About Circles in the Sand

Sun worshiper, journalist, mother, pilot's wife and distracted housewife living in the land of glitz and sand

Class list Jenga

This week, many mums in Dubai found out which classes their children are going to be in from September.

Each year (and for Son1, it is an annual event), the release of the class lists is an eagerly anticipated event. Mums anxiously pore over the role calls; they take photos of the lists, and discuss at the school gate who little Sylvie will be mixing with next year.

(Believe me, I’ve seen mums sobbing over this).

As for the children, I’m not convinced they’re as bothered as the mums.

It might be different for girls, but for boys, shaking up the classes doesn’t seem to be too big of a deal – especially in a society as fluid as ours, where numerous children leave at the end of the school year anyway and September always sees a fresh crop.

Circles of friends are given a shake, rattle and roll

Circles of friends are given a shake, rattle and roll, with no bribes accepted

Son1 was given the chance to pick three friends he wants in his class next year, and the letter said they’d try to make sure he’s in the same class as at least one. (I hear some schools in the UK even let you name one child you’d rather not be with).

There follows a process of list building that I can only imagine is like playing Jenga, with the teachers not only taking friendship groups into account, but also gender balance, ability mix and personality clashes.

Far from just bunging the names in a bag and pulling them out, the decision-making must get complicated: “Sylvie makes Tallulah cry so we should split them, and we’d better share out Boris, Hugo and Tarquin because they’re gifted and talented – almost fluent in Mandarin with rocket-scientist aspirations – and make sure the football squad aren’t all in the same class.”

Repeat x140 children per year.

But, as I said, for us mums, that moment when the list is released can be a little tense. My eyes rapidly scanned the names of the children– of whom son1 knows about three, and (because we all know this is important too) I know one of the mums. Not bad at all.

Happy mixing kiddos!

The end-of-term talent show

Could you? I know I couldn't

Could you? I know I couldn’t

Today was a nerve-wracking day for myself and DH (who wasn’t even here).

It was the day of the end-of-term talent show. Called ‘2JW’s Got Talent’, it was a more elaborate version of the end-of-term concerts we’re all used to attending – with judges.

DH and I were terrified.

We’d known about it for a week, and were aware the children had been practising their routines (magic, miming, jokes, lip singing, football skills, etc) in groups at school. Son1 had partnered with a friend, but then they’d broken up, and rather than join another group, Son1 had decided he’d go solo.

“Really?” we enquired, astounded that our shy son (who’s had to be encouraged to speak up in class) would even consider a solo performance. When he told us he was doing a dance, our astonishment grew.

The night before, I tried to find out from him if he really was going to bust some moves to one of his favourite songs, Meet the Girls of Norway (!), in front of at least 25 mums and dads with cameras, several teachers and all his class mates.

He got off the sofa, gave his body a shake, then – with arms and legs splaying everywhere – did a crazy four-second dance, which ended with him throwing himself on the floor.

Let’s just say, this didn’t put my nerves at ease, and as I drove to school today, I felt like I was going to an audition myself.

But, you know what, I’d totally underestimated his ‘talent’ – and I don’t mean the dancing (although actually the dance was great, even half-choreographed, with girl backing dancers). I mean the ability to get up in front of a crowd and perform, without feeling embarrassed or struck dumb with stage fright – and that goes for all the children.

Born to be a star

Born to be a star

There were, of course, the natural performers – in particular, the girl in a flouncy, tiered dress with fluttery eyelashes, lip singing to a song from Frozen and loving her moment of fame. And there were several boys who enjoyed their comedy act so much I thought we’d still be sat there at dinnertime listening to jokes (the teacher must have thought so too, as I noticed her desperately signaling to them to wind it up).

But, even the shyer children came across as confident youngsters. And that I realised, is one of the big benefits of education today – the belief and courage being instilled in these kids that they can express themselves, give presentations and think outside of the box. (In a few years’ time, the school has them attending mock UN conventions, and pitching entrepreneurial ideas in business clothes.)

“Were you nervous?” I asked Son1 this evening (just the thought of public speaking makes me shudder). “A bit,” he replied, “but then the teacher suggested I could have girls-of-Norway backing dancers.”

And that did the trick. Smart move.

Three more days to go!

While I often feel rather daunted by the 10-week-long school break stretching out ahead of us like an uncrossable chasm, I cannot wait to finish work in three days’ time.

It can feel like a double life. I work in a busy news environment, where, sometimes, my contrasting personas come together with a thunderous clash.

I’ll be head down at my desk, writing a headline for a piece on the insurgency in Iraq, when my phone pings and it’s my other life calling.

“Hi, sorry to bother,” texts my lovely car-pool friend, “but M’s lost his first tooth, I think at your house. Can you look out for it?”

“Sure,” I reply, and fire off a text to our nanny to keep an eye out for a tiny milk tooth, the size of a matchstick head.

“Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty more lost teeth,” I text my friend, who I realise after a couple more messages is upset she can’t put the tooth in a silver keepsakes box. “No need to go through his poo.”

Last week of school/work, and I need cocktail sticks to keep my eyes open

Last week of school/work, and I need cocktail sticks to keep my eyes open

I get back to work. There’s a story on Iran I need to read, and our deadline for getting the magazine to press is looming in three hours’ time.

Then an email pops up, entitled ‘Grade 2’s Got Talent’. It’s Son1’s teacher, giving us more detail about the talent show his class is putting on, and I’m reminded that my (shy) son has to perform some kind of all-singing, all-dancing routine in front of everyone.

But before that social hurdle, we really do have to finish this week’s issue, so I stop Googling ‘easy talent show routines’, and lose myself in a commentary on the jihadist forces from the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria – until another text comes through.

It’s DH. He’s at a climbing party, with Son2, who is struggling. Sometimes I feel so bad that I’m not ‘there’ for all these moments – and the kids are growing up so fast – that it’s as though a chute has opened up in my stomach and my heart is plunging through it.

So, as I said, I’m SO ready to finish work. It’s now just a small matter of getting another magazine to press in the next three days; ducking out for the talent show; organising sausage rolls for the end-of-term party, holding the fort while DH is away; and (keep breathing, Circles!) getting Son2 to a Chuck-e-Cheese party.

Then, finally, it’ s time for a break from the office, the traffic jams and the logistics. The 65-day vacation – let’s call it Operation LongVac (for we all know what it really entails) – is in sight!

Silent Sunday: The furnace

They say you know you’ve been living in the Middle East for too long when a problem with your car’s air-conditioning or horn is more serious to you than a problem with the brakes. I think this picture illustrates quite nicely why:

That’s almost 115 °F. With a sandstorm blowing today too, I felt like I was navigating my way through Jupiter’s red spot.

That’s almost 115 °F. With a sandstorm blowing today too, I felt like I was navigating my way through Jupiter’s red spot.


PS: When it’s this hot outside, do you think: “46 degrees? Quick, open the car window!” After six sticky summers of clambering sweatily into hot cars, I’ve just read on a blog that breathing in the fumes from an enclosed space jammed with super-heated plastics every time you get into your vehicle is like doing glue from hot vinyl bottles! Like I needed another thing to worry about!

Dubai on steroids

Working on a business magazine that reports on Dubai’s latest building boom, I get the scoop on the multibillion-dollar megaprojects that the emirate is so fond of.

By these, I mean things like the planned Bollywood theme park, the life-like dinosaur park, the double-decking of Sheikh Zayed Road, the new skyscrapers, and secretive projects such as the 2008 plans to build a Union Canal through Al-Quoz.

The schemes that are the most intriguing are the more fanciful ones, even if they tend to borrow from other parts of the world.

Modelled on the London Eye, do I need to tell you it'll be the biggest Ferris wheel in the world!

Modelled on the London Eye, do I need to tell you it’ll be the biggest Ferris wheel in the world!

Eighteen months ago, the emirate announced it intended to build a replica of the Taj Mahal (only bigger) and a copy of the Egyptian pyramids containing offices and a museum.

This was the first clue that Dubai was moving on from a debt crisis the size of China quicker than you could say ‘refrigerated beach’.

Now, not only is there a whole new city being built (with 100 hotels, a Universal Studios and a park bigger than London’s Hyde Park), but work is also underway to create a new island off the coastline that will cradle the Dubai Eye. There are plans to build an opera house next to the Burj Khalifa, Dubai Mall is being extended and, of course, there’s an Expo to host.

When a photo was emailed to me at work recently, it occurred to me that if we were REALLY rich, we’d invest in a waterfront property along the gondola-serviced mini-Venice currently being excavated:

Dubai takes on Venice: The AED1.7bn Dubai Water Canal Project will excavate a 2.5 kilometre canal connecting Business Bay to the Gulf ( running under Sheikh Zayed Road)

Dubai takes on Venice: The AED1.7bn Dubai Water Canal Project will create a 2.5km canal connecting Business Bay to the Gulf (flowing under Sheikh Zayed Road)

But, then, as I was driving home, I was reminded by a gigantic, oversized billboard poster that there’s a development springing up in our neighbourhood (which, when we moved here five years ago, was just barren desert) boldly advertising itself as The Beverly Hills of Dubai. Eat your heart out Al Barari!

Hello, Mr Trump! Welcome to the neighbourhood

Hello, Mr Trump! Welcome to the neighbourhood

The cheesy billboard (pictured below) makes me laugh, not least because the scrubby landscape beyond the huge advert is as flat as a pancake and distinctly sandy coloured, not green. But when you look into it, the proposed development is rather impressive: comprising high-class villas, townhouses, and an 18-hole golf course, to be named Trump International Golf Club after the eccentric US businessman.

And that’s not all: also being built in our area is Akoya Drive, which will apparently be modeled on Paris’ Champs Elysees, with shopping, a cinema screen, and (no kidding) an outdoor artificial ice skating rink.

Looks like we should stay put in the ‘Dubai belt’, after all. See you on Rodeo Drive – in six years’ time!

Building boom on our doorstep: Much too big to take in one shot, so here's a wonky panorama of half of the Beverly Hills billboard, featuring Marlon Brando from the Godfather

Building boom on our doorstep: Too big to take in one shot, so here’s a wonky panorama of the Beverly Hills billboard, featuring Marlon Brando from the Godfather

Bounce Dubai: The harder you fall … the higher you bounce

After eight years of mothering rambunctious boys, I’ve found out how to totally exhaust my eldest, without even going outdoors.

The opening of Bounce in Dubai couldn’t have been timed any better – as temperatures reach 113 degrees outside, the owners must have known there are legions of mothers in the UAE wondering how on earth to stop their overactive children from bouncing off the walls at home.

Enter Bounce Dubai. As vast as it is fun, the ‘trampoline universe’ houses about 82 interconnected trampolines in an urban playground loaded with springs and circus-grade sponge. Containing 500+ square metres of foam pits and padding to land on, as well as trampoline ‘dodge-ball’, it was the ideal venue for a party attended by the boys in my son’s class this weekend.

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So much fun, kids don’t even know they’re exercising

As you drive up, you can’t miss the warehouse, located beside the entrance of the industrial maze that is Al Quoz. Stamped boldly on the side, in giant letters, are the words: ‘Bounce Inc. Free-jumping revolution’, and inside, the branding continues with shocks of pink, blue and yellow on the edges of the ‘tramps’.

Given that it was only the second weekend since the Australian import’s opening, I probably shouldn’t have been so surprised to see so many edgy-looking teenagers queuing up, all seeking an adrenalin rush with a soft landing at the bright, bold, in-your-face trampoline park.

Energetic staff members with job titles like ‘experience manager’ and ‘bounce master’ were on hand to manage the hordes of youngsters who’d turned up to jump, and my son was shepherded away to put on his rainbow-coloured gel gripper socks. (As well as freestyle trampolines and an airbag-fitted section, there are 45-degree trampolines against walls that you can run up and launch yourself off.)

With 10 minutes on the trampoline claimed to be as good as jogging for 33 minutes, I know which I’d prefer

With 10 minutes on the trampoline claimed to be as good as jogging for 33 minutes, I know which I’d prefer

It was at this point that Son2 broke down with fury that he wasn’t going in too, so we made a hasty departure, leaving Son1 to enjoy his high-octane party while we grabbed a far more leisurely coffee at the nextdoor Times Square Center.

That evening, as I put his ‘sticky socks’ in the laundry and Son1 let out gaping yawns of exhaustion, I resolved I’d definitely take both boys back to burn energy – and might even give it a go myself (yep, Bounce is aimed at adults too!).

Anyone remember being a kid and jumping up and down on your bed before being yelled at to stop? Well, here’s your chance to experience that giddy euphoria all over again.

Click here to visit their website. Do call if you’re planning to go as sessions sell out.

Job creation in Dubai

If you live in the Middle East, you’ll know how good they are at ‘creating’ jobs here – to the extent that phrases such as ‘potato peeler’, ‘dish washer’ and ‘fly killer’ don’t refer to household items, but are, in fact, job titles.

I mean, goodness, where would we all be without the man at the Mall of the Emirates who takes your parking ticket and puts it in the machine that operates the exit barrier for you?

This Silent Sunday pic is provided by my friend L, who snapped this scene while waiting at a traffic light today… Thanks L!

So how many men does it take to change a lightbulb in Dubai?

So how many men does it take to change a lightbulb in Dubai?

And lest the gardeners in our compound run out of work, they went and planted a row of bushes bang in the middle of the pavement!

And lest the gardeners in our compound run out of work, they went and planted a row of bushes bang in the middle of the pavement – all the way along! I guess no-one ever said Dubai was pedestrian friendly.

June in 12 phrases

With the summer holidays hurtling towards us like a steam train, here are 12 things on every mum’s lips this month as we sweat our way around Dubai running errands and making sure our little ones don’t expire in the heat:

“Are you all set for summer? What date are you leaving? Wow, France, Italy AND Austria!”

– [to DH] “I know I keep withdrawing money, but none of it’s for me. I’m dishing it out in envelopes for teachers’ gifts / support staff appreciation funds / class parties / library fines.”

Meanwhile, in the car...

Meanwhile, in the car…

– “Ouch, the steering wheel just burnt me.”

– “Put your shoes on! The ground’s too HOT to go barefoot, and I can’t carry you.” [Think: scalding hot coals]

– “Ahh, the swimming pool water’s cool. They’ve turned the chiller on at last.”

– “When is Ramadan, again?” [Go moon! FYI: Expected to start this year on 29 Jun.]

– “You will be back in September, won’t you?”

– “No, we’re not going to America today, tomorrow, or the next day. We’re going in three weeks’ time. 1 – 2 – 3– WEEKS.”

– “Lucky kids! Outdoor playtime is cancelled, and school’s taking them to the local softplay instead.” [Cue: another money-filled envelope.] “And more party food?

– “Could you show me where the fake tan is please? Everyone at home expects me to look sun tanned.”

– “Try the hot tap. The water should be colder.”

– “Mwah! Good-bye! Safe travels.”

Travel post: Petra – the rose-red city

As you approach Petra, you experience the mixed sense of excitement and nervous apprehension that goes with the Ancient Wonders. But, unlike the Giza Pyramids, Petra does not give up its secrets in one magnificent view. You have to work for this one!

The latest in my series of travel posts has been kindly contributed by a guest writer, Amanda Reid, who travelled to Jordan earlier this year and explored this vast, awe-inspiring city, carved into the sheer rock face.

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Lost City: Jordan’s most-visited tourist attraction remained unknown to the Western world until 1812, when it was rediscovered by a Swiss traveller who tricked his way into the fiercely guarded site

Locals had insisted we needed at least two days to see Petra properly. Unless you are an experienced trekker, or are happy to skip many of the individual sites, they are right. Even in the one-day short version that we plumped for, the walking varies tiringly between pleasant and airy, to narrow, steep and bumpy. But the sights, oh the sights!

Within Petra (Latin for “rock”) are the impressive remains of the capital of the Nabataean culture. The who? The Nabataeans, while not the best known of ancient peoples, certainly knew how to impress. In the first century BC, the kingdom stretched from southern Jordan to Damascus. While battling Romans and various Greek factions, they were perfectly positioned to manage the trade routes from the far East, near East and Africa; as a result they had a rich and integrated culture which is reflected in much of the architecture at Petra.

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Majestic: The Obelisk Tomb is the first major monument

Entering antiquity
The walk begins on a broad “street”, pleasantly sloping down a valley, with red, yellow and white sandstone bluffs on either side. After admiring the natural beauty and some Pacman-ghost-shaped enormous mounds on your right, you come to the first monuments, carved in the rock. The Obelisk tomb can be appreciated from ground level, or a small clamber up the rough-hewn steps allows you to poke about inside – especially fun for children.

What you are really waiting for, though, is the famous Treasury. Continuing on the pathway, the heat rises and the crowds increase as you take in the many tombs, caves and wave-shaped coloured rocks, as well as a glorious Greco-Roman amphitheatre.

On entering As-Siq, the ancient entrance to Petra, the air cools. The kilometre-long narrow gorge winds its way down; at some points, the sky is barely visible and you can almost touch both sides of the 80-metre-high chasm. It twists delightfully so every step reveals a new view and small trees and bushes grow sideways out of the walls.

Emerging into a surprisingly small clearing, here it is: the iconic Al-Khazneh (Treasury). It is beautifully preserved in its protected place, with its hybrid Corinthian/Doric columns and other Egyptian and Roman-style touches. Everyone stops to take a photo – bring your wide-angle lens to photograph the 30-metre width and 43-metre height. Yet, even with the right equipment, your images won’t truly capture the grandeur of the place (pictured top right).

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Transport: Once inside the site, you can hire a donkey, or for the more adventurous, a camel

When you can tear yourself away, there is more to see. If, at this point, you want a ride (as we did), I recommend a donkey. Travelling down the Street of Facades and the Colonnaded Street, the donkey’s lilting sway is pleasant, soothing and gives hot feet a rest. I do not recommend the horse-drawn carriages, wantonly bumping along over stones, paving, sand and concrete. You could also opt for a camel, of course.

Time for a pit stop
After another hour, our thoughts turn to lunch. There are small food and drink stands dotted around, but my tip is the Basin Restaurant (owned by the nearby Crowne Plaza but inside the Petra site). Sited at the exact spot where your hunger and thirst can no longer be ignored, at the base of the track ascending to the Monastery (Ad-Deir), it offers a wide-ranging buffet, an attractive terrace and Jordanian mint lemonade.

Continuing on involves climbing some serious steps. The Monastery is the largest monument in Petra with a fine hilltop view. There are other side trips up small mountains for the enthusiast. If you make it up any, well done. (I did not and I regret it.)

As you retrace your steps, whether by foot or on a beast of burden, you gain new perspectives on the rock formations and tombs that you were too overwhelmed to take in before. Once back at the top Visitors Centre, you have earned an ice-cream and maybe a stone bracelet from one of the charming children on a stall. Or how about a bottle filled with coloured sands formed into a picture of tombs and camels.

If you can stay till sunset, you will understand fully the meaning of the often-quoted 1845 poem by John William Burgon that describes Petra as: “… from the rock as if by magic grown … a rose-red city half as old as time”.

PetraSandStoneRock-cut tombs

Sandstone tombs: The colours and rock formations are dazzling

Expat paperwork

We made a trip to the American consulate in Dubai this week: I had to surrender my US green card (long story); and Son2 needed his passport renewed.

DH and I, and Son2, all had to attend, in case one of us was trying to spirit him out of the country without the other knowing. The appointments for consular services were helpfully during school hours, so the place was crawling with children in school uniform, adults clutching paperwork, steely eyed officials and guards.

Son2 wasn’t happy at all about missing swimming at school, so DH told him a little white lie: “We’re going to the president’s mansion,” he said. “You’ll have to be good,” we added. “There’ll be handcuffs there and everything.” (That bit’s probably true.)

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So we might have glorified it a bit to Son2

On arrival, we passed through the body scanner, gave up our phones, the car keys and my handbag, and proceeded to Fort Knox’s main area – a large space containing half a dozen rows of chairs and a concession stand selling pizzas and other snack foods.

We waited our turn, and I asked DH for the umpteenth time if we had all the paperwork we needed:

My green cardtick

Son2’s passport, and copy of the bio data pagetick, tick

Original birth certificate, and one copytick, tick

Mine and DH’s passports, plus copiestick, tick, tick, tick

Passport form (fill out online, print and bring with)tick

Passport photo (US size, full-face, no looking down, ears exposed)tick

Fees: 388 AED – tick

I was almost holding my breath at the counter, sure there’d be something we’d overlooked. Son2’s school reports perhaps. His great great grandmother’s (on the paternal side) proof of pioneering voyage across the Atlantic and first homestead. Our tax returns. First pet’s photo, eye level 28-35mm from the bottom of the photo, no sunglasses.

“Do you have another picture?” asked the official, frowning at the perfectly proportioned, US passport-sized headshot we’d had taken of Son2.

“No,” we answered, glumly.

“The background needs to be white,” he said, pointing out the so-opaque-it-was-barely-there tinge of colour visible in the backdrop.

Any mum who’s ever felt like she’s trying to pin a woodland sprite to a studio chair when getting her young child photographed will understand why we groaned – then crossed our fingers and toes when he said he’d put the application through and let the system decide!