Tales from Tanzania - Day 2

So yesterday, after I got back to the hotel (and slathering myself in insect repellant so toxic that it could strip the paint off a Buick), I wandered down to reception to see what there might be to do.  Well, there was a bar.  Problem solved.  I had actually brought along my kindle to catch up on a bit of reading, but instead I got chatting to the only other person there, who, as it turns out, will also be on the same trek with me.

I haven't met any of the others yet, but so far, its me and Perrrrr (it's actually Per, but I got it wrong the first time I said it and was so firmly corrected that I now buzz that "r" for about a minute, just to make sure).  He's a Swedish engineer who was raised in Zimbabwe, so not only does he speak English and Swedish, but three African languages as well, which is all kinds of useful around here so he promptly became my new BFF.  Speaking the local lingo makes the waiters much nicer to you (which is true everywhere but Paris), so we pretty much just stayed put and drank the bar dry.  As you do.

Tonight I meet the rest of our group - I think there are about six of us altogether and I'm hoping for an interesting group.  Perrrrr is good company and of course I'm awesome, so if we get a nice mix, that will make this thing much more fun.  Gentle readers, I hate to love you and leave you, but this will be my last chance to post on here for about a week.  But stay tuned - I'll update as soon as I can, and if the most un-outdoorsy person in the world doesn't end up with about a million stories after climbing freakin' Kilimanjaro?  Well, I'll eat my hat (and my balaclava, because yes, I now own one of those as well)...

Tales from Tanzania - Day 1

Last night I changed planes at Doha airport, and as I approached the gate, I saw them:  a herd of sweetly earnest, crunchy-granola types swathed in fleeces, wearing their hiking boots, and carrying their daypacks as their carry-on luggage.  Ladies and gentlemen: the Kilimanjaro trekker.  Quite frankly, I almost changed my mind about the whole thing right then and there.  I mean it, there was a final call for the flight to Paris and I had a serious moment of "I wanna flee back to the land of rude (but chic) city people, I don't know how to do this outdoorsy thing with these outdoorsy folk."  But I went. And here I am.

And so far, so good.  If you're going to do this whole crazy thing, I recommend flying into Kilimanjaro Airport - it's pretty much idiot-proof, which is exactly what I needed.  You go in, the visa forms are on the counter, you get in the line with the huge, bright yellow, hard-to-miss sign saying "I NEED A VISA" (as opposed to the other line, which says "I HAVE A VISA" - you'd really think that would make it idiot-proof, but no, people still somehow manage to get into the wrong line.  I despair sometimes.).  Anyway, you fork over your cash to the nice man at the window and then he sends you to another nice man at another window and you get your completely unflattering and unrecognizable photo taken and the visa slapped into your passport.  One belt for luggage retrieval and you're outta there.  I had booked an airport pick-up and bless him, there he was with the sign AND my eleven-letter last name spelled correctly. 

This isn't my first trip to Africa - I took a pretty good trip around Cape Town and surrounding area a few years ago, and I've been to both Morocco and Egypt (although they're both so much more like the Middle East that it's hard to think of them as African).  But this is my first time in AFRICA Africa and even the drive from the airport had me mesmerized.  It starts off pretty much as you'd expect - beige and dry and pancake-flat, but the closer you get to Moshi, the greener and hillier it gets.  One of the many (many) things I dislike about living in Saudi Arabia is the lack of colour.  Beige dust, beige sand, beige buildings, white thobes on the men, black abayas on the women.  Here?  Colour EVERYWHERE.  We passed the Masai market, which was swarming in long, lean men mostly wearing their traditional crimson, but I saw a few of them sporting my favourite shade of purple and there was one dapper gentleman swathed in a jazzy little patterned number which I deeply coveted for my own wardrobe.  Sadly, it seems as though they were only selling goats and sheep (I considered a sheep, but it would be quite hard to pack), so we moved right along.  Did I mention the greenery?  Green is a big deal when you live in a desert, and Moshi is very green.  Trees and lush plant life everywhere, along with patches of scarlet and magenta flowers and the smell of woodsmoke in the air.  I wasn't expecting it to be so pretty.

And the signs.  The signs might be my favourite thing.  I saw one for "Medium School".  So is this the school between Large and Small?  Or a training academy for psychics?  Sign on a gasoline truck:  In God We Trust.  Well, I'd personally like to trust in your driving skill, sir, since you're transporting about a bajillion gallons of flammable liquid, but that's just me.

Anyway - I'm staying at the Keys Hotel just outside of town, which of course necessitated Adventures in Taxi Procurement in order to get into town to buy some snacks and internet time (yes, people, I did this for you - the bottle of wine in my bag is just a bonus.).  The hotel is...well...let's just call it rustic and leave it at that.  I have the occasional success with wifi out there for messaging, but I think a blog post from my phone would have been beyond both my patience and the wifi.  But it's clean and the bed is comfortable and I'm pretty sure it's going to look like heaven when I come down from the mountain (wow, it's all so biblical - maybe I'll find some stone tablets up there while I'm at it.) after sleeping on the ground for a week. 

Well, I'd better go - I have a delightful evening ahead of me: unpacking my suitcase and re-packing my Kilimanjaro stuff into my North Face duffel bag.  Yes, that's right - I am now a person who owns North Face things.  I am now a person who owns polar fleece.  I am now a person who owns a headlamp.  Oh god - am I actually becoming one of those crunchy-granola types?  I am now a person who needs a drink!  And if you've read this far and enjoyed any of it, please consider donating a few dollars/pounds/euros/whatever to Doctors Without Borders (my Just Giving button at top right).  Come on, if I'm going to go all sweetly earnest, I might as well be all good-deed-doing, too.  Ugh.

Miss K on Kilimanjaro - Sweat Buckets Challenge

Has it really been two years, gentle readers?  I'm afraid it has and I'm not sure if any of you are still out there wanting to hear my ramblings, but if you are, I do apologize for the long delay.  Who knew that life out here in Saudi Arabia could possibly be so...interesting!!!  For a while I was afraid to blog because I wasn't sure how much we were monitored and how much trouble I might get in, but I think  that as long as I keep away from certain controversial subjects and only allude suggestively to certain other subjects (if you know what I mean by that, and I think you do, you saucy monkeys), it will be fine.  And wow, do I ever have stories to tell!  But I'll have to tell them a little later because right now, there's a countdown on for an unpleasant (and very sweaty) challenge that I'm willing to do for an extremely worthy cause.  I put it out there on facebook and now I'm sending it out to you as well, I hope you'll help out by donating either at the link below or by clicking on the button on the right hand side of my page:

"All right, I promised you I'd do a challenge in place of the ice bucket for an equally worthy cause, and the best part is that YOU get to torment ME. I'm donating my upcoming Kilimanjaro climb to Doctors Without Borders (also known as MSF -Médecins Sans Frontières) - I've covered all the costs of the trip myself, so all money raised goes to help this fantastic cause. My donations page is at https://www.justgiving.com/Miss-K-on-Kilimanjaro/ and your challenge is this: for every 100 pounds raised (you can donate in other currencies as well) between now and tomorrow (2 Sept) at high noon Saudi time, I will spend one minute outside in the blazing Arabian sunshine in my full summit night outfit (which consists of: hiking boots, three pairs of socks, three pairs of gloves, a balaclava, a fleece headband, a hat, a full set of silk long underwear, a full set of wool long underwear, fleece pants, hiking pants, waterproof pants, two fleece tops, a down jacket and a waterproof jacket with hood.) The temperature tomorrow should be around 43C, so however long I have to do it will be exceedingly unpleasant! And I'll film it for proof, not to mention comedy value... Right now the total is at 220 pounds, so I'll be out there for just over 2 minutes. 300 pounds would equal 3 minutes, 500 pounds = 5 minutes, etc. (But I'm putting a maximum of 10 minutes on this because I don't actually want to die of heatstroke. I doubt we'd get anywhere near raising a thousand pounds in a day anyway because I'd like to think you don't want to torture me that much, but you never know!) You've now got 15 hours - go for it, every little donation adds up..."

Thanks in advance for any donations you might choose to make, and there will be stories coming...

Miss K - back at the keyboard

What?  Could it be?  Miss K has finally come out of hiding to start posting again?  Yes, gentle readers, I am back. Again. Some more.  It has taken me slightly longer to get myself sorted out in my new life than I had thought it would, and this is why:

1.  Orientation. I had general orientation, I had company orientation, I had department orientation.  It was all very time-consuming and I was so damn oriented that I actually had no idea where I was or what I was doing most of the time!

2.  Internet access - Well, they say that living in the Middle East teaches you patience, and they're not wrong.  It took days just to get my log-in ID and then ages before my wifi got set up at home - it's not that I couldn't have used the connection at the library but it was very hit-and-miss and I just ran out of patience at that point...

3.  Bureaucracy - there were layers upon layers of things to deal with and wait for.  I couldn't get a phone without a bank account.  I couldn't get a bank account without a permanent company ID.  I couldn't get a permanent company ID before I got my passport back.  I couldn't get my passport back until I got my multiple entry-exit visa.  And I couldn't apply for my multiple entry-exit visa until I got my iqama (my residence permit).  You see what I'm saying?

 4.  Social life - when you move to a new country, you have to get out and meet people and the only real way to do that in a place like this, when you're living on a compound, is to go to absolutely every single thing you're invited to, whether it's grabbing coffee with a colleague or going to an enormous party on another compound that goes on until 3am.  You name it, I've been doing it. Out for dinner?  Sure.  Beach party?  You bet.  Mongolian BBQ (don't ask)? Absolutely.  So my time has been well-spent in the sense that I now have a pretty good social life, but that has meant my sad neglect of you, gentle readers.  I am sorry about that, but I had to make friends here - after all, you're not going to come to spend party weekend in Bahrain with me, are you?  (Actually, I shouldn't ask that - knowing you cheeky monkeys, you probably would!)

5.  Housing - I am very happy with my housing situation here, but the decor?  Well, let's just say that the prison hospital waiting room from 1972 called up and they want their furniture back.  So I've been haunting Ikea and various other home stores in order to get my place looking decent.  But it's no easy thing to go shopping here - I will go into detail in a future post, but believe me, it's a verrrrrrrry time-consuming process...

So that's basically what I've been up to here so far - it hasn't been particularly exciting, but unpacking and settling in never really is.  But I do have lots of travel planned and I do have about a billion photos from Paris that I still need to sort through, so I'll have more posts coming soon.  No promises as to when (you know what I'm like), but soon-ish...

Scenes from Saudi Arabia #1

Even in a remote province of Saudi Arabia, there is still no escape from Spongebob Squarepants. Now you know...

Arabian (days and) nights

I'm sorry, gentle readers, have you missed me?  To be honest, I've kind of missed myself - the past few weeks have been so crazy that I feel like I have been a bit lost!  Relocating to a foreign country when you're already in a foreign country, having also gone there from another foreign country - well, it's no picnic, my pretties.  I'm sorry I haven't been able to post, but now I have a zillion things to tell you about - thoughts on serendipity, the insane amount of work it is to close down your life in Paris, my first impressions of life here in Saudi Arabia, and much, much more.  BUT - I know, I know, there's always a but - the problem is that my home internet access here hasn't been set up yet, so I am writing to you from the terrace at my local library, basking in the balmy 25C temperature at 9pm, and admiring the amazing crescent moon in the sky.  Which is all great, except that my laptop battery is about to die and I simply won't have time to write anything else right now.  But I shall return shortly, my pretties, and start posting more regularly...promise!!!

Letters from London #8

All right, my pretties, I know you're thinking that I haven't posted recently because I had a craaaaazy St Patrick's Day here in Paris and I've been recovering ever since, right?  Wellllllll, no.  I did go out for St Paddy's with a bunch of Irish people and we did go to some Irish pubs, but at a certain point we just got fed up with the crowds and ended up at a champagne bar instead.  Not very authentic, but far more relaxing...

Anyway, my absence was not caused by too much partying (unfortunately), but rather because I've been in London and my internet access there was very sporadic and I just didn't get a chance to post.  But since I'm mentioning London and since it's late and I just need to post something, how about another Letter from London?

Written somewhere around July 2001

Well, after the overwhelmingly positive reaction to my last letter, I've decided to turn over a new leaf.  Yes, I'm ready to become a kinder, gentler Miss K.  From now on, I shall be nauseatingly nice, sickeningly sweet and a beam of sunshine in the lives of all those fortunate enough to come into contact with my saintly-yet-humble being.  I will forsake malice, spite and cynicism in favour of graciousness, charm and generosity of spirit.  People will come from all around simply to bask in the warm glow of my goodness... Okay, did anyone buy that?  What, not even for a second?  Oh c'mon... Anyone?  Friends?  Relatives?  No one? Really??

Anyway, I don't have a theme for this letter, so here are some random thoughts about nothing terribly interesting.....

New Experiences (A) - One of the many things I like about London is the opportunity to try things that I might not have done in Toronto.  For example, I took a ballet class for the first time in my life a couple of weeks ago and thoroughly enjoyed it.  For those of you who are rolling around on the floor laughing hysterically at the thought of me doing anything that requires grace and coordination, go right ahead.  Your mental picture is entirely correct - I galumphed around the room like a drunken lumberjack, sending willowy ballerina types fleeing in terror, and I made a total fool of myself.  Like I said, I had a fantastic time.

New Experiences (B) - Another thing I just tried was floating.  Huh?  What's that?  Well, it's a bit hard to describe, but basically you hop into a sensory deprivation tank and float in water that has about 800 lbs of salt dissolved in it.  And that's all: you just lie there in the dark and float for an hour like a cross between an astronaut and an embryo.  Question - why?  Answer - Because it's quite possibly the most relaxing thing you'll ever experience.  Strange but true.  Once you get the hang of it, you totally lose track of your body and you just feel like a big ol' head floating around in the dark.  I know, it sounds weird, but ohhhhhh, it's soooooo gooooooood....

Music - I've always been a fan of the blues, and it amazes me how well songs from the 1920s translate to the new century.  I recently picked up a Bessie Smith CD and really, you'd think she was singing about my life.  For example, here are some of the song titles: "Me and My Gin", "No One In Town Can Bake A Sweet Jelly Roll Like Mine"(if you know what she's saying, and I think you do), "Empty Bed Blues", "I'm Wild About That Thing", "A Good Man Is Hard To Find", "You've Got To Give Me Some", and my personal favourite - "Put a Little Sugar in My Bowl".  Sing it, girlfriend....

Fashion - Ladies: I hate to tell you this, but London fashion has clearly lost what passes for its collective mind.  You can be totally in style this season if you wear any of the following: 1940's floral prints, army camouflage, disco diva, cowgirl, or any combination thereof.  I've always prided myself on my eclectic style, but this might be a bit much even for me.  We shall see.

Work - I'm currently employed in Hell, which means that I work for the Devil.  Yes, the Devil has many names.... Satan..... Beelzebub..... Lucifer.... Stephanie. You might not have been aware that the Supreme Evil Being in the universe is currently incarnated in the body of a petite woman from New Zealand, but now you know.  Consider yourselves warned.

Today's Story - I thought I'd share this experience with you even though it has absolutely nothing to do with London.  When I was in Los Angeles a couple of years ago, I visited the famous slutty-lingerie store Frederick's of Hollywood (much to everyone's surprise, I'm sure).  As I was browsing, the following happened: a young English couple skulked into the store, clearly embarrassed at being there.  They approached the salesgirl next to me, and the English girl (who had a huge rack) shyly asked her: "Excuse me, but do you sell minimizer bras?"  An ominous silence fell.  The ultra-sassy black salesgirl (who had waist-length blonde braids, four-inch fingernails and more attitude than Madonna) looked at her with the undisguised contempt she might have shown for a urine sample and drawled, "Giiiiirl....this is Frederick's of Hollywood.  We MAXIMIZE!!!"  Hee!  Heeheeheeheehee!!!