Living in another country that is diametrically opposite my norm is filled with pinch me moments. Walking down the street in Nakheel (Indian part of RAK) felt like being a tourist in another country, but I wasn’t a tourist. This is my home… pinch me. Shopping in Manor Mall while surrounded by women dressed in black abayas and men in white disdashayas also felt like a pinch me.
Another moment occurred just yesterday. My husband and I were reading the paper and I came across the word ‘wadi’. I asked him if he knew what a wadi is and he said no. Later that morning, a friend called to ask if we wanted to go to a wadi… coincidence or weird or dejavu? So off we went to our first wadi which, as it turns out, is a riverbed or ravine. At this time of year, the wadis are dry so the correct term is dry wadi and when it rains they become wet wadis. The funny thing is that instead of looking it up on the Internet (which is down again), we got a real life lesson which will always stick with us.
We trekked through the dry wadi over layers of rocks and up rather steep bounder strewn hills. Occassionally, I was able to stop and look around at the surrounding beauty of the hills, but most of time it was ‘heads down’ to keep from twisting an ankle. I vaguely remember that some time in my distant past, I would have thought this type of rugged hiking was fun, but sitting here today listening to my inflamed knee complain about the trek, I’m not so sure if it’s worth the fun.
On second thought… it was worth it. A swollen knee is a small price to pay for the experience of my first wadi. My first trek. The joy of seeing the beautiful hills. The incredible quiet and spending time with old friends and meeting new friends.
Living is like opening a faucet. We can let it trickle out or open it wide and let it flow with full force. I like the full force method.