cannes. That was it.
Comparatively speaking, it was much more fun inside the car. The limo had "Shrek" running on the video screen and a full bar setup stocked with crystal decanters filled with festive confetti, since alcohol is strictly forbidden in Kuwait. I did enjoy several Perrier waters and felt a little looped. Jet lag, I guess. This was quite a luxury, as water is far more expensive here than the 70 cent a gallon gas.
Oh, there is a large national Kuwaiti museum, except that the Iraqis destroyed it during the invasion before the first Bush routed them. "W" isn't well-liked at all, but buildings are named after his father. You no longer see bullet holes or burned up Iraqi tanks along the road, but everybody who was here during the invasion has stories to tell. My Egyptian immigrant cab driver on the way in from the airport showed me where the machine-gunning Iraqi soldier had stopped him on the main airport road. He then went straight home and stayed there for 28 days while the Iraqis looted Kuwait.
I'd put off that planned vacation in Kuwait for now, if I were you. Try Mpika, Zambia, or Siem Reap, Cambodia. They're so much nicer.
-------------
May 27, 2007
Keep Your Eye on Dubai
Americans hear of "Dubai" and probably think vaguely of some Arab oil place. Isn't it near Saudi Arabia or Kuwait or somewhere over there?
You're going to be hearing a lot about Dubai in the next few years. It's booming. I haven't even left the airport yet, and I can already tell that this is one burgeoning and successful global crossroads. You're not going to spot any Alaska Airlines jets or Southwest 737s here. The tarmac is filled with taxiing 777s and A340s dressed in the unfamiliar colors of Qatar Airways, Royal Brunei, Yemenia, SriLankan, Biman, and the dominant Dubai-based airline, Emirates.
This is an airport that works. Signage is all clear, and placards abound reminding global travelers that this airport is here to serve. Where have you ever seen an airport with an advertising slogan like this one's: "Allow us to make you feel special?" One of the many roving airport information people gave me directions to a lounge and when he saw me wandering about two hours later, exploring the in-terminal grocery store and big display of the latest PlayStation models, he approached me with concern. "Didn't you find the lounge? May I show you where it is?" I was amazed that he even remembered me.
Yes, there is a Starbucks, and you wouldn't want to go halfway around the globe and not find a Dunkin Donuts in the transit lounge, would you? There's also a new Harley set up as a raffle prize if you patronize the duty free store. A $1200 bottle of cognac, just what I need. There are also doors leading to mosques "For Women Only" and the modern bathrooms are thoughtfully provided with little sprayer hoses for those unfamiliar with toilet paper. (Remember, most of the people on this planet have never seen toilet paper. They use another form of sanitation.) Many women are completely concealed except for narrow eye slits in their burkahs. (I wonder what their passport photos look like.) I just love being abroad.
Do you think there's some charitable group of generous souls working hard to provide air conditioners for Eskimos so they may endure the above-freezing temperatures of mid-summer? Seems doubtful.
However, there is a Kuwait-based charity that raises funds to buy warm underwear, gloves, and coats for impoverished workers so they can cope with those harsh winters in Arabia when the temperature can plunge below 70 degrees for days. Really. I'm giving a speech for "Operation Hope Kuwait" (http://www.operationhopekuwait.com/) in a couple of days. It seems that oil sheikhs don't care to do any actual work, so they import unskilled laborers from Pakistan and pay them just about nothing. The poor Pakistani sweepers and maids can't handle the cold weather in Winter, so charitable souls raise funds to help them. I'm speaking at their charity fund-raising event, along with my travel buddy, Scott Friedman.
It's fashionable to complain about air travel. My view is that it's even more miraculous and wonderful than GPS. Fewer than 24 hours ago, I was in the familiar USA surrounded by "normal life." Then, I walked into an aluminum tube, had a perfectly adequate meal, had my choice of 600! channels of movies, TV sitcoms, audio books, classical music, cartoons, and whatever you can imagine, in any imaginable language. Now, I'm in a wonderfully modern airport with airplanes I've never seen before, and I'm the whitest guy around. Sri Lankans and Ethiopians and travelers from Brunei are all walking past, looking at me, the oddball. And they all smile back. I'm the stranger here.
I'm so grateful to be a citizen of this world. I vow to be a good one and work to counteract the image of my US passport.
-----
May 26, 2007
From JFK to the Black Cube
I know there are lots of smart people in NYC. So, why can't they get their airports straightened out? Good thing I had a long connection time at JFK. There's a train connecting the terminals, but the fancy electronic signs telling which train to board are just plain wrong, as well as being confusing. Once you finally get on the correct train (after riding the wrong one to the end of the line and changing to another) each terminal stop is clearly signed, but you cannot see the signs from inside the train. The people who are standing at the station already know where they are. It's us, the confused travelers who need to know what station we're approaching!
I'm hoping to send this from Dubai's airport as I connect to my Kuwait flight, but we'll see.
Uneventful flight, slept about 6 hours and grogged for another 4 or 5. Didn't watch a movie. Cramped in coach, but OK.
This plane has one of those neat tracking displays on all the screens so you can always see your airspeed, remaining flight time, etc. Every now and then, the 3-D map is replaced by a black cube with an arrow pointing to it. Took me the whole flight to realize that this is the prayer-aid, letting Muslims know the direction toward Mecca, and tipping them off to prayer times. Since Muslims pray at sunrise, Noon, sunset, and a couple of other times, how do they figure out when to do it as we cross all these time zones?
We're above Saudi Arabia as I type, and I'm getting a preview of what I'm in for on my adventure. The uninterrupted sand dunes stretch to the horizon. Once in a great while I see a perfectly straight road, and almost no variance of geographic features. Makes me want to rent a car and head for the lost city of Ubar in Oman, or Nahwa, the enclave-within-an-enclave. Going to Hawaii has so little appeal for me, as compared with trekking off to an unpleasant place nobody I know has even heard of, much less wanted to visit.
posted by George Walther | 6:55 AM
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