Category Archives: Expat

The big chill

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It’s all relative, I know, but it really is quite chilly in the desert right now. And for the few weeks each year that this happens (Winter light, as I call it), it’s as though my children think we’re living in Alaska.

“I’m cold,” is the first whine of the day, followed by a big song and dance over putting their clothes on and exposing their bare skin to the bracing air (15 degrees this morning, and that is, erm, centigrade). “Still cold,” pipes up Son 2 on the school run, despite the heater – or “heat machine” as he calls it –  being turned on in the car.

“You have no idea what cold is,” I try to explain to them (where we lived before, in Minneapolis in the Midwest of America, it’s been -45 with the windchill recently and the schools had to close for a few days).

In anticipation of the dramatic change in weather, Dubai Confidential compiled a survival guide

In anticipation of the dramatic change in weather, Dubai Confidential compiled a survival guide

I’ve tried to tell them that if we still lived there, they wouldn’t be able to leave the house without bundling up in layers of clothing, and donning fur-lined boots and bobble hats. They’d have to pick their way over ice, there would be snow-ploughs clearing the snowdrifts, and frostbite warnings.

“Honestly, it’s not that cold,” I repeat, as we put jumpers on and head out the house, unencumbered by coats and other weighty items (my sweater dating back to about 2006 as, since moving to the UAE, I’ve entered a winter fashion time warp due to only buying summer clothes).

Our Filipino nanny, too, seems to think it’s biting cold and has taken to swaddling herself in a hoody, scarf and socks round the house. I’m thinking I’d better buy her a hot-water bottle quick, or the snuggle blanket with sleeves on sale in New Look.

And spare a thought for the camels in leg warmers (joke).

I do wonder if living in a desert climate for the past five years might have thinned our blood, although to be fair, the fact that our homes have no heating, are draughty and have floors made from marble does mean you feel it when the temperature plunges from the 35 degrees or so that we’re used to.

So, there you have it: a few years of desert living and you’ll find your family becoming quite reptilian, minus the dry, scaly skin. Not only that, but you’ll also take great delight in sipping steaming hot chocolate and wearing tights (even if, by midday, it’s on the warm-side again).

Post-holiday blues

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You’d think a six-day mini-holiday to the UK shouldn’t take six days to recover from, but somehow this whole week has been all about getting back into the swing of things.

The time difference and arriving back in Dubai on the milk flight at 5am meant the boys then slept until past midday, setting me up for a particularly trying problem in small children: INSOMNIA. The Scrooge of Christmas travel.

Because it’s not like you can just tell them to count sheep, is it?

No, no, that would be far too easy. Instead, for several nights, between the hours of 9 pm and 1 am, the boys pummelled me with all kinds of strange symptoms, from “I’m scared, stay Mummy, please!” to “I’m going to vomit!” (Son 1), singing for two hours straight (Son 2), hunger pangs and even sleep walking (Son 1).

Trying to count sheep with Son 2 just turned into bonus stimulation time

Trying to count sheep with Son 2 just turned into bonus stimulation time

Son 1 would have re-set much quicker if it wasn’t for the fact that Son 2 was adamant his insomnia should be shared.

“Are you AWAKE?” he’d bellow at his brother, nearly raising the roof of his bunk-bed (and I couldn’t separate them because they’re really dependent on each other and hate to sleep alone).

“WAKE UP!”

Then Son 2 got his hands on the duck clock in their room and set the alarm off: “QUACK, QUACK, QUACK, QUACK QUACK!”

I’m surprised you didn’t hear the racket going on in their bedroom.

DH was safely ensconsed on the other side of the world (in Australia and New Zealand) for the first two days of their nocturnal shenanigans. Happily, he returned on the third day, only to fall fast asleep at 8.30 pm with jet lag of the polar-opposite kind.

Oh the glamour of our jet-setting ways!

The holidays by numbers

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I was one lucky expat this holiday and got to go home for a whirlwind trip – six days (three of them travelling) overflowing with family, food and surprises. I could wax lyrical about that home-for-the-holidays feeling, the novelty of winter and the precious time spent with loved ones, but I don’t quite know where to start. So, instead, here’s my numerical recap (SUBTITLED: Travel with kids never did run smooth) …

Distance travelled: 8,650 miles (in 2 planes, 2 trains, 1 tube train, 2 cars and 2 taxis)

Family members visited: 24, including DH’s 95-year-old Grannie

Visas forgotten (due to being in old passport): 1, causing immigration officials to shake their heads and tell us we couldn’t travel (in the end, they took pity on me)

Visas reunited with: 1, thanks to two special people: C who searched our house to find it; and DH who discovered that overnight FedEx delivery doesn’t apply when there’s bad weather in the UK

Skipped heartbeats: 3, when the concierge at the hotel the visa had been delivered to by a fellow pilot mistakenly presented me with a box of jewellery instead of an envelope

Waterlogged UK, but wonderful nevertheless

Waterlogged UK, but wonderful nevertheless

Passports lost: 4 (Yes, seriously. I think I was cursed)

Passports found after 45-min panic: 4. They’d dropped into a black hole in my suitcase

Children lost: 1, before the pantomime at Birmingham’s Hippodrome, triggering a full-scale search for Son 2 via walkie-talkies. (I know, I know, we’d only been out of Dubai for five minutes)

Children found: 1, in a deserted area of the theatre, clutching the booster seat they give kids like it was a life raft

Christmas dinners eaten: 3

Floods (or water ponds as they’re called in Dubai): Too many to count

Fish rescued: 2, found in a puddle, as floodwater receded from my parents’ garden; they were returned to the fishpond they’d escaped from

Minutes stayed up past midnight on NYE: 7

Speed of gusting wind as plane sat motionless on taxiway: 40mph

Memories made: Priceless

HAPPY NEW YEAR! (and thank you for reading Circles in the Sand in 2013) x

A technically challenged Christmas

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Twas Christmas morning, when all though the house, there was the most almighty din.

As the morning mayhem ensued, I braced myself for what I knew was coming next: “Dad, can we set up the Xbox? Now, now, NOW – pleeeeeeease!”

Expecting Son 1 to just look at the box was a far-fetched notion, so we started in earnest. I mean, how hard could it be? Surely easier than flat-packed Ikea furniture. Once the Xbox was done, we could move on to setting up the wii, then head out to eat and relax later while the children played each other (Santa had wisely brought two Xbox consoles to avert WW3).

DH plugs it in, disappearing in a puff of dust as he moves things around behind the TV. The Xbox springs to life, and immediately tells us:

Updates required.

What? It’s brand new. How can it possibly be out of date already? (damn you, Microsoft) So, we wait patiently, watching the bar nudge its way across the screen as the first lot of updates are installed. And then the second lot.

seasonal-celebrations-xbox-christmas-yuletide-father_christmas-grotto-ksmn1526l.jpgLongest wait ever for two small children on Christmas morning.

The machine seems happy now it’s been fed with the latest software, but I suspect couldn’t care less about us getting Christmas dinner. It starts calibrating.

Then it needs to run some tests. On the background noise in our house. Now, remember, we have two boys – both of whom are loud at the best of times, let alone after a visit from Santa.

It soon becomes apparent that we’ve failed the test. “Your house is too noisy,” it states, or words to that effect. And I could hardly argue otherwise.

We’re given a second chance (it’s Christmas, after all). “Shhhh,” I tell the overexcited boys. “Don’t make a sound.” And, miraculously, you could have heard a pin drop in our house.

Finally, it looks like we’re getting somewhere – escape out of the house, to a Christmas brunch, is shining like a light at the end of the tunnel. We shove a disc in and hope for the best.

“The system does not support PAL50,” it flashes back at us. “Go to settings… [And, while you’re at it, forget about getting dressed up – why not go in your PJs, no make-up, messy hair.]”

“OK, OK,” we muster, scrolling through various menus, somehow pressing the right combination of buttons and unleashing a game, which (small mercy) the boys already knew how to play.

A few minutes later, DH and I are lying on the bed upstairs, snatching a few minutes of respite – as the unassembled wii machine winks at us from the corner (Round two, ding ding).

“It was much easier in 1996,” says DH. “When all you had to do was put a cartridge in.”

“I know,” I nod, wearily. “It’s all so kids can have uncommunicative playtime with gamers all round the world, hiding behind avatars. Maybe they can hook up with their cousins,” I add brightly. And then we head out, taking my new Sat Nav with us and plugging it into the car.

It defaults to Arabic – and can we change it? No, of course not. Fifteen minutes of fiddling with it proves fruitless. “You know what DH,” I sigh. “I think we might have to read the instructions.”

Happy days!

The Santa special

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With Christmas Day brunches in the UAE costing as much as 610AED (£100) an adult – and the top-end ones including acrobats and petting zoos on top of a visit from Santa – I’m always on the look out for some down-to-earth (read: cheap) entertainment for my children over the holidays.

After all, there’s only so many ‘How many days/hours/minutes till Santa comes?’ that a mum can take.

This year, I do believe I found the best bargain in the UAE: Santa at Dubai’s Oasis Centre.

He’s a nocturnal chap – when darkness falls, he plods over to the 10-metre-high, snow-covered Santa Castle in the middle of the mall to do meet-and-greets, until as late as 11.30pm on weekends and 10pm on weekdays. (Children from some cultures are often kept up late here – not mine, I’d add, I reach my limit at 8pm.)

For 35AED (£5.80), we enjoyed a visit with Santa (a lot of ho-ho-ing) and received a present, a photo, a free kids’ meal at Max Burger, cotton candy, a free ride in the play area and even an adult’s gift (a USB or headsets). Best 35AEd I’ve spent this Christmas.

There was no holding Son2 back – he leapt straight onto Santa’s lap, peered at his spectacles closely, decided he was legitimate and had a little chat about what he’d like Santa to bring (a red bike with a speedometre on it). Then, in a fit of generosity, Son2 announced he’d be flexible: “But if you can’t make it in red, any colour will do.”

Son1 is already somewhat suspicious of Santa and hung back – finally going forward to request an Xbox. I suspect that next year, the man in red will be well and truly rumbled.

So here’s to enjoying the magic while it lasts.

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WISHING EVERYONE A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS! Love, the Circles family x

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You might also like: Work-to-rule Santa; The real Santa; Last-minute shopping (with kids); Kids, meet Baby Jesus

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Sandy the Scorpion

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After the debacle with the pet hamster, I vowed we wouldn’t have any more pets for quite some time (other than our long-time-resident cat, Chandelle, named by my DH after an aircraft manoeuvre).

I’ve stuck to this vow for a good eight months now – right up until yesterday, when the boys came home from the desert with a scorpion.

The first I heard of their new pet, Sandy, was on my way back from doing the Santa shopping at the Dubai Mall. DH’s phone rings and it’s his brother. “By the way, there’s a dish on the table with some sand in it – don’t throw it away. The boys found a scorpion in the desert.”

After lugging Santa’s loot into the house and hiding it, I go over to the table to take a look.

“Oh good Lord, shouldn’t this have A LID ON IT?” I practically shriek, peering at the little creature scuttling around the dish. Ok, so he was only tiny, but it was unmistakeably a scorpion – with two pincer-like front claws and a curved tail.

From under a rock to our dining room table

From under a rock to our dining room table

“No, he’s fine,” says DH. “Look, he can’t get out.” And, it was true, every time Sandy the Scorpion tried to run up the sloped side of the dish, he’d slither back down – his little legs unable to propel him to the rim.

“Mum, don’t get rid of him, pleeeeease,” begged the boys when they got back from dinner with my in-laws. “He can’t get out! He’s our new pet.”

That night, I pushed the dish into the centre of the table and took one last look at the segmented tail – curled defiantly upwards at the end.

Forward-wind to this morning, and we’re dragged from a blissful state of slumber – as all parents expect to be when it’s school holidays and there’s no reason for children to be up so early.

I hear the pitter-patter of feet getting louder as Son 1 crosses the landing, then within seconds he’s standing by our bed, and, in a raised voice, he says:

“WHERE’S THE SCORPION? He’s GONE!”

“Gone!” I yelp, my brain beginning to muster and imagining that, over night, Sandy had achieved the herculean task of scaling the side of the dish and had scampered off to the sofa – or my shoes.

Turns out, Sandy hadn’t made a break for freedom. Catherine the Great, our helper, had found the dish, and cleared it away – not knowing what lay within the sand.

But it got me sitting bolt-upright in bed faster than you can say ‘sting in his tail’.

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You might also like: On finding out your kids know nothing about pet care; RIP Hanny-Wanny

A little hump day note

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On this hump day, I’m posting about some speed bumps that have appeared on our access road – and I don’t mean small ones; I mean steep, mini hillocks that almost stop your car in its tracks.

Those who know where I live will be well aware of the unique challenges we face out here in our little patch of desert. Challenges like getting home, and leaving the house.

There was the enormous roundabout that vanished overnight, probably while luckless drivers were on it – leaving us with a traffic vortex that funnels you towards Abu Dhabi, rather than home.

We’ve endured the bumpy, pot-holed track that led to our compound – which 4WD’s could just about handle without the exhaust pipe falling off, but meant cars had to pick their way along, dodging craters, at a snail’s pace.

We’ve made sharp, right-angled turns off a busy 6-lane highway, with cement trucks bearing down on our rear-end; and we’ve ploughed through a debris-ridden desert shortcut across sand (when the police weren’t looking). And let’s not forget the number of U-turns it’s possible to make on a daily basis to get home – enough to make you feel like a Weeble with an inner-ear infection.

A far better solution - although Dubai's dress codes could be a problem

A far better solution – although Dubai’s dress code could be a problem

But, then, after six months of dusty construction work and vibrations that I once mistook for a minor earthquake, we were presented with a shiny new, tarmaced access road. A road you could sail along, and a proper entrance and exit off the megahighway.

An exit that confused divers started driving up the wrong way – but, I guess, you can’t have it all.

Anyway, to cut a long story short – the other week, six speed bumps appeared on our new road, far bigger than the ridges inside the compound (where children play). The equivalent, I’d say, to traversing over a hippo’s back. Added to all the other speed bumps in our neighbourhood, they mean an average school-run day involves clunking up and down more than 50 humps.

And would it surprise you to hear that these new sleeping policemen weren’t painted straight away. On that first dark night, a pizza delivery man on a moped was sent flying after failing to see the bumps, and ended up being carted off in an ambulance – poor guy (he was ok, nothing broken, thankfully).

I’m not saying the humps weren’t needed (quite the contrary, many drivers in these parts totally disregard speed limits, making traffic calming measures important); just that we’ve come full circle and appear to be back to a bumpy road. Progress indeed.

The Color Run takes Dubai by storm

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I’ll admit that as I stood in line at Adventure HQ on Friday, queuing for my racepack, I had second thoughts: I had a fluey cold, I’ve been working too much and my friend who persuaded me to do a 5K race last year had gone on holiday.

DH was also leaving that night, which meant there’d be no one to force me out of bed and into my running shoes, to attend a race by myself.

Then he said those fateful words: “You won’t do it.”

Whether he just wanted to spur me into action, I don’t know. But it worked. “What makes you think that?” I retorted, replacing the negative thoughts with images of an athletic me (haha!) bounding round Dubai’s Autodrome on a sunny morning. “Of course I’m going to do it! [I said indignantly].

Turns out, I needn’t have worried. The Color Run, an American phenomenon that’s gaining worldwide popularity, isn’t a race at all. It wasn’t timed, most people walked, you could cut huge corners (shaving off at least half a kilometre), and, best of all, it actually lived up to its moniker as the happiest 5K on the planet.

As more than 8,500 people made their way round the racetrack at Motor City, the venue literally exploded into a puff of colour. Runners started in white t-shirts, and at each kilometre were caked in brightly coloured powders (made from natural food-grade corn starch) thrown by volunteers.

The 5K with a twist turned Dubai's Autodrome into a kaleidoscope of colour on Saturday morning

The 5K with a twist turned Dubai’s Autodrome into a kaleidoscope of colour on Saturday morning

The atmosphere was uplifting and, needless to say, the finish line was one big party, with music blaring, colour throws, dancing and entertainers. It was also remarkably well organised, even down to the plastic kagool included in the racepack so you could drive home without smudging powder all over the seat.

Before the big clean-up, I nipped into our local shop for some essentials and got chatting to the store manager. He eyed my splattered clothes and wild hair style straight out of the good old punk days, and – in a nod to the way the UAE respects all kinds of beliefs – asked: “Have you been celebrating something? Must have been quite a celebration!” he commended.

It was – of health, happiness and getting active. Well done Daman’s Activelife, for making 8,500 people smile from ear-to-ear while exercising and for bringing more colour to the desert than I’ve ever seen.

Colour throws at the finish line party

Colour throws at the finish line party

Flowers, cameras and whistles

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Last weekend my parents were with us, and as part of our entertainment schedule, I took them to Dubai’s Miracle Garden – a 72,000-square-metre riot of colour, growing on what was previously parched desert.

Sprouting just minutes from where we live, the Miracle Garden opened back in February, with 45 million flowers and topiary-style displays fashioned into hearts, pyramids, maypoles, igloos, birds and stars. It occurred to me when we first visited in March that the garden was really quite barmy – rather like walking round a giant hanging basket, or a set from Alice in Wonderland.

On our first visit, we found out what a giant breast implant made of petunias would look like; strolled under pergolas decorated with colourful garlands; and marvelled at the number of things they’d thought to do with the same flower.

"Mum, why has the car got grass growing out of it?"

“Mum, why has the car got grass growing out of it?”

But we’d had an enjoyable visit, so back we went last week, to see what they’d unveiled for the new season.

Well, what can I say? There’s a floral clock, an edible garden, displays made from Hannah Montana umbrellas, giant peacocks, vertical cars buried in flower beds (curiouser and curiouser) and houses covered in blooms.

A couple of different varieties of flower have even been added to the kaleidoscope of colour, as well as refreshment outlets serving ice cream, coffee, juices and the like.

Having paid the entry fee (Dhs 20 for everyone over the age of three), we stepped inside and realised immediately we’d chosen a busy day – the number of people, and cameras, meant the garden was quite literally crawling with life. But not only that, you quickly become aware that you’re being followed.

Your suspicions are confirmed when you step too close to the flowers, and the whistle-blowing starts. Woe-betide if you’ve come with a youngster who stops to smell the flowers. There’s a small army of over-enthusiastic, menacing guards, prowling round the garden, whistles at the ready, waiting to pounce on anyone who thinks this is just a park.

It’s not a park, they want us to know. It’s a work of art and while you’re free to enjoy the prettiness – and madness – of it all, you must.not.touch.

Looking around, I see a pregnant lady sitting on the grass, resting her weary feet, only to have a whistle blown at her by a guard clearly corrupted by all that power. Less than a minute later, I see another member of the visitor resistance jump out from behind the petunias to scare off a group of people looking too closely at the flowers.

A children’s play area and butterfly garden are promised, but we didn’t actually find them and ended up distracting our kids from the flowers by showing them the model elephants and giraffes over the fence, at the Dubai Properties office. The ice cream helped too.

If you go (joining the million people expected to visit this season), I have a few words of advice: pick a quiet day when the photo-taking petunia paparazzi aren’t out in force, and, above all, stick to the rules.

More information at: Miracle Garden Dubai

Our first visit: Dubai Miracle Garden

That competition called ‘Parenting’

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I long ago gave up comparing myself to other parents. There was just no point.

When the boys came along, I quickly had to develop the attitude: So what if Felicity’s mum is thin, has perfect hair, perfect arms, kicks ass in the PTA and can control her children in public? I learnt to thank my lucky stars that I’d had time to brush my teeth that morning.

Day 10: Spa day for elf

Day 10: Spa day for elf. What next?!

Experts say it’s human nature to compare ourselves – to size ourselves up against other mums who are prettier, fitter and better at juggling it all. Comparing can be a learned behaviour or a result of unrealistic expectations we see in the media – either way, it’s definitely not good for us.

As long as the kids are healthy, happy, safe and taken care of, you’re doing a great job as a parent and, anyway, who knows what Felicity’s mum’s life is really like.

My children, however, are unbelievably quick to go down the comparison rabbit hole. It’s something you’re never told about being a mum, that – day in, day out – you’ll get to hear why you’re such a mean mummy and what ‘everyone else’ is up to. Some examples from the past few days:

“But all the children on the bus have iPads!”

“Everyone else put their Christmas tree up weeks ago.”

“Drummond has Goldfish in his lunchbox.”

“Fritz is getting an Xbox for Christmas!”

“Will you come on the school trip? You’ve never been on a school trip Mum. Horace’s mum’s coming.”

“I want to wear a red shirt with a Christmas tree on for the sing-a-long. Everyone else has a tree on their top.”

Referring to a school project we did together, “Our volcano was boring Mum! All the other volcanoes actually exploded.” (Lord knows how)

And now it’s December, you can bet you’ll get to see exactly where everyone’s Elf on the Shelf is for the next couple of weeks – the mischievous little tinker!

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You might also like: ‘WHY?’ and other annoying phrases

A Christmas Parody – Spoilt (Brilliant remake! Follow link, and press ‘Click to play’ at the top if it doesn’t start automatically)