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I was talking to a Ukranian woman at Starbucks the other day -- Starbucks, by the way, is exactly, and I mean exactly, like it is in America -- I mean, the fidelity of that place to the mothership in Seattle makes McDonalds' franchises look like outrageous renegade outfits by comparison -- anyway, what the hell was I saying? Oh yeah, I was talking to a Ukranian woman and she asked me where I was from in the U.S. I asked her if she ever heard of Kansas. "Oh, of course!" she says. "I read a story about Kansas City."

That's where I'm from! I said. What was the story?

"There was a girl and her family," she said. "Then a... how do you say it... a big storm came, and blew the girl away! With her dog!"

Oh, good Lord.

I thought if there was anywhere in the world I could go where people wouldn't associate my home with the Wizard of Oz, it would be here. When I first got to Washington, 500 people thought they were the first to make those jokes. When I went to France, my host family grilled me with questions about Auntie Em and her barn. Now, here. God help me.

The amazing and redeeming part about this story is that my Ukranian friend actually had never seen the movie, nor even heard of it. She read the actual stories by L. Frank Baum as a girl, and associates Kansas with an almost fairy-tale storybook quality. That charms me.

The Grand Mosque of Oman

The world's largest Persian rug is inside – roughly the size of a football field. It took 600 Persian women four years to sew it. I desperately wanted to see it, but evidently you have to be a Muslim if you want to see the damn rug after 11 a.m. So said the Muslim pilgrims outside the mosque. I was about to argue, but then I realized that the guys I assumed were Muslim pilgrims – the ones wearing wine-colored dishis in the picture below, like they just stepped out of Raiders of the Lost Ark – were not pilgrims at all, but mosque guards. You know how I figured it out? Because they were wearing f#©&ing guns.

I decided not to push my luck on the rug thing.















As you probably noticed, this last picture isn't the Grand Mosque. It's the "Islamic Science Center," whatever that means. Islamic science has been on a wee bit of a break these last thousand years or so – as my friend Dennis pointed out, the fact that many of our Arabic students can't do simple algebra is particularly upsetting given that the Arabs invented algebra. I guess you can't complain too much about the Islamic Science Center, though – it presumably bears a closer relationship to actual science than does Christian Science.

Mosques of Muscat

These speak for themselves.

Moon mosque

Muscat

Our first view of Muscat when we woke up on Saturday, from the hotel window:



It’s actually the harbor town of Muttrah, the older residential heart of the Muscat area. We ran downstairs to have a look around. Our second view wasn’t quite so lovely:



But good scenery is in the eye of the beholder, isn’t it? Honestly, I’ve seen mountains, and I’ve seen harbor towns, but I’d never seen a pack of wild goats eating dumpster trash. I love that photo.



An old Portuguese fort stands watch over the harbor. The Portuguese should have stuck around and built some vacation homes, because the Omanis built a hell of a beautiful city here. Click on the pictures for a full screen view – it’s much better.







Here’s another fort, built on a rocky outcropping. A fort-like Irish pub has sprung up next door. I particularly love the guy kissing his baby in the lower right hand corner. A lot of times, I take some dull shot, and discover later that I inadvertently caught a lovely moment on the periphery. That photo of the children playing in front of the rugs, posted below, is an example of that. They were a tiny little dot at the bottom of the picture, until the magic of digital zooming was brought to bear. And the kiddies are ten times more interesting than the rugs in the original photo, aren’t they?



A few more random shots of Muscat:











Tomorrow – I saved the best for almost last. The mosques.

Breaking news: PT/OT

You can take the boy out of NPP News, but you can't take NPP News out of the boy.


Foundation for Physical Therapy Recognizes Senator Robert Dole's Support of PT Profession

Senator Robert Dole received the Foundation's first-ever Spirit of Philanthropy Award for his support of the physical therapy profession and its scientific research. Pictured, left to right: APTA President Ben F Massey, Jr, PT, MA, Senator Elizabeth Dole (R-NC), and Foundation President Nancy T White, PT, MS, OCS. Senator Elizabeth Dole accepted the award on behalf of Mr. Dole.

Roundabout art

Streets in the Middle East don’t get names. For example, I live on the corner of “27c and 3a, community 316.” Sexy, I know.

Instead, drivers navigate by landmark, and to make things easier for their beloved peoples, local rulers mark the roundabouts – traffic circles – with giant works of art. Directions might go like this: “Follow the central road to the giant leaping fish, then turn right until you get to the massive chicken taco…”

I can’t decide if these sculptures are inspiring or hideous. Judge for yourself. My favorite is…

The Great Bird of Fujeirah

I was so entranced by the Great Bird that I simply stopped the car in the middle of the roundabout and gawped. Then I started snapping away. Other drivers were careening around me and honking wildly, not that that’s unusual here.





Take a closer look at the serene magnificence of the Great Bird’s face:



Also in Fujeirah, the Great Hand holding the Great… um… the Great Turkey Drumstick:



Leaping Fish by the harbor in Muttrah, Oman:



I christen this one the Tumbling Jar Fountain of Muttrah. I really like this one, actually. Note Arab dude and Indian cell phone man in corner, for size perspective.



And last but not least, let’s not forget to thank the Dear Leader who made all this possible, Sheikh Zayed, ruler of UAE until his death a couple of months ago. The people sure do love their Dear Leader:



Tomorrow, come back and see pictures of lovely Muscat, the ancient seaside capital of Oman…

Road to Oman

The drive from Dubai west to Oman starts in the desert, an ugly flat scrub punctuated by occasional oil derricks. But before long, the mountains.



The mountains are beautiful but bleak – until you pull over to fix your seat belt and you notice tiny green nurseries are hidden in the curves of the road, invisible to passing cars. This little green river widened into a stream of palm trees – a date farm – but I couldn’t get a good picture of the palms.



These pictures were taken in Fujeirah province, in north central UAE. The land is mostly empty, but in the middle of the mountains the path is interrupted by a roadside souk – a row of rug dealers, grocers and crafts shops.







“Special discount!” this guy kept shouting, clutching my arm. He was very persistent, and in the end, he sold me a rug. I dickered him down to half his asking price, though I was later told that I still got screwed.

I don’t usually like taking pictures of people directly. But this Afghani guy insisted. The guy is a natural. He looks like he’s never seen a camera before – but he was posing. He was strutting his stuff, I swear to you. He kept asking me to bring him back a copy of the picture. When I told him that it was a picture for the computer only, he looked thoughtful for a second, then he smiled and doubled his insistence. He said something sort of unintelligible, but I think it had to do with him asking me for advertising. So, consider this my end of the bargain: If you’re ever on the road through Fujeirah province, buy a rug from this man.



So much haggling left us hungry. Lunch was some dates and a corn on the cob, grilled with salt and lemon. I tell you this: I never truly ate corn until this weekend. My eyes rolled back in my head and the lemon juice dripped down my chin. And when I finished eating my dates, I spit my seeds on the ground like a hick. I didn’t even feel like a jackass, as I would have in America.

Here’s where they make the corn:





It was a Friday afternoon – the Muslim Sunday. We drove through lots of little towns, each with a mosque prominent at its center. We drove through one little town just as prayers were letting out – in a town small enough to drive through in five minutes, we saw what looked like thousands of people flooding from the mosque’s gates.



Tomorrow: the fabulous art of the Middle Eastern roundabout…

No time

This Saturday is the SAT, so we've been working long hours this week trying to get the kids ready. And today I'm driving out to Oman, on a road that threads between the coast of the Persian Gulf and the mountains. Will be there until Sunday night.

I wanted to post more this week, but I didn't have time. So, next week I will try to post every day. I have tons of pictures saved up -- and I'm going to take lots in Oman -- so come back and see them!

American Pastoral

Book club, I miss you! I read the book this month and want to comment. Everyone else can skip this post.

I read American Pastoral in my first few days here, and it was evocative enough for me to ward off the twinge of homesickness I was feeling. I love the way Philip Roth writes the same way a curious and impulsive person explores a new city -- up one alley, down another, sidetracking for pages at a time, wandering down whatever path strikes his fancy at the moment. American Pastoral would be impossible to outline. I wonder whether the type of people who make detailed vacation itineraries when they travel to new cities would enjoy a wandering book like this?

I would need to read the book again to figure it out. When did Merry die? When did the Swede divorce, and how long until he got remarried and had children? I got the sense that you could figure out the chronologies if you had a pencil and paper.

I wish I could ask the book club what they thought of Jerry -- there were times when I identified with him and his hard-ass advice about Merry, and other times when I thought he came off as a prick. I'm also not sure whether I liked the Swede -- I wanted him to be more decisive. I wanted him to make a huge scene at the dinner party at the end. I was anticipating that scene with such excitement! I was really disappointed that he didn't do it. Yet I think I liked the Swede anyway. I liked him for the same reason Zuckerman liked him -- he was a very deep person who didn't congratulate himself on his own depth. He didn't wallow in it and rub everyone's face in it like Jerry. I always liked the phrase "still waters run deep," and the Swede embodied that.

I'm reading a biography of Ben Franklin, and I love one of his lines as Poor Richard: "Let all know you, but no one know you thoroughly. Men freely ford that see the shallows." I really agree with that, though I would change it to "let few know you thoroughly." And yes, I see the irony in posting that sentiment on a website where I chronicle my life. But I think the publisher Franklin would have loved keeping a blog, and he wouldn't have bared his soul too deeply on it, any more than I would.

But back to the Swede: I like to imagine that the Swede made a big scene after the book ended, then went off and started another family and was happy. Book clubbers, I would be so thrilled if you would leave your comments below... Tell me what you talked about Sunday...

More ethical gray zones

One of my jobs here is to edit the application essays for ambitious young Indian students who want to get into top business programs in the U.S. I cannot describe how awful most of these essays are, and not because of the language barrier. There must be a handbook or something circulating in India with instructions on how to write the most banal, formulaic essay possible: For example, every essay I've read so far ends with the sentence, "I sincerely believe a college career at UPENN would be something valuable, worth laboring for, and mutually beneficial." UPENN is in all caps not just because that's the style, but because I'm convinced that sentence was written by a computer program. You just type in the name of the school and an application essay pops out. It's India's version of Mad Libs.

These essays I edit are invariably delivered to me -- in a condition about two steps before "first draft" -- with a note that they are due to the university in 10 hours, so could I please drop everything and rewrite them this instant?

Well, I've resisted posting funny snippets of them until now. This time I couldn't hold back, mostly because I think I've entered a strange ethical border zone and I want to make fun of something, you know, just to get my bearings.

This last one was not an application essay, it was a letter of recommendation, written by a student about himself. Evidently it's common practice over here -- the recommender just wants to sign it, not write it -- and I'm told I shouldn't question it. OK, whatever, I've had my quota of fights with my bosses this month, and from what I've seen over here, I don't doubt that the practice is common. This region isn't exactly known for its embrace of professional ethics. So I edited the goddamn thing.

But I can't resist posting it either. Here's the part where the form asks the "recommender" about the applicant's faults:

• S---- understands the importance of his supervisors' feedback in his development and hence very enthusiastically listens to the advice of his superiors. He doesn't want to wait for the annual employee evaluation, rather he wishes to know exactly where he needs to improve so that he can work on those areas straightaway.
  
  
• S---- gives too much attention to other people's problems. I suppose he has carried over this habit from his college life. Sometimes he goes overboard with this and sacrifices his own precious time in helping someone out. I have very explicitly pointed out to him that he is expected to look after his own interests first and then help others. He has take note of this and has shown some change, however, I think his enthusiasm for getting involved with others problems will take some time to subside.
  
  
• S---- can get overly concerned about his work due to his emotional involvement with everything around him. He needs to understand that being emotional can sometimes get in the way of being a good professional. He should try to maintain a good balance between his work and other aspects of his life. His MBA studies will give him a good opportunity to achieve a more balanced outlook of life.

My only edit was to comment that he ought to find some more realistic faults about himself, or the application committee would just laugh its ass off. I phrased it better, though.

The Wonderful Journalism Ethics of the Middle East, Part I

So, Prince Harry got photographed wearing a Nazi costume at a party, right? It was splashed all over the British tabloids. Our delightful local rag in Dubai, 7Days, printed a photo for their front page showing a smiling Harry holding a copy of the tabloid with his Nazi picture on it. Only problem was -- it was the fakest looking thing you've ever seen.

Unfortunately, the online version only had the top of the picture, so I can't show you the whole thing, but imagine the bottom: Harry, holding in one hand, a ridiculously doctored image of the tabloid front, a perfect rectangle in two flat dimensions, with none of the folding, flapping or wrinkling you'd expect of an actual newspaper when you hold it in your hand. It looked like a doctoring job my cat could have done by walking across the computer keyboard.



The most hilarious part is that they were proud of themselves! This was the caption: "SNAPPED: Harry and the newspaper front page - courtesy of 7DAYS digital wizardry"

I actually love the precedent. Coming soon to this site: "Mark McClellan MD, Ph.D. puts on a ladies' wig and high heels and dances atop CMS headquarters in Baltimore - courtesy of elktown digital wizardry..."

Next time on The Wonderful Journalism Ethics of the Middle East: I meet the world's biggest stooge reporter... Stay tuned...

An unpleasant story

It's probably jarring to read stupid jokes from me in one post, then in the next to read a comment I wrote seriously. But I'm not sure how to avoid it in this format.

My favorite student is a young Lebanese guy named Elie, age 19. He's a little older than the high school juniors I usually teach, and he's correspondingly more mature. He's desperate to go to school at the University of Wollongong -- that's in Dubai -- and they told him he needs a 1000 on the SAT to get in.

He wants that score so bad. It's going to be very difficult for him, because English is his third language, and though he speaks perfectly clearly, his vocabulary is very limited. 1000 is the average score for American students, native English speakers, so Elie is a long shot. He's shooting in the 600 range right now. But I've never wanted a student to succeed more than I want this kid to succeed.

We get along great -- there is a culture of teacher respect here, so when a kid likes you and thinks you're a good teacher, he or she can get very attached. When I was making plans to leave here last week, before things got worked out, I told Elie that I wouldn't continue to be his teacher, and he went into a real funk, though he tried not to show it. He was overjoyed when I stayed.

So I was teaching his class last night. We SAT teachers often dog on ETS, the company that produces the SAT. We make them the enemy that kids want to beat when their scores improve. As class was winding up last night, Elie was really frustrated with a certain problem, and as he was walking out, he joked, "I hate ETS! Why do they make it so hard? I hate them!" I laughed; he was smiling.

Then he said, "I'd like to send a terrorist from Iraq to blow them up!" My gut twisted and I felt sick. He saw the look on my face, which probably changed from laughing to disgust almost comically quickly, and he looked stricken. I told him that wasn't at all funny and that he should go home. I was very sharp, I think. He looked at me with such puppy-dog eyes that I immediately felt terrible -- but it didn't replace the awful feeling his comment provoked. All together it just made me feel exhausted.

He's such a good kid, and he didn't mean anything by it. But I was really surprised by how much that comment upset me. I don't like to think that I'm so easily provoked, especially by people I like. I didn't know my 9/11 sensitivity is still so sharp. I think I'm more defensive about those issues over here than I want to admit.

Brad and Jen break up and I was not informed?

This is the worst part about living so far away. The news here is just tsunami, mudslide, Palestine, blah blah blah. It turns out the real story was happening in Hollywood, people. I can't believe no one told me until now. My website would have been all over this story.

Arab Car Talk

On the way to work this morning, the cabbie had an Arabic radio station blasting full volume. It was two guys talking, and of course I didn't understand a word -- but I swear it was Car Talk. They had the exact same tones, the same smokers' voices, the same habit of laughing at all their own jokes.

Of course, for all I know they were talking about Death to America.

My neighborhood

I want to do a lot more photography of my neighborhood, but here's a start. The area is called Karama, and it's the Indian part of town. The glitz of downtown Dubai isn't found here, and I'm glad. Instead, the neighborhood has personality -- kids playing cricket in the alleys, laundry hanging from windows. In the morning I hear the daily call to prayer through my window -- more on that later. I live above a giant Indian grocery, and when I come out into the street in the morning, I pass by the bakery side of the shop. Oh man, that smells so good.

Here are some pictures I took at twilight. Twilight makes anybody a good photographer.

A nearby mosque.


Kids playing soccer in a sandy lot. The goalposts are giant spools of cable.


Sheikh Zayed road is one of the main streets in Dubai. It runs all the way through downtown, seen in the distance.


Another shot of downtown Dubai. The building in front is the Trade Center, the first building to rise from the empty stretches of sand a few decades ago. The two buildings behind the Trade Center are the Emirates Towers. I'll take more detailed photos of these buildings soon.