A day at the beach

In addition to the Embassy in Riyadh, the United States has two consulates in Saudi Arabia.  One is in the oil rich Eastern Province on the Persian Gulf in a city named Dharan.  The second is in the historical and commercial city of Jeddah, located on the Red Sea.  Jeddah is a sea port and the closest major city to the pilgrimage cities of Medina and Mecca.  Due to a staff shortage in the Consular Section in Jeddah, I volunteered to spend two weeks there in October helping them out.  Sara and Jack decided to join me.

The worst thing about Jeddah is how effing humid it is.  When we got off the plane we started sweating immediately.  As hot as it is in Riyadh, you don't sweat all that much unless you spend significant time in the sun.  Not in Jeddah - just boiling hot.

The best part about Jeddah is the sea.  The coast line is pretty and expansive.  They have an aquarium that Jack and Sara went to.  They have the world's largest fountain (take that Fountain Hills, AZ) and, of course, they have beaches.  The first question any Westerner asks about going to the beach in Saudi Arabia is "do women have to wear burkinis?"  The answer depends on what beach you are going to.  We passed by a few public beaches and we saw few women on the beach and the women we saw were just wearing regular burkas in the water.

But the real highlight in Jeddah are the private beaches.  These beaches are secluded, private, beaches that only admit foreigners (no Saudis allowed).  They allow western beach wear for both men and women.  In addition to the pristine white sand beach and the ocean, they had beach chairs, a lawn for sports, a nice pool, a bar (still no booze) and a restaurant.  You had to pay about $40/adult to get in, but the price was totally worth it.  We went with another family that I knew from language training who are posted in Jeddah and we had a great time.

* As an aside, we had a lost in translation experience on our beach day.  We wanted to have a place that Jack could nap while we were at the beach, so I booked a (not-cheap) room at the hotel attached to the club -- or so I thought.  The hotel I booked was a different hotel a mile away with a similar sounding name.  This hotel was a disaster - it was dirty, there were no towels, no crib, our neighbors were loud with kids screaming outside until 2 (I'm so old).  The hotel was technically on the beach, but this beach dirty and the water had trash in it.  Not what I thought I was getting when I booked the hotel.

World's tallest water fountain

Sunset at the private beach club

Our impromptu "crib" when the hotel didn't have one

This was not the nice beach

The pack-out from Hell

Admittedly, part of this is my fault.  I didn't really purge anything last year when I left Frankfurt.  So I sent 3000 lbs of stuff from Frankfurt to  Riyadh.  I barely remember what's in there and I certainly don't need all of it here.  But as a single person in the foreign service, I had never run up against the 7200 lb weight limit.  So problem 1 was sending too much stuff from Frankfurt to Riyadh.

So, back in April, when the pack-out company sent out their "expert" to do an estimate on our weight for our packout, I was ecstatic to hear him say that all of the stuff in our house, including our outdoor furniture, queen bed, and a couple of couches we wanted to bring would be round 4000 lbs - just under our weight limit.  He said there might be a few hundred lbs difference, but we were willing to send the couches to storage if we needed to.  No big deal.  Listening to this expert was problem 2.

Problem #3 was not really doing any significant purging in DC.  A big part of this is that most of the things in our house in DC were either new things we had bought in the last year or two or were things Sara brought into the marriage.  We both talked about purging things, but really it was me asking her to get rid of her stuff so that we could move to the desert.  Where she couldn't drive.  It wasn't a very good argument on my point and I never really pushed it very far.  I didn't think it mattered --we had enough weight to get all our stuff to Saudi and we could purge there after we had (finally) merged our houses.  This was problem 3.

On Day 1 of our two-day packout, they sent four packers.  They didn't arrive until after 10 and left after filling one full crate and packing a whole bunch more boxes.  Before he left, the head packer told us he thought we might be overweight and that some of the furniture we were planning to take might have to be sent to storage.

On Day 2, they sent 7 packers.  When the lead guy arrived, he told us that we were definitely going to be overweight

It's always been for my Mom

Despite my New Year's goal to write in this blog more frequently, I have failed miserably.  Part of it is having a baby at home, part of it is questions about how public I want my life to be in Saudi Arabia, but mostly it has been because Mom died this summer.  She died suddenly at home from a heart attack.  She died in my dad's arms.  I was at FSI when I found out.  It was a week before my Arabic test and 8 days before we were supposed to have a big family reunion.  It sucked.

Since then, I haven't been able to blog, not because I haven't had things to say (Passing my Arabic test, the pack-out from hell, Saudi Arabia is fascinating!), but because I didn't know how to start writing again.  How do I write anything about this summer without talking about the massive hole in my heart and my soul?  I didn't (don't) want to write publicly about her death.  But skipping over it and pretending it didn't happen wasn't an option either.  So every time I thought about writing something, I had this giant decision to make - talk about Mom's death (and it's impact on every

thing, every moment this summer) or skip over it on the blog.  This choice blocked anything else I wanted to write.  This post is my feeble attempt to address the issue.

And that brings me back to writing this blog.  It sprung from letters I wrote home when I was a high school exchange student in Italy.  By the time I was a college exchange student, I had upgraded to an email list serve.  When blogs started to gain popularity I switched formats again and I started this blog in 2010 just before I started A-100.  Whenever I wrote, I always knew that whatever I wrote, Mom would read it.  She was my audience.  Others could and did read what I wrote, but I always wrote with her in mind.  If I wasn't willing to tell my mother a story, I knew I shouldn't blog about it.  And my Mom was a great audience.  She would always comment to me (either online or on the phone) about what I wrote.  She loved my stories.  I always assumed that at least 80% of her love for my stories was because I was her son and maybe 20% was the writing or the story.  I've always been okay with that.

Right now, I don't know if I will keep blogging or not.  For 6 years, blogging has brought me joy. Today, it only brings me sadness.

I miss you Mom, I love you the most.

Thanksgiving in San Antonio

Drinking beers at the British High in Belize

Dancing at my wedding

Meeting the Ambassador

Last week was my second full week in the office.  On Wednesday, the Consular Section had a scheduled Admin Day.  During our staff meeting on Tuesday, I asked about the dress code and my boss answered - "No Hawaiian shirts, but casual."  As I had seen some of our local staff wearing jeans the previous Thursday (last day of work week here), I went ahead and wore jeans.  While none of the other officers were wearing suits, I was the only one not wearing dress slacks.  Duly noted.

Other than this minor hiccup, the morning was going well, when at 1030, Outlook pops up a reminder about my meet-and-greet meeting with the Ambassador.  I hadn't met the Ambassador yet and all I had really heard about him was that he hated tardiness and could be a bit formal.  I had a meeting in 15 minutes AND I WAS WEARING JEANS.  Shit.  After a minute of panic, I eliminated Plan A (run home and change) because there wasn't enough time.  I went and asked a colleague what he thought I should do.  Plan B - push or cancel meeting.  I called up to the Front Office, and asked his staff assistant if I could move the meeting as I was having a little crisis down in the Consular Section (I did not mention that said crisis was that I was wearing jeans).  She hesitated and passed me to his secretary who said she could ask, but that he would definitely ask questions about what caused me to miss the meeting.  Strike Plan B.

I am now 9 minutes away from my meeting and needing a Plan C.  My colleague had offered me his shirt and tie so, I stood up in the NIV officer bullpen and said to my staff - "What I am about to ask comes from a colleague and not a boss - please feel no pressure, but does anyone wear a size 34 or 36 pant?"  One of the ELOs said he did and the two of us made our way to the bathroom to switch pants (6 minutes left).  On the way back, I stop by the first guy's office and get his shirt and tie.  Two other colleagues, now fully vested in my saga, offer me sports coats they keep at work.  A blue blazer sort of fits, and I make my way to the Ambassador's office a full two-minutes early.  Amazingly, the outfit actually looked good and the meeting went off without a hitch.

Fortunately, Plan C worked because Plan D was go home sick and Plan E was pull the fire-alarm.

I didn't drown

I finished the triathlon last week and most importantly, I didn't drown.  Although I probably didn't do as much training as I should have, I managed to complete the swim in about 25 minutes, which was five minutes faster than my goal.  For the most part, I alternated between freestyle and breast stroke, which helped me keep my breath while continuing to move.

Although the swim portion went faster, the bike leg went slower due to a leaky front tire.  I pushed through on a flat tire for most of the race.  Not fun, incredibly slow, but I still got done.

The run was the easiest part - just a 5K run.  For the first time all day, I actually managed to pass other racers (all of whom had already passed me on the bike, but still) for the first time all day.

I finished the whole race in just over 2 hrs.

In the deep end (again)

For the last year or so, I've talked about doing a triathlon.  Crossfit is too expensive here, I had been getting bored with running and I've realized that I need a goal in order to effectively work out.  I simply don't have the motivation to just work out regularly without a plan and a goal.  I don't push myself.

So, with the support of my wife (she bought me a nice bike for Christmas), I have begun training for a triathlon in June.  This week, I started my swim training in earnest by joining a "master's swim class" at the YMCA.  It is completely kicking my ass.  Although I learned how to swim as a kid and I know all the strokes, etc., my form is crap.

Frankly, I am embarrassed by my complete lack of skill in swimming.  It is WAY harder than I thought it would be.   I struggle with breathing, kicking and "pulling" (as I learned the part with your arms is called).  Not only am I relegated to the "slow lane" during the class, but I am also easily the slowest of the three guys in this lane.  I can barely swim 50 meters without needing a rest. It reminds me of how awful I was at running when I started.  I am still not a fast runner - I never will be - but I can run  5 miles if I need to.

To make matters worse, we swim A LOT.  When I was learning to run, my first race was a 5K.  During practice, I only ran that distance once or twice before the race.  I mistakenly assumed the same theory would apply to the swim in the triathlon.  For my tri, I have to swim 750 meters (30 lengths of the pool).  The WARM-UP at the first practice was 500 meters!  The total work out was 3400 meters.  I am limiting my workout to an hour, so I only did about 2200 meters. That is still three times the length of my race.

As bad as it has been (and it's been pretty bad), I just have to remember how it was when I started running and how it was when I started cross fit.  In both cases, I was by far the worst person doing this when I started.  But, over time, I improved (incrementally) and other worse people started up.  Improving my technique and building my endurance made it so I eventually wasn't the worst.  I assume and hope that will be the case again with swimming.

Additionally,  I went on a long bike ride (7 miles) a few weeks ago.  I could barely walk for 3 days, so we'll see how that goes.

Wish me luck.

Snowzilla

C was hit this weekend with a monster snow storm with around 20 inches of snow over two days.  I had to shovel 6 times and my car is still not out of the snowbank.  Work closed early on Friday - the whole city was shutdown over the weekend and work is closed again tomorrow.

Here are a few photos of the snow -

2:30 pm Friday - snow begins

4:30 pm Friday

6:30 pm Friday - after first shoveling

12:30 am Saturday - I've shoveled twice already

Saturday morning

Saturday morning - before shoveling

Our stairwell was a snow drift - Saturday morning before shoveling

Saturday morning from our bedroom

The dogs exploring the back yard

The aftermath on Sunday

The alley between our house and the neighbor's house - Sunday morning

Learning Arabic

One of the most intimidating aspects of going to Saudi Arabia was the prospect of learning Arabic.  From the outset, the language is incredibly intimidating.  I think most of my fear was rooted in the new alphabet and reading/writing from right to left.  While this is a huge barrier to entry, it wasn't as bad as I feared.  After you learn the alphabet, the language becomes a lot less intimidating.  That's not to say it has become easy.  I still have to sound out words like I am a 6 year old.  There is no skimming in Arabic.  It requires complete concentration.

Speaking the lang