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Hot, Hot, Hot

Kuwait is … hot. Flat. Hot. Sandy. Hot. Broadleaved trees similar to those in milder climate seem to, mysteriously, do much better than palms here – the poor palms are dry as the sand around and also mostly turning the same colour.
Kuwait is … different, really. And hot, if I didn’t mention it yet.

Dori in Newcastle
Dori before leaving our flat in Newcastle for the last time

The trip from Newcastle (my favourited 15 degrees Celsius on sun) to Kuwait took about 15 hours as both planes we were boarding were delayed, we had minor problems with my and Dori’s visas (tourist visa is required to have return tickets, which we hadn’t), but a bit of explanation here and there made the deal.
trip
Newcastle to Dubai
Dubai airport
Dubai airport
Dubai airport
On the airport again
trip
Dubai to Kuwait

We spent first seven hours of flight in economy class, with really incomparable service to those flights of BA from UK to Czech, on the better side of the slide, of course. Despite of the bad predictions from the doctor in UK Dori’s infected ear didn’t cause any problems and we landed in Dubai safely (though a little bumpy) and she didn’t complain at all. Perhaps she was way too excited from all the changes, because though sleepy and bits grumpy on the first (and lengthy) flight, when we boarded the slightly delayed 330 in Dubai she refused to sleep at all, even though this time we were in business class, much spacier and comfortable than the back of the aircraft.
Because we were landing in Kuwait at 3 a.m. in the morning, nothing much was seen from the window. The first hint about what’s coming I’ve got from the captain’s announcement that the weather turned out to be nice, clear sky and … 38° Celsius. At 3 a.m.? The highest temperature I’ve had ever experienced was one really hot summer day in Czech, and that was 36 degrees, something thought of as an extreme already.
We had some struggle again at the immigration officer due to our visas, now not really because of a return ticket but because Kuwait’ve obviously changed the looks of the visas from a long paper to a stamp in a passport and kindly forgot to mention it to its own employees. Somehow.
Eventually we got through because the officer got freaked out from the longer line being created behind us and let us go – thanks people.
When we stepped out of the acclimatized airport, first thought I had was – somebody slapped me. It took me a moment to realize that the punch was from the heat – at night still bearable and cool, as I found later on.
We took taxi – without a taximeter, I ought to say – and got a short lift to the Sabah Al-Salim area of Kuwait City, where is Aboody’s bungalov attached to his family’s house. Our place to stay for the next several weeks, till everything gets set up and settled and we get a flat to live in.
We fell in bed as somebody has shot us dead on place, slept a bit and woke up harshly soon again.
To my first day in Kuwait…
kuwait
On the way to the new home
kuwait
View from our window
grocery
Grocery Shop

Dori hates the heat, so far. She doesn’t really know how to deal with it or how to describe it – so every time we are walking from house to the room or to car or so, she slaps her hand on the face and cries out: “Stinky!” It’s partially funny and partially I really feel sorry for her, but I believe she will get used to it eventually. As when she’s shy around new people, but gets on with them in a while. Her favourite people from the whole family (which she had met so far, we’re still waiting for most of the members of Abu’s broad family tree to come from a trip abroad) seem to be the Indian maids who think she’s adorable and always bring her milk. She loves their attention and even lets them to pinch her cheeks, which is weird, because if I had that crazy idea and actually attempted the same, she would scream me down.
I don’t mind the weather so much unless it gets humid as it did recently, because than you are literally a walking shower for yourself. You can, I swear, touch the heat standing still in front of you, hugging you and not letting you go. The clothes stick on you like you stepped out of a bath and forgot to dry up before dressing. I tried to play pool like that today and there’s no point in explaining why my bridge (except for being a beginner) failed so often – you get pretty sticky towards anything despite of working ACs in each room.

PS: I would upload more pictures and so, but the internet here is fighting with me and refuses – you tell me why – to load Flickr most of the time. When it eventually does load, it refuses to deal with individual photographs and I’m unable to get to the code, so it’s a little struggle for now with the pictures coming…
And by the way, it’s hot in here.

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Packed

Unfortunately not really with money but more like with lotsa boxes. They are stocked in my way to the bed in bedroom – wonder why.
Tomorrow we wil call the transporting company and than pray for few days that they deliver everything safely and unbroken (especially my flutes and cups).

Dori
stuffz

Than only waiting for Thursday, to depart in the noon and get to Kuwait next day in the very morning…

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My Hobby is Doll Making

Well, it’s not, actually. But I’m trying to felt one doll for Dori, so far it was fun, now the poor thing lays around the main bedroom window, half dead half alive and certainly rather creepy (limbless), because I seem to be incapable to push myself into felting it some feet and arms, so I can dress it.
I should, though. The boxes for Kuwait with most of the stuff we have will be shipped very soon, and I won’t have much things left to do. Also, I intended to finish the toy before departing, so Dori can have it matched with her felted purse, which she – I’m happy – likes and wears.

doll

The poor baby is sick now, crying her eyes out because of so much pain caused by epitympanitis and the doctor’s generous share of Paracetamol but nothing else for its management. I think a doll like that would make her a bit smilier, maybe even forget the pain for a little moment and have fun a bit around the bed.
She took over my half of it, completely ignoring her own basinet – clever girl, she knows where it’s comfy. I just pray that the inflammation will fade before Thursday, or we are so doomed on the plane. And all the passengers in the same cabin as well..

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Purse it!

Somewhere in between folding clothes I decided that I don’t want anymore and digging through the stacks of stuff on the floor I stopped and realized that yesterday night I played around wet felting, and tried to make a piece of felted wool.
Leaving the things unsorted and laying around, I sat in the middle and decided to shape it a bit, and from a flat piece of tangled wool it became to be a purse for Dori, since I promised her a bag before we’ll move away. The cloth wasn’t even remotely close to the size of a backpack, but ’twas enough to sew a pocket from it.
kabelka
I additionally wet felted the strap for it during the process, cheating a bit later on with ironing and flapping it around instead of hot-cold-hot-cold water, and using few parts of unwanted pants and old underscarf I managed to stitch it up to the shape reminding a purse.
Dori is happy, it actually seems to hang on and survive few days of handling around the world, and my fingers scream “no more needles, please”, but I’m overally satisfied with the result – for the first attempt, I mean. And it felted some of the I’m-so-freaking-out-like-seriously-freaking-out away.

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Crabby Worries

Abu is in London now and I’m sitting in a living room, watching Dumbo with my daughter and avoiding the look at the side of the room, where a huge stack of empty cartoon boxes is waiting for me to take some action and fill them up with my books, clothes, hijabs, Dori’s toys and pyjamas and smug my felting needles somehow among the stuff so they won’t break – who has illusions about the gentle care of moving companies anyways. And, if it happens and they actually are gentle, the shipping through the air almost makes it certain that there will happen some accidental (or not) drop here and there, as what happened to my baby trolley. And yes, I still didn’t forgive Easy Jet the drop of my coach from plane on the ground instead of putting in on the moving trail. But hey, who am I to judge the probably miserably paid workers there, right?
Anyways, just simply trying to think of what to pack, what to throw and what to drag to PDSA charity shop (the things still in considerable condition) where I dropped in today to ask them if they would fancy some of our stuff which would be thrown on the street in the other case.
I’ve got lotsa stuff. I mean, loootsa. The difference between my dear husband and me packing is significant now and I strongly suspect that he doesn’t understand it. The thing is, he’s going back home. He can afford, up to certain point, to leave most of the things behind without much harm. I, on the other hand, am moving to new country. Somewhere else. Where I’ve never been before. So I have that urge to hang on even pretty silly things like mussels gathered at the sea or flower pots (with the flowers if possible) or the skimmer I’ve got from my mum when moving from Czech to Newcastle. Because these normally insignificant things are what creates my “home” at this time and taking as much known and homey with me makes me feel more cosy with all that circus.
Yes, I know I’m probably just oversensitive, but I can’t help it.

beach

I even tried to make my worries fade away by going to the sea today and looking around the beach for (yet another insignifficantly) random things which would catch my eye or lens of my camera. I found lotsa deep shells which I – of course – brought home with me because they would make such great hats and caps for felted dolls; I also found a glass marble washed out of the high tide among those big rocks at King Edward’s beach, and I was daring (read: stupid) enough to reach for it. Unfortunatelly for my poor finger there was also a guardian coming with the green piece of glass and snapped my finger pretty hard when trying to usurp it for himself. Small crabby crab, pincers sharp as razors though. My right hand ring finger is now decorated with a clean and deep paper cut, which was incredibly painy with the salty water of the sea, and even more when I added a bit to my blondiness and washed my hands with a hygienic gel, which badly enough contains alcohol for the sake of desinfection. Tiny open wounds for the win, this will annoy me for a bit.
After I came back half dead from my walk to pick up Dori, I offered her to go buy some girly pinky shoes, since her current ones are outta size already (or finally, she eventually wore them nearly 10 months, which is in the case of four years old kid indeed quite long – she seems to grow just time to time, though, and keep same size for really long in between her growth spurts). We went, we wandered through Eldon Square incapable to locate John Lewis’ children’s shoe department, we found it, we did buy shoes for me and her (mainly for the upcoming flight, soft and comfy for me, proper size and with opened tip for Dori), and at that point already really slowly clambered back to Mowbray Street.
I was up and running – literally – for nearly seven hours, but hey, it was fun.
Now just to win the stare down with these empty boxes here…

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Getting it Prepared

Hubby leaves to London tomorrow to pick up our accidentally-allowed tourist visas with a fine hope of legalising our stay in Kuwait later on, during the three months of their duration, and was half packing (for moving) and half picking clothes (to wear for the trip), when he stumbled upon his only dishdasha he brought to England just for my sake, when I was intending to shoot some pics with it. He forgot to bring his kufi the first time so it wasn’t possible and when he brought it a year later, I already forgot about my desire (obviously it wasn’t so strong).

Aboody

Now, when going through the hills of our clothes we managed to gather in three years of living in Britain, he found the whole set and put it on, just for me. I have that weird thing for traditional Gulf attire, I find it more sexy than jeans and a T-shirt. It just looks so clean and nice. And Abood definitely looks really shmexy in it – for me, that is!

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