I’ve taken a bit of a break from blogging the last couple weeks. I’ve been angry. Things have been churning inside me for the last couple months as I attempted to make sense of the many numerous negative comments and shared images that have been flooding my Facebook news feed. Last month and the month before they mostly had to do with Canadian and American politics, and the European issue with what to do about the refugee crisis. Many status updates and shared links I read were straight-up racist, bigoted, and spoke to the narrow mindedness of people. I read them and let the comments stew inside me. You see I have mixed emotions. I see the world in a global view where every human being is equal. Maybe that sounds naive, but it’s how I interact with others. I am not better, nor am I less than you. I felt conflicted as one of the things that I deeply love about being Canadian is how multicultural Canada is. That to be “Canadian” does not mean you have white skin. We are a broad mix of colours and religions and backgrounds. In my opinion it’s what makes Canada so great. But, at the same time I also believe that if people want to come to Canada they have to follow our laws, learn to speak English and/or French, and that they have to be accepting of our beliefs and freedoms.
Many of the comments and shared links I read had to do with the shared idea that “We shouldn’t help refugees until we help our own people.” Our own people. Yet, this left me wondering if the people who share comments like that are in fact helping our own people. Are they going out of their way to help their neighbour, or the elderly, or that homeless war vet down the street as their message preaches. Are they? Sadly, I’m doubtful of this. Because I don’t even really think the issue is about helping. I think it’s about fear, and changing the imaginary “face” of how they see Canada.
This week Paris was the scene of a horrific terror attack. As was Beirut. And I’ve seen a huge increase in the awful comments about Muslims, and about closing borders, and about the unfairness of the attention the Paris attacks received as compared to Beirut or Baghdad. And again my emotions stewed. And I became more angry. Angry at the people who commit these attacks, but also at the people who lump all Muslims into one category. To paraphrase some of what I’ve read “A Muslim = A Terrorist.” What surprises me the most about these comments is that I’m pretty sure many of the people who post shit like this probably don’t actually know anyone who’s Muslim. Well I’ve met Muslims. Hundreds. Maybe even a thousand. Maybe more. Not only here in Saudi but back when I worked in the states. I’ve met Muslims from the Middle East and from Africa. Men and women. I’ve shared meals with them, and many, many laughs. Some of them have become very dear to me. None of them have tried to kill me. I’m fairly certain none of them are terrorists.
During my time living in Saudi Arabia and traveling in the Middle East I have met lovely Muslims. Don’t get me wrong, I have also met some awful people who also happen to be Muslim during my time here as well. But….. newsflash….. over the years I’ve met a ton of assholes from Canada and America. Some from the UK. Some from Europe. Arrogant selfish people who I would cringe when I found out that we shared the same type of passport. To lump all people into one category is absurd. It only makes sense to do so when your whole world view is so small it only accounts for your safe little western bubble. I guess that’s the end of my rant. There’s so much more I want to say but I’ll just end with a prayer. A prayer for lives lost, for homes and countries lost. A prayer to those who no longer feel safe. A prayer of tolerance and kindness for each other. A prayer for peace.
So in my last blog post I alluded to that one time on my first international trip where my passport was stolen. The year was 2006. I was super green to the world of travel and still under the delusion that at 27 I would likely get ID’d on a musical pub crawl in Dublin. And that when I did get ID’d I thought my driver’s license wouldn’t suffice so I had best have my passport on me. How naive.
It was a Saturday night. After bouncing around between several bars that evening and making friends with many locals and an American couple we ended up at a dance club. As memory serves me there was dancing involved. My recollection is part memory, part drunken photos. I ended up with a stolen passport, but somehow didn’t have my camera taken. My travel mate’s camera wasn’t as lucky. So after the bar closed we ended up on the street in front of the bar and this is where I realized I was sans passport. Initially I thought I’d just put it somewhere else in my purse. That initial feeling where you think you’ve lost something is awful. It feels like burning in your throat followed by a fluttering in your upper chest. Oh Shit. My passport isn’t in here.
After the initial shock subsided the water works kicked in. Followed by us madly banging on the bar door for them to let us back in. They were in the process of cleaning up. We checked to bar floor, the bathrooms, but no passport. Shit. They also stole my US work visa which was affixed in the passport. Double shit. Adrenaline and being scared shitless are powerful antidotes to alcohol. I sobered up pretty much stat. We went back to the hotel. I called my parents. I cried like baby. Through sobs I told them of my predicament. I called the Government of Canada’s emergency assistance number. In retrospect it wasn’t a true emergency. But let me tell you it was an awful feeling being abroad without a passport.
Lucky for me there was a Canadian consulate in Dublin. Unfortunately, they were closed until Monday. Remember how I said prior to this that I was under the belief that embassies were open 24/7. Like 7-11. Nope. It still cracks me up that I thought that!! So here it is in the early hours of Sunday morning and we are to fly out early Monday afternoon. After a few hour of restless sleep we went to the police station to file a police report, I got passport photos taken, and printed off an application for a temporary passport. Then we did what anyone would do- went on a ghost tour of Dublin later that night. Because what else could we do?
So Monday morning we show up at the consulate with all my papers. Unlucky for me the lady who could’ve issued me a temporary passport had called in sick, so the best they could do was to issue me an emergency passport which was basically an 8×10 piece of paper with a couple stamps and my picture on it. It would get me from Dublin to London, but not back to the US (where I was living at that time). In London I was supposed to go to the embassy there and they would be able to issue me a new passport. So I boarded the flight to London. And then in London the airline (which shall remain unnamed) allowed me to get onto the flight to LA. With an 8×10 piece of paper as my ID. So get on the plane I did. In my head everything would be ok once I landed because they have my fingerprints on file and they can see that it’s me, and that I’m legally allowed to work in the US. Wrong. Dead-wrong.
I landed in LA, and immediately the immigration people were less than pleased at my arriving from the UK with only a mildly-official piece of paper. I was pulled from the immigration counter to a separate area where I was left to wait for what seemed like a couple hours. In this waiting area were other people- most did not speak English, but like me were in varying degrees of immigration greyness shall we say. Eventually I was brought to an office were it was decided that I should be put back on the returning flight to London….except that the flight had already left. So then it was decided that I had 3 days to get a new passport and work visa or I would be asked to leave the country.
Now here’s where my luck was good- I was living in Orange County, just outside of LA, where there was a Canadian consulate, and where for an absurd amount of money they can issue you a temporary passport and an expedited permanent passport. And lucky for me living in Orange County I was only 2 hours from the Mexican border to get a new work visa. Work visas are only issued upon arrival to the US. Had I not been close to the Canadian or Mexico border this already costly ordeal would’ve included a flight out of the US so I could get a visa coming back in.
So in the end it all worked out. It ended up costing many hundreds of dollars, some gas down to Tijuana and a couple boxes of tissues, but I got a great travel story out of it. In fact I’m exactly the person you want to be traveling with if your passport ever gets stolen. I know exactly what to do. Stay calm. Locate the nearest embassy or consulate. Visit during business hours. Voila.
What’s the most stressful thing you’ve had happen while traveling??
Gosh, I’m sorry. I kinda dropped off the face of the earth there for a bit. Not literally, but figuratively, in that I’ve been off finding myself in Bali. I’ve been on a 3 week solo trip bouncing from Saudi to Kuala Lumpur, to a yoga/meditation retreat in Bali, and then back to Kuala Lumpur. I promise to tell you all about it soon, but in the mean time I thought I’d tell you about how I came to love travel so much, and some of the things it has taught me.
I spent most of my 20’s working as a travel nurse in the US, living in North Carolina, Connecticut, Pennsylvania, Arizona, California and Washington. I was very outgoing and comfortable with uprooting myself whenever I got bored or needed a change of scenery. During this period of time I moved more than most people will in their entire lives. As in I seriously moved at least 20 times. Even though I would’ve described myself as adventurous it was from a very sheltered perspective. Besides going to Mexico as a kid I had yet to leave North America. I was a bit of a princess back in those days- very tied to monetary things that I thought brought me comfort- I always had a flashy car, never deprived myself of whatever it was that I might “want” in that moment. The “me” of then could never have imagined living out of a backpack, having to wash my knickers out in the sink, or staying anywhere that wasn’t 5 stars. The extremes of humanity like poverty, classism and sexism were largely foreign concepts to me at that point.
Back in 2006 I took my first international trip with a friend to London and Ireland. Even though it was an English speaking country it felt very foreign. The locals had cute little accents, and the toilets were a bit different, and they used different words to describe things than I was used to. Oh, and they also drove on the other side of the road, which meant I had to drive on the other side of the road. It was all fresh, and new, and I loved it. And then because it was my first international trip I decided to live every travelers worst nightmare and have my passport stolen. Because, THAT seems like a fun idea. Here’s how green to travel I was. I was 27 and convinced that if I was going on a pub crawl I needed to take my passport with me in the event I got ID’d. Yep. Present day me never carries my passport with me if I can lock it somewhere, and yet here I was drunk on a pub crawl in Temple Bar, and my passport got stolen. Along with my friends camera. Tears ensued. Like the kind of crying where you know you’re completely effed and it sobers you up kinda crying. Now here’s how equally green I was: from the movies it always appears that people who are in trouble (or drunk and missing a passport) just run up to the gates of their embassy and the guards let them in and offer assistance. Life Lesson: that is only in movies. In reality embassies work business hours, and may not even be located in the city or country your passport is stolen from. Eventually, I obviously got an emergency passport and I’ll tell you all about it another time!! Promise.
So after the passport fiasco of 2006, I traveled to Japan and Bali in 2008 to celebrate a friend’s 30th birthday. This was likely the point where the life I had been living intersected with the life I wanted to be living. And where my full blown passion for travel was found. I was able to experience 2 very differing Asian cultures on this trip. I saw the orderliness of Japan against the third worldiness of Bali. I ate foods I had never heard of, road on some of the fastest trains known to man, became accustomed to the distinctive smell of burning garbage, and had one of the worst GI illness of my life. That trip left me wanting more.
So orderly….
Before I knew monkeys have rabies…
The following year I rang in my 30th birthday on the beaches of Costa Rica with an awesome groups of friends both new and old. I traveled to Guatemala to visit a dear friend who was living there and learned the life lesson that sometimes we play it a little too safe in our western bubbles. For sensible reasons I would never ride around in the back of a strangers pick-up in North America, and yet that was exactly what I found myself doing in Guatemala. I also learned that really outside of western countries there are no such things as safety waivers, just the general implied rule of “try not to act like an idiot and you’ll live.” I like that a lot. I also dragged my Pops with me to Scotland that year on a ancestry tour. That same trip I managed to drive our rental car into a low-hanging bridge about 3 hours after we picked it up. Thank goodness we got extra insurance with that one!!
Seems safe enough….
Turns out we ARE royalty….
When I was 31 I got the crazy idea to take a travel nurse gig in Saudi. By crazy idea, I mean my cousin Amber nagged me to go with her, and then when I decided I would, she promptly pulled out. Granted she’d recently met a lovely guy so I couldn’t really be mad. And to be fair I’m pretty sure Saudi couldn’t have handled the both of us!! The 15 months I worked in Saudi shattered all my previous world views and exposed me to cultures, languages, and religions that were so foreign to me. During that time I had the privilege of traveling to Bahrain, Oman, India, Sri Lanka, Hungary, Austria, Egypt, Portugal, Jordan, Syria, Lebanon and Turkey. Some with new friends from Saudi, some with dear friends from home, and some solo.
India. Trying to fit in…
Even in Egypt there’s a……
Syria. I often think of this guy….
Turkey. From a hot air balloon.
After Saudi I moved back to Seattle, but had a hard time settling in. I had changed. Long periods of travel, or moving abroad do that. They are meant to. I saw things differently, and longed for more. Within a year I was off traveling again. Exploring Burma, Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam. I had almost 5 weeks off and it was awesome. I didn’t want to come back. This started me planning the biggest adventure I’ve ever had and last year I took nearly 3 months off and drove an auto-rickshaw across India with 2 of my dear friends. It was life changing. After completing the “Rickshaw Run” I traveled thru Bhutan, Nepal, Bangladesh and spent some more in India. I volunteered at a charity in Kolkata and then spent a week in Northern India in an ashram. I fell in love with Bangladesh. Specifically the people. I can’t talk of that trip without getting a goofy smile on my face. In fact I’m smiling now as I write this to you. The time I spent in India opened me up to the injustices of poverty, classism and sexism. What I saw can’t be unseen. Nor should it.
The Rickshaw Run India
Paparazzi in Bangladesh
Kids are the future…..
Volunteering in India.
So that brings this to my most recent travels. This year has been an awesome travel year, one that has often made me feel like I’ve been shadowing along on other peoples honeymoon’s as several of the places I’ve been have had a slightly romantic feel. While I myself have felt anything but. The winter isolation of the Lofoten Islands of Norway, the Maldives, the susets off the beach in Bali have all been uber romantic. But as I’ve already blogged about I’m not waiting around for the future Mr. Kristine wanders to experience it. If I want to go, I go.
Here are some of the many lessons I’ve learned from traveling. My passion for travel has made me fiercely independent. I am comfortable alone, or with strangers. The people you meet are generally good. If you ask, they will help you. Kindness begets kindness. For me personal growth happens when I’m out of my comfort zone. There’s something very liberating about going with the flow. Letting things play out. Traveling will make you more aware of your “gut” feeling. Listen to it. I don’t always play it safe, but I take calculated risks. I’m also not afraid to yell at someone or become aggressive if a situation requires it. Thankfully, this doesn’t happen very often. Travel opens you up, it softens you. Often it is transformative. It has been for me.
The things you experience while traveling will imprint themselves on your heart. Some of them will be places, some will be experiences, but the vast majority of them will be the encounters you had with other travelers and the local people. People who are the exact some as you, but come from very different backgrounds. People who if you let them will be some of your best teachers.
What are the best lessons you’ve learned from travel?
You’ve never truly solidified a friendship until you’ve been scrubbed raw by a Moroccan lady while wearing only your underwear with your best mate. That is the mark of a true friendship. Let me set the scene for you……one of the riads that we were staying at asked us if we wanted to visit a local hammam and since I have never had a true hammam experience I was like sure why not?! So off we go to the Moroccan spa. We walk in and the place is quite nice, and we are given robes to wear, and led up to lounge on the rooftop terrace. Which in theory sounds relaxing, but it’s like 35C and we’re just basically sweating our asses off in one size too small terry-cloth robes. As it turned out the hammam was on the roof, so we’re led into this cement room with benches, and asked to lay down. Next thing you know buckets of hot water are being thrown on us. And when I say thrown I really mean thrown. Now the benches are covered in plastic. And as you can imagine plastic when it gets wet is super slippery. Like slip-n-slide slippery.
So we’re being doused with buckets of water, and I’m not especially a huge fan of getting my face wet. And also for some silly reason I didn’t even think to take off my mascara so now I’m topless with my best friend with 2 Moroccan women and I literally look like a crying Panda bear. It was a real special moment, rest assured. So after we’re adequately soaked we’re covered in argan oil and left to lounge in the humid hammam for a bit. So we’re chatting a little bit and the whole time my brain is thinking “stare into her eyes, DON’T look at her boobs. Oh shit you looked. Eye contact. Maintain eye contact.” Sorry J- I accidentally might have looked. My bad.
So the ladies come back in and tell us to turn over. This in and of itself was a major feat, as you can imagine a plastic bench is slippery when wet, but it’s slippery as heck when you’re covered in oil. I was imagining myself attempting to turn over, but actually propelling myself off the bench and landing on the hammam floor, at the feet of a strange Moroccan lady and then looking up at her like a crying Panda. Thankfully, this did not happen. More buckets of water were thrown at us, and then came the really fun part. The scrubbing. I’m quite certain I’ve never been cleaner once this lady was done. Basically your skin is scrubbed raw and all the old grey dead skin is left. It’s pretty gross. And they scrub everywhere. Including my feet, which trust me really needed it after days spent walking in sandals on the dusty Marrakech streets. But here’s the thing. My feet are super ticklish. As in I might accidentally kick you in the head kinda ticklish. Oh, and I giggle the entire time my feet are being touched. So now I’m resembling a half naked giggling Panda. Oh, the levels of humiliation…..
After the scrubbing, more water is thrown at us, and then they braided our hair. Which was a nice touch. Then we were helped into our robes and escorted to our massages. Correction. Couples massage. Yep, same room as my bestie. At this point I’m expecting the day to wrap up with a group shower. Thankfully, this didn’t happen.
Have you been to a hammam? Ever had a similar experience??
So I got back from Morocco last week and worked a whirlwind week of nights, but rest assured, I will be blogging about it over the next couple weeks. It was a beautiful country with amazing food, but truth be told, it’s the hardest country I’ve ever traveled in. Harder than India and Bangladesh combined.
We’re now part of the way thru Ramadan. Since I was working nights I wasn’t affected by the daytime fasting. Muslims here start fasting around 4am (Fajr prayer) and the fast isn’t broken until Maghrib prayer just before 7pm. Most of my patients stayed awake all night and had visitors into the wee hours. It’s very social and most of the families will offer the nurses food, chocolates and coffee. I’m back to day shift tomorrow which means most of my patients will be sleeping until mid-afternoon, and I’ll have to be inconspicuous while drinking water or snacking.
In August I have plans to visit Sharm El Sheikh for a few days. The situation in the Sinai peninsula has been increasingly problematic. Sharm El Sheikh sits on the southern tip of the peninsula, and while there have been no security incidents there, there has been an increased number of ISIS attacks in the peninsula and earlier this week tensions rose on the Egyptian/Israeli border as 2 rockets were fired into Israel. According to the Canadian and US travel alerts for Egypt, Sharm El Sheikh is still considered safe to travel to, so for now we’ll just wait and see. And maybe start researching a back-up plan should the situation worsen.
At the end of August I’ll be traveling to Malaysia and then on to Bali for 3 weeks on my own. I’m really excited to take part in a yoga and meditation retreat hosted by a fellow blogger Sarah Somewhere. I have been following her for years (in fact she was the inspiration for me convincing my 2 dearest friends to drive an auto rickshaw 3000km across India last year.) I’m so excited for some stillness and quietness, and to do yoga in a beautiful place. After the week retreat is over I’m planning on staying in Bali for another week for some R&R.
So those are my summer plans. My year contract here in Saudi ends the beginning of October. I’ll need to make a decision as to whether I’m going to extend until December, or re-contract until next year. My thoughts on it changes literally daily. If I have a good shift at work I think to myself I could stay another year no problem. Then, like everywhere I’ll have a bad shift and come home and be looking at plane tickets to fly home that night. Some days are great, others aren’t so much. But, there is always the ever addictive seemingly endless 54 calendar days of vacation that would be mine if I re-contracted for another year. Already in my head I’m planning future travels…….so we shall see…….
I’m a little nervous about posting this, as it seems like a bit of a taboo topic, but one that has been nagging at me since I took that uber romantic vacation to the Maldives at the end of April. Prior to coming to Saudi I was on the market, so to speak. I dated a bunch when I lived in Seattle, and a decent amount when I moved back to the small hometown where my family is, and where I went to college. I don’t feel like I had a super long list of things I was looking for in my future Mr, but one thing was crystal clear. He needed to have a passport, and he couldn’t be afraid to use it. I went on so many dates. Some of the guys were jerks, some were lovely guys, with good jobs. Guys whose profile’s stated openly how they wanted to travel, but were waiting for the One. Waiting. For someone else to come along so they could live their life. So they could then go to all those places they wanted to. Waiting. For someone else to start living. Ugh. Hearing that line over and over, was such a turnoff. Because, if as a single girl I can move to the Middle East not knowing anyone, I feel like a dude can get it together and buy a plane ticket for Scotland. Or Egypt. Or Vietnam. Because, as a nurse I know to never take the future for granted. And that waiting to start my life when ever my Mr comes along would be a portion of my life wasted, when I could just be out living it now.
Ever since I visited the Maldives this issue has been nagging me. I’d wanted to go to the Maldives for a long time, and obviously it would’ve been lovely to have gone with that special someone, but since he isn’t currently on the scene, should I have postponed? Should I have waited to have shared that experience with him? This him who doesn’t actually exist in my life right now. I’ve seen hundreds of sunsets that I also would’ve loved to have shared with my future Mr, but I wouldn’t trade not having seen them at all. I think it’s a struggle for those of us who love to travel, but also would love someone to share those memories with. The struggle is do you go, or put your life on hold? Do you delay the experiences you would like to share with that special someone and risk never having the experience at all? Do you pass up going to the Maldives, or Bora Bora, or Fiji just because you aren’t on your honeymoon? Do you go alone, or with a friend just for the sake of going?
So to my future Mr…..I sure hope you’re out there. Living a life. A life I can’t wait to hear about. And I very much look forward to all those amazing sunsets we will see together. But for now I choose to be out there in the world living my life. Even if that means visiting the Maldives as a single gal.
“The universe gave us three things to make life bearable: hope, jokes, and dogs. But the greatest of these was dogs.”Robyn Davidson from her book Tracks.
Loss comes in many forms and can take on both a physical and emotional component. It can take the form of loss of future dreams, loss of physical things, or it can take on a very permanent form as it does with death. Last night my family had to put down our beloved family mascot Hercules. He was old. And it wasn’t completely unexpected, and yet even though it was for the best, it’s still really upsetting. Some of you who read this blog may have a difficult time understanding how emotional this concept can be. How someone can grieve for an animal, or how animals can play such a large role in a persons life. This is not an uncommon phenomenon in Western cultures where animals (especially dogs) are considered to be members of a family. Often times the bond one has with a pet takes on very human qualities. Hercules started out as my brother’s dog, and then in his later years he became the family dog, and then my Pops sidekick. People often refer to their animals as their family. As their children.
In some ways the bond between a human and a pet is stronger than that between 2 humans. A dog after all, only wants to please its owner. Only wants to show love and affection in return for the same. A dog will be unwaveringly loyal. If you show them love them will only ever see your good qualities. Hercules was often aloof. He wasn’t super affectionate in a physical sense, but rather showed affection by following you around. If you were his person he didn’t want you out of his sight. He was a gentle soul. A protector. A lover of humans and equally so of human food. He was a very spoiled boy who will be missed.
So goodbye Hercules. You served our family well. You showed love and were loved dearly in return. Rest well….
While staying in Narvik Norway, my kiwi mate and I decided to walk to the ski hill the overlooks the city to ride the cable car to the top of the hill to take in the supposed amazing views of the city and surrounding area. Apparently on a clear day you can see the Lofoten Islands from the top. We asked directions from the front desk of the hotel we stayed at and were told that it was about a 20 min walk to the base of the ski hill. The receptionist did not mention that it was straight up hill and unless you had boots that had amazing grip to climb a steep hill of ice it would be far smarter to take a taxi. This would’ve been helpful to know.
So we set off. My kiwi friend is sensible and wearing snow boots. I, however; was not as bright and had on a pair of hiking shoes. Shoes meant for hiking, not ice climbing. So we start up this hill, and its slick, but not yet that steep and people are coming down the same path and they seem to be having no problem so I figure it’s ok going up. Later we would realize that all the locals had these traction devices that fit over their shoes making it easy and safe to walk on ice. So the road is getting steeper and I’m slipping every couple steps and starting to really get freaked out. Because if it is this hard going up, how the eff am I going to get down? Back in 2008 I had a bad bike accident that left me broken and bruised and had it not been for wearing a helmet I would seriously have sustained a brain injury. Ever since I’m very nervous about any chance of hitting my head on a hard surface. Climbing this hill of ice completely un-nerved me. But, we were literally trapped. I didn’t want to go on, but was too scared to turn around so we attempted to unsuccessfully call a taxi. No luck. So the next safest option was to walk in the street because at least the street was bare in most parts.
So we’re coming around a corner and a Somali woman is coming down with a toddler and a baby in a stroller. She’s coming down the hill that’s a complete ice rink. And the toddler slips, and pulls the lady down with him. As she falls her hands lose grip on the stroller and the stroller starts sliding down the ice into the road. To the exact spot I was walking up. It literally rolled into my out stretched hands. The woman is looking panicked, the toddler is crying and he’s bitten his lip so he’s bleeding. And it’s so icy that they can hardly get up. And we can’t get to them to help as it’s so damn icy. So, eventually she is able to get up and helps the toddler up, and we help them across the street all the while I’m pushing the stroller and this super cute chubby baby is staring at me like “who are you lady, and what’s happening?”
We get them to a safe area, and then we say our goodbyes. And I’m immediately thankful we didn’t turn around. Because if I hadn’t continued on and been walking in the street at that exact moment who knows what would’ve happened to that baby. The stroller would’ve for sure ran into the street, and quite likely into oncoming traffic, if it didn’t tip over when it went off the sidewalk. So sometimes, you end up being in the exact right place at the right time, even though seconds before that was literally the last place I wanted to be. I’m not overly religious, but I think it’s a hell of a coincidence that we found ourselves in that exact spot.
So we eventually made it to the base of the ski hill. Only to find out that the last trip up the cable car was 5 min before we got there. And that the ski hill was closed the following day. So we had an employee call us a taxi because there was absolutely no way I was walking back down that hill of ice. And we never did get to find out it the view was as amazing as we had read. The End.
The next couple months are going to be busy. I’m leaving for Dubai mid-week. Heading for the 3 B’s…….booze, bacon, and boyz. Just kiddin! I’ve never been to Dubai and our meeting is long overdue. It’s going to be a jam-packed visit. Later in the week my Kiwi partner in crime and I are flying to the Maldives. This involves a seaplane transfer to our all-inclusive resort. I’m filled with a mix of excitement and terror at the prospect of being in a seaplane. This will be a first for me, and I’m hoping I can remember it thru my medication induced haze. Remember how terrified of flying I am people!? It’s also going to be my first time staying at a fancy resort. All-inclusive resort type travel is pretty much at the opposite end of the spectrum from the travel style I’m used to and prefer. We have now booked 5 nights in a fancy island oasis where I’m sure we’ll standout, as the Maldives are the honeymoon capital of the world. No, we’re not on our Honeymoon. Yes, we do want separate beds. Please bring us more champagne. It will be tough. After that we fly back to Dubai for 3 nights before returning to the sandbox.
In May we’re heading to Bahrain with a group of embassy/engineers/nurses. Should be a super fun mix, and a really great weekend I have no doubt. In June, my dear Seattle friend is meeting me in Morocco for 2 weeks. I can’t wait to see her face and have some overdue catch-up time in a country that I’ve dreamed of traveling and photographing for years. I’m pretty jazzed about it. Then it will be Ramadan, which I will blog about what that means in relation to living in a Muslim country as it gets closer to that time.
I’m sure you’re now asking yourself, when does this girl actually work? Well work I do, rest assured. Some days are easier than others. Some days I’m not treated especially great. But, all that slips away and is easily forgotten when I’m jet-setting across the globe.
For me, travel is a never ending lesson in kindness. I truly believe that most people are good, and this belief is never more apparent then when I’m traveling. From India, to Bangladesh, to the corners of the Middle East, for the most part I’ve met kind, kind people.
Back in February I took a trip to Cyprus. My kiwi travel mate and I rented a car in the southern part of Cyprus where we toured around for the better part of a week. Our last few days in Cyprus were spend in the border city of Nicosia where the Green Line dissects the city into the southern Greek part and what they refer to as the “Turkish occupied” area to the North. We had been warned many times by people on the southern side that the people of the north couldn’t be trusted. That they were dishonest. That it was unsafe. And that we would be scammed. Naturally, I wanted to check out this place, full well knowing that this was likely very untrue.
We wanted to explore the Turkish side, but it was a bit of a paper-work nightmare to drive our rental car across. Even with the proper paperwork the end result was that we would likely still void the rental agreement we had with the car rental place in the south. So that seemed like not a great option. We inquired at our hotel in the southern part of Nicosia about booking a taxi for the day to take us around. At first the reception guy referenced the many reasons why we shouldn’t go to the north. They are bad, they treat their women bad, they will treat you bad. We then informed him where we live. He replied that we would find the north especially shocking then. He was dead serious. We laughed till our eyes watered. He then quoted us 350euros to book a taxi for the day. Again, I thought he was joking and started to laugh. Turns out he was not. So we told him we would walk across the border and negotiate a taxi ourselves. He was horrified at our blatant disregard for his safety warnings.
So cross the border we did. And we found a taxi stand and tried to negotiate with a couple drivers, but the lowest price we could get them down to was 120euros which still seemed rather steep. So, we wandered the market and found a small shawarma place called the Orange Cafe and Restaurant. We sat down and ordered a bite to eat and a couple beers to discuss our options. It then dawned on me that maybe we could just rent a car in the north for the day. So I asked the very nice Pakistani guy who was our server if there were any car rental places close by. He replied no, but then uttered the words “maybe my boss knows.” And off he went to get his boss.
Samie, as we would soon learn was the boss’s name strolled over a couple minutes later. He was in his late 40’s, wearing blue jeans, a leather jacket, and a hat with a maple leaf on the front. In Canada we call these hats a touque and the fact that his had a maple leaf on it made me like him immediately. So we told him our sad story of how we wanted to tour the north, but didn’t want to pay very much to do it. As it turned out Samie also owned a taxi company and told us he could get us a driver for the day for 100euros. Again we said it was too much, so then Samie said he had a BMW that he would lend us for 50euros the following day. He said he also had a Hummer, but that the it was too expensive in gas. Now granted, it did sound a little sketchy, but I’m one for seeing how a situation plays out. And 50euros to drive ourselves was exactly what we wanted. So we made arrangements to meet at 9am the following morning.
So the following morning we head back across the border to the north. It’s pouring rain, and by the time we arrive at the Orange Cafe we are drenched. Samie is there, and his “brother” is there, and no one really speaks great English. So we are invited to sit down for tea, and Samie brings us an olive loaf that his mother made. And it’s delicious. Samie makes a phone call that we eventually make out has to do with insurance for the car, and then a guy arrives with papers, and then things got a little confusing. Samie hands my kiwi mate the keys and we walk over to the BMW but the guy who delivered the papers is still there. So we’re thinking maybe we’ve totally misunderstood and this guy is taking us for the day? So Samie says basically “bring the car back whenever” and walks away. Now I’m in the backseat and my Kiwi friend is in the passenger seat, and this paper-delivery guy is now driving us through the winding narrow streets of Northern Nicosia. After a couple minutes he stops, gets out, and gets into another vehicle, and signals for us to follow him out of the old city walls.
And then just like that we’re on our own in a strangers car (that we’ve yet to pay the 50euros) and we’re driving further into the north, and we’re laughing at the absurdness of it all. That Samie trusted us enough upon initial impression to hand over the keys to his car. At the complete kindness and trust of a stranger. So we spent the day touring and getting lost in the north of Cyprus as I’ve previously told you. We got hopelessly lost trying to get back to the cafe. The winding narrow streets of the walled section of north Nicosia is disorienting and confusing. By complete fluke we ended up pulling over about to ask for directions and who was standing across the street? The original guy who delivered the insurance papers. So he jumped in and drove us back to the Orange Cafe and to the car’s rightful owner, Samie. We ordered some beer and some food and sat with Samie and his “brother” for a couple hours discussing politics and life in the north in broken English.
The following day (our last day in Cyprus) we stopped back at the Orange Cafe. By now we felt like they were our good friends. We had some apple tea, and said our goodbyes. So what did Samie teach me? He taught me that it’s ok to take a chance on a stranger, that people can do something kind, just for the reason of being kind and helpful. He taught me that each of us should make more of an effort to help tourists in our own country. Because even though I have had so many kind interactions with strangers while traveling, I could make more of an effort when I’m on my home soil. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that we should all immediately hand over our car keys to the next tourist you see, but that it’s ok to go out of your way to help a stranger. That kindness towards a stranger benefits not just the giver but also the receiver. Try it and I guarantee your heart will feel a little lighter.
I think I’m going to make a Lesson in Kindness a regular part of my blog. I’ve got so many wonderful stories of chance encounters with kind strangers that have been so humbling, I would love to share more of them. Those chance encounters where you walk away with the feeling that the world is a good place, and that compassion and kindness are the keys to the betterment of humanity. For as the Dalai Lama once said “Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them humanity cannot survive.” I agree wholeheartedly.
I’ve taken a bit of a break from blogging the last couple weeks. I’ve been angry. Things have been churning inside me for the last couple months as I attempted to make sense of the many numerous negative comments and shared images that have been flooding my Facebook news feed. Last month and the month before they mostly had to do with Canadian and American politics, and the European issue with what to do about the refugee crisis. Many status updates and shared links I read were straight-up racist, bigoted, and spoke to the narrow mindedness of people. I read them and let the comments stew inside me. You see I have mixed emotions. I see the world in a global view where every human being is equal. Maybe that sounds naive, but it’s how I interact with others. I am not better, nor am I less than you. I felt conflicted as one of the things that I deeply love about being Canadian is how multicultural Canada is. That to be “Canadian” does not mean you have white skin. We are a broad mix of colours and religions and backgrounds. In my opinion it’s what makes Canada so great. But, at the same time I also believe that if people want to come to Canada they have to follow our laws, learn to speak English and/or French, and that they have to be accepting of our beliefs and freedoms.
