Tag Archives: Arab

Bulgarian Heaters

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Indeed, and they seem to be favoured over the Chinese ones here. No blame, I have goose bombs whenever I read or hear Made in China unless it counts for more than few thousand years old; but Kuwaiti people seem to have this other obsession and that is “What is from Europe, is always best / most chic / most in / reliably working!”. Now, I can’t say it’s not, and in many cases it will still probably be better option over anything made in China in the recent years.
But when we were roaming the souks for an oil heater I was surprised by the “Bulgarian, Bulgarian, buy, buy!” attitude of some shop assistants, to be honest. When I was faced with the choice of Chinese heater vs. Bulgarian one, I was really surprised as both options seemed rather crazy to me – not to the others, though!
Well, we’ve got ourselves a small, portable (Bulgarian) heater now, which is used most of the day but mainly in our bedroom. So spoiled, we are now. The room temperature hits 20 degrees and we go all bonkers with pullovers, fluffy socks, hot teas and a heater turned on the higher level.



Over the day when hubby’s at work and kiddo at school I steal the small warmth provider for my room and tug in a blanket with green tea (or milk with coffee, formerly known as coffee with milk, but due to the small inhabitant prohibited as alcohol in Kuwait now, by my husband mainly) and a book. I’m getting much better with my speed of reading in English though, sadly.
Meaning I can read one book in a day – meaning I need a lot of books to keep myself busy and that’s a lot of trips to Virgin store and a lot of KDs spent on printed paper and all that hassle my beloved half hates so much. On the other hand I’m glad my English isn’t so rusty just yet, under the influence of arabized English of Kuwait and me being all but a good student.

Random evenings are now filled with either the classical heater-book-iPod-PC-TV laziness, or hussainiyah visits for religious lessons on the event of Ashura and eventually the whole month of Muharram. Dori loves it, not for the mourning, but for the fact that to keep her silent and busy she can borrow my old – and long time broken – Tamagotchi. Soon to be hers, as soon as my new toy comes!
Yes, I’m quite playful, sometimes. But the EMS from Japan is not cooperating with me, and with the sorry state of Kuwait postal service I’ll be glad to get it this year and uncut, ungutted and working, even. Hope never dies! Oh wait, was that love?
Nevermind, let’s hope my present to myself will arrive in tact and soon! Off to hussainiyah now.

How’s Your Ramadan Going?

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With the month of fasting being in the middle, most of you who fast surely know their thing already and can get along pretty well – even I got used to the Kuwaiti tempo rather quickly again and managed to even add 30 – 60 minutes of cardio exercise into the daily routine without collapsing out of exhaustion, thirst or hunger – lets hope I can keep it even after Ramadan passes and my body won’t go all nuts from the change of regime once again.
I’ve found out, that I’ve got “Kuwaitized” a little – can’t talk for the behaviour (that’s a question you’ve got to aim at my husband, he’d know better) – but I remember clearly that when we moved to Kuwait last year, I’ve been offered at one of the dinners a special local sweets: Rahash (رهش كويتي). It’s basically a sesame seeds paste with sugar and God knows what else, it’s incredibly sweet and of course it tastes completely awful to an European tongue (unused to an Arab cuisine). I’ve tried it that evening and I’ve hated the guts of it. It doesn’t look particularly tasty neither to be completely honest; something between sand mud and a wet brick. But…


A year after and I can’t get enough. I’ve smuggled a small box of rahash into my room and every evening I eat it with bread (yes, that’s the best) as my suhoor, together with Pu-erh tea, because my Ramadan cholesterol level is probably around the high risk level – as for many other Muslims.
And here I thought I won’t cope. Hah. As if. Next year I’m gonna catch myself wearing a centimeter thick layer of make-up, I bet you.

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Getting it Prepared

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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!

podpis

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In 5 Years?

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Maybe… hehe. When I showed this creation from wool roving to my dearest husband, he, very mysteriously, didn’t seem to share my sense of humour – be it the grey strikes in his caricature hair or the fact I woke him up from an afternoon nap, he really didn’t like it so much as I did.
Well, maybe when he will wake up from his pink dreams, he might change his mind?
I don’t get so quickly along with the felting as I hoped to do, but in the end, the purpose was to keep busy while being – at least seemingly – productive, and since I majorly suck in cooking and cleaning and all the housewifing, why not to craft and pretend to be important, right?

Kuwaiti

The days (of our lives) in this place are counting down pretty quickly, hubby – who doesn’t appriciate my great sense of humour, I have to rub it again – is going to leave to London on Monday, to pick up our visas for Kuwait and than in just few days *pheeew*, we are somewhere else again.
The fact it got so close makes my sleep a bit rocky and I have nervous dreams about it, I mean, would you blame me? Moving when I was 22 was great adventure, moving three years later (and obviously 10 mental years since that point… wrinkles, wrinkles, where art thou?) is just a great deal of stress.
Maybe because we got a lot of stuff and we can’t really make it with one suitcase of 20 kg, maybe because I’m transforming into an old cat and hate changing places and paces and all that stuff around, maybe simply because moving to Britain was “eventually close” from Czech, but moving to Kuwait is “eventually far” geographically as ideologically.
I know, I should not have such a problem there being a Muslimah, but still. Weird place. Way too many unknowns.
Abood doesn’t really make it easier for me (or my thoughts), because he already assembled many boxes and started to pack his part of chaos in here, which really, really, reaaaally makes me tick like a timed bomb (or makes me wanna run around screaming and waving my limbs in the air as the flags… K’Naan, I blame you for this sentence). I am pretty known for packing earliest in about 24 hours before the plane leaves. makes me way more relaxed, and in the end more focused on what I should pack and what not.
Well, let’s hope this “move” will go well.

podpis