I will be leading a discussion about Gerald Durrell’s My Family and Other Animals and Lawrence Durrell’s Prospero’s Cell at the Boston Athenaeum on April 25th. It’s interesting to come to the books by the two brothers again so many years after first reading them. I went through all Gerald’s books in middle school and Lawrence’s when I was in college.
On rereading them, Gerald’s book stands up: it’s charming and erudite. Lawrence’s is still excellent, but now the sexism is clear and, in a way, debilitating because you can now see what he missed. He wrote best in and about Greece. Although Caesar’s Vast Ghost is wonderful, nothing he wrote in France is as good as what was sparked by the more difficult landscapes of North Africa and Greece.
Rereading them makes me wonder, when is the best time to find your Ithaca? Both autobiographies recount their days on Corfu. But as Gerald is 12 years younger, he experienced Corfu as the background of a magical childhood. Lawrence, newly married, had the magic of first love in a perfect little beach house, complete with sailboat, good friends, excellent food, splendid weather and the time to write.
So is it better to have an enchanted childhood, and have those memories to fall back on, or perhaps lead you on, for all your life? Or better to have your glorious golden years in your early twenties? Cavafy famously urges you to arrive late in life:
When you set out for Ithaka
ask that your way be long,
full of adventure, full of instruction.
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops,
angry Poseidon – do not fear them:
such as these you will never find
as long as your thought is lofty, as long as a rare
emotion touch your spirit and your body.
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops,
angry Poseidon – you will not meet them
unless you carry them in your soul,
unless your soul raise them up before you.
Ask that your way be long.
At many a Summer dawn to enter
with what gratitude, what joy –
ports seen for the first time;
to stop at Phoenician trading centres,
and to buy good merchandise,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
and sensuous perfumes of every kind,
sensuous perfumes as lavishly as you can;
to visit many Egyptian cities,
to gather stores of knowledge from the learned.
Have Ithaka always in your mind.
Your arrival there is what you are destined for.
But don’t in the least hurry the journey.
Better it last for years,
so that when you reach the island you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to give you wealth.
Ithaka gave you a splendid journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She hasn’t anything else to give you.
And if you find her poor, Ithaka hasn’t deceived you.
Wise as you have become, with so much experience,
you must already have understood what Ithacas mean.
When I read My Family I wished I lived on a Greek island, although I had a shorter, but similar, experience: as a child, I spents three weeks every year in the ruins of a sugar mill in the Caribbean. Reading Lawrence’s books in my late teens and early 20s helped pull me out into the world. I wanted to go to the places he described so I managed to get myself to Cairo, Alexandria, Athens, Corfu, Cyprus, Rhodes and other Greek islands, as well as his house in Sommières. But I didn’t find my Ithaca, the Dhofar region, until I was 39. Then I had to move away so I now agree with Cavafy. Arrive at your Ithaca late, so you never have to leave it.
Join us for a discussion of two very different books which feature the same landscape and main characters. Most people know only one of the Durrell brothers, but each one has his own brilliance. Lawrence writes about the historical and literary landscape in an artistic and serious manner, while Gerald focuses on the local wildlife, a group which includes his older siblings. The juxtapositions between what each one thinks is important and noteworthy makes reading the books in tandem a delight. Gerald doesn’t deign to mention his brother’s wife; Lawrence ignores the fauna. Gerald has nothing to say about Greek myths; Lawrence pretends he is not with his family. Read one book or both and join a short visit to the gorgeous Greek island of Corfu. If the conversation leads to a wider discussion of Lawrence’s fiction (The Alexandria Quartet), Gerald’s impressive improvements in how zoos are designed and the Boston area’s best Greek restaurants, all the better.
I am happy to announce that my essay on ‘Marriage and Peace’ has just been published. The photographs were taken by Onazia Shaikh.
It is difficult to write about my book, Ethnographic Reflections on Marriage in Dhofar, Oman, given the current war in the Middle East. The anthropological study of people’s lives seems unimportant in the face of such terrors and tragedy. Also it’s hard to understand why such a peaceful country as Oman has been pulled into the war, given that for over 50 years its unofficial motto has been ‘Friend to All, Enemy to None’. Salalah, the city in southern Oman where I lived for 19 years, has been bombed twice.
Anthropology in war is a fraught undertaking; the Human Terrain project, the American government’s attempt to merge military logic with ethnography, did not work.
Anthropology is more along the lines of ballroom dancing. You need peace now, peace in the recent past and the expectation of peace in the future to get started; you also need a group of people who are willing to learn a new way of movement. I like the analogy because people who haven’t done ballroom dancing can dismiss it as frivolous but learning when to turn, when to cross, how to follow the music and how to move in clothes and shoes that are unfamiliar while making the right kind of small talk is excellent training to become an ethnographer.
And marriage is a peace-time activity; you need peace and food security to think of adding someone to the family and for people and goods to travel to the celebration. So my book is a peace-time book. It reflects my thinking about how Omanis in the southernmost region go about finding someone to spend their life with and how to create a peaceful life together. I cover how men and women decide to start looking for a partner and all the following steps, including the dissolution of a marriage and old age. I did most of my work with people from the hakli, or qara, group of tribes whose first language is a Modern South Arabian language called Gibali (Jebbali/Shahri /Shehret).
This essay focuses on areas which are perceived as a home. For both picnics and camping, all the general understandings of etiquette followed in houses apply although usually everyone takes on the role as host to some degree. For example, rather than the host pushing people to eat or drink, when any person opens the coolbox, they will act like a host (asking each person what they would like) before they take something to drink. Food that is opened is passed around before the person who opened the package takes any. The man who is cooking might ask a man who comes late to bring fresh bread or more supplies such as water although no one would ever ask a “guest” to bring anything to one’s house.
Further, the cook decides when to eat, but unlike inside a home, in which the hosting family must do all the work, all the people should share by clearing space on the mat, setting out a plastic cover, getting the hot sauce, cutting the limes, etc. And people should, of their own accord, help with the clean-up.
In general, picnicking in open space means creating a private salle. Dhofaris on picnics see themselves as inhabiting a homespace which is inviolate. The space is always clearly defined either by bodies (a group of women sitting in a tight circle) or mats; if there are women, the space must never be approached unless there is specific, immediate need. Men will approach other groups of men to ask for information or share food, but not a group of woman. Cars are always parked to block the groups from view.
Some families share one large mat; other families might make two seating areas, one near the car and one at more of a distance. The two spaces act as salle and majlis; as in a house, small children will act as messengers and carriers and have freedom of both mats and the space between them.
The exact amount of space depends on the landscape. The zone under temporary control of the family might be very large or, in crowded places like beaches on the night of the full moon, might only encompass a few meters more than the mat with the car at an angle chosen for privacy. In open areas like the desert or near-desert open spaces, people should camp out of sight of others.
Government- and hand-built straha (“hut”) are important in that they are roofed; shade is essential in Dhofar for most of the year. Both kinds of shelters are first come-first serve. Even if a man made the structure himself, if someone has parked in front of it and set up camp, the builder has no recourse and must wait until that person has left. Sometimes, men will leave bundles of wood, their blankets and some supplies in a shelter and go fishing; no one will take the space or steal the provisions.
Once the car is parked in front; the shelter is treated like a person’s house whether it is occupied for a few hours or days. As with picnics, the car acts as the bab, the gate in the wall around the house. No one will come nearer than the car without calling out loudly and waiting to be greeted. Normally, even if the person is invited to come closer, they will stay on the far side of the car and explain what they want, to ask for something or give away food. Since there are no internal divisions in strahas, the space is like a salle and a man will usually not accept to sit down or come close unless he is a close friend.
Camping is slightly different as there are three layers while strahas and picnics have only the dichotomy of being outside (the far side of the cars, mats or circle of bodies) and inside (where the people are sitting).
The first layer is where the cars are parked, an area that functions like a hosh. Anyone can walk on the far side of the cars without acknowledging/ being acknowledged. On beaches, the area below the high tide mark is see as a free passageway. The passer-by might lift his hand or call out, but a man walking next to the water or beyond the cars is like a man walking on the far side of a house wall. A stranger who approaches a camping area and needs help will not come closer than the cars. For example, he will stand on the far side and call out his request for a tow or a tow-rope.
The second space, like a majlis, is the public area for friends and family, usually delineated by mats in the space bounded by the cars and whatever natural features are used such as the ocean, wadi walls, rocks and drop offs. Once a man has approached, called out and been invited “in,” he may join the group and sit on the mat. If he is older, younger men will offer him their chairs or pillows to lean on. The new-comer, as in a majlis, will be offered whatever there is to eat or drink.
The third space, corresponding to the bedroom, is the area used for sleeping. This can be all or part of the inside of the shelter or the area closest to the overhang and is delineated by either piled or set out sleeping mats, pillows, bags of clothing, etc. This zone should never be acknowledged or approached by anyone who is not spending the night; sleeping bags, blankets and personal gear are treated as invisible. A man might reach over and take his blanket to use as a pillow to lean against, but no one else should touch it unless the owner offers it although food, juice, soda, water and the accoutrements for tea are available to everyone.
Safety on picnics and while camping is first and foremost about wild animals: scorpions and snakes in sandy and rocky places, wolves and hyenas in unpopulated areas. The site has to be chosen with care and a fire needs to be lit after dark. Foodstuffs need to be put in cars or well-packed and placed near the fire/ sleeping people to keep them safe from foxes. Animal attacks are very rare but keeping a fire going is essential in areas away from towns.
Example of set-ups for picnic on a beach and camping. Note cooking fire is away from mat and sited in reference to prevailing wind; cars are parked to provide privacy.
[this essay is part of a series about the practicalities and pragmatics of one-, two- or three-story houses built within the last few decades on one or two plots of land in the Dhofar region of Oman; extremely expensive houses often take up three or more plots and have very different architectural styles; first published in Spring, 2021] – photo by Onaiza Shaikh
In Dhofari-designed houses the roof is accessed by an internal staircase; this necessity creates certain ‘rules’ about house architecture and space use. First, because the floor, roof and steps are from poured cement and there needs to be space for the support poles, there are always landings and an empty space next to the main staircase (see below 1). Even the back set of stairs (in large houses) are wide with an open area at the bottom. As stairs aren’t built narrowly between two walls, it is easy to get large pieces of furniture to the upper stories. Further, because there is always open space on at least one side of the main staircase, there are always banisters [handrails supported by balusters].
Second, there is always empty space under the stairs which can be used for storage or decorated with a piece of furniture. Third, there is always a landing at the top of the stairs which is usually used as a storage space. This landing space can look like, from outside, a small, four-sided “hat” or cupola. Normally the cupola has windows on several or all sides which, depending on the house design, brings light into the hallway below. The roof of this small space is accessed by a ladder and often holds satellite dishes and the round, white plastic water tank. Water comes from the municipal supply or a well and comes into the house using gravity, although some houses have a small pump to increase force water up into the tank.
In some larger houses, there is both a square room at the top of the stairs and a decorative cupola which is round and is entirety made of glass.
Another aspect of house patterns is that while almost all modern houses have flat roofs, looking at roof accessibility can tell you if the house is Dhofari-designed [meaning either the architect is Dhofari or a Dhofari is planing to live in the house.] While Dhofaris don’t necessarily use the roof space, it is always very easy to enter. If one can only get on the roof by a ladder, the house is not Dhofari-designed.
When cement block houses started to be built, roof-lines often looked like battlements with the edge wall as a parapet with crenellations, sometimes fashioned to look like the distinctive local style of incense burners, majmar (see below 2). Now there are many choices including closely spaced decorated balusters, glass inserts, metal railing, etc. (see below 3).
By law, all roofs have some sort of wall around the edge for safety. The most common type is plastered cement blocks up to waist height. Sometimes there is no discernible difference between wall of the highest floor and the roofwall, e.g. there is a smooth facade until the top of the roof wall, which often has a cornice with a dentil pattern. Sometimes there is a clear division in that the roofwall protrudes slightly and is painted/ decorated. Some newer houses have a flat roof that is smaller than the footprint, a wall at the edge, then a slope of three to five courses of clay tile which meet the wall of the upper story.
Most roofs have a series of lights, often looking like small lanterns, placed at intervals along the roof wall (see below 3).
Roofs are not seen as part of the living space although there might be a metal or poured cement roofed area for women and children to sit outside, instead of sitting on the front steps. If there is not enough room in the hosh (courtyard), there might be a clothesline (as clothes dryers are rare) and miscellaneous objects which wouldn’t be damaged by being outside, such as leftover tiles. Sometimes there is a laundry room, an extra room for the maid and/ or small room for storage, either free-standing or sharing a wall with the small room at the top of the stairs.
A roof can be finished, meaning that the homeowner does not mean to build another story, or unfinished, meaning although the roof might be tiled and/ or have decorations such as crenelations the owner might build an additional story. This type will have distinctive short, poured cement pillars which cover reinforcing bars, aka rebar. When an upper story is added, the tiles, decorations and tops of the short pillars are broken. [I will discuss the cement/ rebar pillars in a later essay about house building.]
Two personal notes about roofs:
– Hurricane Mekunu (2018) and roofs: Given the infrequent, but heavy, water accumulation after rainstorms, there are often holes drilled at the bottom of the edge wall to allow the water to drain. One neighbor did not have this and after Mekunu hit, his roof looked like a swimming pool for over a week. The day after the storm, I told my landlord who called the neighbor, but he did not come and fix the problem, perhaps because he would have needed to climb up a ladder carrying a pump. Opening the roof door would have meant all that water coursing into the house. As the water very slowly evaporated, I could see the damp seeping into the cement blocks, eventually reaching halfway down the side of the house.
My roof had holes for the water escape and the roof door had a ledge in front of it but the huge amount of water from Mekunu meant that rain came into the landing at the top of the stairs. However, the stairs were slightly canted so that the rain ran down the left side of the stairs and at the first landing spilled over the edge into the stairwell instead of continuing down the stairs. For several hours there was a waterfall in the stairwell but no roof water entered my apartment or the apartment downstairs as the water seeped out in the gap under the front door.
I wonder how the neighbor’s roof door was so watertight. The water was at least two feet deep and took many days to evaporate. I don’t know that neighbor well enough to ask if I can prowl around his house but it is an interesting question.
– When I lived in my previous house, I paid a gardener to keep the roof clean and water various plants in pots. When I looked at the area where I lived on satellite maps, I realized the mine was the only house with a clean roof. (Which begs the question of the tradeoff between having a lower electricity bill because a clean, white-tiled roof reflects heat and wasting water to keep the roof clean.)
Examples of staircases: photos from social media (newly-built house for sale) and an informant
example of stairs with empty space closed off for storageexample of stair with empty space to the side
Examples of recently-built roofs: photos from social media (newly-built house for sale and rental house)
example of roof lightsexample of recently-built roof-line
Examples of typical Dhofari-designed rooflines: photos by Onaiza Shaikh
close-up of roof-line – older houseroof line typical in first two decades of concrete houses
example of recently-built roof with glass inserts in roof wall
The monsoon season (finally) started yesterday so, in celebration, I went for the first time to a small, cute shop which sells food made by a local woman. I had driven by and seen it but never gone in. With the drizzle coming down at a steady pace, I decided to have a small party, support women who are selling food, and, of course, continue my food research!
As I viewed the sandwiches, cooked food and cakes on display, I discussed the food in a mixture of Arabic and English with the expat man who was working. “Is this strawberry cake?” I asked, pointing to a cake with a pink layer of what looked like jam. He said yes. I repeated the question in Arabic to make sure, then moved on, “Is this cake with coffee flavor? Is this chicken? Is the chicken spicy or normal?” etc. I bought a selection of things, went home and produced them for my guests: this is non-spicy chicken, this is strawberry cake, this is coffee cake.
Wrong. All of it wrong. The chicken was fiery hot, it wasn’t strawberry and the brown cake was ‘Lotus’ flavored, not coffee. Sigh. Last week it was at KFC, I ordered 4 chicken strips and Dew with ice; I got someone else’s order and was told that the Dew, which had no ice, has “ice inside.” Sigh. In these kinds of example, it’s a mixture of linguistics and culture. I would not think of a ‘biscuit-flavored cake’; a white cake with medium brown frosting looks like ‘coffee’ to me. ‘Ice’ to me is cubes the size of cherry tomatoes, not that the soda is cold.
Sometimes it is an issue of what you ask for is not what you get but sometimes it’s a visual and cultural problem, as in the photo above – I enlarged that photo several times, tilting my head, thinking “WHAT is that in the little bowl?” Finally I decided it was walnuts and date maamoul (dates with spices cooked into a paste, surrounded by a heavy sugar cookie dough and baked). I don’t think of walnuts as breakfast food so I had to wait until my eyes could “see” them. Several times I have seen shallow bowls of dates and assumed it was pieces of meat and vice versa. One trick I learned is that if there is a coffee dallah (traditional Arabian coffee pot) it is dates; if there are cups of tea, it is probably meat. [Or in the above photo, the piece of wood doesn’t look like what I expect ‘camp fire wood’ to look like: it’s dark, full of holes, almost insubstantial looking. But from camping in the desert, I know this is typical of wood you can find or buy and it serves as a marker, “we are very far from town.”]
There is another level of difficulties: seeing various food items and not understanding how they fit together. A friend remembers being in a grocery store with me when we were in grad school. As we came around the corner of an aisle and the end cap had: cans of tuna, cans of peas, cans of sliced mushrooms, egg noodles, salt and canned cream of mushroom soup. I looked at her and said how this combination of food was a culturally-bound signifier of middle-class American in middle America, an implied recipe without stated recipe. Everyone who saw that display would know that all these items should be bought and cooked together to create a tuna casserole. But someone from outside that culture would see a collection of disparate items. Such as the photo below: chips, processed cheese and bread. This might be read as “put cheese on bread and eat with chips.” But Omanis know, you open the bag a little then crush the chips. Put cheese on bread, sprinkle on chip fragments and then roll up into a tube.
Eating begins with the eyes and everyone sees food through their cultures, upbringing and experiences. Learning to see again, see new, and re-see is a long process that I am still in the middle of.
I will be leading a book discussion at the Boston Athenaeum: Two Views of Corfu, April 25 at 10 am
Join us for a discussion of two very different books which feature the same landscape and main characters. Most people know only one of the Durrell brothers, but each one has his own brilliance. Lawrence writes about the historical and literary landscape in an artistic and serious manner, while Gerald focuses on the local wildlife, a group which includes his older siblings. The juxtapositions between what each one thinks is important and noteworthy makes reading the books in tandem a delight. Gerald doesn’t deign to mention his brother’s wife; Lawrence ignores the fauna. Gerald has nothing to say about Greek myths; Lawrence pretends he is not with his family. Read one book or both and join a short visit to the gorgeous Greek island of Corfu. If the conversation leads to a wider discussion of Lawrence’s fiction (The Alexandria Quartet), Gerald’s impressive improvements in how zoos are designed and the Boston area’s best Greek restaurants, all the better.
Lawrence Durrell – known for fiction: Alexandria Quartet (Justine, Balthazar, Mountolive, Clea) and The Avignon Quintet(Monsieur, Livia, Constance, Sebastian, Quinx)
light humor: The Best of Antrobus, Esprit de Corps
travel writing: Prospero’s Cell (Corfu), Reflections on a Marine Venus (Rhodes), Bitter Lemons (Cyprus), Spirit of Place (collection of travel writing)
children’s fiction: White Eagles Over Serbia
biography: Larry: A New Biography of Lawrence Durrell, 1912-1945; Lawrence Durrell: A Biography by Ian S. MacNiven
if you like his fiction, maybe try: The English Patient
if you like his light humor, maybe try: Hotel Splendide, La Bonne Table, Bemelmans
if you like his travel writing, maybe try: Provence, F. M. Ford; The Station, Robert Bryon
Gerald Durrell – known for autobiographical books set on Corfu in his childhood: My Family and Other Animals, Birds, Beasts and Relatives; The Garden of the Gods
animal collecting/ creating a zoo: Three Singles to Adventure.A Zoo in my Luggage, The Bafut Beagles, The Whispering Land, The Aye-Aye and I, Menagerie Manor
animal/ nature conservation: The Ark’s Anniversary, Amateur Naturalist
children’s fiction: Rosy Is My Relative
autobiography: Myself and Other Animals
biography: Gerald Durrell: The Authorized Biography by Douglas Botting
Several people have asked me, “Aren’t you glad you aren’t in Oman right now?” Actually, no. I wish I was there, but I have aged out of work visas and can’t afford one of the housing units that comes with a residence visa. I do not support this war and I think America should stop bombing Iran. It must be terrifying for the people who are staying and all the photos of expats leaving the Arabian Peninsula make me reflect on how difficult it was to leave Oman, even with plenty of notice and in peacetime.
In remembrance of happier times, this is an essay I wrote in 2017. May peace come soon to all troubled lands.
“I’ve never such a beautiful ocean” – tourist
“Holy sweet Jesus he’s got no clue” – local
“Public Relations” lyrics from the musical Don’t Stop the Carnival
Tourists burble. Tourists gush. If I hear a woman is raving about how “the food is so natural and healthy!” you can be sure that she’s got a plane ticket back to the Land of Whole Foods and Mexican restaurants within a week or two. It’s amusing to watch a man coo about how relaxing life is here, all the while checking his Blackberry and reading e-mail on his laptop at one of the two cafes in town with wi-fi.
Expats don’t coo. Expats don’t prattle. The people who live here, we send SMSs: “Flaxseed oil in at the pharmacy,” “Sandstorm coming – batten down hatches,” “Did you hear X is in the hospital?” and “Do you know a good carpenter?”
I call an expat friend and ask, “What’s the name of the place you hang your clothes?”
He starts throwing off fancy French furniture terms: armoire…
“No, no,” I say, “What’s the simple word. I forgot it.”
Pause.
“You mean ‘closet’?”
“Yes!” We say goodbye and hang up the phone.
A woman who came to town for an extended visit mentioned to me that she had a rental car. I told her to be careful; any problem that happened to the car while she had it was her responsibility.
She said, “I didn’t sign a contract.”
I said, “It doesn’t matter, the understanding here is, unless you go to Budget which is twice as expensive as normal rentals and has insurance, that any problem is your fault and you pay for the repair, as well as the regular daily charge.”
She said, “But I didn’t agree to that and I didn’t sign a contract.”
Expats do not say “I didn’t sign a contract.” They would laugh and tell you about the rental car in Uruguay, which would segue into a story about Nepal, and then into that fabulous B& B in Dorset. Expats know that this is not a theme park full of natural and healthy food, beautiful scenery and exotic folkways. It is a working community. You either stay cut-off by cycling between your job, the two expat grocery stores and the big hotels or you become part of it – whether you agree or not. Expats are normal people who have evolved and devolved into a new species.
Expat – Definition
The first part of my definition of living expat is that it’s voluntary: moving to another country by choice to study, work, retire, create art etc. I am talking about a narrow band of middle-class experiences – not forced immigration or those ‘on the wind’ fleeing war, disease and/ or poverty. I made the decision to live on the Arabian Peninsula.
The second part is that I live middle-class. I live alone (not in a camp or apartment with co-workers), I can move about when and how I choose (not being driven in a bus), I have two days off every week (not only an afternoon or no free-time at all). On the other hand, I know nothing of upper class life beyond what I read in Town and Country. My car is 8 years old and has over 300,000 km; I worry about retirement. I don’t think I am ever going to have a set of Ghurka luggage or diamond stud earrings, much less one of those really gorgeous Persian rugs.
My third point is that it’s living expat. I have traveled to 38 countries but have lived overseas only 4 times. “Living” I define as having an address where mail is delivered, having a bank account in a local bank, and having a set of places to go to – your café, your beach, your tailors, your schwarma stand.
The fourth part of “living expat” is what does “expat” convey? Mawuna Remarque Koutonin’s article [https://www.theguardian.com/global-development-professionals-network/2015/mar/13/white-people-expats-immigrants-migration%5D discusses how “expat” is a racially charged term. I can’t speak for other areas of the world, but I’ve lived in the Middle East for 14 years and on the Arabian Peninsula, “expat” it is an indicator of economic status not country of origin. Here, “expat” means people who have a position which allows them to sponsor bringing over a spouse and/or kids and people who are free to move about as they please outside of work hours. To talk about one group, people put qualifiers in front, such as Arab expats, Indian expats, Western expats. “Expats” is used as opposed to “workers,” almost always men, who live in single-sex compounds whose movements are more closely controlled.
I have never heard of anyone referred to as a “guest” and “guest-worker” is not a configuration used here. I have only heard “foreigner” used by Gulf Arabs referring to non-Muslims. My personal pet peeve is people who call themselves “nomads;” just as bad are businesses which cater to this nonsense: “tools for nomads” with $600 backpacks. Do you carry all your worldly possessions yourself or with a pack animal? Are you without bank account and/ or property? Do you sleep in structures you erected yourself? Do you roam around a wide geographical area without changing continents? No? Then you aren’t a nomad.
Expat Talking
There are many positives of living expat. When British Airways lost my luggage, I had to make a list of the items lost: handmade slippers from Muscat; shoes from Edinburgh; shoes from Leiden; dress from Victoria, BC; skirt from my tailors; shirts from Boston and San Francisco; jean jacket from Denver; Swiss cosmetics; earrings from Maine. Reassembling that small suitcase would take thousands of dollars’ worth of airplane tickets as I pick up clothes as I travel to see family and friends and for conferences.
This is normal for people who live middle-class expat but can be really annoying for those who don’t. We are used to have objects and experiences from a myriad of places and with other expats, ordinary conversations can quickly turn insufferable for normal people: the waterfalls in Vancouver airport vs. the mini-tropical forest in Bali’s airport, Taba in Egypt vs. Aqaba in Jordan, foot massages in Phuket vs. head massages in Delhi, Rhodes vs. Crete, water-taxis from the airport in the Maldives vs. water-taxis in Dubai, island hopping in the Seychelles vs. island-hopping in the Caribbean, Malta vs. Corsica, the Khan el Khalili in Cairo vs. the Blue Souq in Sharjah, Stockholm vs. Amsterdam, Doha airport vs. Chicago airport, throwbacks to crossing into Turkish Cyprus vs. crossing into East Germany. As I said, it gets old fast for people who have built their lives in one or only a few communities.
Every expat has had the experience of being asked “What’s it like” as if one can sum up living in a country for a year in two sentences. And then there are people at home who never even ask that, who avoid any mention of the life overseas.
Expats learn to keep quiet about their lives and open up only with other expats with whom they can trade experiences and opinions freely: making fun of Jumeirah Janes, debating the best college to stay at during the summer in Cambridge, complaining about being woken up by the sound of kookaburras in Brisbane and loons on a Wisconsin lake, comparing Swiss Christmas markets vs. southern German Christmas markets. Expats who have lived in the toughest conditions are usually the nicest. People who lived in Cairo and Dubai are never as friendly or helpful as those who lived in Afghanistan and Papua New Guinea where cooperation meant survival.
Expat Travel
Baltimore, Lisbon, Mousehole, Heidelberg, Petra, Charlotte Amalie, Santa Fe, Al Mukulla: expats get to used to the chance for travel during vacations and the perks of travel seem so obvious, it’s useless to complain about the times I have walked off a plane after a 10+ hour flight trying to remember what country I was in, looking at the signs at passport control trying to remember which line to stand in, all the methods of coping with jet-lags, the stupid mistakes done under the blight of jet lag, and most importantly, the sense that you can never have all the things you like together.
It is useless to grumble but inside most expats’ hearts there is a wish for impossible meals and events: Dutch pancakes with American coffee, an English pub lunch with waiters who come to the table, Bangkok with the air quality of Edinburgh, Winnipeg’s summers with Puerto Rico’s winters, Dubai shopping but with taxi drivers who speak English; bookstores in Oxford that stay open later than 6pm; Tartine pastries at the Hong Kong airport.
An expat’s life is always a mosaic, never a unified whole. My favorite way to travel is the 8-seater plane from Logan to visit my mom, the train from Sydney to Melbourne, a sailboat in the Strait of Juan de Fuca, and the DC metro. My favorite stores are Ragamuffin on the Isle of Sky, the main Jim Thompson store in Bangkok, gold stores on the Ponte Vecchio, and M & S. My favorite hotels are the Charles Hotel in Cambridge, MA and the Peninsula in Bangkok but my favorite places to eat are the Palm Court at the Balmoral Hotel in Edinburgh, the Windmill café in Kingston, Ontario, pretty much any restaurant in Rome and the Lime Tree Café in Jumeriah. I want to walk off my favorite beach in the BVI, have a ‘rice table’ in the Netherlands for dinner then fall asleep to the blinking of Grand Forks, ND fireflies.
Expat Decor
I always think that a person’s home should be like a 3D collection of Girl Scout badges; it should reflect who you are and where you have been. Living middle-class expat means that it’s easy to collect pieces from all over. In my living room I have a sofa I bought in Bali, a chair from India that I got in the Emirates, and an Egyptian rosewood chest. The three pieces are nice, but don’t really coordinate with each other or my dark wood IKEA desk or my dark wood book cabinet which had a glass front section resting on top of a (non-coordinating) set of cupboards. That’s one of drawbacks: you pick up pieces as you go along, and you simply have to tell your furniture to get along with each other because it’s almost impossible to get things to match.
Another characteristic of expat living is that pieces usually develop narratives. I have a dish a friend brought me from her trip to Iran; one rug is from the store run by two Iranian brothers at Mutrah souq. There are very few things that I have bought anonymously, so to speak, at a store which I can’t remember. When I go to a friend’s house and admire something its: “I picked that up in a little village in Cambodia when I worked there” or “Got that in Siberia.”
Every piece has a story. The rug I bargained for with a friend standing by amazed at my ability to spin tales about the poverty of teachers to lower the price. The coffee table was bought at X store on Y street with my friend Pat pretending to be my husband and saying I was spending too much money in an effort to get the price down (that trick worked). Even my computer has a story of the how I got it and what happened when it broke down (four hours of sitting in the store reading a novel because I was not leaving until it worked).
Even as a single woman, there’s not much shopping I do on my own – there is often an Omani or western friend to give advice, and I willingly go on shopping expeditions in turn. When I walk thought my apartment I see the pieces connected to my friends Marlene, Tom, Rosemary, Samantha, Barbara, Sophie, Margie, Sanda, and Helen, all of whom have since left town but whose memories remain.
Another effect of living expat is that decorating is usually very personal – you often incorporate other people’s lives and they incorporate yours. In my sitting room, my sofas are from a dear friend who was selling them when she left Salalah. Given how much turnover there is, if you see something you like that a friend has, if they leave you have a chance to get it in a way that would seem predatory in the States. Several times I have had the unsettling experience of walking through a good friend’s house and deciding which of their pieces to buy.
On the other hand, when I want to get rid of something, it doesn’t go out anonymously on the street to be picked up or to someplace like Salvation Army. I give it to the woman who cleans my house. In the Middle East, almost all middle-class households have maids, who either live-in or have keys and come to clean a few times a week. Mine has worked for me for almost ten years and, like most expats, I give her her salary, bonus twice a year and whatever I no longer need.
My old sofa, coffee table, pillows, even shoes and purses are set in a pile for her and she takes everything. I wonder if they are all in her house or if they are handed on to her friends. That angst of “I can’t get rid of it because it still has some use in it” doesn’t exist here – if I don’t need something, don’t like it anymore or have bought a replacement, I can pass it on knowing it will be used. I see it as a ladder: an Omani friend gave me a gorgeous wooden bookshelf; I give the woman who cleans for me my old fridge.
Expat Fitting In
As you live expat, and start to understand the culture, the prevailing wisdom is that you should try to fit in. I agree with this most of the time, but there are also times when I think deliberate dissonance is helpful. Sometimes speaking, dressing and acting in ways that mark you as a foreigner can create a more positive interaction, especially in dealing with Arabian cultures in which people usually dislike being surprised.
I learned this point when I went to two social events with a non-Omani Muslim woman (I’ll call her Muna). We were both wearing the right kind of clothes for the event but Muna greeted each Omani guest in the correct way but I said, “salam aleikum” – the wrong thing to say. This greeting should be said by a person who comes into the room, but I was sitting down. It is such a blatant mistake, each woman who was greeting me paused for a moment, looked at me carefully, then carried on with greeting the other attendees, often gesturing towards me and asking other women, “Who is she?”
My incorrect greeting immediately signaled that I was foreign and the women could immediately adjust their expectations and assumptions about me. Older women did not wonder why I don’t stand up and kiss them on the head, etc. There was a momentary flutter, but I was quickly forgotten.
On the other hand, several women tried to speak to Muna after she gave the correct greeting. Then Muna would explain she didn’t understand Arabic, which would cause surprise and begin a several minutes conversation about how the woman THOUGHT Muna was Arabic-speaking, but she wasn’t and where was Muna from and why was she at the event and wasn’t it a surprise! Several Omani would say they thought Muna was from X country, Muna would explain she was from Y country, the women would say “Oh you look like you are from X,” Muna would affirm that she was from Y, the women would ask “Is your mother from X?” Muna would answer no; her mother was also from Y. This happened several times and after her country of origin was cleared up, there was no more conversation.
What happened with me was opposite. The women sitting near me would usually ignore me for an hour or so, then ask me a question or two (how long had I lived in town, was I married, did I have children, was I Muslim etc.) which would slowly grow into a longer conversation. After two or so hours, all the women around me would have talked to me. As I was sitting quietly, smiling at the children, accepting tea, looking as benign as possible, the women would socialize with each other, occasionally glancing at me, then slowly one or two would start the process of figuring out who I was and passing that information around.
I had given them space and time to adjust to me and I happily answered all their questions with answers that made sense: I am a teacher, I have learned Arabic from my students, I am a friend of the groom’s sister, etc. There was always a sense of wonder – this American Christian sitting amongst us! – but I made no sudden moves, gave ready and plain answers, smiled at children and (with honesty) professed myself delighted with the house, food, tea, party and the company. Slow, easy and steady but always marked as different and foreign.
This insight was found by chance (the first time I did this, I really didn’t know the right thing to say) but I realized that, on the Arabian Peninsula, the more you speak and act correctly, the more it is believed you know all the culture’s rules. In my experience it is far better to start off with an obvious stumble and rehabilitate yourself later than to start strong only to fall off. Set the bar low, make it clear you don’t have all the necessary cultural knowledge and mistakes are forgiven or at least not coded as deliberate rudeness.
Expat Friends
Expats friends can sometimes turn to gold. When I met The Divine Ms. S., I felt like I was reunited with my birth sister. Just as my idea of ‘plot’ is add another shark attack, my idea of decorating is throw a few more rhinestones on. She had a living room with floor to ceiling red velvet curtains on all the walls and a four-foot mirrored snarling jaguar statue. Truly a woman after my own taste.
Living overseas in a small community everyone knows each other – most people live next to or near people they work with; you see all the same people at the same (few) restaurants and shops. You can’t move unobserved. You and your car are known entities and, maliciously or not, information is passed around. If you go to Lulu’s you either see someone you know or someone was driving by and saw your car, or someone saw you take the Lulu’s bags out of your car.
You learn not to lie, but to preserve some sense of privacy, to be circumspect. You seldom use names in conversation or discuss your specific plans. Everyone says, “Oh I am busy that night” or “Yes, I know that restaurant. I went there with a friend once.”
Once you become part of a circle, you have to take care of those people; you have to help. Like it or not you are in for giving rides to the airport, rides if their car went in for service, borrowing books, handing out whatever medicine you have, sharing the names of good dentists and plumbers. Unlike a small town in America, it is impossible to find basic information here. There is no Yellow Pages, much less store web-sites. The opening times change, stores close or move locations. You have to tell the newcomers the name of the good tailor and about the Japanese dollar store. The gardeners have to tell each other when a certain plant (mint, yellow hibiscus, almond trees, olive trees) is available at the nursery and when there is a delivery of clay pots. The person you told about the good new shawarma stand is the person who, tomorrow, will tell you about a good place to have curtains made. You have to walk people into stores and hand them over to your ‘cushion guy,’ your ‘frame guy,’ your ‘copy guy’ and your ‘coconut guy.’
You get to know what everyone in your groups likes to eat and drink. As I walk around the grocery store, I send off messages: “Hey, they have tortilla chips!” and “Hey, they have dried cherries.” I get calls now and then, “Hey, they have cranberry juice!” and “Candy canes are in.” When I leave town, I ask for requests. When my friends return from trips, I get goodies: Halloween candy, vitamins, clothes dye, doughnuts, curtain fabric.
Expats almost always develop a veneer; whoever you meet you can manage a pleasant conversation about something. You go to a party, end up sitting next to someone you didn’t know – you two look at each other and there is an almost palpable assessment, “Ok, let’s get on with it” and you make a go at figuring out something in common: How long have you been in town, where do you live, where do you work? You smile and wave when you see acquaintances, “How are you?!”
Nothing serious, no soul-baring, no sharing, no real talk, just simple chat, do you know where to get a good hair cut? Have you heard anything about the new Al Jazeera flights? A bit of complaining about the weather, a little discussion about what’s available at the grocery store, “Strawberries are in at Isteqrar!” and “I saw real Hershey’s chips at Al Haq.”
Expats know: you do what you can with what you have where you are.
Risse, M. “Living Expat.” Emanations: Chorus Pleiades. Carter Kaplan, ed. Brookline, MA: International Authors, 2018: 308-318.
I meant to publish this several days ago, but recent events have overtaken the usual quiet, home-based focus of Ramadan on the Arabian Peninsula. I know that many expats are currently trying to leave but I want to put this up as a reminder that, whatever else is happening, it is still Ramadan.
the section on how to behave respectfully during Ramadan from ‘Researching and Working on the Arabian Peninsula’ (2025)
Ask questions about Islam, but frame those questions respectfully. During Ramadan, one male student at the Arabic school where I studied ridiculed a female, Muslim student who was fasting, “She said she was fasting but then I saw her drinking water – she’s a liar!” The woman had her period, so she couldn’t fast but there was no way a woman would tell that to a new, male acquaintance. She was acting appropriately; women act in public as if they are fasting but eat/drink out of sight, then ‘make up’ those days at some point before the advent of the next Ramadan.
Before you leave, look up when Ramadan will fall; Freya Stark (1940) famously made the mistake of not checking before her difficult trip with Gertrude Caton-Thomas. Unless you are Muslim, male, and specifically doing research related to Ramadan/Islam, doing research during Ramadan will probably be difficult. Muslims will be concentrating on prayers and family. You might be invited for iftars (the meal to break the day’s fast) but there probably won’t be time/opportunity to have private conversations/ask questions.
In addition, it’s a good idea to pay more attention to your appearance and behavior. Ramadan is not just about fasting from food from sunrise to sunset; Muslims should also refrain from anything that pulls them away from spiritual reflection, for example being angry, lying, cheating, or listening to non-religious music. You should live in a way that allows everyone else to also concentrate on spiritual matters.
There might be specific laws in your location, but in general I suggest trying to blend in with your surroundings, be it a university, archive, or business. This often means dressing more modestly than usual, e.g., switching from short-sleeved to long-sleeved shirts with rolled up cuffs if you want, tea-length instead of knee-length skirts, less or no jewelry, make-up perfume, etc. Before the month starts, ask if there are changes people often make.
If you are not fasting, keep food and drink out of sight. Don’t leave your bottle of water clipped to the outside of a backpack, put it inside. Various people don’t fast for various reasons (such as being pregnant or ill), so it’s understood and accepted that people are going to eat, just do it behind a closed door or in a hidden corner. Some businesses will set aside a room for non-Muslim to eat meals in or employees will informally co-opt a room, so ask around. If you are in a new space or are the only person not-fasting, try stairwells. Usually there is an empty area at the top of the last flight of stairs.
Behavior in Ramadan relates to two concepts I will discuss further in the sections about tribes and clothes in Chapter 5. First, many cultures on the Arabian Peninsula are tribe-based, meaning it is expected that you will try to fit in to prevailing mores in the same way that people fit into tribal expectations. During the day in Ramadan I cover my hair and the most frequent comment I hear is, “Good, you are with the people.” The fact that I am attempting to blend is seen as positive; yet at the same time there is no expectation that I will adopt every behavior of a Muslim women.
During Ramadan I drink coffee, eat, and play music in my office but my door is always closed. When someone knocks, I drape my scarf over my head, cover my coffee cup with a Kleenex, turn off the music, then call out “Come in.” Everyone knows I am hiding my coffee while they wait outside my door, but in 19 years, no one has complained because I am making an effort to respect the rules and that is sufficient.
The second concept is that people who alter what they wear, what they say, how they act can be viewed with suspicion. Hence, decide if you are going to change anything and what you are going to change, then stick with it throughout the whole month. Dressing modestly one day and not modestly the next is often viewed as worse than dressing non-conservatively because the person is viewed as playing with/making fun of cultural norms. Several years ago, when I decided to wear a head-scarf during daylight hours in Ramadan, I knew that was an irrevocable decision and I have stuck with it. Ramadan creates a framework for my changes and gives a clear explanation of why I am behaving differently.
My last point is that modifying your clothing and behavior (not playing music during the day where people can hear it, not showing anger, not reacting to anger, etc.) helps you navigate smoothly. Yes, sometimes it’s hot to wear a headscarf and sometimes it’s awkward to get it correctly arranged. I hate walking out of the house without lipstick and perfume. On the other hand, these adjustments mean a month without women shooting me angry glances, men acting as if I don’t exist (cutting in front of me in line), clerks pretending that they don’t see me and government officials refusing to help me. When I tell a male student to stop yelling in the hallways, he is not going to backtalk me.
Sometimes other expats show frustration with me and ask “Why are you making your life difficult?” I see my actions in terms of helping to create a peaceful atmosphere. I know it’s silly that I carry my coffee cup at my side or behind my back when I walk to rinse it out in a sink. I know the sight of my coffee cup will not ruin someone’s day, but why should I flaunt the fact that I am drinking? It doesn’t hurt me to be discreet.
I have always kept this website apolitical because politics is not my métier but there are times when one must nail the colors to the mast. I do not support this war with Iran. I do not support Donald Trump, Pete Hegseth or their war agenda.
One of the reasons I moved to Oman in 2005 is that I do not think soldiers should be the only Americans in the Middle East. Every day during the 19 years I was in Salalah I tried to represent the States in a positive way. I was very aware that, for many people I met, I was the first American they talked to and I wanted to leave a good impression.
I am so sorry for all the people living in fear because of American bombs. It was a joy and a blessing to live in Oman, a country so committed to peace. I hope there will be peace throughout the Arabian Peninsula and Middle East soon.
The path we have followed in our foreign policy over the past decades has shown itself to be both sound and effective, with God’s guidance. We are committed to this approach, which supports justice, peace and security, and tolerance and love; which calls for international cooperation in order to reinforce stability, promote growth and prosperity and tackle the causes of tension in international relations by producing just and permanent solutions to critical problems; which fosters peaceful coexistence between nations; and which generates well-being and prosperity for the whole of mankind. Sultan Qaboos, 14.11.2006
Come From Away 
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