Maine is the first stop on my cross-country road trip and home of the lovely Carrie whom I met while in Qatar and instantly became BFFs. She met me at the Portland Airport and guided me to her charming home (complete with wrap around porch) a little further north. I flew out of Chattanooga for a Google Flights ticket that ran me under $200. Since I am traveling while everyone else is working, the next morning, after her hubby cooked us breakfast, she journeyed to work and I went out to explore. I made it to the little island of Bar Harbor. Carrie later met up with me after she got off of work.
It’s hard to believe Alabama and Maine are part of the same country. Maine reminded me of the Netherlands with the outdoorsy feel, the active people with their well-behaved dogs and sail boats. The people spoke with such an accent that I couldn’t readily identify as them as Americans or international tourist. For example, locals pronounce the town of Bar Harbor as Ba Ha Buh and Lobster is Lobstah. And they somewhat reminded me of the mom from Bobby’s World (back in the good ol’ days when cartoons made sense). In The South, North Face is a fashion statement to look cute at late fall football games in. In Maine, it and Gortex in general, is a lifestyle staple. They have rocky beaches and people don’t lat and sun bath, but hunt for star fish and shells and skip rocks. Main does Lobster Shacks like we do Barbeque.
I went up to Maine with my southern summer attire packed in my duffel bag. Fortunately, I also brought a jacket (swiped from my sister). So there I was, in Bar Harbor enjoying the refreshingly humidity-free day (never knew this existed in the summer in America) in my sundress and flip flops when, out of nowhere, it poured down freezing cold rain. It was a good time to break for lunch so I ducked into a Chinese restaurant until the rain stopped. Then I was back to poking into little shops. Seriously, Maine looks like the pages right out of Lands end or L.L. Bean that come to life.
Typical Bar Harbor
This was the beach.
I didn’t even recognize this as a beach until I saw masses of people in their gortex congregating.
Carrie and I ducked under a tree as it started to pour down in Bar Harbor.
This is a Maine Beach. Nothing like the Beaches of Florida, Bama, Virginia, Carolinas…
While traveling south from Bar Harbor to Portland I came across another cute little town and had to stop. It was actually the swinging bridge that peaked my interest. That lead to me exploring and coming across the historical Bowdoin College. It was founded in 1794. It’s president was a war hero turned Governor. The Above picture was at his home on the edge of campus which gives tours and sheds light on some of the history of the town of Brunswick, the state of Maine, and the nation of America.
I liked the architecture/engineering of this swinging, pedestrian bridge. And the views from it were breath taking. This is what America looks like!
Visiting Brunswick, Maine is a great day trip from Bar Harbor. Apparently, the southern Coast of Maine is a summer destination spot. The Bush Family vacations here. It’s nicknamed “vacation land.” The next day I explored as I made my way down to Vermont and New Hampshire. Maine has quaint, picturesque little towns and coastlines. The people are friendly. I couldn’t deal with the snow in the winter but Maine will most certainly be my new vacation spot. It’s the type of place you stay for about two weeks. You get a vacation rental, let your children run off with the other tourists children while you relax, boat, swim, spa, and have lobster boils every evening. Then grab the family for hiking excursions or moose sightings.
As I traveled a little further south I made it to Portland . Since you cannot come to Maine and not see a light house, I put in the GPS “Portland Headlight” and it took me here. It’s a historic spot in Port Elizabeth.
I spent two nights in Maine and spent no more than $100 on Chinese food, holiday ornaments, a Maine tee shirt, historical house museum admission, and moose pajamas for my nephew. I saved by accepting the amazing hospitality of my dear friend. Next time, I’ll know to pack for out door activities and a rain jacket. This is not the place for sundresses and cute flip flops. I’ll know that morning is the best time for whale watching and puffin sightings. I did spend some time deciding what to do. Next time, If I come with family, I will know Bar Harbor is great for coastal living and outdoorsy adventures, Brunswick is a charming little town, and Portland is more of the Urban sprawl with pubs and night life. All are all great starting points. I took Route 1 down the coast line and ran into cute little town after cute town. Next time I’ll know to take a full wallet and empty suite case because there are plenty of shopping outlets along the route.
If you visit Bar Harbor, go to Down East Lobster Co — it’s where the locals go. They charge a cooking fee to boil your lobster. Be sure to ask for one pot if you are cooking multiples. You can buy live, cooked, and frozen Lobster there. Not a lot of ambiance but the shell fish is good and cheap. They do a lot of micro brews in this state. You’ll be hard pressed to find Bud Light. So now, when Germans with refined taste in beer think of American beer in disgust, I know I’ll need to send them up north. I liked Sebags and Allagash,
*That’s my quick and dirty observation while trying to stay on schedule while traveling. Stay tuned for updates when time allows(I haven’t even gotten to my lobster experiences).
A year in the desert can lead to new life realizations. Separation from all that makes you comfortable, provides the time for introspection and reflection. Discomfort allows transformation and growth. Jesus, Moses, Abraham, and the Israelites all spent time being transformed in the desert. My time in Qatar was full miserably hot and full of trials and successes that allowed me to develop my own proverbs and life lessons learned on God, work, people, myself, family, and love. Here are my Proverbs.
Lessons on God.
I can’t help but think I was sent to the desert to God to do some work in my life and draw me closer to knowing him better. The Good Lord is constantly trying to get my attention and it’s been amazing to watch God work. Over the past year I was able to view first hand all the promises and truths Kept by my God. I know for sure God loves me like my parents love me. God wants the best for me and hates to see me hurting. Yes, I can disappoint at times but he’s quick to get over it and keep loving me anyway. This year I learned to just chill out and let God be God. Nothing is a surprise to him. And he has it all under control.
I got to see this first hand. God sent so many unexpected, positive, uplifting angels from around the world into my life at the best possible time.
He’s got what seems like chaos under control. Chill.
If anyone is trying to make you feel guilty for anything that God has already forgiven you for, that person is not doing God’s work. There’s freedom in knowing the good Lord was crucified so you don’t have to crucify yourself daily with guilt for your sins. It says right there in Romans 6:23 and 1 John 1:9 that God forgives. So doubting that you are forgiven is doubting God’s word and his ability to forgive. Do yourself (and by “yourself”, I’m talking to myself) just believe what God.
No setback is a surprise to God. Just let God work! He’s got so many things set in motion for an amazing set up in your future. And he says so in one of my favorite, comforting verses:
My mistakes are plentiful but thankfully so is God’s grace. And I’m committing to expand my grace.
Now strut with that confidence.
It is arrogant and self-righteous to believe that you made it to where you are through any doing of your own. If put in the same situation as someone else, you could have made some hard or bad decisions too.
Lessons on People.
My goodness, If I haven’t spent all of my 20s trying to understand the ways of people. We are so complex. It took this pilgrimage to really understand that how people treat you is a reflection of their self and their realities and really doesn’t have anything to do with you and not to take it personality. If someone takes offense or is rude to you, it’s usually an insecurity that you’ve struck. You’ll have tons of people trying to tell you how to be, but they should all be ignored in favor for people who celebrate you. And lastly, I like this concept I got from watching Joel Osteen: 25% of folks are going to dislike you and there is nothing you can do about it. 25% will dislike you but could be swayed otherwise. 25% will like you but could be swayed to dislike you. and the top 25% of people will love you, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Focus on the top 25%.
It’s just helpful for me to remember not to take it personally if someone is rude to me and to keep myself in check when I’m tempted to forget my manners.
I watched this Joel Osteen Sermon plenty of times before but it wasn’t until my trip to the desert that I actually got to see stress that comes from people pleasing. Freedom comes from God pleasing. Even if you do everything that high maintenance people ask of you, they will constantly find fault and criticize. No matter how good you are to them, they will make you feel guilty for something else. If you change with every criticism, you won’t have a chance. Be free of those who try to squeeze, pressure, and manipulate you into their mold.
I believe most folks are are who they say appear to be. But some folks are master manipulators. They learn your interests, make you think they are just like you, gain your trust, get in your inner circle and destroy all you thought you knew about him.
Why doubt yourself? You have wonderful, valid ideas too!
Magnifying weaknesses doesn’t benefit anyone. The people I consider the best kinds of people that I’ve ever met have all been Masters at accentuating the positives. Those are the people I want to emulate.
Lessons on Family
I love the support I get from my family — those I chose and the ones God chose for me. My family is loud, country, goofy, and fun. We make an amazing, resilient team. And when being away makes me lose perspective, they will always know how to bring me back to reality. When I make a lapse in judgement or go against their warnings, they are there to catch me when I fall just like the safety-net in acrobatics.
Last year, cancer sent my uncle to be with the Lord. He was buried hours before I got home from Stuttgart. I never knew that one last time I saw him before leaving for Europe for two years would be the last time we talked. I wish I would have called to see how he was doing. This year, Cancer threatened to take my mom. But she is a pink ribbon victor. I never considered when she dropped me off at the airport for Qatar that her hug could have been the last. I’ve really got to focus, enjoy, and learn all I can from my family now, while I can.
Been learning this since 1988.
When I saw this I couldn’t help but see myself in the hopeless romantic of Princess Anna. Sure enough, my little sister was so much of the realist shown in Queen Elsa’s character. I lived this story this year.
She’ll stay up all night to talk you off the ledge (even if she’s the mother of an infant).
Lessons on who I am
I know who I am and what I am capable of more than anyone else. In the words of Kanye West, “I have a dope life, and I do dope Sh!t.” Individuals who have only known me for a few months in one aspect of my life can’t possibly know the many layers of me yet so often I take others’ negative opinions of me to heart. Critics are usually those who know me least. But those who have known me longest and best often amaze me with all the positives that they see in me.
My BGF (Best Guy Friend) is known for his brutal honesty and crassness. Dude knows me and my eccentricity well. But when it comes to describing me, he’s refreshingly positive about all that he noticed over the years. Same for my best friend since 6th grade. Every time I talk to her, I think I can rule the world with my smile just because she sees so much in me. And that just goes to show what people think about others is more a reflection of how they view themselves.Someone who is critical of you is likely hyper critical and condemning of themselves and full of insecurities. My big, compassionate heart, adaptability, accepting nature, devotion, optimism, and imagination have been keystones of all that makes up the pieces of me. I go out of my way to help a friend and even sometimes strangers.
I saw so much of me in this phenomenal little woman’s journal. And to think, her dad really got to know who she was and what she was capable of after her death.
Guys, Love, and dating.
It’s amazing how one bad apple can spoil the bunch and completely change your optimistic, wonder struck perspective. But as my newly wedded friends have all said at one point or another, if you don’t have the terrible you don’t recognize and appreciate the wonderful.
I think the ultimate goal of Christian girls who date is to have a husband who strives, everyday, to love her like Christ loves the Church. But a man cannot love you like Christ loves the church if he doesn’t know Christ. If he doesn’t have a good relationship with Christ like he does his buds, he cannot know Christ’s personality or view points. He he isn’t dialing, texting, messaging Christ daily or even weekly and is only relying on what other people have told him about Christ he doesn’t know what Christ does or says.He probably won’t even realize loving you in that way should be his ultimate goal. Find the guy who knows Christ. Then he’ll have some idea on how to love you.
Above all, listen to your instincts. They tend to be on point every time and you’ll just end up upset with yourself for ignoring your instincts or standards when everything goes wrong.
A guy who doesn’t want his girl to talk to other guys, calls his girl names, discredits her and/or her friends, or tries to control how a girl dresses is just afraid one day, one of these outside contacts is going to speak some sense into her and remind her how amazing and deserving she is. And she will leave.Although she might not recognize at the time, guy who ridicules her is showing his insecurity because he knows he has somehow scored a girl out of his league.
Friends
When you are away from all that is normal, it may be a little more difficult to identify true friends. You tend to gravitate to people because they’re fellow Americans or similar age just because there aren’t many other options. This past year I have learned to celebrate the overall awesomeness of the individuals that have been placed in my life to encourage me along my way and to shrug my shoulders to the folks that add stumbling stones. Time is so limited to focus on those who detract from my life. It’s better to have four quarters as friends than 100 pennies.
Your friends wont put you in a position where you have to stand up for yourself and won’t offended when you do.
Womanhood
Nothing like being in a country with rigidly defined gender roles to emphasize the rigidly defined gendered roles that I grew up with in America to the point that we don’t even recognize. It’s easy to point the finger at Islamic cultures and talk about how oppressive they are to women and put a blind eye to how oppressive America’s double standard, puritanical Christian culture is on women. I’m still trying to figure out how to combat this.
Life.
I’ve always believed in the reverse of Murphy’s Law because it’s been true for my life. If things can go right, they will go absolutely, positively right at the bets possible time. So even when it rains, know your rainbow is on the way.
A degree in history, documentaries, first person narratives, war movies, and living in Germany only partially helped me grasp the enormity of the D-Day mission. It took this Memorial Day trip to Normandy to fill the gaps in order for me to better understand what those brave young Americans went through to liberate Europe. Actually being on the beach where these American boys accomplished the impossible left me fueled with such an unexplainable sense of victory and pride in knowing that I’m a small part of this remarkable legacy.Did I ever mention I am a third, consecutive Armed Forces service member? My mom crossed the pond to visit me in May and I promptly booked a chartered tour with Interra- Reisen for the most meaningful Memorial Day of our lives. Bless her heart, nearly the day after landing in Stuttgart, Mama Belle jumped on a crowed tour bus, still jet-lagged, for this mother-daughter road trip adventure I won’t soon forget. It was spent not just remembering the heroic acts of bravery that occurred on the shores of France, but understanding all the events that would be known as D-Day.
Day 1: The bus rolled out at 5:30 am. Mom and I promptly fell asleep until breakfast at a truck stop then back to sleep until we arrived at Giverny, France where the famous French impressionist, Claude Monet spent most of his life. How fabulous to stroll the wild, unruly gardens and the forever immortalized lily-pond that inspired the blinding artist. What amazed me was that his best works were made as he was practically blind just as Beethoven’s masterpieces were written while he was practically deaf. Proving any challenge can be overcome if you’re passionate enough to work through it.
The bus continued on the journey towards Normandy, stopping in Cean for the night. We spent the night in a forgettable roadside hotel similar to a Best Western. It was in a quiet, industrial area of town. There was an unimpressive steakhouse in walking distance. Outside the hotel was also a street car to take visitors in town where there was more lively activity and better selection of restaurants. If you’re saving on money, the outskirts of the town is the way to go. We had such a long exhausting drive and days packed, with a specific adventure that being in the midst the nightlife of Caen was not a priority.
Day 2:
After buffet breakfast in the hotel, we departed.
Biscuits, gravy, pancakes with maple syrup just doesn’t happen in Europe. You do get cold cuts of meat, pastries, and cheese.
Salmon and cheese are also part of the European breakfast but no scrambled eggs and toast.
Our chariot. significant because I have a friend with Monnier as a last name.
The first stop of the day was La Cambe German War Cemetery which contains the remains of 21,000 German military personnel killed between 6 June- 20 Aug 1944. Outside, an engraved stone states, “Kriegsgräber sind die großen Kommunikatoren des Friedens” or “War graves are the great communicators of peace.”
First noticeable difference of German war graves and American are the shape and color of the crosses. I think the dark crosses just add to the melancholy of the field whereas the rows of white crosses at American cemeteries are somber but still heroic.
The figures on both sides of the cross are symbolic of the parent who lost their children. Now they are looking over them. Burried in this mound are 296 Germans, only 89 of which are identified by name.
View from the top of the mound.
One German Solider known only to God. This man was likely to by young…around 22-years-old with hopes and dreams that were never fulfilled. He likely did not chose the cause or to fight but ended up here anyway. Although he was an adversary, and possibly took American lives, the loss of his life is still heartbreaking.
Here, a 24 year old boy is buried with an unknown counterpart.
Final line: “God has the last word”
Mama in the Garden of peace.
After the short pit stop at the cemetery we journeyed on to the village of Saint Mere Eglise where the Musee Des Troupes Aeroportees (the Airborne Museum) is located. While traveling between locations, we watched The Longest Day to set the tone for what we were about to experience.
History impacts you more when you can relate to it…or when you can see yourself in the stories. I have never been able to identify any element of myself in George Washington in the continental Congress. It is hard for me to envision myself as a heartless ruler like Nero or Christopher Columbus. I cannot relate to the violent gladiator culture pervasive in ancient Rome. But standing on Omaha Beach with my mom at this point in my life, American military history was made real. For the first time, being a beach-storming soldier was relatable. Just normal young, 20-something-year-old Americans who went through training, bonded with the members of their units, with hopes, and dreams, and were given a task to accomplish were shot and killed where I stood.
So June 6th began and they came.
At 1 am the French night sky filled with 13,000 floating Paratroopers. Could you imagine being in a sleepy, little charming French town and seeing such a sight!? I was raised down the interstate from 101st Airborne “Screaming Eagles” stationed out of Fort Campbell, Kentucky. Recognizing their emblem in the Airborne Museum and knowing these boys trained in Kentucky formed a connection and sense of identity. Joining them in the sky was the 82nd Airborne out of Ft Bragg, the British 6th Airborne Division, and the 1st Canadian Parachute Battalion. The young American men fulfilled the mission of liberating the village of Sainte-Mère-Église.
This quiet town was taken without much force by Germans in 1940. But four years later on D-Day American paratroopers took the town back with glory due to its strategic location making it the first liberated French town.
This is the church in the middle of the town where the storied American hero, John Steele, got his parachute stuck on the spire on his way down. He hung there for two hours before the Nazis took him prisoner. Of course, being the American BA that he was, he escaped and took some 30 Nazis prisoner and killed a few. Other paratroopers who got stuck on trees and poles were not so lucky to be taken captive and were just killed on the spot. I can just imagine the night sky filled with floating warriors ascending on the charming ancient town.
A dummy still hangs from the ancient church, memorializing John Steele.
It is humbling to remember these were just regular 20-something year old boys given a daunting mission, knowing that the world was depending on them to succeed.
Lieutenant Colonel and Lieutenant embracing their heritage.
On our journey we stopped at the Liberty Milestone of Utah Beach then spent a lot of time exploring Omaha Beach.
Then
Today
It was surreal to be standing on the same beach where the gory, graphic opening scenes of Saving Private Ryan took place. I could envision the images from the movie on the beach where I stood. The landing craft, barbwire, cliffs, Carnage-littered shore, the dunes, the smell of it all, the sounds of agony, the bunkers where the barrage of German machine guns mercilessly rattled toward the Allies. All the dismal obstacles mounted against them, and somehow they emerged triumphantly.
What I refused to imagine was seeing the friends I’d trained and partied with disemboweled and scatted about. Or being the one in charge of leading troops that were decapitated or going into shock right in front of me and not being able to do a thing about it. I imagine the thoughts that would be going through my head would be something like — “My goodness (maybe some profanity) the slaughter has been going on for an hour and somehow I’m still alive. Why am I still alive?”
Seeing the beach I could understand the description “the longest day.” When would the day end? D-Day was just the first day of Operation Overload. Devastation would continue all summer!
This Memorial Day, my mom and I stood in the same hopeless space where so many Americans fought for their lives just to get ashore. Today there was no hint of the gruesome events that occurred on this very spot just almost 68 years before. The skies were blue. The landscape was lush. The day was warm with a chilly breeze. Birds sang their beautiful song. The waves gently rolled in, and mom and I had a baguette sandwiches picnic on the dunes. A picnic in a former war zone— Imagine that.
Then we visited the American Cemetery at Colleville sur Mer overlooking Omaha Beach.
The trees were intentionally groomed this way to symbolize the lives cut short.
The last stop on our unforgettable journey was Pointe du Hoc where the Rangers made their dramatic landing. Although this Operation took place before all others, we saw it last to accommodate business hours of the cemetery and Airborne Meuse.
Within ten minutes, the young Brits surprised the German guards and took the Ranville and Bénouville Bridges (the latter was later renamed Pegasus Bridge in honor if the British Airborne Solider) disrupting the Nazis’ ability to pursue a counterattack. When more Nazis showed up 2 hours later, Maj Howard held it down.
We sojourned to Arromanches to see the remains of the artificial port then Benouville to see the Pegasus Bridge, where British air-troops landed. In the evening we rested in the lovely village of Courseulles sur Mer, where we dinned on a typical seafood dinner in one of the cozy restaurants before retiring to our hotel.
There were two more days of the tour that guided us to an excursion to Le Mont Saint Michel then of course, you cannot road trip France without going to Paris. However, my pilgrimage to Normandy was the most eventful and meaningful. Disorganization, confusion, and incomplete or faulty implementation of carefully drawn-out plans lead to such pain, destruction and heartbreak followed with courage and determination and resulting in glory and triumph. Seeing how a place so horrific could be turned into something beautiful called to mind Igor Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite. ‘The Inferno’ was the war, followed by the finale of today. Out of all the despair and devastation comes hope, renewal, and beauty. Misery, regardless of how bleak and dismal, regardless if you can see the end in sight or not, doesn’t last always.
Mont Saint Michel visited later during the extended weekend. Click to start planning your Normandy weekend.
I believe all service members need to make a pilgrimage to Normandy at some point. The beaches are a standing monument of America valor. I have accomplished some pretty cool feats but whether crossing the finish line of a marathon, or the stage at graduation with distinction, I have never been more proud than I was crossing this battlefield. This was an accomplishment that reached far greater than myself. It happened 70 years ago but still impacted me and the history of the world.
If only someone was taking photos of my expressions there would have been photo booth images of roll my eyes, OMG, holy smack! What did I just put in my mouth? Mmm… good surprise written all over my face. The food was the uncontested highlight of my time spent in Bilbao, Spain.
Before leaving home, a google search for “gastronomie” lead me to the resturuant, Nerua in the Guggenheim Bilbao Museum. So, I booked a late lunch reservation on line at the recipient of the coveted Michelin star distinction two hours after my plane was due to touch down. I entered the restaurant from the outside of the museum on the Spider statue side and wind up directly in the kitchen of the restaurant.
I gave the deer-in-the-headlights look when the kitchen staff all paused and greeted me with “Buenos Dias!” I instantly thought I must have entered somewhere where I shouldn’t be. I backed out of the door but was collected by a server and shown to my table. There was only me and one other table occupied so I received individualized service. It was fantastic. I was catered to like Belle in Beauty and the Beast. The special care I was given let it be known, gave way that this was going to be quite the culinary experience like no other.
Meanwhile, as bread and wine was brought out, I took on the role as food paparazzi. Noticing me taking constant photos, the staff asked if I wanted to take a seat in the kitchen.
I chose the meal option with eight courses over the six, with the chef’s wine selection for every course. The courses just kept getting better. I didn’t even know what I was eating half the time so my mind couldn’t predict what it should taste like ahead of time. Sometimes I was expecting cold, sweet, citrus, but what I got was warm spicy, hearty sweet. Surprise stayed written all over my face. I had 11 individuals working regimentally and in silence on my one meal!
Now I don’t have all the hoity-toity, fancy food critic words to describe each bite. In fact, I was almost tempted to watch Disney’s Ratatouille for inspiration. All I can tell you is this food was divine and the overall experience well worth all I paid. So instead of me trying to explain to you the glory that danced on my taste buds, please take a stroll through my photo essay on my culinary experience:
Dropping local fish skin in hot grease
Sprinkling seasonings
tasty, crunchy flavorful appetizer.
This is Adrian from Argentina. He’s a kitchen leader.
Red miso with warm navy bean broth. Mmmm
The navy bean broth in a jar.
Diligent with his attention to detail.
I have no idea how something that looks like this should taste. What a surprise to my taste buds!
Savory: white turnip, nutmeg, Iberian pork. If my parents made turnips tast like this it would have been my favorite vegetable.
Something this mouthwatering takes teamwork.
Oyster barrage, chive, citronella grass broth
White prawns, barley soup, spinach & whiskey
It takes three guys to make one dish just for me.
Artichokes, Iberian pork delicacies in green coffee extract
Then I had a choice between Foie Gras and Fried Hake. I took the Hake.
My wine pairing.
Would you guess this was warm, sweet and spicy? It’s caramelized persimmon with cinimon and lime.
A different wines and a Spanish beer with each course.
Why yes, I do need two desserts. Pure chocolate & spicy marzipan.
After the meal, I shot the breeze with Adrian, the Argentinian cutie, who translated for the Master Chef. I expressed how impressed I was that young people created such a meal. Everyone in the kitchen with the exception of the head chef was under 30 years old. The were from all over the world but mostly spoke Spanish with one another. My personalized meal started at 2pm. The team was going to take a hike in the distant mountains before returning to cook at 7 pm. I told them about my five-year-old sobrina who wants to be a cook. “Maybe when she is seven she can come work for us,” The head chef joked in Spanish and Adrien translated.
I expressed how it seemed as though they really cared. They must love me if they take the time to have five cooks using little tweezer-like utensils to perfectly arrange little balls of miso in bean broth or just to chat with me afterwards. This was their life’s passion that they shared with me. This team wanted to make sure I had good food to eat. I witnessed no yelling or ego or tempers existed like on the television shows, Top Chef or Hell’s Kitchen. No boxed mac ‘n cheese or mashed potatoes. No microwaves. No prepackaged food. No food cooked last week. No good enough. No secrets. No drama. Just plain fabulous. Superb. Fantastical.
All done. Kitchen is spotless again.
As the staff started cleaning after being open to serve me and me alone, I reflected on all that I had just experienced. So this is gastronomy; cooking with love. Putting your heart, soul, and passion into meals. It was t that moment it donned on me: I was introduced to gastronomy a long time ago by my Grandma Nellie. Although this was my first time dropping some $300 on a meal, this was not my first gastronomic experience. The meals seeped in love offered at my grandma’s gave the same experience.
When I was a little belle, I used to spend the summers with both of my grandmothers. Days at my mother’s mama’s house revolved around meals. Whatever I wanted for breakfast she always had in stock or would get for me. She is that awesome. I remember asking for doughnuts and low and behold she had them. Bacon and biscuits, she break it out for me. Pancakes or waffles, she’d have it. Any cereal I could name, she’d have it for me. At home, I’d just have to make due with the one cereal we had on hand but with grandma, breakfast was made to order! I remember taking a long shot and requesting Toaster strudels which, by the way, they don’t sale in Germany, for breakfast. I saw commercials for them and thought it looked good. She happened to have coupons for them and said ok. We went to the super market that day. Since that summer that I was 8 years old, they’ve been a mainstay on her grocery list and you can count on them always being in her freezer.
Me & Grandma Nellie
For lunch I’d have a sandwich. I used to only do mayo sandwiches. It Grandma Nellie who introduced me to the concept of actually putting meat and cheese on sandwiches. I remember sitting at her table and her asking me what I wanted on my wheat bread and me listing off Mayonnaise. She complied but I think it through her off because she mentioned my choice to my aunt later on. It wasn’t long before she had be trying out deli slices. She’d cut my sandwich bread into fourths or, on particularly grown-up days, halves. Sometime in triangles, other times in squares or rectangles. I remember feeling special and anticipating what shape may sandwich would be in for the day. And I got chocolate milk. Everyday. Sometimes I’d sneak a guzzle Hershey’s chocolate syrup out of the aluminum can she always bought it in. I even got her to buy strawberry syrup for me. She was the one who introduced the addition of cheese on broccoli instantly making broccoli my favorite vegetable. In fact, all vegetables were made better by grandma: potatoes, green beans, carrots. Grandma could cook them so they were edible to the most selective pallet of the second grader.
If I was tidy, sometimes I’d get a dessert served later in the evening in green bowls full of vanilla ice cream with fresh strawberries that I could eat them in the living room while watching the news with her. And to top it all off… I got to stay up late… ‘til 11 pm. I tell ya, Grandma Nellie’s house was a child’s luxury vacation resort.
When my parents picked me up I was so excited to go home but it wasn’t long before I missed grandma’s attention to detail when cooking. I told my mom how her mama used to cut my sandwiches before serving them to me. My mom confirmed, yes, she cooks with love. This was the first time I ever understood the concept of cooking with love. Grandma Nellie must love me because she cut my sandwiches for me. She cares about the food that I put into my body. Her meals were healthy, not for me to just shovel in to keep me alive. The extra effort and care put into my meals made me know I was, without a doubt, loved by this woman.
My initial experience at Nerua transcended the resturuant and was experienced in all aspects of my Bilbao exploration. There was no settling for good enough anywhere. The attention to detail was evident in service, food, and every angle and curve of the architecture and art. Even the simple finger food appeared to be made with pride. What a fabulous example to apply to life. Whatever you do, put your passion into it. No secrets, nothing to hide. Of course, as the chefs at Nerua displayed, this doesn’t work if your work is massed produced to serve billions and billions. But to your selected few, good enough is not good enough. Put your heart and soul into your work and serve with pride.
My momma is going to want to jerk a knot in me when she reads this post. But seeing as though she is a thousand miles and an ocean away, I think it is safe to tell this tale and remain knot-free (for now). So here goes!
The adventure part of this tale began when I was dinning alone in an outdoor café in Strasbourg. This was my first time in France and first international trip that started in Germany. I never heard of the town until I read in a local travel magazine that it was a great weekend getaway for Stuttgarters. So I seize the day…or the weekend rather, and with nothing but a carry-on-sized suit case and a GPS, I jumped in a rented Benz and headed out.
Two hours later I arrived and wasn’t sure what I should do next.
It was lunch time so why not jump line at the McDonald’s drive thru? Well, for one, I had a considerable language barrier that I did not consider. I didn’t speak a lick of French outside of Frère Jacques and voulez vous coucher avec moi and being in the drive-thru, I couldn’t point to what I wanted or play charades to explain that I wanted Chicken McNuggets and a McFlurry. But with a mix of my newly acquired Schwabbish dialect of German and English…the McD’s hostess delivered my culinary request.
They asked if I wanted American fries. Well, of course I want the fries McD’s sells in America…this is what I got. French fries isn’t a thing apparently. You have Frites and American Fries. No French Fries.
I used the GPS to guide me to the attractions. I spent the day moseying around the river, parks, and neighborhoods just imagining what it would be like to live and work in Strasbourg. Strasbourg has railway streetcars that remind me of the ones in New Orleans that ran through the neutral ground (median). Then it dawned on me, they call it the French Qarter for a reason. Of course when the French came and settled that area of America they’d bring their architecture and city planning style with them.
As the sun began to set and I began to get hungry again, I stumbled upon the heart of Strasbourg. So this is what the fuss was about. This charming, historic, little town on the French and German border is what I’d imagine would happen if France and Germany got married and had a baby. Apparently, the city has been on both sides of the French and German border multiple times through the centuries due to wars. Street signs are written in both languages.
The architecture looks like the real life illustrations of a German fairytale. Down the cobble stone streets I could hear both French and German being spoken but in all the shops I was greeted with, “Bonjour Madam.” I thought for sure they had to be the nicest people ever and the pleasant greeting was just for me! Later, I gathered saying, “hello ma’am” to everyone was just common courtesy here.
So that brings me back to where this story began, at an outdoor picturesque café in La Petite France district of Strasbourg. It was evening. I was hungry and sitting at a candlelit table for one. One of the most pleasant differences of dining in France as opposed to dinning in Germany is the menu. I couldn’t speak a lick of French, but French is the language of food! I understood every bit of that menu. Pinot Noir, boeuf, brie, hollandaise sauce, béarnaise sauce, al gratin, crème brulee…with the french treatment.
Well, a few tables away was a delightfully rowdy bunch of French men enjoying the first weekend evening of September. As I finished my meal of steak and potato at my candle-lit table set for one, the most boisterous of the bunch, calls over to me in French. I’m mid-sip of my white wine. I smile as I do when I have no idea what’s going on and shake my head. He says something again and I tell him I don’t understand. So he tries again in English, “Come on, I am not asking you out on a date.” Well, since he wasn’t asking me out on a date, those were the magic words. I’d spent all day in silence, with just me and my thoughts, I could use some company. I was hoping one of them would be named Henri for the sole reason it was the name of the pigeon Fievel sang “Never say Never” with in American Tail. No such luck. When I relocated with my wine to their table I introduced myself to two men named Claude, Jean, and Ali. Ali, was the loud one. What amazes me is that, while Americans tend to get tripped up by my name, often renaming me something more familiar to them, the French allow my name to roll over tongue with grace, dignity, and ease. It does have French roots. They were all older than me, probably by 10 years or more. And so the discussion began.
I noticed there are three common conversation themes when I speak to European men:
1. Their support for President Obama
2. Why is this American girl doing in Germany
3. The black girlfriend they once had a long time ago.
This post-dinner conversation was no different. It started with a mini lesson in french…all the guys giving me essential French phrases…essential including flirty French phrases. They came to understand how little of their language I knew. They tried to teach me phrases in French that I could use on my French-speaking American beau. I loved how they pronounced his last name the way it should be pronounced vice the American corruption of it. Then we started in on political affairs which was nice because that’s why I was going to school and I could get the French perspective. Now, I do appreciate a lively debate so long as it stays on the topic at hand and does not turn into attacks on the individual. The conversation segued into quantifying the level of racism in America in comparison to France and Germany. It all started when I talked about how much I loved Germany and they talked about how horrible Germans were back in WWII. I do not like absolute terms. Clearly not all Germans are Nazis. I had grown so much in love with my new hometown I felt like Germany needed defending. I just had not experienced the racism in Europe that I had in America, granted I spent more time in America. The French men were in agreement that France was racist and Germany was more so. I explained my German Great-Grandfather who came to America and married a black woman and had eight babies with her. And hey, being a Nazi then could have easily been a means of survival. But with this conversation I could tell the WWII grudge still existed. In America I feel that we’ve more or less forgiven and forgotten. Of course we don’t have the memories or pictures of Nazis marching down our Pennsylvania Avenue in DC like the French have of Nazi troops marching down the Champs-Élysées.
I brought up Josephine Baker and Bessie Coleman who came to France for opportunities they wouldn’t have in America. But they were the crème de la crème of course France will accept the best, Ali explained. Which is why I felt accepted in Europe. “Your father is rich and you are attractive!” Ali raised his voice with his French accent. I’m not sure what brought him to the rich conclusion. Possibly assumed because I had the opportunity to study abroad. Or maybe because we discussed my parent’s occupations. I also wasn’t sure if I was being accused of something. I didn’t have the heart to tell them my mother was the military service member.
“If you were a grand women… like 100 kilos, people would not be so nice to you,” Ali said. “If I were white and 100 kilos they would not be so nice.” I retorted back. “This is true,” Claude #1 laughed. “This world is not Disney Land!” Ali tried to make me see his view.
Ali had just buried his father in Northern Africa. I asked if he had black children. He had to ponder this question. His friends hesitantly said no. I wondered if the hesitance came from the children being more northern African Arab than they were sub Saharan African and they weren’t classified the same way. I would have classified Ali as white…although he had a name that would have most assume otherwise. Goodness, such confusion comes from trying to categorize people into three boxes.
Cafes outside the cathedral
Just then, Ali answered a phone call with his artist friend. I could hear him say magnific and Noir American. Claude translated Ali’s end of the conversation, “He says you are beautiful.” “And black” I finished. Yes, I recognize the word Noir. I watched Claud’s face light up. Even though he knew I couldn’t speak a lick of French, he forgot maybe I would know a word or two.
Our discussion brought amusement to the restaurant host who watched with a smile. Turns out the owner of the restaurant/hotel was Ali’s friend. He spoke to the host in French obviously ordering something. Moments later the host returned with desert! They tried to explain what it was but I could not understand. “Your father,” he explained. Oh, It’s called a colonel. Same word but for some reason, Americans started pronouncing it (and in Kentucky, spelling it) “Kernel”. It’s lemon sorbet with vodka and it is delightful! A traditional treat I wouldn’t have known about if I kept to myself.
It wasn’t long before I learned I was debating with French attorneys! We talked for three hours. Eventually, the patrons of the sidewalk cafes began to dissipate as meal time entered its final hours. We decided to continue our conversation at Claude #1’s house. Being the independent American woman that I am, I tried to pay for the colonel. “In France, this is not possible,” Claude #1 said. Well, so much for that; we were not in Holland (As in going Dutch…I’m attempting to make a joke). Yes, I am aware of the dangers that lurk when a little, young American girl to go off into the night with three unknown French men in an unfamiliar city. Trust, I was texting my whereabouts to everyone I knew. We turned a few corners of the old town, and wound up not too far away from the Cathedral.
The topics of racism, social justice, and international politics had been put to bed. When I walked into Claude’s designer’s dream of a house, the conversation turned all about architecture and interior design. Outside, was all historic and unassuming. Inside, we were in a New York City worthy modern loft. After relaxing, we hit she streets. They trio took me to Les Aviateurs, an American-style bar. I’m not sure how this bar differed from any other bar other than it being decorated in old aviation paraphernalia.
The night dragged on our conversations slowed. Our final discussion of the night was about Marvin Gaye. Apparently Ali had seen the American musician perform in Paris and was disappointed to learn his father had killed him soon after. Ali still seemed quite upset about this. There was no excuse he said. The guy didn’t believe in God or his will. They think I don’t smoke because I’m American and Americans don’t smoke.
beautiful views along the river
Ali basically invited me to stay with Claude #1 saying there was no reason for me to pay for a hotel when I have friends in Strasbourg. Oh yes, I know there were risks involved. So many things could go terribly wrong. I sent texts to co-workers, classmate and friends back in Germany to let them know my address just in case something should happen to me. I so took the offer. After experiencing this town as the locals do, I retired in the hip modern loft.
view from the bedroom I stayed in.
why not spend the night here!?
rooftop terrace view
I know, I know, Americans gasp in horror of me staying in the home of strangers but as the quote goes, a stranger is just a friend you haven’t met yet. The world is not a big bad scary place as American news would want you to believe. I’m aware there are some dangerous men out there but I won’t regard every stranger as a threat until proven otherwise. There’s a benefit to traveling alone. You tend to find yourself in situations you would not ordinarily land in had you traveled with a crew of fellow adventures. And most times, it works out better than planned and makes for an interesting story later. I got some interesting perspective through conversations I wouldn’t have engaged in had I been in a group. I got the local tour of the old town, and got an insider’s view on lodging. By traveling with only an idea and not a plan, my weekend trip turned out better than expected.
“…Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the wilderness and speak tenderly to her.” — Hosea 2:14
Sometimes it takes moving into desert places and out of our routine to reach a new level of understanding and awareness. I’m not talking about going from America to the wonderland a European vacation. I mean really getting into a place that is really completely away from all you know and where you feel safe and comfortable… where all you insecurities, shortcomings, and faults are exposed. Here in Qatar, I don’t have the distractions of ordinary life in America or Europe. Here, I am an obvious outsider, limited by language and cultural understanding. Like many of the Biblical heroes, moving to the desert can test your faith and bring you revelations you couldn’t otherwise receive.
Consider Moses, who grew up in the palace of the pharaoh, then spent 40 years wandering around in the desert where he learned the ways of the true King. After being baptized, Jesus fasted for 40 days and 40 nights in the desert. Moses, Elijah, John the Baptist, David, Joseph all spent time in the desert. Granted most of the Bible took place in the desert, being alone in the wilderness is when they heard and saw God’s work.
My 2014 started off rocky to say the least. I learned I was the daughter of a breast cancer warrior the day after the guy who said he wanted to give me his last name changed his mind. I’ve gone through what I consider major tests only to be surrounded and comforted by God. Clearly, the good Lord wants my attention. I got the epiphany that I seem to I write about everything else but my testimony. I mean, looking through my blog, you wouldn’t be able to tell I try to follow God’s guidance for my life with varying success because I don’t speak about his goodness. Well, here I am changing that with the messages of encouragement I’ve received during the first 15 days of 2014.
Have faith in God’s Timing
I lead Zumba on Wednesday nights. Last Wednesday as I was cleaning up after class a participant lingered after class and said, “I’d like to give you this.” In her hand was a pewter necklace with a cross on one side and the words, “Be still and know that I am God.” Wow! What a message. Basically, God sent a new friend…we’ll call her and angel… to let me know, “Chill the frick out, I got this!”
It’s so easy have faith in God’s plans when they are right in line with my own. Each night I pray, “Your will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven…” then get so upset when God’s will isn’t in synch with my own. He has a reputation for doing amazing things and giving me more than I could ever ask for. Why would he stop now? My dreams are coming true. I need to start thanking him for the works he’s already promised me rather than keep asking him to meet my deadline.
I get so annoyed when people question me. When others want to know what I’m doing or why I made the decisions I made, it makes me so uneasy. So why on Earth do I do the same to God? I have to learn just to accept God’s answer. I need to let God be God. He’s got this. Now, more than ever I understand Hannah and Sarah wanting what they want right then and there. But I’m learning God uses delays in fulfilling our heart’s desires to strengthen us, train us, and test our obedience. Take the Israelites wandering around the desert for 40 years…you can take the Israelites out of Egypt but you can’t take the Egypt out of the Israelites. The Israelites probably had a lot of Egyptian habits like making idols that God just wouldn’t let them take into the promised land. I’m satisfied to wait for the Isaacs in life, do not rush and end up with an Ishmael. I’m usually pretty spontaneous and take comfort in the “whatever will be will be.” But when it comes to what really matters to me, I am a meticulous planner. I’ve got to let go.
Maintain a Positive attitude
Disappointments happen with unmet expectations. Instead of dwelling on past disappointments, be excited and optimistic about God’s plan for your future. Look for the silver lining in all misfortunes. Disappointments are opportunities to prove to god you are growing. Maintain a positive attitude regardless of the situation around you. Don’t absorb all the criticisms and negativity around you, make positivity a habit like Polly Anna. Be anxious for nothing but give all your worries to God. Joseph had betrayals, setbacks, and disappointed in his life. But we don’t know of his grumbling. We just know of his patience and his grace with those who hurt him.
Be around people that celebrate you
Not everyone deserves to have a piece of your time. Some people are just going to be critical of you, no matter what you do or how hard you try to please. If someone can spend six months or so with you and still fail to realize how fabulous you are, well, that says more about that individual than it does you. Give up the goal of winning approval of others. Doing so only sets you up to be controlled and manipulated by that individual. Instead, be controlled by God and strive to please him. Know that when you are forgiven by God and living a new life that is pleasing to God, how other’s judge you doesn’t matter.
Proverbs 25:17 says “Iron sharpens Iron; So a man sharpens the countenance of his friend.” Amazingly, I have been bum-rushed with tons of encouraging girl friends who just popped up out of nowhere who encourage and celebrate me. They sharpen me rather than make me dull and unsure of myself. The good Lord has brought me amazing people who lift me up; people who encourage me to dream and believe in me. In 2014 I will be disciplined to spend my time with people who appreciate my talents, personality and celebrate my accomplishments rather than emphasizing my weaknesses and tell me what I cannot do. There’s power in God’s words. I mean, He did use them to speak the universe into orbit. So surely his words can handle the little things in life. A co-worker randomly provided me a list of affirmations of who the Bible says I am and capable of. When surrounded by people that say hurtful things, it may take morning affirmations to remember what God thinks about you and how wonderful you are.
“I am a virtuous woman.” Proverbs 31
“God wants to give me hope and a future” – Jeremiah 29:11
“He who finds me, will find a good thing” – Proverbs 18:22
“I am a Child of the Most High God, fully accepted by the Father.” – John 1:12
“I am more than a conqueror.” – Romans 8:37
“I am forgiven.” 1 John 1:19
“God loves me enough to sacrifice his only son for me.” John 3:16
The Pain of discipline is less than the pain of regret.
Don’t act on emotional impulses. Be disciplined while emotional so you don’t make choices you regret. Be concerned about later on, not how you feel today. You can be right or be kind. God brings peace on earth if you chose to accept it. He causes a cessation of hostility and anxiety. Always maintain your Belle poise and demeanor. You don’t ever want to come off as graceless.
Since the New Year I have received an outpouring of love, acceptance, and encouragement from friends. co-workers, and random strangers. I have developed new networks of people who celebrate me. I’m not alone in this world. God sent his angels to let me know he is looking out for me. It takes getting out of my comfort zone and places of distraction to find out who I really am and what I’m made of. We all go through metaphorical deserts where the days are oppressively hot, dusty, grimy and all around uncomfortable and hope to cross metaphorical River Jordans into the promise land.
Inspiring verses:
Be still, and know that I am God – Psalm 46:10
Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths -Proverbs 3:5-6
A person’s steps are directed by the LORD. How then can anyone understand their own way? – Proverbs 20:24
Many plans occupy the mind of a man, but the LORD’s purposes will prevail. – Proverbs 19:21
We can make our plans, but the Lord determines our steps. – Proverbs 16:9
For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. – Jeremiah 29:11
I’ve been wandering around this desert thinking Doha was the sleepiest and most conservative of towns. Not much exciting to this town. Reminds me of a hotter, more humid version of my hometown…not much to do but walk around the mall, eat dinner, and go to the movies. It’s Ramadan on top of that so amazingly, streets have reduced traffic.Now, it’s impossible to talk about this region of the world during this time of year without talking about the weather. I thought living and traveling throughout the Gulf Coast of America’s south I knew a little bit of something about some humidity and high temperatures. Doha reassured me, I don’t know squat about heat or humidity. There is no hair product that can stand up against this humidity. I kinda think that’s one of the reasons why the local girls keep their hair covered under a hijab. On top of that, it’s impossible to spend more that 15 minutes without AC. I just don’t know how they survived before this technology.
Anyway, the guys and I went downtown to the Souqs and found this fabulous, exquisite restaurant in the boutique hotel collection with some serious ambiance. The was Middle Eastern mood was set with seductive regional music, plush sofas, and dim jewel-toned lighting. The service was impeccable…I mean chairs were pulled out for me, waiters kept my water glass filled even though the water bottle was right on the table for me. the food was affordable and came in huge helpings. We had the restaurant to ourselves.
As we were preparing to call it a night, the restaurant started filling with lively diners and live music. For a week night, the place was really starting to look like Saturday night.
I’m just realizing, Doha comes alive after dark…which it should considering it is 119 degrees Fahrenheit during the day. Just as I had to learn to adapt to Stuttgart’s frigid temperatures, I have to learn to adapt to Doha’s sweltering heat. And seeing as though people have been inhabiting this land since before Jesus came, there are methods to survive.
Let me reiterate how obnoxiously, ridiculously, oppressively hot it is here. It’s seriously, unfathomably humid and uncomfortable every single day. The air conditioners stay over taxed.
It’s no wonder folks stay resting in the AC most of the day and come out after the sun goes down to run their erruns. The earth is still hot at 8pm after the sun fades. 11pm or midnight makes the best time to go running when its around 80 degrees or cooler. Of course that cuts into sleep time for normal day dwellers. It’s quite the adjustment from Stuttgart but I look forward to adapting and making this city my own.
I think it must be human nature to find superficial difference to draw distance between individuals and those they consider outsiders. I am finding the perfect example of such a phenomenon when it comes to the Christian/Western views of Ramadan. I arrived in Qatar with 11 days to spare before the start of the Islamic holy month of Ramadan. I got told, or rather warned, about “these people” during Ramadan.
“Be careful, Muslims are so grumpy; you don’t want to mess with them during Ramadan.” “Oh, you can’t eat or be seen in public during this time.” “Start storing up your food because you are going to starve during this month.”
I regarded these warnings as little more than baseless stereotypes. I remember living in the same dorm and working with a Muslim girl whom I regard as an awesome friend back at the University of Kentucky and for the life of me, don’t ever recall her being grumpy and mean during her holy month. I do remember her having to wake up before the crack of dawn to eat her oatmeal before classes started. She was surprised when I told her what was said. People should be more at peace during the holy month. Later, those who made their all encompassing statements made the caveat by explaining those fasting from their nicotine addictions could be grumpy during Ramadan. OK, that makes a little more sense.
Lent is six weeks (or forty days) leading up to Easter, marking the death and resurrection of Jesus. Ramadan is four weeks during the time that the Quran was reveal to the people. Ramadan and Easter are both based off the lunar calendar. Ramadan is always the 9th month. And since the lunar calendar moves with the phases of the moon the 9th month moves backwards on the Julian calendar. For example, I always remembered my girl pal celebrating Ramadan during the fall semester all during college. But last summer when I went to visit a friend living in Norway with a Muslim roommate, that roommate was fasting in August. I had to facebook my college pal and ask what’s up with that the change in time. She called me “astute” for my observation and for inquiring. I felt pretty cool. And she explained the differences in calenders. This year, Ramadan started in July. Eventually, a few years from now, it’ll make its way into the winter months and then beginning again in the fall semester. It takes something like eleven years to complete the cycle around the Julian calendar.I can’t help but to liken the Holy Muslim month of Ramadan to the Holy Month of Catholic Lent.Even so, I wondered why the same stereotypes weren’t said of Catholics during their holy month of Lent or anyone else who fasts?
Catholics usually observe a semi-fast by giving up one vice like chocolate, meat, facebook, soda, TV or, dare I say, sexual impulses. Often times these vices are only given up one day of the week. Ramadan is often considered more extreme and strict by Christians who consider no food or drink or smoking or sexual activity during day light hours more uncomfortable. But that’s what a fast is uncomfortable. According to the book of Matthew, fasting done correctly should be done without grumpiness, complaining, or with grand displays for attention. It is a private thing between you and God. Additionally, Catholics during Lent and Muslims during Ramadan both focus on prayer, charitable giving, and repentance. By giving up pleasures they are reminded how blessed they really are. By focusing on charitable giving they are able to be blessings to others.
Clearly, fasting requires self-control and discipline as one denies the natural desires of the flesh. During spiritual fasting, the believer’s focus is removed from the physical pleasures of this world and draw closer to God. Fasting is a time to study God’s Word, meditate and pray. To hear God’s word most clearly, you eliminate distractions like food and media. Be still and focus on God. Look for verses you want to memorize and meditate upon. Fasters spend time talking to God and allowing Him to reveal Himself to you in His Word. It is amazing how little Christians know about fasting or consider it to be a bizarre practice.
In Qatar and I’m sure other religion-focused countries, the entire day gets shifted in order to help citizens more effectively participate in their faith. So work hours are shortened and restaurants are closed but then shops and restaurants have extended evening hours.
At the end of Ramadan is a big celebration called Eid filled with food and family. I doubt I’ll get to be in on this celebration but I hear its fabulous if you make friends who invite you. Christians have a pre-fast celebration —Mardi gras, Carnival, Fasching —depending on what country you’re in to get all their sinning in before they have to give it all up for 40 days.And there’s the Easter feast during our Holy period.
Sure, there may be some doctrinal difference between the two fasts but on the surface, they appear very much alike and probably more alike than they are different. These are my observations and understanding. If I’m off, please share with me!
It’s been one week since my plane touched down in the Southwest Asia and since then I have gained enough cultural insight to rattle off a 20-page Middle Eastern exposé. This place is amazing and I’ve barely scratched the surface. I’m so far removed from all I know and recognize. The Middle East is in fact, a whole new world for me to explore. So far, four cultural differences stand out to me most so far here:
1. Royalty First, I’ve become fascinated with the Qatari Royal Family. The Emir just handed down power to his son. The princess, Sheikha Moza Bint Nasser al-Missned, is on Marie Claire’s most fashionable women list. She studied sociology at the University of Qatar and caught the Emir’s eye with her charm and intellect. Of course he would say that right? He can’t publicly say her hourglass figure was spell bounding or whatever else hip hop stars say about curves. As princess, she founded Education City, a neighborhood that houses five top ranking U.S. Universities including Texas A&M. I just think she’s all around fabulous.
Princess Ameerah @ Kate’s Wedding
The Western World finds interest in Kate, Michelle, and Carla’s fashion but Saudi Princess Ameerah is simply gorgeous in anything that she wears. She was actually at Kate’s wedding. I’d like to think they’d make great BFFs.
Additionally, Qatar oozes of luxury. I went from living in Europe’s richest country to the world’s richest country by GDP per capita. Now I don’t know for sure, but I’ve been told, all Qataris are some degree removed from the Royal family and the most distant get paid a minimum of $80K per year just for having Qatari citizenship. So, technically, every Qatari is royalty in some way and Western visitors can experience a taste of royal treatment. Native Qataris do not work, at least not physical labor. They don’t pump their own gas. They don’t carry their own food out the car. They don’t carry their own shopping bags. They have third country nationals come in to do the less desirable work. Everyday 500 new expats migrate to this country is search of opportunity.
2. Islamic Fashion No I don’t have to wear a head covering, but I want to. It’s part of the blending in. You don’t have to were lederhosen and a dirndle around Bavaria but it’s nice to blend in a little. People don’t readily know I’m American by looking. But with the way I dress, even though its conservative on American standards, I’m still easily identifiable as a foreigner. I never knew how diverse Islamic fashion was until I went Abya shopping. My goodness, who would ever think there could be so much variety in a simple black garmet. There’s lase, bling, embroidery…they range for pocket change to hundreds of dollars.
Syria has more colorful women’s fashion
The ever chic Qatari Queen
I find the white thobes worn by Muslim men charming. It can make any man look like prince. When I got to Dubai it was like Arabian prince heaven. Seriously.
UAE Hottie, Omar Borkan got deported from Saudi Arabia for being too sexy & making women lust.
I never knew all the fashion available in Abayas, or the long black robes the women wear here. Then there’s the introduction of colors in Islamic women’s fashion. There’s even a fashion week in Dubai! Dubai is the Paris/New York of the Middle East. Everyone talks about its glory. The Americans I’ve met say they could see themselves living there. Fashion is advertised as “From Dubai” as if it gives it more value like the fashions that are advertised as Milano or Parisian fashion. Nevertheless, I’m pretty sure I will end up in a conservative Abaya and hijab while I’m here.
Modesty is such a paradox between The States, Germany, and Qatar. In most places in The States cleavage, shoulders, bellies, butt cheeks, even but cracks are all fair game to be seen in public. But heaven forbid a woman nurse her infant in public or someone sit in a suana naked or want to swim naked. Our prime time television keeps body parts covered. In Germany girls for the most part keep their private parts hidden in public. But on TV, you can see bare nipples like its no big deal. You go to spas and beaches nude. No big deal. In Qatar locals stay covered from head to toe due to modesty aspirations yet the locals can just look over to immodest tourists and expats and western TV and still be tempted into lust. There are still beaches where bikini clad tourist mingle with abaya covered citizens.
In addition to the modesty provided by abayas, this clothing also provides protection from the elements. It’s so freakishly hot and humid here. Abayas provide protection from the sun the sunblock just can’t do because it will get sweated off instantly. Also, just standing outside will drench your clothing in sweat which is just disgusting. The abayas spare us all from having to see sweat splotches all over. Then there are dust storms. Imagine being back on the playground and having 10 kindergarteners hurl sand at you for 15 minutes. Bet you’d rather be in an abaya & hijab than shorts and a tank top.
3. Gas Prices I can fill up a 16 gallon fuel tank for $15 USD or less. It’s crazy how I went from spending 91 euro on a tank in Germany then down to $50 USD in America then down to $10 in Qatar. I laugh when I hear Americans complain about gas prices. Although we don’t have it Qatari good, we still have it good.
4. Green Living Qatar and Stuttgart are polar opposites when it comes to ecological living. I’d venture to say Qatar has a more wasteful culture than the U.S. Due to the scorching heat, people guzzle bottles of water per day and not a bit of it gets recycled. In Stuttgart, recycling is obligatory.
In Stuttgart, of course, there are the sassy European sports cars but most people cruise around in fuel efficient small cars. Here in Qatar, everyone cruises in huge SUVs, pickup trucks, and vans. Because of the terrain, it’s almost a necessity to have a vehicle with off-road capabilities. People here leave their cars running…granted oil is more plentiful than water and the heat forces the air conditioning to remain on.
This is just my initial impressions of this new fabulous country I’ve just inhabited. Can I make it home? Guess we’ll have to wait and see.
I once told people visiting Spain was like visiting home. For once I got to hear Spanish, a language that was familiar to my ears, and it brought a level of ease and comfort that I didn’t experience while being in delightfully strange Germany. Well, for the same reason, being in Scotland also gives me the same sense of home. I’ve gotten into the habit of not speaking to people in public spaces because I don’t want to go through the whole hassle of fumbling with my knowledge of another language…
“Sprechen sie Englisch?”
“Parlez-vous Anglais?”
“¿Hablas Inglés?”
It was in Scotland I realized my conditioning! Here I am at Top Shop (my new favorite fashion store btw) sorting through racks of dresses and a girl starts chatting with me and amazingly…I understand every word! For the first time in two years I can talk to strangers in the shops in my native language and it’s also their native language! You just take for granted that privilege until you no longer have it.
In addition to speaking my (adoptive) mother language, Scotland feels like home because I am of Scottish Decent (or I at least have a Scottish last name…whole other story for another day). I had a sense of belonging to finally get to announce my Scottish last name when checking into hotels or making reservations. I know these people probably do not find any significance about my last name but here, it fits in. It’s not in Germany where my last name clearly stands out.
Since I am three weeks out from training for my first fitness competition, my diet is very restricted and I need the ability to cook healthy meals for myself. Fortunately, Scotland is not known for it’s delectable cuisine. So I got a two bedroom apartment hotel at the Holyrood aprtHotel in the Holyrood neighborhood of Edinburgh. I almost felt guilty having so much for little ol’ me. It made me wish my family was there with me. But it had the kitchen, a fitness room/closet, and a grocery store around the corner. It’s in a perfect location near the Royal Mile touristy area. I’ll certainly stay again when I visit Edinburgh. I spent something like 20 USD on fish, eggs, water and couscous food for four days. Not bad. Besides, I packed my own oat meal, seasonings, and tuna.
Tranquility in the middle of the city
Anyway, of course Apart Hotel was a little pricy to maintain the entire time I was there and I didn’t plan where I’d move next after my first few days. Scotland was having some sort of Bank holiday and all the hotels were booked for the weekend. So I got one day at a budget hotel on Princess Street, the main commerce artery of the tourist center, but I still needed another night to cover me before my flight. Nothing like a good vacation with to add a sense of drama to in if I’ll find a place to stay for the night. After some internet searches I found something in my price range through the goodness of airbnb.com
Overall I love Edinburgh. It’s one of my favorite places in all of Europe. It’s beautiful, peaceful, and Edinburgh is just big enough to be an interesting city but without the crazy hustle and bustle of Europe’s major capitol cities. As one local said, Glasgow has a bigger party at a funeral than Edinburgh does at a wedding. And I certainly believe it after just a few daytime hours in Glasgow. So keep that in mind when planning your Scottish visit. I’d love for my big extended southern family to visit Scotland. And here’s what we’d do if we did:
We’d stay in the ApartHotel or rent a hotel from Airbnb. It’s perfect for exploring the Royal Mile which is the tourist district lined with shops. Royal Mile or actually, High Street, is the mile long road linking the Palace to the castle. From this location you can stroll along the cobble stone streets. If you have the time, I suggest picking either the castle or the palace per day…
Day 1: Get acclimated. Yes! You are really in Scotland! After checking in, buy groceries, visit Holy Rood Palace, stroll the streets, have lunch back in the apartment, spend the afternoon in nature at Holy Rood Park and watch the sunset. You can see the entire city from its highest point. And it’s like being in the country while in the middle of a city. You may be tempted to watch Parliamentary proceedings in their modern building. This I must discourage. I’m not sure why I thought it would be so interesting. It wasn’t. It was as exciting as C-SPAN in a Scottish Accent. Terrible.
C-Span for Scotland (beautiful but boring!)
Day 2: Explore. Stroll streets, Visit the castle as soon as it opens, have lunch in town, explore the streets while picking up information for evening walking tours from one of the countless advertisements. Rest back in apartment, have dinner before going on an evening walking tour or taking a whiskey tasting evening.
Day 3: Spend time in the Royal Botanical Gardens, check out and return to places in the area you might have missed or want to revisit on The Royal Mile, stroll down to Princes street across the river stopping by the Edinburgh University Library, the free Scottish National Gallery, listen to the Kilt-clad bag piper, shop on George Street and Princes Street (Top Shop, Princes Mall, and Primark are my favorites). Walk Multrees, the city’s first street build since the 18th century. Dine out or Rest up with a meal at home.
Day 4: Time for a city break! Eat a big breakfast and take a Scottish Tour to the Loch Ness and the Highlands. I went on this tour. I was a bit disappointed it was a whirlwind with a lot of driving and pointing but not much getting out and exploring. Besides, when I went in May, it was cold and rainy. Additionally I was afraid to drink anything all day because there were no facilities on the bus and they made it clear they wouldn’t be stopping for comfort breaks. The best thing about the tour was the guide providing insight on Scottish culture and history in her lovely accent with her terrific story telling abilities. If it weren’t for that, I’d suggest making the same trip on your own.
Day 5 Branch out. I explored much of Edinburgh on foot. Now it’s time to branch out. Next time, I’d use this day to taxi, rent a car, learn the bus system and visit the zoo, the pier, and any other extraneous locations that weren’t in walking distance. See Edinburgh’s neighborhoods outside the tourist district. Relax.
Not to Miss! If you don’t have five days I’d say Spend your time on the Royal Mile. Holy Rood Palace, Holy Rood park, Edinburgh Castle, the streets, and the monument on Princes Street. If I had more than five days, I’d spend the rest of my time in Scotland road tripping to Carsethorn south of Dumfries on Colvend coast southwest Scotland/Galloway district or to Kippford and Sandyhills. I could spend a summer exploring the gorgeous landforms and coasts on the Scottish country side. Of course, that’s just the country girl in me coming out.
.JPG)
