Alone

So after close friends come and go you tend to reflect a little. Or a lot. Both Vee and Shantelle are the kind of friend folks who know me to the bare bone: They aren't afraid to dive in and call me on my shit and will always hustle up to save my ass from my own misgivings and hold my paw whilst I stumble through fears and idiocies on the way. Seriously. I have some hardcore GOOD pals. I must've mentioned them horseshoes I got stuck up my ass at some point in prior posts - To be honest they represent the fantastic people who rule my world. I have no clue how I hang on to 'em, just that my heart is over-filled with bursting love for those loving few and that I'm willing to do ANYTHING for them in return. Cause love is like an ocean.

I am going home soon. SOON. But as I won't be able to stay permanently I am already mourning before even getting there because I won't get back all that I used to have and now crave to have.
I miss having my own home, with my stuff out and about. I want to be in that special sacred space again, that personal canvas that is my own - It grows whenever I add a lick a paint. That place where my awesome sauce sound system, records, art, objects and kitchen rule the days and evenings, transforming reality in my own private world by giving me peace and a sense of belonging.

The sheer pleasure of a woodstove roaring again during cold nights; I want to go outside cursing the rain while chopping the firewood in my negligee; to plant, grow and revel in my own vegetable garden jungle filled with goodness all year round once again, calling slugs villainous names; and to hear crunching noises by my treasonous conspirator Crackhead, who has been my feline companion since I got to Canada over a decade ago. She's the mice/rat/squirrel/mink Killer and 'Pitbull Whisperer' (read: Torturer) who tolerates me as her human sidekick. I long to have that little flea vehicle purring at my side at night, indicating that while I fall asleep all is safe and good in the world.

I want to have it all back again, the freedom and privacy of one's own finger print. Once fellow island folks I loved knew it too and they dropped by without notification or warning, to revel in good times or to expose their heartaches, hashed out on the couch on the front porch, in that fragrant orchard on the bay with candles, incense and music.
Cheeky raccoons, stealing fruit and Crackhead the Cat showing her (unexpected) soft side by sniffing a fawn's nose in Spring time when the yard had an army of daffodils and Black-tailed Momma deer grazing the greenness of it all.
I have missed it all so incredibly much, and sometimes ask myself why did I leave? To loose is to gain an awful lot -  but was it worthwhile to leave behind all that for a journey that might not end as clearly as it started?

The children of the heart, growing up so fast. Will there be a chance to catch up with all that I have missed? Will it still be valuable and worthwhile.
Only a few weeks left, and so many questions and concerns are now trying to kick my pure joy and longing out of the limelight.
So I went a-walking, here in lonely Northern Ireland, the island where I don't know many a soul. The beaches here I do know well. Meeting the ocean, and all that loving I got inside of me for those who are the world to me was right there rushing in with the tide, at my feet. Ready.

Stepping stones

Beach treasure

Home Bound

I AM GOING HOME!!!!!!!!!!!!
In June.
See ya soon.

Map derived from web

Scottish Coconuts

In the days Shantelle and I roamed Scotland we had so much fun and even encountered a fruit mostly associated with palm trees and tropical beaches: Coconuts.
Our second destination of our road trip was legendary Doune Castle and although I have never seen Monty Python's Holy Grail movie (Shock! Horror! I know!) I asked the kind museum clerk for coconut shells. We found out that she hides them from pesky tourists such as myself under the counter, so now you know where to find them.
Next to being a national monument the castle is currently being used in the filming of the series 'Outlander' based on Diana Gabaldon's books. Now I hold Shantelle responsible for getting me addicted to these books. While I was still in university they certainly helped me procrastinate writing academic papers immensely. It's been a while since I've read them and although I love devouring 700 page books they don't always fit in one's rucksack. After traveling for the last three years I have loved and lost many books due to airline luggage restrictions and surprisingly not many Arabic countries have an English language library or book exchange stocked with erotica so I've had some dry patches where my inner bookworm cried and shriveled up. Shantelle came to N-Ireland bearing amazing gifts: A highly portable, lightweight magical eReader! With tons and tons of Diana Gabaldon on it and many other books! She also brought me her digital camera so that I could take pictures again (my last camera bit the dust), and patiently guided me through my technophobic tendencies and showed me how to use both. I am still floored.

But back to the coconuts.

Although I had previously told my friend Vee that it was called Thistly Thorny Plant Thingy when she asked me what that yellow Broom-like plant was, Blair informed me that it was actually called Gorse and during our visit it was blooming everywhere in Scotland: A bright yellow flower blanket coveted by bees and mindful of the sharp thorns we leaned in and sniffed the flowers.
It smelled exactly like coconuts.
A day later Shantelle spoiled me with a three hour horseback ride through the gorgeous Scottish hills and at some point the horses took a break, munching on the Thistly Thorn Thingy whose delicious coconut fragrance will now forever remind me of Scotland and the most amazing great friends.

Doune Castle amid daffodils

Yep. We did.

Gorse in bloom

Horseheads and Water Spirits

The Kelpies are Scotland's tallest art installations, standing at thirty meters high in Falkirk, Scotland. I had no idea they even existed until Shantelle told me about them and her desire to go and see them on our way to visit our buddy Blair. Man, they are humongous. The exhibit only opened up recently and the artist Andy Scott who is responsible for their creation made them as a monument to Scotland's horse powered heritage and past. The names of these two magnificent metal structures hint heavily towards folkloric myth though, one I quite like. Here's Andy Scott's artist statement and website.

Glorious Glasgow

On the day that Vance flew back to Canada Shantelle and I left too. To Scotland. And afterwards all I can say is 'WOW' (and mentally kick myself for not going there earlier).
We arrived in Glasgow and decided to wonder about on a self-guided pub crawl and when one of my boots broke they were replaced by cheap flipflops and onward the pub tour commenced. We got stuck in the seventh underground bar, the Bier Halle. It had over a hundred beers from all over the world...Naturally I got overly excited about this and together we were in our element there, refusing to budge for a while and merrily drank and ate the night away. The other bar we liked was the Nice 'n Sleazy Bar where the walls were scribbled full of insults and the menu/music line up descriptions were hilarious and the White Russians were bad. On our way back to our beds we walked past the King Tut's Wah Wah Hut where we planned to go on our last night in Glasgow, solely because when a band calls themselves 'Grousebeater Sound System' and mixes trad Scottish instruments with hiphop, electronica and lord knows what else you gotta go see that in the flesh.
In the beginning our travel goals seemed simple: See the Kelpies, visit Doune Castle, go hug and hang out with Blair (my former roommate in Canada), see Culloden and Inverness and then end our last night in Scotland in King Tut's Wah Wah Hut listening to a local band with an irresistible name that includes 'Grousebeater'.
Nothing ever goes exactly according to plan. And that is the best thing about traveling. Looking back on where we ended up made me fall hard and heavy for Scotland.
Which would've never happened without Shantelle. We travel real good together.

En Route

Dubious Dublin

I have been to Dublin before but it has been a long, LONG time ago. So long ago I don't really remember much at all! So when the three of us decided to go there for a day I was looking forward to it. Shantelle bravely drove on the wrong side of the road into the busy city and we spent our hours walking mostly around the Liberties area where I came across Lucy's Lounge Shop which has everything from secondhand vintage items, awesome art and a tattoo parlor stashed inside. Naturally I fell in love with it.
Vance was magnetically drawn into every secondhand bookstore we came across and I indulged in one of my favorite things to do which is photographing street art and gig posters that have creepy Justin Bieber lookalikes on it. Time flew fast, so fast that we reluctantly had to leave to bring the rental car back to N-Ireland.
One thing I know for sure. Before I leave Northern Ireland I will go back to Dublin by train. To admire the old architecture and places we did not get to see and to visit some of the art exhibits.
And to spend an exorbitant amount of time reveling in Lucy's Lounge, of course.

Hands down best store ever

Irish Bieber Dobbelgangers

An alley in Dublin

Canucks in Northern Ireland

Two Gal Pals of mine came all the way from Canuck Land and spend ten days traipsing through the cities and countryside of the Emerald Isle. On the route to the Giant's Causeway lies Cushendall Caves, not advertised on the touristy thingy brochures that I had gathered up for their visit but Shantelle pointed them out, and told me that it was one of the locales where 'Game of Thrones' was filmed. I'd never been inside a cave in N-Ireland before and we drove there - past some goats - to the ocean where we came across some magnificent caves. The three of us also visited Tollymore Forest and gazed over the Mourne Mountains which have been featured in the same HBO series. I even saw my first cork tree! The castle gardens of Antrim revealed fresh fiddleheads (yum) and Belfast satisfied the visitors with food porn in the shape of Ulster fry, baps and who knows what else at the famous St. George's weekend market.

Cushendall Caves

Fiddleheads in Spring

The Adoration of Craft Beers

A good pal of mine and I take snapshots of beers encountered and we e-mail them to each other with a short description. This has been going on for years, and each place I travel to I am on the lookout for finely crafted deliciousness on tap so that I can send him a detailed report whereas he makes me jealous with BC brews he runs into along the road. The apple of his eye is a crisp IPA whereas I like darker brews with unconventional ingredients and we both dig microbreweries big time.
But when it comes down to having a favorite it is like taste in music: Variety is key thus sticking to one type of beer would be akin to playing one record over and over again. Ugh.  Below are a few of my most recent infatuations here in Ireland and Scotland. Cheers!

Broken. Again.

...While trying to photograph Cedric the Gnomad among the charming crocuses that are popping up all around here the camera decided to go on strike and once again I am faced with the same issue that my last Canon had: The lens wouldn't open. My old camera was brought to the camera doctor but after finding out that the repairs would amount to the same price of two basic cameras (the exact words of the technician were that it was so ancient and outdated that they might not have the parts to fix it) I decided to buy a new one.

It was an old camera, I was emotionally attached, that's all. We had some good times travelling around and of course snapping some saucy shots made me treat it like it was more than the giant silver dinosaur it really was (and after ten years I still hadn't figured out what most of the buttons did, but I really liked its swiveling screen thingy)

I bought a no-frills compact replacement for eighty dollars and happily started snapping away until the crocus incident and now I have to replace this sucker as well. It might be a sign that I should move on and get up to date with some iPhone Instagram Plan but my mobile phone works just fine (it's a dinosaur too), doesn't take pictures and for some reason I like that.
Cause when I am having a drink with someone my attention is focused on that person and not on some fancy touch screen, apps, texts and lord knows what else.

...I think I really need to get over my technophobe tendencies.

Photo derived from web

Gone

Vee has left and I feel somewhat forlorn without her. Our visit lasted five days and I was filled with such joy to have somebody I love and who knows me so well by my side in this rainy land of green hills. The more time spend away from home the more a certain amount of sadness seeps into my soul, and Vee's gift of traveling all the way here meant the world to me and lifted my spirits enormously.
Don't get me wrong. Northern Irish folks are plenty nice. And kind of reserved.
Back home we don't do reserved. There is an openness spread throughout the community that has become part of being. Often accompanied by a generous sense of kindness.
I miss that a lot.
Friends hold each others' hands and provide loving shelter when life's storms have knocked the breath outta ye. This I know. And I am one fortunate woman, to have such a strong base back home who rally around me every step of the way and who are willing to cross the Atlantic to hold me close. Damn.

That thing about finding pots of gold here under the Irish rainbows? I'm not even gonna try. I already got the Motherload back home.
See ya soon(ish), Gabriola Island.

V-Rock

Daunting Cliffs, High Winds and a Rope Bridge

A few miles from the Giant's Causeway there is Carrick-a-Rede, the rope bridge. My sweet pal Vee and I clambered onto it and although I threatened to jump up and down on the middle part when she was crossing I behaved most ladylike and we made it to the other side just fine. What a beautiful place!
In April two wondrous friends are coming and one of them is already shitting bricks but is adamant that she will attempt to cross it. I know she will be marvelous at it and I will be a good girl and not make the bridge sway like I did with Vee...

Ancient mustard-colored seashore lichens adorn the cliffs and gulls nestle on little perches, unaffected by the strong wind gusts and cold weather. The ocean here is as always roaring and wild, bashing against the rocks. After Vee and I made it to the other side we had to go back. With an entire schoolbus of teenagers right behind us on the bridge...

Carrick-a-Rede

Roadside Attraction

I love this.
On the side of the road, somewhere in Northern Ireland

Towering Heights

You can spot Scrabo Tower looming above everything else from miles away. It was build in 1857 as a memorial for some marquess (Imagining some architect in the 1800s: 'Hey! I have a great idea! Let's haul shitloads of building material up onto that big wicked windy hill with cliffs there and build a very tall tower! It will be a pain in the ass but it will really stand out!') Yeah.
Veronica came all the way from Canada and together we hiked around Scrabo. The 360 vista there is lovely, and although the tower was closed to the public for the day we gallivanted around the hiking paths and when she asked me for the name of the bushes that grew around there I promptly named them Thistly Thorn Thingies. It was windy and sunny and I was filled with utter happiness because a piece of home was walking next to me.

Vee amid the thistly thorn thingy thistle bush

Cedric goes Dutch

24 Hours in Holland with Cedric and my awesome Dad!

Cedric vs. Douwe Egberts Coffee

En Route

Irish Cedric

Cedric is in Ireland and has not been out much, mostly so that folks around here don't think that I'm batshit crazy for carrying a small gnome on my person wherever I go. Rolling green hills aplenty but here he is seen frolicking in the enclosed yard instead (for obvious reasons)

Green grass gnome

Writing Devices

From to-do lists to letters, a large amount of time is spend writing. I enjoy penning it all down. Recently my Mom gave me a gift that she herself received almost twenty years ago: A limited edition 14k golden Mont Blanc fountain pen. My own Parker ink-stick in need of repair is back home in Canada so when I opened the package I was stunned with silence...Her thoughtful gesture put a lump in my throat.

Next to having the most beautiful handwriting EVER my father collects unique fountain pens and has the counter part of this particular Mont Blanc which my parents both received when we all lived together in Gabon. I can't wait to buy ink and start scribbling away! Hand-written letters are going to be mailed! Dipped in cerulean ink...

My new scribbler

New Beginnings

Local Northern-Irish Dulse will be part of my diet in 2014. Next to local bacon, smoked Irish brie, finely crafted beer and other rural delicacies that make life seem so much more vibrant after leaving the Middle-Eastern desert (insert wink)

Kelping it

Sound Slut

I am a total Sound Slut.
And right now I just cannot be physically separated from all that is Sonic on the iPod that Momma Santa Claus gave me for Christmas. She knows her music junkie daughter well.

When my old MP3 Player was nicked in Jordan I spent roughly 6 months without adequate tunes and had to slowly start building up my music library from scratch.
Thankfully all my records are safely tucked away at home in my good friend's basement and I miss my collection of CDs and vinyl intensely, even started dreaming about them (once the basement flooded in my dreams and I felt bereft and soundless)
So I was very taken aback when this heavy gleaming iPod awaited me upon arrival in N-Ireland. I have never owned anything of the i-Persuasion and I am oddly technophobic at times. But then I loaded ALL of the music on it. We are talking a lotta tunes. As an eclectic sounds lover/music collector I had been fanatically gathering up all music that I love to compensate for my musical loss six months ago.
Holy crap.This iPod has Mucho storage capacity. There is almost room left for another track! And with my partially upcycled headphones on I am deftly sidestepping the mounds of dogshit on the Irish sidewalks in tune with one of Chopin's piano concerto compositions; neatly bouncing through the Grocer's isles to the beat of Orishas; grooving the grocery basket along with the voice of Linton Kwesi Johnson and falling asleep to soothing tracks by Mercan Dede. Just add a HUGE sigh of happiness here.

My mother got the iPod engraved for me and right under the part that has my full name printed it also reads:

                                           'Please don't steal me'

En Route

Part of what Flying Gurnards & Other Concoctions usually displays are the maps of routes taken since leaving home. The neat orderly geographical drawings always puts the roads traveled more in perspective. But a month after my brief emergency visit I have returned to Northern Ireland and it seemed more fitting to share the two images below than a pictured part of an atlas.
Two years ago I took that photo of the small village on the Irish Sea. It will be my home for now.
And below it a parting shot of one of my Arab buddies, who clambered into my suitcase whilst packing and gave me his solemnly sweet Cyclops stare. It hurts leaving the two dudes behind, more than I can describe. The worst is that it is not my choice, leaving them behind. They just couldn't come where I was going.

Although her major neck and face surgery in September was a success my Mother is in the race for the long haul: A grueling radio therapy period is on the horizon and will last until Christmas Eve day. It will affect her health deeply on many levels and I admire her brave perseverance greatly. So I have left the Middle East, diving and my two feline dudes and I am going to stand by her side. The boys are being well taken care of and won't have to learn how cold COLD weather can be whereas I threw out my last pair of flipflops and am learning what shoes feel like again (Hello, blisters)

Apart from the heart ache of leaving Khabil and Jamal I have plenty of reasons to be superbly grateful for life's happenings and this also entails the decision of moving to N-Ireland. I'll be able to hold my Mum close when things get ugly. I will also get to harass some family and friends who live around these parts. And I will get to experience the changing of the seasons again and play in the snow (I love snow!)

Always stay in tune for what life brings up to bat. Cause you should always take a crack at it, and never ever forget to smile while you're at it. You might hit a homerun and run around cheering like a maniac.

Scary Butterfly

One thing I have never done in my life is celebrate Halloween underwater. And this year I was getting real stoked about the idea, asking friends and diver customers about cool costume tips that would make big waves so to speak.
Now I didn't want anything that would compromise diver safety. Or be damaging to the marine environment. So that whittled away at the options available and unlike as a friend of mine suggested I was certainly not dressing up as a mermaid. I am not that cheesy, unless it comes to real cheese like brie or wacky Dame Edna-style sunglasses.
Of course I thought of my new sunglasses. I have a certain affinity for tacky ones and back home I have been seen wearing useless raver sunnies during local baseball games. It made catching the ball so much harder but boy the shades were so ugly it was funny and therefore totally worth it.
My friend Scuba Ninja Livvie was slightly envious of my new sunglasses, asking me to buy her a pair too because (and I quote) "...Aww but I want to have a butterfly to have sex with my face too."
Yep, the sunglasses are THAT Special. So I thought, what a great idea I could be a Butterfly Fish for Halloween! It would totally compromise standards of diving safely but it would look so awesome!

In the end I did not even get to dive on Halloween. Nor have I worn my Butterfly Shades much cause it is too bright in the Middle East. And soon after that there was no diving to be had for a long time. But what I do know is that whenever I will encounter Butterfly Fish in the future I will think of Livvie and my sunglasses with a cheeky smirk on my face.

Butterfly Fornication Shades

I wasn't kidding about playing baseball with blinders on

Top of Dubai

If you have read previous Flying Gurnards' posts you are probably aware that I got hopelessly lost in a Dubai mall and that it is not one of the my favorite places to visit. It is an elite city in the middle of a desert built around shopping. It is often referred to as the 'Do Buy' city by my employer and I think he is right on the money with that one. (Hey, let's build a bunch of islands in the shape of countries in the Arabian Gulf and sell them for millions. Somebody must be crazy enough to buy them!) Due to the intense coastal development and pollution the local marine environment is pretty much shell-shocked around those parts. I got really excited seeing a single tiny cuttlefish during one of the few dives I did around there. What a dismal place.
All in all, on my days off the last thing I wanna do is visit this superficial city but this time around on the drive into the Emirate I could hardly suppress my joy and impatience: My father was in town!

My father had decided that we were going to see Dubai in a different light, taking me to Burj Khalifa, the tallest building in the world. That evening, from high above, we saw the twinkling lights outlining Dubai. I have to admit, it was real pretty. And the elaborate Dancing Fountains (choreographed to epic music) below the Burj Khalifa put on quite the lit-up water show.

My father often shows me how to look at things from a different perspective. Not just in this fake city, showing me the glimmers of beauty that I was previously blind to.
He has an ability to remind me how life's experiences ought be seen, always cast in a positive light. My father has taught me that you learn from everything and everyone, and that this should be filled with joy and that it never ceases. So better soak it all up and enjoy the wild ride that life itself is.
He is a pretty cool dad. And the two days I got to spend within his calm and loving presence made me feel whole again after being so long and so far away from all who I love and cherish.

On top of Burj Khalifa

Glorious Gluttony

Lionfish are such glorious fish. They are beautiful with their intricate stripes and extravagant feathery fin rays. These frequent reef inhabitants seem to do nothing much except gently float about, making them an easy target for underwater photographers. Lionfish are by definition one of the most photogenic creatures and the only bad angle I have ever seen captured has been entirely the fault of the photographer.
Simply put, Lionfish are the ultimate posers. Until I went to Mexico I just filed them into the Pretty Fish Category.
I already knew that their fin rays were poisonous and this has always blended in nicely with my golden rule of not touching shit underwater. But I had no idea that these Pretty Fish were voracious fuckers; gluttonous pigs. And in Mexico there was a new rule I learned when it came down to the lovely Lionfish.

Kill them. Kill 'em all. And make ceviche if you have limes handy.

Here's a great article by Christie Wilcox that takes the reader more in depth about the global Lionfish invasion. And if you want a delicious ceviche recipe you can browse the World Lionfish Hunters webpage for culinary tips and killing techniques.

Photo derived from the web

En Route

Surgery

My aunt and I walked around aimlessly, not knowing what to do or what to say. There was a lot of silence, perhaps since we were both so deep in thought, focused on my mother's well-being. The surgery that day was thirteen hours long, roughly the same amount of time it took for my last-minute flight from the Middle East to arrive in Belfast. I had landed the night before my Mum was admitted to the hospital and my older cousin drove me to my mother's doorstep. I hadn't told her I would come.
Recovery was hard on my Mum. After major neck and face surgery she was stuck with a tracheotomy for a couple of days and trying to make light of a serious situation I had made her silly Q-cards she could use, both to divert her attention and to spare her from having to write down every simple request, question or answer for the medical staff in the hospital ward. I don't think she used them much, as the mounds of scribbled papers beside her bed were piling up. We joked with her, saying that we hadn't ever heard her say so little for so long.
After two weeks in the hospital she was finally allowed to come home and I stayed another twelve days in Northern Ireland to aid her in her recovery period.

En Route

Vrooooooooooom

I don't know how to drive a car. This is not some self-deprecating comment on my driving skills, it's just that I don't have a driver's license or driving experience to boast about and most folks react with complete disbelief when they find out. I don't blame them.

So not surprisingly one of my goals of this year is learning how to drive a car and although I've gotten away with being a car-less individual for most of my life it seems as I'm finally living in a place where that is just not an option. The UAE is all about automobiles. People have the fanciest, biggest and most expensive vehicles I have ever seen, often recklessly driving around at full speed. Sometimes the drivers don't even exit their cars when shopping: They honk loudly and wait for a Pakistani/Bangladeshi clerk to run out and take their order, whether it is for takeaway food or some other random item like a pair of slippers.  I know it is a hot climate and staying within the air-conditioned space of your gas guzzler is tempting, but really... (I call this lazy-ass rich person syndrome)
In Dubai there's a metro and buses but here in the lovely backwaters where I reside there's not a bus station in sight so I'm going to have to take the plunge and get in a four-wheeled machine for some lessons...Watch out camels, date trees and other inanimate obstacles. I'll try to swerve.

The ironic thing is that I am currently captaining the dive boat. It does seem somewhat backwards (knowing how to operate a boat before a car) but how I love flying across the waves, picking up divers and kicking them overboard into the blue. In the nicest way possible, of course.
And I have this feeling that it will take a long time before I'll learn how to read traffic signs and use indicators but my hope is that I will enjoy it just as much as I love being a boat wench.

Bummin' it

You know, sometimes life can suck a bit. As an average person with a whole lotta love in her life and horseshoes sticking out of her backside it is somewhat unusual to mention things such as these, especially on a public blog. But it is true.

If you have been reading any of the quirky posts you know what I am talking about. I'm a blessed individual living a great life. Seriously so.

It's not cause of my awesome super powers. I actually have...Nothing. That's about right. No iPhone, credit card, house, car or a driver's license. Nada. I don't even own a bed or a couch (although I have this fabulous retro hairdresser chair from the '70s complete with a hairdryer capsule thingy that still works when you plug 'er in. It lives with a pal for now)

I went to university; I worked in an art gallery; was a DJ with my own radio show for over a decade. And right now I have nothing. Not even a saving account. I live from paycheck to paycheck (I guess most dive instructors do - after all by keeping folks alive and kicking underwater minimum wage is the grand prize)
I don't really mind because life does not revolve around dollar bills although after spending 6 months in the UAE I do understand it is a big drive for folks around here.
Some people here buy cars with price tags that will make you blush but seem unable to tip the guy that fills their gas tank in the hot sun. They can spend enormous sums on gadgets and designer items but care not for an animal in desperate need of medical help on the side of the road. They just keep driving.

Like I said, I have horseshoes up my ass. I have something a little different, which is not money or a luxurious lifestyle. Instead I got this kick-ass community back home and amazing friends that fill me with joy and respect. But because of the grand love that I receive from them it has made life here in the Middle East seem strangely...Empty. The caring and kind conversations via internet and phone sure do put a spring in my step and keep me going but also remind me how far away I am from what I hold dear.

I have lived all over the world but this is the first place where I have found myself in such a disconnected society where the quality of life differs vastly from how I would rate and view it. It has been a great learning experience, and it makes me even more thankful for what I got.

And yes, this is a Pug using me as a pillow.

Island home siesta time

The Two Dudes

Back home a cat called Crackhead and I have been roommates for a solid ten years. We first met up when she was a disregarded kitten and needless to say we have hung out together ever since although to this day I am not sure who is the sidekick in the equation. She is a tiny and friendly-looking cat but that is just a charade. She has a habit of making grown pitbulls whimper softly in corners.
When I started my journey I couldn't take Crack with me and I sobbed my eyes out when I left her in the splendid care of sweet friends who love and spoil her rotten. These amazing folks are golden and Crackhead has wrapped them both around her miniature paw. Last year I went back home and got to spend ten blissful days with the little rug rat and her caretakers have told me that as soon as I come home I will get her back (I feel awful about this. They are absolutely smitten with her and it would be cruel to break their hearts. At the same time I am on my knees with weepy relief cause I want Crackhead at my side till the day she kicks the bucket).
Travelling between Mexico, Aruba, Jordan and the UAE I came across a lot of four-legged strays with high-rating cuteness factors and I resolutely kept myself from falling in love with them (although there were a few dogs that I really wanted to take home as a companion for Crackhead's terrorizing enjoyment)
Then something happened when I moved to Khorfakkan.

Enter two abandoned youngsters with vital body parts missing who were in desperate need of a home. These dudes were stuck at the vet's for months with no prospect of finding a home (Folks in the UAE are into physically intact, preferably purebred, pets). Little Cyclops kitten was a ginger Persian whose owner left him after finding out that his eye could not be saved. For a few months he was locked in his small cage and when I met him he was a fearless fluffball who ran into furniture a lot which is how he earned the name Khabil: Arabic for 'crazy'.
Jamal the Tripod was the one who originally caught my attention when I accompanied my colleague to the animal hospital for the first time. Awkwardly getting used to his three legs he was a withdrawn, sad-looking feline and after hearing his horrid story I made the decision right there on the spot: This dude deserved a second chance. It took months to win his trust and although Khabil is adored by everyone who meets him my heart beats big for Jamal: His sad eyes and sweet timid nature have surely swallowed my soul whole.

Scroll down for stereotypical cute cat pictures.  

Tripod Jamal

Cyclops Khabil

Crackhead the cat

En Masque

The first time I saw an elderly lady strolling around wearing a golden face mask I was immediately fascinated. I'd never seen one before and asked one of our Emirati divers what it was called, and what it was for.

The burqa (not to be confused with the burqa that women in Afghanistan wear) is this astonishing face adornment that comes in many styles and has a bit of a hazy origin - My local friend told me it was similar to jewelry, a beautification tool. After doing a little research online I came across a variety of opinions on its purpose. I don't often see women wearing the Emirati style burqa here in Khorfakkan and whenever I see it I am filled with wonder - Each one I've seen so far is different and all of them exude a certain beauty.
Here's a little article that goes more into depth when it comes down to these glittering masks that catch my eye.

 

Free Education

As it has been aptly put, education shouldn't be a debt sentence. But it sure is pricey out there with many students still hauling their financial ball and chain around for many years. I belong to one of the few fortunate ones that doesn't have this dark financial post-graduate cloud hanging over me but trust me, many of my pals were not as lucky as I was on that front. A lot of folks cannot even afford thinking about university, let alone attend one.

So here is the exciting bit. Want to get some free education by professors from top notch universities? If you have access to internet (which you have otherwise you wouldn't be reading this post in the first place) you can enroll in a plethora of FREE courses. Yep that's right. Coursera offers online courses that are simply amazing! And you can't really use the excuse of not having time for you get to learn whenever and however you want in this educational system. I know this sounds like a load of crock but if you don't believe me and/or if you want to get schooled some more visit the website

Confessions of a Dumpster Diver

I am a trash junkie. This love affair has been inspired by local recycling depots and the artistic souls in my vicinity who always seemed to give birth to marvelous creations constructed from materials that most people would consider to be rubbish. It certainly has rubbed off on me and ever since I look at discarded items as potential haute couture. In short, I surround myself with junk (to the great dismay of some friends when they help me move house)

Living in the Emirates means that there are no second-hand stores or recycling organizations. It is literally a throw-everything-away society that is so flush with cash that shopping sprees are not a once in a while whim but a standard way of living. Don't like your decor? Change it. And of course you need two cellular phones. And three cars.

You might think this is sad and wasteful. But there's an advantage to this.
I get to go dumpster diving. Deluxe style.
I have the feeling that - next to a few Bangladeshi and Pakistani Dumpster Comrades - I am the only expat participating in this habit. Then again are there any other expats in Khorfakkan? It's been four months since I moved here and the only expat folks I see are customers at the dive center and a handful of tourists. So as the blonde and blue-eyed freak I am certainly earning a trashy name in this town (lock up your garbage, folks!)

Don't worry, I am not going through heaps of rubbish bags in the hopes of finding a tasty morsel, in that sense I'm rather conventional and go to the market to buy food. I leave the food scraps to the herds of street cats that are ferocious enough to fend me off any day. My dumpster diving activities are focused on finding junk that can be functional as furniture.

I was in 7th heaven when my colleague and I went to Abu Dhabi's industrial area on compressor business. Cable spools, pallets and wooden crates almost made me swoon on the spot and one of the poor foremen dutifully complied when I enthusiastically pulled him into the hot sun to examine a Japanese old toolbox in a heap of discarded materials. I even did a little dance when he told me that I could have it and as soon as we go back there to pick up our sick compressor I will be the proud owner of a metal and wood piece of garbage. It's going to need some TLC before I turn it into my coffee table but I am already excited.

But here comes the best part. I was informed that Ramadan provides the MOTHERLOAD of dumpster gems. In the last week of fasting folks here tend to practice a bit of the 'out with the old and in with the new' tradition so I'm already chomping at the bit and practically pulling out a city map and planning a coordinated drive-by for every dumpster to be found. I have no shame (sorry, Mum)

As soon as my camera starts working again I will have to share some pictures of all the trash that I'll be knee deep in. It will be the best treasure hunt EVER.

Bling

Oh, the beauty of bling.
Especially when made by formidable kick-ass silversmiths.
Lindsay Godfrey-Stocking, Laura Hanford, Kate Wood and Nina Turczyn come to mind since these artists forge irresistible and unique adornments that will make a girl melt faster than strawberry sorbet on a hot summer's day. Entering any of their studios is especially dangerous, perhaps akin to letting a five-year old loose in a candy store. Except the sweet sugar rush conceived from purchasing their work is lasting, plus you don't whine or throw a tantrum afterwards (well, at least I don't)

I have left many of their shiny bijoux back home since diving with silver dangly bits isn't practical but a few have been on the road with me and some even come along when I splash into the Big Blue, including a custom-made toe ring by Laura Hanford. Every time I look down upon my bare grimy feet a bright band of silver and moonstone twinkles on my tootsie and makes me think of the talented and kind-hearted artist that forged this one-of-a-kind gem.
Lindsay Stocking-Godfrey is the Master of All Things Bling with the star as her trademark and her signature star ring that normally lives on my middle finger is sadly missed by said finger but no way was I going to take it around the world in fear of losing it.
Almost everyday I wear a pair of Kate Wood earrings and since leaving home an earring here and there has gone MIA so now they are worn miss-matched hipster style together and shine as brightly as ever; Turczyn's necklace gets tucked inside my rashie or wetsuit before I hop overboard and tastes salty afterwards.
I am lucky, really. So many brilliant artists around and next to being smitten with their exquisite work I have also had the privilege to get to know them, and one post could never contain enough praise for these skilled silversmiths.  

But don't take my word for it. Go check out the Beautiful Bling that these professional silversmiths have in store for you.

Lindsay Godfrey-Stocking: Mudge Jewelery School
Laura Hanford: Moon Shine Studio
Nina Turczyn: Paprika Design
Kate Wood: Kate Wood Art and Jewellery

 

Moonshine Studio - Artist Laura Hanford

Queen of the Blues

Dinah Washington died way before I arrived on this planet but she has been among my favorite singers for a long time. Her vocal pipes are the cat's pajamas, really. She was called the 'Queen of the Blues" which doesn't gel with me. First of all, what about Big Mama Thornton, Bessie Smith, Memphis Minnie and other amazing Blues singers? Are these women second in line princesses now? Also Dinah's voice was at ease and just as powerful in the jazz circuit and other diverse genres so it seems the title Queen of Blues is a tad confining. In my fantasy I would like to hear her sing an afternoon of gospel with Mahalia Jackson...Can you just imagine how heavenly divine those two teamed up would sound? I bet she would have blown the roofs of churches and/or the frocks off any godly man present.
It must have been breathtaking to witness her on stage singing her heart out.

Unfortunately Dinah died under unexpected circumstances at the young age of 39 years.
A year later in 1964 Aretha Franklin dedicated her album 'Unforgettable' to Dinah Washington, which is both a nod to Dinah's 1959 record single and more importantly to pay respect to Washington's unsurpassed talent and that her tragic passing was perceived as a great loss in the music world. 

What a powerhouse of a voice she had. There are a few of her songs that I simply cannot get enough of. 'Evil Gal Blues' comes to mind, 'A Slick Chick' and don't forget the saucy tracks she recorded with the dashing Brook Benton.
Did this woman ever sing a wrong note in her life? I sincerely doubt it. There's a great  BBC documentary about this fabulous vocalist. I watched it again the other night and fell in love with Dinah's voice even more.