Lacrosse Longings

(Note: I wrote this a couple of days ago but waited to post until the event had come and gone, for security reasons.)

I spent a couple hours outside this afternoon watching a local high school choir and band rehearse for National Day. Yes, America's National Day is July 4th. And yes we're celebrating it in March. Why? Heat. Humidity. Summer Vacation. All these elements make it untenable to hold an outdoor event in July, so we re-appropriated a day in March. Makes sense, right? Anyway. I can take no credit for any National Day planning - that goes to some very capable and hard-working colleagues who should be proud of their effort. But today they invited me to help with anthem rehearsal. And being outside with a group of high school students, on a not-too-hot and not-too-humid day in March, it made me nostalgic. At first I couldn't quite figure it out, but it hit me late in the day.

It's lacrosse season!

When I was still living in NH and teaching and then working in international education, I had the good fortune to coach JV girls' lacrosse for several seasons. I fell into the job - my intention had been to start out volunteering with younger players - but it was an amazing experience. The Varsity coach was, and still is, an amazing role model and mentor, and I owe a debt of gratitude to her for imparting so much wisdom to me. I only wish I could have absorbed more of it! The athletes were wonderful young women; it's hard to believe, but some have graduated high school and even college by now. How time flies.

I absolutely love lacrosse, despite the toll it has taken on me. I played for three years in high school, though each season ended early with a devastating knee injury and then major surgery. To be fair, the first year I think I hurt my knee right after lacrosse ended, and the injury actually happened during a game of flag football. Spending as much time on the sidelines as I did, I memorized the rules and developed at least a mediocre feel for the game's intricacies. In college, I was privileged to manage the women's team for the three years I was on campus. Our lacrosse program was one of the best in the nation; the team went to the NCAA championship game twice while I was there. Spending so much time watching some of the best lacrosse players in the world and learning from world-class coaches just made me love the game that much more. (And the fourth knee injury occurred my freshman year during lacrosse season but, again, in a game of flag football.) I still try to catch games whenever I'm near a college program. In NH, the school where I coached was right down the road from Dartmouth, another top college program, so I had ample opportunity.

So for three years, March meant to me the beginning of lacrosse season. And one of the great things about lacrosse was that I got to spend 2-3 hours outside every day. At the end of winter and beginning of spring, this was a fragrant and sense-rich time in NH, so the memories are very linked to sights and smells for me. Wet parking lots, melting snow, damp grass, mud, and, eventually, blooming flowers, leaf buds on trees, freshly-mown grass, the sound of lawnmowers, and numerous other springy sensations. I love it! (And, you had to expect it, my fifth knee surgery occurred a week before lacrosse season started one of those years. This time the injury was far less interesting. I tore my meniscus reaching to get socks out of a drawer. Perhaps that will clue you in on how I was able to hurt my knees so easily so many times before. I am slightly accident-prone...)

So standing outside today with a bunch of high schoolers was just the right combination of things to make me nostalgic and happy. (Even though it was 92, dusty, and far more humid than a NH spring...)

Last spring was the first time I wasn't involved in lacrosse in a while, and I went through withdrawal. I never made it home for a game, but I did make one late-season practice. It wasn't enough, but it was great. This year, I may make it home just at the very end of the season, during playoff time, if I'm lucky. We'll see.

This spring is hard, too, because I don't have any local lacrosse to go watch. No high school or college teams, not even a (*gasp*) men's game. (Men's lacrosse is VERY different from women's. Almost a different sport altogether.) I do have my lacrosse  sticks here with me, but it's just not the same. So for the time being, I guess I'm content for those fleeting moments when it feels like a NH spring.

Unfortunately, the last few days have only resembled a NH spring in that the weather was wacky. Haze, zero visibility, low humidity, unseasonably hot temperatures, dust storms, rain, thunderstorms, and, oddly, clouds of dragonflies were all present. I've never seen Jeddah weather like that before. Schools preemptively canceled for two days. Universities too. Hospitals operated with skeleton staffs. And many workers scurried home as the first drops fell. I don't blame anyone. But, it has yet to rain for more than an hour or so with any significant precipitation. Wait and see.

One other sign of spring, though - St. Patrick's Day. May you find your very own pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Or your very own leprechaun. Whatever floats your boat. Me, I will be celebrating my Irish heritage in KSA. Hey, the flag is green, right?

Another Day, Another Perspective

My last post was a fairly cathartic one, and the process of writing it and then reading the very sweet and supportive comments by some amazing readers was much needed. I mentioned a few posts ago that I'm experiencing a period of culture shock, which is predictably making me a bit more sensitive to the, shall we say, unique challenges and realities of life in Saudi Arabia. But I want to be clear that I am truly grateful for the opportunity to live in Saudi Arabia and really do love my job, my career, my lifestyle. I'm proud to serve my country and to be witness to such an amazing time in history in the region and the world. I just reserve the right to complain every now and then :-). The other FS and expat readers out there understand, I'm sure.

Having recovered from the relative trauma that is shopping here (and the trauma of putting together a bookcase/linen closet with doors from IKEA), I've had a very pleasant few days. Today was a really great day, professionally and personally. And to top it off, we stopped at Juice World on the way home. Fresh juice - more than 100 varieties - what's not to love! Saudis absolutely love their fresh juices, and I love them too. I'm particularly a big fan of fresh strawberry and pomegranate juice. So I bought a liter of each tonight. And am very excited to drink them!

And a blog post today absolutely has to mention the devastating earthquake in Japan. I didn't blog about the recent Christchurch earthquake, even though it consumed a great deal of my thoughts then and even now. I read with horror and relief the amazing blog posts by an FS couple who lived through the quake. See here and here for their stories. Having spent a phenomenal month in New Zealand (including a blissful week in Christchurch) a few years ago, I am so sad at the devastation and loss of life in that quake. And now Japan's ordeal is just beginning, with more than 1000 confirmed dead. And I see how horrible these recent earthquakes have been in, arguably, two of the better-prepared countries for such natural disasters. And I think back to the Haiti Earthquake. I worked the Haiti Task Force at the time, which was professionally and personally extremely rewarding, challenging, and eye-opening. It was the perfect storm of a natural disaster, and Haiti will be recovering for many decades to come. And it's hard to really think too hard about things like this because the unpredictability and immediacy and what-ifs are too difficult to comprehend without making yourself crazy. Maybe I'm not making sense, but I'm just throwing out stream-of-consciousness here. Throw in the fact that I've never consciously experienced a real earthquake, and it's all the makings of fear and wonder. (I've slept through a couple of very moderate quakes and almost certainly didn't notice the very low-level quakes that constantly happen in New Zealand...)

It's the issue of natural disasters plus the recognition that it truly is the places you wouldn't expect that get evacuated for unpredictable reasons. Who knew on Flag Day that my colleagues in Moscow and Cairo and Tripoli would be the first to be evacuated among our A-100 class?! We all could have (and did) predicted the top contenders, and those posts weren't among them. So even though things here are calm (the supposed Day of Rage was, in the words of a local paper, 'a damp squib') (and except where they aren't), I'm planning my "go bag" and consolidating my important papers and making lists of what goes and stays and planning for the cats and trying not to be in a position where I'm entirely caught unprepared. Because even though they always tell us to do these things, I think for many it takes a reality check to actually do them. And I've got my reality check, in spades.

So with all these heavy thoughts in my mind and a very busy couple of weeks ahead of me, it's time to curl up on the couch with my cats, my new quilt (won in a raffle at a quilting bee!!), and my fresh juice. And just veg.

(Ah, how nice that would have been. Instead, I spent two hours on the phone with tech support trying to figure out why they once again canceled my network connection on my internet. Happens at least once a month, for reasons nobody can figure out. The best part is that since my mobile phone is with a different carrier, the calls cut off after 10 minutes, so I have to call back and talk to a new person. Who cannot access what the last person did. I have gotten really good at synthesizing the problem and all my account numbers into about 30 seconds. So my very zen moment is gone. At least I have juice.)

Abaya Anguish

I have a confession to make. I wore an abaya today. For the first time since October. And without any external pressures. It was a decision I anguished over and am still uneasy with, and I resented every minute I was wearing it, but I think it was the right thing for right now.

(I am frustrated because I just wrote this entire post, at which time my computer froze. When I restarted, all of my sticky notes had disappeared. Nothing too vital, but it's a pain to have to rewrite this. Apologies if it doesn't flow well, as the second telling loses a little of the emotion.)

Many expat women I know here have a love-hate relationship with their abayas. Plural, because no woman owns just one. (Except me, thus far.) They hate them because of the necessity of wearing them, the underlying cultural mores behind said necessity, and the difficulty/danger factor of wearing meters of heavy, draping, long, black fabric. (Escalators are a safety hazard, and many an abaya has been accidentally dipped into a plate of food. And don't get me started on stairs.) Or at least these are some of the reasons I hate the abaya.

The love part is because it's easy. Because it doesn't matter what you wear underneath. Because it cuts down on potential for harassment. Because it makes it easier to blend in to the crowd. Though, really, I am never going to completely blend in anywhere except Eastern Europe.

After Ramadan ended, I started experimenting with not wearing an abaya. From the beginning I've never worn one for official functions or while working, like many of my female American counterparts. Once I went out a few times to different places and didn't meet any resistance or problems, I stopped wearing it altogether. It's been over five months. I actually had to search for the stupid thing to wear it today. And until recently, I never did have any problems.

Recently, I've had a couple of unpleasant encounters and a reality check about the existence of mutawwa. And these made me rethink my approach.

A few weeks ago in a restaurant (one I'd been to before, without an abaya) told me to put one on or leave. My companions and I tried to argue, but it was futile. I finally compromised and draped a scarf around me. I always carry a scary for just such occasions.

For the record, it's not like I'm showing a lot of skin when I don't wear an abaya. Much of the time I'm wearing a suit. The rest of the time, I wear longer sleeves, long pants, high necklines, and often a pashmina as well. I'm not trying to offend anyone or be under-dressed. I'm just trying to live a relatively normal life in normal(ish) clothes. Scandal is the last thing I want.

Last week, I went to a local wireless/internet store to recharge my internet, something I have to do monthly. It's a hassle. Every time. And more than often involves lots of waiting and often driving to one, two, or even three additional locations before someone can help me. It's my least favorite part of every month. But I've done it every month, always without an abaya. This time, though, one of the employees very politely tried to talk around the fact I wasn't wearing an abaya and asked me to leave. In the nicest possible way and without ever saying any of these words. I think the euphemism was "the guard is always watching." I feigned oblivion and soldiered on. The obvious discomfort of said employee did ensure prompt and efficient service, though. They wanted me out of there, and quickly.

I know that on both of these occasions the employees in question didn't have a personal problem with me not wearing an abaya. They were worried about what would happen if anyone caught them letting me in. Anyone being the mutawwa, the religious police. And while I have still never seen a real, live mutawwa, they're in the news a lot lately. They raided the International Book Fair in Riyadh last week, surprising and angering even the Minister of Culture and Information, who was visiting the Fair at the time. Friends who were there told me it was a scary experience.

Even though life continues as normal here, despite rumors and speculation about various protests and demonstrations and what have you, there's a bit of a sea change. I'm sensing an increased climate of restriction, conservatism, and fear. I don't know whether or not it's justified, but it's palpable. So it was these two incidents and this heightened state of awareness that led me to today's decision. I said it earlier, and I'll say it again: it was truly an anguished decision. It made me sad and mad and broke my streak, so to speak. But I think it was an important social and personal experiment. (Or at least that's how I justify it to myself.)

I spent several hours at IKEA today, and it was enough of a hassle, without worrying about what I was wearing and who was around me. Shopping here is a pain anyway. I have to plan ahead and call a driver to take me there. And then estimate how long I'll be and/or call the dispatcher to arrange for a pickup later on. And work around prayer times, when everything closes for 30 minutes. Five times a day. Most big stores let you stay in and shop during prayer, but there is no sales help and no way to pay or leave. And deal with the language barrier - many retail workers don't seem to speak English or Arabic well. And they're all men. Which actually is weird after a while, for some reason. And everything takes longer than I think. And there are literal herds of people to navigate around, including hundreds of children who seem intent on always being in the way. And few people are polite or acknowledge you when they almost run into you. And then wait in monstrous lines with no organized queues and lots of cutting. And I know I already mentioned prayer, but unless you're shopping between 5am-12pm (and most stores don't open until 10-11) or after 9-9:30pm, you're going to be interrupted by prayer at least once. And then once I've paid, I have to find my driver. And they're always wonderful, and they always help me lug my purchases to my second-story apartment, but I always feel guilty, even if I don't ask them to do that. Today, with my awkward 38kg linen closet flat pack, was particularly tough. And then you realize a quick trip to the store has taken four hours. So add in the constant worry that you'll be called out for what you're wearing, and the whole thing is exhausting.

So I wore an abaya. And I may do it again. But I'm never going to like it.

And now it's time to make a quiche-omelette hybrid recommended by a colleague. And to assemble my new linen closet. I will not be wearing an abaya for either activity.

Is it time for R&R yet??

It has been a fairly uninspiring couple weeks around here, with almost all my efforts focused on work (and therefore not blogworthy). We had a big visit last weekend, for which I got to be control for one of the principals, which was great experience. But exhausting. Before the visit I came down with one virus, and I'm fighting off its counterpart right now. The great thing about the Health Unit, though, is that I was able to get my antivirals almost instantly, and without needing a prescription. I made it through the weekend and a couple of work days before succumbing yesterday and staying home. And I didn't feel guilty about it! (Goes to show how sick I was feeling...) Today's better, but I'm feeling immunosuppressed enough not to go to Madain Saleh this weekend. This is the third time I've missed this trip. Once it was too last minute and too expensive, once Jeddah was flooded, and this time I'm too under the weather. There's another trip planned next month, so I'm gunning for that one.

I came home a few minutes ago to find the A/C in my bedroom not working. I'm waiting for maintenance now. I will also have them fix the other two broken units that aren't quite as crucial. I keep my bedroom quite chilly, and right now it's stifling, so I hope they fix it with enough time for it to cool off before bedtime. (An hour and two phone calls later, and they're still not here. Argh.)

In other news, I am hovering near the trough of this particular wave of culture shock. I know when I start daydreaming about mundane aspects of life in the U.S. that I'm feeling a bit homesick. The list of things I want to do/eat when I go home is slowly forming. I am going on R&R in June, but right now that feels like a long time from now. Time will pass quickly - there's a lot going on between now and then - but it still sounds like a lot of days. Two cousins are getting married in June, and I'm very grateful to be able to attend both weddings. If only the third could have found a free weekend in June! I won't make it for her August nuptials, sadly. I'm closely watching Lyle Lovett's tour schedule to see if he's got any concerts while I'm home.

Interesting - I just looked at my profile stats and see that I had three visitors from a country I wouldn't have expected. Welcome, new readers!

Life in Saudi continues on as normal, though there's lots of speculation and rumors about what may or may not happen in the coming days. We're also watching our neighbor countries very closely. I'm quite sad and dismayed about the amount of bloodshed in Libya these days and am thankful my colleagues and friends and their families are safely evacuated. It's a fascinating time to be living in this region, that's for sure.

Anyway, that's my random collection of ramblings for the evening. The A/C repairman just arrived and is cleaning the filters now. Hopefully I'll have temperature control back shortly!

Sri Lanka - Days Three/Four

Day Three in Sri Lanka started off a little slow. I didn't sleep well in Ella, mostly due to soreness from the massage-from-hell and the discomfort from residue oil in my hair, so I woke up a little cranky. I had a pleasant breakfast with a million dollar view, and a visit from the resident dachshund, before taking off. Our main destination today would be Udawalawe National Park before venturing on to Negombo.

It took about an hour and a half to get from Ella to the outskirts of the park, well known for its large number and high density of elephants. As soon as we left Ella and started driving out of Hill Country, the landscape started changing back to tropical/jungle, which soon gave way to flatter, savannah-like plains as we approached the park.

A note about safari. Safari may be my absolutely favorite hobby/activity/pasttime, whatever you want to call it. I love animals, I love watching animals, I love watching animals in their natural habitat, what's not to love?! When living in South Africa, I went on safari every chance I got, venturing to parks in RSA, Namibia, Botswana, Zimbabwe, and Zambia. I have yet to make it to East Africa, but I have lofty dreams. I've seen the Big Five, I've done night drives, safari walks, fenced camps, unfenced camps, tents, cabins, dry season, wet season, open vehicle, closed vehicle, self-drive vehicle, you name it. I never tire of watching animals and have amazing stories that I'll share another time. But the moral of the story is, I made sure that even a brief safari made it onto my Sri Lanka itinerary.

Udawalawe is considered the most similar Sri Lankan park to the stereotypical African savannah parks, though of course the variety of flora and fauna is different. I understand the comparison. We arrived mid-morning, probably the worst time to look for animals, but oh well. On the few kilometer drive to the park entrance, where we drove along the park fence, I counted 12 elephants standing at the fence at intervals hoping for handouts. Some tourists were obliging, with bananas and other treats. I rented my jeep and driver (overpriced for one person, but oh well), and we entered the park to hire the government-provided guide.

My half day safari was extremely pleasant and a nice change of pace. I proved once again that SPF85 sunscreen slathered on liberally at frequent intervals is only marginally helpful. I walked away with some nasty sunburns, which soon turned second-degree. Worth it. We saw dozens of elephants, including elephant bath time (unscripted this time!). I can't imagine that elephant bath time by the lake is too unusual, but both my guide and driver pulled out their cameras and started taking photos of the scene, the only time they did so. My favorite thing is to watch the interaction of different species with one another. One solitary male was alternately giving himself a mud bath and scratching against a shady tree, while two male peacocks strutted around him, full tail regalia on display. We watched for several minutes, including as one peacock flew into the tree and tickled the elephant's head with its drooping tail.

Elsewhere, langur monkeys played in a tree above a watering hole featuring submerged buffaloes. Hawk eagles were all over the place, and we spotted a serpent eagle overhead at one point. A few chameleons here and there, some spotted deer. No leopards, sadly, though I had had low expectations to begin with. And mongooses! That was fun! As I said, it was mid-day, so all the smart animals were resting deep in the shade. As we left the park and drove west, a number of elephants lined the fence again.

We stopped at a nearby hotel for lunch, a decent Chinese chicken dish, and then ventured on. The rest of the day would be a long drive to Negombo, back on the coast. Negombo is very close to the airport, so it was ideal for my morning flight the next day. And a long drive it was. Pleasant, but long. It rained for a couple of hours, quite hard, but no flooding where we were, so all was good.

Late in the afternoon we neared Ratnapura, a gem-centric town. As we neared town, we could see the trappings of gem mines dotting the landscape. Very cool! We stopped at a gem museum and showroom in Ratnapura, and, as it was later in the day, I was the only person there. The shop staff let me be unless I wanted to see something, which always endears me to them more than hoverers. I tried on a pair of earrings. But as I went to put the back on them, the earring (which I thought was frankly too large and unwieldy on further examination), fell out of my ear, bounced off of the glass counter, and fell down behind the counter. Argh. I felt awful. They were really nice about it and didn't make me feel worse, but they also weren't able to retrieve it before I left, either. I didn't leave empty-handed, finding a few nice sapphire pieces, pink and blue, for decent prices. I adore sapphires, and corundums are plentiful in Sri Lanka, so it seemed like a good buy.

Here's my sapphire story. Hattie, my beloved shih tzu, had her faults. Now that she's gone I tend to focus on the good, but she had her very annoying quirks. One of them was her affinity for shiny sharp things. Hattie spent her first few years spending a lot of time in an office, and we think she hunted office supplies for fun. Thumb tacks, paper clips, staples, and the occasional binder clip. We learned very quickly to pick things off the floor and clean broken glass immediately and thoroughly. Needles, nails, BB pellets, office supplies, pins, you name it, she ate it. Bless her heart, she never had any stomach or digestive ailments as a result. She had an iron stomach. But we still worried and took things away from her as soon as we noticed. She got very good at hiding clandestine shiny, sharp things in her paws and the fur around her face so we wouldn't find them. Unfortunately, her affinity also extended to jewelry. I cannot confirm it, but to this day I'm sure she ate a Tahitian black pearl pendant I had made in French Polynesia. (I didn't notice it missing at first, but I found its box under her bed months later.) But I know for a fact that she ate my favorite pink sapphire earrings. She would spend time knocking against my dresser in hope of knocking things off. Then she'd open the jewelry box (or whatever other treasure she found) and eat the contents. I actually caught her one morning chewing on the remains of the pink sapphire box. I won't go into too much detail, but I recovered one earring. Only one. And my search was illuminating. Undigested push pins and paper clips - amazing, really. So I've mourned the loss of that second earring (and my pearl pendant) for several years.

Anyway, we left Ratnapura and continued on to Negombo. Traffic got heavier as we moved towards the coast, and, as dark fell, I started getting more frightened of accidents. Driving is crazy during the day, let alone at night. I was especially petrified of hitting a pedestrian, as you usually only saw them on the road at the very last minute. As we finally approached Negombo, we passed a pretty horrible accident's aftermath. I've never actually seen that much blood on the ground, mixed in with broken glass from a windshield, the remains of a moped still lying nearby. I hope the people involved in that crash survived. Only bystanders remained when we passed.

Interestingly, it's only now as I write this that I remember that we actually did have a small accident earlier in the day. As we turned right, a tuk tuk plowed into the back door of our car. It was very low speed, and there was no damage, but it rattled me. So that's why I was especially rattled as we drove later that night.

I was excited about staying on the beach and hopefully getting up in the morning and going for a quick swim. Unfortunately, the guest house I was supposed to stay in according to my itinerary had been changed without my knowledge, and it was set more than a block back from the beach. On the plus side, the room had A/C. I had a decent meal at the guest house, though the resident mosquito population almost made me crazy. Although the English menu was a little problematic. Turns out hot buttered cuttlefish (which I imagined to be like a scampi) was actually spicy bAttered cuttlefish. Slightly different than my expectations... But once my tongue went numb, no problems!

Sleeping was a challenge thanks to my new sunburn on neck and arms. I woke up and went downstairs for breakfast, only to discover that despite confirming breakfast would be available, breakfast was not available. Since I had already paid for it, they did go out and buy the food to cook my breakfast, but the delay meant my chances of a swim (or even a view of the ocean!) were null.

On to the airport. I was hoping for an empty flight, but as soon as I saw the sea of pilgrims in the terminal that hope was dashed. I got through security and check-in quickly (and security at Colombo airport is tighter and more thorough than anywhere I've ever been before, including Ben Gurion and Heathrow!) and settled in to shop. I had about three before my flight. I spotted a massage place and decided here was my chance to change my luck. I had a really therapeutic and relaxing chair massage and then, hands down, the best foot massage/reflexology session I've ever had. Fully relaxed, I walked back in to the terminal corridor, two hours before the flight, to see my flight number and the flashing warning 'last call'. I panicked and pondered this as I made my way to the gate. I scooted through another couple rounds of security and had a seat. I still didn't understand why everyone was here an hour before boarding time! Last call?

It only made sense to me as I sat down and looked around. I counted about three Saudis and one man in Western business dress. The rest was a sea of white. Hundreds of terry-cloth clad male pilgrims and female pilgrims in white hijab. All headed to Jeddah and then Mecca for umraa (the lesser pilgrimage). And then when they called for boarding about five minutes later for umraa passengers only. All but those four people got up and started boarding. And it took well over an hour. So by the time I boarded, there were only 30 minutes until flight time. I can say with quite a bit of certainty that this was the first flight for the vast majority of my fellow passengers. Few people seemed to know the drill. My row was empty as I sat down and stayed that way for a while. I started to get a bit comfortable. And then a couple arrived with their ten-month old son, also wearing terry cloth umraa robes. Great. Not only is it a full row, but there's an infant. Granted he was adorable and well-behaved, but he still took up room.

I am pretty sure the flight attendants were glad to say goodbye to everyone in Jeddah. Suffice it to say it was a long flight. It gave me lots of time to think, though. I came away from this trip with a very valuable lesson, one especially important for me given my career/lifestyle. I am truly happiest in a place with abundant greenery, fresh produce, and, most importantly, animals. There are a lot of positive things about living in Saudi, not least of which every Western restaurant/brand/product known to man is readily available, but it doesn't have the same tropical feel that I crave.

I had hoped to write a wrap-up post with lots of great insight and reflections from my trip. But. Today has been one of those days, this week has been one of those weeks, and the next two days may just kill me. So, you'll need to suffice with these few (slightly uncoherent) snippets. Enjoy!

Sri Lanka - Day Two

Day Two in Sri Lanka had its ups and downs. Literally and figuratively. After a lovely breakfast on the veranda at my guest house, kept company by the birds and monkeys frolicking in the trees nearby, my driver and I headed out. When I booked my trip, the manager had told me that the driving distances were long on the routes I proposed but that they were doable. I sort of brushed this comment aside, thinking to myself that 60km, 100km, even 150km were not formidable distances. Ah, yes. That would be true on the interstate. Much less true on narrow, winding, two-lane roads with significant car/bus/truck/tuk-tuk/and pedestrian traffic! With significant elevation changes as we climb higher and higher into the mountains...

Before leaving Kandy, we stopped in at an arts and crafts store so I could do some souvenir shopping. I could have spent many more hours and many, many more rupees here, wandering through the chaotic splendor of the store. Everything from antique masks to tourist kitsch to gorgeous silver platters was on offer. It was a literal treasure hunt. I am happy to say I rose to the challenge... as if anyone was worried! We also stopped at a batik factory, where I watched women hard at work on intricate patterns. Again, some nice souvenirs. We very briefly stopped at a gem emporium, but they had mostly high-end pieces imported to Sri Lanka. Not exactly what I was looking for.

Anyway, after quenching my retail thirst, we began our climb. We went from about 500m elevation to 1868m in only a few dozen kilometers. The 1868 is in Nuwara Eliya, with views of Sri Lanka's highest peak. Along the way, the landscape changed dramatically. We climbed out of the tropical jungle and entered a land of misty views of rolling hills, complete with dozens of waterfalls. In addition to the more temperate trees in this zone, the predominant greenery was tea plants. Hundreds, thousands of acres of tea plantations unfolded before us as we drove through the Hill Country of Sri Lanka. What an amazing sight! We stopped at Glenloch estate, where I learned about the process of picking, drying, sorting, and grading tea before sampling some of the delicious local product. After a quick sojourn in the estate's restaurant and a photo op with some of the lovely women picking tea along the fringes of the estate, we were off again. We drove most of the afternoon en route to Ella, where we'd stay the night. (I've conveniently repressed the 25 km and 3 hours of one-lane dirt roads for road work. What a horrible drive segment that was!)

It's here that the story diminishes a bit. Before leaving for the trip, I had looked into a number of ayurvedic spas along the way. I love indulging in relaxing spa treatments at home and while traveling, and Sri Lanka looked incredibly promising. I found a few online and in tour books/fora that looked decent. One, though, worried me. In Lonely Planet, it got glowing reviews. On TripAdvisor, however, it got horrendous, nightmarish reviews. My driver promised to bring me to a good one in Ella, and, since I'd read reviews of several, I figured there was a good chance it wasn't this one. Well, you know what they say about assumptions. I have well and truly learned my lesson. I can now say, without reservations, that Suwamadura Spa in Ella Sri Lanka is as bad, even worse, than the reviews say. It may be the worst spa in the history of spas. It even makes one of my massage experiences in Bangkok pale in comparison (to date my worst spa experience). And that's saying a lot. A whole lot.

It started off innocently enough. The reception area was clean, well-appointed, and the menu of treatments was well-presented. The office had multiple diplomas and certificates on the walls, certifying the education of the staff. I chose a head massage, facial, body massage, and shiro dhara. It was the latter I was most excited about - having hot oil dripped onto my forehead and massaged in. Reputed to treat and prevent headaches and migraines, among other ailments.

They led me to the back room and showed me a locker for my valuables. Then they pointed to a shower stall, without a curtain, handed me a towel, and told me to change. I looked around. The few other shell-shocked Westerners were all clad only in a towel. This, alone, is not such a big deal. But it gets worse. First, I made the mistake of looking up. Lonely Planet had said this place was spotless. I do not call the biggest spider I've ever seen in my life hiding in the corner of the ceiling spotlessly clean. I am terrified of spiders. Horribly, compulsively, terribly terrified. I start shaking at even the smallest one, even a daddy long legs. So, I changed, dutifully put on the towel, and never took my eyes off the offensive beast. I've seen some gigantic spiders in my life (all of which still give me nightmares), and this topped them all. The legs must have been four-five inches long. I'm still shaking as I write this. I was tempted to run screaming out of there then. I should have.

So, scared out of my mind and trembling, I sat down in the plastic chair the woman pointed to. Thus began my head massage. She poured on some oil and proceeded to give me the worst head massage in the history of head massages. When I wasn't being hit, pinched, poked, or shaken, my hair was being irreparably snarled. At not one point was there any hint of a therapeutic stroke. Now I lived in Thailand and willingly submitted for the painful but rewarding Thai massages on a regular basis. I don't think any school of massage therapy advocates the torture I experienced.

Finally, thankfully, it was over. But the nightmare was just beginning. Now it was time for the full body massage. Clutching my towel, I lay down on the uncomfortable slab that passed for a massage table. There were several cubicles in this area, enclosed only on three sides. No privacy at all. Let's just say the head massage was a walk in the park compared with the body massage. First of all, copious amounts of oil does not a good massage make. When I finally was allowed up from the table, there was a literal pool of oil under me. Ew. Second, this full-body massage included more of the body than any massage I've ever had before. Which spans dozens on five continents in countless countries. I know massage. This was not massage. So after this is over, I'm coated head to toe in oil, and I can feel the bruises forming.

Time for shiro dhara. When performed correctly, Wikipedia says it is this: "Shirodhara is a form of Ayurveda medicine that involves gently pouring liquids over the forehead (the 'third eye'). It was developed by vaidyas (practitionars of Ayurveda) in Kerala, India for use in sukhachikitsa (restorative therapy) and can be one of the steps involved in Panchakarma. The name comes from the Sanskrit words shiras 'head' and dhara 'flow'. The liquids used in shirodhara depend on what is being treated, but can include oil, milk, buttermilk, coconut water, or even plain water. Shirodhara has been used to treat a variety of conditions including eye diseases, sinusitis, allergic rhinitis, greying of hair, neurological disorders, memory loss, insomnia, hearing impairment, tinnitus, vertigo, Ménière's disease and certain types of skin diseases like psoriasis. It is also used non-medicinally at spas for its relaxing properties."

I lay face-up on a guillotine-like table, my head resting on a piece of wood sticking out slightly from the end of the table. My tormentor heated up the oil. I am thankful I couldn't actually see any of what happened, as she covered my eyes with tissue. The oil was placed above me and started dripping. At first it felt nice. Then the first batch started to run out and ran cold. That was less pleasant. She replaced it with the next batch. And I concentrated less on the sensation and more on the oil itself. Not only was she not massaging it into my forehead and temples as advertised, it was all dripping into a collection bucket via my hair. The longer I lay there, the more I worried about my hair. How on earth was I ever going to get it clean again. After a few repetitions of the oil change routine, she started wringing out my hair in between. There is nothing much more disgusting than having buckets of oil wrung out of your hair. When she finally stopped with the dripping of the oil, she spent several minutes wringing my hair. It was a lost cause. It would be days before my hair was back to something resembling normal. And this oil was, almost certainly, mass-produced and without any skin-nurturing properties.

And then it was time for my facial. The woman wiped the oil off my face and then wet a tissue and cleaned my face. That was the cleanser. She stuck me in a sauna for a few minutes, where I desperately tried to towel off some of the excess oil from the last few treatments. I couldn't imagine putting clothes on with this much disgusting oil coating my body. After a few minutes, she came in and rubbed some sort of scrub on my face. After a few more minutes, she collected me and directed me to a bathroom, where I was instructed to wash my face. Presumably with the water, because there was no soap or anything else. This is hard to do when you're coated with oil. I did the best I could. That concluded my facial. I could have done without it.

I was directed back to the spider-infested shower stall to change back into my clothes. I de-oiled as best I could and changed. I opened the locker and took my things and tried to hightail it out of there. Not quickly enough. My tormentor asked me how the experience was. And then suggested I 'make tip'. I knew this was coming but still resented it. I threw her 500 rupees (about $5) and just about ran out. My driver asked how it was. I smiled limply and asked if we were far from the guesthouse.

Luckily, we were only a few minutes away. But, wouldn't you know it, they were experiencing a power cut. So I had to sit on the edge of the bed and wait 20 minutes to shower. And even when the power came back on, the shower pressure wasn't enough to completely clean the oil off my body. And three shampoos only began to touch the oil slick that was my hair. I changed and went downstairs for dinner. Luckily, the guest house dinner improved my mood slightly. It was a delectable collection of foods served inside a steaming banana leaf - all the right flavors and spices to make me happy. And there was a friendly dachshund who spent time with each diner.

I showered - and shampooed twice - again before bed, to little effect. Oh well. The worst was over. And I learned my lesson - listen to TripAdvisor!! Stay away from Suwamadura!!

Sri Lanka - Day One

As usual, I'm way late in writing about my trip to Sri Lanka. But here's installment one, written as I slave in the kitchen over clam chowder and fattoush salad. All right, scratch that. It's several hours later, and I finished making both dishes and manage to preview the movie 'Salt' for potential future use.

All right. Here we go. Installment one.

Err. Right. It's now 20 hours later. As usual. This has just been a trying week, and sleep took precedent this weekend. So here goes nothing.

I started my journey to Sri Lanka late a week ago Wednesday. My flight, which had been insanely cheap, started here in Jeddah and stopped in Riyadh before continuing to Colombo. I had a few friends getting on in Riyadh, though we had different trips planned. We all managed to get seated in the relatively empty upper deck of the plane and had entire rows to ourselves. So I got a reasonable amount of sleep while stretched out across three seats.

We landed in Colombo at just before 10am, which is 2.5 hours later than KSA time. I was in that strange 1/2 hour time zone for the first time! (Not to mention in South Asia for the first time.)

No problem with immigration, and, even though my bag was one of the last to come out, I still made it to the terminal not much later than 10am. My driver was waiting for me, and off we went!

I had booked a private tour wherein I told the company roughly what I was interested in seeing, and they provided a car/driver and booked the accommodation for me. Not bad.

Within five minutes of leaving the airport, I saw my first elephant! It was a working elephant in the process of being loaded onto a truck. The driver pulled over so I could take pictures. I mean, really, how often do you see an elephant get onto a truck?!

We drove straight towards Kandy, bypassing Colombo entirely. Immediately I fell in love with Sri Lanka. Lush greenery! Including my two favorite trees/plants - palm trees and banana trees! There were fresh fruit stands every few hundred meters, selling beautiful coconuts and bananas and papayas and myriad other wonderful tropical fruits.

I was immediately struck by the beauty of the country and the people - so many colors! Religious diversity! Gender segregation! Tuk tuks! Oh, how I'd missed tuk tuks.

After about an hour of driving, we reached the turn off for Pinnawela Elephant Orphanage. I didn't have a lot of expectations, as I've been to some really well-run elephant orphanages elsewhere and had heard questionable things about Pinnawela. I paid my $20 foreign entrance, and my driver and I walked around. The first elephant we encountered was an older tusker, chained to a slab of cement under a canopy and being pimped out by his mahout for photo opportunities. See, this what I wasn't excited about. All around us, elephants wandered in relative freedom while their mahouts charged the tourists who wanted to take pictures with them. We met one of the resident success stories - a female who lost a leg to a land mine and has been well-cared for here since. And they do have one of the best captive breeding programs in the world. So, good with the bad.

I wandered down to the feeding hut and communed for a while with an elephant in a confining fenced-in box. This guy broke a leg in a fight and has been well-cared for over six months as he healed. Not being able to move much helps with this process. That's pretty cool. He hammed it up for the tourists, every once in a while taking the weight off his injured leg.

At feeding time, two baby elephants were led to the large hut, where they were bottle fed milk by tourists willing to fork out an additional few dollars. Of course I forked out the additional few dollars. It was cute, but still a little hokey.

After that, my driver and I beelined for the river. At Pinnawela, most of the elephants have free range around the park for most of the day. Twice a day they're led down to the river for a two-hour bath time. My driver settled me in at a colonial-style restaurant on the banks of the river with a ringside seat for bath time. I drank delicious fresh pineapple juice and had my first taste of Sri Lankan rice and curry while watching one of the coolest things ever. The elephants came walking down the road, lined with souvenir stalls, promptly at 2pm. One young guy ran ahead of the others to be first in the water. Almost everyone got in willingly. Even the three-legged elephant.

Once they were in the water, they seemed to do what they wanted. Some actually bathed. Some took off for the opposite bank for a meander. Some climbed out of the water and approached the tourists, hoping for a hand out. Some bellowed and looked for playmates. And one tried to climb the stairs to the restaurant! It was a pretty cute sight, and this experience made me feel more positive about the overall Pinnawela experience.

After an hour or so, my driver reappeared, and we set off. Along the path back to the parking lot we passed all the souvenir shops as before. And a snake charmer! A young boy had a cobra wrapped around his neck. I just laughed.

We drove a ways on and then stopped at a spice grove. A nice man who identified himself as an ayurvedic doctor took me on a tour, showing me things like jackfruit, chocolate trees, ginger plants, cinnamon trees, many different peppers, nutmeg, sandalwood, and a number of other spices and plants. In an open-air hut in the middle of it, an ayurvedic student demonstrated the efficacy of some of the products with a head, face, and upper back massage treatment. Absolutely blissful, and an effective sales pitch! I bought more than I intended.

We continued on to Kandy, arriving in time for an evening dance performance. We were rushed to drive around the lake to get to the auditorium, so I didn't get any good pictures of the town or the lake or the Temple of the Tooth. The dance performance was great. Every piece was a little more intense and involved, culminating in dancers walking across hot coals. I was amazed at the beauty of the costumes and the gorgeous dance routines.

After that, it was time to visit the Temple of the Tooth, which is the most sacred Buddhist site in Sri Lanka, housing what's believed to be one of the Buddha's teeth. To add to the majesty of this experience, I was there on a poya night. Every full moon in Sri Lanka is a poya, a public holiday. Many Buddhists make a point to visit the temples and make offerings. Tonight was no exception. Buddhist pilgrims made up the vast majority of the crowd, but it certainly made it a crowded experience. I made my way through the queue, guided by my driver the whole way, who narrated what we were seeing. I had read that each visitor was granted about 15 seconds to view the Tooth room, where the outermost of the seven caskets holding the tooth would be visible, 3 meters away. I think we each got about 1.5 seconds before we were herded away. The temple was gorgeous, as was the spectacle of thousands of white-clad pilgrims meditating and making offerings of flowers. But I didn't get to take in the temple as well as I would have liked. It was just too crowded. We finally emerged and reclaimed our shoes and took off for the guest house, nestled high in the hills above Kandy.

After fifteen harrowing minutes of driving on narrow, winding roads, we reached my guest house. They had a restaurant serving dinner, but I was too tired for food. And still stuffed from the feast at lunch. So I just got some drinks and took a shower and settled into bed. The room was simple but adequate. Really, as long as there was a bed, a fan, a mosquito net, and hot water, I was happy. I fell asleep reading my Sri Lanka guidebook and reveling in a blissful first day. I was so full of anticipation and adoration and excitement, and I fell asleep easily and quickly.

More to come on the following days... And a few pictures of day one!

Sri Lanka in a Word

Sri Lanka is, in a word, phenomenal. I am already planning my next trip. I fell in love with the country, the culture, the people, the food, the landscape, everything. I am even saying this while nursing second degree sunburns on my neck and arms. (And before you say it, I was wearing sunscreen. SPF 85, as always. I just have very fair skin.) Luckily, I stocked up on aloe vera gel at one of the many spice and herb shops along my route.

I literally just got home and have to read up on the latest revolutionary movements in the Middle East so I'm prepared for work tomorrow. (Every time I leave the country for vacation, something regionally momentous happens. So updates are still to come. As are pictures. I'll probably write and update in installments throughout the week. Or maybe this weekend. Lots happening in this short week.

(Stubborn) Sick Day

Yesterday I did something I very rarely do (and hadn't done in more than a year). I went home sick. Thankfully I haven't been hit by any nasty viruses or infections in a while (knock on wood), but the truth of it is that I have a very hard time taking time off for being sick. Part of it is that, even after almost four years of being gainfully employed with built-in sick days, I still have the mindset that being sick = losing money. Another part of it is guilt. Which is ridiculous, I know, but it's there. I am not naive or narcissistic enough to think that if I'm not there things will fall apart, as evidenced by the fact that I have very little problem taking vacation days. But, I still don't take sick days often, and only as a last resort. Yesterday, I woke up with a headache, worse than the usual run-of-the-mill headache, but not a migraine. I debated not even getting out of bed. I showered and dressed and then debated going back to bed. I got on the shuttle and got to work. Still had a headache, which was growing worse, and some general ickiness. But it took me more than two hours of sitting at my desk to convince myself to just go home. And I went home and slept for seven straight hours and still had a bit of a headache when I woke up. So it was a justified sick half-day. But I still felt a bit guilty. (And, of course, nothing earth-shattering happened in my absence.)

Tomorrow night I'm leaving for Sri Lanka. Three and a half glorious days on vacation. Pictures and stories when I return!