Traveling

Settings are the easiest for me to describe in my books because I try to weave in places I have actually visited and studied. Using them in my writing allows me to mentally visit them again and again and relive my experiences. Hopefully, you are traveling with me in both Keeping Faith and Promises Kept.

The most difficult part is deciding which places to incorporate into the chapters of my novels and how the characters will relate to going there or living in a particular setting. East Texas and New England were naturals because I lived in the former for all my formative years and have traveled many times to the latter.

The places in between cause me the most deliberation. Of course, who could argue with Italy? It is a gorgeous place with boundless history and intrigue. It was so easy to write about which, of course, made Carmella and Stefano easy as well. But so was Austria and Switzerland… and the list goes on.

I am so fortunate to be able to travel to so many wonderfully interesting and beautiful places. I admit to a bit of wanderlust. I have the book, 1,000 Places to See Before I Die sitting on my desk as inspiration, but I promise not to make you pack your bags for all those. I will, however, introduce a few new destinations in book three.

So, where is your favorite vacation spot, your dream trip or the best place you have ever visited? Take a minute to describe it in the comment section. After all, the readers like to hear from others besides just me. Maybe you can suggest a scene for my next book!!

Our Driver & Guide in Oman

I promise this will be my last blog about my recent trip to the Middle East, but going to the country of Oman was one of the highlights so I would be amiss if I didn’t detail it.  Oman is an independent monarchy, ruled by a Sultan, whose picture is posted almost everywhere one looks. As recently as five years ago, Oman had an open border; that has all since changed.

Although it is not really difficult to visit the country, it is a bit time consuming to get a visa to enter and another one to leave. And the officials do ask a lot of questions and give stern looks. I read that the country is trying to encourage tourism. I thought about giving some public relations advice, and then I thought again!

The school eased any concerns by taking care of everything along with a driver, escorts and a tour guide. Along the dusty highway from the UAE to the port city of Sohar, once the ancient capital, camels grazed on what looked like barren desert to me. We stopped for cold drinks at a small village and then drove about 70 miles through more desert and mountains until we came to Sohar, which is not only a fishing village, but also a thriving industrial center now. After walking through the worn and tumbling castle, well known to this area, we stopped for lunch of fresh fish from the Gulf of Oman where we later took a boat out into its crystal blue waters.

By this time people were gathering at the shore and in the parks because prayers were over. We were there on Friday, which is the Muslim holy day in this area—it varies in different countries.  I saw very few women this entire day, and when I asked where they were, I received the simple answer of “at home.” Like ‘at home where they should be!!!”

A trip to the traditional souk or market was fun—the sights and smells memorable. After a long and interesting day, we headed back to our hotel in Al Ain. I was glad it was the Hilton with a westernized feel and hot water for a nice bubble bath. But first, the very sought after and expensive glass of wine!! (Alcoholic drinks are only served at hotels—no other establishments) My mouth was feeling as dry and dusty as my body!

Cindy's Henna Hands

What was I thinking?? When in Rome do as the Romans?? I succumbed to peer pressure in a temporary lapse of judgment and had Henna applied to my hands while I was in the Middle East. Although most of the worst is gone, it now looks like age spots, which I don’t need any help with!

Apparently and probably unfortunately for me, my skin contains just the right amount of keratin level for it to bind quite well! I’m sure if I had wanted it to be such a bright reddish brown, it would have faded the first day. But no, it shone for days—weeks! I was wishing almost immediately that I hadn’t let the school show me such kindness as having the intricate patterns applied to my hands by a professional Mehndi artist.

In Arabic countries and others in central Asia, the application of Henna as a temporary (meaning 2-3 weeks) form of skin decoration is used for special occasions. Obviously this school thought receiving their accreditation was special, so they brought two very talented artists to the hotel to paint my hands and those of the other female team chair.

After looking at my hands the next morning (believe me I was stone sober when this was done—perhaps if I had been drinking I might have had the sense to say no), I realized why this tradition is saved primarily for brides or young women during the seventh month of pregnancy. Henna just naturally looks better on young hands than old, and if you don’t believe that check out my photo. Believe me they looked worse in person!! But at least they didn’t talk me into marrying some guy in a white robe with a ghutra on his head. That I’m afraid would have worn off faster than the Henna.

"The Creek" of Dubai

Every trip is an adventure, and I always try to go everywhere with an open mind and pure excitement. Few trips have disappointed because I can find some wonderful memory from every excursion. I had a good trip to the Middle East, and wouldn’t take anything for the opportunity, but I will admit it will not go down on my list of favorites. I truly enjoyed my experience in the desert that I wrote about a couple of weeks ago, and the day I spent in the country of Oman was outstanding.

It was Dubai that disappointed me somewhat. Maybe I was expecting too much or maybe I had already seen so much in the Abu Dhabi area.  First, I am way too much a liberated woman to really be happy anywhere in this part of the world. Women are just not very high on the “food chain,” and I find that troubling. I am not sure exactly how they feel about their status in life, and I am pretty certain if they had negative thoughts they would never mention them, especially to a stranger, but to me it is all very depressing. But this blog is not about that or it would be a downer; this is about Dubai—what it was and what it has become.

Dubai is the name for an Emirate in the UAE as well as a city. It is all sort of confusing, but just as a matter of focus, there are seven Emirates that make up the country and each is ruled by a Sheikh. Abu Dhabi is another Emirate and also the capital, a city that Fortune Magazine calls the richest in the world. Al Ain is a city in Abu Dhabi where I stayed while I worked with two schools. It is aptly named “the garden city,” because it is truly an oasis in the middle of the desert.

Abu Dhabi has the oil; Dubai apparently has nothing to export except dates—the fruit, which is probably why it is temporarily at an economic standstill. It does remain, however, a major port between India, China and the west. The city, itself, reminds me of Las Vegas on steroids minus the casinos; a huge concrete mass in the middle of miles of sand, but unlike Vegas, it is saved by the beauty of the turquoise Arabian Sea, which we know better as the Persian Gulf.

But for miles there are halted construction sites and idle cranes. Although much work continues, the economic crunch has definitely hit Dubai. The tallest building in the world, the Burj Khalifa, was recently bailed out by the Sheikh Khalifa, hence the new name, to the tune of 10 billion dollars. It is temporarily closed to tourists because of electrical problems with the elevator!!! Thank goodness that was discovered before I got on it.

But, admittedly, there remains much to see, even if things are slower than they were a couple of years ago. ATLANTIS is incredible; the palm section built in the shape of its namesake is quite unbelievable, as is the seven star hotel, the Burj Al Arab. (Given my lowly rank as a non-millionaire, I could only view this iconic building from afar.)

I did enjoy the Gold Souk, old town, a boat ride across “The Creek,” the inlet to the Gulf, and watching the other tourists and hearing languages from all over the world. But when it was time to come home I was more than ready, and after a 17 hour direct flight from Dubai to Houston with another connection to Harlingen, I couldn’t wait to have a really big margarita and chips and salsa—no place like home!

Dune Buggy Riding in the UAE

What a great time I am having in the UAE! The weather has been unbelievably pleasant for the desert and the opportunities for me even more unbelievable. The 14 ½ hour flight was uneventful except for having to sit next to a hillbilly in overalls who told me about the many times his kid had the colic. Now that’s a topic you want to discuss over processed chicken in cellophane!!!!!!!!

Actually, no matter who is sitting next to you on such a long flight, you simply know better than to start up a lengthy conversation. That is a long time to sit and …sleep with a stranger (that is another whole flying story).  I have known people who got married in less time than this latest flight took.

But now that I am here, it couldn’t get better. The owner of the first school is affiliated with the royal family so the other team chair and I were invited for coffee and dates at the home of one of the princesses, or sheikhas as they are called in the Emirates. The first meeting went so well that she invited us to join her at her farm the next day after work.

The farm is in the middle of the desert, but surprisingly it had some greenery that her mother had planted years ago.  So after a huge meal of native dishes, that was set using china and silver and gold flatwear in a room built from palm trees with a sand floor, we were treated to a camel ride. Yep, my second time on a camel, and this launch wasn’t any easier than the first. Actually it was more difficult. I believe I prefer the two humps over one. (If you had told me 10 years ago that I would be blogging about camel humps, I would have told you that you were crazy—never say never!).

Then came an even scarier adventure—four wheeling on the sand dunes with the princess. Just me and her, bouncing over the Arabian Desert. She drove and I held on to the vehicle for dear life. She told me it made her feel free; I told her it made me feel vulnerable. She seemed sort of lonely, and glad to have a visitor.  I guess it is hard being a princess. We drove for more than an hour seeing the horses, camels, chickens, turkeys, goats and sheep that belong to her family… and then we bounced again over the 30 and 40 foot dunes. I was glad it was a relatively cool day because I was sweating enough from the nervousness. No wonder these people pray five times a day!!

I realize now they were living that part of their lives through me, and enjoying what they were never really able to do. They did travel in the States, Mexico and Canada, but never ventured further than that. I get my “go” gene from my dad who would have taken off to lands unknown, but mother was most comfortable at home.  Dad always dreamed of going to see the Holy Land; Mother couldn’t imagine being on an airplane that long, (actually she hated flying anywhere) and when they were finally financially able to go, they were past the age where they would attempt it.

It’s just as well. I know now that Mother would have hijacked the plane after the first four hours and demanded the pilot land somewhere, anywhere fast, so she could get on the first bus home.

No, they were best at home, waiting for my calls, anticipating what my next place would be, living vicariously through me. And that’s okay because I never travel that they are not on my mind. I take pictures of the scenery and think of them. I eat a new dish in a foreign country and know Daddy would not have agreed that it was good—after all it wasn’t “Momma’s cooking. I drag my bags behind me looking for someone who speaks English to tell me the right direction to go, and know that would have made them uncomfortable.

But, I thank them for giving me a sense of adventure, of courage to go to new places and see new things, most of the time as an independent traveler. And I know they are watching over me when I veer off my path.

Cindy in Amsterdam

In the school business we are all about inclusion, acceptance and diversity. So is Amsterdam!! It gets an “A” for this, albeit a “Scarlet Letter A.” What a strange and intriguing place, and quite pretty in an old way with its many canals and beautiful architecture. Although I had been here briefly before, it was with a tour group, so that visit was structured, which is not all bad, but it limits spontaneity.

This time, I took off walking for hours, which I love to do in a foreign city because I am free to take my time, stopping to look in little shops or just walk aimlessly. And as is often the case, when I have seen everything by foot, I bought a city tour pass and did the touristy bus thing.

As everyone basically knows, Amsterdam is a place where anything goes, and the Red Light District is the epitome of this. Although it is certainly interesting, I find it to be rather sad and depressing. I couldn’t help but wonder what must go through these young women’s minds; what thoughts they may have in regard to their lives. The taxi driver to the airport said that some can make enough money in seven years to retire, provided they don’t get hooked on drugs. But what a long seven years that would be sitting daily in a four by four cubicle, or less, with a window to a sordid world, waiting for some creepy guy to pay for sex.

The streets of the district are filled with “sex shops” and similarly related establishments, and lined with tiny, narrow rooms where the women sit emotionless behind closed windows.  Each appears to decorate her cubicle with a fancy chair and something to make it have its own attraction or personality of sorts, although sadly they are obviously the main feature. Some stand waiting; all are obviously “dressed down” for the occasion. When they are “busy with a client” they draw the curtain to their window. At least there is some discretion. Surprisingly, the area is extremely safe and obviously a major tourist attraction.

The coffee houses are the other big feature where smoking cannabis is the favorite past time. Actually, smoking regular cigarettes on the streets is against the law, but smoking marijuana is not. Go figure. But this is just one side of Amsterdam. It is a sight to see, but not linger in, because there is so much more to this great Holland city.

The canals are a highlight and cleaner than Venice, although the boats lack the certain charm that the gondolas provide. But the boats are another great way to get around the city. Of course, there is so much history here in the old Jewish quarters and the Anne Frank house, not to mention the Royal Palace, the floating flower gardens, the Rijksmusuem and all things Rembrandt and Van Gogh.

But outside the city is also special, and this time I had the opportunity to see more of the countryside which included a trip to “De Zaanse schans,” a picturesque windmill village with the traditional green timbered houses that are fast becoming a thing of the past. A visit to Edam and a cheese factory and clog maker, along with several hours in the fishing village of Volendam, rounded out a great tour.

Riding back to the city via Monnickendam, on the shore of the former “Zuiderzee,” I had the chance to visit with a woman from South Africa, living in Dubai, who insisted she take me shopping when I am there in two weeks, and a young Indian doctor who is finishing his residency in London.

Meeting folks from all over the world is the icing on the cake. The night before, I had met three young struggling artists from England who now call Amsterdam home. One wanted to introduce me to his friend who owns a local Indian restaurant near my hotel, and since I had never eaten true Indian food, I followed him, a guy half my age, to a wonderfully quaint underground eatery. Chaz (sounds artsy, doesn’t it?) suggested what dish I might like to try and told the owner to “take good care of me” before he was off to meet friends more his age. Then it wasn’t long until I was engaged in conversation with eight United Airlines flight attendants who were more than a little tired from a prolonged wait at Dulles because of the heavy snow. We toasted to good weather and good flights before I called it a night, overdosed in ginger, garlic and curry. My verdict is still out on Indian food.

After the last tour and another long, but extremely pleasant day I trudged back to the hotel to pack all the extra accumulations that seemed like such a good idea at the time I was buying.  Now, where in the world was I going to stuff three pounds of Dutch cheese, four boxes of chocolates, and a couple of extra souvenirs? Time to pull out the trusty duffle! Then, one more cold walk around Dam Square at night, and I was ready to call it quits. Will I return?  Maybe, but doubtful. I try to see what I can when I visit a place, knowing that I may not pass that way again. I had one more trip there than I thought I might. Now, it’s on to somewhere new and different. There are too many other venues to see… and miles to walk.

Limburger "Stinky" Cheese

The school where I was chairing the accreditation visit is in the Limburg section of The Netherlands, where “stinky cheese” is a proud part of the culture and an everyday commodity. As a nice gesture, the leadership provided each of us on the accreditation team with a beautiful basket filled with fruits, chocolates, wine (can you believe a school included wine?), cheeses and crackers. The teachers had also placed vases of fresh tulips in our rooms. When I walked into the hotel room, I thought something had either molded or someone had died. It never occurred to me that the stench might be coming from the beautiful gift, but out of curiosity for the contents I tore into my basket and soon found the culprit—Limburger cheese!!!!

Now, I know why this smelly stuff is the brunt of jokes on the Three Stooges and Abbott and Costello. And I certainly understand why Mark Twain asked if the guy was dead? I remember when I was in high school somebody smeared some Limburger on the classroom door knobs so when anyone touched the knob, they would smell really bad. Weren’t we terribly clever in those days??

But one of the assistant principals serving on the team wanted everyone’s cheese so we all gladly handed over ours.  I can only imagine how her car smelled carrying seven cartons of stinky cheese. That four hour drive back to her home in Germany could not have been pleasant, and the snowy roads were not the worst of her problems. But the good news is, if she forgot her deodorant, I don’t think anyone would know the difference.

Now, the school review is over, and I am taking in the sites in Amsterdam! Stay tuned for the next report on my ongoing adventure.

Hotel Golf Residentie Brunssummerheide

It has been snowing here in The Netherlands since Tuesday. It appears that the white stuff is determined to follow me this winter, dusting my path and making my shoulders look like I have a bad case of dandruff. I’m beginning to wish it were dandruff.

Monday, there were golfers on the golf course at my hotel. Not that it was warm; it wasn’t, but at least at that point there was no snow. Apparently, Dutch golfers are a hearty bunch because none that I saw even wore coats. Me, I’m a fair weather golfer so playing in 25 degree weather makes little sense. It’s on par with playing tennis in South Texas in the middle of July. There are just better activities to choose from when Mother Nature rears her ugly head—like reading a good book in front of a crackling fire with a cup of hot chocolate or in the opposite case enjoying the coolness of air-conditioning when the sun bares down unmercifully.

But I must admit, my hotel is a golfer’s heaven on earth. What a treat to be here in late spring or early summer. It must be gorgeous because even now in the dead of winter, the grounds are a lush green—that is when they are not covered in this white stuff.  I can only imagine the beauty of these rolling hills, lined with hundreds of conifers and young pine trees, once the colors of spring are revealed and the tulips begin to pop up all over.

The Golf Hotel (what a clever name, don’t you think?) is about all things golf. The huge patio off the living room area of my hotel room looks out over the sprawling expanse of one of the several courses carved out of the 272 acres. There is a 27-hole championship course, which I wouldn’t even attempt, but also a 9-hole course and 9-hole par three course that wait the less skilled such as yours truly. But even more than golf, this would be a wonderful place to sit outside in the spring with a glass of German wine, trocken of course, and take in the scenery of the southern Dutch countryside. But right now I’ll have to settle for the amenities offered in this little part of Europe. Did I mention the schnitzel? Yummy.

Hope To See a Few Windmills

Today I leave for Europe, first to serve as chair of a quality assurance review (accreditation visit) for a Department of Defense international school in Brunssum, The Netherlands, and then to play a few days in Amsterdam and the surrounding area. The school serves children of the Joint Command NATO forces which include a representative group from the United States, Canada, Germany, and the United Kingdom.

I fly into Dusseldorf, Germany, and will be picked up by a colleague who will be serving as my vice chair. We will then drive about an hour and a half to Brunssum which is located in the southern part of what used to be called Holland. From what I have read, it promises to be a pretty drive, and we will have time to stop along the way if we choose.

On Monday, we will meet with the commander and other officials, and then late in the day, meet members of the school team who join us from different Department of Defense schools throughout Europe. I always enjoy meeting these educators who have led extremely interesting lives, often living in many different parts of the world.

The next three days, I’ll be quite busy in the school, evaluating its programs and processes, talking to administrators, teachers, students, and parents and reviewing all matter of paperwork, etc. I’ll also spend time in classrooms.

Then, I’m off to play. I’ll either leave for Amsterdam Thursday afternoon or early Friday morning. Although I have been there before, it has been eight years. The last time I was there I had an incredible opportunity to see the Floriada, which is a gigantic international floral festival held only once every ten years.

For acres and acres, there are flowers growing representing different nations, all beautifully landscaping the hills and valleys that surround lakes and ponds. I will miss the tulips this trip, but there will be plenty of other things to see; hopefully a few windmills. I loved the canal last trip so I know I will take another boat ride.

One day I plan to visit The Hague on the North Sea, home of the International Criminal Court and the de facto judicial capital of the United Nations.

After a short visit, I’ll probably catch the train to Delft, known for its blue porcelain that is synonymous with The Netherlands. At this point, “play plans” are not carved in stone, because I always get good suggestions when I meet people in the schools. These recommendations often cause me to change my mind anyway, so who knows? I only know I will fly out of Amsterdam to come back home, but the in between is still in limbo, therefore, watch for blogs and I’ll keep you posted.