Vol 46 Vacation

OK, I am on vacation for 2 weeks. Traveling by myself. But I'm not telling where. You have to guess. Where in the world is Susan Sarada? (Sorry- Mıchele, Brian and anyone else who knows where I am- you are disqualified from guessing)

I'll keep adding photos as the weeks progress. Hopefully I haven't made it too easy for you....

PS- I could not be happier..... I am overflowing with happiness.....


Sept 23d Two more photo hints....

Sep 26th I just got word today that my visa has been denied for the second country that I was going to visit so now I have to last minute scramble and choose a new country. What fun. Crappy internet where I am now so I can't post any new photos. I'll probably be returning to the capitol tonight so I will post more then. Russ and Mom have guessed correctly (not sure how Mom figured it out), everyone else, keep guessing.....

Sept 27th You have all pretty much guessed now so here is a give away photo. Over 2000 years old....

Sept 28th My last night in this country. I am bummed to be leaving but excited to be going to the next country. For those of you who still have not figured out where I am here is another photo. It was taken out the wındow of the place I've been staying here. Look closely.....

Vol 45 Ramadam

It is Ramadam in the Muslim world. 30 days of prayers and fastıng during daylight. The idea behind the fasting is for Muslims to show a willıngness to sacrifice, to understand what people who are starving feel every day. The Koran is divided into 30 parts and Muslims are encourage to read one part each day. They are also encouraged to be on their best behavior.

The general feeling of good will bears some resemblance to the Christmas spirit. Of course, like Christians, sometimes Mulims get carried away with a more commercial side of Ramadam. When they break their daily fast on nightfall, they pig out. Many people actually gain weight. They often buy new clothes for Eid, the holiday which comes at the end of Ramadam.

In Oman it is illegal to be seen eating or drinking in the daylight. This law applies to Westerners as well. So I eat at home before work, in the kitchen with the door closed at work and sneak tea when my Muslim coworkers aren't looking.

All restaurants are closed durıng the day, but the grocery stores are open, including the delis. The only people buying the prepared hot and cold foods are expats, which includes the army of Indian workers and the much smaller but still significant Filipino population. We buy our sandwiches and stir-fries and then hurry home to eat them. No snacking in the car.

It's not as bad as it sounds. Everyone is in a good mood, again, like Christmas.

Vol 44 It's the thought that counts.....

Lemme tell ya a little story. As I was preparing to move here I tried a few times (ok, I tried mercilessly) to convince my ex-husband, Lane, that giving me his iPod was a good idea. For some reason he did not think this was a good idea. Go figure.

6 months later I was talking to him and out of the blue he said “Hey, what’s your address? I’m gonna send you my iPod”. Sweet! Seems he wasn’t using it much anymore. He also offered to send a little gadget called a magicJack. You plug this thing into a USB port on your computer then plug a regular phone into it and Presto! You can make free long distance phone calls. It does require a high speed internet connection. “Cool” I said, because the Skype idea failed. We chatted for a while about my being single and how that kinda sucks. And we chatted about Jessica and Noel’s upcoming wedding, which I was bumming to miss.

1 ½ months later I get a notice that there is a package waiting for me at the post office so I went the following morning before work to try to pick it up. Couldn’t find the post office. It’s located in one of the more confusing parts of town. So the next day the newish dental assistant, Emie, and I went to pick it up as she knew where the post office was. I waited my turn in line and presented my slip to the turbaned Omani behind the counter. He asked for my labor card, charged me 3 rials and brought the package. “I open” he said. “Ok” I said.

So he opened the package and pulled out some packing paper. He held up the iPod. “What’s this?” he asked. “It’s an iPod” I replied. Blank stare. “For music”. “Ok” he says. Then he pulls out the magicJack and holds it up. “What’s this?” “It’s for the computer”. “Ok” he says. Then he holds up an item that was in one of those clear, molded plastic bubble packages. And printed on the paper insert is a beautiful, naked, blonde, boob-jobed model with red rings radiating from her groinal area. The item itself was ummm, purple and was made from molded latex and appeared to have some sort of ummm, battery housing. Now, I’m no expert, but I believe the radiating red circles on the photo were meant to indicate where this item was meant to be used. Ahem.

And he’s holding it up for all the world to see. I turned beet red and Emie spun on her heal and walked to the other side of the room in a move I interpreted to mean “I don’t know her”. The following conversation ensued with the post office dude speaking in a stern voice with no emotion showing on his face ever and me answering him from behind my hand:

“What’s this?” he asked. “I don’t know” I answered. “What’s it for?” he asked. “I don’t know” I answered. “Who sent you this?” he asked. “My husband” I answered. (No ex. Lane and I were immediately married again). “Why did he send you this?” he asked. “I don’t know” I said. Then again. “What’s this?” “I don’t know” “What’s it for?” “I don’t know” “Who sent you this?” “My husband” “Why did he send you this?” “I don’t know”. And again. And again. And the whole time he is holding the item up at chest level. Perhaps to intimidate me; which certainly worked. Finally, on the 5^th round of “What’s this? What’s it for?” when he asked “Why did he send you this” I answered “I think he wants me to be happy”. Blank stare. “Where is your husband?” he asked. “In the US” I answered, still from behind my hand, which seemed to be fused to my face. I was blushing so hard I thought I might have a stroke and I was trying to make myself as small as I could, hoping that I would slip into one of the cracks in the floor tiles. “And you are here? Working?” “Yes” I replied. “Where is your family?” he asked. “We have no children” I replied, trying to put a touch of sadness into my voice. Emie mustered some bravery and ventured back over toward me. “Why did he send you this?” he asked more firmly. “I don’t know” I said. “He loves me. Maybe he wants me to be happy”. Emie spun on her heal again and high-tailed it across the room.

He sighed. “He should not have sent this. It’s not allowed”. “Yes” I agreed. “You want this?” he asked. Hmmmm, what to answer here? I had figured out what the item was and to be honest, a girl gets lonely..... (God, I hope my father is not reading this). “Ummm,” I hedged, “he sent it to me, so I think he wants me to have it”. He sighed again. “You give me 5 rials”. I handed over the money, thinking maybe he was asking for a bribe. He then pulled out an ROP report and started filling it out. ROP. Royal Oman Police. Oh shit. He copied all of my info from my labor card onto the report. Stapled the report and the 5 rials to the item’s package, handed me a copy of the report and a receipt. “You want this, you go to the customs office behind the airport and talk to them”. He handed me the box with the iPod and the magicJack and I all but ran out of there.

All the way back to work Emie asked me “Why would your ex-husband send you this? Is he crazy? This is a Muslim country! Doesn’t he know they check the mail?” I told her that for 8 years it was Lane’s job to look after that aspect of my life and that he was just trying to be sweet. “Is he crazy? This is a Muslim country!”

One week later, I picked up my friend, Mahfoodh, from the airport. He was returning from the UK where he was visiting his fiancé. He picked up the ROP report from my dash and read it. “Ummmm,” he said, “what’s this?” I explained. He translated the Arabic for me. It states that I was sent an illegal, pornographic item. It describes it as a “sex toy/finger scratcher”. Then he laughed his ass off and assured me I wasn’t in trouble. He called his cousin, who works at the customs office behind the airport. A brief conversation in Arabic followed. His cousin laughed his ass off and then told him “there is no way we will ever give her that item. Is her husband crazy?”

Oh Lane, thank you so much for the iPod, and the 3749 songs you loaded onto it. I listen to it every day and I’m going to buy a converter so I can plug it into my car stereo. And thank you for the magicJack. I have made a couple of successful calls with it though, most of the time the connection is not very good. And truly, thank you for one of the most memorably embarrassing moments of my life. I laughed my ass off. If only you had taken it out of the package! I might have been able to pass it off as a neck massager.

It’s the thought that counts, right?