Dear ECS: An unexpected Maltese moment

Dear ECS, 

Hey love bug - we have had a nice day today, sneaking in a daddy/daughter lunch date and doing some wandering and shopping in our neighborhood.  Oh yeah, and some ice cream.  Always some ice cream. 

We had this mellow weekend-like day today since we had some tough travel last night, flying back home from Malta on a flight that left that airport at about 11 pm and getting into our apartment in Cairo just before 4 am.  Whew, that is not easy and hence no school for you, or me, today.  Mom drew the short end of the straw in our family and went into work today, which took a Herculean effort. 

It is kind of crazy that right now the sun has set and the night is coming in and yesterday at this exact time, we were on top of a hotel on a rooftop overlooking the walled and idyllic city of Valletta, with the Maltese countryside and the Med all below us, sparkling.  

The amount of life and movement that can be fit into a day in these modern times remains so astounding. To think what the world and movement and travel will be like in a few decades, when you are an adult, is pretty tough to predict and anticipate.  Another example of the crazy travel in this Maltese vacation was where we slept for half the night in our apartment in Egypt, made the flight to Malta and then slept in our rental apartment in Malta.  Waking up, I realized we had somehow slept on two continents (Egypt/Africa and Malta/Europe) in one night.  And somehow even slept pretty well on both ends of the trip.  

We did these crazy travel logistics because it was a) a way to maximize our time (per usual, sorry honey), b) take advantage of the direct flights, and c) overall sneak in this trip to celebrate my birthday as a family.  Your mom had the worse of it, and I am very grateful that she was open to making it work despite the very obvious, and a bit painful, drawback of going to work on little sleep. 

I want to write a bit about what was a really meaningful moment during our trip.  It is a surprising moment, as it was not in the art museum, nor eating fresh seafood and pasta for days.  Nor watching my last sunset in met 30’s, or taking a little gondola ferry in the harbor.  Or dashing around and skipping in the discovery center within a sprawling complex built centuries ago.  Not the market and lunch at the little fishing village.  Nor on long trail runs along the sea wall, or even doing the family photo shoot throughout the city.  Not the fresh chocolate, and wine for your parents.  

We did all those things, but the moment that has stuck there most with me was doing a simple little errand so that we could make breakfast in our apartment and enjoy the great space and little balcony with Med views.  Interesting, the old city doesn’t have many grocery stores, rather these little markets tucked into narrow storefronts and stuffed to the gills.  

I thought the market errand would take a few minutes, because that is what I am used to and what I am conditioned to expect in the world of ubiquitous markets, here in Cairo and when we travel in Europe.  This would not be the case, as the market a few blocks from our apartment was pretty busy on a late morning Saturday.  Not the case at all.  The store was filled with about a dozen older Maltese women doing their weekend shopping.  The care they felt about their food, the fresh produce, and cheeses/charcuterie, the fresh bread and everything they needed for the weekend, was very obvious.  

So there I was, after telling your mom I would be gone for a few minutes with the minutes dragging on and on.  I thought about putting back our stuff and hatching a new plan.  Which would have been easy.  I had left my phone at the house, thinking this was going to be quick, so there was no way to pop in ear pods and put on a podcast.  Like what I am doing right now as I type.  Nope, I had none of my tried and true distraction methods for making minutes melt away 

For which I am so thankful, as I got over myself, at least for several minutes, and just stood in line and listened and watched.  Seeing what I could learn about this place and community.  I listen to the orders and the familiar banter between customers.  I tried to piece together what people would be eating, all of which looked pretty delicious with the olives, fresh cheeses, foul and several things that I still don’t know.  

And a secondary thing that happened was with respect to the language of this store.  The Maltese language is as Semitic language, just like Arabic (and Amharic too, going back to our Ethiopia years).  It has been Anglicized, so the script is like English or French and not the Arabic I have learned over the last 5 or so months.  But to sit back and listen, I realized that I knew so many of the words being used in this market.  It was stunning, as I felt far from home and it did not feel so much like Cairo.  Being in a new place, and yet having this language pop into my brain was a cool feeling.  This realization that the Arabic culture and language that I am learning in Cairo share a through line to Malta makes sense, given all the trade over centuries.  But having something make sense and then really feeling it are two very different experiences.  Plus, it made me proud of what I have learned in the language, and the culture, of Egypt.  In July of last year, I would never have been able to make the connection, so this moment would have passed me by.  Not today! 

So in closing honey, I urge you to find joy and interest where you are, whenever you can.  It is not easy, and that sense is extremely ephemeral.  A few days ago, I felt the stress of time and our plan getting sideways.  But given the right combo of culture and mental space, I had moment of clarity and enjoyment that far exceeded what I could have ever hoped or expected.  

These are the exact reason we travel: to be in a new place and have that place open in some unexpected way. 

love,

dad

Dear ECS: When will we go to the mountains again?

Dear ECS, 

Hi love bug - you are currently playing with a friend, enjoying one of your beloved playdates, as I write from a nearby cafe.  I think this afternoon you and your friend are both princesses and having a bit of high tea.  High tea is always a delight and fits this time of year particularly well.  I intruded a little and was gently admonished for interrupting your world and play.  Sorry honey. 

The last couple of days were the first with our whole family back in our routine of wake up - work/school - exercise/play - meals together and bedtime.  It is a good routine and one we have built over the last several months to feel as durable as anything can be in a house with an adorable and energetic four year old.  And a couple of parents who are always trying to do to too much and fit in so much.  

It has been quite cold since we got back from our holiday trip to France, and something about the culture and built environment in Cairo makes it feel much colder.  For instance, right this moment it is 60 degrees Fahrenheit outside.  You can’t know this, but where I grew up there was a solid five (at least) months when the temperature does not reach this illustrious high.  

Right now it is a robust 24 degrees back home.  The idea that 60 degrees is cold is anathema to my childhood, and frankly unrespectable, for the dyed in the wool Mainers.  And yet, there is a collective chill in the air that seems to bury pretty deep into everyone.  There are so many long trench coats, beanies, puffy jackets and shawls being used by everyone.  If I were to just sit in a cozy cafe and watch the world go by in our neighborhood, I would think it was about 20 degrees colder.  Thankfully, we all have beloved winter clothes and it is fun to wear those hats, scarfs, jackets, sweaters, dresses and boots. 

The combination of thinking about routines and some norms of my childhood also has me considering traditions, especially when combined with covering feasts and holidays in my Arabic class this week.  

Christmas is probably the holiday with the most traditions from my childhood, as it is a magical time to be in Maine.  And it is a magical time to be in Paris, where we spent Christmas this year.  Of course, in Maine years ago the holiday built over weeks and weeks and for the Korol family this year we arrived in Paris on Christmas Eve and scrambled to get ready for Santa (or Père Noel as you call him)  and to get out and see the City of Lights with peak lights for the holidays.  

What a sight and what a city to snuggle into for the holiday.  Frankly, we weren’t sure what to expect in a big European city for a holiday.  Mom and I, and Uncle Tote, spent a kind of weird New Years in Seville, Spain years ago in a city that is well known for being a great for good living.  And yet New Years in Andalusia is a holiday spent with family and it was surprisingly dead in the city for NYE.  Live and learn.  

Thankfully, that dynamic did not play out for Paris - which was alive and vibrant for Christmas.  Beyond enjoying the bounty of Père Noel, we got to eat amazing meals, watch the sunset over Paris from the Eiffel Tower, take several turns on a merry go round on Seine, walk with thousands under seemingly hundreds of thousands of lights on the Champs-Élysées and enjoy the cheeky window displays with another several hundred new friends at the Galeries Lafayette.  

Those are all traditions for Parisians - somethings they do year after year and that reinforces their cultural identity.  They are not our traditions.  But we got to take part in them this year, and next year we aim to take part in some other traditions wherever we may be in the world.  Right now it feels like our tradition is being flexible, and movement, and being global.  I know that isn’t the easiest thing to understand for a four year old.  Sometimes it hard to fully understand for a nearly forty year old.  For me, and for your mom, and hopefully for you, being culturally fluid and expansive is one our traditions.

Another tradition that seems to be taking for our family is skiing, I think it is impossible to state how much happiness I get from this development over the last few years.  The list of places you have skied is absurd - really truly.  Going back to my skiing experience in Maine and New England, the skiing we get to enjoy as a family is so much easier.  It is warmer, with good/great snow and way less driving.  All of those are needed, as we likely won’t be living in a place with skiing drivable from our house anytime soon.  This trip, we skied in Serre Chevalier, in France and along the French/Italian border, which was a place we had never been to and hadn’t heard much about beforehand.  A good ski buddy of mine has been going to Serre for several years and shared a bunch of great recommendations once we were on our way, which was a big help.  And we couldn’t be sure about the conditions given that it is kind of early season, plus the chance of being super crowded for the holidays. 

Given all those possible headaches, we were and are super lucky.  The conditions were good, you skied amazing and never wanted to leave the slopes, it wasn’t crowded at all and the area was charming.  For me, seeing you ever more confident on your skis and having such great family time skiing on top of the Alps were all huge highlights of our time in the mountains.  We live at about 30 meters above sea level along the Nile and the Sahara, and there we were at 1,300 meters and getting up to 2,500 meters for skiing as a family.  Let’s keep it going honey, I know you are game. 

I hope our tradition is going to the mountains this time of year and that it is an easy, and more importantly consistent, answer to your question when we were in the car back home from the airport a few days ago - "When will we go to the mountains again?" My answer to that question, now and forever, is not soon enough. 

love,

dad