The Gulf

So I'm in Kuwait. Yeah, I really don't know how that happened... I was just looking for the cheapest tickets to Mumbai, and I was all set to get an Emirates direct-flight, when I suddenly found it would be half the price on Kuwaiti airlines with a stopover. So I'm in Kuwait.

I guess I didn't plan out all the effects of this little change, but I'll get to that in a bit. I will say, however, that it is very nice to have another Gulf state to compare to Dubai. I'm liking Dubai more and more.


When I first got to Dubai it was 102 degrees and sunny. Well, I got in the night before, but when I woke up and went outside the next day I thought I was going to die. Ate breakfast, met some German girls, and heard about a desert safari thing. Originally I was hot to hop down to the Liwa Oasis with it's 350m sand dunes, but upon inquiries it sounded like the only way to get there (there's nothing in the Empty Quarter, not even a Saudi-UAE border) was with a 4WD and excursion gear. Two of the few things I don't have in my daypack.

Die schorne Frauen gave me a brief intro to the bus system, and then I was off to explore the gold souq and fishmarket downtown. I was wandering through the side alleys of the gold souq when I came upon a little tailor shop where some westerner was haggling over the price of a National dress outfit. He seemed to have been at it for a while, and finally got the keffiyeh (headscarf), jalibiyya (robe) and accessories down to about $15. Impulse buy/desire to not haggle seized me, so I asked for the same.

I walked around for a bit longer before hopping a bus that went out to the Burj al-Arab (that crazy sail-shaped building/Dubai-icon/$1500 per-night hotel). Fell asleep on the bus, but it seemed a short ride and someone woke me up near the Burj. Hung out at the beach for awhile, took some pictures, tried on the new garb, and watched the sun set. Hopped a bus back downtown, and the Germans happened to get on a few stops away. It also turns out I had quite a nap on the way out, since it was more than an hour getting back to town.

Of course, the bus went to some odd end of the city, so the three of us wound our way back to the souq-station, grabbed food, and got our giggles as I donned the national garb again. I was hoping that no one would be offended, but I just seemed to get smiles from most of the South-Asian, African, or SE Asian guys at the bus stop. One man even called me over to teach me some phrases to "complete the set."

But I haven't yet mentioned the cultural make-up of Dubai. This is probably one of the most fascinating aspects of the Emirates: a nation of over four million, where less than 20% of the population are actually citizens. The majority are from every corner of the globe who've come to make money; the minority are the locals with gobs of money. I could go on about the insights this offers into immigration or national identity issues, but I'll save that for some paper I have to write (hopefully a replacement for standard BS). I'll stick to the pertinent stuff, as I was in constant contact with the "visitors" all the time. While the Emiratis were driving their Hummers and gabbing on their cells, I was chilling with the other Guests in their shops, in their restaurants, on their buses.

On their buses. Back to the story; there I was climbing onto a public bus at the gold souq. The ladies sit in ladies section, I move back and grab a rail, standing on the packed bus. I'm still getting smiles from the workers (so this probably is an 'up-yours' to Arabs, and the non-citizens probably enjoy it). Of course, behind me someone quickly jumps up and asks me to take his seat, and I turn around to see an African boy with a now-puzzled look on his face. Another glimpse at the social hierarchy.

Upon getting back to the youth hostel, I grabbed a shower and put on some standard, if slightly grungy, clothes. Yes, there is a YH in Dubai, Hotel price with Family Hotel quality (In Dubai, lodgings are grouped into these two categories, as the cheaper "Hotels" are often brothels). Went downstairs and met Johnny, a Torontonian investment banker. He has some ME blood, speaks some Arabic, and finds the Tax-free status of Dubai appealing. Even North Americans come to Dubai to make money. Anyhow, chatted with him and the ladies for some time, and having been in Dubai for a month, Johnny had plenty of cool observations on the society.

I also got ribbed by him and the girls for carrying an umbrella in my daypack, despite being in the middle of a 100-degree desert. Of course, I can't really get over that Boy Scout motto, and so my daypack also contains a poncho, thermos, extra camera, superglue, tape, locks, a Buddha, a Qur'an, journals, phrasebooks, hat, wool cap, gloves, sewing kit, Cortaid, matches, business cards, maps, atlas, books, compass, thermometer, multi-tool with pliers, locks, multi-tool with corkscrew, bug spray, sun-block, toilet paper, emergency phone, spare pens, etc... I'm fine leaving the umbrella there.

Johnny also had some young, crazy-in-a-good-way Saudi "doctor" following him about, trying to convert him (and later, me). This Saudi guy had a rather comical tendency to launch into long appeals about God-knows-what, non-sensical in either delivery or content. Couldn't decide which. Anyhow, during my stay he was a constant source of humor as he kept phoning his friend, a "Saudi prince", to tell him he was talking to Americans, Germans, and Canadians all at once!

After breakfast following AM, we called the Safari company and made arrangements. At 3:00, a guy picked us up in a modified Land Cruiser and drove us out to the desert near Hatta. Wow... I guess the 100 meter sand dunes were suitable enough. So we grouped off with another Toyota, and grabbed our Oh-shit-bars as the driver proceeded to fly up and down the dunes. The "safari" was basically an hour-long roller coaster ride, with plenty of G's, but no assurance of not-flipping over when we had a 60degree roll (hence the roll cage). Very awesome. Also had a few photo breaks, and the sunset over the orange dunes was just fantastic. In the evening, all the Toyotas in the desert converged on a camp for dinner (great to have local, rather than Indian, food), belly dancing, sheesha, tea, and even some beers! All in all, a fine little trip.

Following day I headed back downtown to get a ticket to Mumbai. The downtown is a nice segue into India, thanks to it's huge Subcontinent population. Since leaving Armenia I've been living on a steady diet of biriyani, masala, and other such dishes, since I can't really afford any of the food intended for Citizens. But it's all delicious, and it's really fun to ditch the silverwear. All the SubConters eat with their hands, and though I'm usually served with a spoon or fork, I just dig in with fingers while the locals smile or give a head-bobble of approval. My right hand has smelled of curry for about a week now, but since I carry that toilet paper, my left hand does not yet smell authentic.

Anyhow, then came all the flight business that I mentioned earlier. After hearing about the Kuwait option, I went to go use the internet and upload some photos. I downloaded Picasa and started touch-ups, though apparently it's no big thing for everyone to crowd around and stare at my screen. I chalked that one up to the fact that many of the pictures included the western women, as they usually get stares anyhow.

To my surprise, though, one of the guys came over and started asking about the program. I tried to explain slowly, but I just couldn't get my ideas across. The lingua franca is a mixture of bad African-English, bad M.Eastern English, bad Asian-English, either bad Subcontinent-English or Hindi/Tamil/something code-switching, etc. Anyhow, it's always a treat speaking with locals.

But this guy then produces a diskette and seems to ask if I'll edit some photos for him. I quickly touch-up the photos to clearly reveal some woman, who another customer inquires about. The photo-owner is Nigerian, and it sounds like the woman in the photo is from somewhere in Sudan, though the town's name sounded like a cross between a cough and a sneeze. But it was touching to hear the story of the Developing World's inter-continetal E-dating.

I no sooner finish with this guys photos than the Ethiopian worker behind the desk comes and asks me to do the same with his photos. Upon completion of that task, the Cafe owner comes jogging back, dressed to the 9's, glances at my camera with a hopeful look, and the cafe fully becomes a photo studio.

So that was Dubai. Really fun, and had a very nice mix of cultures, with a rather healthy dose of tolerant secular elements.

Then I hopped on the flight for Kuwait. I was handed a copy of the Kuwaiti times, where I got all the local news. A teacher in Saudi Arabia has been heard saying that the Jews aren't always wrong, and he even quoted a Bible verse. A month in jail for blasphemy, and 750 lashings at a good-ol' town-square flogging. Oil prices pushed also pushed higher on Tuesday, with more celebration from Kuwaitis. To go with the increased wealth, mega-SUVs are selling better than ever in Gulf states. "I like being in such a big car because it makes everyone else afraid," replied one woman when asked about her new purchase (on My Word, her real response). Russia's state owned Gazprom strengthened it's monopoly of Central Asian oil with more purchases in Tajikistan and Uzbekistan. Those shifty Americans are trying to control the internet; World council to accost them, led by the Justice League of Iran, Saudi Arabia, and China. Just another state-censored newspaper.

We touched down, and as the plane was unloading onto the tarmac, the passengers were yelping and covering themselves with bags, briefcases, or whatever they had. The American kid with the backpack just pulled out and popped open his umbrella. It's raining in the middle of the desert.

Got into Kuwait airport and was pleasantly surprised by the ease of getting visas for Americans. Looks like the government remembers recent history. Then I went through customs, and after my bag went through the X-ray I was asked to open it. The guy asked me to pull everything out, and the looked at a bottle I had. Brandy. I didn't think there was any problem since most Sane Arabic countries allow foreigners to import rather small allowances, but the guy promptly took the bottle and said I could go.

This ticked me off. I protested immediately, and said I'd keep it in the airport hotel, or mail it home, or something. The first guy seemed to agree, since as long as I didn't go through the doors I wasn't yet "in" Kuwait (think "The Terminal"). The customs guy asked which visa I had, so I produced my passport for him. The co-worker however seemed to be in a foul mood, and snatched my passport to hold hostage, telling me to just leave. He was actually telling me that it didn't matter what the rules were, since it was his country, not mine, and I could stop telling him how to run customs and get the hell out. Remember, I was staying calm, so I was rather shocked, and insulted, by irrational aggression. It looks like here, public sentiment remembers the most recent Middle Eastern history rather than that decade-old stuff.

But why didn't I just ditch the bottle and leave? It was Armenian Cognac, 20-year Ararat Ayree, the finest money will buy in Armenia. Sure, this only $50 usd there, but this stuff was Winston Churchill's favourite, the drink that Stalin would send him, still considered by many the finest "Cognac" in the world. Yet I haven't found any real exporters, so the bottles that are $3 in Armenia are $50 in the states. A bottle $50 in Armenia, I can't imagine what it'd be here. But I have no idea how I'd be able to replace this Christmas present for my favorite uncle. Merry Christmas, Uncle. I tried.

But I continued my protest for some time, having sat down at a nearby bench where many customs guys were lazing. It was ridiculous; I was carrying on a normal, friendly conversation with a few of them, while two others kept shouting curses and insults at me. It was obvious I was dealing with more than just a bottle of cognac here. Anyhow, the police/security came and began inquiries, and I kept calm and stuck to my request to just keep the bottle at the airport or mail it home. The police head seemed to see the logic in this, and he said it was probably okay, but that original ass**** kept screaming at everyone. I was asked to take a seat again, and after a few minutes, a tall black man and a woman of South Asian descent came in. Turns out they were USArmy (though non-uniformed), and it seems they were just grabbed out of the crowd. The man began gathering facts about the situation in what seemed to be a very-slangy fashion, but I realized that he was deliberately using street-vernacular. To the Kuwaitis present, it was as good as a foreign language. So he pretty much spelled it out for me that yeah, I had the rules on my side, but that didn't mean jack here for these folks, and they can play very dirty. Unfortunately for me, the crazy asshole with the Anti-American bent was the Customs guy-in-charge.

So I decided I had pushed the situation close enough to getting arrested, and still without results. Then I turned my thoughts to the two Americans helping me out, and after realizing what these two probably had to put up with across the border, my problem looked a pretty trivial. I grabbed my stuff and left in a rather despondent mood. I tried.

I Grabbed a taxi and asked to go to the Hawali Youth Hostel. After leaving, the driver tries to call for directions, and after no answer, begins yelling at me for, wanting the exact address. I calmly explain to him which street the hostel is on and what a hostel is, but he's soon screaming about how there is no such thing as a bed until 20 dinar (60 USD) per night in Kuwait. Gosh, what a welcome. Finally got to the street I asked for, spotted a Boy Scout building, and hopped out. Figured the Scouts will always know where Hostels are. This actually turned out to be the 10-story, Gold-encrusted-lobby'D Boy Scouts of Kuwait headquarters. I soon got directions to the hostel... 50 meters away. The 3-story, though hugely-wide hostel compound seemed to be completely empty, but still open. I suppose not many travelers are looking for that Kuwaiti hospitality I've received. But the guy who runs it is nice enough, and a bed here is, for the record, three dinar.

So I've been exploring Kuwait, a much more conservative gulf state, though with the same huge SUVs. There's some neat architecture, though not as modern as Dubai's, and a nice stretch of coastline where one can hardly see the vomiting smokestacks on the horizon. It's still raining, and since Kuwait doesn't seem too concerned about runoff-management, the roads are all under about six-inches of standing water. The city is okay, but there doesn't seem to be too much for tourists, and the few museums I went to were on their five-hour siesta. I only got stopped once by the police, as I was wearing shorts, but since I had the other half of my zipoffs in my bag I got away unmolested. Soo... great place!

So I've come back to the internet cafe where I came last night to checked news and mail. Twenty computers ring the room facing the walls, though the connection is quite slow, or somebody is hogging bandwidth. The guy next to me last night was probably a contributor, a man in the Sheik-garb with several web-cam feeds open. Now, I respect privacy, but he's a foot away, and it's hard to sit so close to my screen that peripheral vision doesn't pick up the Very explicit feeds from his chatroom friends. First I was a bit shocked, and then uncomfortable, and finally I thought it ironic that the morally-depraved Westerner is so shocked by the porn-addicted Muslim. The guy finally left, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I moved back to comfortable browsing-position. A couple minutes later, a young guy in Sheik garb comes and sits down at the terminal next to me. Within minutes, more chatroom webcam feeds are open, just as explicit, only more... uh, masculine in nature. Lends support to some of the whisperings I've heard about the culture of young sheik-dom.

So this was all last night. I wasn't going to mention this, but the National (sheik) next to me has his own cam-feed open. I was rather relieved to see that this time it was a fully clothed Asian woman. Then a few minutes ago, oops! There goes her top. Now the webcam is being adjusted... and they really need to move these computers further from each-other.

So what are Saudi Arabia and Iran trying to do by messing with internet governance? Clearly, as 100% of my observations show, their efforts are not the will of the Muslim People.

I'll be back to piss off more people later. Love yall.

-jfm









P.S. I've been working on the arabic script, but most written words don't include many vowels. Thus if I've messed up a spelling, pls frgv m fr th errr.

P.P.S. Those of you who maintain that one cannot turn something into an adjective by adding 'D to the end, please consult StrongBad.