That's a Wrap! (and other cultural delights)

Our first topic this week: plastique--as in "plastic" (we're no terrorism watchdog site, and we're a heckuva lot safer here than you poor schmucks over there!).

This country--and quite possibly the GCC countries at large--loves it some plastic. Everything is wrapped like a Clint Eastwood film when he gets bored or has to go see his gerontologist. F'rinstances:

You can't buy a box of cookies. Oh, no. You buy a box of cookies that is shrink-wrapped, and inside the box the cookies are divided into at least two separately wrapped sections, and within the sections are "snack sized" divisions (either diabetes-inducing or pointless single servings) of cookies also wrapped.

When you leave the grocery store, almost every item, no matter how small, is placed in its own grocery bag. Paper? Don't bet on it. Nuh-uh. Plastic. And because you are rarely allowed to do anything for yourself around here without contravening some fundamental cultural more' or stealing the wages of a desperate expat from poorer quarters, you daren't argue. So we never buy garbage bags. Don't need 'em.

Even cars are wrapped, which makes sense in the showroom, but by golly if people don't leave the plastic on their seats and headrests and dashboards (and sometimes even external components like running boards--the guys at the dealership were shocked when I started ripping it all off before I left the showroom) for years after they drive off the lot! We'd include a pic, but as usual we forgot to take the camera with us everywhere this week. But it's priceless! I average five a day, and that's only when I'm paying attention. Saw a '97 Corolla with the plastic still on the headrests a few weeks ago. Why? As the Italians say, "Boh!" Your guesses are as good as ours. Wendy thinks head grease, but because most heads are covered, I'm leaning toward sand damage. Elementary, my dear Watson.

What's most striking is the quality of the plastic. This is dangerous stuff! That fit our mothers used to throw when we put the flimsy little excuses for bags you have in NA on our heads was severely over-dramatic. Here it would be totally justifiable. This stuff is at least several millimetres thick, and weighs almost as much as the contents. You need the jaws of life to open most packages. You could pack razor wire in it and play catch. It's an environmentalist's nightmare!


Happy Birthday

The "brothers" (Jonah's catchall for the older two) have, as we have hitherto reported, made friends with two South African kids (Praetoria) whom we shall not name without parental permission. But they are almost exactly the ages of the brothers, and get along famously. We went over for the the South Africa/England World Cup Rugby match and (sorry Mum and Dad) cheered for SA alongside our new friends. Sally, the mother (obviously) is a real gem. We carpool and everything. Plan to have them over for a Wii party next week.

Anyway, the brothers went over there last night for a sleepover (I picked them up first thing for Sabbath prep, and it sounds like they went to bed earlier there than they would have here), so Jonah was left out of the loop (Sally, bless her Anglo-Africaans heart, offered to have him over for a couple of hours as well). But Wendy and I decided we'd take him out instead, just les trois de nous.

Went to Chili's for some dindins (supper, not turkeys: foreign-language words will be italicized henceforth). (Oh, associative joke: in the grocery of our local "MegaMart," produce from Chile is labelled "Chilly." Priceless.) Wendy was in sentimental heaven with the western food, and our eyes were burning out of their sockets because of the ubiquitous incense. The Nativity story is losing some of its charm.

Anyway, there were some young women there enjoying a meal--dressed in western clothes, some of them with headscarves (that matters in a minute). Turns out it was a birthday celebration. The staff came out with a cake, singing birthday wishes to the tune of "We Will Rock You." The blushing birthday girl blew out her solitary candle, and then proceeded to cut it into pieces, giving one to each of her friends.

Then, to our delight, she hand-delivered a piece of cake to some of the other people in our area of the restaurant (the "family section") who, we assumed, were relatives just keeping their distance to allow the girls their fun. That is until, to our much more substantial delight, she delivered a piece to each of us as well. Jonah was in seventh heaven, and I was glad not to have to fork out for dessert!

We're assuming these were both cultural moves (and were secretly glad that there weren't more people in our seating area), and were impressed. What was even more impressive was that after she had distributed the cake, several of her friends approached with pieces of the cake in their hands or on plates, which they proceeded to smash into her face (all in good fun, of course). It was pretty funny, if a tragic waste of cake.

On her way out, the birthday girl stopped by our table one last time and gave Jonah a chocolate bar. He was in eighth heaven, and we knew we wouldn't be getting him to sleep any time soon . . . .


Specialty Shops

. . . so we went to "Refah Gift Markets." Gift markets are all over the place: these are basically high-class dollar stores that stock clothes, hardware, toys, shoes, and garden fountains. Eclectic and popular. We bought a min-skateboard for J, some garden hose taps, a pipe wrench, juice, CDRs, gum, and a stapler.

Across the road is "Italian Palace": a furniture store, we think. We're going to check it out someday.

As near as we can tell, shopping districts are loosely subdivided by subject: electrical, music, photo development, food, car rentals, and "bookshops," which are not bookstores, but stationary marts like Staples (sans computers) where you can also buy official documents, landlord-tenant agreements, and who knows what other gems. Stores that claim, like our Raymond Burger Baron, to be "best in universe kept secret," are called "Golden _______." The Fletchers, who left as we were arriving, say their favourite restaurant was "The Golden Sheep." We've seen the "Golden Motor," the "Golden Pipe," the "Golden Arches" (Riley's joke), but so far not the "Golden Bowl" (my joke--see who gets it).

Stores are generally closed when Westerners expect them to be open and open when they should reasonably be closed. This wreaks havoc on working hours for most people. They might work 10-2 and 6-10 or even later. The run-up to weekends is often worse: Thursday night shifts can go as late as 3:00 a.m. for some of our acquaintances.

Finding things is hit-and-miss. What's in a store in abundance one week won't be available for a long time after that. Might be seasonal, might be whimsical. Clothes are comparatively cheap (I'm going to get a tailored suit or two before we leave here): I found short-sleeved shirts here for next to nothing, and after 3 wearings, the collars are still stiff. I'm in love.


Favourite Comments

Top comment from the last week comes from Amber, who said " I always laugh out loud, or just chuckle at your clever remarks!" Lovely. Reminds me of the student eval I got once: "Dr. Penny is sometimes sexy." But not all the time, or even most of the time. Thanks, Amb. May you at least "just chuckle" over some of the above.


Mystery Commenter of the Week

Ahnos. Who are you?


Engrish

This is for Darren. And I'm cheating a little: some of this comes from "Daiso," a Japanese--you guessed it--plastics store with a branch here.

My favourite from this week comes from a student's assignment (a resume/cover letter): "I having fluency on two languages." I'm in Hell.

From Daiso:

"Sweet Strawberry: give the precious time for me!" (But keep the cheaper quality time we do not value for yourself, Strawberry Guy.)

"I've always been impressed by natural low!" (And I've always been impressed by artificial highs--not that I . . . Never mind. But actually I think embracing one's depression is a fairly healthy approach.)

"Life was beautiful then, I remember the time. I knew what happiness was. I of the memory live again." (Yep. Them were good times.)

"I'll sticky shout!" (Said the choleric to the knife-wielding ruffian.)

Random Engrish:

"Handel with care." (But Beethoven recklessly, and Mozart like there's no Tchaikozsky. Actually, I get assignments "handelled" in to me regularly, so he must be a significant cultural influence.)


Pic of the Week (Thanks, Wendy!): Our blossoms





Up next week: a video tour of our house, so that Amber will no longer be confused about where we live, but will still want to visit (any time, Ambey).