Category Archives: Dubai

Saudi biking ban overturned

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I posted a couple of days ago about the positive aspects of life in the emirates for females.

I didn’t even mention the ladies nights that take place across the city, to which you can shimmy on down in your highest heels and your sparkliest, skimpiest top and get plied with pink bubbly and more, on the house. Their logic being that where there are gals, the men will follow.

All in all, I think we have it amazingly good here, I really do. Certainly, there’s a lot of misinformed opinion around the world (‘Do they cut your hands off in Dubai?’ has appeared in my blog stats twice this week). However, the truth is the UAE is one of the most liberal countries in the Gulf.

But, as I pointed out, Western women living here will also encounter frustrations. For example:

– While setting up a joint bank account you might find your husband is the only person allowed to create your (your!) pin number

– You might have to get your husband to write a letter of consent to give to your GP before she can prescribe the contraceptive pill and all the health checks that go with it

And, believe me, things like this can make you froth at the mouth (what on earth happens, I wonder, if you don’t have a husband or close male family member? That must really throw ‘em for a loop).

A male relative should be present to provide prompt assistance in case of falls or accidents

A male relative should be present to provide prompt assistance in case of falls or accidents

I’ve come to the conclusion, though, that everything’s relative. Across the border in Saudi Arabia, life for women is quite different. The big news this week is that Saudi women can now legally ride a bike in public – sort of.

On Monday, the kingdom’s Commission for the Promotion of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice reportedly overturned a ruling banning national women from cycling or motorbiking. But there are catches: they can only bike for leisure, not transportation, must wear a full-body abaya and be accompanied by a male relative.

I mean, seriously, let a woman pedal off on a bike and you never know where she’ll end up.

Women’s VIP status in the UAE

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Bear with me, it’s a long one tonight.

Does anyone else get post-holiday fall-out? That natural anticlimax that occurs when you get back and have no plans in the diary, no food in the fridge and two more weeks of school holidays to fill.

Today, though – despite nursing a chocolate hangover – I woke up with renewed vigour and a masterplan. My offspring were going to be forced outside into the fresh air for some compulsory beach time (you’d be surprised, but when you live so close to the sea, they don’t always want to go to the beach).

We were meeting friends at the Dubai Ladies Club, which is set on the Gulf coast, on a particularly nice stretch of white sand, and offers facilities such as its own private, ladies-only gym, spa, swimming pools and arts centre.

The view. Readers in the frigid UK: Sorry. You can always get on a plane

The view. Readers in the frigid UK: Sorry (truly). You can always get on a plane

Not only are men excluded from the club, but it’s run by women – even the lifeguards are female, and a warning sign is fixed into the ground outside if maintenance men are at work.

This might sound unusual to Westerners, and certainly when I first arrived in the UAE, I found it rather odd that there are certain days when men aren’t allowed in the park. (At the play-park by our first villa, the rule at the time was that men – yes, dads – weren’t permitted to enter during daylight hours from Sunday to Thursday.)

I’ve lost count of the number of times my husband and I have arrived at a park with the children to find it’s the weekly ladies’ day, giving DH a water-tight excuse to sneak off for a shawarma sandwich and a coffee while I schlepp inside to chase two hyperactive kiddos. (This isn’t a problem if your DH is only around on the weekend – mine has an erratic schedule).

A common sight in Dubai (best to check before you set out)

A common sight in Dubai (best to check before you set out)

Our second villa was in a compound where the facilities were segregated. There was a women-only indoor pool and gym, and next door an identical set-up for the men. While I found this a little strange and annoying at first, I must say I quickly got used to it.

Now I take it for granted that all over the UAE, women – who are highly revered as the carriers of life and backbone of society – are given certain advantages. Yes, there are frustrations that’ll make you spit, but there are women-only queues (which are much shorter), ‘pink’ taxis with lady drivers, and Metro carriages exclusively for women and children.

One careful lady owner

A pink taxi: One careful lady owner

I’m not sure if this project ever came to fruition after the economic crash, but back in the heady heights of 2008, we were told the world’s first-ever tower dedicated to businesswomen was to be built in Dubai. Only women would be allowed to own office space. Men could work in the building, but females would be “provided with special facilities such as entrances, elevators and car parks”.

(How hilarious, I thought, imagining the poor men having to walk to work, enter through the backdoor or window, and climb 10 flights of stairs).

man climbing stairs

But I digress – back to the Ladies Club. As we drove up, there was heavy traffic outside, trying to get to the next-door, hugely popular Jumeriah Beach Park, where it was – you’ve guessed it – ladies’ day. Between these two Dubai landmarks, this meant there was a mile-and-a-half of pristine beach dedicated to the fairer sex today.

Entrance to the Ladies Club is pricey if you’re not a member, and unfortunately this doesn’t mean the sand is gold-dust and the chips cut from diamonds. However, it is a really ambient place to relax with the children and the beach is great. (Any pilot’s wives reading this can enter for free using their EPC card).

Today, though, there was a little bit of tension – a convergence of conflicting interests, which I was unwittingly alerted to by this sign by the door:

Beware!

What a shocker: Beware!

I didn’t think anything of it (it was maintenance day), but for Muslim women who cover and think they’re visiting somewhere where only women will see them in their swimwear, the presence of men, and especially labourers, can be very off-putting.

Several kept their abayas on, only taking their cloaks off when the men weren’t around, and a few complained. “How much longer will these men be here for?” demanded one. “Five minutes? Ten minutes?”

I watched this cultural difference closely out of fascination – and a little later, understood it more fully. Three men in overalls walked past the pool, one carrying a ladder, and I couldn’t help noticing their heads turn. Their eyes taking in the scenery, their gaze resting on the aquamarine pool and sun loungers.

You’d think they’d have been instructed to not stare, but finding themselves working in a ladies’ club after months of living in men-only camps, I should imagine it was impossible not to.

Male-female dos and don’ts

– Men traditionally stand up when women enter a room and this still applies to many workplaces and homes

– It is frowned upon for a man to approach a woman in a public place

– Whereas in the West, a man would greet a woman with a handshake, in Dubai this is a big no

– If a male asks an Arab man about his wife or female members of his family, it can be misunderstood

Silent Sunday: Camelicious Easter

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I came across a unique twist on an Easter tradition today. Foil-covered chocolate Easter bunnies can move over. Are they made from bunny milk? Nope, of course not. These gold-wrapped chocolate delicacies are manufactured from genuine camel milk.

A Dubai-based camel farm – owned by Camelicious and the home to an army of 3,000 camels – generates the milk for these high-end treats. Camel milk is lower in fat and contains five times the vitamin C of cow's milk.

Classy, no? A Dubai-based camel farm – owned by Camelicious and the home to an army of 3,000 camels – generates the milk for these high-end treats. Camel milk is lower in fat and contains five times the vitamin C of cow’s milk.

Easter Sunday might be a normal working day in the UAE, but there are Easter activities going on all over the emirate, and tonnes of eggs for sale. I also rather liked this image of a golden egg, reflecting Dubai’s Atlantis hotel. Here’s hoping you’re having a great Easter weekend!

Easter Sunday might be a normal working day in the UAE, but there are Easter activities going on all over the emirate, and tonnes of eggs for sale. I also rather liked this image of a golden egg, reflecting Dubai’s Atlantis hotel. Here’s hoping you’re having a great Easter weekend!

When the housemaid’s away

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It was a day I wasn’t especially looking forward to: our live-in helper and nanny Catherine the Great was leaving on a well-deserved vacation.

Not for the first time – she returns to the Philippines for a month each year, but usually this is while we’re gone over the summer. This year, she’s going twice because there’s a special occasion at home she really wanted to attend in March.

In other words, it’s the only time in four years she’s left us [hangs her head in shame] to our own devices in Dubai, with one-and-a-half jobs and the children to juggle. [Gasps]

I could tell she was nervous. She had a long journey ahead to Manila, albeit in business class, and a 10-hour coach ride to her village.

pic1We talked about what to wear on the plane, to be wary of fellow, drunken passengers (my main advice was to travel semi-smart – no flip-flops, no shorts – and she took this to heart, looking glam as she left). We discussed how I could contact her. Then I realised what it was she was actually nervous about.

She looked at me sagely: “Will you be okay Madame? With the two boys? All by yourself.”

The worry in her eyes was undisguisable. OMG, I thought, she thinks I won’t cope. She’s sure the household will fall to rack and ruin with me in charge.

“Of course!” I replied, with a squeaky, too-high voice. “We’ll be absolutely fine. But you will come back, won’t you?” I asked with a nervous laugh.

She assured me she would (PHEW!) and I told her to go upstairs and help herself to as many of the baby toys in the cupboard as she could fit in her suitcase.

philippinesHer family lives on a rice farm in an impoverished part of the Philippines. They don’t enjoy all the trappings that we do in the West and anything we can send over really helps. There’s probably a whole island wearing my old clothes from Gap and Monsoon; and much of our baby stuff has already been shipped to her sister, who recently gave birth.

We hauled her suitcases – practically splitting at the seams – to the door and called a taxi. I’d bribed BB and LB with sweets to be extra-nice in the hope she might miss them (one was, the other wasn’t, the little minx) and then it was time: to let.go.

With a swish of her long, black glossy hair, and one last worried glance back, she was gone.

And suddenly I was staring down the barrel of no childcare and a job to hold down for the next couple of weeks. The silence of the abyss she left behind would have been deafening if it wasn’t for the fact I had to put a kicking-and-screaming BB in time-out for bidding Catherine goodbye while STILL on his DS machine – after which he RAN AWAY.

*Good* start.

pic2But, and I know you can’t wait to hear how it’s going, things have gotten a lot better. Day one, to my amazement, was remarkably smooth, even quite blissful. We reveled in the independence, loved having the house to ourselves. I moved things around in the kitchen; reinstated control and was practically doing pirouettes around the broom.

“Wow,” I thought. “This isn’t so bad.”

Fast-forward nearly a week, and the novelty has begun to pall, though to be honest – other than not finishing all my chores until 10pm – I think DH might have noticed her absence more than me. I’m finishing a work contract, so he had to take vacation (not sure he’d exactly call it that) and has been holding the fort at home; yesterday accumulating neighbourhood children as the day went on like a Pied Piper of Dubai.

Help with childcare and chores aside, I genuinely miss her – she’s a true gem, a gentle, kind and sweet-natured person and an adult companion in the house with oodles more patience than me.

I REALLY hope she comes back.

Now, where did she say the iron was kept?

Schmaltz alert: I love you all the way to…

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Several months before BB was born, our realtor in the States gave me a gift: the children’s book Guess How Much I Love You.

It was the first story I read to BB and quickly became part of our nightly ritual – a.k.a., my desperate attempts to get him to go to sleep.

How did we go from this at bedtime to a sneaky go at Minecraft under the covers?

How did we go from this at bedtime to a sneaky game of Minecraft under the covers?

The book still holds a special place in my heart because, just as Little Nutbrown Hare thinks he’s found a way to measure the boundaries of love, the children and I like to fondly one-up each other at bedtime.

“I love you all the way to the moon,” BB will say.

“I love you all the way to Pluto and back,” I’ll respond.

And so on, until we find ourselves doing circles round the Universe.

Recently, though, there’s been an uninvited guest at bedtime: the iPad. BB has managed to sneak it up to his top bunk a few times now to play games under the covers (and with a BYOD – Bring Your Own Device – programme at school, it won’t be long until it finds its way into his school bag too).

My 4yo is fast following in BB’s electronic footsteps, and took our little game to a whole new dimension tonight.

“I love you Mummy,” he called out in the dark. “I love you all the way,” he said, pausing for a second to think how to outdo me…“all the way to the highest level.”

Silent Sunday: The fate of the QE2

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Ever wondered what happened to the QE2? Here she is, seen from a sightseeing seaplane ride we did a little while ago. She’s been moored at Dubai’s Port Rashid since November 2008. Plans to turn the ocean liner into a floating hotel docked beside the Palm Jumeirah unfortunately never came to fruition, but despite sitting idle for more than four years, she has apparently been well looked after by a 38-strong crew.

Departing Dubai’s waters: Her future has been the subject of intense speculation, but it now looks like the world-famous ocean liner is to set sail again – to Asia. A deal has been struck to refit the ship as a 500-room hotel, docked at a port in China.

Departing Dubai’s waters: Her future has been the subject of intense speculation, but it now looks like the world-famous ocean liner is to set sail again – to Asia. A deal has been struck to refit the ship as a 500-room hotel, docked at a port in China.

“C’mon! MOVE!”

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A little problem developed this week – just of the frustrating variety, so nothing serious, but I think we’ve ALL been there.

It started on Mother’s Day. Sunday is a school/work day for us and it began like any other, with the addition of my parents staying.

I’d parked the car to drop LB at school, and that’s when it hit me between the eyes: A Mother’s Day special.

head-strong someecards“I’m not getting out,” LB huffed.

“Oh yes you are,” I replied.

“Oh no I’m not!” “Yes you are”; “No”; “YES” [possibly said with a hiss]. Back and forth we went, like a game of ping-pong.

I won this battle, but it was just the prelude. He refused to walk through the mosque (strange phobia about only taking this short-cut if no-one else is there), then stopped at the edge of the sizeable, grassy field we have to cross to reach the right side of the school.

He crossed his little arms, and planted his feet firmly in the grass: “Too far. NOT walking.”

And, believe me, I tried everything. I talked nicely. I got cross. I gave him an evil look (apologies: way too early, knackered, lost the will to parent). I walked all the way across the field myself, thinking he’d follow. He didn’t.

After being locked in Round 2 for five minutes or so, and getting late by now, another mum, who happened to also be a teacher, came to the rescue and distracted the inner monster LB enough to allow me to drag – yes, drag – him to his classroom.

The next day was of course groundhog day (as was the next day). But, happily, this morning, I found the solution! And it was nothing more than parking next to the big yellow school buses, which not only meant a slightly shorter walk but also made it fun – for the four-year-old, at least.

Who knew? That, as a parent, you’d have to conjure up fun and games at 7.45 in the morning. Talk about absolutely.blimin.clueless!

The route he has to walk: I know his legs are short, but seriously, it can't be more than 250m

The route we walk: I know his legs are short, but seriously, it can’t be more than 250m

Dubai Miracle Garden

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I’d seen the sign in the corner of my eye while driving home from work last week: Dubai Miracle Garden. Hmm, I’d thought, I wonder what on earth THAT is?

You spot signposts laden with superlatives all the time in Dubai. On the last stretch of main road on my way home, you’re directed to an incongruous-sounding place known as Endurance City, and as you wind through the desert to our compound there’s a mysterious sign for somewhere called Lifestyle City – pointing, quite literally, to the barren middle of nowhere.

Judging by all the construction activity, I presume this ‘city’ of gym-loving, organically self-sufficient lifestyle disciples will soon rise from the sand, like the rest of Dubai.

The promise of a ‘miracle garden’, however, conjured up fleeting images of a children’s crystal garden chemistry experiment that were promptly erased from my mind in my rush to get home.

Puts my row of bougainvillea to shame

Puts my row of bougainvillea to shame

Then, the garden, which has sprouted just five minutes from our house, was featured on one of my favourite blogs. “By amazing garden, I don’t mean that Fatima round the corner has planted some new geraniums,” the author promised. She was talking about a site that claims to be “the most beautiful and biggest natural flower garden in the world.”

We were intrigued enough to pay the garden a visit this morning. My parents are staying and long-time readers will know my mum’s a gardener – I’d go so far as to say she’s a horticulturalist. “It won’t be like England, Mum,” I warned. “But this could be interesting.” And who wants to see the Burj when you’ve seen it hundreds of times already.

Opened on Valentine’s Day, Dubai Miracle Garden contains an incredible 45 million flowers, growing on land that was previously parched desert. The 72,000-square-metre site is a mass of colour, with traditional flowerbeds and topiary-style displays fashioned into hearts, pyramids, maypoles, igloos, birds and stars. In true UAE-style, there are cars with petunias and marigolds growing out of them, as well as a huge falcon covered in red and white blooms.

I’ve quite honestly never witnessed anything quite like it. If you’ve been to the UAE, you’ll have seen the pretty roadside displays of flowers that adorn the city’s junctions and roundabouts – the Miracle Garden takes these to a new and grandiose level, with an amusing twist.

Female Emirati students on a field trip

Female Emirati students on a field trip

Against a backdrop of arid desert, cranes and the replica space shuttle and rollercoaster that tower over Motor City, it’s a brilliant and expansive kaleidoscope of colour that brightens up the dusty, half-developed, suburban landscape no end.

So what did my green-fingered mother make of this explosion of flowers in the desert?

“Unique,” my mum ventured, “but not exactly natural,” she added, referring to the fact that not one flower is native to the region.

It takes a mind-boggling amount of water to establish a desert oasis like this – and keeping it alive in hostile conditions requires huge quantities every day. It’s made possible, the developer says, “through judicious re-use of waste water, through drip irrigation.”

But despite the lack of native plants more suited to the climate, we thoroughly enjoyed strolling around the Miracle Garden and walking under pergolas decorated with garlands of flowers. With plans to add retail outlets, restaurants and shops, and to change the floral displays each season, I’ve a feeling we’ll be back the next time my parents stay.

For further information, please visit the garden’s website.

Whatever you do, don't pick the flowers - there are security guards who appear to jump out from behind the petunias with whistles

Whatever you do, don’t pick the flowers – there are security guards who appear to jump out from behind the petunias with whistles

While the word 'natural' raised an eyebrow, it was certainly real enough to give me hay fever

While the word ‘natural’ raised an eyebrow, it was real enough to give me hay fever

Silent Sunday: Humps ahead

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The camel – an iconic symbol of Emirati culture and a topic of conversation among our neighbours this weekend. On Friday, four kamikaze camels were spotted meandering along the major highway that runs past our compound – giving a new meaning to the phrase ‘speed bumps’. Drivers beware!

At least this one (which I photographed at Bab Al Shams) isn't going anywhere fast...

At least this one (which I photographed at Bab Al Shams) isn’t going anywhere fast…

A walk down bad-fashion memory lane

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You’re going to think I’m a bit of a raver (which I’m not really), but at the weekend I went to my second concert in just over a week – this time, rewinding back yet another decade, all the way to the ’80s.

If you don’t remember the ’80s – and plenty of the girls at work claim not to (“It’s not my era,” said one PA, clearly born in about 1992) – it was a time when we thought stone-washed jeans, leg warmers, big hair and shoulder pads were seriously cool. I’m sure I recall sitting in the bath with my drainpipe jeans on, convinced this would shrink them even more.

Ah, remember the look? The pink-mesh leggings, pearl beads and fingerless gloves. Or best forgotten?

Ah, remember the look? The pink-mesh leggings, pearl beads and fingerless gloves. Or best forgotten?

But, among my friends and work colleagues, there are also those who, like me, remember the decade very well – and so we found ourselves hunting around online for discounted tickets to the ’80s concert (at 295dhs – £53 – a pop for the ‘pleb pit’, and 495dhs – £89 – for the golden circle, entrance wasn’t cheap).

After The Stone Roses the week before, it was a hard act to follow. The Stone Roses were proper Manchester cool, and you just couldn’t help but rock out under the stars. The 80s festival – featuring T’Pau, Heaven 17, ABC, Howard Jones and, ahem, Rick Astley – had a totally different, retro feel and, yes, there were people dressed up, in pink wigs and bad clothes.

DH dropped me off (flying later that night gave him a good excuse), and feeling a bit like the time traveller’s wife, I prepared myself to make the leap from the indie-filled ‘90s to the naff ‘80s.

I wasn’t disappointed. Years ago, I went to see T’Pau at Hammersmith arena and Carol Decker came on, coughed, and croaked: “I’ve got laryngitis, I can’t sing!’ We were all left in stunned silence as she ran off the stage and the lights came on (she did reschedule). This time around, she was a sweetheart, with a powerful voice that hit the high notes.

“Who lives in Dubai and who’s on holiday?” the flame-haired singer asked the audience (I swear she could pass for Sarah Ferguson). The response overwhelmingly suggested we were a bunch of (40-something) expats on the razzle. “No point plugging my UK dates then,” she conceded, before launching into China in Your Hand.

But the highlights for me – together with the dodgy lyrics on the ‘Lucky Voice’ karaoke we had to do – were Heaven 17’s rendition of Temptation and synth-pop trailblazer Howard Jones. In command of the keyboards (with an Apple Mac laptop perched on top, in case you’d forgotten what decade we were actually in), his songs really resonated.

So I did take a photo of Rick, before slinking out to the taxi tank

So I did take a photo of Rick, before slinking out to the taxi rank. “Give me a wiggle to remember on the plane home,” he said, cheekily. Moi?!!

I have to admit, I was never a Rick Astley fan, and couldn’t quite understand why everyone was so excited when he came on stage, with the words: “Get down, housewives!” I actually had to leave at this point, as once again DH was departing just after midnight, but I could see that you’d be forgiven for thinking he was singing directly at you.

And that, I realised, is the beauty of seeing bands in Dubai. It’s all on a much smaller-scale than in the UK or US, and so you feel very close to the stage and the acts themselves. Better still, you might even find yourself standing next to your favourite singer.

At The Stone Roses, Liam Gallagher, of Beady Eye, and Chris Martin, from Cold Play, were watching. A star-struck friend, just inches away from their VIP box, told me people were trying to take photos, and the singers’ kids helped by grabbing fans’ phones and taking close-ups of their dads.

Beat that, London’s O2 Arena, for letting the audience get up close and personal with super-star rockers. And as for the Dubai Rewind, if the number of teased-out mullets and muffin tops squeezed into spandex mini skirts was anything to go by, the night was a huge – and hilarious – success.