It has now gone three weeks since we've come back from England and much has happened, well beyond my powers of procrastination. And I say that in the finest spirit of "trying-to-get-things-done-on-time" but with little success. We've been to London to see the Queen, been back to Saudi to see the King (to no avail), been snorkeling, fish buying, "cordial" drinking, and so on. It has been a time. It has indeed been a time.
So, instead of this being about juxtapositions, its more about moments, or better yet, episodes. So, to begin, London in a nutshell. A couple of highlights: friends and books (which reminds me, if you ever want inexpensive yet comfortable accommodation in the heart of Westminster, a ten minute walk from either the Brit Library or the Brit Museum, the Arosfa Hotel (b&b) is the place to stay). We met up at the National Science Museum with some close friends from our days in Portsmouth in 97/98 when Claire was 11 and Neil was 7, and though we didn't have a pint together, we did share many a fine memory and an equal number of fine moments on the day. This picture is of Rose, Martin (Head of Maths), Joe (now a prof with the British National Police Training College) and their three girls Sian (she's on the left), Meghan, and Alice (which, curiously enough is Rose's mum's name and my dad's mother's name). Sian was born in Feb of our year there and she's now the age Claire was when we arrived in Portsmouth.
London was such a tremendous break from the sometimes stifling air of SA: the heat and humidity, the sand in the air, the strange rules about what women can and cannot do, the taking forever of setting up a bank account or getting a driver's license. We've met some Saudi's and almost all of them have been so friendly, so accommodating, so helpful (he said seriously without even a nod to the official party line regarding communicating with the West). It's true. We had a divine lunch with our friend Steve from Norwich whom so many of you met at our leaving party at the Murphs. Steve and Hazel were over from Blighty for a few weeks back in Canada and they gave up part of their tour to come to Bill and Jean's for our going away. An absolutely lovely friend (note the early stages of Steve's movember stache. One shudders.).Two quick pics. The first is of a delightful little bookstore Rose and I found quite by accident. There we were, walking along near Uni of London and I noticed a street sign over an archway which read Pied Bull Yard, so we went in. And there was a timeless little cobbled yard with a wine bar, bookstore, and other little shops, just minding their own business with virtually no nod to commercial advancement, waiting for whatever trade might come along. Rose went into the store pictured below while I investigated the next door wine bar, to great avail.
The second one is a pile of all the books we purchased during our six days in the big city. Thirty four of them. If you haven't read the Seamus Heaney, it's a remarkable new collection and the two Don Paterson, so lovingly recommended by Fran McA are equally moving. Even his light verse on consuming pints of Murphys make the purchases more than worth while and his more serious stuff is enough to make you thank god someone had the foresight to invent poetry.
Since then it's been pretty focused on making sure we can do what we can do to help the school passes its latest rounds of inspection for approval of its license to be an accredited school for the American Middle Schools Association (middle as in middle states, w e t f t i.) We had four principals and lead teachers visit us for three days to look at everything the school does, is about, makes available for students, and on and on. We passed with flying colours but a few of us are wondering what we newbies did to deserve that. This approval process started before we arrived, so we're a bit new to the whole thing. Suffice to say, we are now approved for another seven years.
Two mornings ago I went to the local fish market with some teaching friends while Rose stayed home and caught up with some marking. I, however, went searching for fresh fish so I could avoid marking for another few hours. We saw some amazing stuff, and ate some equally stunning fish and shrimp. By way of example, I bought 11 fresh fish, filleted before my very eyes, all of a size you'd find at the Farmer's Market in OS, for 250 Riyals (about 65 Cndn dollars), and they proved delicious later that same day at a fry-up, along with fresh shrimp, salad, the works. The market made we wonder on more than one occasion how the Red Sea could keep providing such abundance: hajir, hamour, shark, barracuda, flounder, flake, marlin, and on and on. Here are two pics of some of what we saw. The big red/orange spotted fellow is nearly as big as my upper torso (ok, ok, so I'm not a big guy, but I've put on weight, as the fish would suggest). Note please, the long gray narrow fish in the second picture immediately to the left of the big guy: that narrow fellow is a barracuda, and it's a shame you can't see his teeth because they'd tear the flesh off your arm before you knew what bit you. It's all a bit startling. The big one in this pic has that kind of forlorn look, as if to say, "There I was, after twenty three years, just minding my own business, and along comes this bit of bait . . . ." Vaulting ambition, writ large.
My last little episode is about the two Pakistani gents who work our local general store, about the size of a 7/11 but without the chainstore sameness of so much back home. Sham-sure and Younus (pronounced you-n-us, as in "You n us are going to the Keady Market an' we're takin' yer truck.") were sitting outside, enjoying the 22 C cool of the evening at about 8:00, having a cup of tea and a bite to eat when Rose and I arrived for some comestibles. They quite urgently insisted we share in their food, holding forth a plate that looked like all the world as if two forlorn fish sticks had landed unclaimed and unannounced. "Please!" they both urged, despite our polite no-thank-yous. Despite our honest rejoinders of having just finished a filling dinner. Despite almost everything we could say. Finally, we relented because of their "Traditional food! Traditional homeland food!" So I took one slice, suggesting Rose and I would share it.
Now, you must keep in mind, our reluctance was not because it looked or smelled or was in any way questionable; it was because we were full from our own dinner. But who is going to refuse an offer of traditional cooking so passionately offered? No one. And they would not let us share. Rose must have her own portion. I tasted mine, and to be honest, it tasted like fish sticks, but I didn't let on. Rose tasted hers and asked, "Sham-sure, did you make this?" Sham-sure's head is now tossed back in the heartiest of laughs while Younus is trying to control his giggles. Traditional food? Only if you allow for frozen chicken and cheese sticks from about ten steps away in the frozen food section of our little market being traditional Pakistani food. We all had a good laugh over this little joke; well, that's not quite true. Rose and I had a little laugh. Our two grocery store friends enjoyed themselves to no end over the trick they had so convincingly played on their more sophisticated Western customers.
But we'll get them. We'll show them a thing or two about food trickery. We'll make them honest to goodness frozen fish sticks and convince them it's traditional North American fare. Ha ha! That'll show'em whose ahead in the "my food is yuckier than yours" game and more commonly et in front of the tv. We'll have the last laugh.
Meanwhile, the fresh fish market awaits. As do ten days over Christmas in Rome, six of which we get to spend with family. "Tis twenty years till then!"
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