Category Archives: Expat

20 signs you live in the Middle East

Posted on by

I’ve been short on time this week due to work, plus Tom Cruise is in town for the Dubai premiere of his new movie, Mission: Impossible – Ghost Protocol, and someone had to show him around (LOL)!

That's actually Tom scaling the Burj Khalifa, half a mile high

Dubai provided a backdrop for the action flick, with Cruise performing a series of heart-stopping stunts clinging to the world’s tallest building.

Since my invite to the red-carpet premiere must have got lost, I’ve been hoping I might bump into him (I had a bit of a crush on Tommo when I was 15, you see – back in the days of Top Gun, when my husband – who stole my heart at Sixth Form College – wanted to fly for the US Air Force and I dreamt I’d be DH-to-be’s wingwoman in a Kelly McGillis-esque fashion).

Anyway, I digress. This post isn’t original – it’s doing the rounds on Facebook and so I apologise if you’ve already seen it. Or wrote it.

It made me chuckle and I hope you enjoy it too.

You know you’ve been living in the Gulf for too long when…

• You’re not surprised to see a goat in the passenger seat

• When phrases like ‘potato peeler’, ‘dish washer’ and ‘fly killer’ are no longer household items but are actually job titles

• You need a sweater when it cools down to 80 degrees Fahrenheit

Dubai: A city of contrasts (not my behind unfortunately)

• You expect everyone (over 4 years old) to own a mobile phone

• Your idea of housework is leaving a list for the maid

• You believe speed limits are only advisory and expect all police to drive BMWs or Mercedes

• You believe the definition of a nanosecond is the time interval between the time the light turns green and the guy behind you blasts his horn

• You can’t buy anything without asking for a discount

A friend, just to the left of Tom, who DID get to meet him - AND he's following her on Twitter!

• You expect all stores to stay open till midnight

• You make left turns from the far right lane

• You send friends a map instead of your address

• You think it’s perfectly normal to have a picnic in the middle of a roundabout at 11pm

• You know exactly how much alcohol allowance you have left for the month

• You never say Saturday instead of Friday or Sunday instead of Saturday

• You accept that there is no point in asking why you are not allowed to do something

• You expect queues to be 1 person deep and 40 people wide

• You realise that the black and white stripes on the road are not a zebra crossing, just bait to get tourists into the firing line

• You carry 12 passport-size photos around with you just in case

• You overtake a police car at 130 km/h. And don’t worry about it

• When a problem with your car’s air-conditioning or horn is more serious to you than a problem with the brakes

Loves kids but couldn’t eat a whole one

Posted on by

We’ve had a tsunami of visitors over the past few weeks – and the great thing about having friends and family to stay is you get to do some of the touristy things in Dubai, which usually come third or fourth fiddle to the mundane everyday stuff.

And, of course, when home comes to visit, it’s the most wonderful chance to spend time with loved ones – in the sun, on the beach, at the pool and out at dinner. Until the time comes for them to leave, and you’re left sobbing on the sofa that it went so fast.

As well as my in-laws and my parents, my BF came to Dubai. I’ve blogged about her before as her life is more interesting than the grittiest soap opera.

She might not think so but, to me, hearing about her dating adventures is like a dose of reality TV starring my favourite character – and anything can happen!

Take her visit to Dubai’s Gold Souk to do some handbag shopping.

“We have Louis Vuitton, Prada, Mulberry, we give you good price,” called out a handsome fella with dark eyes and a chiseled jaw as she got out the taxi. BF couldn’t resist and followed him down a dark alley, up another one, through the winding streets until they reached a doorway.

There he led BF up some stairs to a thick bolted door, on which he knocked twice and then waited.

When the door opened, she was led into a room wall-to-wall full of copy bags. She bought four Mulberries and went to leave – but not before the handbag seller thrust his phone number into her hand, saying if she wanted to meet up he’d come running.

Then, in the taxi on the way home, she found herself deep in conversation with the driver about all sorts of ‘taboo’ subjects, from religion to marriage.

But her most promising ‘holiday romance’ was the good-humoured man she met on the airplane on the way home, who kept her entertained the whole flight and has since texted BF to see if they could meet up. BF has always harboured a desire to join the mile-high club, but promises me she passed up the opportunity, fearing the consequences on the Royal Brunei aircraft would be too great to bear.

Aside from providing a steady stream of hilarious stories, the thing that struck me about BF’s visit was just how much fun you can have with kids when you’re not the one responsible for feeding them, keeping them alive, dragging them to bed and clipping their toenails.

BF doesn’t have children of her own and admits that the older she gets, the less appealing she finds the idea – but she’s the most amazing Godmother and auntie to at least nine kids.

My boys and BF ran round like lunatics, squirting water at each other on the beach, and making each other laugh hysterically. She didn’t mind when BB puckered his lips as though to plant a kiss on her cheek and blew a huge raspberry – or when he held onto her in the swimming pool calling out ‘Giddy Up’ like she was his personal pack horse.

BF took it all in such good spirit – even when BB cheekily pulled her tankini bottoms down as she was getting out of the pool.

We all had such fun in the sun – and I miss BF (who blogs at lujat71) terribly now.

There is, of course, the possibility that BF, who spends her working life protecting children, will become a parent in the future – if she chooses to – perhaps not through conventional means. But for now – to use BF’s words, it’s a case of loves kids but couldn’t eat a whole one!

Concrete jungle: A Dubai moment

Posted on by

Over the past year, the car park at our local supermarket has got busier and busier – so that now we have a situation where huge SUVs lie in wait for shoppers and stalk you as you’re pushing your trolley back to your car.

If you are lucky enough to find a space that’s not a 10-minute walk from the store, it’s likely that manoeuvring into it will involve squeezing between a badly parked Land Cruiser and a concrete pillar.

A pet peeve in Dubai: Cramped, British-style parking for enormous American cars


Given that grocery shopping at this particular store entails handing over 200 dhs for some milk, bread and a sausage, the whole experience can be rather frustrating from start to finish.

To make things a little less stressful, I always go to my secret parking spot downstairs – OK, it’s not exactly secret, but I do find that fewer shoppers make the right-angle turn to go down the narrow ramp into the bowels of the car park.

Today, though, I wish I’d stayed upstairs. To cut a long story short, there was a car in the way of the self-important type, I ended up going in a different direction to usual and was looking for the exit rather than what was right in front of me (do these sound like excuses?)

There was the most awful crunching noise – the sound of concrete and metal being welded together – so loud and splintering I saw the faces of two shoppers visibly wince.

When we first arrived in Dubai, before the debt crisis, there was so much development going on it felt like we were living in one big construction site, with a quarter of the world's cranes rumoured to be located in the emirate

“W-t-f was that,” poured out of my mouth as I leapt out of the car – and our nice car too, a Dubai purchase that we splurged DH’s bonus on earlier this year (and being of the sporty variety, very low to the ground – this is relevant, you’ll see why).

The car was stuck, its back wheels spinning – stuck on a divider I should have driven round rather than over. In my defence, it was one of those ‘Dubai moments’ – where else would you find a concrete island in the middle of the road with no distinguishing features (no poles, no stripes, just exactly the same shade of grey as the ground)?

Only the other day I was laughing as a friend told me how she’d walked out of a spa treatment and straight into unset concrete – completely ruining her shoes as well as her relaxed mood.

The two witnesses – who at first shot me a look that said, “Dumb expat blonde in an Infiniti, she should know better” – ended up taking pity on me and helped push the car off – and away I went, trying to retain my dignity behind the tinted windows, but thinking “Oh god, what have I done to the chassis and will I fall out the bottom of the car on Emirates Rd on my way home?”

I’m reliably informed that the planet Mercury is in retrograde at the moment and apparently things always go awry during these periods – I’m not usually superstitious but can't help wondering if this is why I accidentally cut up our bank card this week and stranded the car on a concrete island. Things return to normal, astrologically speaking, on 14 December – or am I just making excuses again?

Don’t let mummy at the scissors!

Posted on by

Yesterday I had a blonde moment, a knackered mummy minute – call it what you like, I’m still kicking myself.

I could reel off a list of excuses – the fact that we have two sets of visitors at the moment, it’s BB’s sixth birthday today and it’s Thanksgiving tomorrow.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING to all my dear friends in America from all of us here in Dubai!

So I’m thinking about a long list of things, including a birthday train cake, presents, a tea party, a booking for a turkey dinner for 8, pumpkin pie, plus lunches, dinners and activities for our guests and, ahem, Michael Bolton tickets (no, no, no – not for us, but as an early Christmas bonus for our nanny Catherine the Great, who really wants to see him live in Dubai tomorrow!)

It feels like my mind’s on overdrive and I’m running round like a headless turkey.

When my parents arrived the other day, my Mum brought with her a new bank card for my British HSBC account, which I only use when I’m in England.

“Make sure to cut up the old one,” she told me yesterday.

And so I went upstairs, thinking to myself, “I must cut up the card” – and a good job I did too, slicing it into at least 10 pieces.

Later on, I was at the cashpoint in Arabian Ranches searching for my Dubai bank card, coincidentally also HSBC – the lady behind me staring into her gold-clasped Louis Vuitton purse and silently tutting about being late for yogilates.

Strangely, the card was missing.

The penny didn’t drop until just before bedtime, when I asked DH if he had our card (yes, after three years we STILL share the bank card!) and I suddenly realised where it was – in small jagged pieces at the bottom of the bin – my useless old British one safely tucked in my purse.

What a wally – like I really needed another item on the to-do list this week. And how embarrassing that while my parents are here and at 39 years old, I might have to ask them teenager-style to lend me some dosh!

PICTURE CREDIT: Danz family.com

Things that get you in trouble in Dubai (yes, sex on the beach you all know!)

Posted on by

I bumped into a neighbour at the swimming pool today. I don’t know her well, but she seems really nice, hence I’ve got her earmarked as friend potential (you have to stay on the look-out in expat society, as people tend to leave).

I knew she’d recently been on holiday, so I flagged her down and cheerily called out, “How was your trip?”

“A disaster,” she replied, the look on her face saying it all.

She’d arrived at Dubai airport – her husband already in situ having taken an earlier flight – to discover she shared her passport number with a criminal and wasn’t allowed to leave the UAE.

The officials agreed she clearly wasn’t the criminal (who was a man anyway and committed the crime before she’d even moved to the UAE), but there was nothing they could do and paperwork needed to be completed.

And, in typical Dubai fashion, the red tape is dragging on and has involved several trips to the court to sort it out. I felt so sorry for her – she stayed in boiling-hot Dubai the entire summer with her three kids and her husband working in Iraq during the week. This was to be their first get-away in months.

Of course, my neighbour had done nothing wrong at all, but as expats living in a Muslim country we have to be really careful to respect local customs and laws.

Mall etiquette: If you're two by two, holding hands is frowned on if you're not married


Things that can land you in trouble in Dubai include:

• Public displays of affection – kissing and hugging is considered an offence against public decency
• Sex outside marriage – even expats must be married to live together
• Dancing in public – allowed at home and in licensed clubs, but classed as indecent and provocative in public
• Drinking at home without an alcohol licence
• Bringing certain things into the country, including some prescription medicines, anti-Islamic material and pork pies
• Photographing locals, especially women, without permission
• Flipping another driver off on the roads
• Showing your underwear in public

There’s zero tolerance when it comes to drink driving – if you are found with even the smallest trace of alcohol in your bloodstream you will be jailed. And you’ll have heard about the expats who defaulted on loans they took out to finance the good times and had to flee the country – leaving their cars to collect sand at the airport – or face prison.

Britons are apparently more likely to be arrested in the UAE than anywhere else in the world!


A British friend of a friend of mine did find herself locked up in an underground cell at the notorious Bur Dubai police station. She’d accompanied a man she’d just met back to his apartment and called the police after his jealous ex-girlfriend arrived and tried to attack her with a knife. Both girls were arrested and forced to share a cell for a month, becoming great pals by the end (you might have read about it in the Daily Mail!).

As for my neighbour, her husband returned to Dubai and they spent the week at the Atlantis hotel on the Palm, not telling anyone so the kids weren’t upset they were staying down the road – and looking out over his company headquarters while having a drink in the evening.

I hope the bureaucracy is out the way soon and they get another holiday, because as much as I love this place, you do need fairly regular breaks too.

And if you’re planning on visiting Dubai anytime soon, just be careful not to give anyone the bird, even if they’ve just committed a jaw-droppingly bad offence on the road, and remember, the beach is for sunbathing, not sex. Dubai is great, but Ibiza it aint.

PHOTO CREDITS: ExPIAtriatewife; Dubai Information Site

Eid part II: Ending up in the ER

Posted on by

I blogged a few days ago about how my plan to spend Eid in England didn’t work out.

Well, we did go away after all. To a well-equipped room, with a TV, en-suite bathroom and round-the-clock room service, centrally located, to BB’s delight, less than 20 feet away from a gleaming gold Metro station.

BB’s idea of paradise, except my poor boy was on a drip, and being prodded and poked by doctors, scanned like a barcode and force-fed medicine.

Yes, we spent the rest of Eid at City Hospital in Dubai’s Healthcare City! Nearly three days and two nights – it felt like forever.

When your only option is private healthcare, doctors don't leave a stone unturned

He’d had a bug, nothing too concerning because even here in the warmth of the desert, there’s a lot of it about. But when we got back from the airport, he seemed strangely lethargic, despite having appeared perfectly well enough to travel earlier that day.

That night his temperature spiked (thank goodness we weren’t on a plane) and so in the morning, we took him to the doctor – who told us to go to the ER.

“Really?” we thought, DH and I both looking at each other in surprise. It seemed a bit drastic. Wasn’t it just a sick bug? And besides, BB was complaining about being hungry so surely couldn’t be that ill. We stuck to our plan to have lunch.

At the ER that afternoon, there was another surprise. A blood test threw up a weird result and they said they were admitting him to the paediatric ward. I still thought everyone was over-reacting – if it was the NHS, wouldn’t we have just been sent home in a matronly fashion to have chicken soup?

But that night, as his temperature climbed again and his whole body started shaking, I began to panic. My boy wasn’t well and I’d assumed it was nothing serious. What could it be and why were we in hospital? They’d even put him in an isolation room to begin with.

There are a few exotic diseases you can catch out here, you see. Infected spider bites, scarlet fever, giardia from unclean swimming pools. In fact, LB’s nursery emails out a helpful round-up of all the nursery nasties every time there’s an outbreak so I know what’s lurking.

The doctors asked where we’d travelled to recently as they thought BB might have malaria. They took more blood and did an ultrasound – all routine tests, but for a five-year-old who’s terrified of the sight of blood (even a graze!) and hates having his hair cut let alone his internal organs scanned, invasive tests like this are a battle.

“It’ll just feel like an ant bite,” said a nurse trying to insert a cannula into his hand.

“TH-AAAAT’S-NOT -AN-ANT-BITE,” shrieked BB, the colour draining from his face.

But he was so brave – and was loving being able to ‘drive’ his bed up and down and position it at various angles – his favourite setting being as high as possible so the nurses had trouble reaching him.

I was trying to be brave, too, but was noticing a few cultural differences I didn’t like. I know healthcare here is excellent, but it seemed like the doctors were more distant – less interactive than they are in the West. No one really told us what was going on and that was just freaky.

Eventually we did get a diagnosis, which I won’t go into, other than to say it’s not serious, has a long name, is fixable, and will be thoroughly researched by myself later today when I consult Dr. Google (dangerous, I know!).

It was so good to come home, clutching a bag with three-month’s worth of medicine and the present we’d bought BB on day#2 for being such a big boy. It was a creepy crawly kit, which he’d used to turn his hospital room into a bug-making factory. They’re in for a shock when they clean.

Some memorable lighter moments:

– “I’m NOT sick, let’s go to James’ house.”

– ‘Don’t touch that train – I’m SICK you know,” to his brother

– “She’s a NAUGHTY nurse, she needs to go in time-out….That doctor is BA-AAD…”

– “Have we moved here? Is this our new home?”

– “This room is just like our hotel in the Seychelles’

– On spitting out medicine, “YEEEUUU-UUUUK, I waaa-nt the purple one” (ie, Calpol)

Dance breaks out at Dubai airport

Posted on by

Now I know why we spent a long afternoon at Dubai International airport the other day – I think I was meant to be part of this Flash Mob! How did I miss this? It’s brilliant!

Travel advisory: Don’t fly stand-by at Eid

Posted on by

We all know that traipsing through airports and travelling on planes with small children is rarely a joyous experience (unless you’re my husband who takes the kids to eat at Dubai International on his days off).

But if there’s one thing that’s guaranteed to add a whole new dimension to your journey, it’s the traffic light system in staff check-in that tells you if you’re actually on the plane or not.

Staff check-in at Eid - as far as we got!

You’ve done the packing, got to the airport with overexcited kids in tow and feel geared up to go, but whether you end up at your chosen destination or back on the sofa depends on the stand-by screen, which shows a green light by your name if there’s room on board and a red light if the plane’s full.

Staff travel is, of course, the most wonderful perk and allows us to go round the world at minimal cost – IF you plan it right. Get it wrong – and by that I mean try to travel on stand-by at busy times such as Eid, Christmas or peak summer season – and you might as well just join my DH and the kids for lunch at the airport then head home.

My last-minute plan was good in theory: to fly back to London for the weekend to be surprise guests at my mother’s birthday party, see my whole family gathered under one roof (a rare event!) and watch some fireworks and effigy burning on Bonfire Night. It was our timing that sucked.

When we pitched up at staff check-in just before lunchtime, it looked promisingly quiet. But by 1.50pm, about 40 minutes before take-off, every employee and his wife had appeared out of the woodwork, all hoping to travel to London for the five-day Eid holidays.

People were craning their necks to get a look at the stand-by board, their luggage haphazardly filling the floor and other hopeful passengers trying to find a path through to the queue. The boarding pass fairy smiled on no-one which meant the crowd’s focus changed to the next flight – to Gatwick – a little while later.

“When will we get on the airplane,” a raring-to-go BB asked a hundred times, as his little brother busied himself trying to unzip random suitcases before darting out the door.

Gatwick was also a no-go because the throngs of people meant we couldn’t even get close to the check-in desk. LB was, by now, starfished on the floor in front of oncoming trolleys.

“Daddy, just pay!” pleaded BB, his patience tested to the limit and his rounds of rapid-fire questions hitting me full pelt.

The next option was a late-afternoon flight to Heathrow, so off we trooped to waste some more time, while trying to head off the ear-bending disappointment we were guessing was just round the corner and which only kids know how to express.

But, by now, the thought of enduring a seven-and-half hour flight with a small child (LB was staying in Dubai with DH) after waiting around with the boys for so long was making the sofa look appealing.

So when the traffic light turned from amber to red – and the check-in girl announced “London Heathrow, no chance!” – I was of course sad I wouldn’t get home to England for Mum’s birthday, but also relieved the waiting game was over. You would have been too, if you were as knackered as I was.

EID PART II: Just when I thought it could only get better…coming soon!

Falling for Dubai again

Posted on by

While folks back home are enjoying seeing the trees turning from green to pale orange and then, in the States, all the way through to crimson red, here in the desert we’re getting rather excited about our own change of season.

It’s not in the least bit colourful, the palm trees don’t shed their leaves, there’s no apple picking or hayrides (all things I really miss), and pumpkins cost an arm and a leg. But the climate does go from boiling hot to hot – and you’d be surprised how ‘hot’ can feel really quite pleasant after the searing summer temperatures.

Invigorated by being able to exercise outdoors again, Energetic Mum can be found jogging round the Ranches before the school run

It’s like someone’s turned the oven off – you can stand on the ground again without getting third-degree burns, swim in the sea as the water is no longer as warm as a bath, and dip your kids in an unchilled pool without feeling like you’re watching a boil-in-the-bag meal cook.

Despite it still being in the low 90s, energetic mums with size 8 figures – who somehow rarely sweat – can really go into overdrive. “Hey kids, it’s Saturday! After boot camp on the beach, let’s go for a bike ride, then head to Al Ain zoo, and maybe finish up with a pony trek at the Polo Club,” I imagine them telling their astonished offspring. “C’mon kids, race you to the door! Whaddya waiting for.”

I may not be the proud owner of a pair of sequin-embellished hot pants myself, but I am trying to get more active and have been out on my bike at dusk when it’s cooler – inspired by my mother, who this week was tweeting about starting aqua-zumba classes.

But, better still, today BB had a beach party, which was lovely, even if it did involve prancing around in a swimsuit in front of the class mums (with one shaved leg because LB’s clinginess while I was trying to get ready meant things went a little off-course).

And because LB practically glued himself to me after his brother dumped him in favour of his classmates, I spent the whole afternoon carrying him while jumping waves – turning my upper body to jelly and giving me the perfect excuse to drink pain-relieving wine tonight rather than doing my evening exercise.

“Happy sigh”

Fall was my favourite season in the US, but we’re at least safe in the knowledge here that there’s no snow round the corner (can you imagine Dubai drivers skidding along in the snow?)

PICTURE CREDIT (above): Clipart Guide

A note on competitive schools

Posted on by

You know the little boy – the one who talks like this, “Play wif mummee”, “Sit soh-fa and watch” – and who, until a couple of weeks ago, was just two years old – really quite little still.

Well, here in Dubai, he can start school next September, and while still a long way off, a school I’ve listed him for was hot on the case today.


I found out via DH, of course, who they phoned this morning (again! Why do teachers keep contacting him, not me? Could they be in cahoots with BB’s school?)

I was in trouble for failing to fill out some paperwork I hadn’t even received and was catapulted back to feeling like a naughty school girl, caught kissing boys behind the bike shed.

“The deadline for the form was yesterday,” I was told firmly, with more than a hint of irritation. “You need to let us know within the hour if you want to proceed with your application. There are a hundred children lining up for the space. And as punishment write 300 lines, ‘I will never be late turning in my son’s paperwork again,” after school pick-up.”

They had good reason for telling me they’d offer the spot to someone else, because it’s hands down (depending on who you believe, of course) one of the best schools in Dubai. Parents wait years to get their kids in and we were just lucky that we got LB on the list when he was really little.

They’re used to dealing with mothers who’d bite their hand off for a place. “We’ve had tri-lingual Felicity on the list since she was a foetus and she loves nothing more than to make words with her spaghetti at supper and do piano practice before bed. A place will mean sooo much to her,” is the kind of response they’re accustomed to.

(The problem is there’s no spot for BB, you see, and for convenience and many other reasons I’d rather have both boys at the same school).

But after speaking to some mum friends, one of whom reminded me that they wouldn’t even let her put her son’s name on THE LIST, I rushed over there this afternoon to make sure LB’s spot wasn’t given away.

And, as I walked through the hallowed corridors – marvelling at the smiling, beautifully behaved children, with project work tucked under their arm, landscaped campus, huge green field, amphitheatre and proximity to my favourite coffee shop, I saw the future for a moment. I’d give up work, spend my days doing school runs, organise bake sales and fetes, and volunteer for field trips for both schools.

Ok, so given that my only-just talking three-year-old still has to pass an assessment interview to secure the spot – and I’m clearly not a mother who would find any of the above easy – I was quite possibly getting carried away. But at least we’ve done what you gotta do when it comes to school waiting lists in Dubai – we’re hedging our bets.

PHOTO CREDIT: Time Out Dubai