Category Archives: Holiday

Naughty or nice?

Posted on by

You know what it’s like, when the kids are off school and they’re operating on a schedule that looks like this…


So it’s a small miracle that we’re just about ready for Christmas, despite DH being somewhat preoccupied.

DH is usually around loads (you wouldn’t believe how many days off he has the rest of the year), but right now he’s training on the superjumbo – the A380, to use the proper lingo – or the double-decker (with showers) that looks like it should never get off the ground. Exciting, yes, but it means intensive training at ‘airplane school’ all over Christmas. “Timing” doesn’t come close.

Anyway, over the past few days, I’ve discovered that a bit of festive bribery is a wonderful way to nip bad behaviour in the bud.

It’s like having special powers – it’s cut down on time-outs, shouting and outrageous demands – what’s more, I’m hearing parents everywhere uttering the same two words.

Two little words that speak volumes and will be given up tonight in return for a glass of sherry, a mince pie and a carrot:

They are, of course: “Santa’s watching!”

And you can just see their cute little faces drop, their brain synapses firing away as they process this information and its unthinkable consequences. “That means no presents, no presents! Santa will give my brother presents, and not me!”

It’s working a treat! But, with sibling rivalry alive and well in the Circles household, the funny thing is the boys are trying their hardest to grass each other up.

“Mummeeee, he’s being B.A.D,” is practically ringing in my ears and has led the LittleBoy to actually change his name.

“Who are you?,” asked someone of LB yesterday. “The good one,” he replied, quicker than you can say Santa Claus is coming to town.

Christmas short-cuts for housewives

Posted on by

At work, being a weekly news publication, we’re ‘on a deadline’ the whole time. It’s relentless but everyone pulls together and the magazine always gets done – even when the post-recession production team is two people, doing six different jobs, down, like it was last week.

But the Christmas deadline? That’s something else altogether. And it’s not like I’m trying to create a Martha Stewart-esqe holiday like those women I meet with their bright red Christmas manicures and fresh highlights who hung the last bauble on the tree at 2am and had everything wrapped days ago. With bows on.

I’m trying to keep it simple – the less is more approach – but even so I’m feeling the pressure because, having just finished work on Thursday and the kids now off school, I keep counting the days and there just aren’t enough to get everything done.

So this year, I’m discovering that ‘short-cuts’ are the working housewife’s best friend – let’s just call them time-saving devices that allow you to eke out the hours until Christmas.

Our fourth Christmas in Dubai, and still a novelty seeing trees surrounded by palms and blue sky


By now, the kids were meant to have seen Santa, but we failed at the weekend due to the queue at Wafi and when we trooped over to another mall, we were told the part-time, lazy oaf of a Santa there only works evenings.

We could take the traditionalist approach and see Santa in the snow at Ski Dubai, but I’m thinking it might be insanely busy – like the rest of Dubai, which has swelled in size with thousands of relatives and tourists in town, here to have Christmas on the beach.

I’ve also got a sneaking suspicion that if we did come across Santa in Dubai he might be on the skinny side and sporting a sun tan.

So I’ve warned the kids we may have to email their Christmas list – plus friends have told me about a website, www.portablenorthpole.com, which is apparently brilliant – and free.

A more worrying hitch that came to light while attempting to do some baking with the kids is that only half the oven works – it can just about cope with fish fingers, but a turkey big enough to feed 10-plus people on Christmas Eve could take all day to cook.

We're coming over for Christmas. All of us


So I’m looking into take-out turkeys – because this is where Dubai comes into its own. Despite Christmas not being an official holiday here (DH will be at work, training, on the big day), you can pre-order a cooked turkey with trimmings from a number of hotels – some will even deliver, meaning your turkey arrives at your door like a pizza.

A few other short cuts I’ve discovered include the mince pies at Spinneys (delicious), the frozen sausage rolls in the hidden-away ‘forbidden’ pork section, e-mailable gift certificates from Amazon for my family back home and the fact that it’s ok to superglue the gingerbread house we attempted – as it’s too hard to eat anyway and using icing as glue, as the nonsense in the flat-packed kit suggested, resulted in a derelict shack.

The red nails are even a possibility now that I’ve clawed back a few hours. But not the holiday highlights – because my hairdresser makes enough money here giving women beautiful sun-kissed hair-dos that she can afford to leave early for a beach resort in Thailand.

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE – AND WISHING YOU ALL GOOD THINGS IN 2012!

Santa in the desert: The man himself arrived in a red Hummer at an event organised by the Dubai Irish Society

Work-to-rule Santa

Posted on by

At the Wafi mall this morning there was a long line of harassed-looking parents, their kids orbiting round a Christmas tree two houses high with baubles the size of small planets.

A festive extravaganza, even if the queue management left much to be desired

Barely concealing the fact they wished they could have spent the morning sleeping in and reading the paper rather than queuing for Santa, the parents were doing their best to keep their overexcited offspring under control as the queue inched forwards.

People must have been waiting at least an hour – if not more – I’m guessing, but were remaining resolute – the promise of seeing Dubai’s most authentic-looking Santa, in that his beard is said to be genuine, followed by a free cup of tea and entrance to the play area proving to be a crowd puller.

Santa’s top-security grotto was heavily guarded by toy soldiers and you couldn’t even peep at the man in red – we tried but just found ourselves face-to-face with animatronics.

Then, at about quarter to one, a Filipino lady appeared and walked over to the queue. She stopped half way up the line and, ignoring the expectant little faces and restlessness among the ranks, announced with no apology:

“Santa’s taking a break at one.”

“For 30 minutes,” she continued, totally deadpan.

I’m not sure that the families in the second-half of the queue were even told of this fact, although I’m sure the news travelled fast.

We didn’t hang around to see the mutiny I presume ensued.

Honestly, you’d think, wouldn’t you, that since he only works for one month a year, Santa might be able to plough on through?

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!

Halloween in the Hood

Posted on by

The witching hour has begun. I’ve raced home from work like a demon, the neighbourhood is aglow with orange lanterns and the boys are dressed up and on the sugar again.

It can only be Halloween – alive and kicking in Dubai, thanks to the significant number of American expats. And because we live in a compound of families, trick-or-treaters practically line up at our door.

In the Muslim world, beings called jinn - or genies - are believed to exist. Paranormal citings in the UAE are considered not to be connected to people who have passed away, but to these entirely separate beings. Citings of jinn are said to be common in Nad Al Sheba, the ‘haunted’ Jazira Al Hamrat village in Ras Al Kaimah, and Jumeirah.

The first year we were here, we ran out of goodies and ended up handing out juice boxes, cheese, apples, bananas, sandwiches – anything! The cupboards looked like they’d been ransacked.

This year, we know what to do – panic buy candy as though preparing for nuclear war, dole it out in rationed portions, then when it’s all gone, turn the porch light out and hide.

BB and LB are in their element, of course. Our preparations started a week ago with costume planning. The Little Boy was easy – I grabbed a spiderboy outfit from our local supermarket which he loved.

Not interested in a big reveal tonight, he’s worn it to bed every night and nearly all weekend too (his face was a picture when we walked into the Halloween bash at the Madinat to find at least six other spiderboys in exactly the same red-and-blue outfit).

The Big Boy was harder. I’ve mentioned before he likes trains – a lot – and so he decided he’d go as a ghost train. He drew me an elaborate illustrated diagram then tested me on it. “Do ghosts have teeth?” he asked, picturing in his mind some kind of monster-ghost hybrid.

Pammy the Pumpkin

In the end, we settled on a glow-in-the dark skeleton outfit from OshKosh, which he’s wearing with his pilot’s hat and a set of handcuffs that went to school this week for show-and-tell.

We’ve even decorated: DH planted a skull in the flowerbed and dangled a one-armed skeleton in the porchway. But, I have to say, I’m rather proud of the pumpkin the boys and I carved yesterday. Just a small attempt on my part to redress the boy/girl ratio in this household. She’s rather pretty, no?

Postscript: Halloween’s over!
Now 10pm, the streets are quiet, the Halloweenies all in bed. As predicted, the doorbell didn’t stop ringing, and I practically had to retrieve the boys from the ceiling they were so high on e-numbers. Some highlights I’m still laughing about:

The boys collected enough candy to last all year - this tired mummy is about to steal some

– The drive-by trick-or-treaters: a quad bike pulling a six-foot trailer loaded with revellers

– The teenagers who got in on the act

– Piling our candy on a tray, only to regret it when kids started grabbing the stuff. “I’ll have that one, that one and that one….”

– Hearing about last year’s egging at the Ranches (really? It’s hardly the wrong side of Dubai)

– “I don’t like these. Have you got anything else?” (Who do you think we are? The pick ‘n’ mix stall?)

– “Could we have money instead?”

Did Saudi spot the moon too soon?

Posted on by

With the UAE returning to work today (Sunday) following the Eid holidays, I’m hoping I’ll have better luck chasing some of my late payers for the bits and pieces of freelance work I’ve done lately.

I had a go at getting paid during Ramadan, the quiet month of fasting, during which workers enjoyed reduced hours, and was told, ‘Sorry we took three weeks to get back to you, everyone’s tired.’

Not surprising, I suppose. But now that it’s business as usual, I’m keeping my fingers crossed that the staff at this particular company are in a more productive mood.

Eid, which marks the end of Ramadan, started last Tuesday, after the Moon-Sighting Committee spotted the new crescent moon.

Rather like Christmas or Thanksgiving, it’s a celebratory time for Muslims, with gifts, good food and family visits. Homes are decked out with lights and this year there were fireworks, concerts, carnivals and magic shows.

But, unlike British or American holidays, you never quite know when the days off are going to fall – because Islamic holidays such as Eid that are based on the sighting of the moon are not announced until the night before. Which is why towards the end of Ramadan you’ll find me and my friends gazing skywards going ‘C’mon moon! We know you’re there.’ For workers, you literally leave the office not knowing if you’ll be back the next day.

This year, Saudi Arabia announced the start of Eid at around 8.15pm on Monday evening, with the UAE following suit shortly after. Interestingly, though, there’s an unconfirmed rumour that the Saudis got the timing wrong. Some people are questioning whether the Saudi Moon-Sighting Committee in fact mistook Saturn for the crescent moon.

If this is true or not, I don’t know, as I also read that these days the calculations are done largely by computer, rather than by eye, and that neighbouring countries work together to agree on when holidays are declared. Whether Eid did kick off a day early or not, I hope all our Muslim friends enjoyed the festivities!

A treat for our taste buds
Over here in England, I’ve been in a celebratory mood, too, with the climax of my holiday – my oldest and dearest friend’s 40th birthday. She invited us to ‘tumble down the rabbit hole’ with her at a Mad Hatter’s tea party at a London hotel and I wanted to include a photo as it was truly a gastronomic adventure.

The hazelnut praline ice cream lollipops literally exploded in our mouths and the blueberry lollipops were designed to turn your tongue from hot to cold. But the best thing was the bizarre concoction in the enticing-looking bottle labelled ‘Drink Me’. Each sip actually delivered a totally different taste, starting with apple pie, then turning to lemon curd, and ending with English toffee.

We went from this wonderful potion to a cocktail-making lesson later, followed by cocktail drinking and merriment. A great night and a fantastic end to my English summer.

Back to the sandpit
Today I’m packing for sandier pastures and remembering how travel is so much easier if you’re five and don’t have to think about anything. BB appeared with the most enormous box of Lego, thinking it would miraculously transport itself back to Dubai. So I’ve given him his own suitcase to carry, which he WILL be responsible for!

Meanwhile, my mind is boggling at all the passports I’m juggling – look at this ridiculous number, and these are just mine and the kids’ (citizens of both the US and the UK). So if you hear about a tired-looking blonde with two small boys holding up the queue in the arrivals hall at Dubai airport tomorrow, that’ll be me.

One or two are expired but still have valid visas in them, so I need to keep tabs on the lot.

Soaking up the greenery in Royal Windsor

Posted on by

Today was a British bank holiday Sunday, complete with heavy rain showers and crowds of people off work. Just how I remember such weekends.

We found ourselves at Windsor Great Park, the Queen’s back garden. DH, though not with us, was very much in my thoughts because he’s always telling me that Windsor, the picturesque setting of the royal family’s Windsor Castle, is practically joined to nearby Slough, a sprawling town he remembers fondly from childhood.

The reality is Slough is ‘da hood’ that Ali G pokes fun of and the suburban location of the comedy series The Office. But since DH is always trying to find excuses for us to visit Slough, I usually nod in agreement.

But back to Windsor, this afternoon we found a gem amid the beauty of the royal park. The Savill Garden is well worth a visit, even if, like me, your knowledge of garden plants stops at daffodils and daisies.

The boys ran through the hidden, interlocking gardens with wild abandon while I enjoyed a greenery fix. We followed the sculpture trail and couldn’t quite believe the price tag on this stainless steel eagle: £16,670 (that’s US$27,230)!

Some elderly folk, who were coo-ing over a baby girl, only looked mildly aghast when oldest son screeched through the otherwise quiet glasshouse in express train mode, and my green-fingered mother managed to keep her scissors in her bag: she famously took a cutting from a plant while attending a garden party at Buckingham Palace with my father and actually managed to grow it in our garden!

So nice is the Royal Borough of Windsor it made me want to move there. But, alas, we’d never be able to afford it.

Oh well, there’s always Slough. It’s more or less merged with Windsor, you know.

I even stopped to smell the roses!

Wildest Wales: We survived!

Posted on by

Five adults, four young children – all related – sharing a holiday home in a remote part of North Wales. What could possibly go wrong?

The adults sipping wine, watching on as the children play happily in a grassy field. Long walks through beautiful countryside and tired kids falling into bed at the end of the day.

Well, no. Not exactly.

But it was, mostly, lovely, and everyone enjoyed our time en masse.

I discovered, however, that being taken to deepest Wales at least 10 times while growing up in no way prepares you for going as a grown-up and having to think about things that never even cross our minds in Dubai, like wellies, water-proofs, fleeces and socks. Things that, in North Wales, stop your kids from getting hyperthermia. Things that my mum, thankfully, remembered every time I forgot.

Here are some more important lessons I learnt (and sorry to my friends on the blogosphere for some repetition here, it’s all still sinking in!):

>• The road trip there is short by American standards, but long when you factor in the whining from the back, Shaun the Sheep on a loop on the DVD and Electronic Eddie’s devious short cuts along winding mountain roads so narrow they only fit one car.

>• You’ll need to pack at least five bags for every outing to carry the necessary wet-weather gear, plus spares of everything – and, even then, your kids will end up in their swimming stuff (the only dry clothes left) for the ride home. Spare pairs of wellies are also a good idea because when water comes over the top, they take a week to dry.

That's MY bed! (but since you're both so cute and quiet when sleeping, I'll have to forgive you)

>• The kids (mine) will not happily settle into a routine of a set bedtime and 12 hours’ sleep. They’ll go to bed late, join you in bed and get up early with excitement. By the end of the week, you’ll be on your knees with sleep deprivation. The younger one will power nap in the car while everyone else holds onto their seats on those mountain passes, then he’ll wake up thinking it’s morning and keep going for hours. His delight at all the farmyard animals will go a long way towards making up for this, though.

>• You’ll marvel at your brother’s kids, who go to bed when told, get dressed when told, don’t snack, eat their meals and walk for ages without a whimper – both utterly lovable kids who are a joy to have around. But you’ll find you can no longer claim your own kids’ bad behaviour is a temporary blip when it lasts all week long (not to mention, end the holiday with a parenting crisis).

Child-proofing not a priority here then

>• Just when you think you can relax and enjoy a picnic, the two-year-old will find a stone wall to climb and walk along, a big stick to poke you with, or be irresistibly drawn to a pile of poo. Even in the house the kids will keep you on your toes by choosing the most dangerous area to play in – this really odd open attic, high above my bed, that became the games club.

>• Your knowledge of all things related to the countryside will let you down spectacularly because you’ll be stumped by oldest son’s questions, including: Why are there no trees on the mountains? Why are the cow pats so big? (is it because cows have two stomachs, or is that camels?) Did the chicken or the egg come first? Where’s the swimming pool?

Perfect trap for little feet

>• You’ll find that people with bigger feet have a much easier time at the cattle grid we had to lug the kids and 10 bags over every day to get to the car – parked a long way down a stony track because the access to our holiday home, over a teeny-tiny bridge that gave my brother’s car a flat tyre, was better suited to mountain bikes.

>• The alpha males of the group will attempt to keep the pack together, but find this increasingly difficult as the females are sidetracked by shops and the kids all run off in different directions.

>• You won’t enjoy having one bathroom for nine people (the horror!), the novelty of rain will wear off, and will really miss your husband (in Florida), who makes everything so much easier. But you’ll absolutely love the amazing scenery, seeing the kids enjoying the steam trains, the castles, the seaside, the cool air, the pies, the fudge and your own childhood memories it brings back.

Because North Wales was, without a doubt, the perfect antidote to summer in the desert.

Train driver-to-be: The hat stayed on all holiday

Trekking from the house to the car

ARE WE THERE YET? On flying with kids

Posted on by

So I buckled and finally fled the sandpit for cooler weather, rain and the chance to do some bargain shopping.

It was time to go, anyway. Work was over and Ramadan*, with its month-long daytime closure of food outlets, was about to start. Plus, Catherine the Great was off on her annual leave back to the Philippines. Without her, life is not quite the same.

In my last post, I revealed why I was dreading the night flight home with the boys. My biggest worry was handling tantrums by myself in a confined space with everyone watching – and fights. My two fall out continually and, as we taxied to the runway, they started bickering over things outside the window. “MY airplane,” roared the little boy, as we trundled past a double-decker A380. “NO, it’s MINE,” retaliated his brother.


The crankiness was hardly surprising – we’d dragged them out of bed after just three hours’ sleep to set out on our 12-hour journey. Fairly confident they wouldn’t fight over clouds once up in the air, I set about trying to get LB’s seatbelt back on – and that’s when it started. The massive tantrum I’d been dreading.

His face turning a purplish colour, his limbs flailing and screaming “No” at the top of voice, he resisted all my efforts to buckle him up. “He has to wear his seat belt,” said a cabin girl peering at us. “I know,” I replied, thinking, “CAN’T YOU SEE I’M TRYING!” Then she took pity on us and brought over a seatbelt contraption that buckled to mine so he could sit on my lap for take-off. Not a good start, but we were off.

Once airborne, BB started asking if we were there yet. “No dear, another seven and a half hours.” With no concept of time, he asked the question another hundred times. An exhausted LB, meanwhile, was so close to sleep, but then a kids’ meal was thrust in front of him, his eyes lit up at the sight of the chocolate cookies and he tucked in. Confiscating them at this point would have detonated another tantrum, so, yes, I wimped out.

High on lack of sleep and excitement, BB stubbornly refused to put his seat back, despite everyone else immediately reclining theirs into our laps. Calculating that it would take another hour or so for the sugar rush to wear off and for BB to fall asleep in his bolt-upright position, we watched some TV, played a few rounds of Tray up/Tray down, Light on/ Light off and stared at the airplane’s painfully slow progress across the map.

Somewhere over Iraq, a feather-light sleep finally overcame them – BB using me as a pillow and LB flat out over his seat and mine. So not only was I unable to move for fear of rousing them, but I was left perched on half an economy seat … until the breakfast service more than four hours later.

Now there's a good idea

As dawn broke somewhere over Eastern Europe, BB flung open his window shade and announced loudly and ecstatically to the nearby sleeping passengers, “It’s morning-time!” An urgent dash to the loo a little later woke his brother as BB pushed past, and I knew that was it, there would be no more sleeping on this flight. Just two bored, overtired boys.

When it was finally time to land, seatbelt tantrum part II unfolded. But this time, worse. LB unleashed such a furious outburst, it took all my strength to hold him down. Everyone glared. The stony-eyed 20-something couple in front could barely conceal their annoyance and even Smug Mother of two crayon-loving girls just across the aisle avoided catching my eye. BB found the whole situation incredible funny and started laughing until he got the hiccups.

On deplaning, BB made his way up the aisle hiccupping loudly. The boys ran along the moving walkways, racing each other in their excitement at being released and, in the baggage hall, had great fun putting their Lightening McQueen backpacks on the conveyor belt and watching them go round with the rest of the luggage.

I, meanwhile, hauled our suitcase off and attempted to lug the huge case, our carry-on luggage, my handbag and the boy’s bags, which by this point had been jettisoned, through customs. On seeing that I didn’t have a seventh arm to push the stroller, a lovely lady finally showed me some kindness and took charge of pushing LB.

People who help are usually of a similar type: they’re often grandmothers who adore their grandchildren and know how challenging travelling with kids can be. This lady had three grown-up boys and two grandsons. She told me she wanted to come and help on the plane but the seatbelt sign was on. With tiredness permeating every bone of my body, I wanted to hug her.

So we made it! Arriving makes it all worthwhile, and you quickly forget the pain and bad bits of the flight, a bit like childbirth really. Plus, I’m well aware it could have been so much worse: many of my friends in Dubai have to travel to the US with small kids and that can involve up to 16 hours on board – read Up in the Air Mama Style for a wonderful account.

Although I think the flight did go quicker than daytime flights, I’m not sure if I’d travel overnight again. The amount of sleep we got didn’t compensate for the fatigue and crankiness, a fair proportion of it mine. And because we arrived into Gatwick so early, there was the whole of the next day to get through as well – and, on an adrenaline-fuelled surge of excitement at being at their grandparents’, the boys resisted sleep all of that day, too!

*RAMADAN KAREEM (a greeting meaning ‘Ramadan is generous’)
So how can not having any food during daylight hours be considered generous? Despite not being in Dubai for Ramadan this year, I thought I’d say a few words about this month of abstinence as it is such an important spiritual experience for Muslims.

The start of Ramadan is confirmed by the sighting of the new moon (each year it’s about eleven days earlier) and Muslims observe this time of reflection and prayer by fasting from dawn until sunset. This means they don’t drink, eat, smoke or have sexual relations during daylight hours. It’s seen as a time of generosity as people give to the poor. Charity tents are erected for those who wish to donate to the needy and good will abounds.

The meal to break the fast is called ‘Iftar’ and many restaurants serve all-you-can-eat Iftar buffets at generous prices. Seeing famished fasters staring down at their food while waiting for the sunset call to prayer is a common sight. Ramadan’s generosity extends to the stores in the mall, with some great sales on at this time of year.

The word ‘Ramadan’ is derived from the Arabic root word ‘Ramida’ meaning ‘scorched heat’ or ‘parched thirst’. And anyone who fasts in this part of the world will fully understand those terms.

Many Muslims break their fast with dates and juice before their main meal, and gas stations offer free dates and water to travellers. If you’re on the roads at this time, beware: car accidents increase in the half hour before iftar as hungry fasters rush home to be with their families.

For expats, Ramadan is a time to show respect for the sentiments of participating Muslims. While not expected to practice Ramadan themselves, in the UAE it is illegal for adults to eat, drink or smoke in public during daylight hours for the whole month (unless you’re elderly, ill, pregnant, nursing or menstruating, and even then, it’s better to be discreet). This extends to travelling in a car. Even chewing gum could be seen as an offence. Most cafes and restaurants are closed all day, although some have a closed-off area for serving non-fasters. Supermarkets remain open and hotels cater for tourists, but the city has a different feel about it. No music is allowed, many nightclubs are closed and there are no concerts or festivals.

So, during Ramadan, night becomes day, the malls are open until 1am, and kids are kept up until all hours. And it’s not just lifestyles that change – work life is different, too. Muslims will generally work fewer hours and not much gets done during Ramadan. Where I work, no advertising is expected in the magazine for the whole month, and eating or drinking at your desk is not permitted.

The last 10 days of the month are especially significant since it is believed that the Quran, the Holy Book of the Muslims, was first revealed to the Prophet during this time. Although the actual date is unknown, many Muslims believe it was the 27th night of the month, and many stay up praying all night.

As with the beginning of Ramadan, the end is confirmed when the moon-sighting committee spots the new moon and a public holiday – Eid al Fitr – follows, involving feasting and visiting family and friends – a celebration similar to Christmas or Thanksgiving.