Category Archives: Holiday

The birthday week

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It’s DH’s birthday – a big one! The actual day was on Tuesday, but as it’s a nice round number it’s turned into something of a birthday extravaganza.

Last year, the day passed in a bit of a blur, because of a medical drama in our family. DH’s lovely brother, who also lives in Dubai, returned from Africa with flu-like symptoms that turned out to be malaria. He came to stay with us while he recovered, so while all this was going on – and I was busy swatting gnats just in case (despite being assured by the hospital there was no risk to the boys) – my attention wasn’t really on birthday celebrations.

This year, I promised myself I’d make up for it, so in dutiful wifely fashion, I’ve been busy organising a birthday DH won’t forget. I think I’ve just about managed to pull off a three-part celebration that’s taking up most of the week:

PART 1: (the day) Presents at silly o clock, before school and work. Then Bab Al Shams, a desert resort located in the middle of absolutely nowhere, for a late-afternoon swim and dinner. We’ve done our fair share of camel riding in the Middle East, so we lounged in the pool and watched tourists clambering on the camels, shrieking as they were pitched forwards at the start (camels use their knees to get up and down). It was quite comedic.

Bab Al Shams Desert Resort & Spa – not too far from where we live and very, very nice


PART 2: (the weekend) We’re taking the kids away, to Ras Al Khaimah, one of the seven emirates of the UAE, for more swimming and more desert. The resort, the Banyan Tree, looks amazing and we’re staying in a ‘Bedouin-style tented villa’. It’s not a tent, I did study the website photos carefully to check, and I suspect it won’t be the ‘oasis of serenity’ it’s advertised as once we arrive. I also just found out my boss is going there this weekend.

PART 3: (the piece de resistance) Using a ‘buy one, get one free’ voucher in the Entertainer, I’ve booked a ride on a seaplane. I may yet bottle out.

Of course, no birthday is complete without cake. Baking is not my forte so I ordered one from Bakemart. I wasn’t sure how it would turn out and fully expected something like exhibit A. So was very pleased with exhibit B, despite the squashedupwriting!

Exhibit A: On facebook (from Walmart in the US)


Exhibit B: Happy birthday DH!

Our ‘snow day’ in the Middle East

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Within hours of my first son’s birth in Minneapolis, the ground started glistening as though a fairy had sprinkled dust over the entire city.

No, I wasn’t still high on the cocktail of drugs. It was the end of November and a blizzard had set in, covering everything with a blanket of thick white snow and turning the houses, with their undisturbed snowy roofs, into works of art.

We drove BB home from the hospital – very gingerly – in a snow storm and during the first two years of his life in the midwest of America, there was snow and ice on the ground for at least four months each winter.

Yet, of all this, BB remembers nothing! Despite my valiant efforts to bundle a wriggling, obstinate toddler into an all-in-one snow suit (I honestly think it would have been easier to dress an octopus) and drag him along on a sled, he has no recollection of the fluffy, white stuff.

LB has never seen real snow and so it was with great excitement that we set off last week to the top of a mountain range in Lebanon. Our goal was to build LB’s first ever snowman and so carrots were grabbed from the kitchen, jumpers stuffed into the back of the car.

I have to admit I was sceptical: it was so hot in Beirut. How could there possibly still be snow, I wondered? The temperature remained warm even as we climbed higher – our slow ascent through 1850 metres monitored by my DH and his Dad who, being pilots, checked the altitude on the car’s GPS at every opportunity.

Songs were sung, wrong turns taken, then, low and behold, we suddenly saw snowy peaks! Real snow pasted on the already-stunning scenery like icing sugar.

In Lebanon, you can surf the sea and ski all in one day! Snowballs were thrown, of course – despite the lack of gloves

The winding mountain road led us to a ski resort called Faraya, closed now for the season but beautiful nevertheless. Beautiful and cold.

Straight out of the desert in Crocs and with a constitution that means they shiver in the refrigerated section of the supermarket, the boys whined at first – but after wrapping LB in a pashmina and donating DH’s socks to BB (who knew we’d need winter clothes in the Middle East?) we set about building our snowman with cold wet hands.

A glamorous Lebanese lass climbed on a snowmobile – driven to the very edge of the snow so she wouldn’t get her bejewelled black-suede boots wet – and set off at speed clinging to her boyfriend. If she can do it, I can too, I thought – and so I hopped on the back when the boys went for a spin.

Precious memories were made, but I have to admit one of the most memorable moments was a conversation in the car on the way up:

“Have you ever seen snow before?” my mother-in-law asked the boys.

“Yes,” they replied, nodding their heads earnestly.

“Where? In England? America?” she prompted.

“Nooo. Dubai,” corrected BB, as though it was the most obvious answer and you’d be a ninny to think otherwise.

And then, “Will we see penguins on the mountain Grannie Jane?”

Ski Dubai (our ski slope in a shopping mall and home to the most-pampered penguins in the world) has a lot to answer for!

Silent Sunday: Boys’ toys

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Yes, that's snow, not sand - and that is my 6yo about to go skidding up a mountain on a snowmobile in Lebanon this weekend! The antithesis of many people's image of the Middle East, laid-back Lebanon is mostly mountainous with ski resorts to boot

Europe meets Texas

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When you’re on holiday, do you ever imagine yourself living there?

In my mind, I create a fantasy, parallel life in which I’m shopping in the stores I’m browsing as a tourist, eating at the same restaurants and, somehow, have an instant circle of good friends from the local area with kids who get on like a house on fire with mine.

All this is imagined in the knowledge that the chances of us actually moving there are about the same as being relocated to the moon (actually, this is really tempting fate – DH’s job means we could end up anywhere).

Whether I do this because, being an expat, I’ve developed a case of geographical schizophrenia or because, sometimes, it’s fun to dream, I’m not sure, but I found myself at it again last week in Bavaria.

Europe: You literally trip over history at every turn

Munich – I could so live in this beautiful city! The culture, the centuries-old architecture, the chic stores, the weather – it was all so refreshing.

And not shoebox-small like you sometimes imagine Europe to be: from the beer served in one-litre mugs to the huge pretzels and the XXL wiener schnitzel (veal escalope) that covered my entire plate, I could really see why Americans love this region of Germany.

Europe meets Texas, no less – way down south and with locals dressed up in traditional clothing to boot!

The autobahn – yes, this is the way to travel, I decided. Despite making Dubai drivers look like slow coaches (no speed limits for long stretches and cars doing 180km/h, no kidding!), it was so ordered, so disciplined. Such politeness.

And the vehicles on this cleverly engineered highway (no tyre debris in sight!) – the Audis, the BMWs, the Mercedes. A bit of Vorsprung durch Technik and Germanic efficiency looked very appealing.

I didn't go so far as to imagine cartwheels!

But my fantasy life moved to a new dimension when we reached the Bavarian Alps.

The lush green, grassy pastures and snow-capped mountains took me right back to one of my favourite childhood books: Heidi.

Wrong country I know, but if you’d spent the past four years living in the desert, I’m sure you, too, would have conjured up images of running up rugged mountains with young Peter the goat-herd – to the sound of babbling brooks and Alpine birdsong.

Amazing what fresh, mountain air can do for you. Just don’t get me started about The Sound of Music!

"The hills are alive..." Tra-la-la-di-da...

Silent Sunday: Postcard from Bavaria

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Reason #1 for loving Europe: Oversized beers served by Fräuleins in frilly dresses

#2: Teeny, tiny two-seater cars - the likes of which I wouldn't drive round Dubai in a million years!

#3: Crossing the border into Austria - and straight into a blizzard (the joy, after all the sand storms we've had)

#4: The Bavarian Alps - seen the next day after the weather cleared up enough to put the roof down on the car (still chilly though, brrr!)

#5: Fairy-tale castles that look like this when shrouded in cloud and scaffolding ...

... and like this if we'd gone on a sunny day

7 things I’ve learnt about cruising

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DH and I are off on a little trip tomorrow. Adults-only! We’re going to Munich because, in a society where half of BB’s school friends are tri-lingual, I like to delude myself that I can speak German (sadly, it’s not true. I did German at school then forgot the lot, but I can say Bier bitte!)

Our Easter was busy – the best bit being having family, even second cousins, in town. I love it when home comes to visit. We’ve been to The Palm, the beach, the Dubai Mall to see the fountains, then, today, somewhere I wanted to recommend to mums of little boys: the Sharjah Classic Car Museum.

It’s a great little outing, easy to get to and you can play this really fun game where you have to find the petrol tank on each vintage car – not as easy as it sounds! Never occurred to me to look behind the licence plate (who knew!).

So you won’t be hearing from me for a little while. For now, I’m going to leave you with a photo from Mum and Dad’s cruise, and since my parents seem to be living The Travel Channel at the moment, a few words about life on the high seas – gleaned from them in between the kids jumping on them and hustling them off to the play area.

Entertainment in Cochin, India

● Their boat, the new Queen Elizabeth, sailed through pirate waters. Spotters had binoculars trained on the horizon the whole time and there was an armed guard on board. A pirate drill was also carried out, in which passengers had to sit on the floor in the corridor outside their ‘stateroom’ (aka cabin!)

● Things to do on the boat included eating for England, learning bridge, attending lectures, shopping, playing deck games, bingo, golf, croquet, softball, ballroom dancing, the pub and tea in the ballroom served by white-gloved waiters and accompanied by a string quartet (a lot to fit in then!)

● Passengers who’d spent months at sea – including one on a 700-day ‘the-world’s-your-oyster’ vacation – received awards at cocktail parties hosted by the captain. Mum met someone who told her she didn’t bother getting off the boat anymore. “Been everywhere,” she said.

● People-watching must have been just as fun as all the activities – from the glamorous mum who walked round Mumbai in heels carrying a 2-year-old, to the Russian family with beautiful daughters – perhaps meant to be on the look out for husbands, but more interested in chatting up the sailors.

● Mum was attacked by a monkey on a little island off Malaysia after trying to defend someone’s bag and hasn’t forgiven the tour guide who turned to his friend to say, “Don’t get too close, they’re vicious!”

● The dress code in the evenings ranged from formal to semi-formal to elegantly casual.

● Mum’s highlight? Arriving in Dubai (awww!)

The joys of child-free travel

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As a preface to this post, I very rarely get to do this. Honestly! If you’ve been following this blog, you’ll know that I nearly always travel on stand-by with two over-excited small boys in tow – in economy and in a bad mood.

This time was different – so different, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven …

So there I was upstairs on the double-decker A380, seated rather conveniently right next door to the on-board pub, with free-flowing booze, cocktails and delicious canapés just a step away.

With 14 hours of back-to-back, uninterrupted ‘me time’ ahead, I literally couldn’t believe my good fortune. I’d been on stand-by, hoping to accompany DH on his trip down under, and got the last seat in business class.

As any mum reading this will attest to, the chance to do nothing but watch chick-flicks, listen to music and leaf through magazines – while drinking wine – for a whole day under the twinkly stars of a superjumbo’s ceiling is a ‘pinch-me-now’ dream come true.

Fine dining in the sky: The after-dinner cheese platter

‘Should I watch a movie now or later?’, ‘Recline the seat into a bed and have a nap?’, ‘Or go to the bar?’ ‘Read a novel or Good Housekeeping?’ When these are the only decisions you have to make – and the seat can even give you a massage – stress vanishes faster than you can say ‘white wine please!’

There’s even wi-fi up there – as if the 1,200 channels on the TV aren’t enough – and each seat has its own mini-bar. With so much to do, 14 hours isn’t long enough. I must have been the only person on that plane who didn’t want to get off when we finally touched down 12,000 kilometres later.

The only slight blip on the horizon was that, years ago, I used to be really scared of flying and, despite being married to a pilot, I’m still terrified of turbulence. If DH is next to me, I’ll grip his hand and ask anxiously if everything is ok or if we should get into the emergency brace position. This flight, he was working part of the way (they have two crews on board for such a long flight) and resting in the crew rest area when he wasn’t on duty.

Every now and then, he’d pop up to see me, wearing his sweater as a disguise.

We were high up over the Indian Ocean and I was just reaching a novel state of zen-like calm when he appeared and, hiding a cheeky grin on his face, whispered to me in hushed tones, ‘There’s a serious malfunction.’

‘I wanted you to hear about it first,’ he said sagely, the twinkle in his eyes not noticeable due to the dimmed cabin lights.

You know when you’re sure someone’s joking, but there’s that moment of terror when your heart seems to skip a beat – well *that* was that moment.

Nice one, DH! He made up for it the rest of the time though – and I quickly rediscovered my mile-high nirvana, such are the joys of child-free travel.

Saturday evening in Sydney and down by the Opera House it's buzzing

Home for a refill and a blast of winter

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I love London, and each time I visit I’m reminded how much I enjoy being holed up in a cosy pub, drinking wine with my oldest friends – laughing till our sides ache, reminiscing, and marvelling at how much time has passed since we were at Uni together.

Nearly two decades have flashed by! How did that happen?

Our graduation ceremonies feel so recent, mine etched on my mind forever because I spied a fellow student’s grannie stuffing silverware into her handbag when she thought no one was looking.

The UK is actually having a mild winter this year, but it still feels cold when you only have summer clothes

These past few days, I’ve also enjoyed every minute of catching up with my family – loved ones I don’t see enough of due to living in the Middle East.

Everyone has said the same thing, though: “What are you doing here? Has something happened?”

They’re asking this because, since moving to Dubai four years ago, I’ve timed all my visits to the Northern hemisphere to coincide with warmer temperatures and long days.

This time, it’s winter – there’s a cold, howling wind that whips right through you, the tree branches are bare and the pale winter sun gives way to an eerie twilight at about 3.50pm.

I know my friends and family are struggling with blustery days, during which they go to work and return home in the dark like badgers, but, for me, the blast of winter is a wonderful novelty – a chance to drink warming hot chocolate by the radiator, to snuggle under the duvet with the iPad – and wear the Uggs.

I’m no stranger to winter. When we lived in the States – in Minneapolis, a city I adored in spring, summer and fall, the temperature could plummet to minus 25, so cold it hurt. During these sub-zero spells, if you threw a cup of boiling water into the air, it would freeze by the time it hit the ground.

Minneapolis in North America: Moving to Dubai was like jumping out of the freezer into the frying pan

Yet, at the same time, it was like living in a magical, winter wonderland. Fresh, fluffy snow would burst through the clouds, the flakes lightly touching your face, attaching to your lashes and tickling your nose. The sky, I remember, was nearly always blue, and the frozen lakes dotted with ice fishing huts and the odd car.


A British winter is, of course, far more dreary and overcast, but when you’ve escaped it for eight years running, it doesn’t seem gloomy. On the contrary, I’ve been revelling in the cosiness and loving the winter fashions being paraded everywhere I go. The scarves, hats, boots and coats – floor-length maxi-coats, double-breasted wool coats and fur-lined jackets in trendy winter colours like mustard and aubergine.

I’ve practically had to stop myself coo-ing at coats out loud or, worse, running up to people in the street to snatch the coat off their back.

Believe me, winter can be utterly fabulous, especially when you’ve just arrived from the desert and it’s only four days long.

Oh the coats - I love the coats. You would too if you never had to wear one

The airport run

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I don’t know about you, but the school holiday/Christmas combo wore me out – if I’d propped my eyelids open with cocktail sticks, I would still have fallen asleep.

And as BB’s school goes back a week later than nearly every other school in the world, I decided to take him home to his grandparents in England so they could do some advanced babysitting.

So here we are – in chilly Surrey (it’s 7 degrees and I arrived in flip-flops!), having got here by the skin of our teeth.

Suffice to say, our tickets – which were meant to be confirmed, weren’t – so standby it was, again. We tried four different flights over 24 hours, which involved lots of waiting (and you know how painful this can be with a small child in tow – personally I’d rather sit on those cocktail sticks), plus trotting backwards and forwards to the airport in a taxi.

On day 1, after our first crack-of-dawn attempt to get away, the taxi driver didn’t quite get that all we’d achieved that morning was an airport breakfast, and from the yawning I was doing presumed we’d just got off an international flight. So I went along with it. Later that day, we had afternoon tea at the airport too.

On day 2, after an even earlier start, the boarding pass fairy smiled on us and, with less than 45 minutes until take-off, we set off on a high-speed chase through passports and security to the gate – me dragging BB and our bags along at speed past Dubai International’s endless bling bling stores.

While everyone else settled down to enjoy a good movie, BB and I watched the map and counted down the minutes. "Look, Mummy - the front of the airplane has reached England. Are we in the front?"

The airplane, of course, was parked in the furthest-away spot, in the overflow parking by the airport fence, and we had to get to it by bus. As BB whined about how long the bus ride was taking – with eight hours of playing Tray Up/Tray Down, Light On/Light Off on the actual flight to go – my mood plummeted further.

The final hurdle was a seating problem. Having got the last two seats, BB and I were sitting in separate parts of the aircraft – and while I would have loved someone else, and even paid them good money, to sit next to him, this obviously wasn’t going to work. So I enlisted the help of a kindly cabin boy to ask passengers if they wouldn’t mind moving.

The shuffle that ensued resulted in a young man being left without a seat and, it was at this point, that my over-tired, over-active mind whirled into action, with visions of BB and I being deplaned.

“She doesn’t look like a terrorist,” I imagined the other passengers thinking, as I pictured us being marched off the aircraft. “Surely not with a child. Maybe they’re drug mules. No, the mother must be drunk. That’s it! She’s drunk – and in charge of a small boy! Disgraceful!”

Thankfully, my nice cabin boy returned and found the young man a seat – and we were on our way.

And so that’s how my relaxing break began. Just don’t get me started about the flight itself!

The run on sellotape

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Christmas when you’re living overseas can be a funny thing.

On the upside, here in Dubai you’ve got champagne brunches, take-out turkeys from five-star hotels, child-friendly beach clubs with the sunshine to enjoy them and the fact everywhere’s open on Christmas Day.

My in-laws, who are staying with us and looking to buy property, were able to view apartments with a real-estate agent after we’d opened presents – and could even have gone on to Ikea.

Christmas morning at Circles: But there was no pulling the wool over BB's eyes: "That's not Santa, that's Uncle James!'


On the downside, you’re far from family back home, there are no seasonal specials of Doctor Who or Family Fortunes on the TV, some people think it doesn’t feel festive unless it’s cold and miserable outside and, being a Muslim country, there’s not a baby Jesus in sight, plus you might not officially have the day off work.

And this year – just like the previous two years – there was another curveball for unsuspecting Christmas shoppers, summed up by a friend of mine on Facebook as follows:

“No time to finish shopping, no days off to speak of, no Bacardi (don’t worry, I’ve got vodka) and no husband …. But it was the ‘no sellotape’ that pushed me over the edge.”

Yes, the local supermarket had, once again, failed to order extra supplies, which probably meant there was no sellotape left anywhere in Dubai – leaving, I can only imagine, thousands of expats with presents to wrap frantically wondering if they’d have to use Pritt stick instead.

I called my friend straight away, because as I mentioned before, I have a son who uses rolls of the stuff to tape his toys to the floor so they don’t get cleared away, and so I buy industrial quantities and stash it away.

Next year, I bet loads more expats with stockings to stuff will do the same – as I said, it can be a funny ole time Christmas in Dubai, and apologies for blogging about sellotape, again!