7 things about living in the Middle East or Versatile Me

Tags

Are you married?, Cultural differences, Icebreakers, Living in the Middle East, Personal questions, Relationships, Shops, Taxi drivers, traffic, Versatile Award

Ladies and gentlemen,

Now for some breaking news! It appears that my ramblings have not gone unnoticed in Riga as its smartest, funniest expat (who lives at http://expateyeonlatvia.wordpress.com/) has nominated me for the Versatile Blogger Award! 

So I am to:

• Thank the person who gave you the award& Include a link to their blog

Thanks again, http://expateyeonlatvia.wordpress.com/:)!

• Next, select 15 blogs/bloggers that you’ve recently discovered or follow regularly& Nominate those 15 bloggers for the Versatile Blogger Award

I tried!

But versatile as I am, the process of cutting and pasting links& then letting people know they have been nominated had me labouring fruitlessly for about half an hour and then was duly abandoned.

So instead, could I nominate everybody who reads this post for the Versatile Blogger Award? I know it’s not quite how it’s done but I would love it if you could please take me up on this and spare me the misery of endless drafts going to the bin due to excessive pasting.

Living in the Middle East has taught me that rules are optional so instead of telling you 7 things about myself I thought I’d tell you 7 things about living here.

1. There is no such thing as bad coffee (unless you are having it in a hotel for breakfast which is a universal curse so it doesn’t really count)

2. Most men go to the barber weekly

3. The most usual icebreaker is ‘hello, are you married do you have kids how old are you?’  

4. If you think a shop is too small to have what you’re looking for you’re probably right. What you don’t know is that the owner knows somebody who knows somebody who will have it ready for you somewhere.

5. Traffic rules are entirely optional.

6. Nobody uses street addresses. Ever. A typical taxi journey involves the driver staring at you wordlessly as you mumble a street name, then stopping next to a man who’s crouching on the pavement eating pumpkin seeds. The driver asks for directions, the seed eater stares wordlessly. Then he shouts at somebody who’s making a falafel nearby. Who calls his cousin.   

7. ‘With my family” is the default answer to most questions the inquisitive traveller might ask about weekends, holidays or any other form of free time

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My taxi e su casa

Tags

Arabic, expat, Life in the Middle East, Snacks, Taxi drivers, travel

There is something magic about any taxi ride. 

A short meeting with a complete stranger. Thousands in a lifetime.

Thousands of faces fragmented in rear view mirrors, thousands of bums on

sinking back seats, thousands of repetitive words.

For the traveller, a taxi driver is often the first port of call. If you are lucky, they are a source of helpful information and fascinating insight into the culture you are visiting. You end up quoting their wisdom in conversations about what unemployment in country X is at.

If you are not, they may scar you for life. I know of a delightful older gentleman who was put off foreign travel for life after meeting a taxi driver in Cairo.

I met a taxi driver in India who ripped me off so thoroughly I spent the first few days of an otherwise fascinating trip screaming at my own stupidity in the mirror. 

Here I have been very lucky. I take taxis often and meet an array of interesting, generous, world wise gentlemen.

Very often they are accomplished multi-taskers. They drive and text and eat and smoke simultaneously, throwing you into shock and awe.  

They turn around to envelop you in a huge warm smile just as you pass a mad junction, millimeters away from somebody’s plunging car. Your heart skips a beat. They offer you a cigarette, a nut, a crisp, a sip of their coffee.

I have been offered a range of snacks that would make a street market stall pale with envy. Raisins, walnuts, peanuts, grapes, pastries, zatar bread, small slices of apple.

At first I hesitated, then I was told they are good for me and I must. So now I gratefully nib on their snacks while trying hard to interest them in the subject of weather (I am inordinately proud of my ability to describe 4 key weather conditions in Arabic, an ability I seem to inflict mainly on taxi drivers)

The taxi like a small living room.