tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42533736420752388262024-03-13T17:40:32.940+03:00The Globetrotter ParentA Canadian Mom and French Papa take their third culture, bilingual kids from France, to Italy, to Africa, to the Middle East, to ...The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.comBlogger101125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-52444219442536804712014-02-02T16:06:00.001+03:002014-02-02T16:12:01.175+03:00Only in an American school....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This in today from the Bambina's school:</span><br />
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<pre style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier New; font-size: 12pt;">Dear Parents,</span>
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<tr><td style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier New; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier New; font-size: 12pt;">Your child may have mentioned to you that a lock down safety drill was held across all grade levels yesterday. We have been practicing </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier New; font-size: 12pt;">a variety of drills throughout the school year as part of our commitment to school safety. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier New; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier New; font-size: 12pt;"><b>Drills encompass situations</b> from fires to inclement weather (like dust storms), <b>from an unwanted campus intrusion </b>to unsafe situations </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier New; font-size: 12pt;">in our surrounding neighborhood. <b>We do not wish to frighten students with thoughts of possible emergencies</b>. On the contrary, research </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier New; font-size: 12pt;">tells us that students and teachers who think about potential situations, prepare for them, and practice how they would respond are </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier New; font-size: 12pt;">more able to remain calm, act confidently, and stay safe in the event of a true emergency. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier New; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier New; font-size: 12pt;">School safety is everyone's responsibility-teachers, support staff, students, and parents. Students were reminded that their primary</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier New; font-size: 12pt;">responsibility during a safety drill is to move quickly and quietly, following the directions of their teacher and school administration. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier New; font-size: 12pt;">We hope you will help us reinforce these expectations at home with your child and support us in our efforts to build a culture of </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier New; font-size: 12pt;">safety and preparedness.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier New; font-size: 12pt;"></span></i></td></tr>
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<pre style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"><i><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier New; font-size: 12pt;"> </span>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Courier New; font-size: 12pt;">If you have any questions about these drills, please reply to this email.</span>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Courier New; font-size: 12pt;">Best Regards-</span></i>
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<pre style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The Bambina says they have now trained the children what to do if an man with a gun enters the school and starts shooting people at random. They are to lock the door of the classroom, tape paper to the window on the door, turn out the lights, and hide under their tables.</span></pre>
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<pre style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Can you tell that my daughter goes to an American school? </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier New; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></pre>
</span>The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-3372642573297803252014-01-19T10:43:00.000+03:002014-01-19T10:50:17.082+03:00Mommy, what's ham?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tartiflette - a famous dish in the French region of Upper Savoy, consisting of potatoes, reblochon cheese, and chunks of ham. I ordered it for lunch during our ski vacation in the Alps, with a plate of ham and sausage varieties on the side. Kids would not touch any of it.</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When we moved to Madagascar, we had to be careful about what we ate. Strawberries were a no-no (pig manure possibly containing worms could have been used as fertilizer - the worms can get inside the permeable skin of the strawberries and then you eat them and you could get a worm in your brain). I also stopped buying pork and ham for the family because of sanitation conditions in the local pork industry. This was a radical change from Italy, where prosciutto crudo (cured ham) was a family staple.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Fast forward two years later, and we had move to Kuwait. In Kuwait, just like back in Madagascar, we eat no pork products, not because of sanitation issues, but because we're in an Islamic state where the raising or importation of any and all pork products has been banned.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Last night, I read the Bambino the book Green Eggs Ham just before bedtime. At the end of the book, I asked the Bambino, in a teasing kind of way because he is such an incredibly picky eater, "Do YOU like green eggs and ham?"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"What's ham?", he replied.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This is what I get for not serving my children pork products for a period of five years straight.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">To be honest, I did try to serve pork back in France last summer, but the kids didn't take to it. They weren't used to it. They picked the lardons out of the penne pasta with parmesan cheese that I had served them. They wouldn't have any of the organic pork sausage that I had bought at the farmer's market. They've never fancied sandwiches of any kind, so I don't bother preparing them. The Bambino was offered ham sandwiches at his day camp and while he did apparently eat the bread, he wouldn't touch the ham. Didn't know what it was. Didn't want to know.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I tell myself that in the long run, this is better. Pork and ham contain nitrates that have been added as a preservative. That stuff can't be good. And my vegetarian friends never cease to tell me that pigs are smarter than dogs, so we definitely should not be eating them. Still, it makes ordering food at the restaurant in the French countryside or the Alps all the more difficult. They don't eat much of any other meat there and vegetarian main courses are almost non-existent, unless you're in the Alps and you order cheese fondue.</span>The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com0Kuwait29.31166 47.48176599999999327.5396425 44.899978999999995 31.0836775 50.063552999999992tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-32441869072374317072014-01-13T13:12:00.002+03:002014-01-13T13:27:37.695+03:00Do your kids a favour: make sure they learn how to ski (well)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My parents didn't get to ski when they were young. They were too busy with the Great Depression, the Second World War, and then with moving to the New World. My siblings and I bore the direct consequences of their ski-free childhood by having our own almost-ski-free childhood. I say "almost" because at the age of nine, I did get to spend three days on a class ski-trip. The ski-trip didn't turn me into a slalom queen, but I managed to learn some basics of downhill skiing.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I was 19 years old the next time I got to go skiing, and 25 years old the third time I got to go. Since meeting the Frenchman 13 years ago, I've had to opportunity to downhill ski a few more times; yet even after six years of consistent practice, I'm a competent skier but I will never be a great one or even a very good one. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Great skiers start when they're young. Small children seem to know intuitively how to ski from the second they stand up on their skis and you push them gently down the bunny hill. They bend their little legs, spread them wide apart and away they go. They're not afraid. They might not know how to stop (at least until they learn how to do a proper snow plough) but even then, they're not scared. And they're close to the ground so if they fall, they don't fall far.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The inchoate sense of balance and confidence on skis never leaves a small child who's been skiing a few times, and children who learn to ski early on become excellent skiers later on.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Well, better skiers than their mom, anyway.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Is skiing an essential skill? No. It's probably not as important to learn how to ski as it is to learn how to swim. Swimming is an important - maybe even an essential - life skill. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Skiing on the other hand is what I call an "upward mobility skill". Why? Because skiing is expensive. You have to rent or buy skis and boots. You have to buy your lift passes. You have to take lessons if you haven't skied before. And if you don't live close enough to the mountains to go just for the day, you'll either need access to a ski chalet or a hotel. Skiing is for the upper middle class and the upwardly mobile. And one day, your child will be (you hope, anyway) upwardly mobile.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If you think your child might get a university degree one day, maybe even a masters or a doctorate or a professional degree, you should make sure she learns how to ski while she is still young. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What's so special about skiing? When your globetrotter adolescent spends a year in Europe on a Rotary Exchange or for his Junior Year Abroad, what will happen when his host family invites him for a weekend of skiing in the Alps? One of two things: if he already knows how to ski he'll be glad and relieved that he does. At worst, he'll take this fact for granted. On the other hand, if he doesn't know how to ski and he finds himself on the bunny hill all weekend while the rest of the family (including their teenage kids) is enjoying the real pistes, he'll almost certainly be asking himself, "How come I never got to learn this when I was a kid? Why didn't we ever do this?"</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When your daughter is in college in Colorado or Utah and her group of friends decides to go skiing for the weekend, you may be glad to see her home from the weekend, but she'll resent and regret the fact that she missed a ski trip with her friends. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But it doesn't stop at superficial college outings. That job that your son will land when he's 25 years old in that international accounting firm, or advertising company in London? Well, they'll be having an office ski trip in the south of France every year. And guess who'll be cursing you for not making sure he learned how to ski? </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When your daughter is on the partnership track in a law firm in Paris, and wants to network with the senior partner (who grew up in Upper Savoy and was on the national ski team for a while), it will really really help if she knows how to ski. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Do your kids a favour. If you have the money and the vacation time, take them skiing. If you can't ski, do what my friends Cécile and Guy do (because they can't stand skiing but they realise that it will offer a certain social value to their kids): send your kids to ski camp for a week or two every winter. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Those ten years of violin lessons my mother forced me to take? A complete waste. It was obvious from year three that I was hopeless. Forget the music lessons unless your kid enjoys it or has an obvious talent for it, of course. Teach her how to ski. Her business and social network will care very little about how well she plays violin, unless she does it for a living. On the other hand, if your child attends university, the chances that there will be a ski outing at some point in your child's future professional or social life is fairly high.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And if you can't appreciate the idea that skiing will be a good skill for your kids to have in the long run, just enjoy the smile that you'll see on your kids' faces when they get their achievement medals at the end of the week. This year, it was a "flocon" (snowflake) badge for the Bambino and a bronze star (étoile bronze) for the Bambina.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Other upward mobility sports are golf and tennis. It's good to know how to play these, too. I can remember our office having a golf and tennis day. Guess who had never played a game of golf in her life? So I signed up for tennis instead (which I also had never played). Also a disaster. </span></div>
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The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com0Kuwait29.31166 47.48176599999999327.5396425 44.899978999999995 31.0836775 50.063552999999992tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-69748860104504470412013-11-17T13:30:00.001+03:002013-11-17T13:30:10.476+03:00The Globetrotter's Guide to Learning to read Arabic<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I have been living in Kuwait for two years (18 months if you don't count summers in France). During this time, I haven't had a single lesson in speaking, reading, or writing Arabic. I can say "chokran" to thank someone and that's about it. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Y</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">esterday, I looked at this word on the sign outside the grocery store... and read it. M-R-K-Z. Merkaz.</span></span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-86catW-rWac/UoiLRR0aQgI/AAAAAAAABQQ/h-DW447lN0k/s1600/IMG_6854.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="129" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-86catW-rWac/UoiLRR0aQgI/AAAAAAAABQQ/h-DW447lN0k/s320/IMG_6854.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">Hmmm. I call my Lebanese friend Amal to ask her what "merkaz" means. "It means "center", she says. Of course, the Sultan Center, the name of the store where I'm getting my groceries.</span></span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UJKTtRRDJhE/UoiLdAAKf4I/AAAAAAAABQY/VagofBYf0KY/s1600/IMG_6854.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UJKTtRRDJhE/UoiLdAAKf4I/AAAAAAAABQY/VagofBYf0KY/s320/IMG_6854.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">So there you have it, everyone. Congratulate me! I am now reading Arabic without having taken any lessons at all. Just 18 months of a constant barrage of signs for McDonalds, Burger King, Zara, and GAP, etc. and I'm catching on. <i class="_4-k1 img sp_314kar sx_a40a08" style="background-image: url(https://fbstatic-a.akamaihd.net/rsrc.php/v2/yI/r/akMH6WWgy9q.png); background-position: -102px -868px; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: auto; display: inline-block; height: 16px; vertical-align: -3px; width: 16px;"></i> Who says illiteracy can't be beaten?</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you make out the letters M-A-K-D-O-N-A-L-D-Z ?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">S-B-A-R-O</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">H-A-R-D-I-Z</td></tr>
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Applying my newly-discovered Arabic reading skill, I'm starting to make out more actual words in Arabic, not just brand names. I have learned the word STOP in Arabic just by reading the Arabic part of the sign.<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uS09xtBlXDs/UoiURRq3SbI/AAAAAAAABRM/Ky6R7Doqu8M/s1600/IMG_2432.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uS09xtBlXDs/UoiURRq3SbI/AAAAAAAABRM/Ky6R7Doqu8M/s320/IMG_2432.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Q-F (/kef/) is the word for "stop"</td></tr>
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And take a look at this sign out in the desert. I can instantly recognized the words "Al-Kuwait" just by recognising the "K", but what about the word for "city" (which, incidentally, precedes the word "Kuwait" in Arabic, reading right to left. Let's see: M-D-I-N-A. So the word for city in Arabic is "medina" (just like the city of Medina in Saudi, I guess).</div>
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Of course, I'm going to have to check all of this out with my Arab friends. The tricky part is that the letters change depending on where they are placed in the word, so I have to get used to remembering a letter three different ways depending.</div>
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Meanwhile, the Bambina has 45 minutes of Arabic at school every day. She's better at it than I am (for starters, she can actually say something more than "Chokran") but she says it's very hard. I would be thrilled if she learned to speak, read, and write Arabic competently before we left Kuwait. Even if she doesn't get to take it in lycée when we return to France, she may get inspired enough to study it again later on.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The week before, I had an email from her Arabic teacher complaining that the Bambina only got 4 out of 10 and that she needed to try harder!</td></tr>
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The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-85000745561935647872013-11-11T21:32:00.000+03:002013-11-11T21:32:03.090+03:00Here's one thing you can do on the weekend in Kuwait...In Madagascar, there was nothing to do on the weekends. There weren't even any malls (can't say that about Kuwait!). However, we could always hop into our car and leave the city to explore the countryside. The roads were not great and sometimes there were no roads but we got to see some incredible wildlife and quaint Malagasy villages.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Antsirabe, Madagascar</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BCQBgKnt3Sw/UoEXCjQ_SJI/AAAAAAAABM4/NaZdE46eGko/s1600/IMG_0463.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BCQBgKnt3Sw/UoEXCjQ_SJI/AAAAAAAABM4/NaZdE46eGko/s200/IMG_0463.jpg" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the many lemurs at Vakona Lodge, just north of Antanarivo, Madgascar</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dUuC6iBOkLw/UoEWYLimOOI/AAAAAAAABMo/2rXPX0I4ngg/s1600/IMG_0670.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dUuC6iBOkLw/UoEWYLimOOI/AAAAAAAABMo/2rXPX0I4ngg/s200/IMG_0670.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting to know the tortoises on one of our weekend trips outside the city</td></tr>
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Kuwait on the other hand? When you live in a tiny country encased by Saudi Arabia, Iraq, and the ocean, you can't go very far by car. There is desert for two hours and there there's more desert but you can't go there because it's the border.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RJWTeKil2Io/UoEZA9AmGqI/AAAAAAAABNg/NQYDh-JFtM4/s1600/IMG_0710.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RJWTeKil2Io/UoEZA9AmGqI/AAAAAAAABNg/NQYDh-JFtM4/s320/IMG_0710.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The border at Iraq</td></tr>
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The result of this hemmed-in environment is that the kids are bored for much of the weekend. There's the mall. But the mall just means buying stuff and spending money. There's the beach club. We go there every Friday during the warm months, but cooler weather has arrived. I won't call it winter, but it's not beach weather.<br />
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There's no park near where we live (and <a href="http://theglobetrotterparent.blogspot.com/2011/12/judging-kuwait-by-its-playgrounds.html" target="_blank">Kuwait parks are not in great shape</a>, anyway), there are no outdoor cafés, no outdoor art exhibits like at the Jardin du Luxembourg in Paris, no children's workshops at a local museum (that I know of...), but we have found one thing that we can do one weekend at month. We can visit and even volunteer at the animal shelter in Wafra.<br />
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Wafra is a town near the Saudi border. It takes over an hour to get there. The <a href="http://kspath.org/wordpress/" target="_blank">Kuwait Society for the Protection of Animals and their Habitat</a> (aka K'S PATH) houses its animals there.<br />
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The advantages of visiting this shelter are numerous:<br />
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<li>The shelter is in the country, surrounded like farms, so going there is like taking a day-trip to the country. That's a refreshing change from visiting shopping malls.</li>
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<li>You get to see all kinds of animals - dogs, cats, baboons, falcons, horses, donkeys, goats, are the ones that come to mind. It's almost like visiting a zoo. There is a real zoo in Kuwait but it's depressing to visit. This place is not depressing. The animals are well taken care of.</li>
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<li>You get to walk the dogs outside around the surrounding farmland.</li>
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<li>You get to play with and brush all the gorgeous kitty cats . </li>
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Can you tell that I'm a cat person? :-)</div>
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<li>You get to meet other families living in Kuwait.</li>
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<li>The kids get to experience the joy of animals and of volunteer work.</li>
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Be careful, though. Your kids may convince you to adopt one of the animals.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meet Pumpkin, our new cat</td></tr>
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<br />The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-59037901923805425402013-11-10T10:13:00.000+03:002013-11-10T10:13:49.154+03:00Spending the night in the desert of KuwaitEvery November since we have been living in Kuwait, we join the Amicale des Français au Koweït (that's the local association for French-speaking expats) for a night in the desert. We meet up at 1 in the afternoon at an agreed-upon place, someone hands us a map and GPS coordinates, and we head out in a convoy to a corner of Kuwait where there is nothing but sand and the odd herd of camels.<br />
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Some observations about the desert in Kuwait. First of all, it's almost completely flat.<br />
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It's nothing like the beautiful vast rolling dunes that you see in the United Arab Emirates, for example.<br />
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The flatness makes finding a campsite all the harder, because you really do need dunes to camp out. Dunes make camping a better experience, more beautiful, less windy, easier to find a private spot when you want to go pee! There are a couple of places where you can find a sand dune or two, fortunately, but they're rare.<br />
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Seconlyly, the sand of the Kuwait desert isn't consistently smooth and fine. In many parts, its more like gravel. There are plenty of stones and even large rocks to be found in it.<br />
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And then there is the garbage. It's a sad fact that there is trash everywhere you look in the desert of Kuwait. It litters almost every square meter of sand. We are guessing that there is no or limited trash collection for the bedouins who live in the desert. That might be one part of the problem. However, I also sense that people in Kuwait have not developed the common value of caring for their communal environment. The desert doesn't belong to any one person individually but to the whole country, so it's not up to any one person to keep it clean. It's sad because, even without the dunes, it could be a beautiful desert. As it stands, it can be truly ugly just because of all the trash.<br />
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The camp is only an hour and 15 minutes away (Kuwait is a tiny country!). Once we arrive, we have to set up our tent right away, before it gets dark. Pitching a tent can be an arduous task in normal conditions. It's really hard when you have a strong wind, and sand blowing in your face while you're doing it. We end up getting help from a few people to set up our tent, plus several bags of sand and rocks to prevent the tent from blowing away when we aren't in it.</div>
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Once the tents are pitched, it's time for the aperatif. Everyone gets beverages out of their coolers (I'm not going to mention what kind of beverages people brought with them. I'll leave that up to your imagination). We drink to good health and the expat life. The Crown Plaza Hotal has already arrived with the catering truck, and an hour later, there are tables and chairs set up and a buffet dinner is served. We have a lively dinner filled with banter, jokes, and camraderie. The kids hardly eat anything. They're too busy rolling down the sand dunes and exploring dark places for snakes and lizards.</div>
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After dinner, it's time for singing around a big bonfire.</div>
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Somewhere around 11PM, we make it to our tents and fall asleep. This may seem early to you, but it's been dark since 5PM and we're exhausted.</div>
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In the morning, we wake up with the sun and the sound of wind. Sand covers every crevice of our tent and every orifice of our body. After a communal breakfast of coffee and packaged croissants, we take down our tents and pick up any garbage on the ground. We think it's important to clean up after ourselves. </div>
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We can't wait to get home, take a shower, and appreciate the new-found luxury of our homes. The desert is fun for a night but not longer than that.</div>
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The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com0Kuwait29.31166 47.48176599999999327.5396425 44.899978999999995 31.0836775 50.063552999999992tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-80187201272163496312013-10-31T15:33:00.000+03:002013-11-10T08:48:08.786+03:00Hallowe'en when you're not in North AmericaIn Kuwait, Hallowe'en is a sensitive subject. Whether it's something to be celebrated or not depends on who you talk to.<br />
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There are first of all the vast majority of people who are expats from countries who don't do Hallowe'en and who don't care to start the tradition (people from the Philippines, India, and Sri Lanka, for example). </div>
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Then there are the expats from North America who are **very** keen to somehow continue their tradition with their children while abroad.<br />
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And then you have the expats from the United Kingdom, western Europe, Australia, and New Zealand who, even though they don't celebrate Hallowe'en back home, are happy to join in on the fun with their North American expatriate confreres while abroad. The Bambino's French school is an example of this mindset. The French don't traditionally celebrate Hallowe'en - at least not in France. But the French school in Kuwait definitely does. The kids in the preschool and kindergarten arrive in costumes. The classrooms are decorated. The teachers, also in disguise lead the children through the administration corridors yelling "farces ou friandises" (a French translation of "trick or treat" to anyone who'll give them some candy.<br />
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And then there is the 30 percent or so of the population that is Kuwaiti and that is divided on the subject of Hallowe'en. Some see Hallowe'en as a fun and harmless way to stimulate their children's imagination. Others see at a Christian/pagan/satanic festival that has no place in Kuwaiti culture and should be banned from sight. Kidzania Kuwait recently canceled their Hallowe'en costume party after receiving pressure from customers who took offense that a local business was promoting a non-Kuwaiti tradition.<br />
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But even in Kuwait where Hallowe'en remains a little bit hush-hush do to local sensitivities, if you're looking for something to do on 31 October, you can always find a Hallowe'en party at your local beach club or at places like The Little Gym or at your child's school. The hard part is finding a place to do trick or treating. In other expat countries, American families might organise a trick or treat in the park. We used to do this in Paris. Everyone lines up, and then the kids at the end of the line "trick or treat" the others in turn. Nothing like that has ever been organised here in Kuwait. Last year, we did no trick-or-treating at all. This year, due to pressure from the kiddies, I'm sending them over to some (American) friends who live in a building full of other Americans (it's one of the faculty buildings for the American University of Kuwait, in fact) and my kids will trick or treat at all the apartments in the building. I'm giving a kilo of candy to my friends to distribute to other kids on our behalf.</div>
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But even with this kind of make-shift set up, I realise that my children will probably never experience a true All Hallows Eve. It's not the same thing when the whole city or even neighbourhood isn't participating. It's not the same thing when there aren't jack-o-lanterns lining the porches and window sills of every house on the street. And it's not the same thing when you don't see hordes of kids everywhere outside traipsing from door to door. The real Hallowe'en will have to wait until they're grown up and possibly living in North America - although I hear that in France, it's also catching on...</div>
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The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com0Kuwait29.31166 47.48176599999999327.5396425 44.899978999999995 31.0836775 50.063552999999992tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-4506561346287277412013-10-22T16:52:00.001+03:002013-10-22T16:52:51.212+03:00That moment when you realize that you really are in another part of the world...Kuwait has so many street cats, maybe as many cats as people. Most of the cats you see hiding under parked cars or meowing from rooftops are feral and it's impossible to pet them, let alone pick them up. Even if you wanted to adopt one of these cats, you couldn't. They're not meant to be domesticated.<br />
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And then you happen upon some poor wretched cat that is not feral, just living in the street, very friendly and (dare I say) cuddly, begging you for some food. Here is a beautiful Persian cat that lives just outside our house. She's one of these cats.<br />
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Something happened to her tail. I don't want to know what it was. It's too painful to think about and I can't stand to look at it. It has puss coming out of it sometimes, and today I finally couldn't take it anymore and I took her to the vet to get her treated with antibiotics.<br />
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And here was my Kuwait moment - my moment when I thought to myself, "This part of the world really is very different from the place where I grew up". I arrived at the veterinary clinic, I took a number, I sat down with the cat in her cage (yes, I know, poor kitty) and here is what I saw:<br />
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Yes, that's a bunch of Arab men holding falcons. They traditionally use falcons for hunting, although I'm not sure that these men do. They might just keep a falcon as a pet. It was a bizarre scene - me with my stray cat and eight men that look like they're wearing pyjamas holding a falcon on their finger.<br />
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I think I'll send the photos to National Geographic.The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-28573336519443075542013-10-21T12:50:00.000+03:002013-10-21T12:50:35.909+03:00Your kids' jeans made here in the third world<div style="text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Workers at the factory. They get paid about 40 dollars a month,<br />
according to the head of the factory. That's a low wage,<br />
even by Malagasy standards. Our nanny gets paid about 125<br />
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A couple of years back when we were living in Antananarivo, Madagascar, I had the opportunity to visit a local factory where name brand children's jeans were manufactured for export to Europe. </div>
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Let me just say that I have always been a big supporter of free trade and free movement of capital. While some people might complain about the loss of manufacturing jobs in developed countries to China, India, Bangladesh, or Madagascar, my reply has always been, "More power to the Chinese, the Indians, the Bangladeshis, and the Malagasy!". I'm happy for them to have jobs and opportunities.</div>
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It is therefore with a bit of sadness that I am revealing these photos.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outside the factory, tons of eucalyptus wood cut from Madagascar forests<br />
and burned to make hot water to wash and treat the jeans. <br />
The factory head maintained that they contributed to tree replanting too. I suppose there may be good arguments to use eucalyptus trees instead of say, gas, but I tend to think that the resulting carbon footprint must be huge.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue toxic waste is the byproduct of washing, bleaching,<br />
dying and chemically treating the jeans to create the<br />
"stone-washed" and "acid-washed" look (Note to self: don't buy these jeans). The waste gets<br />
dumped in uncontrolled landfills and leaches into rivers,<br />
lakes, and the soil.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FeDCxJDLn4/TNuM895sQbI/AAAAAAAAA0s/PTgDhrtfpCc/s1600/jeans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5FeDCxJDLn4/TNuM895sQbI/AAAAAAAAA0s/PTgDhrtfpCc/s320/jeans.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;">Children's jeans ready for export</td></tr>
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As I toured the factory and saw the hundreds or workers labouring over fabrics and machines, I thought to myself, well, at least this factory gives them a job. Many people in Madagascar live in abject poverty and have no employment at all.</div>
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"And can I assume the employees get to make a living wage here, unlike so many in this country?" I said out loud to the factory manager showing me around.</div>
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"<i>Mais</i> <i>NON !</i> They earn 80 US dollars a month."</div>
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80 US dollars a month would allow you to live in Tananarive, but not very well. You would definitely need other income earners in the family. </div>
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So there you have it. The next time you buy jeans for your kids, let your mind travel to the factory where those jeans were made. I would never suggest boycotting jean purchases, but I definitely don't buy stone-wash or acid wash jeans now. </div>
The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-53418683213591926322013-10-09T10:29:00.001+03:002013-10-09T13:08:24.040+03:00Five Bad or Overrated Tips for Flying with Children<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We've just booked our tickets back to France for Christmas (annual ski trip in the Alps!). Choosing the best times to take a plane with kids made me think of some "traveling with kids" tips that I have never followed, or stopped following very early on.<br />
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<b><i>1) Bring snacks.</i></b><br />
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The issue with snacks is two-fold. First of all, the snack often doesn't get eaten. How could this be the case, you ask? Kids are hungry all the time, after all, especially when they're bored. The snacks you pack don't get eaten because you decided to stop at a coffee shop in the airport instead, or because it was an overnight flight and your kids slept, or because well, they didn't fancy the four-hour old peanut butter sandwich smushed at the bottom of your purse.<br />
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So the food ends up sitting in your purse or bag - dead additional useless weight that you have to carry. You discover it four days later while cleaning out your purse in your hotel room (so that's what that smell was!).<br />
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Secondly, there is the<i> crumb, stickiness, and general mess factor</i>. Chocolate is a huge no-no for this reason. Chocolate melts in hands at room temperature. Imagine what your 3-year old will look like after downing that Hershey's during the transatlantic flight. Yes, I know you brought baby wipes, but the baby wipes will only get his face and hands. Have you taken a look at his shirt? Do you really want to have to change his clothes for that? Cookies and muffins create lots of crumbs everywhere, including on your seat, and you're stuck with those crumbs for the rest of the flight. No matter how much you try to dust off that seat, you'll still be left with half the snack under and around your three-year old's (and your) butt.<br />
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Fruit is often too sticky and does not satisfy appetite. In fact, it increases it. That apple you just ate is going to make your stomach growl for more food. Then there is the fact that if you're going to pack something healthy and not some pre-packaged industrial junk, you're going to have to bring it in a container - more things to carry - and you're stuck with a dirty container for the rest of the trip.<br />
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So, no, this globetrotter mom does not bring any snacks for long plane or train trips. No really, I bring no snacks for the kids. None.<br />
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And what if my kids get hungry in the airport? We stop at Starbucks (barely more acceptable than McDonalds. Just barely). They get a muffin, or maybe a short hot chocolate, and some water. If we are truly fortunate, the Frenchman's frequent flyer card will get us into a lounge, and then the kids can have a proper meal. Otherwise, they eat at an airport take-out place and eat very little, if anything, on the plane. No containers or dirty bags to carry around, no mess in my purse. Crumbs, excess food, and spilt drinks land on the airport table and floor and are left there.<br />
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What about on the plane, I hear you asking? Well, here is one tip I do actually follow. I try to book overnight flights. Because on overnight flights, kids tend to sleep. Or if they don't, they can watch movies, or play on ipad or the Bambina might read a book. When we arrive at our destination, we have a proper breakfast or lunch somewhere, or if we arrive at nighttime, we just go to bed.<br />
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<b><i>2. Order the kids' meal</i></b><br />
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The only thing more disgusting and unhealthy than airplane meals is the airplane meals for kids. It is also more likely to increase the crumb and mess factor, as it is more likely to contain things like cookies and chips. If your kids have to eat on the plane, just get them the regular meal. And once the flight attendant has served your meals, don't let her/him move on to the next row before you hand back every single item on the tray that you know your little one is not going to eat. You'll have much less clutter to deal with when the eating is over.<br />
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<b><i>3. Bring toys</i></b><br />
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Why not bring toys? Kids need entertainment when they travel!<br />
Kids need entertainment when they travel until about age of three, at which point they can watch the movies or sleep. And that two kilo / five pound bag of small toys you brought for your two-year old? He'll be done with it in about ten minutes or before you can say "Hey! Where're you going! You can't go in there, that's the business class cabin!"<br />
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One exception: if you can bring a few wax crayons and some paper or colouring books, this should hold your child's attention a little longer. Maybe even 20 minutes if you're very lucky. Don't hold your breath, though.<br />
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But even if the toys only occupy them for half an hour, it's something, right? But guess who will eventually have to carry them... You. Yes, I know, your toddler has a carry-on suitcase with wheels on it that she can pull with her. Do you think she'll be able to manage when you're on the escalator, when you're going through doors, or when your racing to the gate because they changed the gate number at the last minute and your gate is now at the other end of the airport? And once you've reached your destination, guess who will have to deal with the toys littering the hotel room floor... You. And guess who will be stuck looking for them when they are left at the airport or in the hotel room...Yes, you, while your little one is howling because they're lost.<br />
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But my kid will be bored if I don't bring toys, you say. Do you own an ipad? Does it have games on it? Does it have an app for painting or colouring? Trust me, those ipad apps are going to hold your kid's attention much longer (and be far more educational) than that new plastic truck you picked up at Boots drugstore yesterday. You can also bring one or two small books, preferably ones that your little one hasn't heard yet. No more - they can add a lot of weight to your bag.<br />
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<b><i>4. Accept the airline's goodie bag for kids</i></b><br />
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Flight attendants typically provide little goodie bags for children on a long-haul flight. These bags often contain pencil crayons, a small colouring book or an activity book, sometimes a furry toy. The problem with them is that the activity book is rarely age appropriate - by the time your child is old enough to actually read the instructions and do the activities, he or she will not likely to be very interested in completing it. The pencil crayons draw so faintly that the wax crayons you brought will be more effective. The colouring book is usually very small. The toy is, well, junk. The Bambina - age 9 - now routinely refuses the goodie bag. If the Bambino is sleeping, I refuse it on his behalf. If he's awake and insists that he would like it, I make a point of leaving the contents behind when we get off the airplane. It's just more junk that I don't want to carry and that I don't want in my house.<br />
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<b><i>5. Bring large suitcases with lots of clothes, even if you could manage with carry-on suitcases.</i></b><br />
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Most tips for travel with children encourage you to bring as much as possible. Better safe than sorry after all. Bring numerous changes of clothes, the bottle warmer, extra diapers, toys, books, changing pads.<br />
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My take: bring what you absolutely have to bring, but if at all possible, bring it in carry-on suitcases, and don't check in the stroller. Waiting for luggage is that last thing you want to do when you've arrived at your destination. Waiting and searching for the stroller that never showed up on the carrousel or in the "special luggage" pile is pure hell when you have small children who just want to leave the airport. Kids' clothing doesn't take up much space. I've packed a week's worth of clothing for a toddler in one carry-on suitcase. I buy diapers at the destination. The stroller is a bigger problem, as some airlines force you to check it in. There is also greater risk that the stroller will be lost or broken than there is with other luggage. Just remember, generally speaking, the less checked in baggage, the better.<br />
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The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-7716715966202661662013-10-01T11:26:00.003+03:002013-10-01T11:26:58.987+03:00Driving in Kuwait. Yikes!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Seen today, on the Fahaheel Highway of Death (otherwise known as highway 30) going from Salwa to Salmiya: a mother in the driver's seat, an empty carseat in the back, and her under-two year old child sitting next to the mother <b>in the driver's seat.</b><br />
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Here are some other things we see all the time while driving in Kuwait:<br />
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People talking on their phone while driving</div>
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Small children not in a car seat and not wearing a seatbelt, often moving around inside the car, sometimes even standing up and sticking their heads and arms out the window or sunroof!</div>
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People texting while driving</div>
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Here are the kinds of accidents and car wrecks that we regularly see:</div>
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We are continually surprised by the driving culture in this country and by the number of horrific accidents that we see, so much so that the Frenchman and I have created a Facebook page called "Too Many Car Accidents in Kuwait." Look it up for yourself.</div>
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The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-52438719936024745022013-09-26T11:11:00.001+03:002013-09-26T11:11:39.797+03:00The nanny culture in the Middle EastHere are photos of pick-up time at the Bambina's school:<br />
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Notice anything unusual? Do you see many parents? Or do you see, when you look closely, a lot of Filipina domestic helpers? In this part of the world, it is not uncommon for the nanny or housemaid to play the principal role in raising a child. Our own housekeeper told me that her first job in Kuwait was working as a nanny for a Kuwaiti couple. She began her employment when the wife was still pregnant with their first child. She told me in her broken Sri Lankan English, "I not understand, ma'am. Baby born. She give me baby. And then I mother. I sleep with baby, eat with baby, stay with baby all the time. She no want baby."<br />
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Thanks to <a href="http://kuwaitiful.com/commercial/your-kids-are-your-responsibility-dont-lose-their-hearts/">Kuwaitiful</a> for originally posting this video for everyone to see. The Saudi Human Rights Commission (now there's a paradox if there ever was one) has released this touching video showing a Saudi mother welcoming her children with open arms when they arrive home from school - only to see the children run into the arms of their nanny. <br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/XuSTvT-61lI" width="480"></iframe><br />
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As expats, we've had the luxury of being able to hire a full time housekeeper in both Madagascar and in Kuwait. In Madagascar, we hired someone full time to work partly as a nanny and housekeeper; yet even then, I made sure that I was always the mother to my kids. I spent time with my son while our nanny/housekeeper cleaned the house. I also breastfed the Bambino on demand and well into his toddler years, so we had a lot of bonding time together!<br />
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In Kuwait, I have always made a point of making sure that I pick up both kids from school. It's not about the transportation. We have a driver. It's about connection. They don't want to see the driver or a nanny or a housemaid. They want to see their mom, and at this stage in their lives, I wouldn't want it any other way.<br />
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The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-16026502870177361752013-09-24T11:50:00.000+03:002013-09-26T11:39:23.226+03:00Raising Freethinking Globetrotter Kids<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When we arrived in Kuwait, the Bambina had already been around nominally Muslim families in Madagascar, but none of them practised their faith in a visible way. So Kuwait was the first place my kids saw men in <i>dishdashas</i> and women in <i>abayas</i> and headscarves. </span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZZlgztYGlBs/T7eR0XaNd2I/AAAAAAAABBM/TnXSU7E_FCw/s1600/IMG_0427.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZZlgztYGlBs/T7eR0XaNd2I/AAAAAAAABBM/TnXSU7E_FCw/s320/IMG_0427.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Some women even had their faces and hands covered, something neither of our children had ever seen a lot of in Madagascar, Italy, or France. In France, it is against the law for any person to go with her or his face covered in public. And in public schools in France, teachers and students are prohibited from wearing any "ostentatious" religious signs. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Our new cultural and religious environment came as a shock to our kids. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I can remember the Bambino - age two - seeing </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">for the first time</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> in his life a woman fully decked from head to toe in a black abaya that also covered her face. We were in the restaurant of the Marina Hotel in Kuwait, serving ourselves at the buffet. The Bambino looked up at this woman with a black sheet over her head, pointed his little index finger at her and said "Fantôme!" (<i>Fantôme</i> is the French word for "ghost"). We were ready to burst out laughing because, yes, she did look like a ghost. A black ghost.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If I had to put a label on the Frenchman and me, I would say that we were secular humanists. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We want our children to question all beliefs - their origin, their rationale, and the historical accuracy of any "sacred" book that expounds a belief. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When our children are confronted with</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> a rule or moral code, whether found in a religious book or elsewhere, we want them to ask themselves whether that rule or moral code seems fair - whether it makes <i>ethical sense</i>. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We want our kids to be skeptics. We want them to be as skeptical about the veracity of any major religion as they would be about the existence of, say, Zeus or Odin, until someone can show them evidence that requires a different conclusion.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">On the other hand, we also want our kids to be open-minded to new points of view</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. And we want them to respect and love people for who they are, not for their beliefs. We want them to be good to people of all beliefs, persuasions, and backgrounds, for the sake of being good.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So how do we do this? First, I try to expose my kids to all kinds of myths, from Greek, Norse, and Egyptian myths, to the stories in the Bible, to the myth of Santa Claus. And I ask them what they think of these stories. Does the story make sense? Do they think the story is true? Do we have any evidence that it's true? </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When the Bambina asked how the earth and people came to be, I told her about how evolution works but I also told her that some people don't believe evolution is true, despite what scientific findings tell us. They believe that some kind of a god or gods created the world. In addition to finding some information for kids on the internet about evolution, I </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">read to her the Genesis creation myth as well as the creation story in our Greek mythology book. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Just as important as the preceding questions about what evidence we have to back up the story, I encourage them to think about the nature and character of the god in the story. When the Bambina saw a toy Noah's arc, I read the story of Noah's Arc to her ("God drowned everyone? Even the babies?"). During the annual <i>Eid</i> celebrations when the kids see sheep in the backs of trucks everywhere in Kuwait, waiting to be slaughtered, we talk about the story that the <i>Eid</i> celebration is based on - the story of how God asked Abraham to kill his son Isaac. The Bambina also learned very early on about the Christian Easter story - Jesus was killed on a cross as a human sacrifice for sins, and then rose from the dead. Conclusion: the god of the bible apparently thinks human sacrifice is a good thing?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Santa Claus has been of great assistance in creating young skeptical minds. When the Bambina was almost six years old, we had the following conversation: </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Bambina: "Mommy, is Santa real?" </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Me: "Well, what do you think? Have you ever seen reindeer fly?" </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Bambina: "No. And how does he deliver all the presents around the world in one night?" </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Me: "That's a good question. Do you think it would be possible for someone to deliver presents to all the children in the world in one night?" </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She didn't have an answer for that right away but the longer she thought about it the more skeptical she became. She was already a non-believer in Santa well before the following Christmas. I recently asked the Bambina if she was sorry not to have been able to believe in Santa for at least one or two years more. "No," she said. "I'm glad. I like knowing the truth."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Secondly, I try to encourage our kids be open to listening to new ideas and world views. I'm comfortable doing this because I'm also raising them to be skeptical. I've told the Bambina that she is welcome to explore religious beliefs if she wants. I've offered to take her to a church, a mosque, or any other religious place. So far, she's not interested. One of the Bambina's best friends at school is a member of the Church of Latter Day Saints. I've asked the Bambina if she would like to attend there one Friday (with me accompanying her). She said flat out no - she's not interested in three hours of church on her weekend!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Not all people agree with this approach. My good friend F, who is Muslim, thinks that our children will grow up with no moral compass or any notion of good or evil. She thinks that our children need something or someone to believe in in order to know right from wrong. To me, it is very obvious that our children know the difference between right and wrong. Whether we have a religious rule book or not, we know when our acts can hurt other people. And it doesn't take much reasoning to figure out that we don't want to be hurt, so we shouldn't hurt others, either.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My Christian friends think that our kids will still know what is right from wrong (they believe that god did give them a conscience, after all) but that our kids will lack larger meaning in their lives. I think my kids will define their own meaning. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I love how living in Kuwait exposes our children daily to another major world religion. There is a mosque right next door and we hear the call to prayer (very loudly!) five times a day (yep, at 4:15 AM, too). Most of our children's friends at school come from Muslim families. In the Bambino's Montessori school last year, during the Eid celebrations, the children learned all about the <i>Hajj </i>(the pilgrimage to Mecca that all Muslims are obligated to do at least once in their life). The teachers put a big black cube in the yard. The children pretended it was the <i>Kabah</i> and learned about the ritual of circling it seven times during <i>Hajj</i>. They also learned to roll and unroll the prayer mats and to recite the Arabic prayer. (We were okay with the Bambino learning the words to the prayer but told the teachers that we were not okay with the Bambino engaging in the actual prayer ritual of bowing prostrate on the prayer mats and praying). </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The Bambino (age 3) came out of his class one day that week and said to me "Mommy, I want to go to <i>Macca</i> and see the <i>Kabah</i>." </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I smiled. "Sure! If you want to do that one day when you're grown up, you can!." I didn't tell him that he would have to convert to Islam first. He'll learn about that later, if he wants. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"But why do you want to go to Mecca to see the Kabah?" I prodded further.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Because then we get to sleep in a tent!", he said.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"We're camping in the desert next week. You'll get to sleep in a tent then."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Yay! I want to sleep in a tent!"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Phew. There's one request put to rest. Now if I could just getting him to stop calling mosques "castles". </span></div>
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The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com2Kuwait29.31166 47.48176599999999327.5396425 44.899978999999995 31.0836775 50.063552999999992tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-39741635070713869572013-09-19T17:54:00.002+03:002013-09-19T17:54:55.900+03:00Back to Life in Sunny Q8<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yes, I know, it's been a long time since I've updated this blog but I've made a resolution to keep it up. We've recently returned from a three-month vacation back "home" in France. I have to say, I never tire of Europe. Who could get tired of this?<br />
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A vineyard behind our house</div>
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The Château d'Amboise</div>
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A scene from a bike trail in the Loire Valley</div>
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Apples getting ripe, in the yard of friends who live in Ile de France (that's the region around Paris!)</div>
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The Bambino having fun in a tub of water in our lusciously green front yard on an August day.</div>
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Or what about about this?</div>
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A hilltop view from the village of Montflanquin the region of Lot-et-Garonne in Southwestern France.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vifa-JxYeXo/UjsFbpwstcI/AAAAAAAABDQ/u_xZTN7D1NE/s1600/IMG_6708.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vifa-JxYeXo/UjsFbpwstcI/AAAAAAAABDQ/u_xZTN7D1NE/s200/IMG_6708.jpg" width="149" /></a></div>
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Cxu-O9VqL4w/UjsOCo0PDkI/AAAAAAAABFc/GnVCsbKb59k/s1600/IMG_5910.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Cxu-O9VqL4w/UjsOCo0PDkI/AAAAAAAABFc/GnVCsbKb59k/s200/IMG_5910.JPG" width="200" /></a>And don't forget about this! We don't get this stuff in Kuwait! I think I averaged at least one glass of wine per day this summer. Maybe more. And dead pig. There was especially lots of wine, and dead pig in all its glorious forms - from <i>saussison sec</i> to shaved ham to barbeque pork sausage, at the village festivals that took place almost every weekend.<br />
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In Kuwait, there's no wine and there's no dead pig. At all. Not even in special stores for expats (Nope, this is not Dubai). There are no castles, no grassy hills, no apple orchards, no narrow cobblestone streets, and certainly no vineyards.</div>
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But there's the hot dry sun and the beach club.</div>
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There are the feral cats that visit our house and periodically produce a litter of kittens:</div>
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We pass by some incredible car wrecks that (sadly enough) provide entertainment for us (honestly, we can't even imagine how the car could have possibly ended up that way):</div>
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And there's the desert:</div>
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And best of all, the kids are back in school (<i>yes</i>)! </div>
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And I have my computer again, so I'll be updating this blog more often.</div>
The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-57911533363854090162012-05-10T15:40:00.000+03:002012-05-10T15:41:18.982+03:00You Know Your House is in the Middle East When...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's been a while! We've been busy on vacation back in France then back to Kuwait to move from our three-bedroom apartment to (finally) a house!<br />
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You know you live in a house in the Middle East when:<br />
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- your house is 800 square metres (that's about 8000 square feet);<br />
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- there is a room just for the driver (and it is possible that you even <i>have</i> a driver);<br />
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- there is a third floor (second floor in European parlance);<br />
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- there are two of everything: two kitchens, two living rooms, two dining rooms...except for bedrooms - of which there are at least four (not including the maid's bedroom), and toilets - of which you have lost count;<br />
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Dining room No. 1</div>
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Dining room No. 2 (well, part of it - the table seats 12)</div>
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- there is a swimming pool next to one of the living rooms - enclosed in glass;</div>
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- your master bedroom is, in fact, a suite, complete with sitting room, walk-in dressing room, and bathroom;<br />
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- the grocery store is a theoretical ten-minute walk from your house but it's literally not possible to get there by foot;<br />
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- there are eight similar houses on your little street, and about fifty cars, motorbikes, and vans;<br />
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- notwithstanding the presence of eight other gigantic houses on your street and many many automobiles of all sorts, you have never met nor even seen any of your neighbours - ever;<br />
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- your kids ride their bikes inside; and<br />
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- there are 100+ channels on your Nilesat television satellite system, of which there are five in a language that you understand.</div>The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-41182782876486740222011-12-11T09:42:00.001+03:002011-12-12T21:27:39.222+03:00Dining at the old Kuwait souq<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I've already written about how <a href="http://theglobetrotterparent.blogspot.com/2011/11/avoiding-mcdonalds-on-road.html">we avoid fast food outlets in Kuwait (and everywhere else)</a>, so now I'll write about a place where we do go to eat every now and then - the old souq in Kuwait city. Here, not only do you get mouthwatering traditional middle eastern food like humous, lots of olives, special salty pickles, lots of veggies, a cheese whose name I don't know (but it's really good!), enormous wads of flat bread, and grilled lamb or chicken covered in some kind of yellow spice that I can't identify. You get it on real dishes. Only the beverages are served in plastic cups (they're not allowed to serve them in glasses outdoors).</div>
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Here is where you sit. I think we were the only westerners there that day. Oh, and the menu is all in Arabic and the waiters don't speak English, so for non-Arabic speakers, the best way to order is to just point to the things that the people at the table next to you have ordered.</div>
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And best of all, what is possibly <a href="http://theglobetrotterparent.blogspot.com/2011/12/judging-kuwait-by-its-playgrounds.html">Kuwait's only playground that is new and in good condition</a> is right next to the eating area!<br />
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<br /></div>The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-6978470268632685272011-12-05T10:12:00.001+03:002011-12-06T14:13:11.273+03:00Judging Kuwait by its playgrounds<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gI4HSbJJonI/TtyR6qjNIVI/AAAAAAAAA-o/SGXy3IC7H0k/s1600/IMG_0310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gI4HSbJJonI/TtyR6qjNIVI/AAAAAAAAA-o/SGXy3IC7H0k/s320/IMG_0310.jpg" width="240" /></a>Since having children, I have learned about the importance of public playgrounds. Playgrounds give children something to climb on, swing on, slide down, and run around. But they're not just for children. Playgrounds are a meeting place. They are the place where you bump into other mommies and daddies and grandparents in the neighbourhood, where nannies can meet up to chat every day, and where your children get to meet other kids. In our travels, I have met many people and made many friends in neighbourhood playgrounds and I have failed to meet people and been prevented from making friends in places where they were no playgrounds.<br />
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The number of play areas in a country as well as the state of a country's playgrounds says something about that country. In Italy, for example, there aren't many public play areas at all (although this is changing) because Italians view the family unit as a pre-emptive force. Children stay at home (or in the restaurant or wherever) with their parents and brothers and sisters (and maybe cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents). The state has no role in entertaining children. There is no room for a neighbourhood playground in this scenario. <br />
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In Madagascar, there are no public playgrounds, because the country is far too poor to think of spending public money on such luxuries. Children play on the street, in the dirt. This might sound romantic but in reality it is not. Their are no parks, so children play on the street where they breathe in noxious car fumes all day long. Their clothes and bodies get filthy from the red earth, the children rarely bathe and their clothes don't get washed. Disease spreads. Asthma is common.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-35ZbiP7CV8M/TtySIgqN6hI/AAAAAAAAA-w/gmTt2S_HBQ4/s1600/DSCF9431.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-35ZbiP7CV8M/TtySIgqN6hI/AAAAAAAAA-w/gmTt2S_HBQ4/s200/DSCF9431.JPG" width="132" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QymrjR9V1ac/TtySNRr-0NI/AAAAAAAAA-4/tlg5cwGjJkw/s1600/IMG_0459.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QymrjR9V1ac/TtySNRr-0NI/AAAAAAAAA-4/tlg5cwGjJkw/s320/IMG_0459.JPG" width="240" /></a>In France (or at least in Paris), the playgrounds are numerous and of good quality. Practically every church or public square has some kind of a play area, and sometimes even a sand box. There are also the major play areas in the Champs de Mars, the Jardin du Luxembourg, and the Jardin des Tuileries (including trampolines), to name a view, not to mention pony rides and merry-go-rounds (but you have to pay for those). It is a convenience that I will never tire of boasting about. Where is the first place we go when we hit the ground in Paris, once we check into our apartment-hotel? The local playground! <br />
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In France, if any part of public playground equipment gets damaged, it gets fixed, promptly. If the play equipment is starting to look worn out, the local city hall takes it all down and builds another play area. All play equipment has a sticker on it indicating what age the equipment is appropriate for. What do French playgrounds say about the French? For the French, children have their own sphere of activity separate from their parents and extended families, and providing activities in that separate "children's sphere" is part of the job of the state.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uk_rQ4IFfnY/TtyO--ZgB-I/AAAAAAAAA-g/jHVKRS51EAk/s1600/IMG_2606.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uk_rQ4IFfnY/TtyO--ZgB-I/AAAAAAAAA-g/jHVKRS51EAk/s200/IMG_2606.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6RQTkO145bc/TtyN9wMFFAI/AAAAAAAAA-Q/e7SbolThyC0/s1600/IMG_2601.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6RQTkO145bc/TtyN9wMFFAI/AAAAAAAAA-Q/e7SbolThyC0/s320/IMG_2601.jpg" width="238" /></a>Kuwait is interesting when it comes to playgrounds. The country is stinking rich, and the weather is decent for playing outdoors at least six months of the year. So you would think that this country would be the ideal place for lots of good playgrounds. Unfortunately, this is not quite the case. There are many playgrounds, especially on the Gulf Road, and many families frequent these playgrounds. However, all the equipment looks about 20+ years old and is badly in need of repair. 20+ years. Hmmm. That would take us back to before the first Gulf war. So it would seem that before the Gulf war, the Kuwaitis were very keen to have lots of great space for kids and families. Since then, they have left it all at a standstill. None of it has been maintained and nothing new has been built. Amazing how a war can affect the mindset of a people.<br />
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It's not only the run-down playgrounds that need a facelift. The public hospitals are on shoestring budgets. The beaches have been full of sewage for the past 10 years. There is litter all over the desert.... <br />
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What does the state of Kuwait's playgrounds tell me about Kuwait? It tells me that while Kuwaitis, for whatever reason, no longer think that their country is worth investing in. The war seems to have made them cynics. After all, why build a playground when it risks getting bombed? </div>The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-58627867471699069172011-12-04T11:04:00.001+03:002011-12-04T13:41:21.362+03:00The Bambino's nursery in Kuwait<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So we decided not to enroll the Bambino in one of the nurseries frequented by expatriate children here in Kuwait. We figured that while he is still so young and his mind like a sponge, why not put him in a nursery with Arabic speaking children instead? So he goes to a private, upscale Kuwaiti nursery. The children wear uniforms (they're only two years old!). The teacher-child ratio is one teacher for six children. The materials are from <a href="http://www.nienhuis.com/">Neinhuis</a>. The languages of the classroom are English, Arabic and French.<br />
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The nursery being the most "authentic" Montessori nursery in Kuwait (other nurseries in Kuwait call themselves Montessori but are more "Montessori-inspired" than actual Montessori), there are very few "toys" in the classroom. The closest thing you get to toys are stacking blocks, puzzles and an abacus. This being the toddler class, these toys are acceptable.<br />
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There is a practical life section, which real glass pitchers of water and bowls to practice pouring and transferring with a spoon.</div>
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There are also the standard Montessori mathematic and sensorial materials, like the pink tower and the cylinders. These materials are actually meant for age three and up but the school decided to put them in the toddler room as well.<br />
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And here is the Bambino during his adaptation period at the school (no uniform yet - that came a week later).<br />
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We recently had parent-teacher interviews. You read it right - a parent-teacher interview regarding our two-year old child. Never before have we encountered a nursery that gives parent-teacher interviews for toddlers. Not that I'm complaining. It's always fun to hear how my two-year old boy acts at his nursery when we're not there. Oh, and this "interview" didn't take place at the school, in the classroom, as you would expect them to. No no. We received a formal invitation to a tea at the very chichi Le Notre Restaurant and had the interview there.<br />
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So far, we're happy with our decision to put him in the posh Kuwaiti nursery. Now if only I could understand the Bambino when he tries to say something in Arabic!</div>The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-30628288100034563652011-11-25T19:01:00.001+03:002011-11-26T06:51:23.397+03:00Bahrain<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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So, when we entered Kuwait on August 31st of this year, they let us in on visitor's visas valid for ninety days. That means that before December 1st, we had to leave the country to get another visa; hence this week's quickie trip to the Kingdom of Bahrain. </div>
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Based on our trip, I have been able to make a few comparisons between Bahrain and Kuwait.</div>
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1. Bahrain has fewer lunatic drivers than Kuwait. The speed whimsical and erratic behaviour of cars on this freeway to Manama City pales in comparison to drivers on the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EKiXd-fC5Vc">Fahaheel Highway of Death</a> in Kuwait.</div>
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2. Bahrain has pubs that serve (gasp!) alcohol.<br />
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3. Bahrain has a <a href="http://www.timeoutbahrain.com/restaurants/reviews/5460-trader-vics">Trader Vic's</a> Restaurant. And they serve alcoholic beverages.<br />
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4. Bahrain has Kumon. And since I've recently enrolled the Bambina in Kumon and there's no Kumon Centre in Kuwait, it looks like we're going to be doing it by correspondence with the Kumon Centre in Bahrain, which is why we visited there during our trip. It's run by Fiona, a lovely Irish woman who did a great job of encouraging the Bambina to do our worksheets every day.<br />
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5. Bahrain has a slightly nicer, less polluted skyline than Kuwait.<br />
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6. Bahrain is greener than Kuwait.<br />
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7. And finally, there are just as many Ferraris, Infinitis, Porsches, Mercedes, BMWs and other very expensive cars in Bahrain as in Kuwait (all owned by locals of course. We poor expats get a rented Toyota.)<br />
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<br /></div>The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-3234644410065382482011-11-14T18:19:00.001+03:002011-11-19T19:28:27.420+03:00Avoiding Fast Food on the Road<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Call it a parenting quirk of mine, but in all our travels, we have never, ever, stopped at a Mcdonalds. Or even driven through. This means that my 7-year old daughter has never been to Mcdonalds. Or Burger King. Or KFC. Or any other restaurant that serves meals in throw away containers, with the exception of the time she had a slice of oven-baked cheese pizza in a food court in Sun City, South Africa. <br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fXqaMIEr6CM/TsfM0oUA6JI/AAAAAAAAA74/Toh3kyHbCS8/s1600/IMG_2434.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fXqaMIEr6CM/TsfM0oUA6JI/AAAAAAAAA74/Toh3kyHbCS8/s320/IMG_2434.JPG" width="320" /></a>How have we managed to avoid it? Well, it was easy to avoid in Madagascar because there were no fast food restaurants there at all. In Europe (and we have spent a lot of time in Europe), fast food outlets are abundant - French people love "Mac-DOE", as they affectionately call it. And here in Kuwait, there is a fast food chain restaurant of some kind about every 100 metres. It's not surprise that <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obesity_in_Kuwait">obesity is such a problem in Kuwait</a>, there is even a Wikipedia entry on it!<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C3LSp0hpTHk/TsfNhWP9EHI/AAAAAAAAA8A/EJiG-RmX_o0/s1600/IMG_2436.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C3LSp0hpTHk/TsfNhWP9EHI/AAAAAAAAA8A/EJiG-RmX_o0/s320/IMG_2436.JPG" width="320" /></a>The answer is that we just don't go there. In France, we just didn't when we were living there and we don't when we visit. We find a real restaurant or brasserie that serves food that our kids like, and we go there. Sometimes, we go there again and again if we can't find anything else. In Italy, the food is so good, why go for fast food? In Kuwait, we don't eat out much anyway and when we do, it's usually Pizza Express, a UK restaurant chain that serves wood oven pizza the way they make it in Italy (or pretty close ;-)). It's eat-in and the food in served on real plates with real cutlery.<br />
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I know people who think that we can't, realistically, maintain our "abstinence program" in Kuwait, or who ask,"why continue with it? Doesn't a fast food boycott just make your lives inconvenient? And after all, everything in moderation, right?" <br />
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I can see greater, long term inconveniences in taking my kids there. You see, my original reason for not taking the Bambina to Mcdonalds was only partly ethical and nutritional and more to do with <u>keeping the whine factor to a minimum</u>. I knew that once she had been one time, she would ask, beg, and plead to go again and again and again. <br />
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Are all kids like this? No (so please don't write in the comments that I must be wrong because your children never did this and you go to MacDonalds once a year, no problem). But my daughter is and so is my son. I'm very happy to avoid this trap. <br />
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As for the "everything in moderation" argument, that only counts for things that are actually *good* for you <i>in moderation</i> - like salt or brown sugar. Mcdonalds isn't. As a nutritional matter, Macdonalds meals are too calorie-dense, too high in fat, too high in sodium and not balanced. The fact is that there is <i>no </i>good reason to have a meal at Mcdonalds if your kids will enjoy a meal elsewhere. Not one. Macdonalds is not good for nutrition, not good for calories, not good for agriculture and not good for the environment. <br />
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And the reality is that Mcdonalds is just one option when you're on the road with kids. You don't <i>need</i> to take your kids to Mcdonalds at the Pantheon in Rome. Take them for some yummy pasta and sauce at a local trattoria instead. In Paris, take them for a delicious burger at <a href="http://www.hippopotamus.fr/">Hippopotamus</a>. The beef is excellent and they even have mashed potatoes and green beans on the side as an alternative to fries. <br />
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Even on a highway in the States, surely stopping at a diner or other truck stop and getting a burger is better than stopping at Mcdonalds (or Burger King or Wendy's or KFC...). At least at the truck stop, the hamburger patty is more likely to come from just one cow and not 20 different ones. Here in Kuwait (and throughout the Middle East), <a href="http://www.pizzaexpress.com/">Pizza Express</a> is a good alternative. There are also some good Italian and seafood restaurants. And there is delicious Middle Eastern food if your kids are open to trying new tastes. Wherever you are with your kids, finding a local restaurant, or even just a place where you can sit down and eat food on real plates, will almost always be a better choice nutritionally and environmentally.</div>The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-73582655089642244732011-11-09T12:42:00.000+03:002011-11-10T12:43:20.489+03:00Wordless Wednesday- Habits that could make me go broke in Kuwait<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br /></div>The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-59227967522847572382011-11-04T18:28:00.001+03:002011-11-05T20:16:11.637+03:00Camping in the desert of Kuwait<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-twgLPHWkAws/TrQBxCAZ27I/AAAAAAAAA7A/jjZcXRifHO8/s1600/IMG_2287.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-twgLPHWkAws/TrQBxCAZ27I/AAAAAAAAA7A/jjZcXRifHO8/s320/IMG_2287.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>It's certainly not one of the more beautiful deserts, but last week we decided to spend the night in the Kuwaiti desert with other members of the <a href="http://www.afkoweit.org/">Amicale des Français au Kowëit</a> (that's the association for French people living here, in case you didn't pick up on that). Some observations:<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z_RMBR7hids/TrQCcw97kXI/AAAAAAAAA7Q/s4ne_F6VU0o/s1600/IMG_2296.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z_RMBR7hids/TrQCcw97kXI/AAAAAAAAA7Q/s4ne_F6VU0o/s320/IMG_2296.jpg" width="239" /></a>- About three-quarters of the desert is covered in trash. What the heck is with that? I expect to litter in poor countries like Madagascar, where the government doesn't have the money to provide garbage collection services. But a rich country like Kuwait? Not only is there trash everywhere, there are no "Don't litter" propaganda campaigns in this country like they used to have in Canada in the 1970s. In Canada, we don't need those ad campaigns anymore. We stopped littering a long time ago. The Kuwaitis need to get with the programme!<br />
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- On the way there, we drove by lots of tents where, presumably, Kuwaitis spend their weekends (the Canadian equivalent would be the cottage in Muskoka, or the cabin in Waskesu).<br />
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- The wind was as strong as on a winter's day in Saskatchewan. Try putting your tent up in that.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wIYmoy3-gCU/TrQCrkwNtqI/AAAAAAAAA7Y/o0bdo9F-xqc/s1600/IMG_2298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wIYmoy3-gCU/TrQCrkwNtqI/AAAAAAAAA7Y/o0bdo9F-xqc/s320/IMG_2298.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>- There is about one dune in the entire desert. That would be the one that we camped out in. The rest of the place is entirely flat... like Saskatchewan.<br />
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- No toilets.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Iwb2LK57SZM/TrQCB1sa1lI/AAAAAAAAA7I/AV2xETFWkQA/s1600/IMG_2292.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Iwb2LK57SZM/TrQCB1sa1lI/AAAAAAAAA7I/AV2xETFWkQA/s320/IMG_2292.jpg" width="239" /></a>The Bambina railed against the idea of going. Said she wanted her own bed. But once she was climbing up and running down the sand dune, she was having a blast. She also met some other French kids, which is good, because right now the only French speaking person she has to talk to in this country is the Frenchman and I worry that her French is going to deteriorate as a result.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hBedn9SwSgE/TrQCsnHUoiI/AAAAAAAAA7g/kCpJ51y29yg/s1600/IMG_2275.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hBedn9SwSgE/TrQCsnHUoiI/AAAAAAAAA7g/kCpJ51y29yg/s320/IMG_2275.JPG" width="320" /></a>The Bambino was happy sleeping with his parents and sister in one little tent. He probably wishes every night could be like that.<br />
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</div>The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-42988611776992464532011-10-30T14:47:00.002+03:002011-11-02T20:04:41.487+03:00We've moved!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kSF3jg4OewU/Tq01OEz0anI/AAAAAAAAA6o/rlenRW-nyz4/s1600/IMG_0389.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kSF3jg4OewU/Tq01OEz0anI/AAAAAAAAA6o/rlenRW-nyz4/s320/IMG_0389.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>Good-bye Madagascar, hello KUWAIT. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the reason that there has been radio silence on this blog for the past few months is because...we were moving! (And then because I just couldn't get my butt in gear quickly enough to start blogging again).<br />
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Kuwait is a tiny country on the Arabian peninsula, nestled between Saudi Arabia and Iraq (guess we won't be taking any long car trips while we're here...).<br />
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Highlights and lowlights of moving here:<br />
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1.) The reconnaissance trip from Madagascar involved taking THREE airplanes: Antananarivo to Mauritius, Mauritius to Dubai and Dubai to Kuwait. With a 2 year old (and a 6-year old, but traveling long distances is about as old hat for her as riding her bicycle around the block three or four times).<br />
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2.) Flying Emirates. Need I say more?<br />
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3.) The Emirates Lounge at Dubai International Airport, including this enclosed glass kiddy-space.<br />
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3.) Visiting a lot of potential places to live, like this swank villa:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-V1va20zQ-KQ/Tf7_XSVd3oI/AAAAAAAAA6k/b2F646Ci6o4/s1600/IMG_1105.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-V1va20zQ-KQ/Tf7_XSVd3oI/AAAAAAAAA6k/b2F646Ci6o4/s320/IMG_1105.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
And then deciding to take a three-bedroom apartment.<br />
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4.) The heat! In summer, it's 46 degrees Celsius in the shade! It's gotten colder since then. We're now freezing cold when we step outside in the morning and it's only 25 degrees. Of course, in shopping malls, it's still around minus 10 degrees Celcius with the air conditioning.<br />
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5.) Checking out schools - the <a href="http://www.lyceefrancais.net/">Lycée Français de Koweït,</a> the <a href="http://www.ask.edu.kw/">American School of Kuwait</a> and the <a href="http://www.aiskuwait.org/">American International School of Kuwait</a>, among others. The Bambina had to take a test for both American schools. I was a little worried because she had very little experience reading in English and had never written a thing in English during her entire school existence thus far, having always been educated in French up to now, but she passed the tests, no problem (apparently, she could read at her grade level in English. Who knew??). Phew! <br />
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The lycée français did not impress us at all and the Bambina isn't going there. It was so obvious by talking to the principals and even just looking at their website that they are content with their "captive market" of francophone families and their school will therefore remain "good enough" (read mediocre) but not great.<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">6.) Staying at the Marina Hotel for three weeks while finding a place to live. When we finally moved out of it and into our apartment, the Bambino, poor boy, kept asking to go back "home". He missed having all of us sleep in one room and a swimming pool just outside the sliding door.</div><br />
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7.) The pollution here: worse than in Madagascar. Think Beijing. Or Jakarta. The beach here looks ok but there is sewage leaking into the Arabian Gulf and besides being disgusting to swim in, it really does smell bad sometimes. So we settle for the pool at a club.<br />
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More on life in Kuwait coming up in later posts.<br />
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</div>The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com3Al Blajat St, Kuwait City, Kuwait29.341761765649174 48.07054996490478529.340031765649176 48.068082464904784 29.343491765649173 48.073017464904787tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-29936785392489616602011-05-06T10:47:00.001+03:002011-10-30T14:13:36.017+03:00Things that make my kids seem weird to North American kids<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It occurred to me yesterday as we were eating breakfast that although my children have a Canadian mom and speak English, there are some things that North American kids would definitely find different about them:<br />
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- The Bambina's accent (when she speaks English - I think it's a mixture between Brooklyn and East London)<br />
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- The Bambina insists on wearing a dress or skirt every single day. She hates jeans and all pants in general. Even in winter in Europe, she will typically wear leotards and a dress rather than long pants.<br />
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- The Bambino typically wears a shirt with a collar and cotton shorts or pants. His best American friend is always in a T-shirt and sweat-shorts.<br />
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- Neither of my kids has ever been to McDonalds (although there are plenty in Europe, there are none in Madagascar), nor have they heard of Burger King, Taco Bell, or KFC.<br />
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- The Bambino asks for "mano" with his pasta (mano = <i>parmagiano</i>, Italian for parmesan cheese).<br />
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- At age 6, the Bambina knows how to write in cursive but doesn't really know how to print!<br />
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- Neither of my kids drinks cow's milk - ever!<br />
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This is not to say that my kids are purely European. In fact, when European kids (and adults) hear my kids speaking to me in English, they assume that my kids are American. When my kids ask for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or drown their French fries in ketchup, this is more of the North American coming through. <br />
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And then the Bambina turns to her father and speaks a perfect, accentless, Parisien French, and people get really confused. :-)</div>The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com3Antananarivo, Madagascar-18.877701384004972 47.518615347656237-19.017843384004973 47.423155347656234 -18.737559384004971 47.61407534765624tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4253373642075238826.post-20734360305496027222011-05-01T21:48:00.004+03:002011-05-01T22:36:57.144+03:00Expatriate lunches and dinners, and why I loathe themIf there is one thing that I really dislike about expatriate life, it's all the lunches and dinners. There are so many of them, at least one a week, and sometimes more. <br />
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So why do I continue to go, you ask? Well, a few reasons. First of all, there ain't much else to do in Antananarivo, Madagascar on a weekend, unless you leave the city to join nature. There are no cinemas, no parks, no playgrounds, no museums that have had any upkeep in the past, oh, 30 years. There are no outdoor cafés. You can't even walk around town, because apart from the fact that you will be very quickly surrounded by street beggars on all sides, there are no sidewalks, the traffic is scary and the pollution is enough to give anyone instant asthma. <br />
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So we visit each other. (And sometimes the "club olympique", which is just a campout with a swimming pool, tennis courts and some stables with horses - but we don't like the food there).<br />
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Visiting each other reduces our own boredom and especially the boredom of our children, who would be otherwise locked in our air conditioned houses watching dubbed Hannah Montana French satellite TV all day long.<br />
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Why don't I enjoy these lunches and dinners as much as I should? It's not like I don't love our dear friends (bless their hearts). It's just, well, me. <br />
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For one, I'm a vegetarian. Almost. I do eat beef and duck and lamb and poultry, so you could argue that I'm very far from being a vegetarian. But I don't each shellfish or any sea creature that lives on the sea floor. I also don't eat tuna. I don't eat ham or pork. I won't touch <i>fois</i> <i>gras</i> (goose or duck liver paté). And I generally don't eat fish unless I am right next to the sea and the fish has been caught the same day (and it's not tuna, of course). <br />
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If I go through this laundry list with my hosts, they will inevitably give me this strange look and try to review each item to understand <i>why</i> I won't eat it. Since I refuse to get into a long discussion about levels of mercury in tuna with someone who hasn't even read up on the issue, it's just easier to say that I'm a vegetarian.<br />
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The problem is when either I forget to tell them that I'm a vegetarian, or they forget that I am one, or (more often than not) they haven't forgotten but (quite understandably) they don't want to have to adapt their fantastic menu to my fastidious tastes. The French can't imagine a meal without fois gras and the Americans can't imagine a meal without shrimp. So I often end up just not eating half the stuff that is being served.<br />
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The second problem is with dinners - late dinners. Well before motherhood, my brain was wired to go to bed no later than 10:30 pm. At 11 pm, I'm a zombie. Post-motherhood, I'm the same way, plus add the fact that I have an todder who, since birth, has woken me up at 5:30 every morning - for the day.<br />
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In Antananarivo, when someone invites you over to dinner, you arrive at 8, you talk for what seems like an eternity, and you start the meal at 10 pm. At 10:30, I'm ready to hit the sack (keep in mind that I have been up since 5:30 am) but it would be rude to do so, as most people haven't even finished their main course by then (I have though, because I generally have only been able to eat the rice and vegetables).<br />
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"Well, then, why don't you explain to your hosts your problem", you ask.<br />
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You're right. But I need to do this <i>when I accept the dinner invitation</i>, so that they are really forewarned. This is what happened the last time I had to explain<i> at the actual dinner</i> (I was solo that evening, as the Frenchman was in Paris on business):<br />
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<blockquote><b>Me</b>: "Thank you so much for having me over. I had a wonderful time."</blockquote><blockquote><b>Hostess</b>: "You're leaving already? It's only a quarter past midnight." <i>(I am not kidding. She considered a quarter past midnight on a Thursday night to be "early" for leaving a dinner party</i>).</blockquote><blockquote><b>Me</b>: "Well, yes. My 18-month old son wakes me up at 5:30 every morning so I get tired pretty early. And I have to get enough sleep in before tomorrow morning."</blockquote><blockquote><b>Hostess</b> <b>(who is French, by the way, which really does explain a lot)</b>: "5:30? This is not acceptable. Can't you just give him a bottle?"</blockquote>I'd like to mention here that I don't understand how on earth a bottle solves the problem. <i>You want me to get out of bed and go to the kitchen and warm up a bottle of milk for my son? At 5:30 in the morning? Are you fricking kidding me? </i><br />
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Back to the conversation:<br />
<blockquote><b>Me</b>: "Well, I do nurse him when he wakes up but he stays awake after that. His day starts then. He's just wired that way."</blockquote><blockquote><b>Hostess</b>,<b> with look of shock in her eyes</b>: "You're still breastfeeding him? But isn't he is too old for that."</blockquote><blockquote><b>Me, shrugging my shoulders</b>: "er, I don't know. People don't seem to think that he's too old for a bottle, and breastfeeding is the normal way to feed a baby..."</blockquote><blockquote><b>Another guest, now listening in on the conversation pipes in to say</b>: "So you're a <i>militante</i>."</blockquote><blockquote><b>Me</b>, <b>shrugging shoulders again and trying to smile</b>: "I don't know what that means. In any event, it's not the nursing that causes my son to wake up. My six-year old also wakes up at 5:30. Fortunately, she's capable of taking care of herself. It's just the way our brains are wired in our family. And of course, the 18-month old needs to be looked after once he's awake." </blockquote>Understand that I don't generally mind being questioned about nursing my 18-month old. After all, what better way to educate people? But when I've just told you that I have to go because I am extremely short on sleep, <i>why are we having this conversation</i>? I told you that i had to go. I told you my reason<i>. Why are you now launching a discussion about the fact that I "still" breastfeed my son? </i><br />
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The third problem that I have with lunch and dinner parties is that the conversation generally bores me. There. I said it. I find about 90 percent of the discussion during lunch and dinner parties <i>dreadfully boring</i>.<br />
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Am I the only one? I don't know. I'll be the first to admit that I'm borderline Asperger's when it comes to small talk - it's not just that it bores me - <i>I am incapable of participating in it</i>. I have no idea what to say. And the problem is that most stuff for me is small talk. I care very little about the hotel you stayed in when you went to Toliar (in the south of Madagascar) last year and certainly not enough to listen to you talk about it for half an hour. I care not much more about the cute little restaurant that you discovered while you were there. I'll be happy to talk to you more about that should I ever decide to book a trip to Toliar (which is unlikely ever to happen), but I have no desire to hear all about it for twenty minutes now. I'm happy to talk about that little boutique you discovered up last week for about, oh, thirty seconds and then I will try to change the subject. I don't give a rat's ass about where to buy great shrimp, not least because I don't eat it. <br />
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I would love to talk about politics (especially French or US politics) but apparently I'm not allowed to. Religion is another topic that fascinates me but apparently that's taboo, too. I'm always happy to talk about someone's kid of whatever age, even if the "kids" in question are already adults. "What grade? What school? What does she plan to do when she graduates this year?" "Where do they live now?"<br />
Fortunately, people are always happy to give forth when it comes to talking about their kids and I never get bored by it, but I can only milk that topic so much. <br />
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As an expatriate and a mom of bicultural children, the topic of schools and education fascinates me, but I have the impression that many people aren't so interested in that subject. Most French people accept that their kids go to the French school, wherever they live, without thinking much about alternatives, and most American people accept the American school in the same way. <br />
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I love to talk about the ins and outs of people's businesses. Give me a factory or store owner anyday and I will ask about how they select their inventory, how hard it is to get and train staff, and who designed their products. It's not often you get to meet this kind of person though, and when you do, even if he or she is keen to discuss the business in detail, others around the table don't understand why you keep bringing up questions about the nitty gritty of running some store or factory at a dinner party. <br />
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Yep, just say it. I've got Asperger's. Or I'm just too academic about things.<br />
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My saving grace is the Bambino. He is often present for lunches at people's houses, and I therefore often have to excuse myself from the table because he needs some attention for whatever reason. It's a great way to escape! If there are other bigger kids hanging around, I like to talk to them too. At a lunch a few weeks ago, I had a great bunch of French kids asking me all kinds of questions about bilingualism and trying out their English on me. It was much more interesting than the discussion among the adults about that hotel in Toliar....The Globetrotter Parenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08305801540206827722noreply@blogger.com3