Finland Finland Finland

That's the country for me.....How strange, that when the kid and I got to the Air Canada check-in counter to drop off our bags there were 3 strapping guys in light blue and white hockey jerseys ahead of us in line....and when they turned around, emblazoned across each of their chests was "Finland." Doesn't matter if they were in Halifax for the international hockey championship. It made me kind of nostalgic for New York City, the end of Clay's run in Spamalot, and well, I just wanted to break out in some sort of fish schlapping song. The kid said she'd harmonize as long as I didn't actually schlap her with a fish (as if I would ever schlap her in the first place). What an auspicious start for the trip back here to Baku. That was on the night of the 12th, about 9:30. At 2:00 AM on the 14th we landed in Baku along with a plane load of people from Scotland returning for their rotations. Not a Fin in sight.

John and Ali were waiting for us to get through the immigration lines....Ali with the usual bottles of water in to give us as we came through the sliding glass doors. He is the coolest of dudes, seriously! I'm glad I went hunting for those Cadbury Mini-Eggs he likes so much when I got home. They weren't easy to find, a week past Easter, but eventually some turned up at Joe's Corner Store on Main Avenue.

I've been back for 2 weeks, and I'm rethinking what I was previously thinking about 6 weeks being too much time to be away. Maybe 6 weeks isn't so long after all. But....I have to add a proviso....a good dose of Baku Belly can make anyone want to run for the hills (as well as the bathroom). I swear from now on I am only eating local food. Something gets lost in translation when local meets western. Going back over what I ate in the last few days, there was only one difference in what I had and the rest of the family didn't....I knew I should have gotten the double cheeseburger like everyone else.....but no.....I had to have that other murderous thing. Luckily there were 3 Cipro left in the bottle and when that last one is gone at 3PM this afternoon, someone is going to have to make a trip down to the SOS clinic to reload. Must always have Cipro in the cupboard.

Speaking of local food, the whole gang from the office had dinner, last Sunday, at an Azeri restaurant where we had a choice of dining in an outside hut, an inside hut, or in the grand hall. We started in an outside hut but figured it would later get too cold and moved inside to the Grand Hall. Inside, there would be live entertainment and dancing beginning at 8:00. The food was delicious and the service incredible.....and hilarious....at the same time. The food was presented in serving dishes on the table, just like a big family dinner back home, but picking up the dishes to serve yourself is a no-no. Just so much as reach for a dish and a waiter magically appears gently removes it from your hand and spoons what you want onto your plate. The same goes for the drinks. There was an assortment of juices and water laid out at one end of the table and the waiters were continually topping us up.....even with the Miller Genuine Draft. I have no idea what most of what was in these little serving dishes but it tasted fresh and pretty darn good.

It was a very fancy place that also caters to weddings. The kid is still trying to figure out the logistics of a wedding dress and this.....


Yes, that's a squat toilet. I somehow think pants and the squat toilet might be tougher, especially without practice. The kid figured it out when she just couldn't hold it anymore thanks to the non-stop flow of the MGD. I totally stopped the beer when this situation was first reported. But I have been wondering, ever since, if bathroom duty falls to the maid of honor or the mother of the bride.

Homework Avoidance Issues

I'm halfway through my last bag of Latvian Ketchup Chips. I saw them at Ramstore this morning and again at New World Supermarket and I didn't buy one bag!......Only because I'm going home in two days and no one else will eat them but me. I wasn't going to open this last bag, either, thinking that if I ate them all I'd never get my shoes back on after consuming all this salt and flying for 6 hours. But the hell with it, I'm living dangerously today. Tomorrow I can live bloated and drink lots of water.



New World Supermarket had been closed but has now reopened all fixed up and remodeled. I think I am going to like that store, it has fairly reasonable prices and Aunt Jemimah Just-Add-Water Pancake Mix. They also had Betty Crocker Cake Mixes for 2.40 manat, which is way better than the 6.00 manat I saw the last place I went. I haven't exactly bought a cake mix in about 5 years it's comforting to know they're out there.

I came across an English weekly newspaper the other day which had an article on the traditions of Novruz. What I found really interesting is how similar traditions can an be across cultures and religions. It also enlightened me about some things that seemed just plain odd around the neighborhood. First of all I couldn't figure out why people were tending the gardens of the houses that are unoccupied on the street.....unoccupied meaning a cinder block skeleton still under construction. For a lot of them, there hasn't been any building activity going on at all but last week people were out working on the yards. Cleaning up the gardens to be, turning the soil around trees and generally sprucing up their construction sites. There is a house across the street that has a large lot attached to its side full of sapling trees. Two men spent the week there, in that dust patch, primping those leafless trees.

I figured they should probably work on the house instead.

Anyway, I learned that Novruz is the New Year celebration and it's full name is Novruz Bayram. And like I said before, almost everyone is off work for eight days. It signals the end of winter and the beginning of spring and the symbolic beginning of a new clean life. The first order of business to get that new clean life is a top to bottom scouring of one's house. Old and useless things are discarded.....the article qualifies that husbands are kept. Once everything is perfectly clean, then the other preparations for the holiday can begin. The cleaning carries out into yards which must have all debris, including dead leaves from trees removed and burned. It was an amazing thing to see the concentrated effort on city boulevards and in front of office buildings.....there seemed to be this real sense of purpose I had never seen displayed by the gardeners on the boulevards of Katy, Texas. They were gardening well into the night and they were planting flowers and raking with the same kind of fervor one sees at the mall on December 23rd.

John and I decided to get in on the home improvement thing, bought a pair of weed diggers and set to work on some of the gnarly bits growing up in the courtyard grass. John kept reminding me that the landlord was responsible for the yard work but it didn't seem right somehow that the whole city was up to its elbows in horticulture and we were sitting around doing nothing but watching our weeds grow. As a reward for at least taking a stab at it we found that one of the cedars was full of lady bugs.....hundreds of lady bugs.



The preparations for the holiday begin four Tuesdays ahead of the actual holiday and there are festivities on each of those days that relate to the four elements: water, air, earth, and fire. Bonfires are a big part of Novruz.....just like New Year's Eve on top of the levies in New Orleans....except I doubt they're torching salvaged wood from crack houses. The fire gives warmth and light, and burns away all of the bad that happened during the previous year. Each Tuesday people gather around bonfires they build in their yards and one by one they jump over the flames. As they jump they say..."All bad things of last year go into the fire and all of the good things stay with me." Ya think flame retardant underdrawers would show pantie lines? The fire has to die on its own and its ashes, which contain all the bad stuff, are thrown far away from the house to keep it from coming back...the same trick I tried with the empties one New Years Day morning.

The tip off that there was some kind of big holiday coming up was when these plates of grass started to show up everywhere. It didn't matter where I went, I encountered one of these plates called semeni. I found this "Chia Plate" at a car show.


Traditionally, housewives will start the plate with kernels of wheat and the bright green grass grows as a symbol of spring and the new year. It provides the centerpiece for the holiday, like our Christmas trees do.....and in the same way, you can also buy one down at the grocery.

It is believed that the way you greet the new year is the way you will spend it, so no crying or anger is allowed on Novruz. Enemies must be forgiven and the poor not forgotten. I think that the day the white Mercedes cut us off last week was the fourth day of the holiday and I'd lay money that's why Ali apologized to him. Near the start of the holiday, a Monday, a black cat crossed our path on a narrow street as we were driving to the office. Ali immediately pulled the Prado to the curb and spat three gigantic ones out the window in the direction of the cat, who slithered off behind a fence. I slithered down in my seat a little in case anyone was watching....but made a mental note to remember it....spit three times at a black cat. Got it.

If I was a single girl, on Novruz I would have thrown a shoe over my right shoulder towards the door. If it landed with the toe pointing toward the door then I'd be married by the time the year passed. If it landed the other way, I'd be spending another year in my father's house. I wonder who, in a house full of sisters, gets the lucky Manolo? Maybe a nice cross cultural twist back home would be for the bride to throw a white satin pump into the waiting throng of single women at her wedding instead of the bouquet. A good pair of shoes will take a girl a lot farther than a handful of flowers any day.

Babble

I can’t believe that it’s already time for me to pack again. It really does feel like I just got here, but on Friday morning I’m flying out of Baku for Halifax. No more Latvian potato chips for a while for me. I’ll be spending Friday night in London and will arrive in Canada Saturday afternoon. Somehow, I think I should be planning what I’m going to take with me, but my head hasn’t gone there yet. It feels too soon to leave. Before I go, I still have one Azeri language class (plus the homework) and dinner at Ali’s tomorrow night to think about. John is planning to take Thursday afternoon off and if Roza can’t reschedule our 3 o’clock lesson to an earlier time, I think we’re going to pass on this one so we can spend the day together, wandering the streets like a couple of tourists. (Here’s to Roza being all booked up tomorrow so I can also avoid my homework and pack….or watch Desperate Housewives.)

Last night John took all of the staff out to a Turkish restaurant for dinner….nothing fancy but great food, menus in three languages, and big huge slabs of warm flat bread brought to the table. I think I had the best chicken soup I have ever tasted in my life last night for less than two bucks. The entire bill for a party of eight with beer, appetizers, soups, entrees, tea, desserts, and tip came to $125. On the way out the door, we each got a free squirt of lemon hand wash…..which I was told is what is done when you leave a Turkish restaurant.

During our dinner, the conversation turned to the subject of Ali’s sister’s wedding which is coming up soon. First will be the bride’s family’s reception which will be attended by the bride’s friends and relatives, and close relatives of the groom. We’re talking 400 people, here. The following week it’s the groom’s family’s turn to put on the spread which will be heavily attended by his friends and family, and close relatives of the bride’s. I’m not sure when exactly the actual marriage takes place but I do know that it’s a civil ceremony and that the bride goes back to her father’s house for the week in between. I guess that would mean they aren’t married until the groom’s party is over because that’s when they go off to their new place. The groom’s family buys the couple a house and it is the bride’s family’s responsibility to outfit that house with EVERYTHING! I’m not sure who gets the better deal here. Ali and his family had been out shopping all day for electrical things: refrigerator, TV, DVD player, washing machine, espresso machine, iron, toaster, hand mixer, kettle, and so on. I think they’ve already bought the furniture and still have to get the sheets, towels, curtains, rugs, cutlery, dishes, and all that other stuff. Ali said they have to buy everything for the house.

In order to pay for all of this, the whole family must contribute. His brother is supposedly selling his car, and John mentioned something about Ali trying to sell a cow back in January….for the day that they donate animals to feed the poor. (Usually it’s sheep but if you have lots of money a cow is considered an appropriate donation.) I’m not sure if he was kidding or not when he offered the cow to John….. we’d be sheep level donors back in the States. And if I get into how they bring the sheep into the city so people can buy them for slaughter that day, I’ll get way off track….so I’ll save that for later….except, I hear that they actually kill them for you on the side of the road. And, well…..someone like me isn’t about to lead a sheep home at the end of a rope for slaughter in the backyard, so I see that there’s a reason to provide the service…but still…..I know it’s for charity and all that….but…ick! I believe that’s on January 10^th and I could definitely arrange to be still back home on that day…….or learn not to be such a baby.

So….back to the wedding which I am sadly going to miss….John will go for both of us and leave an appropriate monetary gift at the door. Money is the traditional wedding gift (since they seem to have everything else right down to the salt and pepper shakers). The money is used to pay for the wedding. The amount of your gift depends on two things; your closeness of your relationship to the family, and how fancy a spread they put on for the party. Someone will be waiting at the door to record your gift in a ledger as you enter…..I love it!

Novruz is coming to an end now and that means the traffic will be back to its usual crawling by the weekend. It’s been great getting around the past week or so. The only real congestion has been right in the downtown core and it’s been much better, even there. I guess the only bad thing about less traffic is that four lanes of partially open road (more than 2 car lengths in front of you) encourages people to drive a lot faster. I have no idea how entire families, toddlers included, can venture out into the middle of speeding traffic to negotiate crossing eight lanes of cars moving at fifty miles per hour. I tried it once…..standing frozen on the center line, while a herd of Mercedes Benz’, BMWs, and Range Rovers competed for three lanes of space with a bunch Ladas, and old rickety trucks. It was enough to make me pee my pants in anticipation of becoming the latest piece of road kill. John was there, too, and he pushed me as I stood immobile on the yellow line…”GO!” I went….but crossing the big ones isn’t for me. You have to commit or you’re doomed. Running back and forth between lanes like a frightened fox on the interstate will get a Toyota logo branded into your backside for all eternity. I guess that’s why they take the babies out there, so they learn how to do it properly from the time they are old enough to wander out between parked cars. I mean…..these people look so calm out there and for all the crazy-make your own lane-pass wherever there’s a free inch-drive on the wrong side of the road kind of driving, there aren’t really many accidents. I don’t remember seeing one since I’ve been here. **Edited to add that there are usually over 400 car pedestrian accidents in Baku a year.**

Maybe that comes from attitude. The other day, this guy in a white Mercedes cut us off….big time close call and Ali’s hand flipped out the open window. White Mercedes guy’s hand flipped out his window and they had a little hand to hand as we sped along to the next red light. There, Ali pulled up behind him, stuck his head out the window and apologized. When was the last time I saw that happen?

The people here are very nice….to each other….to everyone. That is the biggest impression I’m taking away from my first month in Baku.

Drive By Shooting

Having a driver isn’t exactly the same thing as having your own car in the driveway and hopping in it every time you get the urge for a coffee or a donut. Having a driver means you have to call to have him come get you to take you places, and in my case, since I’m sharing Ali with “Mr. John”……”Miss Sally” often loses out to meetings, refilling ink cartridges, and company banking….really really important things like that. Such was the case this week when all I wanted to do was go out and buy a few more countries for the fridge….my own little game of Risk so to speak. (I’m happy to report that Hungarian bacon and American pancake syrup are now present and accounted for.) This week trying to get to the grocery store was like having one car in the family and trying to get the keys back from your husband and kids.

Much of the blame has to go to traffic. It’s the beginning of Novruz, the biggest holiday of the year in Azerbaijan. It lasts for eight days…as in the bank closed today and won’t open again until March 29^th! People who actually work for a living will appreciate that…people like me who don’t do all that much in the run of a day are a little freaked out. I have been told the restaurants will be open. Thank God! But a side effect of no one having to be at work has been that the normally insanely congested traffic in Baku deteriorated into the same situation I remember when the BIG blackout hit Toronto a few years back…..since everybody has someplace to go other than the office.

It took three days to finally get it done but luckily the traffic situation eased quite a bit and we were able to make it out for food. Ali was on the hunt for yellow printer ink for the office but had no luck since all the cartridge masters had taken the day off. If you build, fix, repair, or replace anything in Baku, you are “the master.” I am becoming the master of this….I call it Drive By Shooting….since I have to take most of my pictures from the front seat of the Prado.

There are an incredible number of statues around the city....poets, politicians and the like.

I'm getting a thing for the balconies, too.

This is a corner of the Academy of Sciences.

These were when I was parked outside The Corner Bar during the ink hunt.

Male members of a wedding party taking sweets to the bride's house.

Hope they aren't in a hurry to get there.

These guys are probably not in a rush to get where they're going.

Inescapable......Cola Wars....everywhere you go in this world.

I met three masters this past week. The cable master came, climbed up this ladder that he accessed from the master bedroom window, and hooked up our cable TV. Digital! Seventy channels!

I now have some English channels….four of which are fashion channels. (I have yet to see anyone in a hoodie at Ramstore.) There’s CNN and ESPN and lots of sports and some American shows, too. Last night I watched the Simpsons ….of all things. There are a couple of channels that carry network shows like ER, Gray’s, Ugly Betty, and Day's of Our Lives. I even saw Tyra Banks interview Kim Kardashian.….I’m not sure if they are current or behind but if a person wants current, a trip downtown to the Hong Kong store will keep you up to date on everything…..for a very few bucks. Why, one could even get a lovely Prada bag to go with them, all at the same time........and for only a few dollars more.

Of course, if you ever see me carrying a Prada bag you'll know it's a real one, right?

My other master encounters involved the washing machine, which Lena told me wasn’t working. I checked it out and sure enough it wasn’t advancing from the wash cycle to the rinse cycle on its own. I called Ali, who called the landlord, who called the master. Master shows up only two hours late which is really prompt service around here and begins to give me washing machine lessons in Russian. I immediately understood when he told me there was nothing wrong with the washer having seen the same look on John’s face countless times in the past. Then I nodded my way through a hand signal lesson on the use of a front loading washer. Master left….but not before finding the English page of the appliance manual and making sure that I earmarked it. HA! I took it upstairs and tossed it into the cupboard with the rest of the appliance manuals and then went downstairs to run a load of laundry. Later that afternoon, I called Ali who called the landlord, who in turn, called the master.

I guess one master wasn’t enough because two masters showed up the second time. Obviously, I had a huge problem…..but since John was home and Ali was there to interpret, I disappeared upstairs to the quiet of my room to contemplate the fall from domestic goddess in my old country to failing basic laundry skills in my new one. I sat on the bed and contemplated getting a taxi license. I wasn’t there long when I heard John calling me back downstairs to face both masters (and a fully functioning washer) who both asked me for the English instructions, and who both used sign language and a lot of dial pointing to show me what I was doing wrong. Ali wasn’t a huge help since I doubt he does a lot of laundry and I conceded that I was just going to have to read the manual before I inflicted a third service call on the landlord. So, how was I supposed to know that the cycle advance wasn’t automatic on programs four through seven in the permanent press mode? Kind of putting a fine point on things if you ask me. And who uses automatic laundry gear in Baku anyway. This is one of the more common sites around the city, though not all are as color coordinated as this.

Ah, Buh, Juh, Cha, Duh, Eh, FFF, Guh.....

It’s the letters that get stuck in the back of my throat that will stand in the way of me ever becoming remotely fluent in Azeri, or as Roza; the language teacher calls it “Azerbaijani language.” Teaching one’s tongue to make shapes it has heretofore never been called on to make can be challenging…..but I am determined to get enough of the local language to get by. Someday, I’d like to do better than that, but for now not having to thrust out a handful of assorted denominations in the direction of a store clerk would make me very happy. If I could extend my Visa cards, then Bank of America would spare me that embarrassment…..but unfortunately they don’t go many of the same places as I do anymore.

I had my first language class on Monday afternoon. Ali and I picked up Roza and drove down to the office where we ousted a pair of engineers from their office and my studies began. John brought me a cup of coffee to help me stay awake in class, and before I knew it I was learning to make the hacking sounds that would get me through a day in town on my own.

There are 32 letters in the Azerbaijani alphabet. When the Soviets were here the Cyrillic alphabet was in use. After they left, the Latin one was adopted with a few letters added to make up for the fact that all letters are pronounced and there are no combo sounds (as in “sh” and “ou”)……like we have in English. There are some significant differences in pronunciation, too. “C” is like our “J” and “J” is like the French, “Je.” There is regular “G” and the “G” with a hat that requires suspension of ones gag reflex to say properly. “G” with a hat is followed by “H” and next comes the indomitable “X” which is supposed to sound like the “ch” in loch…..but only if you’re Scottish. Cheating and making a “K” sound is not okay by Roza. The problem is the “X” comes at the beginning of a lot of words, so the only way to say it right is to get deep down in your throat and attempt to “hock” it up. “Xeyr” means no….so I have to work on my hocking. It sounds sort of like “hair”……..feels more like hairball. Ali told me, today, that Azeri words and Turkish words are the same but that Turks don’t use the throat sounds. “X” is pronounced like “H.” So, if that’s the case, and I might be understood without knotting my tonsils, I’m willing to adopt a Turkish accent.

I’ve had two lessons so far with my third to come on Monday. Roza gives homework, like writing dialog and memorization. She checks the homework. She takes this all very seriously. But she’s good, I’ll have to admit that much and she’s a very nice lady who’s proud of her language and excited to help foreign people adapt here in Baku. She told me that next Thursday the National Dance Troupe will be performing at the Philharmonic and offered to use her box office connections to get us good seats. And that brings me to the most important thing I've learned in the last five years.....that a box office connection is worth its weight in gold.

Today was grocery day and in the car, on the way to Cinar Market and Ramstore, I was showing off my new mastery of the numbers one to ten, the number one hundred, and the right word for half. I told Ali I could order my own things at the counters.....now that I had these few rudimentary skills at my disposal. I didn’t mean it, though. I really wanted Ali to order for me, but at the meat counter he just stood there waiting for me to speak up…..and after a brief international stand-off, I caved and asked for 300 grams of ground “dana” which is cow and 300 grams of large chunks of “dana” for soup. When we got to the bakery counter Ali was nowhere in sight and I found him hanging around the magazines at the front of the store. Twice I asked him to come back to the back with me and twice he said he’d wait there. I had to ask for my own little pastries today. I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt that he was so impressed with my language skills he felt I could handle it on my own, and not that he thought I didn’t NEED anymore pastries from the back of the store. Problem is I came back with a half kilo of sweets because I forgot between the meat counter and the bakery all of the words for three hundred grams. (That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.)

A little something in the way of local entertainment. It appears to be shot off of a TV but you'll get the idea...

Spaghetti with Cow Sauce

The international assembly continues in the kitchen. I did another roll call and the following members have checked in: Pears from South Africa, Peaches from Greece, Butter from New Zealand, Ritz Crackers from the Emirates, Wheat Crackers from Saudi Arabia, Orange Juice from Austria, and Spaghetti from Sweden. Three boxes of food from America are sitting on the dock in Houston, wait till that gets here……everyone's going to have to move over to make room. In the meantime, if I don’t lay off Latvian potato chips my Levis from China won't pull over this global sized butt. That will be an international incident, trust me.

The spaghetti with cow sauce wasn’t all that bad. It had a slightly different flavor than my usual concoction, but I put that down to the sauce itself as opposed to the meat. I didn’t have any spices to add, so what I dumped from the jar was what I got. I wasn’t planning to buy spices here since I have some coming (probably by Christmas) in the shipment from Houston. The first few bites I took of it were small tentative ones but by the time I got to the end of the plate, I was beginning to get it.

I’d buy Ramstore’s ground cow again......very very lean cow, t’was. Now, what I thought was a large jar of tomato sauce, was in actuality tomato paste. So, John had to make a stop at Citimart on his way home from work for some spaghetti sauce. I expected he’d walk in with a couple of bottles of Ragu since that stuff seems to be pervasive (Russian catsup tastes exactly like Ragu in a squirt bottle), but he didn’t have Ragu. He came in with two teeny tiny bottles of a runny looking sauce that was going to have to do. The consistency of the sauce made me glad I had a large jar of tomato paste to thicken it up and when it was done, it looked like a damn fine spaghetti sauce.

Since, I only have one working burner (the electric one); I had to take the sauce off the stove to cook the spaghetti. That dang burner isn’t a big frying pan size burner, it’s one of the smaller ones, so we had time to put away two beers a piece before I had to get up and tend to the stove again. It was also enough time for me to rag on John for not making sure I had four working burners (and cable TV) before I got here.

The stove top is an interesting beast, made by Electrolux of all people. It has three gas burners and one electric one which, on the upside, means that if the power goes out you can still cook and if the gas gets shut off you can still cook, though in both instances I think dining out is the preferred method of coping. To keep the sauce warm while waiting for the water to boil, I had John move the microwave from its spot in the microwave cubbyhole…..where they forgot to put an outlet….to the counter. It was the first time we powered that up, and amazingly enough, it worked just fine when it was actually connected to the wall. I think that’s one of the things I miss the most…an abundance of outlets behind the kitchen counter. We have one single receptacle outlet in which the toaster and the kettle trade places. There is another one…but of all places to put an outlet, it’s directly behind the stove top. If the gas ever gets turned on to the stove, I’ll be frying a few cords.

The other day we found the valve to turn on the gas to the stove. It took us a while to figure out it was hidden behind a kitchen drawer. I was all set to crank that sucker up but John held me back. He said he hadn’t turned on the gas because he had no idea who had installed it and what had been done to pressure test the lines…..oh. In that case, maybe we should go out shopping, take the dog, and our passports, and while we’re gone have the master come over to give that little yellow handle a crank. Or even better contact the landlord and tell him the “Mrs.” has arrived and would like an all electric stove, if you please. The Mrs. would really like a gas stove but in the absence of licensed installers, she’s willing to compromise.

I looked up when we were eating and noticed that the fume hood over the stove doesn’t vent to the outside. It essentially looks like a one armed “Lost in Space” robot hanging on the wall. You know, I bet they were waiting until the gas was turned on and a natural hole appeared in the wall all by itself.

Too bad Mc Drav isn’t on the way home from the office.

How I Met the Maid

I’m doing the laundry today. It feels pretty good to have something to do besides school work and making sure that the World Wide Web is still turning on its axis without me. Lena is sick so I’m taking over the job. She showed up at the house this morning to do the cleaning but I’d heard that she has been sick all weekend with a cold and today is the first day she didn’t have a fever. Apparently her daughter was giving her injections to make her better….injections for a cold are a new one on me, but anyway, I was prepared to turn her around as soon as she got here and…..after I took one look at her….no question, she was on her way back to the bus stop. I promised I would take care of the laundry and ironing so she wouldn’t be too backed up on Friday.

I first met Lena last Tuesday.

John woke me up as he was leaving for work because the maid was coming at nine and I wanted to get my shower, and be dressed in my best sweats and tee shirt before she got there. I wasn't pretending to be someone who's up and dressed before nine every day because that is a total falsehood....well it was in my previous life....not so much now. But I was told she was nervous of dogs so I didn't want her walking into the house with the dog she's never met before guarding the bathroom door. So I get putzing around the house before I get in the shower...John calls to tell me that he called Lena, the maid, and she was just leaving to get the bus and would there in 20 minutes. I asked him if he had let the dog out that morning and he said, "No." So we end our conversation, I scoot from the 3rd floor down to the first to let the dog go pee. When I get there I discover that I'm locked in. I can see that there is a deadbolt engaged but can't see any way on the inside of the door to unlock it. I go to the garage...it's locked and there is no inside release on the garage door. But it does have a lovely series of deadbolts. The dog is not impressed and me...less so. I have someone coming to the house in, by this time, 15 minutes on the most windy chilly God awful day ever with no way to let her in...She can't even get in a car and drive home since she came on the bus. How will she understand me as I try to communicate in English through a steel door? Huff and puff up to the 3rd floor again...the home phone is not working because as the “robot” says, when the English translation kicks in, we haven’t paid our debt. My Verizon cell doesn't work over here, but John gave me a local cell phone the night before. I scramble for that and dammit.....it wants a PIN to open it. It's also set up in Azeri. Now what? I spied the Blackberry charging on an end table.....$3.00 a minute with roaming but this....this was an emergency.

The following conversation ensues as I call John for help......BWAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (That cost him a $75 steak dinner last night). I asked him to send Ali back to unlock the door. He tells me they're too busy right now and he's sorry but he didn't realize that the second lock wasn't able to be opened from the inside. (There are three deadbolts on this door). Finally he says okay, he'd send help......but he didn't...not right away, and Lena is buzzing at the gate and I'm looking like crap (seriously....tired, greasy, unwashed, and frazzled)....BUT finally a small part of my brain engaged (a miracle without coffee) and I thought "I'll drop my keys to her off the balcony." She didn't seem one bit concerned that we met with me hanging off the front of the house trying to toss her some keys. I kept trying to tell her to move over so I wouldn’t end up dropping this 5 pound key ring on her head but it seems she thought “move over” meant “move closer” and as I moved my arm away from her, she kept moving beneath it with her hands extended upward. So as not to break one of her fingers, I tossed them away from her and now she probably thinks that I’m not only helpless but a really bad throw.

I keep asking myself if the purpose of that lock really is to keep someone in....you know, like away from the mall? Even I wouldn’t climb out a window to go overpay for something. However, I guess my suitcases and my butt would, with a little squishing fit out the ground floor windows come tour time. Yeah, I thought of doing a hand off out one of the windows much later.....no coffee, you have to understand. Later that night, John said he wasn't in any rush to get home because he knew I'd figure it out eventually. And honestly, I think I would have if it weren't for the damn phones not working.

Friday went much better, though I’ve forgotten I meant to take that skeleton key away from John. If he starts bringing home bags of candies and pastries to me, I’m going to get suspicious. Lena’s ironing has put me to shame. I’m most impressed. I wonder how long it takes her to do one shirt. I spent a good half hour trying to figure out the washing machine and the dryer, which has a tank to collect the water from the clothes behind a panel on the front. When the tank is full, the dryer stops and you have to empty it to get it to run again….reminds me of the vacuum cleaner. This might be modern laundry technology of which I was blissfully unaware but how odd. The dryer doesn’t vent to the outside…..but then again neither does the hood over the stove. I would guess that 99% of the people here hang there clothes out to dry.

Which is only an issue if one cooks, I suppose. Which reminds me…..frozen pizza the other night which had some kind of mystery bologna on it and corn kernels. Pizza from Turkey, pickles from Bulgaria, jam from Germany, pasta sauce from Azerbaijan, and McCain potato wedges from Poland…..everything seems to get along well enough in my fridge. What’s wrong with people?

The potato chips come from Latvia.