Apologia

What happens when Dorothy and Alice grow up? Toto, I don't think we're on vacation anymore...The alarm now rings at 6:00am. (not that I haven't been lying awake since 4:45 listening to the bilal sing morning prayers) The kids and I are downstairs in the hotel restaurant by 6:35 and they catch the bus by 7:10. I usually try to sneak a few items off the buffet for the kid's lunches. Ian enjoys foiling the heist by yelling "Swiper, No Swiping!" an allusion to Dora the Explorer that one little Saudi boy at the next table recognized and appreciated. (See, children's cartoons can improve world relations, move over Condoleezza Rice .) After the kids leave to catch the bus, I ride the elevator up to room 815 and pick up Brian for breakfast. We're downstairs by 7:15 amidst the quiet giggling of the wait staff, who enjoy asking if I require a new table? I indulge in the chocolate croissant I was eyeballing but avoiding during the first meal, as not to desec...

Cultural Difference or Dyslexia? July 28, 2008 Eeiiienaohs chilg ughoe iechikl iyoowwywieo iioeoiuskei ieiiiioouuuwioiunghghhiw This jarring, howling azan (Muslim call to prayer) awakens me at 4:45am each day. Ian likens the song to that of a slow motion killing spree soundtrack, while I believe he’s been playing far too many M(mature rating) video games, I agree that the music is eerie. Each day this nation of Islam is called to prayer several times a day. While the city is full of women in baju kurng (traditional Muslim robes) and tudung (a head scarf) there rarely seems to be a prostrate soul at the city mosque in KL (Kuala Lumpur) Central Park. Now I state this in no way as a critique on their religious practice, more as a scientific observation. Speaking of religious practices, Ian and I committed a grievous faux pas shortly after our arrival. We were checking out the Hotel Nikko’s facilities and stumbled upon the exercise/spa floor. Ian told me he was going to check out the sauna...

In China, but not for the Olympics 24 July, 2008 I stepped onto a plane in the quaint, conventional Midwestern American town known as Columbus, Ohio, and disembarked in Beijing, China; a smoggy, Communist, mid-eastern city. Beijing was just a layover, a pit stop from which to catch the last flight of our journey to Kuala Lumpur. And yet this respite seemed to capture all my fears, emotions, and hopes in one geographic location. Each sign was laden with text, but none of which was in anyway legible to my gloriously illiterate American eyes. The one sign I could decipher was the Olympic rings, a source of great disappointment that I was arriving to the 2008 Summer Olympics one month too early. Not only that, but the bloody Chinese, in a rash move to protect "the Communist Way" had refused my husband’s request for a visa so we can not return to visit during the festivities. In fact we are not the only applicants refused, it seems as if the city of Beijing’s hotels are operating...