Descending into password hell

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“We’re going to change the way we talk to you,” the school announced by email. A parent portal that mums can access via a log-in password was launched last November, comprising diary dates and all the information needed to ensure our children’s wellbeing.

Now, you’d think an online message board would be right up my street. But (and the irony of this is not lost on me) it’s playing hardball. I’m convinced it’s because the school never sent me the username and password, but there’s a chance these details are floating round my bottomless in-box.

Anyway, it’s causing me embarrassing problems, because, as a result, I’m not on top of what’s happening at school. I get wind of things, like wet n’ wild day, look at your three-year-old’s scribbles day, but don’t have enough information to avoid making a fool of myself.

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I might look like I’m working, but really I’m still trying to log-in to the system

“Is there something going on today?” I chirpily asked the teacher when I realised the mums weren’t hot-footing it to Costa Coffee in their maxi dresses and shades as usual, but were gathering outside the classroom.

“Yes, it’s sports day,” she replied, deadpan. “You need to go to the sports hall at 8.15am.” (*thanks lucky stars LB co-incidentally had his PE kit and I wasn’t dashing off to the office*).

I can circumnavigate this problem by lurking around other mums, particularly the class mum, who probably synced her iCal to her iPhone months ago. By doing this, I learn all sorts of things about how much money I owe for the janitor’s son’s leaving present, but it’s not a fool-proof substitute for actually accessing the damn portal.

It just seems that EVERYTHING is password-protected these days. I try to use the same combination of initials and birthdays for everything, but this doesn’t work. “Crap” the dialogue box says, after assessing the strength of my password and finding I might as well have it pinned to my forehead. So I hurriedly invent a new one, and promptly fill my mind with other stuff.

Then, the next time I log in, that TORTUROUS box pops up asking for the 2nd, 9th and 23rd letters, and it’s like playing a game of roulette, in which – as we found out the other day – if you don’t win, you’re locked out of your life savings.

Just as frustrating was last week’s eye-rolling run-in with the website airbnb.com due to a password issue. After much teeth gnashing over an ‘invalid’ password, I contacted customer services – who told me they couldn’t help in case I was a fraudster (“you could try guessing the password,” they helpfully suggested), and then signed off their response with the words “Peace and long life”.

*Runs into the desert screaming*

Silent Sunday: Car oven warning

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A serious one today, because there was some really sad news here last week about a three-year-old Yemeni boy, who died in a hot car after his family forgot about him and left him in the vehicle for almost three hours. The tragic incident, which happened outside the child’s house, has sparked a campaign in the UAE to remind people that heat kills when children or pets are left in cars (even at lower temperatures than on this poster.)

Because babies and young children are not able to regulate their body temperatures well, they warm three to five times faster than an adult, especially in a car, where the windows create a greenhouse effect. Backseat tragedies don’t just happen in the Middle East, either: about 450 children have died this way in the US since 1998.

Because babies and young children are not able to regulate their body temperatures well, they warm three to five times faster than an adult, especially in a car, where the windows create a greenhouse effect. Backseat tragedies don’t just happen in the Middle East, either: very sadly about 450 children have died this way in the US since 1998.

Working for the woman with no children

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I vaguely recall being in my mid-20s, working as an editor on a magazine and having no children barnacled to my ankle. There were several working mums in the company, and rather than thinking ‘how do they do it?’, I would wonder to myself, ‘why do they do it?’

It just looked so exhausting; all that juggling, constantly being on pick-up deadlines, and trying to have it all. They also seemed, dare I say it, pleased to be at work. I remember one going on holiday with small children and coming back looking more tired, ragged and hollow-eyed than before.

Fast-forward 15 years, and the tables are turned. At one company I work for, there’s a 50:50 split between parents and non-parents, and while everyone, for the most part, jollies along together, the divide occasionally widens into a gaping canyon.

Just before Christmas, a children’s afternoon was arranged, in which an onslaught of small kids arrived to wreak havoc in the office. As they drank apple juice in the boardroom, smeared sugary donuts all over the furniture and hid behind the filing cabinets, I sat back and enjoyed the whole thing, mainly because my boys weren’t there to have to supervise.

I loved watching my colleagues – steely journalists – in Dad mode (not many of the mums brought their kids in, can’t think why), but it didn’t go down well with everyone. One young fella, about as far off reproducing as I was in my mid-20s, looked visibly pained by the chaos, and eyed any toddlers who approached him as though they might be carrying explosives.

Before sidling off home early, I heard him say: “They did this last year too. One kid ate so much junk that she was SICK everywhere.” [almost shuddering as he recalled the horror!]

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I’m the one (happily, depending on the day) in the shadows now!

For me, the mix of parents and non-parents is a refreshing change, but at another place I work, it’s a different set-up: the staff are all younger and it’s here that I came across her:

The 20-something career woman with no children, bucket-loads of ambition, two Blackberries and dry-clean-only clothes.

And I found myself working for her.

At about 5.40pm, she (nicely) asked me to make some fairly extensive changes on the project I was working on.

“Ok,” I said, nodding, and because she needed them that evening and DH was already on his way to pick me up, I offered to email it later.

“What time?” she asked, a little sharply.

I made a mental calculation: get home [45mins]; see kids [1.5 hours]; bedtime routine and reading [1 hour]; do work [1.5 hours] … it would be at least 10.45pm.

“Um. About….” I couldn’t say it. “9?’

We locked eyes. I could feel tension. She wasn’t impressed.

Ouch.

“Alright, I’ll stay now and get it done,” I relented.

“Good,” she trilled, and turned on her heel to get back to her desk to start her evening shift.

One day – if she has kids, that is – she’ll get it.

Why kids LOVE the lunar calendar

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Despite the fact the two-month summer holiday is hurtling towards us like a steam train, Son 2 is now on half term. With only 15 school days left until the end of term, springing a half-term holiday on us now does seem a little unnecessary. Unless you’re a teacher, I suppose.

I’ve mentioned this before, but expat children have so many days off school. Once you’ve transferred your life savings, taken out a bank loan and sold a kidney to pay the school fees, you can expect your little darlings to be actually taught for a grand total of 179 days a year. Not even half the year!

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C’mon moon: I really need the kids back to school

It’s because children in the UAE enjoy the best of both worlds: Christian and Muslim holidays. Even though they’re not Islamic, my boys get time off for all the major Muslim festivals – the exact dates of which we don’t always know until just before, due to the fact Islamic holiday timings depend on sightings of the moon.

In our household, our calendar is further complicated by the fact our sons, who are in different schools, often have different holidays. It’s no wonder I get it totally wrong sometimes.

This list of holidays that parents in the UAE have to contend with cover with childcare doesn’t include all the extra days off given for teacher training and for unexpected shut-downs, thanks to problems with the water / flooding / earthquakes / chemical fire (yes really, see here) or SARS/MERS-like viruses.

– Winter vacation (18 Dec-6 Jan)

– Prophet Mohammed’s Birthday (24 Jan)

– Half Term (10-11 Feb)

– Easter vacation (24 Mar-7 Apr)

– Lailat al-Miraj (Ascension of the Prophet) and half term (4-6 Jun) circa*

– Summer vacation (27 Jun-2 Spt)

– Ramadan (predicted start 8-10 Jul): A month-long period of fasting for Muslims. If schools are in session during Ramadan (which they’re not this year), the school days are usually shortened by a couple of hours. It’s followed by the Eid al-Fitr holiday

– Arafat (Haj) Day – the second day of the pilgrimage (14 Oct)

– Eid al-Adha (Feast of the Sacrifice) (circa* 15 Oct) – rolled into a five-day half term

– Al-Hijra – Islamic New Year (4 Nov)

– UAE National Day (2-3 Dec)

Circa* = Moon-sighting committee confirms the date nearer the time, so published dates can be off by a couple of days

In my next life, I’m coming back as an expat child.

Travel post: 48 hours in Hong Kong

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From the lights to the shopping to the fusion of Chinese and Western influences, there’s so much to sample in this fascinating and fast-paced city. This is the next installment in my series of travel posts and is adapted from my column in The Source magazine. Normal blog service resumed tomorrow! 

Flight time from Dubai: Just over 7 hours

Flight time from Dubai: Just over seven hours

Hong Kong bristles with such vibrant, non-stop energy that you can fit more into a 48-hour whirlwind tour of ‘Asia’s World City’ than you ever thought possible.

Transformed from a colonial outpost into a thriving, international business centre, Hong Kong is a city of contrasts. A Chinese metropolis with a 156-year history of British rule; a densely packed home to seven million people with islands and jungly undergrowth; and a shopping mecca famous for bright, neon lights, tucked-away temples, high teas and dim sums.

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Hong Kong’s nightlife is electrifying

Its name means Fragrant Harbour, and while Hong Kong’s sensory overload may overwhelm at first, once you get your bearings you’ll find yourself drawn to this teeming hub like moths to a light. Here’s what you can do in 48 hours.

Day one: A friend who lived in Hong Kong for several years told me, “If you only have time to do one thing, go up The Peak.” Provided it’s not too cloudy or polluted, the views of Victoria Harbour, central Hong Kong and the city’s 260-plus islands are exhilarating.

By day, your eyes scan the gleaming skyscrapers, the traditional ferries that dot the waters of Victoria Harbour and an abundance of green landscape stretching all the way to the hills of the New Territories. As the sun sets, the hues change to pink and orange, before melting away to reveal a glittering nightscape that twinkles beneath you.

You can ascend Victoria Peak on foot via walking trails or take a bus to the top, but we opted to ride the historic Peak Tram, which climbs the mountain at an astoundingly steep angle. Dating back to 1888, the tram was the first cable funicular in Asia. Don’t be put off by the crowds at the terminus – the journey is a jaunty, not-to-be-missed visual experience in its own right.

The highest point on Hong Kong Island, Victoria Peak was home to many of the city’s early colonial administrators, who wanted to escape the heat and humidity of urban life below. Today, the exclusive neighbourhood still attracts the rich and famous, with some of the most expensive real estate in the world

The highest point on Hong Kong Island, Victoria Peak was home to many of the city’s early colonial administrators, who wanted to escape the heat and humidity of urban life below. Today, the exclusive neighbourhood still attracts the rich and famous, with some of the most expensive real estate in the world

After feasting our eyes, it was time to exercise our wallets at the Temple Street Night Market, which starts around 4pm but really gets going after dark. The emphasis is on fashion, but you can find just about anything, from chessboards to chopsticks.

There are quite literally hundreds of stalls stacked high (expect to haggle), and even if you’re not looking for a good deal, it’s worth visiting just for the atmosphere. The night market is also known for its dai pai dongs (open-air food stalls), fortune tellers and deafening Cantonese karaoke.

If you’re really determined to shop until you drop, you could always move on to Mong Kok’s Ladies Market, a one-kilometre stretch of market stalls selling piles of clothing and accessories, as well as home furnishings, CDs and trinkets.

Rounding the day off with a trip to Lan Kwai Fong, a small square of streets in Hong Kong’s Central District, will give you a lively taste of the nightlife enjoyed by the city’s expats.

Day two: The next day we opted not to visit the busy, bronze Tian Tan Buddha statue (known as the Big Buddha due to its size) and instead took a local ferry from Central Pier to the little island of Cheung Chau. A world away from the suits and skyscrapers of Central, Cheung Chau is a warren of little roads with few vehicles. It’s all too easy to while away the afternoon strolling around and sipping cold drinks at a seaside café.

As a grand finale that evening, we couldn’t resist one last look at the city’s glorious skyline, viewed from the waterfront Avenue of Stars. Modelled on Hollywood’s Walk of Fame, we saw the big names from Hong Kong’s entertainment industry immortalised in stone and took a photo with a bronze statue of Bruce Lee.

But, for me, it was watching the city’s lights come on – bringing the iconic skyline into even sharper focus – that was the most memorable. Then, at 8pm, as if we hadn’t been dazzled enough already, the Symphony of Lights set the sky ablaze with lasers.

MY TIP: Eat scones and sandwiches while listening to a string quartet at The Peninsula’s high tea, or if Cantonese is more your thing, try one of the dim sum restaurants in Tsim Sha Tsui

Silent Sunday: Dive-in movie

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Move over multiplexes – nothing, not even lazy-boy chairs with all the frills of 3D, can be more chilled than pulling up your lilo and watching a movie from a cool pool. The climate in the Gulf is perfect for Cine-Splash, which takes place on Thursday and Friday nights during the hot months at our local pool. There’s even popcorn, hotdogs and cocktails. Win, win, WIN!

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Finally, my children are old enough to make this a really enjoyable experience!

Dubai’s most prestigious private club

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In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m sometimes a bit jealous of my DH’s lifestyle. All those trips to exotic locations, restaurant meals that don’t deteriorate into feeding time at the zoo, sightseeing outings and hotel rooms.

He’s even picked up for work in a private car – the airline has a fleet of ‘silver dream cars’ that spirit our husbands away from it all, at any time of day or night, and deliver them home a few days later.

You get the gist. I could point out the hard parts of his job too. But I won’t. Suffice to say, if the Travel Channel is on, I’m never too surprised to hear him say, “Oh look, I was just there the other day,” or “I walked past that yesterday.”

“Really?” I’ll reply, raising my housewifely eyebrows and trying not to turn lime green with envy.

Membership of the Capital Club, which is frequented by some of the city’s top businessmen, government officials and royalty, is strictly by invitation only

Frequented by some of the city’s top businessmen, government officials and royalty – and a mum trying desperately hard to not talk too much about the children

Anyway, the other week the tables turned! I’ve been doing some work for a new client – a PR company run by an Iraqi entrepreneur, and he asked me to accompany him to a press luncheon at the Capital Club, Dubai’s premier private business club, catering to the top echelons of enterprise, finance and government.

A whole different UNIVERSE from Chuck E. Cheese’s.

A driver took us there in a corporate car; the silver-service lunch comprised three mouth-watering courses of French cuisine; I met some really nice, experienced journalists, and got to nosey round four floors of elegant lounges, ambient dining options and wood-panelled meeting rooms.

I could have settled in quite happily at the club’s outdoor shisha terrace and tent (or even in the cigar room), but it was when we were shown the boutique hotel facility that my mind really started racing. DH was safely ensconced at home with the children, and there I was, staring at a beautifully appointed, 700-square-foot bedroom, with what looked like 1,500-thread-count Egyptian comfort sheets on the bed and butler service, 24/7.

I wonder if they’d notice if I stayed, I thought. Just overnight. After all, I’m sure my invite to become a member is on the way. Must just be lost in the post.

The things children do for a sugar rush

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The front door burst open and the sound of school shoes pounding on our marble staircase got louder.

“MUU-MMM! WHERE ARE YOU?”

I was upstairs, trying desperately to finish some work in the relatively quiet couple of hours between one school pick-up and the arrival of the school bus.

“Mum, I have to tell you something!”

“What is it BB? What is it?”

Who says only dogs eat homework?

Who says only dogs eat homework?

As I’ve mentioned before, he tells me very little about school, and I usually have to ask leading questions like: “What was the best thing that happened today?”, “Can you act out what you did at break time?” and “Who were the naughty children?”

So I was all ears. The slung-aside school bag, upturned lunchbox and my unfinished column could wait.

“I brought my igloo project home Mum,” [the marshmallow one I posted about last week, after learning that another mum used diamonds]

“Where is it?” I asked, suspiciously.

“Um, something happened.”

“On the bus,” he continued, a guilty look replacing his initial pained expression.

“Did you leave it on the bus? I’m sure the bus nanny will find it.’

“No, it’s not lost Mum…it’s gone…. it got eaten. By the children, on the way home.”

There’s nothing quite like finding out that your son let all his friends devour marshmallows that we’d rolled in glue (while avoiding munching on any himself) to make you rush over to the glue pot to make sure it was non-toxic. Which it was – thank goodness!

Still, I can’t help wondering if there might be a few empty seats on the bus tomorrow.

Dubai’s ‘best-looking man’ given Mercedes

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The identity of one of three men reportedly thrown out of Saudi Arabia by religious police for being too dashing was revealed recently, and since then his photos have been going viral.

I admit, I did have a peek, and though I only have eyes for DH (just in case he’s reading!), Omar Borkan Al Gala, a photographer, actor and poet from Dubai, does have something. Those perfectly formed cheekbones, the lusty gaze and well-groomed appearance do emit a certain joie de vivre.

Chippendale of the UAE: Since making headlines around the world, Omar has relocated to Canada where among other projects, he’s working on a calendar for a women’s rights group

Chippendale of the UAE: Since making headlines around the world, Omar has relocated to Canada where among other projects, he’s working on a calendar for a women’s rights group

According to reports, the trio were taking part in a heritage event in the Saudi capital Riyadh, when they were deported on the grounds they were too handsome and female visitors might fall for them.

The moment 23-year-old Omar revealed himself to the world, women started going nuts. And I mean totally bonkers. Now, it’s being reported that he’s received a luxury car as a gift from an anonymous admirer. “I got a Mercedes G55 for my birthday from a woman I didn’t know,” he told In Touch magazine.

Not surprisingly, his acting career has gone from strength to strength and the sometimes muse now also enjoys a busy social network life, with nearly one million likes on his Facebook page. For research purposes (obviously), I clicked on it and was amused to see women using their keyboards as a launch-pad to throw themselves at him online. “Why u so cute?” wrote one. “Can u teach me how to make son like u?”

But the thing that struck me was a comment left by a reader of ArabianBusiness.com, who says he witnessed the UAE nationals being escorted out of the Riyadh festival. “These men were deported because they were singing LIVE on stage and this is against the [kingdom’s] law,” says the commenter. Which suggests they confabulated the whole ‘being too handsome’ story (and possibly have brains too).

Smart, smart move, my friend.

Silent Sunday: Rustic charm

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There was an old woman who lived in a …. barrel? I know it should be shoe, but when I saw this photo – taken by my mother-in-law in Lebanon – it really reminded me of the nursery rhyme. Gives a new meaning to the phrase rolling countryside…

Lebanon barrel house

And, in reply to the lovely Ms Caroline in Seoul, who just pointed out that it looks like a hobbit house without grass on top, it is all real-sized. I cropped the photo above – here’s the original, with three cars parked outside!

Satellite dish too, I wonder!

Am wondering if there’s a satellite dish and Wi-Fi too!