indecision making in the will of Om-God and I

11.25.14

I told a colleague if I rent a car this evening I’d give her a lift to Muscat so she could go to the Indian embassy tomorrow morning.  I walked to the AL-Balushi Rent a Car and Mr. Mohammed Balushi and I had a cup of tea.  This is the same well fed man I rented a car from earlier in the year and then lit up the traffic speeding lights from here to Sohar.  After paying for the car for four days he made sure the insurance and registration were in the unclean interior he said see ya and quickly walked away before I turned on the ignition to see ‘service engine soon’ and this exclamation mark inside a glass shaped symbol blinking yellow.  I drove it back to the grotto and called my colleague. I know in America you would have never taken the car in the first place, but we’re not in America and I still wanted the car even if I’d decide later not to use it.  I told the woman earlier in the day I wasn’t sure when I’d be returning to Buraimi so she decided to make arrangements with someone else.  Fair enough.  And then I realized her spirit was telling her, though not indirectly, that this car I rented may not make it to Muscat and I know if a rental breaks down I am liable for any repairs so I called another colleague who offered a lift two days earlier to ask him if I could get a ride and he answered but put the phone down and walked away.  I could hear his television and after saying hello a half dozen times he said ‘wrong number’, what a mendacious little bleeping chapati so now I pack and am planning to catch the 7am bus which means a 5 thirty wake up call which means I’ll look at the time three or four times.  Crap.  I don’t want to take a car that may not make it, this is not a country to fool around with lame cars, but I’ll take the loss, let the car sit for two days, and I’ll use it when I return. 

So how was your day?  Come across any neurotics?

There can’t be anything worse than getting caught in an embarrassing situation.  This impish man, who two days ago gave me a bottle of Scotch whiskey concocted in Mumbai, couldn’t simply say his plans had changed and he couldn’t take me to Muscat.  He said wrong number.  You work with someone for two years you know their voice and I am not angry, I know the individual well enough I kind of expected something like this. 

When I face a hard uncomfortable choice I try to avoid the moment of decision as long as possible hoping time will solve it but when time runs out and the decision affects someone I make the call for better or for worse.  Dr. Mendacious couldn’t.  I feel bad for him.

11.26.14

Rashmi came to the bus station.  She decided to take the bus instead of accepting my offer to drive her.  We were both surprised to see each other.  “Our spirits were telling us to consider other forms of transportation.  We are, oddly, in sync.”

The full bus stops at Rusayl and most disembark.  Two thirds of the passengers were women.  We have another 40 minutes before we arrive in Ruwi.  I finished my New Yorker magazine and P. Barker’s The Ghost Road and will pay a visit at the mini Borders bookstore for something, William Dalyrimple’s latest, the 60 dollar bio of G. Washington perhaps, and then a quick check to see if Feeneys can call itself an Irish Pub again before checking in at the Beach Hotel.    

11.27.14

Thanksgiving 7,000 miles away, I head towards Sohar on the bus and can’t decide where I’ll stay.  The Crowne Plaza might have a Thanksgiving meal but I’ll pay through the nose for it and overeating doesn’t appeal.  Three Carslberg pints at the Al Ghazal Pub and a Guinness at the once again Irish Pub Feeneys has left me feeling icky 15 hours later.  A colleague suggested the Al-Wadi Hotel and its disco bar and I don’t know.  A half dozen Filipino girls in pairs at the Al Ghazal didn’t interest me, though one wearing a tight red dress reminded me of the ill effects of sensory deprivation.  I hope I can decide where to go when we arrive.

And I bought two books at Borders, a NYT Int’l with the headline story of the Pope calling Europe ‘haggard’, and a map, Ian McEwan’s latest offering, The Children Act is, surprisingly, good reading on a bus. 

A tiny and very old taxi driver took me to the Ruwi bus station and asked for 6 OMR, I usually pay 2 OMR, but I didn’t argue.  Dorothy Day would have been proud of me.  If the man were 40 years younger I would have negotiated the ten minute ride.  He also offered to drive me to Sohar for 60 OMR!  And I had to scoff, the bus ticket is only 2.6 OMR.  “Ok, 40.”  I can fly to Dubai for 40 and I considered that for a moment, preposterous indecision making in the will of Om-God and I are making my face breakout around the nose, or it’s coming from my first taste of beer since 31 October, or it’s the humidity.  Another strip of Zantac.

11.28.14

Pope Francis in Turkey, the birthplace of an Anatolian zealot, the founding seven churches, and on a hill outside Ephesus, the home of Mary.  And don’t forget the man who brought her there.

The pope offers a dialogue on Islam, standing up to the usual fundamentalist crimes, he’s not going to call for a reformation is he.  Ya’ll need a crystallization of your holy book simply to weed out the evil that thrives in dissolute interpretations and darn it you moderates need to blow your conch and get this started.  

In 2015 will be the 500^th anniversary of Martin Luther nailing his 95 appeals to engage on the Wittenberg Door.  If only God respected our time instead of God’s time we could accomplish something with this.  A new book of an old book?  That would be nice timing.

Salim the taxi driver returned me to Buraimi in under an hour.  He asked for 20 Rials from the Al Wadi Hotel and I agreed.  I took the beat up rental to Lulus and stocked up on food not available on foot, washed the darks, ate two deli chicken pizzas, popped a zantac, tried to read, fell asleep, and have kept CNN on hoping to hear the score of the Lions and whoever they played yesterday.  I might not know until I return to the office on Sunday.  Such is life off the grid.

There was nothing remotely illicit at the Al Wadi’s disco and you can’t call a non-descript room where burly security and the Indian waiter played pool and a half dozen middle aged Omani men drank beer watching a big screen of Arabic music videos of men lamenting women out of their league a disco.  I had two Amstel Lite tall boys and was glad to turn in.  I woke up before sunrise and wandered in front of the hotel, it was chilly, looking for something to take a picture of.  Was it thanksgiving yesterday?