Back In the ME

We landed at about 10:30 last night.  An uneventful flight, punctuated only by slight turbulence as we entered ME airspace.  But the turbulence outside the plane was much tempered by the turbulence inside our hearts.  

That jumpy, slightly nauseating feeling that snakes its way into our souls every time the freedom bird retracts its flight plan and brings us back East is a sure sign that vacation time has once again come to an end.  

Back to daily routine; school runs, office grind, brown bag lunches, early morning wake-up calls and workouts ....

But we will slide easily enough back into normal life.  We'll get up each morning, commit to living healthier, get used to watching the clock again, time our meals around after-school activities, and look forward to weekends again.  

Each time we come back, we commit to a healthier lifestyle.  We got up this morning, greeted our day with a big glass of water and some strong, black coffee.  It's a shift from Irish Coffee and Mimosa breakfasts enjoyed on vacation, but it actually felt good.  And it probably will for a while (I'd guess at least 36 hours before I start getting vacation fever again!).

When we arrived home last night , our daughter leapt joyfully into the cuddling arms of her nanny, and hugged her new kitty mercilessly before falling into a deep sleep, back in her own bed, surrounded by all her stuffed toys, her kitten rocking her dreams gently with her soft purring.  She jumped happily out of bed this morning despite only six hours sleep, and went back to school and her friends with a spring in her step and a smile on her face.  As much as she enjoyed her vacation, she was glad to be back home.  Back in the ME.  It's what she knows; they are now one and the same.

If she can do it so effortlessly, then so can we I guess.  I admit I was happy to fall into my own bed, to get up this morning and instinctively know which drawer I could find my socks and undies in, to come down to the kitchen and enjoy a cup of coffee while getting kiddo ready for school.  I got to play true soccer mom this morning, dropping her off at school, paying a few bills, then coming back home and uploading pictures and blogging with a cup of steaming coffee in my hand and a purring kitten on my lap.  

Tomorrow I go back to work, and the routine will be back on full throttle.  I've decided I'm going to dig deep down inside of me and do my darndest to emulate my daughter.  Perhaps she can be the inspiration I need to add a little spring to my step as I head off to the office.  I'm determined to have a more positive outlook.  

So here's to today, to tomorrow.  Here's to a new spring in my step.  Here's to being back home.  Here's to being back in the ME.

'Bye Bye'.  Looking back on a great vacation.

Determined to emulate that spring in her step.

Away From the ME

So one of the advantages of living in the ME is being able to leave the ME on a regular basis. There are plenty of opportunities for travel in the ME, and lots of vacation time. So we tend to leave the sand bucket every chance we get.  

Any excuse works. School vacation, work bonus, exhaustion, birthday, itchy butt; any reason is reason enough to leave.

Which explains why I've been away from my blog for a bit. We're on vacation. Away from the heat, away from the sand, away from the traffic, away from constant fibre optic connectivity, away from the craziness.  We are away from the ME!  

We are safely ensconced in a snowed-in skiing village located 1600 m in the Alps.  No cars, no nightlife, no noise, no sand, no work woes or worries.  Just snow, skiing, skating, hiking, tobogganing, swimming at the community center, reading, afternoon snoozes, evenings sipping merlot by firelight, playing Frustration, enjoying good, hearty, "porky" meals.

The irony in the bliss of this escape is that it is a direct result of "suffering" in the sand.  Living in Canada,  we had the opportunity to travel to exotic locations, but those were mostly limited to the Carribean and likely to happen once a year at best.  Living in the ME, we are guaranteed a minimum of three, and up to five, wonderful vacations a year.  We can go to Europe, the Far East, or anywhere we choose. It is all accessible.  All it takes is a Google search, interest, and the click of a button to book a dream holiday.  

It sounds excessive, but it's not really.  It's a necessary balm if you are to survive the agonizing monotony of life in the desert.  That is, if you are going to survive with all senses and sanity intact.  We do know people who came to the ME with the express purpose of saving money and nothing else.  Most did not fare well.  Westerners just do not fare well for long periods in the dust.  We start to mummify.  Even a small escape to a fresher climate moistens our lungs and our souls.  And we return to the sand, and for a little while at least, we are able to breathe.

It is hard for a non-expat to fathom the frustration that comes with the blessings of these travel opportunities.  Seen from the outside, I would see little reason to feel any vexation about these glorious escapades.  But from the inside, every ME expat I know will tell you that the glorious escapades are a trade-off; perhaps not for our soul, but at least for day-to-day normalcy.  302 days of dust and heat and boredom and rote in exchange for 63 days of everything we'd ever dreamed of (as long as we've planned it out right,).  It all comes back to push and pull; knowing the price you are paying for your escape and wondering if the trade-off is truly worth it.

I don't have the writing skills to explain the beauty of stepping off a plane and breathing in cool, crisp, fresh air.  To sense anew as though through a child's eyes the beauty of autumn leaves in all their fiery splendour, the smell of fresh-cut grass, the sound of a lawn mower, the feel of a mountain path under your feet as you run up a hill.  To taste a snowflake, feel raindrops on your face, have your cheeks tingle from the cold.  

They are little, little things. But in the ME, they don't exist. And so they become huge, wondrous, amazing, glorious.  And I miss them. So much.  

And those little huge things, or the lack of little huge things, become the reason we have to get away. Away from the sand, away from the beige, away from the dust, away from the ME.

Bright moon shining over the Eiger.  Majestic and far removed from the ME.

ARCHIVES ... ME ... AND ARRIVAL IN QATAR (looking back on the trip here)

I arrived in Qatar in October 2006.  

My daughter was 14 months old.  I remember mostly that she was the most amazing traveller ever.  

We left Canada and flew into Doha via Heathrow. 

The Canadian airport had no assistance whatsoever.  Then I met my first ANGEL.  As I turned in my rental car, a young man working for the agency helped me lug in 4 suitcases, a diaper bag, my handbag, a diaper bag, a computer case, her stroller, and a car seat (mandatory on Air Canada flights).  The 4 cases checked in, I lugged the rest past Security and onto the flight.

Get to Heathrow ... lug the diaper bag, handbag, computer case, 14th month old child, stroller, car seat from the arrivals plane through Security.  They ask me to remove my belt and shoes. They ask me to empty out the diaper bag and my handbag.  They get me to open my toothpaste, squirt my 50 ml perfume, and apply the lipgloss that is in my handbag.   i hold in every curse and expletive ever been sworn.  I remove the belt and shoes; they ask me to take a swig of the baby's milk.  I do.  I curse them and their firstborn.  Silently.  In my head.  Then I fumble my way back into my shoes, throw my belt into my bag, and meet my second ANGEL.

The second ANGEL, a lovely Philippina lady, asks me if she can help me.  She holds onto my daughter as I tie my shoes, and helps me navigate to the Qatar Airways desk.  I get checked in, and she offers to watch my stuff as I go change my daughter's dirty nappy.  I come out, she says goodbye, and I never see her again.  She will never know how much she meant to me in that moment, and forevermore.  In my heart.  Forever.

I literally RUN to catch my QA flight.  Baby in stroller, diaper bag, car seat, computer case, handbag and carry-on bouncing along ... but I MAKE IT!  I get to the QA gate, and the flight attendant says "we don't allow your baby seat on the plane".  'Of course not!', says I.  So after a bit of wrangling, QA ticket agent agrees to stow the car seat and stroller.  Bless them.  Angel # 3.  

Board the plane.  Relatively uneventful flight, other than baby's teething, and me switching my flats for stilettos (haven't seen my hero in 3 months, must dress to impress!).  So flight attendant offers baby Panadol.  Angel # 4!!!!!!  Goodness, yes!

Land in Doha.  Finally!  Walk out, with kiddo actually toddling along ... Hero has arranged for arrival service, so we are sat in a lounge and offered juice and cookies as we wait for visa confirmation.  Mine has not gone through yet.  But the agent waggles me a visitor visa so I can step foot outside the arrivals gate.  Angel #5!  

Grab our luggage, step through the arrivals gate.  Stilletos on, lipstick glossy, hair ok (not a wild mess ... not bad after 24 hours), baby smiling and toddling, ... and we see ... the HERO!  "Hey Baby, we're here!"

And he is there, and so begins ... life in Qatar ...