Category Archives: Dubai

What to read Wednesday

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I love a good book recommendation, and if anyone’s reading something they’re really enjoying, do tell. Here’s my holiday reading list – I’m still working my way through it, but there’s some goodies on here.

Louise-Doughty-Apple-Tree-Yard-e1370855754378-150x150Apple Tree Yard, by Louise Doughty
(*My top pick*)
This courageously written, gripping novel leads readers into dark territory as a woman realises she’s in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong man. If you’re a budding novelist, this is a must: it’s amazingly well-constructed and full of suspense.

The Hundred-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out of the Window and Disappeared, by Jonas Jonasson
9781743311271As the title suggests, it’s about an elderly man who can’t face his hundredth birthday party and embarks on an unlikely adventure. Most interesting, however – and I did find myself speed reading to get to these parts – is the parallel narrative about his earlier life, in which he helped to make the atom bomb and meets Stalin, Harry Truman, Russian tyrants, and Chinese leaders.

sunshine-soup-cover-72Sunshine Soup: Nourishing the Global Soul, by Jo Parfitt
*Top expat pick*
A first-timer, lifer and love immigrant living in an expat bubble experience the darker side of life in Dubai, as culture shock, loss of identity, depression, temptation and grief set in. A brilliant read.

No-One Ever Has XXX on a Tuesday, by Tracy Bloom
I had to self-censor there to deter unsavoury blog visitors. About a one-night stand that leads to chaos, this book made great, light-hearted, easy airplane reading.

Me and Mr Jones, by Lucy Diamond
Three grown-up boys and their lives, wives and problems. It appealed to me because I enjoy reading about boy-families (especially those brave enough to have more than two), and I found myself happily swept along by the lives of the three Jones’ partners.

Still to go:

Life After Life, by Kate Atkinson
Perfect, by Rachel Joyce

Anymore to add to this list?

Operation Longvac

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This is a stolen term, from a writer in the Times newspaper, but I’m borrowing it because she was talking about a six-week British school holiday. Anyone reading this in the US or expat-land will be thinking, ‘Six weeks? PAH! That’ll be over in the blink-of-an-eye!’

Try 27 June – 2 September for size, presently yawning in front of us like a gaping hole – a mind-bending vortex that needs to be filled with activities, every.single.day, to prevent my children’s boredom from toppling us.

Happy (long) holiday, kids!

Happy (long) holiday, kids!

And because Dubai is as hot as Hades at this time of year, many of these activities need to be planned in another country, maybe even two or three different countries, if you’re going to get anywhere near the romantic notion of happy, rosy-cheeked kiddies hanging off the farm gate.

So, right now, we find ourselves in the UK – then tomorrow, we head off again, for our annual trip to the US. This year, to Florida, where we lived as newlyweds.

Something tells me we’re destined to meet Mickey Mouse and his motley crew, and obv. this means peaking far too early in the holiday, because when we return to the UK, and DH disappears off over the horizon to the blue yonder of Dubai, there’s still another six weeks to go. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Grandparents rock!

There’s also the small matter of keeping my newly founded Writing Inc. going – it has to take a back burner, of course, but still demands attention, at times like a hungry child. So, I’ve packed my career in my suitcase and, this week, worked remotely from my parents’ dining room.

With this as the view (mum’s garden, a 20-year project that was a field when we moved here), and sausage rolls in the fridge, it’s been such a lovely change. Best of all, the ankle-biting whippersnappers can be thrown outdoors for lengthy and wholesome, energy-burning games of hide-and-seek.

And by the time we get back from the States, the British schools will nearly have broken up - so we'll find playmates at last!

Office with a view: And by the time we get back from the States, the British schools will nearly have broken up – playmates wanted.

On jet-charged children

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I discovered a while ago that the A380 is the best plane to fly on with children, not just because there’s more space to move around, but because there’s even a staircase you could use as a naughty step.

Whenever we fly back to London for our annual leave, I always make sure we’re booked on a superjumbo, and it definitely helps the ole pre-flight nerves to know that the boys and I will be able to have a little wander around after hours of being wedged into our seats.

Of course, as all mums who have to fly solo with their kids know, there are other things that would help too – like a third or even fourth arm to carry all the luggage; the physical stamina of a pack mule; a basic aviation knowledge (so as to answer questions such as How does the wind move?); and double-jointedness to make assisting a child in the bathroom easier.

If only!

If only!

But, the single most important thing, I now realise, that makes a big difference is the passage of time. And by that, I don’t mean the slow, ticking of time that extends every drawn-out minute on the actual flight. I mean your children getting older – and easier to fly with.

While queuing at security, I got chatting to a mum with a seven-month-old baby, and as she struggled with all the baby paraphernalia, juggled her little one, took her belt and shoes off, then, at the other side of the x-ray machine, pulled it all together again like a 100-piece jigsaw puzzle, I have to admit I felt like punching the air with joy that I’ve left that stage well and truly behind.

This flight, I didn’t even have the usual two-tonne carry-on luggage – my laptop case, filled with my MacBook, an iPad, a DS machine and a Kindle, sufficed. And saw us through the flight. Just.

What I hadn’t bargained on, though, was the overexcited, unsuppressable second wind that my boys would enjoy on their jet-charged arrival. At 10pm (1am Dubai time), and after a 12-hour journey from door-to-door without a wink of sleep, they were almost impossible to get to bed (“But it’s still light outside Mummy!”)

Thank goodness for grandparents, who like highly trained reinforcements, had taken over well before I hit the wall.

Extravagant teachers’ gifts

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A couple of interesting debates have come up this week – the first on whether the 10-week-long school holiday should be at a time of year when you can actually go outside in Dubai, rather than during the furnace-like summer when every cell in your body screams for water if you venture outdoors.

But the debate that piqued my interest was the issue of teachers’ presents. This is the week when teachers in the UAE are being gifted with all sorts of things, from expensive spa vouchers to Swarovski jewellery.

They deserve it. Of course they do. But there’s a growing body of opinion that this is all going a bit over the top in Dubai.

mmon700l.jpgIt used to be that children would buy a little something, perhaps pick flowers on the way to school, or even better, make something for the teacher along with a card and that was that. Of course, very few children walk to school in Dubai, and they tend to come from families in which Dad is something big in oil or banking. (I’m generalising, not everyone is rich in Dubai, but it’s true our children are transported to school. There’s far too much traffic, so we drive – ruling out hand-picked flowers.)

It was suggested in the media this week that what might be happening (and I’m just saying) is that parents are trying to outdo each other. Otherwise, how would you explain why teachers have been asked to pick out furniture? And why collections are running to as much as 2,500 dhs (£450) per gift – with a whip-round for the person who collects the money too.

One commenter, a teacher herself, pointed out that they do far more than teach these days (good point). Admin work, after-school activities and weekend workshops are all expected. “I think teachers are under appreciated by parents so any gift I can get from them is worth it!” she wrote. “I spend more time with and thinking about their children than they do.”

Ouch!

“Why is it OK for a business man to gift potential clients or customers with fancy dinners and presents, but not OK for parents to give gifts to the teachers,” she wrote, stirring the debate. “Let me know what a business client thinks of a hand-made card!”

No comment. But I’m guessing that, working in Dubai, she won’t be disappointed.

Personally, I’m so thankful to my boys’ amazing and altruistic teachers for everything they’ve done for my children over the past 10 months that I’m very happy to fork out for something thoughtful. Ask me again a week into the epic holiday, and I’ll probably be sending flowers and chocolates too.

[Dabs eyes with a tissue – is the school year really all over? Sobs.]

The brand-new $400m airplane

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If you’re anything like me, you probably love going to car show rooms to look at the latest models, sit behind the steering wheel of cars you’ll never be able to afford and pick out which colour car you like best.

There’s something about buying a new set of wheels – even if they’ve been used already – that’s very exciting, in my opinion.

Last week, my DH took this to a whole new, stratospheric level, when he set off to Airbus’ factory in Hamburg, Germany, and returned with a brand-new, shiny $400m superjumbo.

I almost packed myself in his suitcase the day he left; I would love to nosy round the factory, and just imagine travelling back on your very own private A380 – with the whole cabin to yourself, bar a few executives and engineers also on the flight. I pictured myself relaxing in first class like a rock star, visiting the shower spa and cracking open the bottle of champagne I was sure to find.

Alas, it wasn’t to be. I enjoyed the trip vicariously via DH, who snapped some good photos, and on his return told me: “Gotta love that new airplane smell!”

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The gleaming new aircraft being prepared for take-off

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Spotted in Hamburg: This bulbous-looking plane is one of Airbus’ now-retired Super Guppies, used to transport airplane parts from 1972 to the mid-90s. They were replaced by Airbus Beluga super transporters. You didn’t know I can be a bit of a plane spotter, did you?

The sauna relay (mums win gold)

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It’s the last week of term here, and despite searing heat and 85 per cent humidity, desert mummies are flinging themselves around attending end-of-term concerts, classroom parties and parent meetings.

To get an idea of what this is like, imagine what a giant sauna might feel like, and picture yourself jumping in and out of it fully clothed. Imagine the backs of your knees sweating and your hair plastered to your head. Then, add some extra diary dates to an already-jam-packed schedule, a couple of hot, quarrelling children and a car that burns you every time you climb back in it.

dubai-meme-03-hot-tap-waterAs you pick your way over a sandy car park, while mopping your brow and wiping your shades (they steam up the moment you step into the outside air, so heavy today it was almost too thick to breathe), you think to yourself, “My.God.it’s.hot.”

Although why it surprises us each year, I’m really not sure, because it’s no hotter than it usually is in late June. I think we just tend to forget over the 6-8 months of glorious weather.

We’ve reversed our taps – in summer, you can turn your water heaters off and get all the warm water you need from the cold tap (due to cold-water storage tanks getting microwaved by the sun).

And if one of the children opens a window in the car, I’ve noticed I’ll snap it shut immediately, even if it means little fingers get severed, so the AC air doesn’t escape.

It definitely gets to the stage here where everyone is ready for their summer leave, the boys included.

Son1 was looking at something on the iPad the other day and remarked: “Will we see these in England?” We glanced at the screen to see what he was talking about, and saw white, fluffy clouds. A rarity in the dusty, desert summer skies.

Not long now, kids!

on the upside, the lack of cloud cover made for a fabulous super-moon yesterday. Photo via The National

On the upside, the lack of cloud cover made for a fabulous super-moon yesterday.                              Photo via The National

Wild Wadi at night

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Every now and then, every adult should feel like a big kid. And what better place to do this than at one of Dubai’s famous water parks.

We didn’t mean to go to Wild Wadi yesterday at all. We were simply driving past at about 5pm, on the way to the beach. The children wouldn’t even have noticed, but suddenly my DH came out with:

“We could go to Wild Wadi?”

“Isn’t it a bit late?”

No such luck. It was late-night opening day. A couple of coupons were located in the Entertainer book, and all of a sudden, my plans for a lazy sunset on the beach mutated into a high-energy, wet, extremely splashy and tumultuous time on rides such as the Burj Surj, the Jumeriah Sceirah and Tantrum Alley (named after my overtired children on the way home, I think).

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Brave rider shown not the blogger

Located right next to the Burj Al Arab, the great thing about Wild Wadi is there’s something for everyone: a huge wave pool with lifejackets for little ones; surfing simulators; family rides; downhill free-fall slides; and rides in which you get blasted upwards so you don’t even have to climb the stairs.

Unlike when we visited a few years ago, Son1 was now old enough, tall enough and brave enough to lead DH and I (separately, because one of us always had to stay with Son2) on all sorts of hair-raising, daredevil watery adventures.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I’d ask, hastily trying to take in the stunning view of the white, sail-like Burj set against a pinky-purple sky stretching over the Gulf’s distant horizon. “Yes, c’mon Mum,” he’d reply, with a thrill-seeking glint in his eye.

As a grand finale, we found ourselves on a gravity-defying, aquatic rollercoaster, being rocketed upwards by water jets to a small, ‘we’re not finished with you yet’ holding pool. From here, there were two options: the less-scary way down, and an ominous-looking, churning tunnel of doom.

I started paddling us furiously away from the black hole towards the gentler shoot, when a lifeguard grabbed our double-ringed inflatable. “Sorry,” she grinned, “You can’t go down that in a double.”

“Enjoy!” she called out mercilessly, pushing us into the ‘intense-thrill-factor’ tube and heralding the start of an insane blur of speed, in the pitch back, through watery twists and turns that rearranged my innards on the way down.

Our verdict: an absolute blast. Can’t wait to go again.

Fishy pedicure: I didn’t have time to do this, but there’s also a fish spa, where toothless Garra Ruffa nibblers turn your tootsies into fish food. Said to be slightly ticklish at first, these renowned flesh-eating fish exfoliate your feet by removing the dead skin cells. There’s an extra charge to submerge your lower legs and feet in the tank, but I’ll be giving this micro massage a go next time too!

Fishy pedicure: I didn’t have time to do this, but there’s also a fish spa, where toothless Garra Ruffa nibblers turn your tootsies into fish food. Said to be slightly ticklish at first, these renowned flesh-eating fish exfoliate your feet by removing the dead skin cells. There’s an extra charge to submerge your lower legs and feet in the tank, but I’ll be giving this micro massage a go next time too!

Bouncing back from expat-no-return

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You might remember that a few months ago, I was attending job interviews. I’d reached a point of expat-no-return, in which, to be brutally honest, playdates were beginning to bore me senseless and the freelance work I’d been doing for a couple of years had hit a dry patch.

Is this it, I thought? Have I really sacrificed my former career in glossy magazines to spend my days wiping bums, noses and tears, making boiled eggs with soldiers and listening to my boys talk about their willies non-stop.

In a grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side moment, I decided I needed a full-time job. With colleagues, interesting projects and (remember this) a salary. My next lightbulb moment came during one of my interviews, while sitting in what can only be described as the office’s broom cupboard.

“The hours are 9-6, and we work six days a week. Saturday to Thursday,” the Turkish interviewer with a dark floppy fringe told me, looking at me intently as my eyes darted to the floor in search of a trapdoor.

Kids, shhh! (I need earplugs, don't I?)

Kids, shhh! (I need earplugs, don’t I?)

“And it’s all office based.” Which surprised me somewhat as to get to the broom cupboard, we’d practically had to climb over at least a dozen workers crammed into a space no bigger than my kitchen.

Armed with the knowledge that publishing sweat shops packed to the rafters and operating on a six-day week do exist, I gave up the job search.

And decided to go it alone with my own little venture (big plug here).

It was fairly quiet to begin with, but then, just like buses, three jobs came along at once. And, all of a sudden, my little dipping-of-the-toe in the shallow end of the mumpreneur pool turned into a thrashing, front-crawl Channel swim, against the tide.

But, complaining I’m not. The mix of office work, work from home and playdates is suiting me nicely, despite being totally run off my feet at the moment.

The only thing is, during my days working at home, I’ve noticed that the boys have moved on from talking about their willies. And have, instead, started photographing their bum cheeks and front bits with my iPad.

Lord, help me.

Broken elevators: A tall order

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Riding elevators cheek by jowl with co-workers is a fact of life when you live in a city containing not just the world’s tallest tower, but, at last count, 448 smaller skyscrapers and 909 high-rises.

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Glinting in the hazy sunshine, Dubai’s skyline rises from the desert like a mirage

The most space-agey elevator ride is of course the minute-long high-speed ascent through 124 floors to the Burj Khalifa’s viewing platform. While standing in the futuristic, darkened elevator, you at first don’t even realise you’re moving – until you notice the floor numbers rapidly rising and your ears popping.

Being propelled upwards at the lightening speed of 10 metres a second is quite a ride. Though, I must say, I’m very thankful I wasn’t in this elevator when it broke with a loud boom in 2010, stranding a group of terrified tourists 124 floors above the ground for almost an hour.

The 24-storey building where I work is served by just two elevators going all the way to the top, and during peak ride times, the office workers squish themselves in like suited sardines in a tin.

On the upside, our lifts now have ‘elevision’ – TV monitors that, though mainly screening advertising and scrolling tickertape news headlines, at least provide a welcome distraction as we all huddle together.

You’re wondering where this blog post is going, aren’t you? Bear with me.

Today, I vowed I’d never moan about our elevators again – because at least they work.

Wealthy homeowners living in penthouse flats on the 97th floor of Dubai’s Princess Tower – the world’s tallest residential skyscraper – are having to climb up more than 1,300ft of steps after all eight lifts in the building broke down last week.

I had to chuckle (okay, belly laugh), because that’s the equivalent of walking one-third of the way up Scotland’s Ben Nevis.

Residents, some of whom paid £2 million-plus for their flats, were told today that a solitary ‘service elevator’ is available for ‘limited’ trips to the 50th floor – but anyone living above that level would still have to walk the rest of the way.

Bet they can’t wait for those elevator parts to arrive from Finland.

Read the full story here.

Silent Sunday: Cool cuts

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I’ve tried all sorts of things to persuade my sons to have a haircut with minimal fuss. There was the trendy toy store in the UK where they cut kids’ hair in front of a fish tank (my boys frightened the fish), and more recently, the pirate-themed salon playing DVDs on a continual loop (you have to pay with a Fun City power card, big faff really). Finally, I’ve found the solution:

Located in Dubai’s Motor City, this salon is totally geared up for car-mad little boys.

Located in Dubai’s Motor City, this salon is totally geared up for car-mad little boys.