Sylvia's Journal

Dubai was so hot that my favorite lunch place on Dubai Creek did not serve food on the terrace. I suppose it is to save the waitresses from heat exhaustion. It was 38 degrees Celsius at 11 in the morning. We crossed the creek in (or rather on) one of the little water busses for 30 cents each with some 20 Sri Lankan or Bangla men. By the time we entered the restaurant our clothes were soaked and sticking to our skin.

Lunch inside the restaurant was not as much fun because we couldn’t watch the colorful activity on the creek. We drank a liter of water each to replenish the liquid our bodies had lost during our very short walk outside. Re-hydrated we took a taxi to the Emirates Mall so Axel could see Dubai ski with his own eyes. The mall is larger than any I know of in the US and we confirmed that anything we would ever miss in Kabul can be obtained in Dubai. We bought some extra luggage for our move in September.

Back at the Dubai airport, a place that has become like a second home to me, we chilled out in the lounge for awhile, catching up on what happened in the rest of the world while we were in Kabul. The hoped-for upgrade eluded us (too cheap a ticket) and we resigned to a long and full flight to Amsterdam. As it turned out, for me it was a breeze. As soon as I had buckled myself in my KLM seat I feel asleep, to wake up only an hour outside Amsterdam. Axel had not such an easy time. We suspect that the diminutive Thai masseuse may have actually broken his rib – probably a rib that had been injured in the accident and that was not able to withstand her 90 pound of pressure applied with her knees on his back. He has decided he does not want to go back there until he can say in Thai ‘enough!’

Annette came to pick us up at 5:30 in the morning and whisked us along empty highways and through a sleepy Amsterdam to her house on one of the canals. There she treated us to the kind of Dutch breakfast I miss a lot in the US (and will miss in Kabul). We needed to stretch our legs, not having had any exercise in the last two weeks, and walked along and across canals through a very quiet Amsterdam. Even the haring kiosk was not yet open, a disappointment. But we were able to sneak a quick ‘pilsje’ sitting at a sunny terrace on the Prinsengracht in the cool Dutch summer breeze.

And now we are waiting to board the last leg of our flight to Boston, armed with cheese, dropjes and cognac. I have been away for exactly one month, during which summer arrived and the garden has started to produce all the things we planted in wet April and May. I can’t wait to see and taste things for myself.