Tag: Photo

November, November

Apologies to anyone who was worried about us (or me), I just don’t really feel like blogging; the life’s going on with it’s own tempo, most of the things slow paced at the time, with a bit of court running and immigration status uncertainities.
But, more or less, everything’s all right and as it should be.
Hubby took us today out for a bit, as the weather in Kuwait’s finally getting to the human levels (compared to the summer months) in the 30 degrees of Celsius during the day and around 20 in the nights, with a bit of fresh breeze, so the picnic time approached.









A lot of nomadic tents are out in the desert right now, even from the people who normally don’t get out camping on the sand in the land of nowhere (or better in the land appointed for the camping by the law right between the prince’s natural reserve and the ranged shooting area of ministry of interior and/or defense).
We reached a high peak of Kuwait today, getting close to Iraq, and there literally was a dead man’s land, with very few people around, one mosque build at a road junction with few pick-up trucks of food and toy “stands” surrounding it, waiting for the nomads to come by and buy – as explained to me on my question why the heck are these men standing in the sun getting a tan darker than the asphalt of the road, when they could just move over the bay to the City and get some better money.

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Ramadan, Moving and Such

The month of Ramadan is in the middle, we’ve finally got used to its own specific rhythm in Kuwait, full of not doing much things (unless really very utterly necessarily needed) during the light time and trying to get everything done after iftaar. Iftaar or fatoor is a special dinner during the fasting month of Ramadan, made usually big and stuffing, it’s a first meal of the day during this time and whole families are gathering for it’s occasion, day by day, the whole month; to wait for the adhan – and in case of Shias wait another few minutes after the muezzin announces the prayer time – and with that break the fasting and enjoy the noisy, vivid meeting of parents, children, grandchildren, spouses and relatives. Needless to say that already crazy people get much crazier, especially drivers, trying to speed up as much as possible to get the first bite; blinkers not working, lights not being valid for them and speed bumps serving as launching pads for shooting the cars to the moon, as many people plainly ignore them and literally fly over them. Kuwaiti speed bumps are big, and the cars suffer.
Than all the cacophony leaves to pray and get again together at a tea, desserts and tons and tons and tons of traditional sweets, watching TV, chit chatting and being really loud once again. People come and leave till the time of suhur, which could be best described as a Ramadan late-dinner-early-breakfast, small meal and drink before the morning prayer comes and starts the whole fasting round again.
All that is happening in a pretty narrow time period, iftaar in Kuwait starts roughly quarter to seven in the evening, and my husband’s family gets suhur between the midnight and two o’clock in the morning, with fajr being shortly after 4 am. I’m not personally sure about till when Sunni sisters and brothers drink or eat, but we’ve got into the custom to end all the meals about half an hour before the adhan sounds, to be sure we didn’t invalidate our fasting.
Sometimes I just feel like Alice in Wonderland, this being my first Ramadan in an Islamic country and getting around this many members of family is exhausting – I’m quite a lone wolf and these meetings get really big and loud. But it’s interesting and fun experience, so different from our very quite, starving days in Britain, where the day is impossibly long and the country doesn’t change it’s tempo for the month unlike here; here the shops and malls and offices change their working hours to much shorter during the forenoon, noon or very early afternoon, and than re-open again after the evening prayer and keep open much longer till the night, ten, eleven, even longer. It makes it possible to make the fasting more pleasant for most of the people, and especially now when the Holy Month comes during the summer time, which is really hot, makes the thirst manageable even if you got some of the errands running.

iftaar
hubby
playing
iftaar
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iftaar
iftaar

We’ve finally moved to our new flat in Rumaithiya, painted and mostly furnished, with only small things left to bring and hang and sort. As we’re still in the struggle with officers and judges regarding some officialities, we’re not entitled to a house helper yet, so it’s up to me to run through the flat and clean till I think that I won’t ever need a treadmill because I burn so much fat just sweeping, wiping, vacuuming and polishing the seven rooms and five bathrooms, taking about four hours a day to do it (and I feel partially sorry for the house keeper, because our high fibre carpets are damn resisting all the good intentions, as well as our uber-comfortable soft and fluffy sofas, which have that kind of material that not only catches all the dust and dirt and hairs, it attracts them and gathers them on purpose, I firmly believe). But, eventually, she gets paid for that.
Our two cute tomcats from Beyrouth breeding station are on the way as I’m typing this entry, flying from Prague to Frankfurt and than from there to Kuwait, and I keep on thinking of them and wishing and praying that they survive their very long and exhausting route in tact, safe and sound, and we’ll welcome them either during this night or by tomorrow morning. Inshallah they will be all right, keep them in your minds, please!

podpis

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Urban Kuwait

Some of the less glittery part… I’ve noticed the utter difference among certain housing areas, especially closer to the centre of Kuwait City, which is filled by flat units, there’s a huge contrast in between newly built housing and old, usually unmaintained buildings which at best look as rubble and abandoned, but actually accommodate poorer families.
Be it that the actual owner of the building doesn’t have the money to maintain them, or lets them decay on purpose, hoping for the families living there to finally give up and move out, so he can sell the rubble as land for much more money (one-time boost, though) than it would yield being a tenant building in the long run – these patches of land are mostly gathered, or if big enough, cleaned and on the place are build a new, shiny shops.

housing
Or, perhaps, a new, bigger, better and more expensive skyscraper filled by flats from the bottom to the top, but no more in the financial range of these poor families, which are time to time forcefully pushed out.
Most of the actual Kuwaitis seem to live in suburban areas in houses, villas, sometimes the houses accommodate very few flat units, depending on the size and number of floors. Our flat is, for example, in a house of three stories, taking the whole floor, all the 270m square. Nothing unusual in Kuwait; people in here really love to have it big. The flats closer to the city centre or in it are usually occupied by working foreigners, at least as I’ve been told. Foreigners can’t legally own any land in Kuwait (or houses, in other words).
Actual Kuwaiti gets either government housing, patch of a land to build on with a small government donation for the building process, or a flat in these suburban areas; if he asks for it. The process of getting this big boost in life takes several years though, and it’s not instant at all.
podpis

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I Don’t Feel Like Writing…

… these days I prefer to picture the world around me instead of describing it.
Though… not even that is much successful.
So here I bestow upon you my latest worthless snapshot of everyday life of mine, my family and these things around. Brushing the teeth. Wouldn’t figure that out, would you?

Dori

I finished the most upseting game in history, Mirror’s Edge. First person action-adventure, running on the roofs of skyscrapers and generally sickening heights (and I don’t really suffer from sickness of heights), ambush disarming of S.W.A.T. team members trying to shoot you down while jumping from rooftop to rooftop, kicking anti-riot police into faces and feeling like monkey once again (Assassin’s Creed is more monkey-like in this matter, I’m telling you). I finished it with big relief and kind of sadness too. Too short. Love and hate relationship to it. As most of the players who tried to play this EA / Dice creation. Often rage-quitting after being unable to jump from one narrow AC shaft to another, or being repeatedly sent to bite the dust after running into way too many gun-holding persons who don’t hesitate to use them. Actually, I bet my shoes they enjoy it.
Anyways, nothing much happening now. Calm days, thank God for that. The snow melted in most of the places and the life tempo of N’Castle is slowly restoring back to normal.
I have about three weeks to prepare myself and Dori for a visit in Czech, during February. Feels a bit unreal still.
Nah, as I said. Not much in a writing mood, so I’m off to snapshotting again.
Or playing Mirror’s Edge in Hard Mode. Heh. No way. I would kill myself after few tries.

podpis

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Strange Tastes, Extraordinary Order and Mist around the Angel of the North

Misty

I’ve always wondered what tastes can people from other countries get; what do they like and what do they eat and what won’t they ever put in their mouths. Interesting topic, unfortunately only a little bit tied to the country of origin, more to the person him/herself.
Me and Abood got some of ‘our’ tastes though; and they are, indeed, strange for the other one. I’ve got used to the fact I make sometimes for the breakfast bread with strawberry / blueberry / blackberry jam and toast cheese. Weird, isn’t it? I mean, I would never, ever combine sweet marmelade with salty cheese in one meal! Odd taste.
But… than I’ve remembered that I got my own weird thing to eat, at least in the eyes of my husband, and that is bread with butter and leek. Yeah! You read right; I might not bite on onions as my brother does, but I stuff fresh leek in my sandwich. So I guess we can call it fifty fifty. Me and my contraception sandwich (you can imagine the breath after that, right?); and Abood and his saltsweet toast. Oh yeah, sometimes I also heat up the cheese for it, so it will be melty. Yummy!

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