Slipping out of your shoes...

Trazzler

I love this site.  I love that it's offering me a trip to Tonga in March if I win a "Smart Travel" writing contest.  I love the piece I entered.  (I just wish I knew if I won!)

The day I went to the Grand Mosque in Bahrain, the CODs were broken.  Maybe they had just gotten fixed and were hauling some critical parts to repair the boat and its aircraft.  Nevertheless, there were dozens of passengers waiting for a seat on one of just two flights per day, each of which would start loading gear and briefing passengers before sunrise, take off as the desert started to reflect the sun's heat, stop at an Omani air base to refuel, and fly out over the Gulf of Oman, the pilots trusting that the carrier was close to where it was the day before and that their instruments would pick up the ship's signal in time for them to make it to the starboard delta and recover.  A mere hour and a half later, after the mad dash to safely off-load one group of passengers and their baggage and on-load another, they'd take off for the return trip to Bahrain.  That day, we were not on the passenger manifest.

Instead, we decided to go exploring.  Our group consisted of me, a Naval Flight Officer on my way to my very first fleet squadron; Rachel, a Surface Warfare Officer en route to her second ship, the USS Mobile Bay; and DCC, a Chief Damage Controlman, and another Chief, both of whom were returning to their posts aboard the Lincoln after some time ashore.  I believe one had been on emergency leave and the other had been working in Bahrain to facilitate acceptance of people and parts.

I had taken Arabic and Comparative Religion classes in college, making me the most knowledgable about our destination, the Grand Mosque, or at least its cultural and religious context.  The Chiefs were invaluable, despite their cluelessness.  We all existed in a culture where it was acceptable to call anything Arab "dirka" or "hadji," e.g. dirka money (dinars, dirhams, riyals, or any of several other Middle Eastern currencies whose names could not be remembered, especially when drunk).  I didn't expect them to be particularly sensitive to cultural differences, and frankly, I was a bit surprised they wanted to go.  However, their respectful questions about the types of services held in the mosque, the doctrine of the religion, and the style of female dress showed me the very best part of travel: the breaking down of cultural barriers through simple exposure to another's culture.  As Mark Twain said, "Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness."

And then we went to Bennigan's for drinks.  America, **** yeah!

We recovered from that slip by finding an Arabic restaurant for dinner (staffed by non-Arabs, much like the Mexicans staff Chinese restaurants in Southern California), eating experimentally, and chatting/smoking shisha with the Saudis who, to our surprise, paid for our dinner.  A perfect end to our day of cultural education, even if we never found the shwarma we wanted.


Referenced in this post:
The Innocents Abroad by Mark Twain
Team America (film)