Lady Gaga toes the line in Dubai

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Lady Gaga arrives in Dubai (pic courtesy of Time Out Dubai)

Lady Gaga arrives in Dubai (pic from Time Out Dubai)

A quick confession – I’m a Lady Gaga fan. There I’ve said it.

So when I heard she was coming to Dubai, for her first ever concert in the Middle East, I told DH we were going.

We don’t always have a lot of luck with this – the last concert we were meant to attend together (Eric Clapton – my taste is eclectic!) was looking good, until DH suddenly got called out to New Zealand at the last minute.

This time, it was all systems go, and we made our way to the venue, the impressive Meydan racecourse – timing our entrance so as to minimise standing around melting in the energy-sapping, hair-curling humidity, but not wanting to miss the fanfare of her arrival on stage.

Well, let’s just say we could have gone out for a four-course meal, thrown a few shapes on the dancefloor, and still made it on time.

9pm came and went. 9.30pm. 10pm (Yawn). 10.15pm. And on a school night, too. By 10.25pm, with beads of sweat making a trickly descent down my forehead, I was getting a bit fed up.

“It wasn’t like this at Jesus Jones,” said DH (he doesn’t get out to many concerts!) I had to laugh, because Jesus Jones must have been performing in the late 80s.

“Well, it is Lady Gaga,” I reminded him. “She can get away with being a diva.”

(And requesting black satin drapes in her hotel room, silver satin sheets, an oxygen tank and peanut butter containing flax seed and no more than 4g of sugar, if the Daily Mirror is to be believed.)

Gaga's wardrobe contains latex, sequins and tentacles (pic from Emirates Woman)

Gaga’s wardrobe contains latex, sequins and tentacles (pic from Emirates Woman)

But you know what, when she did finally come on (at 10.30pm), wearing suitably eccentric golden wings, she was adorable and instantly forgivable. “Marhaba Dubai. My name is Lady Gaga,” she called out, kicking off an hour and a half of high-energy, crowd-pleasing hits, bizarre wig and costume changes, and plenty of emotionally charged audience interaction.

“They used to tell me I was crazy, I would never come to the Middle East … I have waited so long…begged,” she shakily told her legions of fans, one of whom held a sign picturing Gaga in a burqa with the words, “My mum made you a burqa – will you wear it?”

She seemed ridiculously pleased to have made it to the Arab world – repeating messages of gratitude, acceptance and tolerance – and stuck to her word to tone down her performance to respect the UAE’s conservative sensibilities. “I want to speak Arabic so badly but I’m terrible at it,” the 28-year-old pop star giggled, before stammering her way through the Arabic for: “Hello, how are you my little monsters?”

There was no nudity, no on-stage costume changes or pole dancing; instead she dazzled with her artistry, panache, glitz, great voice – yes, she can sing – and all-round randomness (her most “way out” costume being a cross between a dalmatian and an octopus).

Shooting laser beams, a colourful and equally eccentric dance troupe, and an extravagant stage added to the mélange. Then all too soon, it was over. Her last song – Swine, complete with pig masks – was perhaps not the best-advised. But she followed this with an enchanting encore – my favourite song, Gypsy, belted out under the stars and bringing an unforgettable show to a climactic end. Lady Gaga beamed and took a final bow, leaving us with one more Arabic word: “Shukran… I love you.”

Come again soon Lady Gaga! It was our pleasure.

My day in (cracking) news stories

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Working in media, I get to hear all sorts of interesting snippets about new things launching in Dubai. So I wasn’t surprised when I read a fellow journalist’s Facebook update this morning:

“I have just been sent a press release about the launch of a twerk class in Dubai … this is not a joke.”

Even funnier is that it’s my friend’s job to review such things.

Then there are the news stories in the local media that keep us amused in the office, like Lady Gaga arriving in Dubai dressed in a ball gown, ready for her first (tamed down) Middle East concert; and this (perhaps not surprising) nip and tuck story from 7Days:

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Sparkle Towers: Like living in a giant chandelier

“UAE has highest ratio of plastic surgeons in the world” – with breast reduction the most requested procedure by men; liposuction or rhinoplasty the treatments of choice for women; and, worryingly, 15 per cent of patients going under the knife under the age of 23.

Twerking little monsters going gaga and plastic surgery aside, my job is, in fact, on a business magazine, with far more serious, industry-related news. But, increasingly, we’re coming across stories that confirm the era of fanciful projects is well and truly back now that Dubai is booming again – such as the news today that the crystal giant Swarovski plans to build ‘Sparkle Towers’ at Dubai Marina.

I did check that it wasn’t April 1st.

For style-sensitive residents, the ultra-luxurious residential project will feature “exquisite crystal-themed innovations” including sparkling lighting solutions and crystal interiors [their words, not mine].

Seriously, you can’t make this stuff up.

And finally, the headline of the day award goes to the Khaleej Times:

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Back to school: The Most Confusing and Complicated Time of the Year

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I always find the start of the new school year really perplexing. It’s like everything I knew about their classmates, routines, PE and swimming days and library sessions has suddenly become obsolete, and must be pieced back together again like a giant, 3D puzzle.

It’s as though there’s a software update for the hard-drive in my head, and downloading the update not only mysteriously erases useful data like pick-up times, early finish time and the teacher’s name, but also makes the desktop in my brain look different. Nothing is intuitive anymore. Do I click here for homework? What days do I send PE kit in? Or does he wear it to school? Which class is my car pool mum’s child in now? And where the hell is the new classroom anyway?

"Updates are installing. Do not turn off your brain"

“Updates are installing. Do not turn off your brain”

It doesn’t help that we’ve got two schools following different curriculums on the go, so it all feels a bit bi-polar, and I haven’t had time to study all the emails and newsletters coming out of both schools in detail.

Then there’s the mixed-up emotional side – and this one has really hit me this year. I used to be one of those women who, on the first day back, would skip down the supermarket aisle celebrating my freedom. Now, to my amazement, I’ve turned into someone who wishes it could be summer f-o-r-e-v-e-r, and is even at risk of shedding tears at the school gate. Although which camp I’m in depends on the day.

My DH tells me I’m no good at change, but I’d correct that to say transitions. I’m fine once I get into the new routine, but that unsettled period before it’s established bothers me, and the worry comes out in odd ways. At the grocery store the other day, I couldn’t find the pâté. They’d either moved it again, or it hadn’t arrived on the boat this week. I was talking to the nice man in the pork section, who showed me where it was. “Why isn’t it where it always is,” I asked. He shot me a sympathetic, pitiful look. I think he knew I wasn’t talking about the pâté.

Travel post: Redefining the Scenic Route

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Perched high above the Shenandoah Valley, in America’s dreamy Blue Ridge Mountains, Skyline Drive offers impressive views at every bend, with plenty of outdoorsy activities along the way.
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If there’s one thing Son2 is scared of it’s bears. So you can imagine that a little teasing went on this summer, when we visited Virginia’s Shenandoah National Park, for the much-needed relaxing part of our US trip.

And, quite honestly, I could have moved into the mountain cabin we rented and embarked on a new career as a park ranger, wandering around the forests and hollows of the vast, almost whimsical park. According to local lore, Shenandoah was named for a Native American word meaning ‘Daughter of the Stars.’ Whether or not this is true, there’s no doubt it’s one of the prettiest places in the US.

Shenandoah National Park’s scenic roadway, Skyline Drive, follows the crest of the Blue Ridge Mountains for 105 miles, and it was this main artery that we intended to drive. Slowly. The speed limit is 35 mph, and people stick to it. Shaking off our UAE driving habits, we rolled down the windows, felt the breeze and experienced every curve and turn of the spectacular drive.

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Rock climbers: Life on the edge

Along the route, there are 75 overlooks offering stunning views of the Shenandoah Valley to the west or the rolling hills of the Piedmont to the east. Each stop is a visual feast, and beckons you to park. Mountaintops have always appealed to me, and to see as far as the eye allows (not to mention witness rock climbers bravely hanging off the cliff-edges) is an awe-inspiring and humbling experience all at once.

The park staff deliberately leave the roadsides unmowed so wildflowers put on a show all year long. June’s display of azaleas is said to be spectacular, and cardinal flowers, black-eyed Susans and goldenrod keep the colour blooming right into autumn.

We visited in summer, when the ridge wears its mantle of deep greens. Birds were nesting, and we kept our eyes open for the resident wildlife, including deer, black bear, wild turkey and a host of other woodland animals that call Shenandoah home and regularly cross Skyline Drive in their daily travels (hence the low speed limit).

We were also told to look out for white-tailed deer fawns and bear cubs, which can be spotted in summer as they investigate their leafy environment. Although much to Son2’s relief, the bears stayed away.

Road to the top
Easily accessible from Washington DC, Skyline Drive was built by President Franklin Roosevelt’s three million-strong ‘Tree Army’ of unemployed young men during the Great Depression of the 1930s, and is today traversed by RVs, camping trailers, horse trailers and daytrippers, as well as holidaymakers such as ourselves looking for easy hiking trails to do with our boys (there are more than 500 miles of trails to choose from in total, catering to all standards).

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Luray Caverns: My big boy and moi (being careful not to stand underneath those pointy stalactites)

If we’re lucky enough to visit again, I’d choose autumn, to see the brilliant fall leaves as Virginia’s mountains turn a kaleidoscope of colours and migratory birds fly southwards down the ridge. Or maybe I’d pick winter, to view the frozen sculptures created by tumbling waterfalls.

Other than a couple of short hikes, we unfortunately didn’t have time to partake in any fishing, horseback riding or canoeing, but we did spend a day at the town of Luray, famous for its world-class caverns. Containing amazing natural formations, such as the ‘Throne Room’, ‘Giant’s Hall’, and ‘Fried Eggs’, the caverns are breathtaking. After all those fabulous bird’s-eye views, I highly recommend going underground – not least because you hear the sound of a ‘Stalacpipe Organ’, hyped as the biggest musical instrument in the world. Beat that Dubai!

The forest cabin with a view: Complete with fairies and woodland sprites at the bottom of the garden

The forest cabin with a stunning view from the two-storey deck at the back: Complete with fairies and woodland sprites at the bottom of the garden (to keep an eye on the boys!)

A maid interview overheard

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As anyone who lives in Dubai will know, timing is everything when visiting a mall on a Friday. Get there in the morning, and you’ll have a pleasant experience; arrive later – anytime after about 3 – and you might as well be committing retail hara–kiri.

It was around lunchtime, and you could see the mall population visibly swelling. I popped into Café Nero and, while queuing, realised that an interview was taking place at a nearby table.

The interviewer was blonde, and wore a pea green summer dress. She looked polished and shiny, with eloquent eyebrows and oversized earrings. Across her nose, I noticed the faintest sprinkling of freckles. She had a kind smile, and was leaning attentively towards her interviewee.

“Do you cook,” she asked.

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So when can you start?

The replies were more softly spoken. But the answer must have been yes.

“You can cook Arabic food too, that’s great!” she said, her hand fluttering upwards to push a strand of hair behind her ear.

On the other side of the table sat a petite, dark-haired Filipina lady who you could tell from her body language was nervous, but was being put at ease by the friendly potential Madame.

There was a pause. There are always pauses in these interviews, what with the language difference and the awkwardness you feel when you’re not used to hiring domestic help.

“Can you iron?” she asked next, again perfectly politely.

I could see that they were sizing each other up. The blonde thinking: Will she fit in? Could she make the myriad of tiny logistical manoeuvres that make up my life run a little smoother? Would I feel comfortable having her watch my kids while I’m working, or would I feel strangely untethered? Could she run the household while I’m gone like a Swiss watch?

And her potential employee thinking: Have I got the job? What are the hours, pay? She’s an expat so more time off! Cable TV? A laptop? My own room? I really hope they don’t have pets!

As much as I wanted to hear the outcome of this interview (especially the words You’re hired!), I had to leave before they’d finished chatting. I walked by and heard a shared giggle – a genuine bubble of laughter that floated above the table. And I found myself thinking, I really hope it works out for both of them.

The Dubai tram – it’s on track!

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I can tell you this because I’ve been watching the trams tootling up and down on test runs in recent months. I’ve also lost hours of my life sitting in traffic jams outside Media City, stuck in bottlenecks caused by the dusty construction work.

My commute that used to take 25 minutes took a frustrating hour-and-a-half yesterday, and wasn’t helped by Mr Queue Jumper. You all know him. You’ve paid attention to the construction signs and got in the correct lane. Mr Important has ignored them for miles, and now wants to be let in. (Not going to happen).

Anyway, I’m in quite a good position to be able to tell you that the black-and-white trams look modern and sleek (with a gold suite, as well as silver and women-and-children classes); and along the route there are 17 high-tech stations with platform screen doors – a world first for a tramway.

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Do NOT stop on tracks – just don’t, ok

Trams might be commonplace in Europe, where they trundle across numerous cities, but here in the Middle East it’s the first of its kind. The ground-based electricity supply should mean the trams don’t actually trundle, but move smoothly along the track without wobble or noise, connecting Dubai Marina, Media City, Internet City, Knowledge Village and a number of luxury hotels.

Whilst sitting in my vehicle banging my head against the steering wheel as cars pile up trying to get round the roadworks, I’ve also noticed there’s a whole new set of traffic signs relating to the tram – because, in another (scary!) first for the region, the carriages will share road space with cars.

Yes, that’s right. With Mr White Van Man – who last drove a rickshaw and now finds himself licensed and working in Dubai, at the helm of a van with strips of yellow-and-black caution tape on the back and his own mobile number on the ‘Am I driving safe?’ bumper sticker – and with other equally menacing road users.

Last-minute extra safety measures are apparently being implemented to prevent collisions with cars and pedestrians – including guards to stop drivers and people from crossing the tramline at unauthorised places. Heavy fines (up to AED30,000) are also being introduced to discourage accidents.

But, let’s just say that, with so many levels of stupidity behind the wheel in Dubai – from Mr Flasher to Mr Let’s Play Chicken to Mr I’ll Just Ram Your Behind Because I’m on the Phone (who I had the pleasure of coming across this week) ¬– I think my route to work is about to get a whole lot more interesting.

There it goes xxx

There it goes: seven coaches of much-needed public transport for Dubai (opening in November)

Back to school in eight steps

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It’s a week of mixed feelings here as the old routine kicks in again. Last week, my mornings were quite tolerable (and I say this as a non-morning person). Up at 7.30am, out the door by 8.15am, and, wallop, I was at my desk by 9am. No cajoling children into school uniforms, no bullying them out the door and no 30-minute detours to deposit them at school.

At exactly 6.30am today, this all changed – thanks to the early-bird school starts in Dubai, which, quite frankly, make my workdays with no school drop-offs seem like a leisurely lie-in in comparison.

Aside from the early-morning mania, there are – as every school mum knows – numerous other factors that can make the back to school routine something of a challenge after two months of free-fall.  My eight-step refresher regimen runs as follows:

Step1: Return from overseas and get everyone over a flu-like case of jet lag. Once back on a semi-normal schedule, do this all over again when the alarm clock starts going off at what feels like the middle of the night.

Cheers fellow mums! We made it!

Cheers fellow mums! We made it!

Step2: Visit the uniform shop at the same time as 200 other parents, all accompanied by whinging school-sized offspring needing kitting out with uniforms, PE clothes, hats, shoes, lunch boxes and water cups. Try to avoid Organised Mum – yummy-mummy-of-three-hen-pecked-children extraordinaire, in the store to buy a wall planner with extra space for their endless after-school activities. (She bought new uniforms in June, long before the store ran out of book bags and PE shirts, and can also be found at the spa having regular back rubs to counteract the stress of educating her gifted girls.)

Step3: Spend an evening labeling your ‘shopping’, using iron-on labels or, preferably, a sharpie marker. You can practise for this by writing your child’s name neatly on a postage stamp in permanent ink.

Step4: On the first morning, pay special attention to your chosen outfit. Currently trending is gym wear, preferably black, with a ponytail that swings. (Think pert bottoms strutting into school in tight spandex). Whether or not you actually go straight to the gym from the drop off is entirely irrelevant. Hint: You may return for the pick-up in the same gym wear, creating the aura of a potential six-hour work out. A huge pair of sunglasses will hide a plethora of cosmetic tardiness, but make sure your nails and hair look groomed.

Step5: Channel your inner drill sergeant to get the children out the door. Drive 20km on Emirates Road  – try to avoid trucks and tyres on the road. As you get closer, be prepared to race other parents from the red light. Even if you only drop off one child, aim to manoeuvre your 7-seater SUV to within a hair’s breadth of the school gates, avoid eye contact, and lean across the steering wheel to call out urgent information about Henrietta’s tap dance class and Harry’s speech therapy.

Step6: If you’ve cut up a friend to secure a prime parking spot, give her a cheery wave as you alight from your car. Do not rush or run. Do not push or drag your child. Irrespective of the chaos of the first-day back, keep a relaxed, happy expression on your face as you wade through a 1400-strong crowd of children and parents, all jostling to find the right line and blinking in the bright sunshine. Greet each member of staff and wish them good morning. Train your children to do the same.

Step7: When engaging in small talk with other parents keep to the following subjects: how charming the children are, how much the children are growing, how lovely everyone looks, the weather. Never admit to another mother any homework not done, lost library books, tantrums endured either at home or in the car, diarrhoea or head lice. And have a story ready about the luxury, handmade yurt your family stayed in on holiday. (Yachts are so yesterday.)

Step8: Repeat, another 180 times, until the summer vacation rolls around again.

Banned in the UAE!

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The other night, I did some work on my blog, behind the scenes. I spiffed up the ‘About’ page, and a couple of the other sections. I also knocked out a quick post – nothing controversial, just a conversation that had taken place with my sons at bedtime.

So you can imagine my surprise when I woke up in the morning and discovered my blog had been banned in the UAE!

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My ban came in the same week that the UAE cracked down on applying makeup while driving and taking selfies at the wheel

Not the whole website, it turned out, but the latest post (below if you’re online). If you click on it in the UAE, you get the Du surf safely message, telling you that the website you’re trying to access contains prohibited material (!) Don’t worry, I’m not writing this from behind bars [laughs nervously].

I’ve no idea what I’d written that was so offensive, but I took this to be a blogging milestone – at a vast quantum leap of the imagination, could it put Circles in the Sand in the same category as the FHM and Maxim websites, which are blocked in the UAE, I wondered? Or, at an even further stretch, The Wolf of Wall Street? Martin Scorsese’s film had 45 minutes of unsuitable content cut, and in places didn’t even make sense. My blog only had about 300 words censored, but I do often wonder if my late-night ramblings about the non-stop party that motherhood is (joke!) are coherent.

Given that I’m pretty sure it comes across in my humble blog that I genuinely love living in Dubai, I can only imagine the censorship software was feeling a little oversensitive – perhaps trying to get its point across to all the newbies here in time for the new school year, and that it will gradually lose interest. Like a really bad teacher.

So, here goes … testing … testing … testing: I’m gingerly pushing Publish and hoping it was a one-off glitch. Fingers crossed. If you don’t hear from me again, I’m writing my novel in jail.

My little polygamist

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I had a quiet chuckle this week when I saw in my blog stats that someone had landed on Circles in the Sand after asking Google: “Can expats have more than one wife in Dubai?”

Any Western men reading this, you know that the answer is no, right? It’s just Muslim men who, under sharia law, are allowed to practise polygamy – that is, they can have more than one wife at the same time, up to a total of four.

So I was having a little laugh at the expense of the hen-pecked Googler who was clearly curious about his chances of polygamy.

But then …

I was putting the boys to bed tonight. We were reading an Enid Blyton story, and in it, there was a stepfather.

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Three’s a crowd: Son1’s wedding in 20 years’ time

“What’s a stepfather, Mummy?” Son1 asked.

I attempted to explain. “Well, if anything happens to Daddy [God forbid], and I ended up getting married again, then my new husband would be your stepfather.”

Son1 looked solemn. I probably should have stopped right there.

“And, likewise, if something happens to me, and Daddy gets a new wife, she’d be your stepmother,” I continued.

Son2 made a reassuring sound suggesting he wouldn’t want a new Mummy, but Son1 still had questions so I elaborated, using the example of my brother-in-law – also a pilot in Dubai, who is exceedingly eligible with flight attendants lining up to date him.

“You know your Uncle’s pretty friends who we meet. Well, if Daddy was to marry one of them [Note to DH: I would haunt you], she’d be your stepmum. But you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“No,” said Son2, emphatically.

“Can’t I have both of you?”, asked Son1, with an unmistakeable twinkle in his eye. “A stepmum and a mum! Why not?”

Facepalm!