After five years here in the Middle East, the driving has “not” improved. I live ten minutes from work and in that time can possibly have 2 to 3 accidents. A couple of days ago I came through a roundabout…now I am sure you know what they are. (Apparently, the roundabout in Washington, DC is unbelievable.) Anyway, sometimes you can go around and around and around a roundabout before you can actually get out. It’s like skipping rope…you do remember French skipping?

As I was saying, I was coming through the roundabout a couple of days ago when I looked quickly in my rear view mirror. There I saw three pairs of eyes or rather…the whites of eyes looking at me…and they were all in the back seat. Now man you can’t get much closer than that!!!

I never knew what road rage was but now I am the master at controlling it. Everyone I know talks to themselves when they are driving, that is unless they have someone else in the car…and then it can get very entertaining.

I have a friend of mine who got married to a wonderful man; she was a wonderful woman until she got behind the wheel. After the wedding and the honeymoon, the husband stayed in America for a couple of months and then joined his beautiful wife in the Middle East. They were sharing wedded bliss. Then one day not long after his arrival, they both got in the car…okay, wrong move!

The beautiful wife was behind the wheel. All went well until suddenly they were cut off as they approached a roundabout. Some guy thought that he could cross the middle lane into her lane (she was in the middle lane), and then proceed to the left lane to turn left. With that the beautiful wife started cursing and swearing up and down…words that the husband had never ever heard before…especially from his beautiful wife.

Roxy

I woke up yesterday morning and could barely move; my head was pounding and I had an uncontrollable cough. My eyes were watery and I could see little. Figuring I would not be much help to my colleagues at work (and I am sure they didn’t want my germs either), I decided to stay home and call the doctor for an appointment.

At 2:30, I had my driver pick me up (yes, we have drivers in this part of the world), and off I went to the hospital to see the doctor. Now this is not just any hospital…how about a five star hotel? I was greeted by the doorman and I responded “Sabah al noor” in Arabic. He smiled as I continued through the door and into the foyer of this five star hotel hospital.

I felt like I was in the “hanging gardens of Babylon”. There were hanging plants everywhere. The sounds of a waterfall could be heard in the distance. Sofas, plush chairs, and carved rosewood tables were highlighted by colorful fresh flower arrangements. “Birds of paradise” abounded. Bistro tables were set in groupings to encourage conversation by lunch goers.

Oh, yes, and the doctor…after all this was the reason I was here. As I sat in the waiting room, a young waitress by the name of Gloria came along and offered me something to drink…American coffee, Turkish coffee, juice, water, etc. I accepted a glass of water and waited patiently as I sneezed voraciously, coughed continuously all the while holding my head in my hands.

Finally, my name was called. The doctor spent 40 minutes with me (unbelievable) and ordered a barrage of tests. Now this was certainly not the five minute in the office and out again and on to the next patient syndrome. I was in awe! Though I will have to await my results (guaranteed in two days), I left my five star hotel hospital feeling satisfied that my doctor was looking after me.

As the door closed behind me, I got into the waiting limo.

Roxy

www.roxydoes.com

Yesterday, though still sick and forlorn, I had to head to the local police station to renew my driver’s license. Well, I was so sick that I could barely stand up so I thought I was going to be in for an event for sure. I called Andrew, my driver, to pick me up at 9:00 to which he said that he would send one of his junior drivers. The License Office at the police station closes at 11:00 a.m. and with Ramadan expected to start on Monday, I had no choice but try to make the time deadline. Besides, I hadn’t driven in the last week since my license expired.

I kept looking out the window, and out the door, to no avail. At 9:10, my driver hadn’t arrived so I made a call again to see where he was. Well, there are at least four Al Jazeera Compounds in this city. My driver had gone to another compound at least five miles away.

What was one to do…? I was at the mercy of my driver. Andrew said that he would now pick me up. About ten minutes later he arrived at my villa and off we went to the police station.

From the outside, the police station was a rather nondescript looking white concrete building with white concrete walls surrounding its compound area. A flock of “touts” met me when I got out of Andrew’s Toyota Landcruiser. My first experience with touts was in Sri Lanka about two years ago. Touts offer their assistance to do whatever you need to do. In the beginning, there is no mention of money. An inexperienced traveler or Expatriate (Expat. for short),like some of my newly arrived Canadian colleagues, might think that the service is free. That is definitely a misnomer.

Touts can help you climb a mountain, show you through a Buddhist temple (like in Sri Lanka), or they can help you through the process of getting your driver’s license renewed. After it is all over, however, the touts expect a high return on their investment of time and consequently demand high prices for their services.

Andrew saved me as he waved the touts away. I followed him into the police station where I was pleasantly surprised at the interior of the building. People were lined at the counter where there were six to seven attendants. The process seemed to be quite efficient. Then again, Andrew helped facilitate the process for me. I would cut in once and awhile with my little bits of Arabic. “Mesa al Khair” (Good morning), and “Shukran” (Thank you) went a long way, I think, to ingratiate me a little with the attendant.

I have had my original license for five years. The attendant, Bakhit, asked if I had the same picture to give him. I immediately thought I was in trouble…. “Excuse me”, I said, “that picture was taken five years ago and today I am even more beautiful”. This I said as I chuckled and handed him the new 2×2 photo. He laughed. I quickly realized that sometimes a little humor goes along way.

Five minutes later Bakhit presented me with two copies of my license, one with the old photo and one with the new photo. He asked me which I preferred so I chose the most recent (beautiful) picture, and he agreed that it was the better of the two. I then asked about the eye test that was a usual part of the process.

Bakhit said that the eye test was not necessary…no kidding! No eye test I thought, but everyone has an eye test. Bakhit shook his head and said everything was good. I smiled, shook his hand as I said “Shukran, ma assalama”. I bolted through the door with Andrew.

Roxy

www.roxydoes.com