Category Archives: Expat

Watching the world go by

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So, I’ve just got back from London’s Heathrow airport, seeing DH who was on a flying visit from Dubai and who I miss terribly during the summer.

I never thought of Heathrow as romantic, but places can surprise you. Plus, when you’re not staring down the barrel of 8 hours in a metal tube with small children, airports can actually be fun – not least because you can watch the travelling public, fresh off the plane from far-flung corners of the world.

Missing you, DH!

So good to see you, DH!

Today, among the crowds, there was the blonde Virgin flight attendant in pillar-box red, who’d climbed onto the highest scarlet heels I’ve ever seen and must have decided her regulation skirt didn’t offer enough leg room (fabulous legs, though, so the short skirt was forgivable).

And a little Japanese boy banging away to his heart’s content on one of the pianos dotted around the airport as part of its ‘Play me, I’m Yours’ scheme. (What were they thinking?)

Funny, though, how when it’s your kid bashing away at a piano, you hear it with your teeth, but when it’s someone else’s child it doesn’t grate so much.

My people-watching reached new heights of hilarity, however, on the airport bus back to my parents’ town. It was a National Express coach service and stopped at Terminal 5, where it was boarded by a lady who actually needed the underground, and a man who hopped on and asked: “I’ve got a car booked with National. Can you help?”

“That’ll be the car rental office you need,” replied the bus driver (who must field dumb questions every day). “Over there.”

I felt kind of sorry for him (intrepid, he wasn’t) and heaven help him when he’s flung into orbit on the M25 motorway.

You might also like: The Six People You Meet in Travel Hell

Our world … and their world

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“LOOK out the window!”

I don’t know how many times we’ve said this to our children in the car, and in how many different countries, but however amazing the view, it falls on deaf ears.

Kids! You're missing so much by not looking out the window... it's boring.com to them

Boring.com to my children. But, kids, you’re missing so much by not looking out the window!

I’ve long since learnt that if someone pipes up, “Sheep!”, they’re not looking at a flock of fluffy animals grazing on grassy meadows outside the window. There’ll be a pixelated sheep swimming across the small screen in whatever world they happen to be inhabiting on Minecraft.

And, another thing, the vast swathes of life that took place in our BC (before children) world? No interest to them. Whatsoever.

In Florida, we drove by the apartment we used to rent when DH and I were newlyweds. “Look, boys, that’s where mummy and daddy lived before you were born!” I said, pointing excitedly at the grey-timber building, nestled in lush landscaping.

There was a flicker of interest, a brief glance out the window, with one eye still on the square-headed sheep.

Then Son1 says, nonchalantly: “C’mon, let’s go! You don’t live there anymore!”

And returns to his electronic stimulation.

If my eyebrows had risen any further, they would have shot past the atmosphere.

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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?

Florida parklife (and breaking the rules)

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Of all the many fun-filled, wallet-emptying attractions that Orlando has to offer, there were two my boys really wanted to visit: Legoland and Titanic: The Experience.

The latter was unsinkably brilliant, and I really recommend it; the former, we didn’t do, because they’d literally just been to Legoland in Windsor. But, kids, they have a short memory, don’t they?

Obviously, you can’t bring children to Florida and not take them to Disneyland, so we knocked out Animal Kingdom, and, because we used to live near Orlando and always enjoyed SeaWorld, we spent a day there, too. And it was here that Son1 experienced his first white-knuckle rollercoaster – completely by accident.

SeaWorld was heaving with visitors, and after deciding we didn’t fancy waiting 90 minutes to see some penguins (albeit in a whirly saucer thingy), we bankrupted ourselves further by purchasing two fast-passes.

"It's only gentle. Really!"

“It’s only gentle. Really!”

We wandered over to the famous Kraken rollercoaster (guess what? No queue anyway! You should have seen DH’s face) and went to the fast-pass entrance, where we were told there was a short delay as the ride was experiencing a technical fault.

The staff were distracted. All no more than college age, they were busy testing the floorless, sea serpent coaster and not paying the waiting visitors much attention. So, when it was ready to go again, Son1 and I walked on and took our seats.

For a panic-stricken moment, I felt like the worst parent ever, because just as the ride was unleashed, Son1 decided he wanted to get off. “You can’t,” I hissed, imagining the scene I’d have to create to stop the ride mid-roll. “It’s very gentle,” I lied.

He went quiet, and the rollercoaster hurtled round at break-neck speed, flinging us down a 144-foot drop, through two loops, a dive loop, a zero-G roll, a cobra roll and a corkscrew.

“You okay?” I asked as we clamboured off, clutching each other’s hand and wondering which way was up.

“Yesssss!” he replied, eyes shining. “Can we go again, pleeeeeease!”

A little later, DH took him back, only to reappear shortly afterwards with a disappointed Son1 – who, this time, had been turned away by more-attentive staff for being quite a bit too short.

Ooops.

On trying to keep fit on a 6-week holiday

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If you’ve been following this blog, you’ll know that I do – sort of – go to the gym. I’ve been plugging away for a year or so now, although recently, I’ve discovered I can prop my kindle on the treadmill to snatch some reading time while strolling (briskly).

Whenever I come to England, I always imagine myself running outdoors instead – and, again, I do mean ‘running’ in the loosest sense of the word. My parents live a stone’s throw away from the local park, and gently jogging a lap or two around the cricket pitch, under the ever-changing sky with birds chirruping and dogs chasing sticks, sounds like the perfect antidote to the sterile gym.

Except it was too hot. Even at 7pm. My runs turned into a sweaty limp, with me practically staggering past gangs of scantily clad teenagers drinking alcopops and frisky lovers mauling each other in full view, hoping no one would laugh at my excuse of a jog or hear me panting.

Parklife in the UK, I remembered, is dotted with scenes and characters you just never see in the UAE. “Smile love – might never happen,” quipped a Heineken-drinking, paper-bag carrying fella the other day.

All this I actually find really fascinating – and the scenery IS nice – but then my mum told me that the leisure centre had been revamped and the new gym was now very state-of-the-art.

I took a look. I was seriously impressed. There were brand-new machines and contraptions I could only imagine were used to train astronauts, rows of bikes, and treadmills with large, multi-media screens (plus the all-important ledge for my kindle). The Olympic legacy was alive and well – with air conditioning and Costa Coffee next door!

So, now I have a four-week summer membership and I’m back exercising in the gym, keeping an eye on the calorie-count so I can whoop with joy when I’ve burnt off an apple.

xxxxx

Overlooking the park, It’s spacious, state-of-the-art – and, above all, air-conditioned!

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.

Travel post: Therapeutic tourism

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Numerous spa hotels have set up shop by the healing waters of the Dead Sea, offering visitors pampering packages and the chance to find out what the other-worldly experience of floating in the salty water feels like

The Infinity Pool at the Kempinski hotel Jordan, on the Dead Sea

Luxe on the lake: The infinity pool at the Kempinski hotel Jordan, by the Dead Sea

There’s something in the air down by the Dead Sea. You can feel it as you inhale; as you climb stairs with a spring in your step. You’d even be forgiven for believing the extra room in your lungs might make running seem like a walk in the park.

Of course, it wasn’t that I’d suddenly reached a new level of fitness without even trying. We were staying on the shores of the Dead Sea in Jordan, where the air contains 18 per cent more oxygen than at sea level.

When the mud slinging started, more health benefits revealed themselves. The hotel spa’s main ingredient – sloppy mud – was being dredged from the salty sea right on our doorstep. We slathered ourselves with mineral-rich gooey muck, until our skin pores started gasping for fresh air. Then stepped into the serene water to marinate and bob like a cork.

Up to 10 times saltier than seawater, the Dead Sea derived its name from the fact nothing can live in it due to its extreme salinity

Up to 10 times saltier than seawater, the Dead Sea derived its name from the fact nothing can live in it due to its extreme salinity (and yes, that’s me fulfilling a lifelong ambition)

I had wanted to visit the Dead Sea since seeing photos of people floating on top of it, clutching newspapers, years ago. And I wasn’t disappointed: you really are unsinkable. Each time I moved, the buoyancy created an upward pressure that kept me afloat like a rubber ring. I wrapped my arms under my knees and laughed aloud – it’s the most peculiar, memorable experience.

At 400m below sea level, the lake marks the lowest point on the planet. Each day, millions of litres of water evaporates from the surface, creating a thick, atmospheric haze overhead. Noises are soaked up by this haze, leaving little to hear but the sound of lapping water, and dangerous UVB sunrays are filtered out, so you tan but don’t burn.

Therapeutic tourism has been big business for centuries, with visitors flocking to the area to take advantage of the seawater’s healing properties (King Herod was a regular apparently). Dead Sea water and mud contain high concentrations of minerals including calcium, magnesium, bromine, sulphur and bitumen, which can relieve skin conditions such as acne and eczema, ease the pain of arthritis, beat allergies and boost circulation.

the-dead-sea mapThese healing properties come at a price, though: even the smallest of nicks start stinging when you enter the water (don’t shave first!). Bobbing around in liquid that kills all marine life also has a slightly eerie feel. DH didn’t stay in for long, citing a tingly sensation that saw him slipping out the warm sea faster than you can say pass the salt.

Just one splash in the eyes or mouth is also enough to send bathers scrabbling for the shore. I was enjoying myself far too much to be too worried, however, and after a good shower, my newly exfoliated skin felt as soft as a baby’s cheek. Nature’s loofah comes highly recommended.

The Anantara Spa at the 345-room, five-star Kempinski Hotel Ishtar is the largest spa in the Middle East, with 20 spa suites offering a host of massages and treatments. An oasis of gardens and lagoons, the hotel is designed to be an affectionate tribute to the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Other five-star properties that have opened their doors at the lowest point on earth include the Movenpick Resort & Spa Dead Sea and Jordan Valley Marriott Resort & Spa, as well as the four-star Dead Sea Spa Hotel.

Adapted from my column in The Source magazine. Other posts in my travel series: Hong Kong and Beirut

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 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