Month: June 2016

We have two weeks until the movers come and I’m already planning our next vacation. One of the things I love most about living overseas is having all these different countries and cultures accessible via only a short(ish) plane flight away. Ironically, I hate our travel days and the 48 hours leading up to a trip is just one big mental battle where my brain tries to convince me how much nicer it would be to stay home as I go about packing and making final preparations. But once we’re on the ground, it’s always worth it as we get to see things in person that we’ve only read about before in books, experience history in person, and get to show our kids the world.

As I was going back through my blog posts I realized I had drafted a bunch of posts about our Christmas trip to Budapest/Germany that I never got around to writing. It’s now or never since in 3 weeks I plan to be focused on Move to the Middle East 4.0 and if I don’t nail down the details now, they will fade under a layer of Abu Dhabi sand.

If you asked me to rank all of our vacations I would probably put Budapest near the bottom of the list (not that there is a bottom — all of our trips have been excellent, but it didn’t rank above Poland or Germany). Looking back at my photos and seeing what a beautiful city it is and all the amazing things we did, I’m not sure why. I think partly because I had decreased my medication so my mood was a bit off and partly because it was a winter trip whereas Poland/Germany were both in the summer and I actually preferred our biking/hiking in Germany to skiing — though the kids would say that was heresy. Let’s just chalk it up to an SSRI deficit because 6 months later, Budapest is looking pretty good.

We woke up in our lovely Air BnB apartment, Josh made the kids breakfast, and then the 2 of us popped down the street for cappuccinos at the neighborhood coffee house so we could have 30 minutes to ourselves without chattering kids in our ears. It was a Paris meets California kind of place with drink names like Karma Cappuccino and Zen pastries, a naked wood counter and standing room for 3 people. Blissfully quiet.

After our grown up Time Out, we stopped back at the apartment, picked up the kids and prepared to walk. If you talked to the kids, you would think our vacations were death marches all over Europe  . . in their defense, we did walk a lot on this trip.

then hike up up up to the citadel and the statue

Because of the hot springs and the rock formations, the hill side of the city (Buda) contains a network of caves. This cave church used to be a monastery, but today is a museum. With the audioguide it was a bit like going to church with a sermon and everything. It was a lot bigger than we expected, with one cave room leading into another and several different chapels, but it was too dark inside to capture much more than the main room.

Then walk back UP to the Fisherman’s Bastion which is an elevated terrace on the side of the hill next to the castle and a great spot for viewing the city.

I went to work out today (just like groundhog day, over and over again) and there was a chickie there with this t-shirt:

And I thought, “Ooh, I like that design.” You know, the elemental abbreviation for iron is Fe and working out makes me a strong woman . . . cute, right? And then I added that to the list of Things I Swore I’d Never Say, But Lived To Eat My Words. Oh well. At least my new interest in workout wear makes Josh happy and keeps me comfortable. It really is the lazy woman’s way to dress. Last night someone told me (and they were sincere and meant it in the sweetest way) that I really pull off the Plain Jane look and I knew exactly what they meant. They followed it up by saying I dress like a yoga instructor which is really the greatest compliment ever, as long as we’re imagining the woman in comfortable yoga pants and soft shirts with thumbholes in the sleeves and not the ones with long armpit hair, woo music, and smelling of incense.

This month is Ramadan and for the first time I’m working out with people who are fasting. I started Crossfit last year during Ramadan, but the class I attended back then was made up of non-Muslim expats. Those women have moved on and for the last few months I’ve been in a class with all Bahrainis. When Ramadan started our gym shifted all the classes to the late afternoon/evening to accommodate those who are fasting. Classes are at 4 and 5 (so people fast from food and water all day and then work out!) and then there’s a break for people to break the fast (at approximately 6:30pm every day), then classes at 8:30, 9:30, 10:30 and even an 11pm class!

I’ve been going at 4pm because that’s when the ladies I work out with decided to go — so they can get home in time to get ready to break the fast with their families. I’m amazed by how tough they are and how dedicated they are to working out in spite of the heat and not being able to eat or drink for 12 hours before they arrive. I suck down extra water for the hour before I go to the gym and my mouth still feels like a parched desert halfway through the workout.

Because I’m not Muslim, the coach and everyone said “feel free to drink water as usual,” but I figure if they’re all fasting, the least I can do is go without water for the hour that I’m at the gym. The first day of Ramadan, between every exercise, my friends were begging me, “Please drink water.” “Have some water.” “Really, you can have water.” I told them that I was fine, but as soon as class was over they went and got water from the cooler and said, “Please drink. Drink for us. It will make us feel better.” I can’t explain it well, but their care for me and not wanting me to be burdened by the sacrifices that they take on as part of their faith . . . it’s not what you’ll see on TV, but it’s what we have experienced in real life.

All that to say, I’ve been a rock star at the gym these past 3 weeks. But I joke with Josh that it’s a bit like bragging that I won a race against a bunch of people on crutches. If I were dehydrated (we’re at well over 100 degree temps these days) and faint, I know the last place you’d find me would be at the gym. I’m impressed by all those who come and attempt any kind of workout under those conditions day after day.

Since Calvin finished school last week he’s been coming to the gym with me. And he’s got some work to do to catch up. Ha! Let me brag that I can lift more than my 17 year old boy (for the 5 minutes that it lasts) before he masters proper technique and blasts straight past me. He’s already stronger than he was when he started, but today, I came out on top. 32.5 kg push press (shoulders to overhead) vs his 30kg. That’s me, winning against newbies and a crew of people ready to pass out. #beast

Too bad I don’t mean that literally. More like doggie paddling from one event to another as we finish out the school year. We really are part of the “everybody gets a trophy” generation. Sports awards, academic awards, yay you put on your shoes awards . . . I don’t know what all these awards are for, but it feels like there’s a ceremony every time I turn around.

Josh and I went to our last rug flop last night. I didn’t take any photos — too busy soaking it all in. The smell of the wool, the motes that fly as each carpet is flopped on the top of the pile, the velvety feel of expensive silk . . . At the end of the evening we had 3 carpets that we were considering, but there was one that had caught my eye back in the shop about a month before when I went browsing while Josh was away in the US. He tells me to buy whatever I want, but I’m terrible at committing to large purchases, so I intended to go back into the shop with him when he came back, but hadn’t had time.

We decided against buying a carpet at the flop and chose go to the shop the next morning, hoping that the heavy wool one that I had my eye on hadn’t been snapped up yet.