Hope Springs Eternal

Even in the Desert


Winter is the planting season here. Yes, there is a planting season. Of course the only plants indigenous to the area are date palms and some tumble weedy things that blow around in the desert, but it is possible through the miracles of modern farming (water and fertilizer) to plant right in the sand! Crazy, huh? But it’s true, as long as it’s “sweet” sand and you keep the water coming. Sweet sand? That’s one of the many oddities we’ve encountered here. I have no idea what it’s sweetened with, doubt it’s Equal. All I know is it’s just not the sand from the beach. There’s sweet water, too. That’s desalinated water, as opposed to water from the ocean. The fertilizer isn’t too sweet, however. We have to keep an eye on our gardener, Abdul. Every so often he thinks he’s doing us a favor by bringing in bags of what appears to be raw sewage, and dosing our garden with it. Check out the petunias. They glow at night.

I guess you can take a girl out of Iowa, but you can’t take away her desire to dig in the dirt – not this Iowa girl’s anyway. I cleared a little plot next to the wall surrounding our back yard and planted some peas, couregettes (that’s what my proper British friend Della calls zucchini), watercress and spinach. The couregette seeds are supposed to produce the little round variety of fruit. Della shared them with me. Her sister passed them along to her from some she had grown herself. I guess gals from the Isle of Wight like to dig in the dirt too. I enriched the sweet sand with a little bit of potting soil. In the front garden, in the bed with the radioactive petunias I planted a row of basil. I figured that soil was already rich enough.

Last night, we had a nice little rain, so I went out to check on my seeds. I nearly leapt with joy! Everything but the spinach had shot right through that sweet sand! I’ll keep cheering for the spinach. I’m sure it’ll come up. The sun is out today, and the air is warm. I predict a nice fresh salad of spinach, watercress and pea shoots in my future. I’ll serve it alongside some stuffed roly-poly zucchini covered in tomato basil sauce. A volunteer tomato plant has come up from the fertilizer, but don’t think I’ll eat any fruit off of that. Probably not so sweet.

I will never cease to be amazed by the power and beauty of Mother Nature. Even in the desert.

King Coconut

Sri Lanka is rich with palm trees, more specifically coconut palm trees. Much like my relationship with champagne, I’ve never met a palm tree I didn’t like. But I must admit I am partial to the tall, skinny coconut palms. Dubai has date palms. They are short and squatty. They do provide the decadent date; however, I still like the tall graceful coconut palms best. Call me a palm tree snob or maybe I just can’t get over being cursed with short legs. (I’ve also had good luck with tall and skinny.)

So of course, since the country is known for it’s king coconut trees (a variety of the coconut palm), everything on the bloody island seems to be named after them. King Coconut Convenience Store; King Coconut Ladies Salon; King Coconut Motorcycle Rental. King Coconut Come-On-In. Whatever. Silliness aside, one worthy namesake of the palm was The King Coconut Restaurant.

A short walk from our hotel, the King Coconut wasn’t beautiful, but it was just what adventure hungry, yet amenity-loving tourists like Stan and I want – a comfortable mix of local ambiance with cleanliness standards that don’t make you cringe – too much. The restaurant was comfortably full, half locals, have tourists. There was a funny bar with an odd assortment of whiskey bottles, other hard liquor and some very suspicious bottles of wine. Harsh yellow lighting and hard tile floors, some extension cords sticking out, an odd folding chair; you know, typical Indian Ocean. It was unfortunate the weather wasn’t cooperating for a more atmospheric alfresco experience.

Our waiter was very friendly, and spoke great English. Most of the Sri Lankans in this tourist town of Negombo did. As ridiculous as that is, it always helps. He joked with us about the heat of the curries – surely that gets old. Sri Lanka is just as notorious for their fiery food as they are recognized for their picturesque palms. Stan ordered fish curry, which was served on a cute compartmentalized tin plate. Remember the old TV dinners? A rectangle divided up into little boxes, but where the turkey and dressing would have been, was the fish curry. And where the peas and carrots would have turned to mush was the most delicious coconut raita. The mashed potatoes were replaced by rice. A small box of eggplant filled the cooked apples slot. Potatoes and dal were involved as well. This meal was definitely not on the Atkins diet, yet this Sri Lankan version was a huge improvement.

I ordered the King Coconut calamari. The waiter eyed my white ass suspiciously and said, “Madam, that is a very spicy dish for locals.” I said bring it on. The battle line had been drawn. It was damn hot. And I loved every bite.

Sri Lanka

On my "way" from Dubai back to KC for Mom's 60th birthday party, Stan and I spent the Eid holiday in Sri Lanka. This particular Eid is the time of the year (so many days after Ramadan or something or other) when Muslims are supposed to make their pilgrimage to Mecca. But this is not a post on Islam, so back to my holiday.

Sri Lanka (formerly known as Ceylon) is a teardrop shaped island, about the size of Ireland, in the Indian Ocean just off the southeast tip of India. You may remember the horrible tsunami of December 26, 2004. More than 30,000 Sri Lankans were killed on that day. Somewhat reassuringly there was no loss of life on the west coast near Negombo, where we visited.

Sri Lanka is also notorious for its brutal civil war. Since 1983 the Tamil Tigers have been fighting the Sri Lankan government for an independent state. Over 70,000 lives have been lost in the fighting. The Tigers are notorious for their brutality. They have a “take no prisoners” mentality and also are accused of using child soldiers. Again, we were safe on the west coast. The current battles are being fought in the north.

Like so many of these islands, Sri Lanka was a British Colony. Independence was gained in 1948. One of my heroes, Julia Child was stationed here in the OSS (the predecessor to the CIA) during World War II. Arthur C. Clarke, author of 2001: A Space Odyssey, called Sri Lanka home. And of course Sri Lanka is the island where Hanuman, airborne in the splits, came to rescue Princess Sita. So you can see, Sri Lanka is rich in culture and history!

We found it to be a very hospitable island, with very friendly, English-speaking people. The beaches were beautiful, although a bit rough, the food delicious and spicy, and the weather appropriately tropical. We stayed in a small beach hotel called The Jetwing Beach Hotel in a small town called Negombo. It was less than 30 miles from the capital city of Colombo. We hired a car one day and drove into the capital for some sight seeing, but the most enjoyable time of our trip was spent in Negombo, reading on the beach, swimming in the beautiful pool, eating curry at the King Coconut restaurant, and watching the sunset.

A Wholesome Lubricant for Social Intercourse

Sri Lanka – Three Coins Beer

Stan and I keep a photo album of funny signs we’ve encountered along our journeys. If you’ve never seen it, ask and I’ll show it to you. It’s sort of like our wedding video. This wasn’t exactly a sign, but it was just too damn funny to pass up.

We were having lunch at The Lagoon, in the Cinnamon Grand Hotel in the capital of Sri Lanka, Colombo. Stan ordered one of the local beers, Three Coins. The back label read:

“Generations of beer lovers have valued Three Coins Beer as a refreshing thirst quencher, a tasty relaxant, and a wholesome lubricant for social intercourse.”

How funny is that?

A Couple of Amusing (?) Dubai Anecdotes

Antidote #1

One of the truths about Dubai is that labor is cheap. Now that is either a good thing or a bad thing, depending on which end of the laboring you are stationed. Now you can make the argument that the poor woman doing your nails for a pittance is better off than she would be at home working in the rice fields for 1/10 of a pittance…..it’s a standard quandary. Or you can chat with her and learn about the hovel she shares with 10 other women and just as many rats. Or, you can stick your head in the Dubai expat sand and get your mani and your pedi, which is what I was doing on this particular day.

I’m in Nail Bar with one poor exploited or not Asian worker at my feet and another at my hands. I think perhaps on this day there was even a third at my eyebrows. The woman next to me looks up from her magazine and says, “Where did you get that haircut? It is lovely!” I replied that I had gotten my hair cut at home, in the states, by a woman named Cheryl at her cool orange salon named Frissuer, where you are served wine and engaged in witty conversation. I finish rubbing it in to this stranger that she will never be as lucky as me with her hair, then I notice something that is quite commonplace here. You can’t see her hair. Her head is completely covered! She is wearing a little white knit skullcap that allows not ONE hair to show and a head and neck scarf on top of that! And this is in a woman’s only nail salon! Think she’ll be making the trip to KC to get her locks coiffed any time soon? Seriously, WHY BOTHER?

Antidote #2

It’s about 9AM and I’m just leaving Caribou Coffee (I know, but cut me some slack, it’s the only reliable wifi I’ve found in a coffee shop). I’m walking around the corner to Exhale, the yoga studio where I’m subbing some classes for my friend Della who is away on holiday. A couple of women are walking towards me looking a bit confused. I think they are mother and daughter. One of them stops me and asks, “Excuse me, do you have ANY idea what day it is?” I had to pause and give it some thought before I could answer resolutely, “WEDNESDAY!”

I laugh and say, “You must be on holiday,” assuming they are jet lagged. Woman Number One says, “No, I live here! This is my mother. She’s visiting from the UK.” I explained that I was also living in Dubai and then we all had a good laugh.

You see it’s so true. Stan and I are always commenting on how life in this Desert Diamond is like being inside a Vegas casino without any clocks. Every day is just another sunny day. The seasons don’t really change and there is no daylight savings time. The sun rises and sets basically the same time every day of every year.

The weekends are off kilter. The standard weekend is Friday/Saturday with Friday being the holy day. Sunday is our Monday. Sunday brunch is Friday brunch. TGIF is TGIThursday.

The Lebanese are perpetually eating lunch at five and dinner at 11pm. The call to prayer wakes you at 5AM yet the Starbuck’s in the mall doesn’t even open for another three hours, I mean why bother when the Arabs don’t have their coffee till 11AM. There are Christmas decorations in this Muslim country and Christmas music in the stores. It’s 80 degrees outside. It’s all terribly confusing.

You TRULY never do know what day of the week it is. For all I know they are pumping in oxygen to keep everyone in high gear all of the time. Do you suppose it could be some Emirati conspiracy to keep us all seduced by this place, as the traffic gets worse, the pollution thicker and the beaches destroyed? Are they doing this so we’ll keep getting our nails done and paying $100 for a nice lunch for two on the beach without worrying that the rents are going through the roof? Well, if they are, it might just be working.

Karen's Big Fat Italian 40th Birthday

My cousin Vinnie was there. Tom Orrio, Karen’s dad, who tried out for the New York Yankees was there. On the humongous buffet were two kinds of homemade stromboli, lasagna and Terri’s famous eggplant Parmesan (the best I’ve ever tasted!). It was a serious party.

I kicked off my ’08 world tour with a side trip to Philadelphia to help my soul sister Karen celebrate turning 40. Her husband, Bruce, was turning 50 as well, but who’s counting?

Karen’s mom Terri Coco and her husband Blaise were brave enough to host some 40 guests in their extremely cool Center City townhouse. They live right on South Street, if you are familiar with Philly. If you are not, it’s where the action is. From their location next to Penn’s landing, you can see the Delaware River if you climb up to their rooftop deck. Terri and Blaise have got it goin’.

As a gal of Irish heritage (my people lived through the potato famine for God’s sake!) I can’t help but wonder what is it with the Italians? And the bigger question: How does Karen’s family stay so slim? There was enough food and drink to feed a third world nation, or get it good and drunk anyway.

I have another good friend, Lynn, who’s also married to the mob (just kidding Dominic). Same thing! Nick can cook up a storm, and I’m told there are no fewer than 50 different kinds of homemade cookies at Christmas. It’s even wearing off on Lynn’s lily-white Protestant ass. They just like to feed you. Oh well, if you can’t beat ‘em join ‘em. What else are you going to do?!

So that’s exactly what we did. To honor Karen we ate, drank, laughed and carried on. It was a true celebration. Those Italians, maybe they’re on to something?

Puerto Vallarta - a Study in Contrasts

Why Puerto Vallarta? Well aside from the obvious sun, sand, and surf, that’s a good question. My first visit to this interesting town was almost exactly one year ago. Stan and I were invited by our friend Jane to spend a week with her in the Zona Romantica (the Romantic Zone – Old Town). We had a great time last year at Jane’s condo so when the opportunity came up to rent the apartment at Casa Melodia, we jumped on it.

Between that fun week with Jane (and Kay-who also stayed with us) in 2007 and the four weeks (it’s gone so fast!) we’ve been here this year, we have learned quite a bit about this quaint city, affirmed our love for it, and vowed to return!

The first tourists arrived in PV in the 1950’s. In the early ‘60’s film director John Huston chose the then unspoiled beach of the nearby fishing village of Mismaloya as the location for his film The Night of the Iguana. Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor arrived (to carry on with their illicit romance) along with Burton’s co-star in the movie, Ava Gardner. The paparazzi soon followed. From that beginning tourism slowly developed to become PV’s main industry and it remains so today.

During that time of Dick and Liz, the town consisted only of the original Zona Romantica, which sits south of the Rio Cuale River that divides the town, and El Centro, the area just north of the river. Stan and I are staying in the El Centro this year. Dick and Liz owned homes just around the corner from our place. Much like Frida and Diego, their separate casas were (and still are) connected by a walkway. Sounds like a good idea to me!

In today’s world however, much of the tourism spreads to the Hotel Zone, north of the old town and even further north up the bay of Banderas to Nuevo Vallarta, which is actually in a different state and time zone. It is these areas where you will find the big resorts and condo complexes. Think Cancun.

But Stan and I came for the real Puerto Vallarta. I think you can even call it the real Mexico, although that might be a stretch. Even thought PV is basically a bi-lingual town because of the tourist trade, it is still possible to experience a different culture. There are plenty of Mexicans living, working and going about their lives. You can see, hear and smell traditional Mexican life. Puerto Vallarta is a great mix of people and lifestyles. Mexican families live and work; snowbirds and tourists spend their money. There are a few old hippies hanging around who probably came years ago and lament the changes that have taken place. Unfortunately, there are also what we call “package tour sheep” or hordes of people fresh off the cruise ships, but they probably support a big portion of the economy. Also, PV is a big gay vacation destination.

So…..there you have it. Puerto Vallarta is a small city, perhaps 200,000 people, composed of Mexicans, gringo retirees, gays, hippies and tourists-obnoxious and otherwise. However strange it may be, it seems to work.