Taking Bugsy to the vet

Up in the mornin’
Out on the job
Work like the devil for my pay
But that lucky old sun got nothin’ to do
But roll around heaven all day.

Fuss with my woman, toil for my kids
Sweat till I’m wrinkled and gray
While that lucky old sun got nothin’ to do
But roll around heaven all day

Katia and I took Bugsy to the vet today.  For those who don’t know Bugsy, he is our 17.5 year old Bischon Frise.  He was a terror for the first 16 years of his life but now old age is beginning to kick in.  His right eye has been getting worse each day to the point that some mornings when he wakes up it is completely shut.  There is a lot of discharge and gunk in there and while Mom does her best to clean it out, it’s clear it is not going to heal itself.

Bugsy began shivering the moment we got into Katia’s car.  Whenever he gets put into a car, he believes he is going to the saloon for a grooming, his idea of hell.  We hadn’t made an appointment so when we arrived at the Lisner Animal Hospital, we were asked if we could wait for a short while before a vet could see Bugsy.  We walked him in the parking lot and that seemed to calm him down a bit, although walking for him now basically means he walks in concentric circles which is his new favorite move, given his almost complete lack of vision.

After fifteen minutes we were in the dog version of the patient’s room.  A warm, cheerful vet introduced herself, and after just a brief glance at Bugsy’s eyes, said she believed it was due to an affliction known as dry eye.

Katia trying to calm a restless Bugsy

She asked if she could carry him to the back and we of course agreed, but not before Katia warned her to put a muzzle on Bugsy as he wasn’t too fond of places like this.  The vet said she was already aware of this as Bugsy’s medical record specifically states ‘Requires muzzle.’

We waited in the reception area and to kill time we each got on our iPhones to find out what was going on in the rest of the world.  I learned that Ben Roethlisberger would not be playing this week and therefore I was going to have to find a last-second substitute quarterback for my fantasy football team.  Not good.  Two weeks ago I was sitting pretty atop of the league and now my chances of making the post-season are quickly slipping away after two subpar weeks and now this bad news.  Katia got a funny text message from a friend which she shared with me.  Our laughter was interrupted by the sound of the dog/patient’s room door opening.

We both sprang up off the bench, iPhones in pockets and rushed over to get the news.

Doctor visits are tense moments for everyone involved

Katia’s initial reaction to seeing Bugsy’s snout covered in blood was, understandably, of shock.  She gasped as her hand went to her mouth.  Then she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the red was actually the color of the required muzzle.  We approached the vet and she explained that he does indeed have dry eye and that we would have to apply this eye cream twice a day to both eyes, as well as eye drops to the eye with the discharge.  Even with a muzzle on this would be a challenge as Bugsy has never, ever liked holding still while someone is trying to do something to him, whether it is cutting his hair or God forbid, putting on his ugly sweater circa 1995.

She applied the cream to show us how it was done, which entailed holding his snout still while he wrestled to break free and at the same time squeezing cream onto his eyes.  The whole time I saw this I was thinking “yeah right, we are never going to muzzle him every day, twice a day, just to apply this stuff.”  It hasn’t been a day yet so we’ll have to wait and see how we do on that front.

Part of the reason is that we have always been very sensitive to Bugsy’s whining and discomfort and the moment we sense he is uncomfortable or in pain, we tend to avoid continuing what we were doing.  He is treated more as a member of  the family than an animal and his steady diet of human food would definitely attest to that.

She mentioned that they had also cleaned out his ears which involved cutting away a lot of hair and removing loads of ear wax.  Whatever they did back there, Bugsy seemed to have much more energy than he normally does these days and he was moving quickly around the floor of the dog/patient’s room.  And the ultimate sign that he was in good spirits: his tail was up and wagging!  Up until a year or two ago, his tail would always be up as he was going about his day.

Bugsy showing off his ugly sweater

Now, his tail is always hanging down.  It is so rare to see it otherwise that when we saw it today we both exclaimed to each other “oh my God, his tail is wagging!”  The vet must think we are the most easily amused family in Michigan.

 

More good news: she said Bugsy’s heart and lungs were doing just fine and it was just his eyes that were faltering.  His diminished hearing was to be expected as was the beginning of senility.  Great.  And she  confirmed what we already knew which is that he is veritably blind as both eyes have full blown cataracts.  Poor dog.  We asked whether it would help to put a cone around his neck to prevent him from bumping into objects.  Thankfully, she said it was a very bad idea, claiming that as long as we didn’t move furniture around too much, he would eventually grow accustomed to moving around.  What she didn’t mention but that we all knew to be true was that his dignity would be irreparably damaged if he had to wear a cone around his little neck every moment the rest of his life.

After getting a few more to-do-at-home instructions and thanking the vet, Katia carried Bugsy out to the car while I went to the counter and paid the $120 it cost for the checkup and the medication.  As we get into the car, Bugsy is no longer shaking.  Instead he is making for the backseat where he immediately falls down to the foot area behind our seats, moving from side to side.  He was moving with new energy and it was  great to see.

Unfortunately, the reason why he was moving around so much was not good.  We take him home and he begins moving restlessly from place to place, all the time trying to rub his eyes (or ears?) on something.  Katia panicked and said she thought the eye cream might be burning him or something.  We never did determine for sure if that was the cause but just the suggestion of it took it from possible cause to probable cause.  She called up the vet and they said to bring him in again, but that we should hurry as they were closing in five minutes.  We rushed out to Katia’s car, and this time, Bugsy did begin shivering once again.  He must know when we’re heading out and when we’re heading home.

Another vet had to unlock the door for us and right away she whisked Bugsy from us, just saying “I’ll take him to the back.”  When she returned less than five minutes later, she didn’t say what she had done to him.  She handed us a new cream to replace the one we had received earlier, claiming that he may have had a reaction to an ingredient in the first cream.

We’ll have to see how he reacts to this stuff.  Or if it was the cream at all.

The sun has been hiding for the past week but today it decided to make itself seen.  Although the temperature was still below comfortable, the sight of the late autumn sun was too tempting not to be outside.  A short while after we returned home from our second trip to the vet, I took Bugsy and his ugly sweater on a grand walk, down the sidewalk by our home, into Southwick homes which connects to our subdivision about half a mile in and then back home.  It was a solid 45 minute walk and amazingly he managed to walk it all himself.  He would do this weird thing where he’d tug on the leash and I’d turn to see him just standing in place, eyes directly facing the sun.  I think he was actually able to see something and he was enjoying it.  After a couple of moments I’d tug his leash again and say “C’mon Bugs” and his little legs, half-hidden beneath the red rings of his ugly sweater would rev into rapid motion again.

We used to play this game years ago where we’d guess how many times Bugsy would pee during a walk.  The winning number was always greater than ten as he would stop to paint practically every rock, mailbox, fire hydrant we passed, even if it was just leaving behind a drop or two.

For whatever reason, he seems to have lost all interest in that activity as his total for this walk was zero.  His hind legs have become weaker and he doesn’t even lift his leg to pee any longer, instead just doing this newfound squatting pose.  Or maybe he’s just given up trying to be macho and painting every mailbox and fire hydrant he passes.  Or maybe he just can’t see them.

I like to think that he’s just matured and he realizes that in the end what really matters is not how many times you leave your mark, but whether or not you are able to go on the walk.  Even if you have to wear an ugly sweater to do it.

Home Cookin’

Country roads,

Take me home,

To the place,

I belong,

West Bloomfield, Michigan,

Good ol’ suburbia,

Take me home,

Country roads

Before I began my trip I told myself I would not plan things too far in advance and so would allow myself to be open to different options when they appeared.  That makes me a hard person to travel with for many people but when you’ve got an open schedule the last thing you want are commitments to weigh you down.  In March I booked my ticket from Jakarta to Bangkok the morning of.   In October I booked my ticket to Jordan two hours before the flight, and consequently got extra curiosity at airport security.  And the same thing is what brought me home.  As I went to bed one night in Aleppo, a beautiful and old city in northern Syria, I just felt like I would rather be at home.  I wanted some home cooked food and to hang out with my family and friends.

I decided to sleep on it and see how it felt in the morning.

After breakfast and walking around the old city, I found myself at an internet café for over an hour, catching up with the world and fantasy football and reading a humorous email exchange about my good friend Mahk’s upcoming wedding.  His name is actually Mark but being from Boston he pronounces it Mahk.  And that’s pretty much what confirmed my decision.  I couldn’t think of a better way to come back home, seeing college friends at a wedding.  I fired up Skype, called United Airlines and half an hour later I had a confirmation number in hand.

As with any big decision I’ve ever made, I kept asking myself if I didn’t royally screw up.  I still had plans to go to Turkey and Armenia and Lebanon.  I had planned to stay a full calendar year abroad.  But I felt the adventurous spark which I had had the whole trip just wasn’t there any longer, where every little thing would jump out and draw my attention.  Now pulling the camera out of the bag was a bit of a chore.  So all those other places are just going to have to wait.  Sorry guys.

And just to hedge my bets, I booked my ticket with an open return to Frankfurt so I do have a foot in the door to head back.  Just in case…

Even the bags are ready for a break

Take me home BMI!

Smoking a Hookah on Syria’s Border

Salaam wa alaykum

Wa alayka wa’salam

(A common Arabic greeting and response)

The Lonely Planet says it is impossible to enter Syria without obtaining a visa beforehand from within your home country.  But I had heard so many great things about Damascus and the rest of Syria that I decided I was going to try and get in overland sans visa.  I put my chances of success at about 10% given that I had met one American traveler who had managed to get a visa at the border that included a four hour wait.

I left my hotel in Amman early in the morning and found a shared taxi that was going all the way to Damascus.  The catch is that they only will wait one hour at the border and if I hadn’t gotten my visa by then he would continue without me.  That was the least of my worries.  I just wanted to get into the country.  The transportation I could figure out after.

I exit Jordan with no problem, especially since they demand $7 USD to leave the country.  By the way, what is it with these exit fees?  It is like paying admission to see a football game but before you can leave you have to pay.  And if you don’t pay, then you have to stay.  If you overextend your stay then you have to pay.  WTF?  Why not just include it in the visa because you know I am going to leave anyway?  At least it’s not as bad as Israel where it is $50 USD to leave.  Ouch. 

As we approach the Syrian border, I see the Syrian flag and a smiling picture of Syrian President Bashar al-Asad welcoming us.  My heart starts racing.  Even though I imagine that the worst that could happen is I get turned around and head back to Jordan, I can’t help but feel that I need to be cautious.  It is not unlike the feeling you get when you see a police car in your rear view mirror.

My driver assures me that he knows people in customs and can get me in super quick but I need to slip him $10 so he can grease the right hands.  I approach the counter and hand my passport and visa form to the official sitting on the other side of the window who looks like he hasn’t smiled since OPEC rocked the world almost 30 years ago.  My driver walks up to the window and asks if he can speed things up.  The official stands up and gives him a tongue lashing and tells him to take a seat.  So much for knowing the right people.  The official asks me how many days I want to stay in Syria.  I ask how many days visa I can get.

He growls back at me “You tell me!  How many days you want in Syria??”

I meekly reply “Can I go for 30 days?”

He says nothing, writes something down, and then tells me to go sit.

Twenty minutes later I am sitting, waiting and my driver tells me he is leaving because my process is going to take a while.  I am furious because I realize I have been had for the extra $10.  I’m not sure he even gave it to someone, or if he did it was only to speed up his process.  In either case, my driver is now gone and I’m at the border wondering when or if I will ever get through.

Half an hour later a different official, this one with a permanent half smile, maybe a smirk, on his face asks me to approach the counter.  I am excited.  I may be getting in super quick.  But it is not to be.  I had listed my occupation as “Engineer” on the form and he asks me what type of engineer I am. 

“Computer Engineer.” 

“Okay.  Please go wait.”

I decided to press my luck a bit with this new, nicer guy.  “How long do you think I will wait?”

He half-chuckles.  “I don’t know.  One hour, two hours, maybe ten hours.  Please wait.”

There is a big notice near the entrance of the customs office that kindly tells you that if you have any complaints to please put your complaint in the Complaints Box.  Humorously there is no Complaints Box in sight.

One American guy is denied entry because there are remnants (remnants!) of a sticker on the back of his passport, which is where Israel places a sticker upon entry.  It is completely forbidden to enter Syria and Lebanon if you have been to Israel before.  No questions asked.  You have a better chance of starring in the next James Bond movie than you do of entering Syria or Lebanon with an Israel stamp in your passport.

But things would get much better.  I met a Jordanian-American family who were also waiting for visas and they invited me to the café with them.  There we were joined by three American college students, Margaret, Katie and Aftan who are studying a semester in Jordan and are hoping to go to Damascus for the weekend.  All of us in the same boat, just waiting and hoping.  Everyone orders some coffee, tea or a snack.  I see hookah is on the menu and of course I order one.  I can’t imagine there are many border crossings in the world where you can order a hookah while you are waiting and I’m not about to pass up this opportunity.  Tammy, the American wife, has brought enough bread, mustard and luncheon meat to feed the Syrian army and she graciously makes all of us sandwiches.

It begins pouring outside and then all of a sudden all the power goes out.  Great.  This certainly can’t speed things up.  I envision all the computers shutting down, smoking and the visa office not being able to process anything the rest of the day.  Two minutes the later the lights flicker back on.  This power-off-then-back-on would continue the rest of the time we were there.

After a couple of hours we head back to the customs office and the smirking official tells us to follow him to another building.  This is progress.  We walk into a building and are greeted with a familiar sign telling us that if we have any complaints to please put them into the Complaints Box.  Again, there is no Complaints Box in sight.  I can imagine anyone asking about where the Complaints Box is would be swiftly turned back to Jordan with a big REJECTED stamped onto their passport.

I am motioned to a window where I hand over my passport and my entry form, and the guy asks me to pay $16 USD.  I can’t believe it.  I am getting the visa!  Yeah!  We all pay and get our passports stamped.  When we are out of ear shot of the officials we have a quiet celebration with subdued trillings while Ahmad, Tammy’s husband, calls out “Can I get a hell yeah?!”  He just learned that a few days earlier at a concert he had been to.

Tammy, Ahmad and their children drive off on their own while Margaret, Katie, Aftan and I find a taxi to take us to Damascus.  We drove for ten minutes before I felt comfortable breathing a sigh of relief.  We were in.  Four hours and $16 later we were in Syria.  Take that Lonely Planet! 

Goodbye Jordan - a new adventure

An old Lada taxi cab

My three zowjahs (wives) pimping a classic old car

Chopping vegetables in the desert with Shakira

Ya se que no vendras
Todo lo que fue
El tiempo lo dejo atras
Se que no regresaras
Lo que nos paso
No repetira jamas

“Tawfiq, Shakira!  Shakira!”  Tawfiq was my given desert name during my ten days living and working in the Wadi Rum desert in the very south of Jordan, and it means “Good Luck”.  Shakira was the music of choice of Mahmoud, the only other worker at the Sunset Camp.  Sunset Camp is one of many outfits that organize tourist expeditions into the Wadi Rum desert, with most of the attractions having a story related to Lawrence of Arabia who inhabited these lands for some time.  In the evening, the tourists are brought to a campsite in the desert where they watch a brilliant sunset and after are served dinner.  The next morning breakfast is served and then all the tourists are whisked back to the village, around 15 km away.

My job was to help Mahmoud with his work which consisted of making breakfast and dinner and cleaning up the tents after the guests left.  Mahmoud is from Kharthoum, Sudan and he came to Jordan to work for a year where he can earn more than back home.  In his ten months that he’s been at Sunset Camp, Mahmoud has not had any music, not even Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” on his mobile phone like everyone else in the Middle East regrettably seems to have.  So when I first put on my iPod with speakers in the kitchen while we were cleaning up after breakfast he began dancing while mopping the kitchen.  I knew I was on to something.  I cycled through several different artists to try to get a feel for what he liked and Shakira was a clear winner with Michael Jackson and the Gypsy Kings also a big favorite.  I soon realized that my real value in this camp was to play iPod DJ for Mahmoud. 

In exchange for my chopping vegetables and DJ’ing, I got a tent, food and the rest of the day to myself.  From our campsite the desert sprawls on endlessly in every direction and some days I would head out for a few hours long trek in a new direction.  I’d return by lunch time where Mahmoud would have cooked up a lunch of eggs, bread and an addictive Sudanese desert made with short noodles and a whole lot of sugar.  Sugar in large quantities seems to be a requirement in all Sudanese cooking, especially when making tea.

After lunch, during the hottest time of day, we’d take a foam mattress each and head up to a nearby mountain for the midday nap.  In a shady nook on the west face of the mountain we’d put our mattresses down, cover our heads with bed sheets to keep the flies away and take a nap with the wind keeping us cool and not a sound to be heard.

There is no power in the campsites so no tv, no radios and so some days I would head over to nearby campsites to hang out.  Sitting around and chatting over a cup of tea is the primary means of entertainment in the desert.  I got to know the guys at the nearby campsites pretty well including a good friend I made Rakan, aka Ricky Martin, as he was so lovingly named by Andrea and Tracey, two great travelers who made the campsite really fun the one night they were there.  You should have stayed another day!

In the late afternoon the tourists begin appearing at the campsite ready for the sunset, and it is time for me to chop some vegetables.  I probably chopped a couple hundred cucumbers, tomatoes and potatoes in my ten days while I left all the real cooking to Mahmoud.  He seemed more than happy with the set up.  As long as Shakira was in the kitchen with us.

Wadi Rum desert

Mahmoud and I

Ziyad and Rakan, aka Ricky Martin

Very randomly I met the #4 body builder in the Middle East who is taking time off to work in the desert.