There’s something wrong with this picture. Can you spot what it is? The clue is it’s one of those ‘Only in Dubai’ moments. I’ll post the answer in a comment tomorrow.
Catching the bad boys in style
Being the mother of two small boys, I know all about boys and their toys, and the competitiveness that sometimes prevails.
I’m beginning to think that Dubai’s big boys are no different. This is a picture of a vehicle used by the Civil Defence to get to fires quickly. Somewhere inside, there’s hydraulic equipment, firefighting gear and first aid supplies.
The customised Corvette beats traffic to get to fires
Then, today, photos went viral of Dubai Police’s new supercar – a 1.5m AED (£300,000) Lamborghini Aventador, which the police say will help them patrol the emirate’s highways.
New toy: Launched by Lamborghini this year to celebrate its 50th anniversary, the car has been painted in Dubai Police green-and-white colours and is being added to their fleet
The police will at least get a head start (it does 0-60mph in 3 seconds flat), but I’m not quite sure how they’ll make arrests, given that there’s no backseat.
Still, if you did get carried off in it (don’t start getting ideas now, petrol heads!), you could at least feel you were getting a ride in David Hasselhoff’s Knight Rider.
And I’m just imagining the arguments that’ll go on at the police station. “It’s my turn to drive the Lamborghini today!” “No, it’s MY turn!”
“OK boys – 20 minutes each”
Earthquake in the Middle East
I’ve always wondered what an earthquake feels like. Ever since a friend of a friend told me about someone’s husband who was on a layover when an earthquake literally shook him from his hotel bed (he slept through the whole thing, waking up in the morning on the floor), I’ve thought to myself: “How can you not feel the earth move?”
Well, I found out today, because at about 4pm this afternoon (9th April), the 6.3 magnitude earthquake that struck Southern Iran was felt by thousands of people (but not me) across the UAE. Even if I had noticed a tremor, I would probably have assumed it was my children, or the Metro.
Twitter immediately erupted into a frenzy of “Did you feel it?” earthquake tweets (#SanFranciscoMiddleEast).
It seems I wasn’t the only one who’d missed it, but plenty of tweeps did have first-hand reports of feeling dizzy and even lamps swinging. “The blinds were swaying,” my friend at work told me (we work on the 20th floor! Quite glad I wasn’t there today).
“I wonder if that’s why the dogs freaked out,” commented another friend on Facebook. ‘They ran in circles and barked. I just assumed they were nuts.”
A number of high-rise towers across the city, and in Abu Dhabi, Bahrain and Qatar, were evacuated, with many occupants reportedly running out of buildings and many more using the mini earthquake as an excuse to go home early (my work colleagues ploughed on, the troopers).
But, really, as I read more about it (mainstream media catching up with Twitter), I realise we’re lucky that here in the UAE it was only a very light shake that many of us didn’t notice. In the area of Iran where the quake struck (500km from Abu Dhabi), more than 30 people were killed and 850 were injured. Sad news indeed.
My thoughts and prayers are with those affected.
The quake occurred some 60 miles southeast of Bushehr, home of Iran’s first nuclear power station. Fortunately there was no damage to the plant. Image via BBC News
“Move over Mum!”
“Just wait till they’re 15 and think all their friends know better than you,” my mother-in-law once said, locking eyes with me.
Or maybe it was 11, or 9, I can’t quite remember.
Whichever age it was, she was right – the signs are all there.
My oldest son’s just got home from school, and within milli-seconds of him bursting through the front door – the school bus still pulling away with a growl – he always asks: “Mummy, can M come over? And J too? We arranged it on the bus.”
It’s one of the kiddie-perks of living in a compound – his friends are literally on the doorstep, or over the wall. The furthest away is N block. “All you have to do is call J’s mummy to say it’s okay!” he’ll say, bringing me my phone, then vanishing out the door to call for M.
From my 7yo, I’m guessing this is normal behaviour, but I’m beginning to wonder if my 4yo isn’t 4 going on 11.
He has another week of holiday and, with his brother already back at school, we’re scratching around for things to do. The past three days have seen some apocalyptic weather in Dubai. Sandstorms have swept through the region, bringing lightning, rain and howling winds. If Tom Cruise had appeared in a swirl of dust to battle the storm with perfectly groomed hair, I wouldn’t have been surprised. It was wild.
“I have ways, LB, to make you have fun!”
But, today, it was absolutely gorgeous. The storms had cleared the air, and the rain had washed all the sand away. The temperature was a perfect 26 degrees, and I was determined we should make the most of the freshly laundered weather (with summer coming, such days are numbered).
“Let’s go to the beach LB,” I called out, while running round the house grabbing towels, sun-tan lotion, buckets, spades, etc.
He looked up at me, and with a quizzical expression enquired: “Who are we meeting?”
“No-one LB, it’s just you and me.” (thinking how nice, some one-on-one time).
I might as well have told him we were meeting the child catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang – he shook his head and lost interest straight away.
“Okay, LB, you can play with the iPad in the car, but NOT on the beach,” I bribed said. “Deal.”
He reluctantly came, after I promised we wouldn’t be too long. We jumped the rolling waves, I swung him round in the frothy swell until my arms nearly dislocated, and pushed him on a swing for at least 15 mins to finish my arm muscles off. I swear we had fun (and I did get to work on my tan too).
On the way home, I asked chirpily: “LB, that was good, wasn’t it?”
No answer – then, “Erm, yes,” in a small voice.
“Can D come over?”
I get the hint, I do.
Silent Sunday: Online shopping
Thought fashion endorsements were the realm of supermodels and celebrities? Not any more. If you just happened to be looking for an Afghan hat, you might stumble across this website selling them. This was a tricky one to photograph, and in case you can’t read the tagline, it says: “Original Wool Afghan hat as seen on TV worn by the Taliban!”
Thank you to my friend, who came across this while researching the name of the hat worn by Afghan men for an article (pakol, in case you were curious)
Facebook’s parallel universe
We all know Facebook works in weird and wonderful ways: You sign up, publish a few photos and, all of sudden, all sorts of people start coming out the woodwork.
Before you know it, you’ve got 180 Facebook friends, been timelined, and know whether your first boyfriend has already lost all his hair.
Talking of Facebook making the world a smaller, friendlier place, a funny – possibly extraordinary – thing happened today. A photo popped up that had been shared some 130,806 times. It was a picture of a tiny, framed charm that had been found tucked deep inside a vintage needlepoint purse.
The original poster, a mum named Sarah from Michigan, had bought the purse from a Salvation Army shop, discovered the charm and put a photo on Facebook, wondering whether it would get shared enough for someone to recognise the little girl.
This is the only scan I can find of me, a bit younger than the girl below and with shorter hair. But those bangs are a clue!
I looked at it, and did a double take.
“IT’S ME!!!!” I gasped! (I don’t normally assume random photos are all about me, but it honestly was such a likeness of me at that age.)
I consulted with my mother: “It does look like you,” she typed in reply, also astonished. “Same dress as well.” Even my brother agreed.
My late Nan used to do the most beautiful needlepoint work and the purse looks exactly like something she might have made years ago.
I’m really not sure at all, of course, and if it is me, I couldn’t tell you how the purse got to Michigan – but stranger things have happened, don’t you think?
Or perhaps the parallel universe hypothesis really is true [Sings scary sci-fi tune, da-na-na-na-na-na!].
See what you think…
This is the photo shared on Facebook – the charm pinned to the vintage purse
Saudi biking ban overturned
I posted a couple of days ago about the positive aspects of life in the emirates for females.
I didn’t even mention the ladies nights that take place across the city, to which you can shimmy on down in your highest heels and your sparkliest, skimpiest top and get plied with pink bubbly and more, on the house. Their logic being that where there are gals, the men will follow.
All in all, I think we have it amazingly good here, I really do. Certainly, there’s a lot of misinformed opinion around the world (‘Do they cut your hands off in Dubai?’ has appeared in my blog stats twice this week). However, the truth is the UAE is one of the most liberal countries in the Gulf.
But, as I pointed out, Western women living here will also encounter frustrations. For example:
– While setting up a joint bank account you might find your husband is the only person allowed to create your (your!) pin number
– You might have to get your husband to write a letter of consent to give to your GP before she can prescribe the contraceptive pill and all the health checks that go with it
And, believe me, things like this can make you froth at the mouth (what on earth happens, I wonder, if you don’t have a husband or close male family member? That must really throw ‘em for a loop).
A male relative should be present to provide prompt assistance in case of falls or accidents
I’ve come to the conclusion, though, that everything’s relative. Across the border in Saudi Arabia, life for women is quite different. The big news this week is that Saudi women can now legally ride a bike in public – sort of.
On Monday, the kingdom’s Commission for the Promotion of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice reportedly overturned a ruling banning national women from cycling or motorbiking. But there are catches: they can only bike for leisure, not transportation, must wear a full-body abaya and be accompanied by a male relative.
I mean, seriously, let a woman pedal off on a bike and you never know where she’ll end up.
Women’s VIP status in the UAE
Bear with me, it’s a long one tonight.
Does anyone else get post-holiday fall-out? That natural anticlimax that occurs when you get back and have no plans in the diary, no food in the fridge and two more weeks of school holidays to fill.
Today, though – despite nursing a chocolate hangover – I woke up with renewed vigour and a masterplan. My offspring were going to be forced outside into the fresh air for some compulsory beach time (you’d be surprised, but when you live so close to the sea, they don’t always want to go to the beach).
We were meeting friends at the Dubai Ladies Club, which is set on the Gulf coast, on a particularly nice stretch of white sand, and offers facilities such as its own private, ladies-only gym, spa, swimming pools and arts centre.
The view. Readers in the frigid UK: Sorry (truly). You can always get on a plane
Not only are men excluded from the club, but it’s run by women – even the lifeguards are female, and a warning sign is fixed into the ground outside if maintenance men are at work.
This might sound unusual to Westerners, and certainly when I first arrived in the UAE, I found it rather odd that there are certain days when men aren’t allowed in the park. (At the play-park by our first villa, the rule at the time was that men – yes, dads – weren’t permitted to enter during daylight hours from Sunday to Thursday.)
I’ve lost count of the number of times my husband and I have arrived at a park with the children to find it’s the weekly ladies’ day, giving DH a water-tight excuse to sneak off for a shawarma sandwich and a coffee while I schlepp inside to chase two hyperactive kiddos. (This isn’t a problem if your DH is only around on the weekend – mine has an erratic schedule).
A common sight in Dubai (best to check before you set out)
Our second villa was in a compound where the facilities were segregated. There was a women-only indoor pool and gym, and next door an identical set-up for the men. While I found this a little strange and annoying at first, I must say I quickly got used to it.
Now I take it for granted that all over the UAE, women – who are highly revered as the carriers of life and backbone of society – are given certain advantages. Yes, there are frustrations that’ll make you spit, but there are women-only queues (which are much shorter), ‘pink’ taxis with lady drivers, and Metro carriages exclusively for women and children.
A pink taxi: One careful lady owner
I’m not sure if this project ever came to fruition after the economic crash, but back in the heady heights of 2008, we were told the world’s first-ever tower dedicated to businesswomen was to be built in Dubai. Only women would be allowed to own office space. Men could work in the building, but females would be “provided with special facilities such as entrances, elevators and car parks”.
(How hilarious, I thought, imagining the poor men having to walk to work, enter through the backdoor or window, and climb 10 flights of stairs).
But I digress – back to the Ladies Club. As we drove up, there was heavy traffic outside, trying to get to the next-door, hugely popular Jumeriah Beach Park, where it was – you’ve guessed it – ladies’ day. Between these two Dubai landmarks, this meant there was a mile-and-a-half of pristine beach dedicated to the fairer sex today.
Entrance to the Ladies Club is pricey if you’re not a member, and unfortunately this doesn’t mean the sand is gold-dust and the chips cut from diamonds. However, it is a really ambient place to relax with the children and the beach is great. (Any pilot’s wives reading this can enter for free using their EPC card).
Today, though, there was a little bit of tension – a convergence of conflicting interests, which I was unwittingly alerted to by this sign by the door:
What a shocker: Beware!
I didn’t think anything of it (it was maintenance day), but for Muslim women who cover and think they’re visiting somewhere where only women will see them in their swimwear, the presence of men, and especially labourers, can be very off-putting.
Several kept their abayas on, only taking their cloaks off when the men weren’t around, and a few complained. “How much longer will these men be here for?” demanded one. “Five minutes? Ten minutes?”
I watched this cultural difference closely out of fascination – and a little later, understood it more fully. Three men in overalls walked past the pool, one carrying a ladder, and I couldn’t help noticing their heads turn. Their eyes taking in the scenery, their gaze resting on the aquamarine pool and sun loungers.
You’d think they’d have been instructed to not stare, but finding themselves working in a ladies’ club after months of living in men-only camps, I should imagine it was impossible not to.
Male-female dos and don’ts
– Men traditionally stand up when women enter a room and this still applies to many workplaces and homes
– It is frowned upon for a man to approach a woman in a public place
– Whereas in the West, a man would greet a woman with a handshake, in Dubai this is a big no
– If a male asks an Arab man about his wife or female members of his family, it can be misunderstood
Silent Sunday: Camelicious Easter
I came across a unique twist on an Easter tradition today. Foil-covered chocolate Easter bunnies can move over. Are they made from bunny milk? Nope, of course not. These gold-wrapped chocolate delicacies are manufactured from genuine camel milk.
Classy, no? A Dubai-based camel farm – owned by Camelicious and the home to an army of 3,000 camels – generates the milk for these high-end treats. Camel milk is lower in fat and contains five times the vitamin C of cow’s milk.
Easter Sunday might be a normal working day in the UAE, but there are Easter activities going on all over the emirate, and tonnes of eggs for sale. I also rather liked this image of a golden egg, reflecting Dubai’s Atlantis hotel. Here’s hoping you’re having a great Easter weekend!
Bank holiday in Cyprus
“What could possibly go wrong?” my DH said last week, referring to the holiday we’d booked to Cyprus.
“It’ll be fine,” he promised me, waving a whole envelope-full of Euros at me as I furtively googled things like ‘Do ATMs still give money in Cyprus?’, ‘Will our credit card work in Cyprus?, ‘Are there riots in Paphos?’.
I was a little nervous – understandably, don’t you think? We’d spent several days trying to come up with a holiday destination that ticked all the boxes – no more than four hours away (mums with small children will understand my logic here); good weather; kid-friendly; and no major sporting events going on (like the Grand Prix that quashed our plans to go to Malaysia).
Cyprus is the third largest Mediterranean island
“All booked,” he texted later, as I sat at my desk grinning with anticipation at the thought of going to the land of yoghurt and honey, taramasalata and tzatziki.
Then I turned the TV on.
Cyprus was the top story, on every.single.news.programme I flicked to. The country was on the brink, practically bankrupt and in financial crisis. NO WONDER the flights had space.
“Oh no! What to do?” I nearly wept to DH. “Should we cancel?”
Of course not he said. We just need to take lots of Euros with us (if I’m honest, it wasn’t just the money I was worrying about; it had occurred to me that people might be panic-buying and all that yummy Greek food I’d imagined us eating might be in short supply).
The horror!
Although my DH does have a history of ending up in the world’s hotspots (getting stuck in Kuwait during the Iraqi invasion of 1990, for example), I did believe him – he’s as level-headed as a spirit level and immensely worldly-wise. And, anyway, packing for me and the children diverted my mind for the rest of the day.
We flew to Larnaka early the next morning, picked up a teeny-tiny hire car and set off across the island, past olive groves, fragrant citrus orchards and sea-lashed secluded coves, and discovered that life was, indeed, continuing as normal.
The taramasalata hadn’t run out after all
The banks were closed, but the lights were still on. The ATMs were being refilled with cash and credit card transactions were going through. We’d heard the Cypriots were running out of small coins, with taxi drivers rounding up to the nearest 5 or 10, but change wasn’t a problem in any of the towns we visited.
I like to think we did our bit – by spending our stash of cash, and eating our weight in the most delicious, creamy Greek dips and lemon-drizzzled dishes.
Happy days.
The term Mediterranean is derived from the Latin for “middle of the Earth” because to the ancient Romans, the vibrant sea was the centre of the world