Reflections on the vastness

Back in the sanctuary of my Polish apartment I try to let my past month absorb into my being... where was I? Did I really in fact leave? Outside my window nothing much seems to have changed. However, I feel different, something in me has changed (as it usually does after a new cultural immersion) - leading to new perspectives and metamorphosing views of the world. Being introduced to a tiny glimpse of the Middle East was like throwing vodka on a struggling flame - as it set my desire for travel ablaze. No, not for travel, but for experience - for knowledge of the other, all others - culture, art, music, religion. I yearn to understand what drives people, what they see upon waking each day, the similarities and differences from what I have come to recognize as a day in the life...

As I travel, as the years pass, I get closer and closer to grasping the immensity of the questions I set out to seek, that manifest themselves differently depending on the angles and reflections, the lighting of the season and the waxing and waning of steadfast moon - they perplex me, yet drive me. As time goes by, I find myself emotionally further and further from my homeland, detaching, loosing my citizenship as if loosing a religion. I did not choose this direction, but happened upon it naturally I suppose. Don't get me wrong, I love my homeland - I often find myself engrossed in nostalgic reflection as I lie awake at night, or on the banks of the river - longing for all that I have left behind - all I have given up and sacrificed for the life I have chosen to lead. The family, the security, the stability...

But then I open my eyes and look around me and am reminded... that I live a life of freedom - (despite of course for my loan debt :-) )... I have the freedom to choose my own path - and to reinvent it whenever I see fit. So do all of us, but so few of us utilize this freedom - we chain ourselves to assumptions of what and who we are suppose to be, we are told to live a certain way, buy the right things and make our way through life in a timely manner, one step after the other; school, rebellion, jobs, marriage, babies, work, work, eat, die... not that any of this is bad - if it's the choice you have consciously made, then I honor you, and perhaps possess a tinge of jealousy, but this is not the life I seek. No way is better, or worse - there are pluses and minus to all decisions in life - but at least I have nobody to blame for my mishaps... everything I do is on my own accord - nobody to point fingers at - I work when I want, where I want - if I want a change, I make it. I weigh the pros and cons, I jump or I sit back down to reflect, but they're my decisions, the choices are mine.

There are millions out there - expats, or experiencers of this planet - refusing to settle-in to one culture, one nationality, one fixed identity. We evolve, we flow with the current and we are becoming more and more prevalent as this shrinking, globalizing world allows for us to move about freely and societies inevitably grow closer together - even amongst stubborn ideologies that play tug of war like abused school children on a crowded playground. We are witnesses to the falsities of propaganda and the observes of hypocrisies so many are too blinded to see and the best of all - to all the insane beauty this world has to offer.
We are the creations of our observations, of the cultures we let inside us, the societies that accept or reject our otherness or sameness, our uniqueness's, our humanity. This life isn't always easy, but I can't think of any other one I would wish to lead...

I have forgotten the purpose of this post... like father, like daughter, I have let myself get swept away in thought - reflection, is that what this was all about? Anyway, I return revived, rejuvenated and with a greater sense of understanding of... well, above all, self. So for that I am eternally grateful, for all whom cross my path - teach me something new or make me laugh, all is delicately placed in memory, until it is forgotten...

A word on Religion

A ten year old student asked me if I was Christian today by crossing herself and questioningly pointing to me... I tried not to be too quick to skawf and knowing it's always best to tread lightly on the thin ice of religion (in any country and in regards of any religion, softly chuckled - "Who, me? Christian you mean. No, sorry, not a Christian." "Muslim?" Came her reply. "No, not a Muslim either." Blank stares from little beating eyes. "So... what teacher?" How to explain atheism to eight and ten year olds who know nothing BUT religion? Struck for words and on the spot, I replied; "Well, I am a fan of trees and find the sea pretty outstanding." "Oh, teacher, you are Hindi." Hmmm, "Ok class, sure... now, let's get back to finding Japan on a map".

Why is my cold water burning me?

Perhaps it's because it sits in that scalding hot sun all day...I don't think anything is cool in this country... no, I lie... the cinema is actually just as chilly as they are in the U.S. Went to see Harry Potter yesterday afternoon and I practically needed a sweater... such an odd feeling in Oman.

So as long as we are on the topic of temperature... let me take this opportunity to share the hottest experience of my life. An experience that I actually took part in fully aware of the heat outside my apartment walls but in search for a bit of outdoor fun nevertheless.

11:30 was fairly late to begin trekking through the hot Friday morning mid day sun - was suppose to leave an hour earlier, but that's what you call 'Omani time'.
Destination - Wadi (the Arabic term traditionally referring to a valley, home to an oasis and river or in the this case fresh water pools and caves).
Preparation - Hat, water, sunscreen, apples... book? (had no idea what to bring).

Twenty minute drive up the coast, through stunning village on the top of a rock with views dropping deep into the sea below.
Park car under highway bridge at the mouth of palm tree lined canyon. Get out of ac...struggle to breath in humidity, laugh about the heat and look ahead - quietly asking the inevitable question: "How far do we have to walk?" Answer: "Around half an hour... you DID bring sneakers, right?" Sneakers? Seriously? Hmmm, no, just my flimsy little sandals... should I be worried? Wait! Half an hour? Ok, that's not long, I'm in shape, how bad can that be? Only... 50C (120F) odd degrees... plus humidity, hmm, that IS a bit hot...

Ten minutes later... Ten minutes in, rocks in sandals, mounting over and around boulders, tip toeing on downed palm trees and collapsing walls, jumping, wading through small streams, bounding quickly in search of the next sanctuary providing a moment of shade and a chance to stop and guzzle already hot plastic water. The men are wearing shorts and tank tops, I think I can see their skin peeling away - both use to the scalding hot temperatures of the desert, they definitely have the advantage. Being a woman, I am fully covered in pants, and t-shirt - but can still feel my legs burning in the sun. I can literally feel all the liquid being sucked out of me, even as I down water, I am drying up like a gecko left in the sun too long. We really have only been walking for ten minutes? Sweet Jesus. How will I ever survive another 20 minutes?!

An eternity later, we finally reach our destination. I can barely see straight as I begin ripping my clothes off and burning my feet on the hot white rock before diving into the blue green water of the first pool. Ah... instant relief. Water is pretty warm, but just being IN water feels amazing, and my body takes it in like a sponge.
Three pools, at the bottom of the jagged desert canyon all leading to the climax and the glory of nature that made all the pain worthwhile. Swimming through a narrow passageway you emerge into an amazing cave, fully equipped with a magnificent waterfall and young Omani boys diving from the various levels of the cave walls. Haven't yet stopped to catch my breath since the strenuous hike up, so I climb up on one of the rocks and lie next to the waterfall, giggling at the feeling of being in some Disney World creation and how as soon as my strong protectors are out of sight there is a swarm of Omani boys swimming beneath me like parana - completely harmless they won't even make eye contact with me, but I try to engage them in conversation nonetheless. Embarrassed and unsure of themselves I relieve them from their awkward female encounter and swim away - back into the other pools. I hug close to the sides as they provide shade from the still towering sun. Back in the first pool I jump out for a moment, drink some water, try to eat an apple, can't - way too hot. The boys are able to take naps in this mental heat and I get back in the water and swim, and swim and try to stay under for as long as I can, and swim a bit more.

Four hours later, the sun is finally hiding behind the steep rocks but my brain is like mush, too much for me, little girl has an exploding headache, we're out of water.. . I do believe our time here is done. After a very tiring attempt I finally am able to rally the boys and begin our trek back to the car. Finally there, we are all about to die from lack of water, down what liquid remains in the car and drive. Nauseous, head pounding, still in nothing but my bikini (could really care less at this point, let them stare).

Finally home, sleep, drink liters and liters of water, sleep... 14 hours... :-)

Took two days to recuperate - seriously NOT cut out for the heat. Glad I went, but have NO intention of repeating.

A day in the life...

This blasted siesta has my sleeping routine in upheaval! I often find myself staring at the ceiling as I try to wrestle back to sleep or am up at dawn and off to ponder the world while dreamily gazing into the blue green sea that is my temporary home. These mornings are enchanting as they carry the illusion of somewhat livable temperatures - too early for the humidity to have yet soaked in as the sun sleepily climbs higher and higher into the desert sky.
The swampish algae has disappeared, leaving the beach free to splash about in, creating an all too cruel temptation as I'm really not allowed to swim out in the open like this - so I wade in the blue waters until I spot a plastic bag floating next to me and I am instantly sidetracked by picking up the beach - Milk boxes, crumbled bags of chips, bottle caps...

On mornings not spent on the beach, I slowly enjoy breakfast and scalding hot coffee while catching up with all the world happenings on Aljezzera. I now have the company car so I gather my computer, lessons and drive into work - down the eroding road, past bridge workers digging holes, goats eating trash and many gazers - who gawk intently at the foreign woman as she confidently drives around the city, iPod pumping out Gypsy Punk mayhem and sporting big, bug eyed shades and shinny lip gloss (a far cry from the black abaya clad women of Sur).

9:00 the little ones begin to arrive - one, two , four, six... seven little scampering children pulling on my skirt and shouting how they want to play this or that game - sing the 'short shorts' song or whatever tantalizing activity I probably wasn't planning on doing. Teaching children is by far the most challenging age group... hands down the most exhausting yet can definitely be loads of fun and most certainly requires a massive dose of caffeine.
11:10 the teenagers saunter in and take their respectable seats - white dishdasha wearing boys on one side, black abayad girls on the other. Kind of like teaching two different classes at the same time and sweet Jesus are they well behaved - they raise their hands, the don't speak out of turn - kind of freaky actually, but I think they are my favorite class. Something about them that I am drawn to - being raised in such a foreign world from the one I come from, yet teenagers none the less. Can't imagine what it would be like to have all those hormones frantically running about and have no outlet for it, (well, there is, but that's a matter to be discussed... at a later point in time).

1:30 and I am home for lunch, two hour siesta (this is where my sleep gets torn asunder), lesson plan, drink tea and read a bit about Stalin's youth and then back to work.

I usually have just enough time to check my email, write retarded blog entries, drink copious amounts of afternoon coffee and catch up on the local Sur gossip - thanks to the lovely ladies of the office. 6:30 and my evening class of adults begins. Two and a half hours of grammar banter and me trying to pry information out of them making me feel like a Soviet era intelligence operative. No, for the most part, the students are great, motivated and excited to be in class, so, so far, so good.

9:00 and I am on my way home - malt soy milk to replace my glass of chardonnay and a bit of a bad movie (I actually sat through about one and a half hours of Two by Sea the other night... seriously bad movie), some reading and I'm back to staring at the ceiling... ah, sleep is grand.

The weekend in 60 seconds or less

Ah Saturday...back to work.

First day of weekend spent lesson planning and obsessively flipping from Aljazeera to the BBC to CNN International to decide which was providing the best coverage of the morose events around the globe. Aljazeera won. Ended up watching an hour long program on the history of our fascination with fish - VERY interesting indeed.

Late night jaunt up to Muscat - two hour ride through the dark, vacant desert, arriving for a night of grand hotel bar partying. Expats from a cornucopia of countries the world over, locals, lots of booze (whiskey for me thank you very much), cheesy dance party music from 70's - 90's - drunken dancing, a few prying eyes, and a few hours of sleep before an early start of perusing the old Muscat Souk (market).

Friday - Ancient city of old Muscat - stop the car - run out to get a better glimpse of the Portuguese fortress on the bay - lean against the stone wall - burn stomach through shirt - take photo - run back to car. (Repeat steps for many fortresses, Palace of the Sultan, Gate into old city... etc). HOT!!!! HUMID!!!! With no air movement it resembles getting into a blazing hot car, windows up, doors locked... Needless to say you have to change your clothes a lot. In restaurants there are boxes of tissue on all tables - not for all the tears you may be shedding but to wipe off all the sweat. :-)

Afternoon spent in the mall. Air conditioned and great shopping to be had. Bought sunglasses - something I am never in short supply of, and a few other odds and ends that one really shouldn't be without.

A quick stop for a stock up on dates and curry paste and back down the cost into Sur.

All in all a good weekend - no beach - ran out of time lallygagging around the capital. Oh well. Next weekend.

So now it's Saturday, my Monday and the show goes on. Drinking coffee and preparing for my evening lesson in... 8 minutes?! Gotta run! Ciao!

Technical retardation...

Seriously retarded... and yes, it may have something to do with too much coffee...or lack of alcohol.

Anyway, just finishing siesta before my evening class, sipping some freshly brewed coffee and nibbling on dark almond chocolate. Astounded at how my finger nails thrive under these conditions... fairing a bit better than my eye balls which are screaming at me about all this chilly dry air being propelled at me with remarkable dedication. Dry eyes... small price to pay for a relief from the heat. What ever did people do before AC? Super stars they truly are, or were, or whatever.

Saw my first camels today, grazing near some bushes off the road to my house. Stay clear, they spit bile. However, have no fear, I will try to approach them, in an ignorant attempt to befriend the 'beast'. No dogs, no cats... one has to make creature friends somehow right? My weekend will be spent steering the stray baby turtles back in the direction of the sea... 'follow the light' does NOT mean into the highway my little friend... this is the mantra I will try to inspire them with.

Where's that coffee boy? Hello? I'm about empty over here! Screw the coffee, would someone, anyone please bring me a cocktail? PLEASE?..... sigh, oh well, look at the time, back to work I go.

Dance Lessons Anyone?

Off the plane and into the heat. You walk outside and your glasses fog up, your sandals become slippery, your entire being is 'damp' yes, it's like walking into a sauna... literally. Nobody goes outside, and EVERYTHING is air conditioned.

The people in Oman are INSANELY friendly to foreigners, they tend to stare a bit, but that has never really phased me, and is honestly, kind of welcome after two years of being annoyingly overlooked in Eastern Europe. Great coffee shop/English book shop in Muscat – service so welcoming you would think my presence had been a common fixture there for months, AND there are a plethora of English newspapers for the rather impressive ex-pat community (made up of a variety of teachers, industry workers, contractors, engineers, you name it). Supermarket that made me giddy (no sleep and a 'real' large coffee probably added to my kid-in-a-candy-store-glee, but for anyone who knows me, I suppose this really isn't too surprising). An entire 'date corner', rice milk, boxes upon boxes of cereal, humus - not very cheap, but I could not convert rials in my brain under such circumstances so just threw everything in the cart... Oh, the money is bright and colorful, making up for the stark landscape of this desert country.

Two hour speedy car ride down the coast to Sur. Jagged rock mountains as far as the eye can see, occasionally catching a cluster of date palms or herd of goat, practically camouflaged within this multi-toned tan landscape. Part of the newly constructed motorway had been washed away in the cyclone of 2006 so there is some messy re-construction going on, but nonetheless, very impressive. I've been told Porsche often uses a large section of this highway to race. Driving is fun and gas is insanely cheap. An important thing to remember: DO NOT flip off or yell at the obnoxious Cadillac Escalade riding dangerously close on your tail - as it is illegal to offend an Omani and you could face a nasty jail sentence.

A few minutes outside of Sur you pass the cerebral structure where the sister of Moses lies. The ancient village destroyed by the Portuguese – the site leaves a pretty amazing impression as it sits on the stone embankment along the sea. Sur is the home of Sindbad (yes, the legendary mariner of Arabian Nights) and the most mosques in all of Oman. Stunning white-washed houses rise out of the earth here, protected by brightly colored ornate gates and presents quite a contrast from the sights and sounds of Eastern Europe.

Not a lot for the people of Sur to occupy there time with, so in the evening, a lot of people just simply hang out by the water, sitting on walls and in gazebos that line the bay. There are two bars here in hotels that cater to the expat community. Apparently there is still an alcohol problem here, despite it being against the Muslim religion to drink, there is still a black market for booze – a problem dealt with by turning a blind eye. There is virtually no crime in Sur, as I would imagine is the same for the rest of Oman. The Sultan is much loved and respected, leaving the people content and pretty politically indifferent to the happenings elsewhere around the Middle East and the rest of the world. It is however, advised to steer clear of Oman's neighbor country Yemen, as many people tend to 'disappear ' - However, most are returned unharmed.

Ok, so far I have not seen much of the city of Sur. I have walked down the beach outside my house, littered with colorful broken-shells,smooth coral and bright green algae.

There are small groups of veiled women, small children and a few men that wander down the beache at dusk. Midday is too hot for even the locals to be outside, too hot for the beach... now THAT is hot. The weather reports claim it never gets over 50 Celsius – (it is illegal to make people work when it is that hot), but it has been known to get well over 50... but really, what's a few more degrees when it's this hot? I have driven down the main streets in Sur, spent an evening at a shisha bar smoking shisha and drinking coffee and even made it to one of the hotel bars for some lunch and an Amstel tall boy.

I am excited about my classes and hope to get out and see more of this amazing country. So far, my impression is of a calm, kind and endearing people. Perhaps life in the desert is better than one would originally imagine.

On a bit of an ironic note, there was a copy of Young Stalin sitting in my living room when I got here, so I have been engrossed in a 400 page biography that could almost be considered relevant to my thesis topic... but, not quite. Who knows, maybe I can tie it in somehow.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, no, there will be no dance classes today... dancing is not allowed, however, feel free to pray five times a day. I promise you there is a room for that around here somewhere. :-)

Hello Mother, it's me again.

When I moved back to Poland in the end of summer 2007 I was bound for an adventure of graduate, academic bliss. I came here for the culture, the historic city, the scorched earth of a tragic Polish century, the beauty that remains and all I had to learn and experience from the stunning city of Kraków. My home is the old Jewish district of Kazimierz, historic for the 'driving out' of its residence to the confines of a Jewish ghetto across the river into Podgórze. Once a thriving cultural center and economic hub of Kraków, the only Jews to grace these littered streets are tourists, on holiday, stopping through to pay tribute to the past, or in search of heritage, some sense of closure to a time all too quickly forgotten. There is a resurgence of this district, but of a much different breed. The streets ring vibrant with the sights and sounds of small bars and the occasional freshly sprouted posh club - hip hole in the wall, candle lit cafes, all looking out on to the weathered and cracking steps of Plac Nowy.

I have met great friends, many leave, some remain... my favorite possession is my fuchsia pink Fisher bicycle, which I ride, everywhere. My days are intertwined around coffee and yoga... and I know there was a point behind my life here... oh yes, I have had a year with an unwritten thesis hanging over my head. Unwritten, it resides in scraps of notepaper scattered around my room, books dog eared and post-it noted; various shades of green and pink - taunting me as I scratch my head in search for their once marked significance. Sidetracked by warm weather, teaching English, mid-afternoon card games and just plain professional procrastination, I have five months till the looming deadline, five months to write, what I have barely touched in one year...

So, what better time than the present, the summer, in Kraków, when all the friends are gone, when the tourists are out in abundance and the city is too crowded to draw you into its center without a fight... when... oops, the recession cancels your job and you are without funds to live on... SHIT! Cette la vie!

All of the sudden life again is in flux, and when a bit of panic takes over, the questions begin to roll in... but then there's an email, an opportunity, you say 'hello' and walk out the door, into the open air, take a deep breath (most likely with a bit of tail pipe residue from the 86 Fiat that just peeled down the street and around the corner in a blaze of unimpressive glory), and remember how exciting the unknown can be.

So, I have three days to prepare for a month long teaching stint in Sur, Oman, two hours down the coast form Muscat, where I will be teaching children and teenagers (something I have NEVER done) English and hopefully appreciating all the thrills of a culture I am unfamiliar with, hopefully remaining calm in the midst of uncertainty and finding grace in the chaos.

I AM packing the thesis - the notes that have been transferred on to my laptop, the bits that have been written - perhaps more will be written while in Oman, perhaps not... it all remains to be seen.