Weaving a Curious Life

I haven’t written nearly as much as I expected.  While in Kabul, I felt like one day was pretty much the same as the next and that there was not much interesting as I moved from the bubble that is the guest house to the bubble that is campus.  I think that I also needed some distance and space to sort out the whirlwind of getting to and adjusting to my new life.  I arrived back in the US for a break last week.  When I return to Kabul in January, my plan is to try to post much more frequent short snippets and snapshots to capture my life there.  In the meantime, I am off to soak up freedom, fresh foods, time with loved ones and to stock up on warmer clothes and other things to make life in Kabul more pleasant.

Food has been the most common topic for questions from friends back in the US who are curious about my life in Kabul. Let me start by saying that this would be a very difficult place to be a strict vegetarian or to be on a low carbohydrate diet. For me the hardest adjustment with regard to food has been lacking a connection to the sources of my food—eating local and seasonally were not just things I did but part of how I experienced the world back in Indiana. I miss my weekly trips to farmer’s markets and various farms and orchards. I miss the sensory delights that shift with the season. I miss being able to give the names of the producers and to have stories for the things I consumed. Beyond that my diet here is no longer centered on the same categories of food-fresh (often raw) fruits and vegetables, great cheeses, and nuts. Of those categories the only one that can be safely and easily obtained in a fresh and high quality form are nuts. With that said, “What am I doing about food?”

I have never been a breakfast person unless you count coffee as food. That has not changed. Lunch is available on campus on work days. For lunch you have the option of the “International” meal and two or three Afghan meals. The International meal is more expensive and can be a little bit of everything except that pork is obviously not an option and unlike most college cafeterias in the US lamb is regularly offered. The main way that the international meals differ from meals you would get in the United States is that they often include two or even three starches (e.g., French fries and rice, potatoes and past, etc.). Quality of these meals ranges from only partly edible to okay and rarely even good. The Aghan meals regularly include a kabob of one sort or another (these are cooked outside on a grill) and are served with rice and sometimes a bit of the vegetable dish of the day. You can substitute fries for the rice. See what I mean about meat and starch? The other dishes are often beef stew or pilau (also here) . Here are some additional recipes for the types of things that you might get in the cafeteria. The Afghan option comes with fresh salad and nan. I eat lunch once or twice a week and probably eat the International and Afghan options pretty much equally.

Cooking at home comes with challenges – access to ingredients, relying on bottled water for cooking, not having a way to judge temperature in the oven (I’ll be correcting that soon), and sharing an ill equipped kitchen with someone who can be described as neither neat/clean nor considerate. I find that more and more I exist on grilled cheese, peanut butter on toast, scrambled eggs, or some dish that I make on weekends and eat for several days.

Each weekend transport arranges group shopping trip. On the regularly scheduled weekend shopping trips the decision where to go is made by vote/consensus of those on the trip within the parameters of what Security will allow. You can also request a special outing from time to time. I shop mostly at the newest Finest Supermarket in the Puli Surkh area of Kabul because it is closest to the guesthouse where I live and has most of the things I want (assuming that they can be found here in Kabul). Less often I go to the Share-e Naw Finest . I have been to the oldest Finest store in Wazir Akbar Khan and Spinney’s each once. I was not impressed with Spinney’s and will probably go there very seldom and only if others are insistent. All of the stores take both US and Afghan currency and each has a sometimes working ATM though there are some questions about the security of using them. Prices are a mixed bag though I wouldn’t describe most things as inexpensive. Of course most Afghans don’t shop at Finest or similar stores, in the area where I spend most of the time they can choose from a variety of street vendors and small bodaga type shops.

The grocery items are a mix of Western and Afghan products. Western products are more expensive. Each of the stores has some items that you can’t find at the others. I find the biggest limitations to be in the areas of fresh produce, dairy items, and meat. Milk is available in shelf stable form and yogurt is common. Sadly, the best option I have found for cheese if “processed cheese food.” The items I can’t find yet and miss are good cheeses, sweet potatoes, bay leaves, high quality old steel cut or rolled oats, really good coffee, fresh mushrooms, and plain corn chips. I have added some new things to my mental pantry –most notably, figs and even more nuts.

Produce is one area where the extra travel time makes it worth it to go to the Share-e Naw location of Finest. At the Wazir Akbar Khan you can sometimes get mixed frozen vegetables. Eggs are purchased in the produce section of the stores and bought in whatever quantity you wish. I plan to pick up a container for eggs from a camping equipment store; that will increase the likelihood of getting the eggs home unbroken. Unless you bring something in which to put them, they will be placed in a plastic bag in the same way as your potatoes or onions.

Transport and security will sometimes agree to stop for that on the way home. You can buy produce from vendors on the street when Security will allow the stop. The advantage of in doing so is buying more local items that are generally fresher. The downside is contending with beggars and the need to spend more time disinfecting the produce before you use it. When you shop on the street for produce the security escort assists with interpreting for you-my attempts to learn Dari are progressing very slowly. Scales are generally old fashioned and the counter weights used are generally stones. Among the times prevalent at this time of year are pomegranates, onions, potatoes, apples, carrots, and winter squash/pumpkins. You see lots of bananas though I do not know their source. You also see tomatoes and melons though they are starting to taper off. The other item that people buy from vendors on a regular basis is nan.

I hear that there is a place to buy meet that I have not yet visited. It is near Spinney’s and is called Prestige. Several of my coworkers speak highly of it. Short of that you can buy some frozen meats at Finest and Spinney’s. Unfortunately the meat like many other items come in packages meant for fairly large households (e.g., the chicken breasts come in packages of six) and spices come in bags that fill a fill an empty instant coffee jar. Of course, I could buy meat in the way that many locals buy meat but I am not that brave. Those squeamish about meat and animals might want to skip to the next paragraph. One option for this is to pick a live chicken from a cage in the way that one might pick a lobster from a lobster tank. The chicken will then killed for you. I am not sure if the seller will gut and clean the chicken or if that job falls to the customer. For larger animals (most notably goat and sheep) you see carcasses hanging at vendors along the road. To give you idea about sanitary conditions here, you would actually want to pick a carcass with flies on it as this means it hasn’t been splashed with chemicals to keep them away. From what I have seen once a customer arrives to make a purchase the appropriate size and portion of the carcass is hacked off by the seller. You can buy some pork products and frozen seafood at Chiano market but I’ll save more about that for another time.

A regular stop on shopping outings is the French bakery. This is a small store where you can buy various breads. I am partial to the sliced walnut bread for toast and grilled cheese sandwiches. They also sell cookies (the gingersnaps are very good), small fruit pies (the apple ones are the best in my opinion and I am not even a big apple pie fan), freshly made yogurt and some local cheese, meat pies, croissants (the chocolate ones have quite a following among folks here) and a small selection of grocery items. They also sell a Dari phrase book if you are looking for one.

At the Puli Surkh Finest and Spinney’s (and possibly the others) you can find stationary supplies, some over the counter pharmacy items and personal care items, videos and jewelry. At least the Puli Surkh finest has some linen items, small appliances, and even a few larger appliances as well. I believe that it has some clothing items on the third floor though I haven’t been up there. Spinney’s has a small selection of books. I noticed that the Puli Surkh Finest also has some pet food; this may be true of the others but I haven’t noticed it there.

It is hard to know what you will and will not be able to find; for example, shampoo is available in many forms but you are lucky to find even one or two options for lotion and deodorant. I have found the quality of kitchen items available (knives, utensils, etc.) to be pretty low—if you like cheap plastic items with cutesy designs from China you will be pleased. I, for one, do not need googley eyes painted on my toilet bowl brush. I intensely dislike plastic so I long for things like glass storage jars even as I understand the reason that shipping such items here is prohibitive.

My week usually includes one or two evening/weekend meals out. So far I have eaten at: Taverna du Liban, Sufi 2, Golden Key Chinese, New World Korean, Gandamack, Flower Café, LeBistro, and LePelican. I’ll save writing about those for another time. In the meantime, I welcome more specific questions about eating in Kabul.

Kabul is a city of walls and gates. A city where homes that could fit into Miami or southern California neighborhoods sit next to shells of buildings and mud huts. The homes that are designed to be shared by several unrelated to one another are referred to as guesthouses. You can spot the guesthouses by the guards outside the gates and/or the guard shacks often surrounded by sandbags. I suspect but am not sure that my living accommodations are similar to those of many expats living in Kabul and working for NGOs.

The house I live in has both a nickname for the university drivers and a security call sign. The nicknames are often related to something unique about the house (e.g, it’s color, it’s garden) or when there is nothing particularly unique about it a name chosen by someone at security. My house is named after a large bird symbolic of the United States. I choose to ignore the “patriotic” tone of the name and just think of the bird (being a birder and all that appeals to me). Actually houses often have multiple nicknames. Addresses are not a standard part of life in Kabul. Main streets have names. As far as I can tell the city is divided into districts and the streets within districts are numbered. I think that in theory the houses on streets are numbered though I am not sure how that would make sense given the demolitions and construction that takes place. Directions are given from main roads and traffic circles followed by counts of roads before a turn and then counts of gates and descriptions of gates. This brings us back to the the multiple nicknames. Once you use something like a taxi service (there is an approved list of those that the security company allows us to use), they log the location of the house and give it a nickname. Often the nickname is the person who first uses the service. For example, one of the other guest houses for the university is known as “Helen’s House.” There are also “Older Adam’s House” and “Younger Adam’s House.” You might be asking yourself about mail delivery — it goes to the post office where it might or might not make it out again.

Of the university’s guesthouses that I have seen, most have both a large double gate or two for automobiles to drive through and a smaller walk through gate. As the drivers approach the gate they radio the guards on duty at that house with the appropriate call signs and codes. Part of the team opens the gate while others armed with automatic rifles step into the street and cover it while the automobile enters. The gates are then closed and passengers are collected or dropped off. Behind the gates you find considerable variety. Some of the houses for the university have gardens, one even has fruit trees and a jungle gym for kids. These tend to be the older houses. Others, like the one where I live, are almost entirely covered with paving stones that are typically arranged in colorful patterns.

The house where I live was only finished this summer and like many of the new constructions seems to consist of two joined towers (if you can call something three stories high a tower). There are outside entrances into each of the towers both 1/2 story above and below ground. Though you can’t see it from the outside, there is a large ground to roof open column of space with a reflecting pool at the bottom and the walls facing this column of space are almost entirely glass windows. On each level there is a walkway that connects the two sides of the house.

There are two main levels in each tower plus a basement and one room/bathroom on each side of the roof. The two main levels each have three bedrooms. One in front of the stairs for which the bathroom is across the entryway and two at the back of the house with bathrooms you access from within the room. As you walk from the stairs toward the back bedrooms you pass through a common area with windows out the outdoor atrium (not sure what to call that column of open space). These spaces contain an odd mix of things. Almost all of them have refrigerators (the one outside my bedroom has two). Some of them have a dryer in that space. Some have both a couches/chairs and a dining table. For the floor that I am on, we decided as a group to make the space on one side of the house a sitting area with the television and the space on the other side a dining area with a large table and chairs. In addition to the dining table, you will also find an ironing board and drying rack in our area.

Off of this open space there is a kitchen with a smallish propane stove, a bottled water dispenser, a sink, and cabinets. I haven’t figured out how to use the oven yet. It doesn’t have temperatures on the dial and I haven’t been able to find an oven thermometer to figure out what temperature corresponds to the various marks. The kitchen were partially equipped. They came with a microwave, a coffee pot and electric tea kettle, a few plates/bowls and really awful quality pans. “My” kitchen seemed to inherit a bunch of mismatched and often useless things from an a guesthouse the university no longer uses. The kitchenware available here seems to be largely from China and of very poor quality. One odd thing about the cabinets both in the kitchen and in built in storage in the rooms is that the shelves seem to be meant for someone 6.5 feet or more tall and pretty much only the bottom shelf in the top cabinets is useful without a step ladder.

As you walk past the kitchen you enter a short hall to the back two bedrooms. My bedroom door is at the end of the hall. The bedroom is quite large. I would guess 12 feet or more wise and 20 feet or so deep. The wall at the back of the room has a large window; about 70 percent of the wall is the window. The room came furnished with a queen-sized bed on a very simple frame, a lovely rug, a side chair, a desk and chair, two night stands, and a vanity clearly not meant for anyone over the age of six. They have also delivered a cabinet/shelf unit and a coat rack since I moved in. Much of the simple furniture (e.g., chairs, tables, bed frames) for campus is built on campus. The rug in my room is a deep red with a design of roses and a simple border in shades of beige and tan. The walls are a pale yellow and the woods in the room are mostly golden.

On the same wall as the door to the hall is the opening to a short hall with built in cabinets that serve as dresser and closet. The hall leads to the bathroom. The bathroom is one large space that is tiled with ceramic tiles from floor to ceiling. Within that space are the toilet with the hot water heater on the wall above it, a urinal which I use as storage for cleaning supplies), the sink, and in one corner a shower head above a drain in the floor. There is a small window that is useful for light; its ledge also provides a place for shampoo and such to sit.

The basement is lade out a bit differently as it has a large room that connects the two sides of the house. There is some exercise equipment in that room and there is talk of moving the various washers and dryers into a bathroom in the basement.

As one would expect in this type of setting the house does not have central heat or air. There are wall air conditioners in each bedroom. The public areas are not air conditioned but between large windows that can be opened and ceiling fans they are not too bad even when the temperatures are in the mid to upper 90s. For heat there are radiators in all the rooms and we all hope that they will actually work this winter. The floors throughout the house are marble with the exception of the bathrooms. The house is filled with inconsistencies in terms of some very high end details and materials (from a US standpoint) such as elaborate crown moldings and gorgeous railings for the stairs combined with signs of poor workmanship, cracks in some walls even though the house is new, poor quality furnishings, and things that would be seen as tacky by most U.S. standards (the light fixtures especially fit this category).

The house in which I live fills nearly the entire lot. The two main floors have large balconies on the front of the house. I don’t feel comfortable using the balconies other than after dark. When on these balconies, you are visible from the street which means that you need to be covered with a scarf and such if you are outside on them during the day. The other outdoor space available to us is the roof. This top floor has only one bedroom and bathroom on each side of the open column and the rest is a large open space. It has nice views and is relatively protected from view from the street. If we had more and more comfortable patio furniture there it would be a better gathering place. Surrounding the house where I live there is a large mostly vacant lot/excavation area with a very small house on which I look down from my bedroom window. On one side is what feels like a middle class sort of home with a lovely garden and an older building that appears to be a guesthouse on the other side. Across the road is a compound that I haven’t figured out yet.

I share the house with 14 people. Three of the people (one married couple and one man who’s wife may join him) live in the basement and have little or nothing to do with the rest of us. Two of the people on the second floor are seldom seen. The rest of us interact on a more or less regular basis. Other than the female half of the married couple who live in the basement and myself, there is only one woman in the house she is the person I have come to know best here in Kabul.

Some photos of my home and views from the house can be found by following thislink:

As photographic evidence to supplement my traffic post, here are a few photos taken while stuck in a traffic snarl on the way to the market this morning.

My first encounter with traffic seemed extreme but I have since realized that it was quite calm as it was Friday and the quietest day in Kabul.  I have tried to figure out how to describe the traffic in Kabul.  I am sure words alone can not capture the experience.  I doubt that even a video would give you a full idea because you need not just sights and sounds but also scents and feelings.  With that said, I am going to do my best to convey some idea but as you read this imagine lots of dust and smells including diesel, livestock, and sometimes open sewers.

The first thing one must realize about Kabul is the state of the roads.  The vast majority of them (even the ones that would be five or six lanes in the United States) are mostly dirt and they are far from smooth.  Often there are trenches cut into the street, large potholes (craters might be more accurate), and security barricades scattered about the road. I have no idea how one keeps tires from being constantly flat. Even on the roads that are paved there are seldom lane markings and I suspect that they would be ignored even if they were there.  Niceties such as signs warning that a road will narrow, traffic signals, and other such niceties are generally absent.

On the roads you find a mix of automobiles.  Toyotas being the most common make and Corolla wagons probably being the modal category of cars.  Many of the cars are well over a decade old.  The newer automobiles are often SUVs belonging to some government or NGO.  Buses and vans carrying many more people than their official occupancy load are also common. Often you see men standing in the open doorway of the van/bus.  You also see people perched atop the cabs of trucks and pickups. Decoration adds to the kaleidoscope as larger vehicles often have scarves tied on mirrors like giant tassles and dashboards are frequently adorned with rugs, furs, and/or artificial flowers.

To this mix, sprinkle in green Afghan police pickups and international troop automobiles, the occasional military convoy, and dump and tanker trunks that are elaborately decorated with murals and mosaics of metal.  To add to the confusion some of the automobiles have a left driver position and some have a right driver position. So that doesn’t sound like such a strange mix — but wait that’s not all.

Along the major roads and on the less busy streets, you will find far more than automobiles.  The mix of four-wheeled autos is supplemented with motorcycles many of which have cabs built so that they can haul larger loads or several passengers. Even motorcycles that are not altered in this way, will often have three or even four riders. You also see bicycles with riders balancing a variety of loads – some quite large..

That is still not all.  Traffic also includes people on foot either pushing or pulling carts.  Many of these look as if they could easily be used in a movie set in the middle ages. The carts are generally loaded with produce, wood, or other items for sale.  Sometimes you will see a cart being pulled by a horse, mule, or donkey.  Less often you see buggies for passengers that are pulled by animals.  There is one of these that I see near campus where the horse and cart are so decorated with tassels that you would think it was on its way to a parade.

Still more confusion is added by the various pedestrians — beggars many missing limbs and on homemade wheelchair substitutes (the beggars range from young children to old men and women), people trying to sell you things when traffic comes to a stand still, people walking from one place to another in a wide variety of dress including burqas,children playing, boys flying kites in median strips and along side the road.    Last but certainly not least are the animals – stray dogs and herds of goat and fat bottom sheep. Finally, along the edges of the roads are carts selling a wide variety of goods (cheese, naan, produce, and much more).

So you have quite the visual feast that does not stand still and does not move in an orderly pattern.  Instead traffic seems to be a giant game of chicken where you move anyplace that you can fit or muscle your way into.  One thing moves in a head on collision course with another until someone loses the nerve and swerves out of the way.  This battle of wills is accompanied my much honking and enthusiastic verbalizations.  On the roundabouts, people go in both directions.  Sometimes one direction of traffic will completely take over and stop traffic in the opposite direction.  Sometimes the tangle becomes so complex that blocks of traffic are stopped until people at the edges start backing out of the way and things can be untangled. Last weekend I spent over 30 minutes in a van stuck in such a tangle without the van moving even one inch.

Then of course there are the security checkpoints and men with guns to add an entirely different element. I won’t have the opportunity to drive while here and for that I am very grateful.  As a passenger, I find the experience oddly exhilarating much of the time (kind of like rollercoasters for most people) and terrifying at other times.

My original itinerary was to leave the US on the evening of August 2. I was still frantically trying to get things packed and to storage, boxes packed to ship to Kabul, and suitcases packed to take with me as the calendar page turned from July to August. With just over 12 hours left before my flight there was still much to do but it had to happen and it almost did. I got the final load to storage. I did a really bad job of packing.  I made it – or so I thought. I headed toward the airport which was between an hour and ninety minutes away more than six hours ahead of my flight time. I needed to do two things on the way. First, get some passport style photos and, second, drop the boxes at the DHL agent.

The photos took longer than expected but I still had a sizable cushion. Until I accidentally locked the keys in the rental SUV as I started to unload boxes at the shipping center. At this point I am more than a little stressed and am operating on less than 8 hours sleep out of the last 60 plus hours and no food in over 24 hour’s. Needless to say I was not thinking clearly.  I called AAA and was told that they would have someone there in about 45 minutes. I should have still been okay to make my flight.

The forty-five minutes became over two hours. Thankfully the guy who ran the shipping store was very nice (looked the number up for me, called for me as my phone was also locked in the car, let me wait inside, etc.). Once the SUV was unlocked the boxes had to be unloaded and then an additional round of paperwork had to be filled out. At this point there was little or no chance that I could get to the airport, return the rental car, and clear security before they closed the flight.  Given the time of day it was also unlikely that I could make it to O’Hare to catch the second flight even if I knew that I could do that.

Thankfully a dear friend helped text/talk me to a state short of absolute panic. I called multiple airlines to try and work out a Plan B but was told that only the travel agent who booked the flight could make the changes. This was a problem at it was the middle of the night in both Kabul and Dubai so I couldn’t call either the university or the travel agent. At this point I am not sure where to go or what to do next. I wasn’t sure if the eventual Plan B would involve flying out of O’Hare or South Bend. I eventually headed back toward that which was familiar in search of something I could stand the thought of eating and a wireless connection to send emails. After driving around for an hour or so I ended up at Panera where I engaged in mac & cheese therapy.

I received several kind offers for places to stay  but was so stressed that I had to be alone. I debated cheap hotel versus nice hotel. I opted for cheap since I wasn’t sure how many nights I would need. I ended up at the Coolspring Inn. It was cleanenough and had wireless so it would do. At that point all I could do was wait for replies so I showered and slept. I awoke to a Plan B that followed my original itinerary but with a starting point on Wednesday evening. Other than the cost of the hotel,the charge for rebooking the flights, the charge for the extra days of car rental, and the embarrassment things were back on track.

Tuesday morning finds me still in Indiana rather than on a plane approaching Abu Dhabi. I regrouped and considered my options for the two days until the first flight on my new itinerary. I considered spending the time deep cleaning the house out of which I had moved or other similarly useful tasks but opted instead to focus on relaxing. On Tuesday I met a friend for coffee and then had lunch at Taj one last time. I spent the afternoon napping and then making a final trip to Garwoods Orchard and taking a drive along backroads soaking up the green.

On Wednesday morning I met the a friend for breakfast and then headed to the airport hours and hours ahead of time in hopes of avoiding another day of rental on the SUV. I was in a much better state for the start of a long journey with the couple of days to sleep and rest behind me. The delay had also given me a chance to say goodbye to Northwest Indiana in my own way.

After returning the rental car and checking in at the counter, so that I wouldn’t have to mess with my luggage all afternoon, I settled into a table at the South Bend airport café where I could get a wireless signal for a reasonable price. I checked the status of flights from time to time and all seemed well. About 90 minutes before my flight I passed through security and settled into the gate area where I could charge my iPad.

I had no more settled down to wait when a problem developed. An announcement was made that the 7:05 flight to O’Hare would now be leaving at 9:50 (which is 8:50 O’Hare time). This presented a problem as my flight from O’Hare to Abu Dhabi was scheduled to leave at 8:30. I pack up things and go to the gate counter where I am moved to a flight that was originally scheduled to leave at 4:50 but was at that point delayed until 7:15 (this is where the luggage problem starts as it cannot be moved to the earlier flight). Delay after delay is announced for the flight and I get more and more nervous. There is only one flight per day on Etihad to Abu Dhabi so missing the flight is a pretty big issue. The delays were either the result of storms over Lake Michigan or security issues related to President Obama being in Chicago for his birthday.

The flight eventually leaves South Bend and we quickly reach O’Hare but have a wait to taxi to a gate. Finally we are off the plane and in the terminal. I find the Etihad check in counter in the international terminal to get a boarding pass to get through security. When I reach the counter they have already closed the flight. There are other people who have also arrived on delayed connecting flights. The manager on duty has them reopen the flight and check us in. I quickly explain the luggage problem. He gives me his card and tells me to file a report in Abu Dhabi.

I head to the security lines and there are hundreds of people waiting. The lines are long enough that you can’t actually see the security checkpoint. The person in line in front of me is trying to make the same flight as me. Once more making the flight looks like a lost cause. On the upside the line is so stuck that I am able to change some currency to Arab Emirates dirhams while standing in front of a currency exchange. This is good as I need to take a taxi in Dubai. The Ethiad agent once again comes to the rescue and escorts us through security and to the gate where amazingly I have just enough time to buy a bottle of water before boarding the flight.

The flight itself is smooth. I am sharing a center block of four seats with a couple from Kuwait. She is originally from Mexico. I have one of the few empty seats on the plane next to me which is wonderful. Etihad has decent food and they offer one thing or another every couple of hours. I spend the 14 hour flight alternating between old Big Bang Theory episodes, napping, eating, and playing mahjong on my iPad. Incidentally by this point in the trip, I am already seeing my iPad as a wonderful purchase.

We arrive in Abu Dhabi at about 9 p.m. on Thursday. Glad that was not my final destination as it was still more than 110 degrees there. The airport at Abu Dhabi is far more modern and high tech than many airports in the US. Yet you know without a doubt that you are not in the US because the only way you would see such diversity in the US is to be at a large cattle call for extras for a movie involving several Asian and Middle Eastern nations. The kaleidoscope of clothing and human variation was amazing. There were men wearing Arab thobe/thawb (long robe type garments thing a very large oversized white long-sleeved shirt), sirwals(pants worn under the thobe) and the traditional headdresses made up of:

• A tagiyah: This small white cap prevents the ghutra from slipping from the head. (also called the kaffiyeh, taquiyah, or kufeya)
• A ghutra: This is a large, square-shaped cloth, typically made of cotton. It’s folded over the tagiyah; its ends can be used to protect the face in the event of sandstorms. It is normally white or red-and-white checked. Men fold them into a triangle shape before placing on the head.
• An iqal: This doubled black cord holds the ghutra in place. (also called igal or egal)

It seems that if you understand the subtle differences in the shape of the collar of the thawb and how it is worn, the color of the ghutra, and the presence, color and arrangement of cords (e.g., kerkusha) are worn you can tell much about the nationality and social rank of the person. There were women in brightly coloredsaris. There were women wearing various types of abayas (thing long robes with long-sleeves mostly in black and often adorned with embroidering or beads) andniqab (veils/face coverings). There were women wearing thobes and surwals (loose pants worn under the thobe) and some were wearing shalwar kameez. Add to this the various turbans and beards and military uniforms and it was amazing. Sadly I didn’t have much time to enjoy the scene as I wasn’t sure if there would be a later bus to Dubai if I missed mine (thankfully there were). It was at this point that I began to feel very conspicuous as a woman traveling alone this feeling would grow much stronger over the next few hours.

I found my way to passport control and customs. I received my visa allowing me to stay in the UAE for up to 30 days (this being the 4 item added to my passport; the first three the entry and exit stamps from Australia in 2007 and my Afghanistan visa). Entry the UAE was much easier than entering Australia. The passport control representative never actually spoke to me. From there I headed to the baggage claim area and the baggage office for Etihad (rhymes with Petty and Pad with the emphasis on the had). I filed a baggage claim and watched an extremely frustrated man in traditional Saudi Arabian dress who was waiting on someone to bring him a camera that he had forgotten at customs.

I then wandered around a bit more to find the Etihad bus to Dubai. As I waited on the bus to leave, I gained a new appreciation for the difference between nuclear and extended families. I watched a group in traditional dress load a pickup truck bed with luggage and shopping bags as at least seven women, several men, and a dozen or more children sorted themselves in to three different vans. It was clear that they were a family group rather than people simply traveling together by the way that one of the women who seemed older than the other was in charge of the women and children and by the way that three infants were passed among older children and adults. I can’t imagine the logistical nightmare of a group that size traveling together.

The 90 minute or so ride to Dubai was largely uneventful. It was dark so what I could see was limited. There were lots of palm trees lining the road and many murals painted on the walls of underpasses and noise reduction constructions. The most interesting things to see as we neared Dubai were the mosques which had towers with similar towers with the same vertical green light fixtures. As we entered Dubai it also became clear that this was a city very much alive in the late, late evening. I would soon be grateful for both this fact and the fact that I was missing my luggage.

The Etihad bus from Abu Dhabi stops outside of what looks to be a warehouse. There are cars waiting for the largely local group of people who disembark. I ask the driver where I can find a taxi and he points toward the street. I head in that direction with my carry on bag. There is a bizarre exchange between two men and a taxi driver who motions for me to get in his taxi.

It is at this point that things start to get a bit anxiety provoking. The driver doesn’t know where the Marriott Renaissance is located. I get out of the taxi and try another and another with the same results. I go back to the security guard near the bus who doesn’t know and points down an alley to where the Etihad office is located. Keeping in mind that this is after 11 pm but things are still bustling. It is also well over 100 degrees so my missing luggage is a blessing at this point. I try to get a signal on my Blackberry not really caring how much it costs but have no luck. At that point not having much in the way of choices, I head down the alley. I find the office without problems but despite a couple of phone calls, no one there can find directions for the hotel. At this point I am very nervous and uncomfortable with the stares I am receiving by being a woman alone.

I have no idea what to do so I ask the Etihad agent if the Dubai airport is open 24 hours a day. My thought is that taxi drivers should be able to find the airport and while hanging out at an airport for twelve hours doesn’t sound like fun it should be safe. I am told that the airport is open. I ask where I can find a taxi to the airport and am pointed toward a corner part way down the block. I consider having a meltdown on some street in Dubai but manage to act like a grown up mostly because I am still being logical enough to realize that the meltdown won’t actually make things any better.

On the way to find a taxi, I spot an Applebee’s and stop to ask if someone there is familiar with the Renaissance hotel. (As a side note, how much is Dubai a city that stays up late: there was a 25 minute wait for a table) They are not; I then ask if there is a hotel nearby and find out that there are a couple of hotels within a few blocks. I head off to find one of those.

A few minutes later I find my way to the lobby of the Chelsea Towers and Apartments. I am the only woman alone and the only westerner in the lobby. As I am waiting to see if they have a room, the concierge asks if he can help me and I explain the situation. He disappears for about ten minutes and comes back with directions. He asks me to wait while he arranges a driver for me. He comes back and tells me that he has arranged for the hotel driver to take me to the Renaissance, tells me about how long the drive will be, and gives me his card in case there are more problems. If I could have given out knighthoods at that point, I would have given him one. I would have hugged him had that not been against the norms.

A thirty minute drive through a city that felt like a cross between Disney and Vegas and I arrive at the Renaissance. The gentlemen working at the desk were wonderful. I was obviously tired (this is about 28 hours into this trip) and flustered. They skipped as much of check in as they could and told me we could take care of the rest in the morning. The hotel was wonderful and the service beyond anything that I have experienced with the possible exception of the resort in Australia. Even room service in the middle of the night was exemplary. It may not be the cheapest option (though it was far cheaper than Chicago hotels not nearly as nice), but I will be staying at this same hotel anytime I need to stay in Dubai.

The next morning, I make my way to the shuttle where I find that one of the other passengers is person with whom I had met for the interview for this position. We head off to the airport where he guides me through the passport control and security. Oddly enough he is even seated in the seat directly behind me on the flight.

The flight to Kabul is pretty bumpy but not as bad as I expected. The airport is used for both civilian and military flights. As you land and taxi, there is not doubt that you have landed in a “least developed” nation where there is current military action.

I was very lucky to have WT to guide me through the terminal, baggage claim (on Safi I had to check the one bag I had left), customs, and passport control. I’ll try to describe the airport better in some other post. I was very grateful to have WT to guide me and to help avoid the stares that accompany a woman alone in this country.

Despite the strict sounding prohibitions about what you can and can’t bring into the country, customs involved nothing more than your bag going through an X-ray machine. I am not even sure the person manning the machine was watching the screen.

We make our way through the chaos that includes men with machine guns and very few women to exit the terminal and I see Car Park A which is closed for security reason. WT spots AUAF drivers waiting at the end of the drive. There were two sets of drivers, one for him and one for me and three other new faculty members who were on the same flight. WT rearranges the original plan and so that his driver (who is parked in Car Park B which is nearby)will take the two of us home while the other team takes the other faculty members to their house. Added advantage to this plan, don’t have to make the trek to Car Park C.

It is now Friday afternoon about 4 Kabul time. I left Sophia’s and breakfast in Indiana about 11 (Chicago time) on Wednesday morning. I have only one of the three pieces of luggage with which I started and four new stamps in my passport,three types of currency in my wallet, a foreigner registration card tucked into my passport, and a cell phone with my number taped to the back in my purse.  I am almost to what will be my home until at least June 30, 2013. Of course at that moment, I have yet to experience Kabul traffic so I don’t realize that the adventure isn’t quite over for the day.