Just When You Thought It was Time for a Nap – Boxing Day

26 Dec 2011 2 Comments

by Eva the Dragon in Island Tales - Expatriate Living Tags: , , , , , ,

Bûche de Noël - the Yule Log cake my French Canadian friend brought for Christmas Eve.

With so many nationalities in one place, nearly every month there is a National Day or a religious holiday.  During the Christmas holidays our expatriate friends substitute for our blood family and the holidays become a whirlwind of festivities as everyone makes an effort to celebrate.

And because wives cannot work, we have the time to plan parties.

Irish Christmas Lunch

The eating fest started last Wednesday when my Irish friend hosted a ladies’ Christmas lunch complete with appetizers, soup, main course, pudding (English for dessert) and the final cheese plate.  Every day since, it has been an amazing array of non-stop dinners, shopping, wrapping, hiding presents, decorating, cooking, and getting dressed up.

Christmas Day Dinner

Last night around 10pm after our Christmas Day dinner, I literally thought my stomach was going to pop.  We had eaten three large meals in a row – Christmas Eve dinner, Christmas Day Brunch and Christmas Day Dinner.

And today, December 26th, is Boxing Day.  Almost every Western country but the USA celebrates something today.

Yesterday a British lady told me Boxing Day was the day they threw out their old boxers to make room for their new clothes.  Last night my American friend who was raised in London corrected that modern day interpretation.  She said the day after Christmas the servants were given the day off to visit their friends and family.  The leftover food was boxed up and taken for their celebrations.

In the UK commonwealth, December 26th is a national holiday.  Sporting events, like fox hunts, are held.  It is also the day to visit the friends who you would have preferred celebrating with but could not because of family obligations.  And like every other holiday in the US, Boxing Day has evolved into another shopping day as the stores start their sales.

The Stoning of Saint Stephen (1625) by Rembrandt

My Irish ancestors celebrated Saint Stephen’s Day on December 26th.  St. Stephen was the first Christian martyr stoned to death by a mob for blasphemy.  The story is traditionally boys stoned wrens on this day because a wren betrayed St. Stephen.

In Sweden where my maternal ancestors came from, the 26th  was the second of the twelve days of Christmas and a different St. Stephen was remembered.  In old Sweden, horses were raced or drunken men sang carols while riding on horseback from village to village.

This evening our British friends invited us over for a Boxing Day party.

What I need to figure out in the next six hours is whether I should make a meat pie from the leftover turkey, borrow a horse and a guitar or just gather up our old underwear to distribute among the guests.

Merry Christmas 2011

26 Dec 2011 2 Comments

by Eva the Dragon in Island Tales - Expatriate Living Tags: ,

Christmas Tree at Bahrain Ritz Carlton 2011

I hope your Christmas day was merry and bright.  And it was everything you imagined it to be.

Santa's Message "Peace On Earth Goodwill to Humans"

Santa Getting His Pre-Christmas Spa Treatment

23 Dec 2011 1 Comment

by Eva the Dragon in Island Tales - Expatriate Living Tags: , , ,

Santa Claus at Ritz Carlton Bahrain

Leaving the beach, we ran into Santa in the Ritz Carlton’s Spa lobby.

Since only hotel guests and club members can use the Ritz’s facilities we figured he was taking a pre-Christmas vacation.

Always prepared in case children recognized him, he had wrapped marshmallows stowed in his bag.   He wished us a Merry Christmas and gave an obligatory ho-ho-ho before he signed in for his Moroccan scrub and sauna.

You just never know who will show up in Bahrain.

Seeing the World Through a Billionaire’s Lens

22 Dec 2011 Leave a comment

by Eva the Dragon in Island Tales - Expatriate Living, When Dragons and Rabbits Make Me Laugh - Humor Tags: , , , ,

Ace and the Cousins in their tie dyed shirts

To celebrate the school’s fiftieth anniversary, the children were allowed to wear gold or a 60s outfit on the last day of school.

Ace who cannot be in the room when I eat a banana wanted to go dressed like a banana.  His friend Rex and he are Osprey house captains and thought it would be funny to be the Osprey’s Top Bananas.  Cute – but I was not in the mood to figure out how to make that happen.

When Ace insisted Rex’s mom was having a banana costume tailored for him, I could not believe it.  Besides raising four children, his mom, Irish author Anne Dunlop, exercises, writes, blogs, and teaches horse riding.  I called her and she said,

“Absolutely not!  I cannot be bothered.  I bought him a gold Chinese jacket from the thrift shop.”

When I told Ace he could go as a mustard seed, he decided to wear the gold and red tie dyed shirt he bought at the Iowa State Fair last summer.

Ace with Tie Dye Artist at Iowas State Fair 2011

Mark saw himself as a robotic street performer and wanted gold sunglasses.

I said “Sort through my glasses.  You can use my old orange aviators.”

“Mom look at me,” he said modeling a black pair of sunglasses.

Mark wearing Dr BK Modi Sunglasses

“You look fantastic.  But those are not my sunglasses,” I said.  “Do you know who they belong to?”

He quickly took them off.  “No,” he said a little nervous he was in trouble.

Dr. Bhupendra Kumar Modi aka BKM, Chairman of Spice

“Those belong to Dr. Modi, the Chairman of Spice.  He’s the Indian Buddhist billionaire.”

“Really? How did you get them?”

“Dad met with him and Dr. Modi left them in Dad’s car.  You can wear them.  He didn’t want them back.”

“Thanks Mom!”  He hid them in the cupboard so Ace would not take them.

Accessing his father’s less than 6 degrees of separation, Mark wowed his friends with his golden moves and his BKM sunglasses.

Really Officer. I Wasn’t the One Driving.

21 Dec 2011 2 Comments

by Eva the Dragon in Island Tales - Expatriate Living, When Dragons and Rabbits Make Me Laugh - Humor Tags: , , ,

Comparison of Speeding Offeces 2010 to 2011

When the Officer at the public prosecutor’s office stopped me at the door and asked me where I was going, I should have known something was up.    A young Bahraini man was peering out from a square window in the door across the room.  His forehead made a greasy spot on the window but he didn’t care.  His eyes were fixed on the guard chatting with his friend.

“Am I in the right place?” I asked the uniformed Officer who was leaving.  “I need to pay this ticket.”

The Officer pointed me towards the cashier.  I walked across the room and peeked in the window.  No one was there.  I sat down to wait.  A Bahraini man wearing a Nike shirt came in and looked toward the cashier.  I said “No one is there.”    He sat down across from me.

In the window, an older Bangladeshi man pushed into view.  He made a motion like he needed to drink and pointed to the guard.  The man in the Nike shirt stood up and in Arabic called over to the guard something to the effect,

“Excuse me, excuse me.  This man he needs to drink.”

The guard looked up and scowled.  He responded angrily in Arabic and waved off the request.  Mr. Nike Shirt sat down quickly and shut his mouth.  I knew I was where no expat woman had gone before: traffic contravention jail.

Was getting a speeding ticket a jail offense?

All my good feelings about car registration deflated.  I felt a twinge of nervousness.  Mojo did not know where I was.   Since he never answered his phone, I decided to text him where I was in the ministry building.

“I am at public prosecutor’s office paying your speeding tickets.  So far they have not locked me up like the 2 guys in the room here.  FYI I am at office on first floor to the right of reception. “

He texted back “Thank you Great Goddess of Compassion and Understanding.”

Now three guys’ foreheads were greasing up the window.  I wondered how long they had been in there.    The Officer came back into the room carrying a white plastic shopping bag.  He set the bag on the desk then walked across the room to open the door.

Eight men came stumbling out.  The Bahraini ran over to the water cooler and began slowly drinking out of the paper cup.  The Bangladeshi man did not even try to get a drink.  The Officer opened the plastic bag and pulled out handcuffs.  He cuffed the men together two at a time.

My hands shaking, I texted back to Mojo.

“If I don’t come home, please come feed me.  The guard is ignoring the men banging on the door.  They just let them out and are handcuffing now for transport.  Still waiting to see my fate.”

Mojo texted back “Tell them you are only accustomed to handcuffs made of diamonds but will accept gold ones if necessary.”

The men walked out and the three of us waiting for the cashier eyed the empty jail room nervously.  It was 1:15pm.

A man in a white thobe with gold cufflinks popped his head out an office door.  “Excuse me,” he said.  “Cashier gone home for today.  You come back tomorrow to pay.”

“I can’t pay today?  Isn’t there someone I can pay?”  I tried to look disappointed to see if that worked.

“No, you come back tomorrow.  Eight o’clock to one o’clock cashier will be here.  You come then.”

“Thank you,” I said walking out.

I texted Mojo “They let me go as jailer only here from 8 to 1.  They told to come back tomorrow for my punishment.”

“I take it you will be sending me tomorrow,” he texted back.

“I am so traumatized I am going for some retail therapy.  I will be at City Center for the next five hours,” I wrote him.

“There is a limit on the Visa card.  I will cancel your AMEX card though.”

“Haha, very funny.  They don’t call me Mrs. Claus for nothing, coal-lover.”

Avoiding Fines and Lines at the Ministry of Traffic

20 Dec 2011 6 Comments

by Eva the Dragon in Island Tales - Expatriate Living Tags: , , ,

I wonder how this guy passes inspection. Loyal camper in the desert.

“Do you need inspection? Or does your car need inspection?” the older Bahraini man asked me as he leaned against my window.

Cross-cultural flirtation was not something I engaged in as it is a perfect opportunity for cross-cultural misunderstandings.  I just smiled at the policeman and shook my head.

Once a car reached five years of age, the government required an inspection before registration.  Part of my December chores was registering two of our cars.

“Let me see your papers.”  The policeman read my husband’s name out loud.  “Your husband?”  I nodded.  He looked disappointed but he would not bother another man’s wife.

“Go to number three,” and he waved me into the brake checking garage’s short line.  There were four cars ahead of me.

In the garage, a second, younger man had no interest in flirting.  He checked my brakes and scribbled on my form.  “Go pay in the office then get third signature.”

I drove down the garage ramp into a mess of cars trying exit the parking lot. The parking lot was completely full and the lanes were blocked as all fifteen car lanes funneled into the one exit.  The people trying to back out of their spaces could not.  I tapped two quick beeps and a man let me in.

I saw a solution.  I did the Bahraini girl thing and pulled up onto the sidewalk next to a palm tree.

Really I was not acting like a Bahraini woman since no respectable woman would ever be down at the Ministry of Traffic.  And no Bahraini woman would park at the far end of a parking lot and walk through the lot.  Their driver would drop them off at the front door.

In fact, I did not know any other expat woman who registered the cars, paid the insurance and did the inspection.  Usually the husband’s company staff took care of all that for them.

I was still wearing my tennis shoes from my morning work-out.  It was an easy dash between the cars to the check-for-fines office.

When I opened the door there was a line of twenty men waiting.  Luckily the one woman wearing her blue officer’s uniform waved me to the front of the line.  She did not want to see me waiting amongst all those men.

For the first time in seven years, I had fines.  Usually I park legally and I have never gotten a speeding ticket.  I did not bother to ask the man to translate the Arabic.  Probably they were from the protests last year when my car’s GPS guided my friend Goldie through the roundabout.   I heard all the license plate numbers were recorded.

I went back outside to the man in the center kiosk.  He was spraying the air with perfume from a purple bottle.  It did not disguise the cigarette he had just extinguished.

He stamped my form, signed it and told me “Post Office” meaning that’s where I had to go next.

Again I danced between the cars honking their impatience.  I jumped into my car, drove off the sidewalk and out the front gate.

The whole thing took twenty minutes.  It was a good day to be a woman.

I want to Pimp My Mini Van

17 Dec 2011 4 Comments

by Eva the Dragon in Island Tales - Expatriate Living Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Designer Abaya from Saudi Arabia

In a culture where individuality is drowned out in a sea of white thobes and black abayas how does one express their individuality?

To stand out in public, Gulf Arab women carry designer bags and wear oversized sunglasses. In the last few years, abayas are bedazzled with crystals and embroidered with colorful fabrics.

Arab women express their hidden selves under their abayas and only in front of women.

For instance, a Bahraini woman I saw at school covered every day from head to toe in plain black made her appearance at a ladies’ only coffee morning.  She wore a light pink, bustier dress that accentuated her mermaid curves.  Compared to the Westerners’ garden style dresses, she looked ready for New Year’s Eve with her silver heels and diamond chandelier earrings.  When the Bahrain This Month photographer started snapping photos, she covered her face with her hands and ran to throw her abaya over her dress.

Arab men in the Gulf make their public statement by painting their cars a custom color and tinting the windows.

Blue Porsche Cayman with Bahraini Flag

The Lebanese TV station MBC copied MTV’s Pimp My Ride.   In Arabic, the show is named Spoil Your Car.  I watch it because I love seeing what the boys in Riyadh are doing to their cars.  Their creativity inspires me.  I tell Mojo, “Someday, I am going to transform the mini-van with lavender and add silver flames.”

Blue Porsche with Kings

Former Kings on Black SUV

In this time of turmoil what better way to express your loyalty than to adorn your car with your favorite royalty?

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