International vibe on Turkey Day in Abu Dhabi

As I looked around the table at Thanksgiving, I couldn't help but crack a smile.

At first, I felt homesick because my family was gathered back in Herndon, Virginia and they had just started on their appetizers at about the same time we were trying to fight off the dreaded half-drunk, half-turkey consumption nap weariness.

But then, I felt that international vibe that you only get when you travel. That sense that you are surrounded by other like-minded people, who want to learn new customs, ask questions, and eat.

By the end of the meal, I felt like comparing passports with the people around me.

On this glorious American holiday, we had one Brit, one Frenchie, a Palestinian and two Indians (actually from India -- not the folks who broke bread with the white settlers) sitting at the table inside my apartment. For some, it was their first Thanksgiving and we were happy to host them and expose them to such a proud tradition.

My wife and I are American and don't worry, the US of A was well represented. Even though we had an eclectic group that would make the Model UN proud, to my left sat a US Navy SEAL.

I had not really spoke to Curtis in about five years. He reached out to me when he arrived in Abu Dhabi about two months ago. I quickly lost track of him because he had to go on one of those secret desert missions. You know, it was the hush-hush kind of stuff.

But he returned and messaged me two days before the feast. I couldn't think of a better way to honor America then to host a service member in my home for Thanksgiving.

I made sure to introduce Curtis to the rest of my international contingent. They all had heard of the US Navy SEALs but had never really met one in real life before. I think it was a pure case of America overload for them.

Later on in the evening, Curtis was supposed to tell them what the true meaning of Thanksgiving was but red wine took over and before we knew it, everyone was involved in a hotly-contested game of pin-the-tail-on-the-turkey.

Because isn't that what Thanksgiving is all about? Having fun with loved ones?

My wife cooked up a storm. We had family on the Skype screen. Loved ones from around the world were sitting at our table. I tell you, it does not get any better than that.

Happy Thanksgiving from Abu Dhabi!

Yes, even Americans need a visa to travel to India

A very short and kind Indian man rang my door bell this morning around 8.45am.

He was a little mad because my phone was turned off (as he had been trying to reach me) and his feelings did not improve when I sluggishly answered the door half asleep and while wearing just my boxers.

He sort of shook his head in disgust. In his hand, he had my US passport. But to understand why, we have go back to three weeks ago, when this story first started...

One of our good friends in Abu Dhabi is Niharika. In this photo, she is the one on the right. Looking sober as ever.

For months, we had flirted with the idea of her showing us around her native India. We know how much an international trip can be enhanced when you have a local calling the shots. You know, what's the term I'm looking for here again? Street credit. Yup, that's what we needed.

Basically, we did not want to be those cliche white people wandering around the depths of India second-guessing our decision to drink that murky-looking water or take that exhausting route to see (enter a typical tourist destination here).

We needed some street credit. Nihrika was it. She gladly volunteered her services. Plus, she is awesome to party with so we knew everything would work itself out.

We picked a date: long weekend in early November.

We picked a city to pillage: Goa. Chill beach city on the southeastern shore of India.

Now it was time to book flights, hotels, rental car and secure some spending cash.

"Oh, don't worry, you're American -- you don't need a visa," Niharika said in between swings of beer at the Belgian Cafe. "We let Americans do whatever they want..."

Sounded pretty awesome to me. She was right. Americans are the best, right?

With less than two weeks before our trip, we learn the hard way that Americans -- like everyone else in the world -- also need a visa to travel to the exotic and wonderful land known as India.

It was not time to hit the panic button just yet but we had to act fast. We needed answers. Quick, to the Internet!

So we had to go to a place in Abu Dhabi called BLS International Visa & Passport Services, which is a passport processing service and an exclusive trusted partner to the Embassy of India.

But before that extravagant visit, we needed to fill out and print this online form that asked all type of questions like who was my father, what I did for a living and if I have ever traveled to Pakistan before? Because if I had, a visit to India would probably be out of the question.

Then we went to BLS -- they were open on a Saturday -- waited in a few lines, spoke to a couple of nice clerks, waited some more and then...

"Umm, Mr. Gray, we have a slight issue," one gentleman said to me while he perused my mounting pile of paperwork. "It says here you are a journalist?"

"Oh no, not again..."

Click here to read all about my attempt to enter Bahrain after the passport monkeys realized I was a journalist and I was staying with a woman, while also traveling with another woman

So after waiting in a few more lines, an official paper had to be printed and then signed by some higher-up at the office. More waiting, more waiting.

Then came the final price tag. For two Americans trying to acquire a six-moth, multiple-entry visa to India, it came out to 745 UAE dirhams (approximately 200 US dollars). And, they did not take credit cards. Cash only. Sounded real shady to me. So I had to walk a few blocks away to an ATM.

Now I do not know that given our amazing American status, that our price tag was higher or lower that anyone else visiting the country. But regardless, India is making out like bandits! If every single person, besides actual Indians, have to pay something like 100 dollars to the country before they even touch down on an India airport runway, then India should be the richest nation in the world.

We paid. Said goodbye and off we went.

I immediately had to go to work and I was not in the newsroom for more than 20 minutes before I got a call from BLS. It was the lady who was processing our visas.

"Mr. Gray, we had a slight issue with your visa," she said. "You actually owe us 145 dirhams more."

"What? Why?"

"Because you have a journalist visa. That means it is more..."

Now I wasn't mad that I had to pay more. I've come to expect that. Countries all around these parts love to stick it to journalists. What I got irate about was that she just did not charge me the right amount when I was sitting right in her office an hour earlier.

"Mam, that makes no sense. You guys are the ones who messed up. I even left, walked to an ATM, came back, and paid the full amount in cash that you charged. How did you not get this right?"

"Oh sir, it's because you are a journalist."

"I understand that but what do we do now?" I had started to lose my cool.

"Can you please come back to our office?"

"No, I cannot. I am at work now because I spent my entire morning in your office."

"Sir, you are at work? What do you do?"

"I AM A JOURNALIST!!!"

It was about this moment when the lady started to sense my anger. She asked if I can just send the company driver to her office with the additional money. Because if not, she could not process my visa. She then let me know that my wife's visa had already started.

The call ended on a sour note. No apology from her. And because of her mistake, I found myself at the BLS office very early the next morning. Once again, I was the only white person in the room.

But this time, there would be no lines. There would be no waiting for this pissed-off American. I demanded satisfaction! Well, not really.

The same lady saw me as I approached her desk and excused herself from the person she was attending to. She walked up to me with kindness and her manager was with her. I had cooled off since the previous day's phone call and accepted all the apologies and pleasantries.

I then placed 145 dirhams in her hand like it was some sort of drug deal. Everyone in the room had watched because the unique transaction took place away from the desks and after she grabbed the cash, she slipped into some door in the back of the room. It was all very shady.

She came out with a receipt and promised my visa would arrive at my home within 3-5 business days. Finally, it looked like a visit to Goa was in my near future.

Three weeks later, I stood in my kitchen and wondered if the leftover Indian food in my refrigerator would make for a good breakfast. And then the door bell rang.

Weary expats go back to America

Three weeks. Eight states.

Trains, planes and automobiles.

Two NFL games. Two MLB games. Two weddings.

Countless beers, laughs, friends and family.

Miranda and I made our annual pilgrimage back to the United States last month and two pretty cool videos came out as a result. The first one was filmed and edited by our good friends in Chicago.

The second one is self-explanatory.







It does not matter where you are from because there is one thing all weary travelers can agree on: Sometimes, it is good to be home.

After living in the desert for almost two years, a sudden avalanche of America made us appreciate our country even more. We got to visit some cool places, see some of our incredible family and we filled our love tanks with things we miss the most (yes, that includes Taco Bell).

Home is where you make it. But while you attempt to do so in a foreign land, it is always nice to come back for a visit to where it all started.