A few observations

Within this five day holiday, we have managed to unpack everything and start putting things up on the walls. Our ginormous penthouse on the fourteenth floor is starting to feel more like a home. I am pretty sure it has more square footage than the Old Windsor Road house.

There was an arranged shopping trip so I went to another grocery store, The Sultan Center, which was right on the water. While no longer overwhelmed, I am continually surprised at the availability of things. Most anything can be found for a price. While there are local staples like produce, dairy, and meat, most everything else is imported from the US, Australia, and Germany (I love their design items). So items like toiletries are imported and there is not a local equivalent like we found in Southern Africa. USD 4 for Gillette deodorant, USD 7.50 for a medium Jergens lotion, $8 for a small bottle of Pantene shampoo. While most produce is reasonable, I did see a pint of raspberries for USD 9!

Pleasant surprises included finding almond butter, refried beans, soy milk, and delicious whole wheat bread. What I have been unable to find is: canned pumpkin, black beans, pretzels, and corn tortillas (but even Pittsfield did not have corn tortillas ten years ago). This is all ok, because to make up for it, I have found readily made baba gannoush, fava beans, and an expansive array of spices, olives, nuts, and dried fruit. The non-alcholic beer is from Germany and is quite good. Every trip to the supermarket is like going into an international store back home, because of the diverse mix of Arabs, Pakistanis, Indians, Philipinos, Europeans, and Americans who live here.

There is a nearby market - a bakala - about a block away which like a Seven Eleven but better stocked. In fact, it more closely resembles a corner market in New York. Especially when I look out our windows at night, it feels like we live in the city, with its’ twinkling lights, our taxi runs, central air and heat, and un-air conditioned elevators taking us hundreds of feet into the air. On the other hand, there is not nearly the bustle of a real city because we live on the outskirts.

Mahboulah is the name of the neighborhood we live in, which was recently turned into a major construction site. The phone lines were dug up in the spring, and we may never have landline service again. There are mounds of sand everywhere and sewage pops up in places (not close to where we live but we can see it from the apartment). No Kuwaiti’s live out here; our neighborhood is filled with workers from the Sub-continent and Southeast Asia region. They regularly play cricket in the late afternoon.

There are lots of little restaurants within walking distance and every place delivers. We are close to shopping centers by taxi, and there seems to be a Starbucks on most corners.

It’s easy to tell who the Kuwaiti’s are - the men are almost always dressed in dishdashahs and the women are usually covered in some way. Not all Kuwaiti’s are dressed this way, but they are the only ones who will dress like this. which seems to convey a status. There are obviously Muslims from other Arab countries, like taxi drivers, who most often wear Western clothes.

From what I can tell, Kuwaiti’s never work in any kind of retail or manual labor situation. Their positions, if they do work, seem to be relegated to upper professional work.

Unlike Southern Africa where we greeted everyone when we walked past them and sometime got involved in lengthy conversations, I divert my eyes with men and there is no greeting even between them and Russ. The school environment is different where everyone is friendly.