Category Archives: Dubai

The school holiday whammy

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That’s it: in my next life, I’m coming back as an expat child.

They get soooo many holidays. I mean, it is actually a bit ridiculous. My boys went back to school after two long months of summer holiday at the very end of August. They were in school for two weeks. TWO WEEKS. Then the government called Eid, and turned it into a week-long holiday.

For those who don’t live here, the UAE has a tendency to call holidays just when long-suffering mums really don’t want them. Case in point: the Expo win. Fireworks would have sufficed, but no. School (but not work) was cancelled as part of the celebrations. Helpful? Not.

Then there was the time it looked like it might rain, and the schools were closed. The day became known as Spit-mageddon:

Look at all this rain! Good job the kids were safe at home

Look at all this rain! Good job the kids were safe at home

This last week of holiday has felt like an extension of summer. Did those two weeks of school even happen? Or were they just a murky dream? A hallucinatory period of time and space in which to get things done. I might be being rather ungrateful for this holiday, but really we could have done without it – it’s still too hot to do anything outdoors; our new, half-built compound doesn’t have a pool; my oldest is spending too long on his computer; and I’m at that stage with my chatterbox youngest where I can see his mouth moving but can’t really hear what he’s saying and can do nothing but nod at whatever his moving lips are trying to assault me with.

I’m so ready for them to get back to school properly.

But … guess what? My youngest is back in school for two weeks, then there’s another week off for half-term.

Facepalm.

The Dubai Fountain (in our bathrooms)

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So, I mentioned the other day that there are some maintenance issues with the villas we’ve moved into. Happens all over Dubai with new builds – concrete gets poured down drains and sets; pipes aren’t properly connected, that kind of thing.

Our biggest problem has been the water supply; the water upstairs spurts out the taps in fits and starts, surges like a fountain, then slows to a trickle before drying up completely – just as you’re standing naked in the shower, semi-blind with shampoo stinging your eyes and soap lathered all over you. Stop laughing at the back!

I’ve called maintenance numerous times, and days ago gave up hope that the man with a mysterious blue watering-can might fix the problem.

Then on Friday, a breakthrough. After telling maintenance till I was blue in the face that I hadn’t used a drop of water for two hours (as they’d requested), a slow realisation dawns on his face.

“Ma’am, big leak,” says the handy man. His eyebrows snap together and he spreads his arms wide to indicate the size of the problem.

Right, now we’re getting somewhere, I think. Hallelujah!

We walk round to the other side of the pump room, and he stops still, staring. “You must move all these bricks. I work on this wall…”

bricks

You’ve got to be kidding? I think.

The serious look on his face suggests he isn’t, and I imagine the Dewa bill in horror.

“Erm, I don’t think I can move them all myself,” I say (it’s still over a hundred degrees outside, and even without any exertion, it’s exhausting being outdoors).

Blank stare.

“Where’s boss?” he asks.

“If you mean my husband, he’s away,” I say. I want to say that that’s what our husbands do – they fly away and leave us to deal with @*@$ like this, because by now – faced with the mountain of bricks, the heat and intermittent water  – I’m feeling really mean-spirited, even though I know my dear DH has done everything he possibly can to make this a smooth move.

We agree I can’t move the bricks, and he’ll come back tomorrow after I’ve got our gardeners back to shift them. (‘How to Train Your Gardeners’ – it’s coming soon, to Dubai cinemas!)

The next day, a small army of maintenance men show up. They dig and drill, and it feels like the mechanical whine is going off in my head, and then they beckon us round looking triumphant. “Fixed,” says the head man with a megawatt smile, pointing at a pipe under ground.

They turn the water back on.

WHOOSH! The pipe promptly bursts and the men all start shouting at each other.

It’s now two days later, still not fixed, and I think they’re all on Eid holiday.

This too shall pass, right? Like a kidney stone. But it will pass.

Lost and confused

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Moving house in any country comes with challenges, but after two international relocations, I thought a move within Dubai to Meydan South couldn’t be too hard.

Not so.

I’ve spent the past two weeks feeling quite lost, and that’s just in the house.

Not only can I not find anything, but we’ve switched rooms around and it took me about a week to get used to the new layout. I’d walk into a room, stand rooted to the spot for a few seconds, realise what I was seeing didn’t make sense, then back out to reposition myself on the landing.

Meydan South

Cookie cutter: I need a sat-nav in the compound

Then, I step outside the villa, and feel as though I’m in a maze. The houses are identikit copies of each other, and the streets very similar – do I turn left or right out of our house to get to the roundabout that leads to the road that takes you to the exit? The compound is like a rabbit warren and I swear you could get lost in here forever.

I’ve struggled! I’m a creature of habit, especially on the roads, and so it was with some trepidation that I set off in the car to the supermarket for the first time. My pulse a little faster than usual, I made it there ok; I marvelled at the American-style, ample parking spaces; my eyes grew wide as I walked the aisles (it’s like a Super Spinneys!), then I got hopelessly, utterly lost on the way home.

There were no signs! I can just imagine the Roads & Transport Authority’s meeting. “Should we put a sign for the highway up? Tell drivers how to get onto the main artery from Silicon Oasis to Dubai?”

A cracking great laugh. “What would we want to do that for?”

But the great benefit of moving is the decluttering opportunity it presents. I’ve had Take My Junk out twice; we have a store room you can walk into; and the house actually feels lighter and less weighed down by seven years’ worth of kid paraphernalia. That, in itself, has made it all worthwhile.

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000038_00064]If you enjoy my blog, please consider buying my short e-book: Cupcakes & Heels – I don’t know how she does it abroad. Download it for 99p here. THANK YOU!

Moving to Meydan: The new house rollercoaster

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“So what do you think?” I asked, gazing at the lounge walls in our empty new villa. The smell of fresh paint tickled my nostrils as I waited for DH’s response.

I’d gone for three different colours (green, charcoal and beige; it’s a large room!) – a sort of tricolour effect, and he was either going to love it or hate it.

“Very nice.” DH’s eyes flickered from wall to wall. “Three colours … I see.”

So I gave him the spiel I always give him in these situations, which I’d learnt from my mother-in-law: “If you have a creative wife, you just have to say THANK GOD and let her get on with it!” I smiled and hustled him upstairs to see his office, where we’d settled on just two ‘manly’ colours.

Not an accurate depiction of the blogger (I paid a nice man to paint)

Not an accurate depiction of the blogger (I paid a nice man to paint)

I walked back into the spacious living room with its views of the park area outside, and felt far more positive about moving than I did when we got the eviction email four months ago. Something about the blank canvas around me made me feel calmer and more in control of my life than I’d felt in weeks. Left alone in our quiet, cloud-like space, I soaked up the peacefulness.

We moved in over the next two hot and sweaty days. Once all the bulky items had bumped their way into position, a procession of smaller boxes marched in, until finally the packers left and we closed the door. As the last truck rolled away, I stood in the living room and surveyed the now cluttered space. I’d started feeling a little deflated. The dusty scent of cardboard had replaced the smell of fresh paint. There were piles of boxes stacked against the walls, and instead of straight, linear lines and open space, there was mess and bubble wrap strewn around (the boys wanted to keep it to pop).

The day was fading to dusk and I flicked the light switches by the door. So many light switches. It would take days to learn what they all did. I padded around – my flip-flops slapping against the floor – and did some more unpacking, sorting, moving things around, trying to bring some order to the chaos.

The next day I loved the house again, then the day after I fell out with it again. A strange smell was emanating from the bathrooms, and aware of stories from fellow residents about pipes not being connected, things falling off walls, water leaks and even electrical fires, I made our first call (of many) to maintenance.

Let’s just say I’ve got to know maintenance pretty well since then. Fair’s fair, they’re fixing things fast, although the blank stare you get when you’re trying to make yourself understood – followed by the nod which confirms you’re talking at cross purposes – just kills me!

Once our taps, which are currently like mini dancing Dubai fountains with varying water pressures, surges and stoppages, are fixed, I think we’re nearly there …

My verdict: I love the house!

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000038_00064]If you enjoy my blog, please consider buying my short e-book: Cupcakes & Heels – I don’t know how she does it abroad. Download it for 99p here. THANK YOU!

Silent Sunday: Turn off that phone! (actually don’t)

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Petrol stations in Dubai are busy places with lots going on, and while you’re waiting for your fill-up, you might just notice these signs: two clearly telling us to switch off our phones. But, wait, then they want us to whip it out to pay for the fuel … erm?

Dubai gas station phone sign

Gardener Scissorhands: Part II

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If you’ve been following my blog, you might remember the day our gardeners, using only very rudimentary tools, managed to bludgeon a water pipe while toppling our Damas trees.

After four hours with no water, and maintenance refusing to come (because “it’s the gardeners’ fault”), the boss garden man announced with a megawatt grin: “It’s fixed!”

Funnily, his head scarf had disappeared.

Layan Community - gardens destroyed

A sad day for our garden at Layan Community

But actually I have a big soft spot for our gardeners. They might have very little English and even less gardening knowledge, but they’re nice to my children, and kept our garden not just alive but manicured in extreme temperatures for seven long summers.

During the hot months, they toil away with beads of sweat rolling down their foreheads, doing much of the work with their hands, literally scrabbling around in the dirt with their fingers to plant flowers.

As well as plying them with water and biscuits, I’ve run out to offer them a trowel before (you’d think their company would provide one!), and when we asked them to prune some tall trees, we discovered their employer doesn’t equip them with a ladder either.

Said gardeners now have their last job to do at our old house – tearing the garden down (why? Click here), and it was a sad day today when I saw all our plants and trees chopped up. The dying grass, killed by the sun and broken irrigation, was tinged with brown and looked like the burnt-out end of a cigarette.

Returned to sand as no-one wants to pay for watering

Returned to sand as no-one wants to pay for watering

A lone palm tree stood sentinel against the clear blue sky, with a trough dug all around it, ready for the massive tree to be pulled up (the gardeners are trying to steal it to sell, but we’re turning a blind eye). We popped into the empty house, where the AC was still running, and our crew of men were all fast asleep on the hard floor. We pushed the door shut quietly – it’s inhumane to expect anyone to work outdoors in the stifling heat of the midday sun.

Tomorrow, they should (hopefully!) show up at our new house to start the whole process again; right now, the small yard is a sand pit, and the sand gets everywhere, so I’m really looking forward to this place greening up. Especially as the compound’s landscapers also appear to have chop-tastic tendencies and have pruned the bushy Desert Grass out the back to within two inches of its life.

Gotta love Dubai gardeners and their scissorhands – but such a pity we’ve been forced to destroy our much-loved gardens at Layan Community.

If you like my blog, please do consider buying my short e-book: Cupcakes & Heels – I don’t know how she does it abroad. Download it for 99p here. THANK YOU!

Throwback Thursday: Organised Mum’s fait accompli

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I was late getting organised for school this year for various reasons, and after patting myself on the back on the first day for delivering both children to their classrooms (with lunch boxes, water bottles, labelled clothing, shiny new shoes, hats, pencil cases and so on), it dawned on me that the trouble with back-to-school is you then have to do it all over again for another 188 days.

As I dwelled on this while resting my head on my desk, I remembered a character I wrote about several years ago: Organised Mum. Some of you will know her. She’s a yummy mummy-of-three-hen-pecked-children extraordinaire.

Organised Mum breezes through back-to-school week, while my uniform shopping trip screeches to a halt due to the out-of-stock school ties

Organised Mum breezes through back-to-school week, while my uniform shopping trip screeches to a halt due to the out-of-stock school ties

You meet her at the uniform shop – except she’s not there to buy uniforms. She bought those in June, long before the store ran out of book bags and PE shirts. She’s there to buy a new wall planner, because last year’s didn’t have enough space for all their extra curricula activities.

“Are you ready for school?” she trills, with the smug air of someone who could quite easily spend this week by the pool. “Olivia can’t wait for school to start, can you darling?”

You see, Organised Mum has every reason to gloat, because she spent her entire summer planning for this moment. The Organised family went to the Rockies to climb mountains in July, with two weeks in St Tropez on the way back. But she never took her eye off the start of the new term.

Her children were measured and fitted for shoes on a stop-over in London; haircuts were done at Vidal Sassoon in Mayfair; her maid sewed satin labels on while they were away; and she restocked their stationery supplies with some stylish new lines sold exclusively at a French boutique.

Organised Mum has all the time in the world this week, and it’s beyond her that other mothers might still be buying last-minute uniforms. She finds a wall planner she likes and asks at the till if she can pre-order a diary for 2017. As she discusses typefaces, the working mothers in the line behind her, with approximately 10 minutes to get all their back-to-school supplies and get back to their desks, start silently cursing.

She leaves her details and the queue exhales a sigh of relief as she moves aside, but she’s not finished yet. With Mr Organised, a big cheese in oil pipelines, away in Saudi, she fancies a little more adult interaction and asks what activities we’re signing up for this term.

“We’re doing some extra French tuition,” she says. “The girls practised so hard on holiday. Go on, Trixabelle, say something in French. She sounds so clever when she speaks French. And we’ll be at the swimming trials, of course. Harry was very inspired by the Olympics … You never know!” she tinkles proudly.

“Maybe see you at the pool later,” she calls, as she breezes out the door into the sunshine.

Maybe not, Organised Mum. Some of us still have shopping to do.

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000038_00064]Are you a school mum in Dubai? You might enjoy my short e-book: Cupcakes & Heels – I don’t know how she does it abroad. Download it for 99p here. THANK YOU!

Throwback Tuesday: Underhand school run tips

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Mothers across Dubai are either breathing a huge sigh of relief or sobbing into their hankies this week as they drop their children at school for the start of the new term.

But rather than simply depositing your offspring into the classroom roughly on time, it seems there are plenty of tactics you can use (some of them underhand) if you want to achieve a flawless drop off. Much is doubtless universal, but there are certainly some skills that are specific to Dubai schools.
cartoon-shopaholic
Tips and tricks:

– Pay special attention to your chosen outfit. Currently trending is gym wear, preferably black. Whether or not you actually go straight to the gym from the drop off is entirely irrelevant.

– Make sure you and your children are perfectly laundered. Even the slightest trace of toothpaste, breakfast cereal, chocolate, snot, vom or poo will make itself glaringly apparent at the worst moment.

Creating the illusion of a six-hour workout is a useful skill

Creating the illusion of a six-hour workout is a useful skill

– Although a huge pair of sunglasses will hide a plethora of cosmetic tardiness, make sure your nails are perfect and your hair is pristine.

– Prepare to race other parents from the red light, bully your way round the roundabout and take every opportunity to jump the queue.

– Even if you only drop off one child, make sure you drive your seven-seater SUV right up to the school gates.

– Ignore the car parking attendants and remember to cut up your best friend to get that prime parking spot.

– When alighting from your car, greet your friend with a cheery smile and a wave.

– Do not rush or run. Do not push or drag your child. Irrespective of what is actually happening, glide serenely through the school with a relaxed and happy expression.

– Greet each member of staff and wish them good morning. Train your children to do the same.

– When engaging in small talk with other parents keep to the following subjects: how charming the children are, how much the children are growing, how lovely everyone looks, the weather.

– Never admit to another mother any homework not done, lost library books, tantrums endured either at home or in the car, diarrhoea or head lice.

– Of course, all of the above also applies during pick up – although you must ensure that whatever you wear is entirely different from the outfit you were sporting only a few hours earlier.

– The only possible exception to this rule is you may return in the same gym wear, creating the aura of a potential six-hour work out. Sweat patches, however, are not acceptable.

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000038_00064]Are you a school mum in Dubai? You might enjoy my short e-book: Cupcakes & Heels – I don’t know how she does it abroad. Download it for 99p here. THANK YOU!

Summer is over: Time to remember the day of the week

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The radio silence over the past week was because we were moving house. We couldn’t have picked a better time really – it’s as hot as Hades (see temperature, according to the car, below!) and as humid as a steam room. Needless to say, it was all rather fatiguing, and that was with packers who did an amazing job carting enormous pieces of furniture out of the house in the furnace-like heat.

Is it humid today?

The movers went by the name Delight – and, quite honestly, they lived up to it.

All my back-to-school chores were promptly forgotten during the chaos of moving, and so when we surfaced from the remaining boxes, it was with some trepidation that I turned my thoughts to the fact Son1 was starting a new school in three days’ time, and had NO UNIFORM whatsoever.

Cue: urgent dash to the Meydan Racecourse, where there was a pop-up shop selling the red-and-grey uniforms.

An odd place to sell such items, you might think. All the horses were gone (beating the heat in Europe), and the shop was located there as the under-construction school was still in a rather unfinished state with hoardings all around it and builders hammering away.

Dubai has a habit of pulling these things off, and today, the school opened! (Read: Thank God). Son1, who we’d pulled from a school he loved due to distance, had a great day, to my relief. And I finally got some peace, after two months of holiday.

I think maybe all boy mums will know what I mean when I say that after a prolonged period of noise so loud and jarring it could even rattle the pans on the shelf in the kitchen (think: stampeding around, crashing and yelling and fighting – not all the time, but enough of it to hurt my head!), it’s just so nice to have some space to think.

Enjoy the quiet mums!

Silent Sunday: Fun and games at the roundabout

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They’ve been digging up this traffic circle outside school for some time now. I drove by the other day and saw this sign. I can hardly wait to see what the ‘new and exciting roundabout’ will look like! But then, as my friend L pointed out, it will be exciting. See on the sign, we’re all going to be driving around the roundabout in the other direction. Now that’s sure to make the school run more interesting.

roundabout sign at Arabian Ranches