Un picnic speciale

L’autunno è arrivato anche a Kuwait City!
Se in Italia le giornate si stanno accorciando, l’aria si è fatta più fresca e umida e le campagne si stanno colorando di tanti gialli, marroni, rossi rubando il posto al verde, in Kuwait le temperature finalmente stanno scendendo divenendo più umane, finalmente si può iniziare a vivere all’esterno, godere di un cielo limpido e di un caldo ma non torrido sole. Con l’autunno arriva il tempo per organizzare pic nic e barbecue nel deserto.
Lo scorso anno fui proprio io a raccontare la nostra gita nel deserto, la nostra avventura con i quod in compagnia dell’amica scozzese Karen e del fantastico bbq nel deserto.

Mentre oggi sarà Lynda a raccontarci della sua meravigliosa esperienza di picnic nel deserto kuwaitiano, di certo non si tratta di uno picnic da fare ogni giorno!

Not Your Every Day Picnic

We all tend, when we travel to an exotic place, to absorb everything about the culture we’re visiting, from the food and architecture, to famous landmarks and what people are wearing. With our senses and cameras we catalogue every sight, sound and smell to share with friends and family when we return home, seldom managing to convey the wonder of what we’ve just experienced.  Paradoxically, when we live in an exotic place for any period of time, it is amazing how quickly the things that made it foreign when you first arrived become routine – almost the wallpaper of your daily life.

 

Of course, the Middle East doesn’t let you forget where you are living for too long. Just as you’ve worked out how to live with the incessant daily highs of 48-50C, October dawns and with it comes autumn; although not the autumn of burnished leaves and crisp, cold mornings, there is the blessed relief of cooler nights and not-so-unbearably hot days (and the fact that the water coming out of the cold water tap is tepid, as opposed to the summertime options of boiling hot and scorching).  

All of a sudden your calendar becomes is packed with visits, parties and events, ranging from musical performances to exhibitions, and, as if to celebrate the return to more a human climate, everyone plans barbecues, picnics and days at the beach. Never ones to miss out on an opportunity, the shops and larger supermarkets are all running promotions for barbecues, gazebos and camping equipment, of the type sold in spring and summer in other parts of the world. What better time, then, to head into the desert for a sunset BBQ, especially over the Eid Al-Adha holiday period when dining al fresco is almost de riguer!

 

Of course, this being Kuwait, there is always a moment, an experience, that lifts an ordinary activity up a level. It’s not every day, for example, that you get to stop and chat to a pair of camel herders tending their small caravan of camels in the middle of the desert sands of Arabia, which is what we did en route to our picnic site. On which point, what is the title of someone who herds a caravan of camels and what experience should they have if applying for said job? Ability to endure heat and isolation and grumpy, smelly beasts would have to be amongst their key skills! Yes, these are just some of the odd and random thoughts that meander through my head as I encounter yet another aspect of life in the Middle East.

 

Thanks to the Eid holiday the normally hectic roads were unusually quiet and we soon passed the last suburbs of tall, shuttered houses and blue-and-white striped water towers. With newly arrived, fellow ex-pats following us, we drove through mile after mile of dusty emptiness, interrupted only by clusters of acacia trees and the odd Bedouin camp. When we turned off the tarred highway into the desert itself, we had to carefully pick our way across uneven, stony ground, trying to see the tyre tracks of vehicles that had recently passed the same way. 

 

As we climbed a small slope we spotted camels and a ramshackle mobile home. Pulling up next to the makeshift camel corral we met two men, swathed in headscarves that offered scant protection against the heat and dust of the desert. It was clear that they spend their lives in that barren and isolated location tending to their small caravan of dun coloured animals.

Through the open door I could see a large metal tray, a few pots and a tea kettle, probably amongst the very few belongings these men own. I could imagine them sitting around a fire or small primus stove eating a simple, rice-based meal off the tray, washed down with cup after cup of sugary tea. Although, I am sure that they regularly visit the camel market and meet other people, but mostly the only relief from the daily grind must be people like us stopping to grab a Kodak moment with their animals (and what do they say about us afterwards?, I can’t help but wonder). 

 

In stark contrast to this, we ex-pats clambered back into our 4x4s, having bade these friendly men “Eid Mubarak” and made a gift of few Dinar, and disappeared in a cloud of sand to our favoured barbecue spot. Once we’d arrived in our sheltered corner of the desert (yes, even deserts offer sheltered corners), everyone got to work setting up camping tables and chairs, dragging heavy cooler boxes, stuffed full of food and drinks, and set about the business of preparing fires for later on in the evening – more for the ambience than any need for warmth as it’s still t-shirt weather at night.

 

Whilst the children clambered up the rocky ridges with a freedom they wouldn’t know living somewhere like the UK, the adults went about the business of preparing food. Portable barbecues were lit and snacks of olives, humus and pita bread and other treats were shared. As the sky gradually darkened someone noticed a small group of camels on the distant ridge line, silhouetted against the slowly darkening skyline.

Of course, it’s not a desert picnic without toasting marshmallows over a bonfire. The children all vied for a spot around their smaller fire and soon silence descended over their gathering as they munched on the perfect campfire desert – S’mores (take one toasted marshmallow, a piece of milk chocolate and sandwich between 2 pieces of Graham cracker, a treat familiar to Americans, these were introduced to our little group by someone who’d previously spent a few years in the US). 

As the larger fire glowed and crackled beneath the star-pricked sky someone brought out their guitar and soon a feeling of contentment settled over the group.  Much later on, as we picked our way across the now-dark desert sands, back towards the highway and the distant city lights, I couldn’t see the camel herders little house, although I did wonder if they were enjoying an Eid feast of their own with a few friends.