I went down to the business center to see how much it was to print out some things. Okay, so I wanted to print out coupons, I just don't know when I will need them okay!? Anyway its about .50 cents per page and I needed a password to get on the computer so I just gave up that quickly.
On my way back to my room I shared an elevator with a man dressed in the traditional white robe, dress thing but I can't assume he is Muslim. He asked where I was from and I hesitated and told him, "The U.S." Ryan would have been so disappointed... I am suppose to tell everyone I am from Canada as they are not in war with countries that surround me.
The man did not take his eyes off of my arm as he smiled and to acknowledge he knew where that was. He was looking at my tattoos. I don't know if not wearing sleeves or if it was because he had formally introduced himself but he felt it was okay to now go ahead and touch my arm. He tried rubbing off my tattoo and testing the authenticity of it in a way. Looking up at me, my arm in his hands, with so many questions behind his eyes, like a curious child.
This is not something that is new to me. Everyone touches my arm or stops me to ask where I got it done, always looking disappointed when I tell them its over 14,000 km away. They are all very flattering and I am now pretty confident that I can reveal my tattoos as long as I don't mind someone touching them.