Waldo: Found on Bourbon Street

That was a wild and crazy few days down south with my good friend JC! Perhaps it’s taken me this long to wind down as I’m FINALLY posting about my trip to New Orleans... Let’s recap. 

We arrived on Halloween, and little did I know that Halloween in New Orleans is almost as bonkers as Mardi Gras, minus a million extra people. Within the first hour of arriving at our hotel near Jackson Square, we were at Café du Monde, taking in not only beignets, but the ridiculous looking pedestrians around us. We were trying to decide what was Halloween attire and what people would normally wear every day - we commented that the next day would be when we would find out.

As we sat with powdered sugar on our faces, we noticed not one, not two, not three, but Waldo after Waldo walking past the café. What is going on!? Never has Waldo been so easy to find!  After we finished eating, we walked down the block, and there before us was the biggest group of Waldos I have ever seen. Waldo family reunion?

After our snack, we changed into our costumes for the big night. We were nothing but flappers, the perfect 1920’s accessory to a city known for jazz and liquor. People might have even thought we were a street act, as they came and took pictures of us; one woman even asked to be in a picture with us to send to her mother! While we waited for our dinner reservation, we sat in a garden, listening to jazz and drinking fancy drinks. It was the epitome of what we were after.

After our delicious dinner of locally caught fish, we exited the restaurant to see that the Bourbon Street Halloween parade was in full force. What else were we to do but join in! Two flappers proceeded to march and dance their way down Bourbon Street amidst boozing, beads, and crazy costumes. It was a night to remember.

A Little Bit Cajun, A Little Bit Creole

A much-needed trip is booked! Life is slowly pouring back into me. For the first time, I will be traveling to New Orleans, Louisiana in the upcoming months for a 3-night, 4-day wrought-iron, po’boy-filled taste of the south. I’m really looking forward to seeing something new, a place I’ve always wanted to experience, and not just for the Mardi Gras raucous!

The difference between Cajun and Creole – Cajun is country cookin’, with backyard ingredients, such as alligator and crawfish and is often very spicy; while Creole is city cooking, using seafood and sauces, often milder than its Cajun counterpart. Given my penchant for milder victuals, I might be sticking to the latter; although I have eaten fried alligator before (it’s chewy). But, me? I do declare, I'm a little bit Cajun, a little bit Creole...

I’ve been doing my research on the nightlife, shopping, and sightseeing of N’Orleans and getting pretty excited. SO much I want to do! Aside from dropping into some antique stores, having a beignet at Café du Monde, a hurricane at Pat O’Briens, there’s a short list, and I’m not someone who’s above being touristy.  I’ll be staying in the French Quarter in a historic hotel, a perfect place for sightseeing and nightlife. I’m really looking forward to all the live music, particularly the jazz and blues, as I sidle up with a drink in hand while I drink in the crowd and crooning. A voodoo shop, a highlight of the trip for me,  is  a must-see. I may just purchase a potion or bag of juju for some personal prosperity and luck. Nearby is the St Louis Cathedral , the oldest cathedral in the US. Po’boy sandwiches with the fixin’s, a bowl of gumbo or jambalaya. Gorgeous southern houses encased in wrought-iron and balconies, hugged by grandiose porches. A ghost tour of a cemetery, a veritable city of tombs and monuments to get lost in. A heartrending tour of Hurricane Katrina-lost neighborhoods and the desolation and devastation caused by the dramatic effects of nature. The beautiful tree-lined drives of grandiose plantations, filled with the dark history of the New World. The bayou calls me. Alligators in their natural environment as I sweep by in a swamp boat. I envision driving through remote Cajun country, happening upon shacks and roadside restaurants, not necessarily catering to the tourist. I have stereotyped horror movie-filled encounters running through my head. Tempt? I think so.

The Only Prescription

I am in desperate need of a pick-me up. And the only prescription is some international travel.

I’m trying to hold out, though, as I pay off what’s left on my credit card and build up some more leave for work. In the mean time, I’m trying to rack and stack where I’d like to go next. I’m finding that I want to travel more and more and go places farther and farther away – to see things I don’t see every day, to experience something new, to marvel in the wonders of the world.  I thrive on this. It makes me who I am. Traveling causes me to think and revel and respect. I become more open-minded.  I thank God for opportunities like these to open my eyes

There are some trips that are down the road for me and that I’m not ready to take yet, whether it’s for financial reasons or time off from work. But they WILL happen! I’d love to go on an African safari with my dad – but those run an easy 5-8k for at least a 7-10 day safari. I’d love to take a 4-6 week long trip around Asia, with many stops along the way. I’ve always wanted to go to Egypt to see the pyramids, as well as Petra in Jordan. That would be a dad trip, I think. I can’t imagine my mom would be very much into that. She would, however, love to accompany me on a long jaunt around Italy.

Speaking of Italy… I’ve wanted to see Rome, Florence, Vatican City, and many many small little towns that we only hear about because of foods and wine – Sorrento, Chianti, Parma, Palermo, Genoa, and Bologna are only some of them. I want to go to the villages of which I’ve never heard. I want to see where truffles come from, I want to taste the cheese off the wheel, I want to see olives pressed in front of me, and taste local vintages. I want to delight in the rich aromas and colors of outdoor markets. I want to hear Italian spoken all around me. Molto bene! Part of me would love to simply rent a house in a small village, ala Under the Tuscan Sun, and live amongst the locales. Am I just dreaming? I’d love to make this a reality. Or maybe totally going off the map on this next trip…

"THAT'S What You're Wearing?"

Many people have asked me if I felt restricted while in the Middle East, particularly while in Saudi Arabia. They’re often surprised when I share that I didn’t mind wearing the abaya and hijab, although it was frustrating trying to get the hijab to stay on my head all the time since it was so silky. It was warm, as well, particularly in 90+ degree heat and sun. Saudi women are required to wear the abaya and it is highly suggested that visiting women wear the abaya, particularly because I’ve heard of experiences where women who aren’t wearing them are harassed by the religious police. Although it wasn’t required that I wear the hijab , I definitely felt more comfortable doing so. I felt less exposed, more like I blended in, less like people were staring at me, particularly since I’m such an oddity – a pale white woman with freckles and red hair. I’ve often felt like I was out of place while in the Middle East, mostly because the people there don’t experience women who look like me very often. They’re either very intrigued, curious, or look at me like I’m the devil! Haha! All in all, I felt pretty comfortable while I was out and about, and I can’t remember any time I felt scared or worried. Of course, I felt cautious being in a different culture and surrounded by a language I didn’t understand, but who wouldn’t? 

The only time I felt restricted was when I was shopping in Saudi Arabia. Since a male has to be alongside a woman at all times while out, I felt restricted in my shopping as I browsed store to store. I had to ensure I had a man with me as I wandered in the markets. He’d typically wait outside the store I was in, and if I got ahead of him while I was browsing, he’d either call me back to be alongside him or hurry to catch up with me. And since men typically don’t enjoy shopping all that much, I felt that I was holding him up. I didn’t feel free to explore as I could elsewhere in the world. I didn’t like being held back. This was the one and only time I felt restricted in the Saudi culture. But then again, not living there, I wouldn’t have been exposed to not being able to drive, or vote, or even eat in restaurants without family sections. I wonder if most women even realize they’re restricted; growing up in a certain way and being exposed to only that – it’s all you know and it seems normal.

I did notice, however, that I become much more conservative while in the Middle East, even in my thinking. For instance, I would encounter some Western women in Qatar who were wearing skirts or tight clothing, or shirts that showed a bit of cleavage. I would think to myself, “what in the world are you thinking?! You DON’T dress like that over here.” Not only does it give Westerners a bad reputation and is seen as being inconsiderate, but it’s disrespectful of the culture that you’re living in while you’re over there. I question how people even feel comfortable wearing clothing like that in the Middle East, as I’m sure they’re getting stared at and possibly even harassed. Even when I was in more 'liberal' countries such as Qatar, I would still wear long pants that went to at least my ankles, sandels, and possibly a short-sleeved shirt. I would carry a cardigan with me too so that if I was in a situation where I felt I was too exposed, I could just put it on. I think it's very important to try to fit into foreign cultures as much as possible while traveling - you, as well as your fellow travelers, are more comfortable, the citizens of where you're traveling see you as making an effort to assimilate and respect that, and it enhances your overall traveling experience, making it a more genuine adventure.

Mannequin: Exposed!

I meandered into a more local area of the souq and ended up in front of a dress store. Saudi ladies are permitted to wear whatever they would like underneath their abayas, as long as legs aren’t showing as they stride. Women are permitted to take their abayas off while they’re at home and only close family members are present. Some women in the home-setting wear jeans, or even very fancy dresses. I , personally, wore black pants, sandals, and a tank top under my abaya to stay cool.

The dresses were fashionable, some were Renaissance Festival-looking, some were sequined or embroidered, some were tight and white and floral patterned. This latter dress is what interested a woman who was with me. The store owners who were expatriates (workers from another country), offered to show the dress to us. The dress was on a female mannequin in the store window. Surprisingly, the owner took the mannequin out, undressed it, and handed the dress to us. The naked mannequin stood there in the forefront of the store, completely visible to people walking by. A little Saudi boy about 7 years old was walking by with his mother. I was lucky to have caught the expression on his face – his mouth dropped open and he uttered a ‘whoa,’ eyes wide as he saw the naked female form.  Clearly, this was a first for him, seeing a woman’s body, even if it was only a mannequin! Us Western ladies were causing quite the commotion in the dress store. And I’m sure the little boy’s mother had some explaining to do!

A Jambiya with a Story

One of my goals while on the Arabian Peninsula was to purchase a jambiya. The jambiya is a curved dagger worn on a man’s belt. It’s most often associated with Yemen, and today, is typically just an accessory. While in a Saudi souq, I found an antique store that held random bits of Arabian life – old swords, paintings of royal families, large vases, giant steel dishes to roast goat in, old tribal jewelry, and a small selection of jambiyas. The jambiyas ranged in price from several thousands of dollars to $50. The more expensive ones were gorgeous with rhino horn or elephant ivory gem-encrusted hilts, gold and silver plated sheaths. The less expensive ones were not as well maintained, some were even falling apart, others had leather sheathes and wooden handles – they looked more authentic and possibly even used once or twice, the metal blade slightly worn.

I was with a small group of people, including some men, some of whom spoke Arabic, thankfully. The storeowner, who happened to be Saudi, wanted nothing to do with me. He was standing around talking to two other Saudi men and wouldn’t wait on me. I understood this was all part of the culture there, so I wasn’t much surprised; I even expected it. But I was taken aback that it was finally happening to me.  Since the man wouldn’t wait on me and I had questions, I appealed to his son nearby, who looked like he was 13 and never interacted with a woman before. I asked some questions, sometimes having to charade what I wanted, as the boy didn’t speak much English. He was very shy, probably because I was one of the only women he’s ever spoken to aside from women family members. He was clearly learning his father’s business. He couldn’t answer some of my questions, so he would ask his father. His father reluctantly let him assist me.

At this point, I asked some of the men I were with to speak Arabic to the father and son so that I could potentially purchase a jambiya. I wanted to know how old some of them were, as well as the starting price for negotiations (everything sold in the souq is bargained for). The shop owner was trying to convince me that a brand new looking jambiya was 150 years old – it was perfectly maintained, and as a seasoned shopper, I didn’t believe it for a second. I found one that I did like, however, in my price range and that looked authentic. I was told it was between 40 and 60 years old and it was from Yemen. The negotiating began via my translators. Luckily they weren't growing tired of my shopping and were willing to help me out. It was quite the event. I’ve negotiated plenty on my own before and am usually quite successful, often getting the asking price down to half. It’s quite the game for me! This situation was altogether different – dealing with a father who was not happy to be interacting with a strange Western woman, unhappy that his son was helping, and me having to negotiate with two men assisting me via a foreign language. After about 15 minutes of negotiating, we came to a price that was acceptable to me and the storeowner would budge no further. I bought a jambiya in Saudi Arabia! And it had quite the story to go along with it.

The Bedazzled Abaya

Many women in the Middle East, although they must conform to the law, try to differentiate themselves, be stylish, and stand out from all the other women in their black abayas. Apparently, abayas are allowed to be stylish via many different designs and accoutrements. Women also style themselves to stand out - although they are forced to wear long black garments and cover their hair, many young women wear designer sunglasses, designer shoes, sometimes with heels, and carry designer purses. Many women, who can afford it, wear fancy gold bangle bracelets and earrings. Because much of a woman's face isn't shown, eye makeup is essential. Heavy black eyeliner that extends further than the eyelash line on both top and bottom accentuates a woman's eyes. I found myself wearing heavier eye makeup than usual when I wore my abaya, particularly when I wore my new one.

There were two parts of the souq – the more touristy section carrying the typical glass perfume bottles, camel stuffed animals, fake gold tea sets, and other kitsch-y type items, and then the more traditional part of the market where abayas, food stuffs, fabrics, and jewelry are sold. While I bought a large green glass perfume bottle (green is the color of the Saudi royal family) to add to my collection, I was largely under impressed with the Saudi souq for shopping, which surprised me.  I just wasn’t finding much that caught my attention, which was a bit of a disappointment.

I did, however, purchase my own abaya! At a tiny section of the souq, where local women were shopping, there was a little abaya shop run by an Indian man. (As a side note, many shops are run by expats, largely Indian, Pakistani, or Southeast Asian men; women are not permitted to own shops and Saudi men often don’t work in stores, unless it’s a business kept in the family, as they see it being beneath them. This also extends to other countries on the Arabian Peninsula. Practically every Arabian Peninsula family also hires expats to nanny children and clean the house. Salaries are quite low and domestic workers are often treated poorly. Saudi men are given stipends from the government, as well, providing a small salary.)

I went in and was surrounded by rows of abayas hung on hangers. Many of the abayas had rhinestones or sparkles on the sleeves, the back, or along the snaps in the front. Some were embroidered on the sleeves or edges of the scarf with flowers or other designs. Others had ruching on the sleeves to give different designs, such as bell bottom sleeves. I had to ask the store owner was size abaya I should get. I think what I ended up with was a size 56; however, my loaner abaya I started out with was a size 28 – so no consistency in the sizing.  The abaya that I bought was beautiful - the sleeves had periwinkle and purple embroidered flowers with large rhinestones amidst them, the same pattern was on the middle of my back, and the scarf had the same design on one corner of it. The embroidered part was quite heavy, but the abaya itself was fairly light, unlike the loaner abaya. I was looking forward to wearing the lighter fabric in the heat. My new garment didn’t have double-layered fabric, like the loaner abaya had, and the snaps were much better, too. The store owner informed me I was purchasing a newer style of clothing. I finally felt like the cool kid in high school with my new bedazzled abaya, rather than the dorky kid with hand-me-down clothes that didn’t fit quite right.

Turkish Delight

I dressed in my loaner abaya for my first night ‘out on the town’ in Riyadh. I was only able to go out because I had men with me. Women are not allowed to be out and about without a man. A man related to the woman must accompany her at all times outside of the house, even if it’s only an 8 year old son. I often saw groups of women out, sometimes shopping, with a little boy as their escort. As a sidenote, women are also not allowed to drive, even if it means a little boy must drive them – I saw a boy, possibly the age of 12, driving a minivan with women in it.

My night out centered around a trip to a Turkish restaurant. My group entered through the ‘family’ door into the ‘family’ section of the restaurant, and we were quickly ushered upstairs to a room with a door, away from the general public. I felt comfortable enough to take my hijab off, although I continued to wear my abaya. I ordered a ‘mocktail,’ a popular substitute for cocktails in the Middle East, as alcohol is illegal. The mocktail was essentially sparkling apple juice. Later in my stay, I had mocktails of incredible fruit juices. Fresh fruit and vegetable juices are a mainstay of the culture, and I wish that food and cultural staple would make its way here to the US. Everywhere there you can get such delicious concoctions of fresh watermelon, cherry, raspberry, and strawberry juices. They were addicting.

I had a delicious mezze platter of hummus (pureed chickpeas, olive oil), baba ganoush (eggplant mixture), tabouli (couscous, parsley, and greens salad), stuff grape leaves, and huge huge slabs of wood-fired flat breads. It was simple, delicious, and satisfying, capable of being a full meal in itself. However, I ordered lamb kabobs and rice, which was only average.

The decor in the restaurant was... interesting. On two levels of the restaurant by the stairs were glass enclosures with taxidermied animals in odd positions. I was told there was a larger giraffe upstairs.

After a long dinner, it was time for my first shopping experience in a Saudi souq. It was not an experience I will forget.

An Arabian Storm

A storm was rolling into Riyadh. The sky was turning yellow and hazy. I could see dark rain clouds and downpours in the distance, approaching. The lightening, and some thunder, was steady. Big fat raindrops slowly dropped down. There weren’t many. Even still, I sought shelter on the porch, where I sat and wrote my thoughts. The palm trees’ leaves were brown and dusty. I was hoping the soon-to-be downpour would clean them off. Everything was covered in Arabian dust and was need of a good washing. The ground was parched and in desperate need of water. It probably didn’t notice though because it was used to it. As the droplets fell, they dried up almost as soon as they hit anything. The air was turning gritty. My page was quickly becoming grainy beneath my hand and I had to wipe it off every so often. I was being driven inside by the blowing grit. Here, water is a best friend.

Raindrops on the wall

The ground’s reaction to a storm reminds of the US’ southwest, where just a small bit of rain can cause flooding - drains unable to compensate, small ponds form on low ground, lanes of the road become impassable

The downpour happened once I was inside.

When I returned to the muggy heat outside, I noticed the storm’s wind didn’t blow the dust off the palm trees’ leaves.

Cultural Immersion

While waiting in the Riyadh airport, I became the object of an admirer’s attention. A Saudi man was sitting with a group of about six other men, all were dressed in Western attire. The man was an average looking man, probably in his early 30's. I was in my abaya and hijab. He kept sneaking glances at me and smiling, hoping to catch my eye. This went on for a very long time. He never made any attempts to speak to me – that’s considered a no-no in Saudi culture. He only stared and he wasn’t making any attempts at hiding it. I was waiting for him to approach to pass me his phone number. The phone number exchange is how young Saudi men and women ‘date.’ Aside from arranged marriages and underground societies, there is very little opportunity for Saudis to date. There is no traditional dating like in the US - no hand-holding, no movie dates, no one-on-one dinners out. Although it would have made for a good story for both me and the Saudi man, he didn’t approach me with his number.

On a brief stint on the way from the Riyadh airport, I had the opportunity to grab a bite to eat at McDonald’s – a unique cultural experience in itself. As the first stop for me in Saudi Arabia, it was a bit of a cultural shocker, even being at a Western fast food establishment, a franchise that I’ve visited before in many other countries. The McDonald’s had two doors for an entrance – one for single men, the other for families, which included women, children, and married men with their families. Being a woman, I had to enter through the family door. The McDonald’s was literally split in half. The queues at the counter had a divider, floor to ceiling, so that those one the single men side could not see the family side, and vice versa. On the famly side, the booths had curtains that could be pulled shut so that women could take off their niqabs (the piece of cloth that covers a woman’s face so that only her eyes show) and eat with their families in privacy so that no one would see their faces.

McDonald's with curtained booths

Women and families are only permitted to each in restaurants that have family sections and many restaurants do not. This forces women and their families to eat at home, frequent only family-friendly establishments, or, according to a story I heard, wait outside schwarma restaurants (where meat is carved off a rotisserie), asking men to bring them out food or asking waiters to come out to the street to serve them.

I’m sure some are wondering if the McDonald’s menu was the same as in the US – it was – however, the pace of service was much much slower. This was fairly typical of all restaurant service in the Middle East. It’s just a slower pace. Life functions much slower there. The average day begins at a normal time, but then everything shuts down between 12pm-4pm for early-afternoon prayer time, lunch, and rest. Activities start back up after the mid-afternoon prayer, shops re-open at 4pm, and people are out and about until late at night, often until 11pm-12am, families with children, too. It was difficult getting used to this change of pace, having to schedule around times of rest, as well as having late nights.

Naptime in the souq (market)

Hijab Girlfriends

I was told that I’d have to de-plane wearing my abaya (black robe) and hijab (head scarf) in Riyadh, although, it was a bit of a surprise to see how everyone gets changed or dressed on the plane. The closer we got into Saudi air space, more and more people took trips to the tiny bathroom to get changed. Women who weren’t already dressed, unpacked their black abayas and hijabs from their carry-ons and began to put them on. I did the same. Luckily I had an empty seat next to me so that I could get more easily situated. It was pretty difficult keeping my abaya all snapped up, neck to ankle, while maneuvering. It was even more difficult to put my hijab on for the first time and without a mirror. Some bobby pins helped, but only somewhat. I looked to my right and two beautiful young Arab women were sitting by the window giggling, watching the entertainment in front of them. I smiled. They mimed how I should put it on and some changes I should make. I tried to comply. They smiled and nodded once I looked how I should.

Throughout the flight, men would take prayer rugs to the back of the plane where there was a bit of extra space and pray. The tv screens had a flight map depicting what countries we were flying over and which way Mecca was. The men prayed facing in the direction of Mecca, the Muslim holy city.

As Western airports have chapels, prayer rooms or prayer areas are consistent in Middle Eastern airports. A simple wall blocked off an area of the airport, men would leave their shoes outside of it, unroll prayer rugs, and perform their five-times-a-day ritual as airline passengers passed by behind them.

As I disembarked and entered the lines for customs in the Riyadh airport, I noticed line after line of men, many Indian, Pakistani, and Southeast Asian men patiently waiting to pass through. Women were quickly escorted through the ‘family’ line, so as to not have to wait with the men. Segregation was apparent. I quickly made it through customs. It was a bit entertaining hearing the custom's official trying to pronounce my name.

Waiting at the Gate

My recent travels began with a paradoxical observation in the DC airport – a rugged backpacker carrying a huge backpack, likely traveling to Europe, and waiting to board my plane to London. In all his ruggedness and (I’m assuming) his love of all things nature, he was carrying a blue Walmart tote. It made me chuckle.

Flash to flying into London, looking out the window, eyeing white sheep dotting the green green pastures.

In London’s Heathrow airport, while waiting out a layover, it was fun looking at all the Royal Wedding kitsch that was left over from the festivities the week before – everything from business cards holders, plates, and mugs with Prince William and Kate’s names and faces on them, to pillows embroidered with the couple’s faces, to Kate dolls. There was also a Cadbury vending machine.

Waiting at the gate, it began to dawn on me just how different this trip was going to be for me, particularly my journey to Saudi Arabia. I never thought I would have the opportunity to go to this restrictive country. I was going to be quite out of place as a pale Western Christian woman with red hair traveling to and immersing myself in a country where women have very few rights. Glancing around at the travelers waiting at the gate with me, I realized two Muslim men were nearby. They were dressed to go to the Hajj in Mecca – bare-chested with white fabric draped like a sash across their torsos, with long white skirts and sandals. I was on my way to Riyadh, the capital of Saudi Arabia.

Tail Logos and Day Dreams

One of my favorite things to do on a plane while taxiing is trying to identify the airlines and destinations of the planes near me based on their colorful tail logos. It’s sort of a grander version of the license plate game people often play on road trips.
I look out my window and see:

Hawaiian Airlines with a Native Hawaiian woman. When will I get the opportunity to go back?

Alaskan Airlines with an Inuit as the tail logo. Will I take a cruise there someday?

Saudi Arabian Airlines with the two crossed swords and a palm tree. I never thought I’d have the chance to visit.

EgyptAir with its mythological symbol. The pyramids and Petra call to me.

South African Airways with a flag and sun.  A safari is one of my lifelong goals.

Aer Lingus with a fun shamrock. I had such a wonderful time there my first time.

And when I’m in far off places, I get the chance to see planes that I’m not normally accustomed to – Iran Air with a griffin and even CubanaAir – and likely will never have the opportunity to visit.

Even though I’m already traveling, when I see plane tail logos I’m enticed to daydream of far off destinations such as Malaysia, Thailand, and Vietnam. How is it when I’m in the midst of traveling I’m already planning my next adventure?

Back on Home Turf

During my recent excursions, I kept a travel journal, as I didn’t have regular internet access to update Wide Lanes over the past month. I didn’t want to miss the interesting tidbits, the strings that pulled on my daily life abroad, minute as they may be to the apathetic traveler, but of great meaning to someone that travels with passion. Over the course of my subsequent postings, I will detail aspects of my almost three weeks in Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Kuwait, and the UK.

Time to get the notes in order...

Religious Freedom

This will be the first Easter that I will not be celebrating with my family. In fact, this will be the first Easter I will not be celebrating.

I will be in a country where religious freedom, among other freedoms, is not a constitutional right. I think I’ve taken for granted attending Catholic church services with my family, sitting down to a ham dinner for Easter, and giving thanks for God’s blessings on the day of His Resurrection. All of these things - a religion other than Islam, pork, worshipping a diety other than Allah – are illegal where I am going. While I can of course pray on my own, it won’t be quite the same. Although when the Muslims’ call to prayers happens five times a day from before sunrise until after sunset, I may just take those opportunities to remind myself to pray, as well. Perhaps that is one practice I will take away from this journey.

I’m certainly not criticizing or judging this culture – it’s just different than the one that I’m used to being a part of. I don’t think we as a nation appreciate the freedoms we do have, that is, until we are challenged to become a part of another society that doesn’t hold the same weight to freedom as we do in the United States. This melting pot that we have, this mélange of races and ethnicities, ideas and innovations, backgrounds and histories, religions and the right to not worship, all of that is what makes America a great nation. One reason this nation was birthed was for those persecuted for their religious beliefs in an attempt to provide a home for religious freedoms.

Before I have even boarded the plane for this adventure, I am already beginning to reflect on what I will take away from this next series of travels. Poignant moments await me still.

Once in a Lifetime

The abaya is washed and hung, the hijab is also ready for my hair. I will not have to dress for the length of my stay, but experiencing the unique culture of Saudi Arabia is something I never thought I’d have the chance to do in my lifetime. This will be the most restrictive culture I will have been a part of, including my time spent in Bahrain, Qatar, and on this trip, Kuwait, as well. I’m not opposed to having to conform to the standards of another in this way. In fact I am excited to have the opportunity to experience it. At least for a short while.

The weather forecast is 75-97 degrees and at all times, I will have to be covered – shirts with long sleeves, no collarbones showing, pants. I am a little concerned, particularly when I do have to wear the abaya. It is a heavy garment. While I’m borrowing this one to wear when I get off the plane, I intend on buying my own from the souq to call my own. I’m looking forward to this experience, different as it may be, as they don’t come along very often. I relish opportunities like these. This is my passion for traveling.

Breath

The inspiration for these writings has stemmed from my life's travels and the people who have influenced me while I adventure. The details that make up the world breathe life into my journey. Those breaths, those moments of windedness, are what I want to share with you.

My encouragement stems from one of my closest friends, B.B., who righted my doubts while we were traveling in January. He solidifies my purpose and passions in life. Whenever we travel together, lanes are so wide.

The final stamp in my passport for beginning this journaling was when my brother and his girlfriend gave me Frances Mayes’ book “A Year in the World: Journeys of a Passionate Traveller” for Christmas. I finished it this morning, just in time to attend an event at the National Geographic Museum where Frances Mayes was speaking. She signed my book: “Ciao, Andrea.” I’m taking that as a ‘Hello’ and "I’ll see you on your travels soon." So, ciao!