Christmas Day with teenagers

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On waking up it was eerily quiet. I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. I’m not sure what I was expecting really. DH had already left for Brazil. And it would be hours before the teenagers got up. 

There were no demands to open presents (that we had actually done the day before, while DH was still in Dubai). No squeals of excitement. No pitter patter of feet at the crack of dawn. It was just the dog and me. And even the dog was still snoring quietly.

Like many people, I’d chosen not to travel due to the arduous PCR testing requirements. And a case of the jingle jitters had deterred my parents from flying to Dubai at such an uncertain time.

I got out of bed, shuffled downstairs to make my tea and went about my morning, which was actually rather lovely – blissfully peaceful and stress free.  

Eventually – and I mean about five hours later – the kids got up. They appeared downstairs, looking for food, yawning and rubbing their eyes sleepily. 

I reminded them it was Christmas Day. They looked up from their cereal briefly, then carried on shovelling milk and Rice Krispies into their mouths. As I said, we’d already done presents so I didn’t have much left to motivate my teens with … other than, we had struck a deal the night before! They had to spend at least three hours with mom! No isolating in their rooms as though they had Covid (which they don’t have; they just prefer isolation it seems).

“Right, we’re going to the beach – we’ll set off in 45 minutes,” I announced cheerfully. 

They both groaned. The 13-yr-old managed to exempt himself on medical grounds (he’d had a minor operation a few days previously to insert tubes in his ears). “I can’t swim,” he said triumphantly. “My tubes might fall out!” 

I wasn’t giving up that easily, and told my 16-yr-old we’d go anyway, and soon – before it got dark again. 

“Then let’s go for sunset,” he suggested, barely disguising his procrastination at actually leaving the house!

“Alright,” I agreed, reluctantly. ‘We’ll leave at 3.30pm.”

So 3.30pm rolls around, and I chivvy him into the car. “Can I drive?” he asked cheekily.

“Absolutely not!”

While visions of a Christmas Day mother-son chat in the car filled my head, visions of his phone screen lit up his brain. Between games on his phone, and me getting us totally lost due to a major highway completely changing overnight, I did get a few words out of him, however! Quite a result. I learnt that a friend had bought him a Deliveroo voucher for Christmas, and he was excited to use it.

When we finally got there (and it was lovely! Well, I thought so – the water was chilly and clear, and there were a billion fish to snorkel with), he rubbed his stomach and mused, “I wonder if McDonald’s deliver here?” 

Teenagers!!

Santa between the covers at the Media One hotel

What did you circle in the Argos catalogue?

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About 12 days before Christmas, the 13 yr-old shared his Christmas list with me on Google Docs. 

I’d heard stories about uber-organised families setting up this kind of thing, with information about current interests, clothing sizes, general ideas, gift card locations, etc. Not something we’ve ever thought to do, but, hey ho ho ho, I’m all for convenience in the frenetic run-up to the festivities. 

My son had helpfully included links to amazon.ae to make things easier. 

Main stuff

RK Royal Kludge RK61
Bloody A60L
COD Vanguard ps5

I scanned the list – and I have to say, I didn’t have a clue what any of the things were. I mean – COD – that’s a fish, right? I was sure it must be in a foreign language. 

So, ever obliging on these matters, he thoughtfully went back into the document and added photos so I, erm, I mean Santa, couldn’t mess up.

“Mom, you might want to be careful about the delivery dates,” he warned.

“If you don’t do it soon, Amazon might not be able to deliver before Christmas.” 

I noted the hopeful glint in his eyes, and told him I’d let Santa know not to delay. 

What on earth had happened to the good ole days of circling things in the Argos catalogue, I wondered?! It was a rite of passage, wasn’t it, ringing all the stuff you wanted with a highlighter. 

It even got me thinking about standing at the counter in our local Argos store, flicking through the laminated book of dreams and carefully copying the precise product code onto the order slip with one of those stubby biros. Then the goods arriving, Larry Grayson Generation Game-style, on the conveyor belt. Oh the excitement! 

Now that the Argos catalogue is no more (as of January 2021, they stopped printing it after almost 50 years), my kids will never feel their legs go numb as they sit with the giant book sprawled across their laps.

Merry Christmas everyone! Some more nostalgia below… then it’s back to Google Docs I’m afraid!

Fate of UAE’s Mars probe to be determined in 27 mins

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With less than 48 hours to go until the UAE’s first-ever interplanetary mission reaches Mars, the Hope Probe is now approaching the most nail-biting stage of its historic, seven-month, 493 million kilometre journey through space. 

You’ll need to strap yourself in for the ride on the evening of 9 February and be prepared to wait with bated breath as the probe performs a 27-minute deceleration ‘burn’ some 2,363km from the surface of the Red Planet.

The spacecraft, which launched from Japan’s Tanegashima Island on 20 July 2020 after several days of bad weather, is set to capture into Mars orbit on Tuesday evening at 7.42pm, UAE time.

However, the Mars Orbit Insertion (MOI), as the complex manoeuvre is known, is a high-stake, high-risk operation with no guarantee that the six years of continuous work on the probe will end in success.

As Hope Probe nears Mars’ orbit, the spacecraft will fire its six Delta V thrusters to rapidly reduce its speed from 121,000 km an hour to 18,000 km/h.

The thrusters are paired, so if one flares out, a second burner goes too. If Hope loses a thruster pair, it can still complete the MOI. The failure of a second pair would end the mission.

“Precision is fundamental to success to avoid, God forbid, Hope Probe crashing on Mars or missing its orbit and getting lost in deep space,” said Omran Sharaf, project director of the Emirates Mars Mission, at a press briefing at the Mohammed bin Rashid Space Centre. 

While multiple tests have been carried out to perfect the manoeuvre, space exploration is an inherently dangerous business, and Sharaf says he is keenly aware that 50 per cent of all missions to Mars have failed. 

Despite the years of testing, the deceleration burn will be the first time the platform has been tested in the harsh environment of deep space. For 15 particularly nerve-wracking minutes, radio signals will be lost as the Hope Probe flies into the dark side of Mars.

Dozens of landmarks across the UAE and Arab world are turning red in celebration of the UAE’s Hope probe. Credit: WAM

Provided the Hope Probe does not slingshot around the Red Planet and drift, lost, into outer space, the spacecraft will provide the first-ever complete picture of the Martian atmosphere, monitoring weather changes throughout the day during all seasons, which has not been done by any previous mission.

“What is unique about the Emirates Mars missions is having a near-equatorial orbit,” she said. “That means the spacecraft is closest to Mars at 20,000km, and at its furthest at 43,000km. With this unique orbit, the spacecraft will take 55 hours to complete one orbit around Mars and throughout a 10 day-period we will be able to observe the entire planet at different timescales.” 

Press briefing with the Mars mission scientific team on Saturday
Weather patterns

The mission will provide deeper insights on the climatic dynamics of the Red Planet through observing the weather phenomena on Mars, such as the massive dust storms that engulf the Red Planet, as compared to the short, localised dust storms on Earth. 

The science will focus on better understanding the link between weather changes in Mars’ lower atmosphere, with the loss of hydrogen and oxygen from the upper layers of the atmosphere. The probe, for the first time, will study the link between weather change and atmospheric loss, a process that may have caused the Red Planet’s surface corrosion and the loss of its upper atmosphere.

Exploring connections between today’s Martian weather and the ancient climate of the Red Planet will give deeper insights into the past and future of Earth and the potential of life on Mars and other distant planets.

I know I’ll be keeping everything crossed on Tuesday night for a successful capture by Mars’ gravity!

Quarantine hotels: Have a nice stay!

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The corona-coaster – which for a couple of weeks in late December/January had been on an upward trajectory – took a nose dive this week, with the news of the flight ban between the UK and the UAE. 

For the 200,000 British expats living out here, with family back at home, it’s an awful feeling when the distance is made even longer. God forbid if anyone needed to get back to the UK urgently, for a family emergency. They’d have to find another route somehow. And then there’s the spectre of the quarantine hotels. 

From 15 February, on arrival at your hotel you’ll be met by staff in full PPE who will accompany you, along with a security guard, to your allocated room and make absolutely clear that you can’t leave for 11 nights. 

These security guards will conduct internal and external patrols, and also “accompany any of the arrived individuals to access outside space should they need to smoke or get fresh air”, although government sources said this was still being confirmed. It might be that there’s no access to daylight at all. 

For this privilege, you’ll need to pay around £1,500, which will include three meals a day from a “non-repetitive menu” and a laundry service for just seven small items a week. 

All rooms (which you’ll need to clean yourself) will have tea- and coffee-making facilities, a small fridge “if possible”, television “and/or radio”, Wi-Fi, and individual ventilation systems.

If the Australian quarantine hotels are anything to go by, it will be a maddeningly claustrophobic and largely boring experience.

When will all this end?

I guess the thing about pandemics is they tend to drag on. Though we finally have vaccines being rolled out, the wait to return to normal life feels interminable.

A year on: What’s changed since the first Covid case

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Almost a full year after the first Covid-19 infection in the Middle East was officially diagnosed on 29 January 2020 in the UAE, the number of cases in the Mena region has crossed 4,835,531.

If you had told me twelve months ago that we would be doing and seeing some of the things that are now an everyday part of our lives in this crazy world dominated by Covid, I would have thought you were mad!

But fast forward a year, and the pandemic has altered the very fabric of our existence in the most unimaginable ways, shutting down so many things we hold dear, from schools to watching our kids play sports to movies to music concerts to the very notion of human interaction.  

It is quite incredible how all of our worlds, both personally and professionally, have been turned upside down. 

If you had told me I would not be able to visit my family, I would have said, never going to happen! But it has. If you had told me that I would be running a home school for two boys, I would have said ‘no way!” But it happened, for months, and let me tell you it was an experience, and nothing I ever got taught at journalism school!

Did you ever imagine a world where temperature checks would be carried out before entering offices or malls; where toddlers would cover their faces with masks as that’s what all the adults do; where window visits with care home residents, Zoom Bingo and PPE were the norm?

Here’s just a few more of the things I never, ever imagined would happen, not even in my wildest dreams:

– That my friends in the UK would be on their third serious lockdown in less than a year

– That work would erect glass cubicles for us all to sit in, and issue work from home (WFH) orders

– That WFB (working from bed) would become a thing

– That while it was a terrible year for most humans, it was a great year for my dog, who was barely alone for a second

– That the cats would get seriously sick of us being home, and now just give us constant side-eyes

– That my DH would be home for a whole year – and counting – swapping a life in the skies, hotels and foreign cities, for, well, the living room during our extreme lockdown in March/April.

What to expect from Biden in the Middle East

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This won’t be my normal kind of post on this blog, but as today marks the inauguration of Joe Biden and Kamala Harris as president and vice-president of the US, it seems fitting to share something from the magazine and website I work on.

Love him or loathe him, President Trump has left a huge imprint on the Middle East in only four years.

Ever the deal-maker, he built strong relationships with the leaders in Riyadh, Cairo and Tel Aviv as he sought to counter rising Iranian influence across the region, and in 2018, removed the US from the Obama-era international Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (JCPOA) to limit Iran’s nuclear programme.

At the same time, he implemented tough economic sanctions and targeted retaliatory strikes to exert maximum pressure on the Iranian region.

Although Trump’s proposed Middle East peace plan launched in January 2020 was universally panned as unfair and unviable, the normalisation of diplomatic relations between Israel and the UAE, Bahrain and Sudan represents major successes for Israel and a new reality for the Palestinians.

In many cases, such as with Israel and Iran, Trump has perhaps taken steps that more traditional politicians or diplomats may have wished for, but would have been unable to deliver. There is no doubt that he has changed the region.

President Biden will bring a different style to the one followed by Trump over the past four years.  

Biden’s Middle East policy will see a return to multilateral diplomacy to reduce geopolitical tensions between Riyadh and Tehran, and to counter a resurgence in Islamic extremism.

Iran will feature at the top of Biden’s regional agenda. Biden has said he intends to re-enter the JCPOA, so long as Iran comes into compliance with the terms of the agreement.

He will also seek to use US influence to pressure Middle East leaders to increase humanitarian effort in Yemen and other conflict areas, and to promote human rights and other democratic freedoms. 

You can read more about the geopolitical implications of the new presidency by downloading the infographic above.

The biggest lesson of the Trump era in the Middle East, and around the world, is perhaps that US foreign policy will no longer be seen to be consistent.

Politicians now know that US policy can change radically every four years, and that one-time allies can suddenly find themselves isolated, while longstanding foes, such as North Korea, can become apparent friends.

V-Day: On getting vaccinated in Dubai

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I’d been mulling getting vaccinated for several weeks, but didn’t really fancy the enormous queues at Dubai Parks and Resorts field hospital. When it first opened, huge numbers of people waited for hours in their cars as Dubai Police officers guided them to the hospital in batches, 40 vehicles at a time. 

But then I started to hear that more vaccine centres had opened, and that getting vaccinated was easy and quick. I can vouch that it was! And as an epi-pen carrier who had good reason to be worried about a bad reaction (more on my anaphylactic tendencies here), I can honestly say I’m so glad I’ve done it!

My thought process was that Covid seems rampant just now, with outbreaks at work and my kids’ school, and so many friends of friends getting infected. But there was more to my decision: I want to be part of the solution to this dreadful pandemic so we can all live and be well. By being a teeny tiny piece in the most complex Covid jigsaw, perhaps I could help humanity in its journey towards herd immunity (or community immunity is probably the more PC term). I’ve felt pretty powerless throughout this crisis, and so getting vaccinated was the least I could do, because this microorganism we can’t see is destroying not just lives but also society. 

On a personal level, I’m longing for the pandemic to be over, or at least contained. My pilot DH hasn’t worked since March 2020, and is now on a year of unpaid leave. I’m just so very, very tired of it all, and missing friends and family back home. Borders, meanwhile, are clamping shut again, closing off arteries to my homeland and any hope of my DH getting back to work anytime soon.

It was time to do something proactive.

The number of people milling around outside the vaccine centre this evening in the dark suggested anything but a quick and easy experience. I thought we didn’t stand a chance. But myself and Catherine the Great were waved through the gate. It was ladies and families only. You’ve gotta love this about Dubai.

I felt horrible for all the single men outside, though, many of whom were desperate to get the jab. The poor chaps – especially as men appear to be worse-hit when it comes to Covid. There was one group standing nearby made up of three men and a woman, clearly not a family. An attendant said to the female: “One woman can’t have three boyfriends, sorry!”

So she had to choose which male to take in with her. 

I hope they have a male-only day soon. 

Covid-19 vaccine centre, Dubai
vaccinated in Dubai

To cut a long story short, it was all very well organised inside – more of a vaccine factory, with at least 30 vaccine stations and a seating/queuing arrangement reminiscent of a passport office. I was also reminded of musical chairs – as the rows of queues moved, you shuffled up a chair, bums on seats rotating fairly fast.

It truly was mass vaccination – at scale. It was also free (just your UAE ID card needed). Whatever doubts I’d had before about the Chinese Sinopharm vaccine had already lessened greatly – and I’m happy to say, it was painless and no side effects at all. 

Nǐ hǎo!

Where to get vaccinated in the UAE
Dubai: Free Covid vaccine now at 120 centres; full list

Jack Whitehall brings his ‘Stood Up Tour’ to Dubai

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I wasn’t sure whether to write this blog as, for my British friends right now (who I truly miss, but am loving seeing more of on zoom), their height of excitement in lockdown 3 is taking the bins out.

We’re so lucky that in Dubai the restrictions have been eased enough to allow post-Covid life to continue, although cases do seem to be shooting up at present.

Over Christmas, Dubai was quite the place to be, with social media full of celebrities on vacation in the emirate. I’m sure fans of Hayley Hughes from Love Island (Who? I asked) appreciated the view in this holiday snap.

 
 
 
 
 
View this post on Instagram
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

A post shared by Hayley Hughes (@hayleyhughes.xx)

 


Such photos in glitzy hotspots got lots of people riled up, but not in the way Hayley intended. How did UK-based celebrities manage to avoid the rat’s nest of travel restrictions on home turf, observers asked, when the average Joe Public was stuck within the confines of their own four walls.

One celebrity who I know for sure had a genuine reason to be here (work that couldn’t be done at home) was British comedian Jack Whitehall. We caught his socially distanced show at the Dubai World Trade Centre last night and he was brilliant, with an infectious (excuse the pun) sense of humour and delight at being back on stage in front of a live audience after a year of performing in empty theatres and empty studios. 

Fans will know him from TV shows including Fresh Meat, Decline & Fall and Bad Education, and more recently, a fave of mine, Jack Whitehall: Travels With My Father on Netflix. I was hoping he might have brought his dad with him. I wasn’t the only one it seemed.

“Hands up who’s here because they actually want to see my dad,” asked Whitehall junior after making quite an entrance in full PPE gear and pretending to disinfect the stage.

Actually he might not have been faking it – everyone involved had been Covid tested, the microphone was protected by a sheaf (a condom?), and the warm-up comedian (from Grimsy, also great) sanitised the mike stand before walking off stage.

It was such a funny and wonderful night, and not just because it was so nice to be out of the house watching live comedy again. I laughed until my sides hurt. He had so many engaging tales of social embarrassment, and quite frankly I’d indulge his quirks anytime because he’s too puppyish and endearing and genuinely lovable not to, and because who doesn’t like a bit of showmanship and hilarity in these strange times?

Escape from Dubai lockdown: part 3

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On route to the beach, we came across two peacocks, much to my delight.

The beautiful blue peacock displayed his fan of elegant feathers and appeared to be doing a courtship dance as he approached the less attractive, brown-feathered peahen. I was enchanted by the display.

Even the boys seemed impressed. I might not see a Robin Redbreast anytime soon, but the male peacock, a bird of the Eastern world, had just more than made up for it. Even better, my mood was rapidly improving. 

Our end of the beach was blissfully almost empty, just a couple of families watching their children playing in the surf. We set out our towels and sat on the sand, which had been combed so there were neat grooves running the length of the beach. The beach was far better groomed than my kids’ hair. 

I stared at the sea, which was still there, and the horizon, which was still there, and the kitesurfer being pulled along by the wind, which was still blowing. I realised I felt properly alive for the first time in weeks. Then we all plunged in, and experienced something else we hadn’t had much of in weeks. Fun. 

On the way back up to our room, fifty minutes later, two things came to my mind: that I felt really, really normal, and that this was the first time I had felt properly human for weeks. In the terror of the pandemic, I think we have forgotten that we are allowed to seek happiness, that having fun isn’t breaking Covid rules. 

There has been such judgment about people, that at times it’s been easier just to suffer, as if feeling anything other than anxiety or misery is in some way belittling to those who have sadly lost their lives to this truly dreadful disease.

But this Eid, I hope everyone will try to do one thing that makes them happy (as long as it’s within the Dubai government’s rules). We must do what we can to keep going. We must remember there is no Covid rule against searching for hope.

Escape from Dubai lockdown: part 2

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Leaving the confines of our immediate neighbourhood, I let out a gasp. “Gosh this feels so weird,” I said, taking in the sight of buildings and landmarks I hadn’t seen in ages, the fascinating signs for far-flung exotic places such as DWC Airport and Jebel Ali free zone. 

Passing the exit to the industrial port, I began to feel quite exhilarated, if only because we had done the journey in world-record time due to the absence of traffic jams.

A giant flashing sign caught my eye – warning drivers to “Stay home, stay safe’ – and I felt a twinge of guilt. Was our break for freedom a selfish idea? A friend in the UK told me yesterday that they were too scared to drive to a near-ish beach in case the locals came at them with pitchforks.

As we pulled into the carpark of the JA Resort, my heart sank. There were so many cars that finding a space was going to be tricky. Valet parking was deemed a health risk. Judging by the busy parking lot, we clearly weren’t the only people who had decided a staycation was ‘essential travel’.

DH dropped us off as close as he could to reception, and I trundled my wheelie bag over the hot paving, the boys in tow, towards the glass-door entrance.

Inside, the queue to check-in stretched all the way round the atrium. Guests were maintaining the obligatory two-metre distance from each other, but even if they hadn’t been, it would have been the longest check-in queue I’d ever seen.

There were kids sat on lounge chairs looking like they’d been brought to extra maths tuition rather than on holiday. One couple appeared to be mid-argument about the wife’s desire to “just go home!” Another man was demanding a refund from a masked customer representative whose initial happiness about being back at work was rapidly diminishing. 

“Oh my,” said DH when he joined us in the queue. “Wasn’t expecting this.”

A young girl just behind us chose that moment to start wailing. “I want to go home,” she cried. Her face turned a violent shade of pink, almost matching her bright pink backpack and sunhat.

Her dad put his hand on her shoulder. “We’ll be in our room soon, then we can go to the beach.”

Our boys, meanwhile, stood in silence, stoically accepting their fate but glum.

When our turn to check-in finally arrived, DH handled the paperwork while I politely stood back to maintain social distance. Just as I thought we were about to be handed our room keys, the receptionist went silent and stared at his computer.

Not being able to see any facial cues due to his mask, I tried to read his eyes. It’s my strategy for communicating in this new era of mask wearing: I smile (anyway), use my eyes (cue acting skills from every medical show I’ve ever watched) and gesture with my hands in a bid to connect with the other person. It sometimes works.

“Your room will be ready in about forty-five minutes,” the receptionist finally said, apologetically. 

DH glanced at his watch and frowned, as I took a step closer to check I’d heard properly. I’d calculated that if we could get to the beach in twenty minutes’ time, we’d still have a couple of hours of sunshine. I was determined we’d all get some vitamin D on this trip, especially as I keep reading it might have a protective effect against coronavirus. 

“I thought check-in was three pm,” I bleated, frustration prickling my skin. 

“Sorry. It’s the municipality’s new rules. The room has to be vacant for a full twenty-four hours before the cleaning crew can go in. They’re just on their way to the room now.”

DH nodded his acceptance as I tried to keep my annoyance under wraps. “The pools are definitely closed, right?” he asked.

“Yes. Again, Dubai government rules. But the beach is open from ten am to six pm.”

“Only until six?” I said in a slightly too high pitch. Our couple of hours on the beach was fast being reduced to about fifty minutes. 

The receptionist gave an apologetic but firm nod. “We’re operating under a lot of restrictions.”