Sabi Fried Rice

Today I took the MOH licensing exam. It was pretty brutal in there. We started at 9:15 sharp (arabic time, that is ;) It was all computerized, no papers, no erasers. Just 94 mouse clicks away from sealing your destiny. I have no idea how I did. Medical exams are elusive by nature, and tricky. I am still sending some prayers up, just in case.

After I got home I was so wiped out that my neighbor, Sabi, suggested I cook something easy for dinner. "Here" she said, "I have some leftover rice. You can use it. Do you have an onion? I have an onion you can use." As she spoke she started handing me items from her side of the kitchen. Next thing I knew, I was chopping Sabi's onion and she was heating some oil in my pan. "Do you have an egg?" she asked. I replied that I didn't and she was off to fetch one from her refrigerator. She helped me choose some seasoning: tumeric, rosemary, cumin, chili powder, and a dash of salt. A delightful aroma wafted up from the hot oil. "We leave the onion a little firm for this, now break in the egg." I obediently cracked the egg and scrambled it with the onion and spices. Then we turned down the heat and stirred in Sabi's leftover steamed rice.

I looked at her and smiled. "You do realize that you provided all the ingredients for my dinner? It reminds me of "nail soup." She hadn't heard that old fairy tale, so I told her the story. See this link for a lovely version of "Nail Soup." http://mewlop.blogspot.com/2009/08/nail-soup-adult-fairy-story.html

Sabi laughed and said "It was my pleasure!" We enjoyed the yummy rice, it really hit the spot!

LONGSHOT available in paperback on Amazon.com !!!

http://www.amazon.com/Longshot-Aleta-L-Bezzic/dp/1456567942/ref=sr_1_1?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1307741143&sr=8-1&al_rs=#al_rp

Or just go to Amazon.com and search "Bezzic" :)

YIPPPPPEEEEEE!!!!!!!

Taxi, Bus, Camel

Ok, so there wasn't a camel, but it made a catchy title! I haven't written for a while because I am studying for the MOH board exam to try and get my Dubai license. Plus, I was in a slump. It happens!

I couldn't resist telling about my latest little adventure in-- you guessed it! Muscat. I think I could write a whole book about the Omani bus drivers. Just when I think I've seen it all, they do something new to surprise me.

The day had begun in the typical fashion. I poured myself into my clothes while still half asleep at 5:30 am, and then hit the streets of Dubai on the way to the Omani Bus Station. A city bus ride and metro trip later, I walked quickly to the Muscat bus and made it just in time, proudly waving my "Frequent Traveler Voucher" for a free trip. Yes, buy five get one free. I never dreamed I would be taking this trip long enough to use that offer. Good thing I saved my receipts as souvenirs!

We passed through the border crossing easily, I was now a pro at this ritual. First stop, passport inspection. Stay on the bus. Next stop, exit the bus and get an exit visa stamp from the UAE Border Patrol. Five minutes later reach Omani customs inspection. Exit bus and open bags on a big folding table in the middle of the highway. Male guards inspect the men's bags, but a special lady guard in Green army uniform with an elegant black hijab inspects the ladies' bags, before we line them all up and a dog sniffs them carefully. One male passenger has a suitcase that opens up into a shortwave radio unit. It looks ancient, but in excellent condition. It causes a stir among the guards. They reluctantly allow him to keep it, and we get back on the bus. Next stop ten minutes later, Omani visa stamp. Pay 200 Dirhams, thank you for contributing to the country of Oman. Back on the bus. About an hour later, a bathroom break. The driver always says "Five minutes" but he really means "Two minutes" and starts honking impatiently. This is all part of the routine.

Several hours later, after entertaining my fellow passengers with musical snoring from underneath my hijab, I was jostled awake by the familiar stops and starts of heavy traffic. Stretching and yawning, I looked about and realized that there were only three passengers left on the bus. The other two were local gentlemen, engaged in conversation with the driver. Suddenly the driver noticed me in the rear view mirror and yelled "SISTER!" I blinked in surprise and answered timidly, "Yes, sir?"

"Where are you going?" he demanded. As if he didn't know that I was on the bus to Muscat. "The bus station. BUS STATION." I repeated at his frustrated glare in the mirror.

"Which bus station, Sister?" he sounded annoyed at my ignorance.

"At the end, by Kentucky Fried Chicken. KENTUCKY FRIED CHICKEN." He nodded in understanding, then discussed this news with the other passengers in Arabic. Suddenly he pulled the bus over and stopped next to the median. We were in the middle of the freeway, and not near any intersections.

"You are going to take a taxi, to save petrol. I will pay for the taxi. No need to take this big bus."

What was I going to do, argue? "Ok, sure. No problem," I nodded agreeably, grabbing my backpack and purse and quickly making sure I had my belongings before descending the steps into the glaring sun. The eight lane free way was zipping with traffic, but the driver easily flagged a taxi. I headed for it but he waved me away, putting one of the other bus passengers' bags in its trunk. Then he hailed another taxi. I was surprised that it pulled over because it already had three male passengers.

My bus driver opened the front passenger door and evicted the occupant, making him sit in the back. Then he escorted me to the seat, and I looked up at the surprised taxi driver with a sheepish smile as I fastened my seatbelt. The other bus passenger was squeezed into the back seat with the three original taxi passengers, and the bus driver paid the cab. He didn't ask the price, he just offered an amount and the driver didn't question him. There was no meter in the cab, I noticed. My bus driver told me again, with a significant look at the taxi driver, that my fair was paid. Once we all had an understanding, we sailed into traffic.

The sprawling metropolis of Muscat reminds me of Kansas city. Instead of tightly compacted skyscrapers, it is spread out and buildings are modest but nicely constructed. The main Omani bus station is on the northern edge of the city, and my KFC bus station is on the other side. I suppose it was more cost effective for them to pay two taxis to ferry passengers to their final destinations, but I wondered why the driver was so motivated to save money on fuel. Was he one of the owners? Did the Omani bus company reward drivers for saving fuel? These are questions I pondered, as the big bus faded from view in the side mirror of the taxi.

Even though the cab driver had received instructions from the bus captain, he still seemed confused about my destination. The four gentlemen in the back seat all had different drop off points, and as they exited they paid an amount that seemed to be predetermined. I was a bit relieved that one of the other passengers knew where we were going, even still we pulled over to consult another taxi driver for clarification. Soon we came to a recognizable neighborhood, and I gave him the directions for the rest of the way.

When he finally dropped me off, I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled as I opened the door to my good old KFC. The manager recognized me and smiled a greeting, I dropped my bags at my usual table, and went to order some comfort food. Ohhhhh, something new on the menu? Gravy and Mash? Hallelujah! Mashed potatoes and gravy have finally made it to the Gulf! I'm so happy.

RIP my little hot water heater--

A few weeks ago it was about 85F outside (30C) and I noticed the tap water was getting progressively warmer. I commented about it and Sabi told me, “of course. And soon it will be so hot we can’t touch it until it sits and cools off.” HUH??? More about that later.

I had to renew my passport in Dubai a few weeks ago. You may sleep well at night confident that the US Consulate in Dubai is well guarded. There are at least five security searches. (Including at least one pat down.) Even then you are only allowed to take your passport and relevant documents “upstairs” on the special access elevator. Purses, wallets, cell phones etc are placed in a cubicle for which the guard gives you a tag to claim later. I’m not sure if that security guard would appreciate the name I have for him—“Coat Check Dude.”

It is SUCH a hassle. I’m surprised we don’t have to do a naked chemical peel. There are women who wand the women, and men who wand the men, strictly segregated, of course, after all we ARE in the UAE. The lady cops fascinate me. It’s entertaining to see an officer wear a black abaya with the little green beret and combat pants and boots under it. Kind of like a Ninja Bedouin.

I just learned something NEW that I didn't read about in ANY of my research before coming here. In the summer, the tap water gets BOILING HOT. You have to run water in the tub and let it cool off. It's too hot to take a shower with-- CRAZY! I guess it is really a pain in the ass. If you shower at like 5 am or something, you might not cook your gonads off. IF we were in Japan, they would have invented "water chillers.” I'm just sayin', because look how fancy the Japanese toilets are. The Japanese are all about bathroom comfort. But unfortunately, no Japanese ingenuity here in the UAE. That means you will also get a nice butt facial every time you sit. Gotta keep those pores clean. AND you have to run water and save it to cool it off to brush your teeth, wash your hands, wash dishes, etc.

Of course, we have hot water HEATERS in the ghetto. Each room with water has it’s own little hot water heater mounted near the ceiling. Our flat has four of them. (Each bathroom plus one in the kitchen.) And NOW I understand why all the hot water heaters have a wall switch that turns off electricity to them. I thought it was to save money, but it's because everyone turns them off for the summer!

That said, two weeks ago my personal hot water heater sprung a major leak. Since it is strategically located directly above my toilet, I was happy that I wasn’t perched there when it burst. I called the landlord, who came quickly to survey the geyser of boiling water pouring down on my commode and creating a lovely sauna in my bathroom. I rather enjoyed seeing him wade in there to turn off the water supply.

A plumber was consulted. Since there was a plumber handy, I felt free to point out my other plumbing issues, still not solved since the Christmas Plumbing Debacle. (See December 25 blog post) I had long since abandoned my efforts to repair the bathroom sink, and my various tools and parts were still laying next to it gathering dust. My landlord approved the repairs, so I took advantage of the momentum and trotted the plumber into the kitchen. I asked him to fix the faucet, which had been repaired by the ladies with string and plastic. These measures, while clever and imaginative, really weren’t doing the trick.

My bathroom faucet was repaired beautifully and the kitchen faucet works very well now, however the prognosis for my hot water heater was a different story. It seems that it must be replaced. My landlord cheerfully told me that he would replace it next fall. NEXT FALL?? I hate cold showers! Smiling and nodding he reassured me, “Hot water is coming soon, and it is summer time. Next September, when winter is coming, I will replace hot water heater.”

After a week, I discovered the best time for a shower is two in the afternoon. In the mornings the water is downright cold, and in the evenings it’s already chilly. The middle of the afternoon seems to be when the water is at least lukewarm. Sabi showed me the water tanks on the roof of every building, and that is why the temperature fluctuates so quickly.

Yesterday afternoon I washed my hands and noticed the water was actually nice and hot. I didn’t waste any time, and jumped into the shower immediately. I closed my eyes in bliss as hot water cascaded down for the first time since my hot water heater burst. Never mind that it was all coming from the cold water tap--

SO a Christian, a Muslim, and a Hindu enter a kitchen--

And there was fun, good food, and harmony. I have such a great family here in Dubai. There are four apartments in my flat that share a common entryway and a big kitchen. The other three families are from different parts of India. One family is Muslim, another couple are Hindu, and another single lady is Hindu. I am Christian.

We should be running world politics, because it didn't take us long to sort things out. Kitchen politics are based on mutual respect, and though we share two stovetops, there is only one sink. No beef (Hindu's hold cows sacred) No pork (Muslims consider pork forbidden) and I don't really have any religious food restrictions, but I'm allergic to bell peppers, so they are also forbidden! lol

Sabi, Deepika, Jayshree, and I love to share our food and are always giving "samples." We have decided that all four of us are great cooks! Deepika cooks for herself and her husband, Sabi cooks for her family, and we single girls have pooled our side of the kitchen and cook and eat together every day. Lots of times we hang out and watch the other cook work her magic. So far my broccoli salad and fried potatoes are big hits, and I am fond of almost everything the other ladies make. We share ingredients, and pick up odds and ends at the store for each other.

Yup, we should be running countries, there would be Peace on Earth!

This isn't the right bus-- but it's a nice day for a drive!

Lots of news today! Yesterday was a fantastic day. First of all I have made good friends with my neighbor lady, Sabi, and her son, Danish. (Sabi's husband is nice, but a bit shy.) Danish went to a birtday party the other day, doesn't he look like a Bollywood star? Look out SRK ;-)

Also I have a new flatmate, she moved into my former landlord's apartment. Her name is Jayshree and she is such a delightful person! Sabi and I warmed up to her immediately.

Jay and I are having fun, two single girls walking around and shopping together. I introduced her to all my favorite places. Today she told me what all the guys in our neighborhood are saying about me: "She is such a nice lady and always smiling sweetly" LMAO

The other FANTASTIC NEWS is that I was privileged to tour the new clinic yesterday. We had an introductory meeting. The other doctors are so nice, and all very well established practitioners. The clinic will need some finishing touches and equipment installed, then hopefully will open to see patients by March 7th. My personal office is beautiful! I have a great view of a large garden with grass and flowers. Then gliding by will be the new Metro, very futuristic and modern! Here is my office, and a view of the waiting and reception areas.

After the meeting, I took these photos. As you can see it was a beautiful sunny day, and not too hot. I decided to explore the bus stops nearby, and hopped on number 33, which I see going up and down my street often. To my surprise, the bus did not turn left toward home, it turned right. I kept expecting the bus to turn around and make a circle toward home, but soon we were across the Dubai creek in Deira. Then we passed the airport. Then we reached the suburbs. Secretly, I realized the bus was going much MUCH further than I had anticipated. Outwardly, I sat in the front seat smiling serenely as if I knew where I was going. My bus driver became suspicious after an hour. "Maam, excuse me. Where are you going?"

I blushed and laughed, admitting to him "I took the wrong bus. But it is such a nice day, I decided to enjoy a tour." He laughed with me, but cautioned me that the bus was now going to the labor camps. He said that it would take another hour and a half to return to Dubai. What could I do but laugh some more? I reassured him that I wasn't in a hurry. He then became a real tour guide, and answered questions and chatted with me the rest of the long journey. I am glad I took this route, because the labor camps are not in the Tourist Guidebook. Crowded and much less appealing than the high rise skyscrapers these men are building, it is home to thousands of workers who put in long hard hours. During the noon break, I see construction workers taking naps in the shade. I know they must be very tired from hard work, and in the summer it would be even worse for them. Now, every time I pass a nice new building or modern new Metro station I will say a silent "thank you." I thought about my beautiful new office, and was humbled and grateful for my blessings.

After my 2 1/2 hour tour of RTA Route 33, I reached the bus stop in front of my apartment and bid the driver a fond farewell. What a memorable day.

The State of the Sultanate

The Sultan says “Hey!”

All was calm today across the Sultanate of Oman. The unrest spreading like a forest fire throughout the Middle East seems absent in Dubai’s neighboring country. Muskat, the capitol city, was calm and it was business as usual. Not even a token protest group outside any of the government buildings. Perhaps the billboards professing national love for Sultan Qaboos bin Said al Said are not just propaganda. He has ruled Oman since 1970.

Today we took an entirely different route through Muskat than my previous two adventures to this fair city. I learned that the route varies, seemingly to drop off passengers at requested locations. Drivers for the Oman Bus Service either travel solo or with a posse. They are often talking on their cell phones while driving, and usually pretend to fasten their seatbelts. If traveling with a posse the passengers are treated to animated conversation among the drivers, who are passionately discussing topics I imagine to be intriguing by the crescendo of voices and amplitude of gestures.

Today I didn’t realize they were discussing what to do with the five remaining passengers, which included me!

We were in an obscure corner of the city that I hadn’t seen before, and I wasn’t concerned until everyone was ordered off the bus. I noticed with growing alarm that I was the only woman, and the only non-Arabic passenger among the small group of people unceremoniously dumped at a curb. I searched the men’s faces for a pair of eyes willing, or able, to explain. Finally one of the gentlemen said, “Change bus. Other bus needs gas.”

Ahhh! The intriguing conversation I had observed earlier wasn’t about politics, religion, or football. It was centered around the gas gage! I’ll never know why they didn’t just pull over and put a few Rials worth of diesel in the tank just to get us there.

A little minivan bearing the flying gazelle logo of the Oman Bus Service skidded to a halt in front of us piloted by our original bus driver. He was in a hurry, and we passed every car on the road with alarming speed. Our replacement “bus” pelted through Muskat like a bat out of Hades, but the co-pilot and other passengers seemed unconcerned as they gripped headrests and handles to avoid being pitched sideways. I wanted to stick my head out the window to see if it had ambulance lights on top, but didn’t want to risk being smacked by a palm frond as we zipped past. With genuine delight I spied KFC, and knew we had made it to the bus station, Hamdullah!

On the six-hour bus ride home, the scene was consistent in all the small towns we passed through. Vegetable vendors squatted on the sidewalk next to massive mounds of potatoes and onions. Other men lounged in the grass under the shade of trees, waiting for the call to prayer. Every half-kilometer we passed a dirt lot full of boys playing football (soccer). Most were barefoot, playing with no less gusto than the boys wearing football shoes and mismatched uniform jerseys.

Between the villages were hundreds of beautiful small farms being irrigated and tended. Central to each farm was and elaborate mansion flanked by palm trees. These ornate villas are beautiful and each one had a unique design. Some were brightly colored with intricate patterns, others sleek and white. Most were big enough to house a dozen families comfortably.

I am happy to report that it seems all is well in Oman.

Now for the bad news: It has taken so long for my diploma and other documents to be attested (stamped by county, state, and federal government officials, then the UAE embassy in Washington) that my passport is expiring. At the border crossing back into Dubai, I was sternly warned to renew it immediately.

Great. After the expenses of today, I am down to my last few Dirhams. PLUS there is an “EPIC BLIZZARD” in Oklahoma, so the roads are closed which is delaying my paperwork even further. I have a fantastic new job that pays well, if I can just hang on until my paperwork goes through! I asked God, “Is this your way of seeing how much I trust you?” ☺ I have to smile because seriously, the timing of this blizzard couldn’t be more ironic.

Keeping the Faith in the Emirate!

Aleta

P.S. Readers who want to help are invited to purchase my novel, LONGSHOT, recently released in PDF format. Getting good reviews, check it out! (Synopsis in an earlier blog.) See the “Buy Now” button to the right!