Our Top Ten Tips for Non-Compound Dwellers in Saudi Arabia

This is a whole different kind of sandbox.

I know I've written about non-compound dwelling already, but with our move just over a month away it's been on my mind a lot lately. I've gotten a lot of time for self-reflection since moving to the Kingdom; not being able to drive gives you that luxury, I guess. As I've been reflecting on my time in Saudi Arabia, I've realized that the experience the Mister and I have had these two years has been very unique, even among most expats that are living here. Every time we talk to any other expats that we meet, they assume we live on a compound. It's the default housing situation for Western immigrant workers in this country. And the shocked expression we always get when we say we're living out "in the wild" cracks me up. Yes, Virginia, there is a life beyond the walls of Aramco.

...It's tough to come by, but it is possible to have a social life if you work at it.

That said, I should confess that the Mister and I have largely failed at the challenge of finding a vibrant social life for ourselves. So this list is a little ironic, I suppose. I still want to put it out there in case there are any other community-starved expats in the Kingdom that stumble across this blog. So here it is:

Our Top Ten Tips for Surviving Without Living on a Compound in Saudi Arabia:

#10: Books. And movies. And iTunes downloads. Never read War and Peace because you never had the time? Well guess what!? You're in luck! Not living on a compound allows you a lot of time to sit around, especially during the work week. So pick up a book, download some movies, or get an iTunes season pass to the TV show everyone is watching at home. You've got to find your own entertainment, and a lot of times that will involve just you and some form of media.

#9: Don't be afraid to explore your neighborhood. It's Saudi Arabia. There's not going to be a welcome wagon pulling up to your door as soon as the moving vans leave. No one is coming over with pie to tell you all about the neighborhood. You need to get out and explore. Don't go knocking on strangers' doors; that's a good way to get branded as the local creeper. But do explore the shops and restaurants nearby. Get to know the local shop owners. Most of them are also not Saudi and will be thrilled to have an American as a regular customer. They might just pass along helpful tips and possibly invite you over for a truly cultural experience in their own homes.

#8. Be willing to drop some cash for the luxury of having something to do. There are plenty of gatherings for expats in Saudi Arabia, but most of them come with a cover charge. Until you're able to build a base of friends that you'll visit with a lot, be prepared to get invited to parties and pay at the door.

#7. Accept every invitation, or at least the majority of them. This is something the Mister and I did not do. I don't know why we thought we had the freedom to be snobby with our free time, but it is definitely one of our big regrets. We should have been more willing to do things we didn't particularly want to do if only for the sake of being around other people. You don't have the luxury of being picky with your social engagements. And in Saudi Arabia, if you snub the first one or two invitations, they're going to stop coming and you'll be forever alone.

Yeah. Like this guy.

#7. Get a smart phone. This sounds so lame, and if me-from-two-years-ago were reading this, she would totally roll her eyes. But since the Mister created the monster and bought me my first ever smart phone in December, I have felt so much more connected. I've been able to download an app that allows me to SMS with friends and family back home. I downloaded the Skype app for a little while and was able to make phone calls to the States on my phone (the app took up too much space on my phone's tiny internal memory, so I had to delete it...so choose your smart phone wisely). The other day when we were completely lost on a compound trying to meet up with someone, I was able to pull up her email that contained her phone number and the directions to where we were trying to go. There are currency conversion apps, language dictionary apps, so many things that help an expat without a community feel like she can actually belong somewhere: connected to the old home, adjusting to the new home.

I'm sure current smart phoners are saying, "Duh. We know all this," but I just wanted to make sure we were all aware of the wonders of technology.

Warning to iPhoners: If you bought your iPhone from one of the service providers at home (like AT&T), you won't be able to use your phone outside of the US without jail breaking it. I guess the good news is that there is no shortage of people in the Kingdom who have no moral issue with doing just that for you. But if you don't want to jail break (and possibly permanently break) your expensive iPhone, consider trading your current one in for the more expensive, unlocked, bought-it-from-an-independent-shop-or-possibly-from-an-online-dealer iPhone. It'll be worth your investment because you'll be able to put a SIM card into it where ever you go in the world.

#6. Don't be a wet blanket. We're all homesick. We're all jarred by the sudden lack of Western conveniences. We all hate the driving. There is no point in belaboring the fact that Saudi Arabia is not the USA. So stop talking about it. Yes. All expats have that initial catharsis of "Dang, it's really hard to live here" when they first meet. But you should just briefly acknowledge the misery and move on. Talk about what you do for a living (without bitching about how not-like-your-old-job-at-home it is). Discuss travel plans or dreams. Ask for tips on the best shawarma place. Even if the other people around you are stuck in the funk, you'll find that most people are attracted to a ray of sunshine, and that ray should be you. Shine, my friend. Shine.

#5. Be prepared to not find your ideal social group. Let's face it. You can't be picky. And expats are a weird bunch of people. Especially if they're weird enough to not live on a compound. You'll find that most of the expats you meet at the typical gatherings that are off-compound are the other weirdos like you who didn't get recruited by one of the big oil or military consultant companies. You got suckered into coming to Saudi Arabia for the "cultural experience" and now you don't have any friends, Saudi or otherwise.

Sure, perhaps at home you wouldn't be particularly interested in befriending a guy who only talks about his RC model planes, but here you are. Maybe video games from the 1970s aren't exactly your bag, but there's not much else on the conversational table, so dig in. You'll be surprised how quickly you discover that you actually do have something in common with these weirdos and they are quite tolerable if not enjoyable. Being a non-compound expat expands your horizons in several ways, so relish the fact that you're meeting all these new people and get over yourself.

#4. Find a Guy. No, I don't mean you need to start dating (most of our single friends will tell you that is EXTREMELY hard for non-compounders). I mean you need to adopt the Arab habit of having a guy for everything. You need to find a social-scene Guy. And fast. A lot of the parties or gatherings I have mentioned are invitation-only. You can't get an invitation unless you know the host or someone who knows the host. Saudi Arabia isn't like college where you can wander around campus and follow the sound of a party and let yourself in. In fact, party crashing is a big no-no here. You need to know a Guy. This is one of the most difficult parts of getting connected to the non-compound expat social scene in Saudi Arabia. But if you have followed our advice in this list, the Guy will find you. Be prepared for this to take a few weeks or even a month or two (longer if you're a wet blanket), but be patient. Enjoy your books, movies and iTunes downloads in the meantime.

#3. Have parties, or gatherings of some sort. Start with your new colleagues, especially the other international recruits. Chances are someone in your office has started his or her own quest for a Guy and will invite their new weirdo expat friends to your invitation-only gathering. Welcome people into your home, cook for them, entertain them, and they'll usually return the favor. This is something the Mister and I should have done a lot more of here. We learned this lesson too late. I've tried to have more gatherings this year, but I missed my chance. Trust me, there is nothing more lonely or disheartening than to get yourself all excited and motivated to jump start your social life with a rousing game night, only to find that everyone else has found more interesting things to do and it's just you and the snacks. ...and your husband. So have parties. And have them early in your Saudi Arabian career.

#2. Develop a hobby. Ultimate frisbee needs to become your new sport of choice. Taking afternoon jogs through the desert should suddenly have a new appeal to you, trust me. You are Saudi Arabia's newest animal activist. All of these new hobbies have groups full of people that like to organize events in Saudi Arabia, and you need to become a part of them. Even if you have the world's worst hand-eye coordination, can't run to save your life, and are slightly allergic to cats, you need to get out there and pick up a hobby of some sort anyway. Again, finding a Guy (#4) and trying things you wouldn't otherwise try at home (#7) will help you to discover these new interests so don't be shy (#1).

If you're more of a loner, pick up an at-home hobby. I've been scrapbooking and it's helped to keep me from going crazy on those failed-game-night nights.

#1. Become extroverted. This is, by far, the most important rule of living off a compound in Saudi Arabia. You're not really the type to just strike up a conversation with strangers, you say? Get over it. Or get used to having yourself as your only company. I recommend you have a series of unique, non-invasive, conversation-starting questions. Full disclosure: the Mister and I have only just discovered this trick (ok, maybe only I have discovered this trick and I'm still a little timid about trying it out), but each time we've tried it, we've had success.

The more you stray from the "So where are you from" question that starts every expat conversation in this country, the more interesting you are. That means people will be more likely to want to hang out with you again. That means you'll find your Guy sooner. That means you'll get introduced to your new hobby sooner.

Hopefully this post will help some overwhelmed new recruit. If it does, give us a shout out in the comments. Otherwise, I hope it was slightly entertaining, even for those of you who have no desire to leave the comforts of the States.

Vicariously yours,

Sting ain't got nothin' on these desert roses

Did you know that desert roses are a real thing? And they're not flowers at all, but rocks? I DID! And today I finally got to go hunting for some desert roses of my own! Some friends of ours were kind enough to invite us to join them on a jaunt into the desert. We packed a cooler, slathered on some sunscreen and headed out.

We got to ride in the Hummer H3. Saudi Arabia is the only place where a car like this is justifiable.

See the little flag in the middle of the two highways? That's where we were going.

 Our hosts had their trusty guard poodle in the navigator's seat.

Time to get off the road and get into the sand!!

The only thing we saw along the way to the desert roses were little camel and goat farms, power lines, and camels.

 Eventually the rocky path we were following was taken over by dunes and we had to feel our way to the roses. It was a dusty day. The wind has been blowing for the past few days.

"uh...I think it's thatta way."

A little desert oasis! It's like the movies!!

Finally we reached the roses. This is what the desert roses look like. They are the result of the sand crystallizing from the heat and pressure of the desert. They're really cool looking. Some of them look like UFOs. Others are shiny and flat. Others look exactly like a rose. They're just sitting in the sand in the desert, but if you want to find the really big ones, you have to dig.

She dug for the better part of an hour as any number of the men on our excursion "supervised."

Eventually the piles of roses started to appear.

I just loved how they looked like weird space rocks or something. Just hangin' out in the desert.

Of course, it wouldn't be a trip into the desert unless somebody got stuck in the sand!!

We had a great time off-roading our way through Saudi Arabia this afternoon. We got a few pretty desert roses that will be great bookends for our house, and we had a fun time meeting some new people.

Vicariously yours,

(Admit it, you totally have Sting's song stuck in your head now!!)

Party on the roof

This weekend, one of our housemates hosted a little get together on our roof. We've had shindigs like this before and it's always been a fun time. Last night, however, we decided to take it to the next level, Saudi style.

On the way to our house there is a gas station that has a rug stand next to it. We purchased a couple rugs, and some "camel saddle" cushions. Phase one was complete.

Then we went by Saco World (think Lowes meets Wal-Mart) and got some tiki torches and a dart board. Phase two, complete.

Then the Mister went hookah shopping with a colleague. Game. On.

I can't speak for everyone, but I had a great time. It was very chill, the food was good, the hookah was smooth and the conversation was even better. With the weather becoming super nice, I predict a lot more Arabian nights spent on the roof.

One of the camel saddle cushions can be seen behind the Mister. It kind of looks like a saddle (obviously) and you're meant to lounge on it by leaning against it or resting your elbow on it. I didn't find them particularly comfortable, but I'm not a big floor sitter in the first place. Most of our guests seemed to enjoy them. 

The hookah was a big hit. One of our Saudi guests was kind enough to show us the protocol for sharing the hookah. Who knew I had been passing the pipe all wrong all these years?!

Vicariously yours,

The Definition of Irony

This is what I wore to school today. My outfit consisted of a grey three-quarter sleeve sweater I bought at Forever 21 before we left, a brown pleated polyester skirt I bought at some souq here in Saudi, and my TOMS.

It was 109 degrees outside today. And I was wearing a sweater.

The full length skirt is a requirement. I'm also required to cover my shoulders and my elbows. The sweater was all my choice.

I chose to wear a sweater because, if there's one thing the Saudis do right, it's air conditioning! It is the ultimate irony that I am in the middle of one of the driest, most sweltering regions in the world, and I spend 85% of my day shivering from cold!

Our school is freezing cold all the time...Well, except for when the air conditioning breaks down. Then it's ridiculously warm. But I would say 9 times out of 10, I'm going to be blue from frostbite by the end of the day.

Unless I wear a sweater to school. In Saudi Arabia.

Who could have predicted?!

Vicariously yours,

Wait, you mean we'll have to actually do for ourselves?!

I've been writing a lot of homesick-sounding posts lately. It is true, the Mister and I are excited to head West for the summer. There's nothing quite like the modern conveniences of home. But despite all the complaining I've done lately, there are a few things about living in Saudi Arabia that will make eventually moving back home a little difficult.

The Mister and I hardly do anything for ourselves anymore. This country is chock-a-block full of Southeast Asian migrant workers who work for less money and in much worse conditions than their Central American counterparts in the States. They are always looking to make an extra buck, and lucky for them, Saudis and their expat neighbors are l-a-z-y!

We don't have to take our groceries out to our car anymore. We just go shopping, get the cart loaded up for us by a nice Indian worker, and then a Bangladeshi or Indonesian man meets us at the door and takes over. We usually tip the guy SAR 5 ($1.15), and you'd think we'd just made his week!

We don't have to wash our car anymore (although, our parents would say we never washed it all that much to begin with). There's a Bangladeshi guy in the neighborhood who comes around once a week, sometimes more, to return our dusty car to a lovely shine. He always appears after dark, so we assume he comes from his job as a street cleaner. I'm sure he works long days all week. We are glad to have him around and try to give him more than the $13 a month he charges us, but he won't accept it.

It seems Saudi Arabia has taken a nod from New Jersey labor laws and doesn't allow the public to pump its own gas. There's a gas attendant at every station ready to fill 'er up. Unlike New Jersey, however, I don't think Saudi Arabia has this custom is an effort to decrease the Saudi unemployment rate. A true Saudi wouldn't be caught dead doing this job, so the migrant Asian workers get to sit outside in the summer heat and wait for patrons instead! They make creative use of their time. I once saw a modified cricket match being held in the parking lot of a gas station during the prayer break. They were using a water bottle as the ball, and a plastic pipe as the bat.

The Mister and I haven't taken advantage of this service, but we constantly see McDonald's, Burger King, KFC and other fast food delivery cars on the streets of our neighborhood dropping off orders. Yes, you heard me right. In Saudi Arabia, you don't even have to go through the drive-thru. The drive-thru comes to you!!

Another service the Mister and I can't justify taking advantage of is having a house boy. Although, to hear some of the locals talk, we're suffering through the toils of housework for no reason! I once was describing to a co-worker what our living arrangements were like and she said, "Do you have someone who helps you clean all that?" (keep in mind that we only have a 3 bedroom apartment and only one of the bedrooms is actually in use)

"My husband," I replied.

"What?! You don't have to do that! There are people that will clean your house for you! And they're cheap!" she exclaimed, reaching out for my hand as if this was some sort of intervention.

Some of the other American workers do hire the services of an Asian migrant worker looking to make an extra few riyals. But they have large villas, and children to make a mess. For anywhere between $26 and $106 a month, my colleagues get a guy who comes once a week (or more in some cases) to do the dishes, mop the floors, iron clothes and do any other odd jobs they ask. A fantastic luxury that would be significantly more expensive back home!!

In many regards, the Mister and I are very spoiled over here. We're able to travel to places we could never afford on our salaries back home, we have a wonderful apartment and great co-workers. We're homesick for the familiarity of the States, but life over here is definitely just fine!!

Vicariously yours,

What can I possibly be allergic to!?

This picture represents the misery and irony I have felt this week. Around the time I hit late high school, I started getting major allergies each spring. Being from the verdant South, I knew it was all the blooming flowers, newly sprung grass and blossoming trees that had it out for me each year. I was kind of hoping that moving to the arid desert would mean a little reprieve from the hayfever and packed sinuses. I mean, there are no blooming...anythings here so what's there to be allergic to?

Welp, apparently my system has found something!! I have been sniffly and congested all week long and it's really getting old. Due to the fact that this flare up of my mucus membranes in my olfactory system coincided with us turning our air conditioning back on for the first time since November, I have the sneaking suspicion that this is more of an angry reaction to a mold or dust invasion as opposed to a traditional bout with allergies. I went through a similar situation during my first year of teaching in an old, government-built, asbestos lined public school. My body either built up an immunity eventually or just coped with the biological warfare. By my second year, I had stopped sneezing and my allergy season was limited to a few weeks in March/April as opposed to 2 semesters.

In the past couple days I've succeeded in getting at least one nostril cleared for most of the day, but that means that my nose now seems to pick up ALL the dust particles in the air and amply them times a billion. Breathing is now almost painful. I'm not sure which is worse. Mouth breathing all the time, or having this sensitivity to dust IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DESERT!!

In the meantime I'm kind of enjoying the look of pure confusion on my students' faces when they ask me if I'm sick and I simply reply and I'm just congested. "Why don't you stay home from school?" one of my sweet seventh-graders asked the other day.

"Because I have a very important job to do, and I'm not really sick, I just feel stuffy," I explained. She seemed to not really understand the difference. In Arabic, the word for "tired" is also used to mean "sick," so I can't say that I'm surprised by her perplexity. So I'll just keep on keepin' on. I have a perfect attendance goal in mind, and with only a month left in the school year, that brass ring is all mine.

Allergies be damned.

Vicariously yours,

An Open Letter to Barnes and Noble

Dear Western Booksellers,

Saudi Arabia is a land in crisis. As a featured read aloud performer for next week's Literacy Day, I've made some sad discoveries. The literacy movement has found its way into the Kingdom, but prematurely. Being that I have recently moved to this country from my home, the United States, I have a very limited personal library. Shipping books is expensive and I was given the impression I would have a good selection in my new home.

I could not have been more misled!

After taking on my role as reader aloud extraordinaire, I headed to my school's library. In the tiny English section of the library, I found a hodge-podge collection of children's books, mostly from the mid-80s to early 90s. They were not properly alphabetized, a lot of them were strewn about the floor, and most of their spines were broken and tattered. The sight brought tears to my eyes.

"Alright," I thought to myself, "I'll just go to my local bookstore. It must have a better selection."

I could not have been more wrong!

My driver (read: husband) and I went to a new bookstore, because I had been told that this one had a better selection than our typical haunt. We even sat in the parking lot for 30 minutes because we arrived just as salah (prayer) was beginning. After the doors were finally opened, I went in with a mission: Find a good children's book and get out.

I could not have been more disappointed!

There were hardly any children's books--in English or Arabic! So off we went to our usual bookstore. It's two levels, only one of which has books. This should be a sign to you, Barnes and Noble, of how desperate this Kingdom is for a real bookstore! The children's book section is comprised of 3 aisles. Most of the books are either text versions of a Ben10, SpongeBob, or Hannah Montana episode. Or English grammar books. It was a miracle I was able to find a selection of 4 obscure Dr. Seuss books, no The Cat in the Hat, or his other famous stand-bys.

Don't even get me started on the young adult lit section! ONE two-sided aisle! That's IT! And 90% of those books are vampire books!! There's the occasional Meg Cabot, but nothing of real substance! Where's the Maureen Johnson? The E. Lockhart?! For heavens sakes at least stock some Lois Lowry!!

So I'm begging you, Barnes and Noble (or any Western bookseller that's listening), please open a branch in Saudi Arabia. Yes, I know the censorship laws are horribly restrictive and probably more trouble than it's worth, but there are READERS here! I realize that the conservative leadership would never allow wonderful authors like John Green, Rachel Cohn, or Alex Sanchez through customs, but at least TRY to introduce some Ally Carter, Adam Rex, and Neil Gaiman! Their stories are not controversial, and have nothing to do with sucking blood. I know! You could open a branch inside a resort, one of those walled compounds that is an oasis from the prohibitive kill-joys that have a stronghold on the current literary situation.

This country is making a push for literacy before it even has anything to read! Do it for the desperate Americans who thought they were going to be able to enjoy a lazy afternoon with a good book. Do it for the Saudi children who don't know the wonders of Eric Carle, Don Freeman, or Mo Willems. Do it for the teenagers who think that Stephenie Meyers is the ultimate YAL author! The Kingdom needs to be enlightened, and I NEED A GOOD BOOK, DARNIT!

I'm begging you,

Bet you've never seen something like this on your daily commute to work.

Look closely, folks. The picture turned out badly because I didn't turn the flash off before I quickly snapped this piece of evidence. But inside the red circle you can clearly see what the Mister and I lovingly call the "Snapper Guys." We see these guys almost everyday when we get off the highway to go to school.

Two guys on a Snapper riding lawnmower. We saw them the first time and laughed at the preposterousness of it. At the time, the seasons were changing, so the scorching temperatures were making way for more grass-friendly climes. So we figured maybe they were going to mow somebody's lawn and didn't have a truck to load the Snapper on. Made sense.

But we've literally seen them at least 3 times a week since. This leads us to believe that this Snapper riding mower IS their mode of transportation.

And there's two of them.

Hilarious.

Vicariously yours,

Somebody call 911. Shawty fire burning...

A few weeks before the semester vacation, we had a fire drill. I have a scathing rant of a blog post about that day saved in my drafts. The Mister advised me to postpone that one for a day after we've left this school, because my angry reaction to the chaos probably wouldn't have been treated favorably if it had been found by my current employers.

Well, today the fire alarms went off again and because I was prepared for the ridiculousness that ensued, I'm having a much more calm and laughable reaction to today's events. Here's the breakdown:

The second half of my eighth grade class has just started and the girls are squirrelly to the max (there's another post coming with those stories). I'm trying desperately to get them started on an exercise and once I've finally got them quiet enough to hear the instructions, the air conditioning goes off.

In most classrooms, the on-and-off of the air conditioning is not a big deal. But in our school, the air conditioning is a deafening white noise that isn't all that noticeable until it goes away. The girls have also figured out that usually when the air conditioning goes off, the fire alarm is about to sound.

As soon as the noise stops today, eliciting squeals of elation from my giddy group of lovelies, the lights in the cluster cut off. At the same time the girls cry out, "Fire alarm!!"

Remembering the absolute chaos that ensued the last time we went through this exercise in futility, I command, "Do not move!"

"...but Teacher! We're supposed to go outside!" a few girls say, bouncing on the balls of their feet. Not out of fear, but out of excitement for the guaranteed 20-30 minutes of play they know is waiting just on the other side of the door.

"Yes, but we will sit here until we're crispy and smoking if you don't listen to me right now!"

I guess they pick up on the seriousness in my tone because even the girls who are packing up their bags stop what they are doing.

"You told me after the last 'fire drill' that you behaved horribly and out of character. You said you don't always act that way when there's a fire drill. So show me today how you normally behave. Do not let me out of your sight and walk quietly to the fire exit."

Of course, as soon as they hit the fire exit, they scatter like roaches and I don't see them again for the rest of the day. So much for them showing me how they should behave during a fire drill.

I am confused as to why the fire alarms are sounding at all today, and a fellow teacher makes the same comment as we stroll behind the horde of fluttering skirts towards the assembly point. Last week we had gotten a staff-wide email that Monday was scheduled for a fire drill. But if working at this school has taught me anything, it's to expect the unexpected.

After 10 minutes of standing around outside and fending off the question always on every student's mind ("Is this a real fire?!"), the rumor that this was not in fact an unannounced drill makes its way to me.

"According to Abla So-and-So, this is the real deal," one of the other English teachers says, shading her eyes from the sun, purse on her shoulder.

"What? No. They always say that, but someone probably just pulled the alarm."

"No, she said she was checking the halls to make sure everyone had left the building and she saw smoke coming from the maktabah [library]."

Hmm...interesting tidbit, but at this point it's still a rumor. We heem and haw about this and that until eventually we finally hear a confirmed report of smoke coming from someone who had actually seen it with her own eyes.

Uh-oh. My passport is in there! And my cell phone! Dangit! I've always prided myself on not being one of those teachers who tells the kids to leave everything and then grabs her purse before leaving the classroom... now I'm beginning to consider a change in philosophy! We ask the obvious questions: how are we going to get home (all the abayas and such are still inside the school), have the fire trucks come, will there be school tomorrow? The answer to all of these questions is, of course, "I don't know."

Not even two minutes after finding out that there was a bona fide fire inside the school, we see students making their way back into the building. We are on the far side of the field and have gotten no word from and administrators that it's safe to go back into the school.

"Teacher, we can go back inside now," one of my seventh-grade students says as she passes by me. Figures. The teachers would be the last to know such information.

I'm hesitant to believe it until I get word from someone with some authority, but I start strolling towards the building in hopes that I will run into an administrator or something.

As it turns out, there was a real fire. Apparently the wiring above one of the computer labs (or was it in the elementary school?) shorted out and started a small fire. That's why the lights in the cluster went out (or was it because the fire alarms automatically turn them off?). The fumes of burnt plastic are just too hazardous, so we knock off for the last 15 minutes of the day.

I don't know if the boys side has experienced the same craziness, and there are no signs of flames or firemen so I stand around comparing rumors until I hear from the Mister. No use in standing around outside in the sun waiting for him to finish his day.

Then the deputy headmaster is scurrying down the hallway waving her hands and saying exasperatedly, "Out! Out! Everybody out of the building! Yallah! Go!"

Oh...perhaps we should be evactuating.

I clock out (everyone has left the building...they're sitting directly outside the doors waiting for their drivers to arrive. Safety first.) and step outside the gate and that's when I see the fire trucks. Huh. So this must have been a legit situation. Judging from the firefighters' outfits, it wasn't all that serious. One of them was wearing khaki pants tucked in to fireproof rubber boots, a tank top under a sleeveless fireproof/waterproof fireman's jacket, an oxygen tank, and a firefighter's helmet. I guess the Saudi firefighters' policy is to protect the vital organs first.

I wait around comparing stories with one of the teachers whose classroom was close to the fire (her daughter's teachers told her to leave everything and just run...totally not a recipe for chaos). At last the Mister emerges and I get to hear his side of the story on the way home...

Vicariously yours,

in which i take you along with me to get a haircut.

Now, before I begin, I should make one thing clear: I'm not really a "pamper myself" kinda guy. I don't really like cosmetic things to be a big deal. My normal haircut costs about $15...and it's always at a place in a strip mall with a clever name like "Kwik Kuts" or "Head's Up". I got a shave before our wedding, and that was a special occasion. I'm usually in and out in 20 minutes...and that's if I get a shampoo and the stylist is particularly talkative.

Here, as many things are, it's totally and completely different.

I noticed today that my hair was particularly shaggy and we're about to go on vacation (real pumped for Barcelona!) so I thought it would be a good idea to get a trim. I grabbed my keys and headed off walking for the barber shop.

This is the third time I've been to this particular barber shop. I even have a "usual" at this place...he is, of course, my barber "guy". He's a Bangladeshi guy who calls me "Boss" (something he calls all of his customers) and talks pretty much non-stop the whole time in an English-Arabic hybrid that is mildly understandable. I think it's a great place because I can get a shave and a trim all for around $6.50. That being said, I've never had the same thing happen any of the times that I've been...and this time was no exception.

The guy works alone, so I got to the place around 8:30 pm expecting to see a few people waiting, only to find that there was another barber there. Already things were different than last time. I of course got called by the new guy and we began. The regular guy was nice enough to let the new guy know my normal "do" and shaving style in a language that I can only guess was a mix of English, Arabic, and Bangladeshi. I am amazed by this because the guy remembers my "usual" from the first time that I came in. One time and BOOM, he's got it. Incredible...(digressing).

The haircut was pretty normal, with the exception of the brutality my scalp endured at the hands of that man's comb. It was the shave that got kinda strange. First of all, they lather you up with this gel and then just kinda let it sit. They then take a straight razor and light it on fire with rubbing alcohol. Obviously, this is sanitizing the razor...thanks, man. He begins the shave, which is nice enough. He finishes and washes the excess gel off and I'm thinking, "This is where dude stopped last time, so it must be time up..." I start to get up, but he gives me the barber pressure on the head, which means sit down and stay still. "Alright..." I then experience one of the most awkward (and honestly kinda painful) skin treatments I've ever had.

He rubs this pink lotion on my face which smells like banana yoplait...and just kinda leaves it there. I also want to note how close to my nostrils this lotion is applied...like basically inside. He thankfully washes it off...which I again, foolishly, think is the end. He then grabs this stuff that looks kinda like spicy deli mustard. I can feel the harsh pellets in the lotion and immediately think, "oh no...not ex-foliation..." But oh yes. He not only rubs it in, he GRINDS it in. This goes on for literally 5 (PAINFUL) minutes. I begin to wonder if he's just having some fun with the white guy...a paranoia that I feel a lot here...but the guys behind him are just chatting like it's totally normal.

When this is mercifully over, he steps away for a moment. I start to get up, but for the third time, he makes me sit so he can finish: some water on the hair and beard, an impromptu scalp massage that made me see stars a little bit, and then the styling of my new "do" so that I look like a "Top Gun" pilot...(Ice Man, of course). He gestures for me to get up, with a flick of his apron for good measure. A little anxious to leave before he changes his mind, I pay the man and bail. On the way out I glanced down at my watch and realized that I had been there for an hour and 15 minutes. Wow.

So the obvious question is why I allow myself to be tortured like this...and I think the answer is that I really do enjoy getting a shave and all that along with the haircut. In a place like this where there's such an emphasis on how you look, it's interesting that so cheap to get someone else to groom you. Anyway, I'll keep going back to my slightly insane barber just for the experience...plus it's a great haircut.

Vicariously yours,

Meanwhile, I got a pedicure

Protests in Egypt spilled out into the cities surrounding Cairo.

Students led rallies in Sana'a, Yemen.

Tunisia's foreign minister walked off the job today.

Mourners were car-bombed in a Shi'a section of Baghdad.

Meanwhile, I got a pedicure and enjoyed a long afternoon nap in Saudi Arabia.

Anyone looking at the headlines for the Middle East today would think the whole region has gone crazy. Life here must be so stressful and unpredictable. It's very bizarre to me that today was very much like a typical Saturday at home: girl time at the salon, dinner with the husband, a good book, some shopping.

I don't say this to be flippant about the atrocities that are happening in Iraq right now, nor to down-play the revolutions that have broken out in the past week. Things in some parts of the Middle East are certainly tumultuous right now. I just thought it was funny that while talking to friends back home, one of them asked how we are doing "with all the stuff going on in that part of the world." It struck me that many people in the West assume that if unrest is affecting one area, the whole region has gone to pot.

We're doing fine. Saudi Arabia is chugging along as normal--perhaps with a few extra leaders who happen to be taking refuge in one of the many royal palaces, but normal nonetheless.

Vicariously yours,

A day in the life...

4:45 am - my alarm clock goes off. If I'm behaving myself, I'll get up and work out. I'm not usually behaving myself, so this is usually when I hit the snooze button and turn over.

5:06 am - The call to Fajr prayer starts.

5:30 am - I'm in the shower.

5:36ish am - The recitation of the prayers begins from the mosque a block away. This mosque is usually the last in the neighborhood to start. I amuse myself by imagining the imam rushing out of bed each morning and running to the mosque to get everyone started. In my imagination, he's as much of a morning person as I'm not.

5:45 am - The Mister's alarm clock goes off.

6:00 am - I'm out of the shower and continuing to get ready for work.

6:10 am - The Mister finally gets out of bed. Ideally we're walking out the door in 5 minutes.

6:21 am - We're walking out the door.

6:41 am - We've survived the commute to work once again and I'm clocking in to work. The mister and I have said goodbye in the parking lot. No hugs. No kisses. Just wishes of "Have a good day" and we're on the way to the separate doors of our two schools in the same building.

As I dodge my way through elementary girls hula hooping in the primary section of the school (hula hoop is so in right now with the 6-10 crowd), I have to stop and wait for the crowds to part. Slowly. Conversations and camaraderie are very important here, and people can't be bothered to be conscious of others around them. The children here are no exception. I often get the stink eye when I say, "Excuse me" and ask the girls to get out of the way. How dare I interrupt her very important conversation square in the middle of the hallway?!

7:00 am - The doors to the hallway leading to the high school clusters are opened the girls pour into the corridors. The decibels climb dramatically.

7:15 am - The warning bell sounds. The girls continue their conversations.

7:20 am - The final bell rings, signaling the beginning of the first period. The girls are still talking in the hallway. One or two begin to enter the cluster. Exasperated sighs leak from the teachers' chests.

My class schedules are bizarre, to put it lightly. On Saturdays I have all 3 of my sections in 80 minute blocks. I only have 2 forty minute periods free. My lightest days are Monday and Tuesday when I only have 2 of my 3 sections and I only teach for a total of 2 hours. I love Mondays and Tuesdays. I am able to get so much planning done and even sneak a few quick glances at Facebook.

A real annoyance is the fact that there are not enough classrooms for each teacher to have one of her own. So while I'm not teaching, another woman is using my room for her class. When she's in my room, I'm occupying her desk. When she finishes, I get booted off her desk and back into my room.

10:08 am - Recess. There's no real lunch schedule, so we just set the girls loose for 30 minutes. The canteen is open and the girls are urged to go outside to each and run off some energy. Following these instructions often proves to be optional. It depends on which teacher is on duty during recess.

12:47 pm - Prayer break. The girls that are eligible head to the lockers, get their abayas and then go to the large assembly room where prayers are conducted. If a girl is on her period, she is unclean and therefore cannot perform the prayers. These girls roam the halls, finish homework and generally hang out.

2:27 pm - The final bell rings and a mass exodus begins. The students generally take their time getting their bags and heading to their drivers because most of them have brothers in the boys school who don't get out for another 13 minutes. Others run out quickly to catch the chartered bus that takes them home to the suburbs.

The teachers high-tail it out of the school like it's on fire! I've seriously never seen a school clear out as fast as this one does after dismissal! When I asked my colleagues why none of the teachers stay late to get work finished, I was told that the non-Saudi women aren't allowed to hire family drivers, so if they don't get out to their hired taxis in time, the driver will leave them stranded at school. I'm not sure what the Saudi women's excuse is.

2:40 pm - The Mister's last bell rings. I've usually settled into a conversation with the last stragglers in the English department and often miss his call when he's heading out to the car.

2:51 am - The call to the Asr prayer begins. Everything closes, so any hope of stopping for an after school snack is dashed.

3:00 pm - I finally clock out for the day and head out to the car.

After school, we generally take a nap, work out if we're feeling motivated, or have various classes and meetings. My former colleagues in Nashville will be interested to know that I meet in a PLC every Monday afternoon. On Tuesdays we have Arabic class, and most Wednesdays are TARA meetings.

Overall, our work week is very busy. And that's a day in the life of an international teacher in Saudi Arabia.

Vicariously yours,

So, this happened.

Sometimes we have days that are so normal and un-Saudi, it's hard to tell if we're still in a foreign country or not. Today was one of those days.

Upon returning from school, I opened a Christmas/Birthday gift from my sister.

It's pretty awesome and you're totally jealous, I know. It was made by this guy who has a shop on Etsy.

Then I took a nap while the hubbins played video games and watched TV. Pretty typical.

I woke up when the Mister arrived back from the grocery store. He'd gone out while I was sleeping to get ingredients for tonight's dinner.

...ok, that's not so typical, but still pretty awesome.

While he cooked, I got a great extended preview of this show:

It is exactly what you think it is.

Then I decided it should probably start with at least one of my New Year's resolutions.

Moral of the story: I'm fat.

Then I cancelled out any calories I might have burned with the yummy mac n' cheese and chicken fried steak that the hubs made for us!

So good, but soo bad! Yummy yum!

I think I'll round out the night with a little lesson planning, perhaps a movie curled up on the couch with the mister, or maybe an early bed time.

If I didn't know better, I'd think I was at home.

Vicariously yours,

A day of hilarious one-liners

I've had a busy weekend, so I haven't had a lot of time to do blogging. That excuse combined with the fact that I can't quite formulate a way to tell you all about the fun day I had on Wednesday without sounding disjointed and un-hilarious are the reasons for the silence on the ol' blog the past couple days.

So I will attempt to tell you about my Wednesday as best I can.

I am serving on a committee that plans an annual conference for literacy teachers in the Middle East. It has been dubbed "the #1 reading conference in the region." ...mostly because it's the only reading conference in the region, but that's neither here nor there.

Anyway, the meeting for the TARA committee was in Aramco this week, so I hitched a ride with my colleague and her driver and we headed to the camp. I really enjoy her driver because he's such a kind soul and I think he enjoys carting us around because we treat him more like an equal rather than "the help."

As we were entering the Aramco camp, he was talking about how Aramco "is having very strict" rules. "You can have no going too fast, always stopping at lights, and most important is the no talking on the mobile. That is very bad." We chuckled to ourselves at these "very strict" rules that are just considered "good driving habits" at home.

We registered at the Visitors Gate and followed another TARA committee member to our meeting location. At one point, we had to turn left without the assistance of a traffic light or stop sign. Normally in Saudi Arabia this means a driver guns it across and hopes the other cars stop in time, but we were in Aramco. Our driver came to a rolling stop and inched his way very slowly into the oncoming traffic. Thankfully they were slowing because they were approaching the gate through which we'd just passed, but it was still a little scary because our driver didn't have the right-of-way.

My colleague and I whimpered in the back seat and our driver reassured us by saying, "In Aramco we don't driving rough." I laughed at the fact that for him, not driving rough meant to slowly break the laws of driving.

Despite the fact that we were following a TARA committee member who has lived and worked on the Aramco camp for over 25 years, we got lost trying to find the house where Wednesday night's meeting was being held. While most of our driver's passengers would get mad at him over a situation he could not control, my colleague and I thought it was hilarious. We twisted and turned on the back roads of the camp, back-tracking when we reached dead-ends or circling back and going against traffic when we got to the wrong intersection. While we were hooting with laughter in the back seat, our driver was trying to figure out why this woman who was supposed to be acquainted with the camp was so lost.

"I think she is having many years," he said. At first I thought he was expressing his confusion at her lack of familiarity with her own neighborhood. Then he said, "She is almost having sixty-years, I think."

That only made me laugh harder! "What, are you trying to say she's lost because she's too old to drive?!" I asked between snorts.

"No! No, ma'am!" our driver laughed. "No, I am having almost 60 years in 20 years time."

Nice save.

We eventually made it to our meeting, and after a couple hours our driver was back to take us home. We also gave one of the guys on the committee a lift home, but mine was the first house on the route. As we approached my street, I asked our newest passenger if he knew the name of the mosque that's a block away from my house. I was hoping he would know so I could use it as a landmark when giving people directions. Our driver slowed down so we could all strain our necks to see if there was a sign with the name of the mosque on it.

"I think it is called 'mosque,'" our driver said sincerely.

The back seat exploded with laughter.

Vicariously yours,

A peek inside our new home!

Side note: the video really doesn't do justice to how loud the washing machine is, or how much it moves during a wash cycle. At some points it sounds like a plane taking off in our kitchen! I just couldn't catch it on video.

Vicariously yours,

For real this time

Oh my goodness, you never know just how dependent you are on the internet until you can't update your status or blog for an entire week! I've been thinking to witty blog topics and fun tweets all week long, but had no way to share them all with you!

We have SOOO many stories to tell! I don't even know where to start! I'll just go with what's fresh on my mind:

WE FINALLY GOT BLACKBERRIES!!!

The hubs and I just got back from a part of town that I have dubbed "gadget row" because of all the cell phone stores on both sides of the street. Seriously. You walk out of a cell phone shop, and next door is another cell phone shop. The street is dotted with the occasional broasted chicken establishment (broasted = fried), but literally everything else on the street is a cell phone store.

We never would have been able to get our phones for so cheap if we weren't with a new friend from work. He is Yemeni, and thus speaks Arabic, so we weren't taken to the cleaners. That has by far been the most frustrating part of living here so far: the language barrier. There have been so many instances when I knew we were getting over charged, but I didn't know how to haggle with the guy, so we had to pay the exorbitant price.

Anyway, we went into a few shops and bargained for a couple hours, and in the end we both walked away with shiny used BlackBerries. I have exactly two contacts in my phone: The Mister, and my own phone number. It's kind of a depressing reminder that we need to make friends.

After we got our phones, we went to the Golden Juice to get the world's best shawarma sandwiches and the best fresh juice I've ever put in my mouth. People, you have never tasted juice until you've had this stuff! I got the "France Juice." I'm not entirely sure which part of the concoction was French, but golly it was amazing! It was mango, orange, apple and pineapple juices--literally freshly squeezed on the spot. Oh. my. heavens. SO GOOD!

We'll be posting photos of our new digs soon, but only after we've settled in more. The walls are really bare and there is still furniture to be moved in. So after I apply my extensive interior design skillz (thank you, HGTV), I'll take all of you on a "tour."

Vicariously yours,

WE MOVED!

...to the hotel lobby.

The school sent only one driver to get 3 teachers (me, the hubs, and another guy who's been staying at the hotel) and all their luggage. The driver doesn't understand how we could have so much stuff, and he's very upset that he has to call for a minibus to lug all our bags.

So we've made it as far as the hotel lobby...but hey! That's progress.

We can now definitely say that our next post will be from our new apartment. Probably in a week or two, but there will be no complaints from me about that!

Vicariously yours,

A quick look back...

Well, the last word we heard was that we would be able to move into our newly-painted, newly-furnished apartment tomorrow after work. I've tried to confirm that with my new boss, but she was out sick today, so I'm staying positive and assuming it's still game on for leaving the Gulf Flower Hotel.

I realize that's really just wishful thinking at this point, but just in case things work out in our favor, I thought I'd make one last post before we left the hotel. We recorded our first few moments in Dammam when we arrived on September 13th...and then we promptly lost the cord that connects our video camera to our computer.

Obviously, we found it! And now we share with you the first footage from Saudi Arabia:

If, by some miracle, we do get to move into our apartment tomorrow, we'll have to wait until we get our iqama (residence visa) before we can get internet. I'm sure it comes as no surprise that that will take a little while. So bare with us as we "go dark," as the Mister's mom put it the other night. We'll be back with many more updates soon (and by "soon" I likely mean "tomorrow").

Vicariously yours,