Never trust a women in faux fur...

I won’t divulge how old I was when the first gulf war occurred.  I do remember asking my Dad what this war was about and he explained that Iraq invaded Kuwait.  This perplexed me…as I thought that type of behavior ended around the time of crusades (I was never particularly strong in history).  Either way…it seemed barbarian that one country would conquer and occupy another – sort of like a real life Risk move.  This is all my roundabout way of saying that I never thought I would visit Kuwait on a holiday with the mission being relaxation.

After a long day, a colleague and I headed out after work for the 2 hr flight to Kuwait – along with plenty of families and their undisciplined children.  Research told me that we could obtain a VISA on arrival but what research did not reveal was the nightmare of this process.  An archaic system of taking a number with no real meaning attached to it greeted us as we plopped down with other confused and wary folks.  I glanced at the number being served…452…and then down at the number I clutched, 519.  Ten minutes later…the number switched to 453, but it seems that 6 people had been served. 

The Middle Eastern system of ‘cutting’ ahead if you were from the Gulf Region appeared to be in use here – and while I am a firm believer of everyone waiting their turn – I am used to and more accepting of this behavior, especially in Government institutions.  But, what I was having none of was the American woman with bedazzled jeans and a faux fur coat, grasping number 549, and her frequent attempts to get ahead of me because she “was tired”. 

I became fixated with her…I watched her saddle up to the counters of customs agents, attempt to latch onto other groups and even pretend she lost her number in an effort to get ahead.  I became intent at thwarting her plans to supersede what was left of the system in place.  I actually developed an eyeache staring at her and her sneaky movements. 

All I could think was…I can handle this…I’ll get through this absurd process and then relax with a cocktail at the hotel bar.  Except there would be no cocktail.  Kuwait being a totally dry country meant that would I be drowning my sorrows in a glass of fresh juice.  At the time of booking, this didn’t seem like it would be a huge deal…but that was before bedazzled jeans/faux fur coat woman.  It was hours until we emerged from the airport clasping our VISA’s and a handful of faux fur after a teeny altercation when she tried to make her move at number 517. 

My only mental images of Kuwait were charred vehicles and burning oil fields.   Turns out a lot has happened in 25 years…Kuwait is now an ultra-modern city with a PF Changs.  (side note, I discovered that I subconsciously measure ‘city moderness’ in terms of the presence of the US-China Fusion chain restaurant that serves a delicious Mongolian Beef dish).  Ferraris and Lamborghinis have replaced tanks on the streets.  Instead of bedding down in a desert tent, we were greeted at luxury hotel with fresh juice and handed a pillow menu.  The traditional western alcohol ‘happy hour’ has been replaced with a chocolate ‘happy hour’ – a delightful trade in my opinion. 

 So, it was a quick and relaxing holiday, but I can report back that the threat on civility in contemporary day Kuwait is dressed in rhinestone studded denim and reproduction mink.