Category Archives: Expat

Circles takes a turbo-charged taxi

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The other day, I took a taxi home from work and sat back, pinned to my seat, as the six-lane Sheikh Zayed Road turned into a blur of speed.

And that was just the slip road onto it.

We set off at a pace from the Crown Plaza Hotel, narrowly missing some errant tourists trying to cross the street, then weaved out onto the SZ road, veering into the second-fastest lane in seconds. The Lewis Hamilton in him sees a chance to step on the gas and he isn’t going to let rush-hour traffic get in our way.

“Slow down!” I want to exclaim, but don’t, instead asking him to turn the AC up. He fiddles around with an air vent in the back and I thank him, willing him to turn his eyes back to the road.

“I get us to Arabian Ranches,” he says, “then you show me the way, ok. Umm Suqeim or Hessa?” he asks. I pick the slower way, thinking it might help him keep his side of the bargain. He nods and starts chatting about bridges, in taxi-driver English.

This brilliant drawing is by the urban sketcher Omar Jaramillo Traverso. You can visit his blog here and see more of his work here

This brilliant drawing is by the urban sketcher Omar Jaramillo Traverso. You can visit his blog here and see more of his work here

I immediately know this isn’t going to be one of those journeys where you sit in silence, listening to the prayer beads jangle and the bleeper go off as the taxi accelerates through the speed limit (120kph).

“Where you from?” he enquires. “You make this journey every day?”, “How long in Dubai?”, “You have husband?”, “Children?”, “Ah, I’m only 24, I have time!”, “How old are you?” he asks, lurching us forwards as he hits the brakes to avoid the car we’re tailing too closely.

“25,” I joke – and he pretends to believe me (oh, how I warm to him, despite knowing he’s peering at me in his rearview mirror far longer than is safe).

I find out he’s from Pakistan (you’ll never meet an Emirati cabbie; most are from India, Afghanistan or Pakistan), and has been careering round Dubai’s roads for two years.

Then, all of a sudden, we’re the ones being tailgated. A Landcruiser with tinted windows is on our bumper, flashing its lights furiously. We move aside, and the road hog roars right up to the next car (flash-flash), then the next (more aggressive flashing).

“So rude,” we both agree, back in the fast lane by now. “You know why? It’s because they drink the camel’s milk!” he tells me, with an air of authority (goodness knows what they’re taught at taxi school).

Though it’s a friendly chat, I’m glad we’re nearing the end of our journey and fully expect to go flying over the speed bumps on our final approach to the Arabian Ranches retail centre (most drivers do, as the humps are not steep and there are no children playing).

When, wouldn’t you know, he takes each bump (and there must be at least 10 of them), as though we’re picking our way up a mountain in a 20-tonne truck with a burst tyre, nearly causing a pile-up of commuters behind us – their final stretch of road home now a slow limp to the finish line.

I consider it, then think better of encouraging him, because telling a Dubai taxi driver to go faster is probably something you should never say. Ever. If you want to arrive without finding your eyebrows have disappeared into your hairline.

The working mum’s costume fail

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Tomorrow is book character day at school – the day school is invaded by a mini fictional force made up of Harry Potter, Dr. Seuss, Angelina Ballerina and other favourite storybook characters.

Sigh.

It’s all part of book week, during which we’re invited to send in money so our kids can spend it at a book fair (or attempt to buy crisps instead, as I suspect my son might try), take part in the Gazillion Minutes of Reading @ Home initiative (okay, it’s a million, not gazillion) and come up with a costume for the dress-up day.

Don’t get me wrong. I do think all this is great – I absolutely love reading, and trying to impart a love of reading to my sons has been really rewarding, as has watching BB learn to read.

It’s the dress-up part that’s bothering me. Because tomorrow BB will go to school wearing a pair of too-small yellow plastic trousers (part of an old fireman’s outfit), a T-shirt emblazoned with a train and a kids’ pilots hat – the dishevelled assembled sum of which is meant to make him look like a steam train driver from his Flying Scotsman book.

Not an accurate depiction of the blogger

Not an accurate depiction of the blogger

Even he knows it’s a crumb-y costume. And I know there will be outfits that mums will have spent ages making. Costumes that originated from Pinterest and were then lovingly hand sewn and accessorised.

Still, it’s not that I didn’t try. I’m just having a crazy busy week, with a new freelance job (ironically, for the PR company handling the Sharjah Children’s Reading Festival, which we dragged the boys to this weekend and STILL failed to come home with a suitable book) and I haven’t had a spare minute.

After work today, I sped into our local bookstore, practically setting the paperbacks alight, to try to buy a Fireman Sam book, to go with the old fireman costume I knew was hanging in the cupboard (they not only have to dress up, but also take the book in).

“Do you have Fireman Sam?” I asked the man in the bookshop hopefully.

“No,” he replied after glancing briefly at his computer screen.

“How about any book about firemen, perhaps?” I tried.

“No, nothing,” he said, shaking his head (and I’m sure he laughed, sensing my desperation).

I tried to persuade BB he could wear his Halloween costume instead. “Look, we can use a pen to colour in the skeleton so it looks like a normal pirate’s outfit,” I trilled, as he looked on glumly.

“Or maybe your brother’s spiderman top will fit.”

“That’s a film, mum.”

“I want to go as a dog,” he finally said, getting excited at last. “Floppy the dog from my phonics book. Can you make a dog costume? Please, mummy, please make me a dog suit?”

And mums who work and also leave things like this to the eleventh hour will know exactly what the answer to that request is.

Silent Sunday: So what do you DO all day?

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Ask any stay-at-home mother this question at your peril! My experience of SAHM-hood was a challenge, and certainly jam-packed with chores, errands, running the household and, the part that makes it all worthwhile, spreading the love around.

So I really laughed when my friend K, a fellow pilot’s wife, showed us her five-year-old’s adorable drawings, depicting what she thinks her mom and dad do all day.

So I really laughed when my friend K, a fellow pilot’s wife, showed us her five-year-old’s adorable drawings, depicting what she thinks her mom and dad do all day.

In the 5 minutes between school runs, grocery shopping, food prep, organising maintenance, yelling at the bank, parents’ meetings maybe!

In the 5 minutes between school runs, grocery shopping, food prep, organising maintenance, yelling at the bank and parents’ meetings, maybe!

Run-ins with UAE police

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I was filling DH in this morning on everything that had happened while he was away – a catch up that takes place regularly in our household as we mesh our lives together again after his trips.

“And there was some excitement at the gym,” I suddenly recalled (it’s a fact of life that while he’s traversing the earth, the furthest I often get is to school and the gym).

“It was vandalised,” I said, probably putting a bit too much emphasis on the word, because the damage was very minor.

“It looked like a tiger had been working out,” I added for good effect.

“What do you mean?” he enquired. “There were dead goats left lying around?” (not quite as far-fetched as it sounds, as down the road from our first villa in Dubai there was a house where goats were kept).

“No,” I replied. “Someone broke in during the night and ripped the material on the work-out benches. The police came and everything.

“And took FINGERPRINTS, ” I finished with a flurry.

It was a good story, because this sort of thing doesn’t happen very often in Dubai (punishments are harsh). And it’s not every day you find yourself bouncing up and down on the step machine with an Emirati policeman prowling around.

But, later that day – still on a police theme – I read a brilliant post from a blog I follow based in Abu Dhabi, the capital of the UAE. The blogger writes The Reluctant Emigrant, inspired by recession in Ireland and emigration to the Middle East, and had just experienced a run-in with a UAE squad car – something I try very hard to avoid out here.

I hope she doesn’t mind me recounting her story.

In her words, she was ‘driving at the speed of a 10-year-old people carrier in need of a service’, when she was surprised to see the flashing lights of a police car in her rear view mirror. He tailed her, pulled in right behind her and engaged even more flashing lights to get her to stop.

Abu Dhabi residents face fines for having dusty cars

Abu Dhabi residents face fines for having dusty cars

“During the 24 steps it took him to get to my driver’s mirror, the world slipped into slow motion,” she writes. “I pictured myself being cuffed while face-down on the bonnet for some minor road offence. The children taken into care and the car confiscated, all because I didn’t use my indicators on the roundabout or some similar mistake.”

The young Emirati officer tapped his stylus on his electronic notepad and told her: “Madam, in order to maintain the aesthetic appearance of the city, I will have to issue you a warning to go home and wash, otherwise there will be a fine.

“Under UAE law, it is a crime to have your car this dirty,” he continued. “Please wash immediately. Also, I will warn you it is illegal to wash using water outside your home, so you must visit service station.”

Seriously, you can’t make this stuff up!

Silent Sunday: The waiting room

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When we moved to the UAE, I realised our days of sitting in NHS doctor’s surgeries reading tatty magazines and looking at the pot plant on the windowsill were over (and believe me, I have mixed feelings about this).

This is one of the places we go to for healthcare. The 60,000-square-foot state-of-the-art centre is located in a shopping mall. You go to Fashion Parking and can valet park if you like. This is the airport terminal-style waiting room where you can people watch on stylish seating, before being led off to one of the 50 consultation suites. In all honestly, I still haven’t quite got used to seeing the doctor at the mall.

Here’s one of the places we go to for healthcare. The 60,000-square-foot state-of-the-art centre is located in a shopping mall. You go to Fashion Parking and can valet park if you like. This is the airport terminal-style waiting room where you can people watch on stylish seating, before being led off to one of the 50 consultation suites. In all honesty, a fan of the NHS, I still haven’t got used to seeing the doctor at the mall (and having a laparoscopy or MRI while you could be shopping for shoes, I’m just not sure!)

Not a sponsored post, but more info at Mediclinic Dubai Mall.

Earthquake: Part II

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The earth moved again yesterday, causing more evacuations and panic than last week’s shake and sparking a flurry of media reporting on how tremor-proof Dubai’s high-rise buildings are.

There were initial reports that the world’s tallest building, the Burj Khalifa – nearly 1km (828m) high – had been evacuated, but this actually wasn’t true. However, across the city, lines of workers filed down stairs and poured out of buildings to mill around outside, jamming the phone networks as they called family and gazed up at their office towers.

I say ‘filed’ down – but in many cases it wasn’t exactly a leisurely stroll downstairs. “There’s nothing like a bit of an earthquake to make you run down 19 floors,” wrote a friend on Facebook. “Scary as hell!” Another friend and work colleague texted to say she’d legged it from our 20th floor office (I would have done too, wouldn’t you?).

While authorities urged everyone to remain calm, a BBM message half an hour later started a rumour that another aftershock was coming, leading to a number of buildings to be re-evacuated

While authorities urged everyone to remain calm, a BBM message half an hour later started a rumour that another aftershock was coming, causing a number of buildings to be re-evacuated. Images via Emirates 24/7

But before telling you my earthquake story, I want to point out I’m well aware we’re fortunate. The UAE isn’t a high-risk earthquake zone; we merely feel the tremors and aftershocks that stem from major earthquakes in Iran.

Yesterday’s, which measured a powerful 7.8 on the Richter scale, hit border regions between Iran and Pakistan; while some say it was the strongest quake to hit the region in 35 years (on par with the earthquake that killed an estimated 68,000 people in Sichuan province, China, in 2008), the number of casualties keeps changing, from at least 40 last night to ‘several’ today, if Iranian TV is to be believed.

The truth is they probably don’t know, because rescue teams were still on their way to the remote regions that were affected, but it’s thought the depth of the quake (50 miles down) may have saved many lives.

In the UAE, by the time the tremors reached us, they were small (between 4 and 5 on the scale), but still shook buildings across the emirate. Tower blocks swayed, books fell off shelves and cars wobbled.

“While stopped at a red light, we felt our car shaking,” a friend said. “My husband and I both looked back to see if our daughter was kicking the seat, then we decided it must be windy.”

“My husband thought someone was outside the SUV messing with him because it was rocking so much,” another friend added.

So did I feel anything this time?

Nope, not even a judder. And I was down in Media City, which judging by the number of evacuations that took place was something of a mini-epicentre. I was doing a half-day at work and had just left my desk, literally five minutes before. I rode the elevator down 20 floors, grabbed a tea in the Bakemart and that’s when it must have happened – as I sat sipping my drink under the eaves of our tower block.

How I managed to not feel a thing, I have no idea.

The first I knew of the earthquake: workers being evacuated from our building

The first I knew of the earthquake: office workers being evacuated from our building in Media City

“Move over Mum!”

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“Just wait till they’re 15 and think all their friends know better than you,” my mother-in-law once said, locking eyes with me.

Or maybe it was 11, or 9, I can’t quite remember.

Whichever age it was, she was right – the signs are all there.

My oldest son’s just got home from school, and within milli-seconds of him bursting through the front door – the school bus still pulling away with a growl – he always asks: “Mummy, can M come over? And J too? We arranged it on the bus.”

It’s one of the kiddie-perks of living in a compound – his friends are literally on the doorstep, or over the wall. The furthest away is N block. “All you have to do is call J’s mummy to say it’s okay!” he’ll say, bringing me my phone, then vanishing out the door to call for M.

From my 7yo, I’m guessing this is normal behaviour, but I’m beginning to wonder if my 4yo isn’t 4 going on 11.

He has another week of holiday and, with his brother already back at school, we’re scratching around for things to do. The past three days have seen some apocalyptic weather in Dubai. Sandstorms have swept through the region, bringing lightning, rain and howling winds. If Tom Cruise had appeared in a swirl of dust to battle the storm with perfectly groomed hair, I wouldn’t have been surprised. It was wild.

"I have ways, LB, to make you have fun!"

“I have ways, LB, to make you have fun!”

But, today, it was absolutely gorgeous. The storms had cleared the air, and the rain had washed all the sand away. The temperature was a perfect 26 degrees, and I was determined we should make the most of the freshly laundered weather (with summer coming, such days are numbered).

“Let’s go to the beach LB,” I called out, while running round the house grabbing towels, sun-tan lotion, buckets, spades, etc.

He looked up at me, and with a quizzical expression enquired: “Who are we meeting?”

“No-one LB, it’s just you and me.” (thinking how nice, some one-on-one time).

I might as well have told him we were meeting the child catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang – he shook his head and lost interest straight away.

“Okay, LB, you can play with the iPad in the car, but NOT on the beach,” I bribed said. “Deal.”

He reluctantly came, after I promised we wouldn’t be too long. We jumped the rolling waves, I swung him round in the frothy swell until my arms nearly dislocated, and pushed him on a swing for at least 15 mins to finish my arm muscles off. I swear we had fun (and I did get to work on my tan too).

On the way home, I asked chirpily: “LB, that was good, wasn’t it?”

No answer – then, “Erm, yes,” in a small voice.

“Can D come over?”

I get the hint, I do.

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!