Back to reality: A yellow weekend

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There’s nothing quite like a howling sandstorm outside and the sound of your kids howling and fighting inside to bring you back to reality with a bump.

When you're surrounded by sand, being engulfed by a shamal (sandstorm) is inevitable from time to time


The stay-at-home or risk-a-crowded-mall forecast for the weekend was for gusting sand to continue buffeting the UAE until Monday – and it gusts everywhere. Step outside, and you inhale sand into your lungs – causing hospital admissions to surge as people with respiratory complaints find themselves gasping for breath.

Blowing sand gets into your ears, in your eyes and up your nostrils. Your scalp feels gritty and your skin is exfoliated by nature’s loofah.

Everything outside is covered with a coating of dust, making the garden look like a scene from the nuclear-war movie Threads and sand even gets indoors, through gaps under doors and air conditioning ducts. Heaven forbid you accidentally leave a window open, and you come home to find the whole room’s been landscaped.

Dubai this weekend: A Mission Impossible 4-style sandstorm - stay safe peeps


On the roads, visibility is reduced, quite drastically at times, with reports that visibility on one of Dubai’s busiest roads was so low at one point that some drivers had difficulty staying on the motorway. In another part of Dubai, there was so much sand on the road, it was being moved with a bulldozer.

When it’s all over, the blue skies return, as though nothing ever happened, and then the big clean up can begin.

Yes, sometimes it does feel like we’re living in a giant dust ball.

Talking of inclement weather, the boys were playing on an inflatable slide at a park the other day and this safety notice made me laugh. Kids take note!

The joys of child-free travel

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As a preface to this post, I very rarely get to do this. Honestly! If you’ve been following this blog, you’ll know that I nearly always travel on stand-by with two over-excited small boys in tow – in economy and in a bad mood.

This time was different – so different, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven …

So there I was upstairs on the double-decker A380, seated rather conveniently right next door to the on-board pub, with free-flowing booze, cocktails and delicious canapés just a step away.

With 14 hours of back-to-back, uninterrupted ‘me time’ ahead, I literally couldn’t believe my good fortune. I’d been on stand-by, hoping to accompany DH on his trip down under, and got the last seat in business class.

As any mum reading this will attest to, the chance to do nothing but watch chick-flicks, listen to music and leaf through magazines – while drinking wine – for a whole day under the twinkly stars of a superjumbo’s ceiling is a ‘pinch-me-now’ dream come true.

Fine dining in the sky: The after-dinner cheese platter

‘Should I watch a movie now or later?’, ‘Recline the seat into a bed and have a nap?’, ‘Or go to the bar?’ ‘Read a novel or Good Housekeeping?’ When these are the only decisions you have to make – and the seat can even give you a massage – stress vanishes faster than you can say ‘white wine please!’

There’s even wi-fi up there – as if the 1,200 channels on the TV aren’t enough – and each seat has its own mini-bar. With so much to do, 14 hours isn’t long enough. I must have been the only person on that plane who didn’t want to get off when we finally touched down 12,000 kilometres later.

The only slight blip on the horizon was that, years ago, I used to be really scared of flying and, despite being married to a pilot, I’m still terrified of turbulence. If DH is next to me, I’ll grip his hand and ask anxiously if everything is ok or if we should get into the emergency brace position. This flight, he was working part of the way (they have two crews on board for such a long flight) and resting in the crew rest area when he wasn’t on duty.

Every now and then, he’d pop up to see me, wearing his sweater as a disguise.

We were high up over the Indian Ocean and I was just reaching a novel state of zen-like calm when he appeared and, hiding a cheeky grin on his face, whispered to me in hushed tones, ‘There’s a serious malfunction.’

‘I wanted you to hear about it first,’ he said sagely, the twinkle in his eyes not noticeable due to the dimmed cabin lights.

You know when you’re sure someone’s joking, but there’s that moment of terror when your heart seems to skip a beat – well *that* was that moment.

Nice one, DH! He made up for it the rest of the time though – and I quickly rediscovered my mile-high nirvana, such are the joys of child-free travel.

Saturday evening in Sydney and down by the Opera House it's buzzing

People-watching in summertime

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Pretty girls are walking by in cut-off denim shorts and bikini tops, heading for the surf in high spirits. The atmosphere is laid-back. Casual. Anything goes.

A bright yellow, almost sunny-looking police car just drove by, followed by a slightly battered red vehicle with a surfboard on top.

There are elderly people doing their weekly shop, noticeable because their faces look weather-beaten and wrinkled. But they’re smiling and relaxed. As are the throngs of scantily-clad shoppers and beach-goers who are milling around, some sipping on a ‘flat white’ before resuming their Saturday-afternoon activities. Others heading straight for the waves.

If this doesn’t sound like the Middle East, you’re right. I’m far, far away, in Sydney, Australia (a country I fell in love with 10 years ago when I spent three months here as a backpacker), and I’m writing this post while people-watching at a cafe in Manly.

My body thinks it’s the middle of the night – such is the jet lag when you fly for nearly 14 hours straight. But it’s worth it: I love the vibe here – the way it shouts ‘Life is better in board shorts!’ I love jumping on and off ferries to get to Sydney’s beachside suburbs, the opera house, harbour bridge, botanic gardens, pie shops and the fact zebra crossings actually work.

Best of all is spending some quality time with DH [whispers: without the kids]. I literally ‘went to work’ with DH, tagging along on his 5-day trip to Australia and New Zealand. He’s flown on to Auckland now, which I chose not to do because I’m a complete amateur when it comes to jet lag. He’s used to it and not phased by doing both countries in 72 hours.

So now I’m solo in Sydney. Just me and the credit card. And a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, before DH gets back tomorrow night!

Penguins in the desert

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Just when you think you’ve seen it all: Sharks at the Dubai Mall. Swarovski crystals on a BMW. The world’s highest restaurant.

Dubai goes and does it again, flying 20 penguins to the UAE ‘business class’ from SeaWorld in San Antonio so desert dwellers can pay 175 dhs (£30) to get up close and personal with the lovable birds in a giant freezer.

The interactive penguin colony has moved to a Dubai shopping mall, taking up residence at a fake Antarctica created inside Ski Dubai. In true UAE style, they’ve got private living quarters, an ice-cold pool and a staff of 13 butlers including a penguin curator who feed them restaurant-quality fish imported from Canada.

Snow penguins on show at Ski Dubai: You ever seen penguins on a mountain before?


In return, the 10 king penguins (the second largest type) and 10 gentoo penguins are expected to ‘offer a unique experience’ to visitors, including a penguin march several times a day from 2pm – which my kids couldn’t wait to see.

Checking over my shoulder that there weren’t any animal rights activists around with ‘Penguins for Profit’ placards, we paid the entrance fee to the snow park, got the kids bundled up and discovered for ourselves whether it was a case of Happy Feet in the desert or marketing gone mad.

Here’s what you need to know:

● Hand-reared from birth, you can’t help but fall in love in love with the penguins when they waddle in, flapping their wings and playing footie with their butlers.

● Newly established pairs are said to be courting already in their Dubai digs, meaning it could only be a matter of time before native-born penguins are hatched at Ski Dubai. We did see evidence of a love match – a bickering pair were having a right old barney.

Bird's eye view from the Costa Coffee above - in the words of Ski Dubai’s operations manager, “We ask the birds what they want to do, we never force them.” (!!!)

● You WILL get cold. You can opt to pay for the snow park and see the penguin march at close-hand, or shell out more for the ‘Peng Friend’ programme, in which visitors over three get the chance to interact with the penguins and view underwater swimming.

Alternatively, you could strike a deal with your DH and get him to take the kids in, while you go upstairs to the Costa Coffee and enjoy a great bird’s eye view for the price of a cup of tea.

● All visits are accompanied at all times so there’s no snow-ball throwing.

● While we didn’t do the face-to-face encounter, I’ve heard the penguins love meeting humans, will sit on visitors’ laps and even hug them.

● I won’t get into the rights and wrongs of this attraction, because it’s causing controversy, but the penguins weren’t captured from the wild and bundled off to the desert. They were born and bred in captivity as part of a breeding programme at SeaWorld.

● Being leered at by thousands of school kids aside, the penguins do seem to be enjoying the lifestyle of respected diplomatic ambassadors. And, another upside, there’s no chance they’ll be turned into lunch.

● One of the most hilarious things is the ‘poop and scoop’ guy who has to follow the penguins around cleaning up puddles of yellow snow.

Worth a visit, definitely, but it did make me wonder what’s next for Dubai: polar bears playing volley ball?

For more information, click here

The to-do list that keeps growing

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Last week was my first whole week at home in a little while, following a stint of work – but, and I’ve always said this, getting back to one’s housewifely/motherly duties is when the hard work really starts.

I had so many plans for the week. BIG plans.

Top of the to-do list was sorting out our clothes – not just mine, which are now so crammed into the wardrobe I can’t even see what’s there, but also the boys’ clothes. Their baby clothes (they’re 3 and 6 now) were to be given away, their shoes tried on and organised and their t-shirts filed in size order.

The guest-room vision: No Disney characters in sight

I was then going to move into our spare room and redecorate so visitors don’t have to sleep with giant Winnie-the-Pooh stickers above their heads, choosing muted, gender-neutral tones picked at leisure while browsing the paint store.

I was going to go jogging every other day, and cook several low-carb, low-fat dishes – stashing extra portions in the freezer. I saw myself making vegetable soup with the radio on in the kitchen and eating it for lunch, with a brown roll, every day. I was sure I’d lose at least 2lb and feel great.

I was going to reply to emails dating back to 2010, get passport photos taken of LB and start writing an article for a friend who’s doing a jolly good job raising awareness of coeliac disease in the UAE.

Oh, the optimism.

What I’d forgotten was that DH was home for 4 days last week, the school day is over in a blink and the kids are always so ecstatic I’m not working, they won’t let me out of their sight. Needless to say, our clothes are still clogging up the wardrobes, the article didn’t get written, I’m still a hopeless pen-pal and I didn’t even buy the paint.

So what did I achieve?

● I hung out with the boys and marvelled as BB miraculously started to read [proud moment – he can be challenging]

● Ate chips and a giant pastry-rich vol au vent at the Belgium Beer Cafe on a date night with DH

● Drank tea with friends in Costa Coffee and Starbucks

● Went down the road to Silicon Oasis to catch up with friends I haven’t seen for a year

● Enjoyed seeing my in-laws who surprised us with a visit from Beirut, where heavy rain had stalled work on the house they’re building

● Had my hair chemically straightened

● Power-walked round the block, once

Wonderfully sociable, even if nothing got ticked off the list.

There’s always this week, though DH has just got back, it’s LB’s half-term and, snow-permitting, we’ve got more visitors arriving on Tuesday for a week-long sleepover with Winnie the Pooh.

INSPIRATION: Dubai’s Desperate Housewife; PHOTO CREDIT: New Bedroom Designs

And the copy editing prize goes to…

Aside

Following my post the other day on Dubai bloopers, I’ve had some hilarious feedback from friends who have their own favourites.

If you live in Dubai, you may have seen this one, on the parking ticket machines at the airport:

‘Change is Possible’

And has anyone seen this tanker? A contract company was asked to stencil on the side ‘Diesel Fuel’ in Arabic and ‘No Smoking’, also in Arabic.

This is what came back – bonus points for the spelling mistake too!

Could bad hair days be over?

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You might, after reading this, think I’m really pampered – which I’m not, I promise. But when your DH goes to exotic destinations with 26 flight attendants (I’ll say that again, 26! most of whom are beautiful, perky-bosomed 20-something females), there’s a certain level of maintenance that’s required, especially post-child.

Along with several other ‘problem’ areas, my hair needs regular overhauls – mainly because I’ve always disliked it and have spent more than half my life changing its colour.

Over the years, my naturally mousey hair has been subjected to Sun-In, highlights, lowlights, spray blondes and shop-bought dyes. A hairdresser, aghast at the results of the latter and muttering about an extreme makeover, turned it brown, which I loved for a while, until it started fading and I went blonde again.

It’s also really thick, and while some might think this is an attribute, it’s really not and hairdressers can’t wait to use the thinning shears on me, chopping away with the serrated blades in zig-zags, my hair flying all over the room. But I’ve never liked the results of thinning it out because as soon as I wash it, it frizzes up.

It was with a frizz-free look in mind that I purchased a Brazilian keratin hair-straightening treatment on Groupon, in the hope that the promise of a formaldehyde-fuelled permanent blow-dry was true. Off I went today, in a billowing sandstorm, to the far-end of Dubai, wondering if the fact I’d got it for 78 per cent off was a cause for concern.

Two hairdressers smoothed a gloopy substance over my hair, set it under the hood dryer, then straightened each section of hair, while conversing in Tagalog – for all I know, telling each other my barnet was like a bird’s nest.

For my wedding, spiral curls

“You want drink?,” offered one of the stylists. “Coffee, tea?” To which I responded, always reverting to overly polite English in situations like this, “Yes, please … Black tea, please. Thank you.”

“Ma’am, no black tea. Just red,” she replied (thankful, I was, that I wasn’t having hair colour done too).

Towards the end, my hair looking as flat as a pancake (in a good way), she gave me some instructions.

“You will iron, yes? From tomorrow.”

“Um, yes, I’ll iron,” I nodded in agreement, thinking wasn’t this keratin cure meant to mean I could put the straighteners away?

It's straight, for now!

“And wash it off in three days, using this 320dhs (£55) organic keratin-strengthening shampoo and gel.” (which they bagged up for me and rung up on the till in a flash)

When I got home, my boys peered at me, noticing something – not quite sure what – was different.

“Mummy, you look bea-ooootiful,” said my Big Boy, having learnt long ago that saying nice things like this gets him a disproportionately favourable reaction.

The little boy, grabbing a handful of hair and yanking hard, enquired, “Mumm-eeee, youf hadd-a hair wash?”

Dubai bloopers

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When you live in a society as multicultural as Dubai, it’s inevitable that the English language is often used to hilarious effect.

It happens all the time, even at home. A friend recently told me about a phonecall she received from their housemaid.

Painters (who the week before were probably laying paving, and the week before that were fixing the electrics) had somehow spilt paint all over her husband’s car.

Their housemaid called my friend at work to spill the beans: “Sir is hot!” announced the maid, referring to my friend’s understandably irate husband.

“He’s very hot!”

But it’s not just in everyday conversation that words get mixed up. Signs with poor English can be found all over the UAE. Even buildings, government departments and important websites are riddled with grammatical errors and laugh-out-loud typos.

Take, for example, the Dubai Police website.

“Dear driver,” it says under Traffic Awareness. “Expect the sudden stop of the car in front of you, in any emergency.”

Elsewhere, it cautions drivers to follow “Traffic Sins” and, under Travel Tips, helpfully recommends: “Do not look like tourists at airports”.

Here are some more of my favourite bloopers (some of them a bit rude, so click away now if you’re easily offended or would rather not snigger in the back row with me!):

● “Parking in backside” – directing drivers to parking spaces behind buildings

● “Fishing and Getting Closer are Prohibited – at Khalid Port in Sharjah

● “No need for stress, as all matters are beyond the control of anyone” – a reassuring tip on the Dubai Police website

● Al Dhaid – a large agricultural town and the name of a gardening company I’m not sure I’d trust to keep my grass alive

● Al Boom Gas – a gas supplier, say no more

● Housewaif – on wife’s residence visa

● “Taking drugs or alcoholics: These should not be brought to work” – on the Ministry of Labour website

● “Erection Going On, Stay Away” – sign on a construction site in International City (thankfully not used during the making of Burj Khalifa, tee-hee)

To be fair, if most expatriates tried to write anything in Arabic, the official language here, the results would be equally amusing – and funny sign-spotting is a great hobby to have.

Electronic coupon surprise

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I love Groupon. Ever since I first discovered it, I’ve watched the daily emails pop up in my in-box and clicked on the messages to see what the deals of the day are.

For those who don’t know Groupon, it’s a middleman shopping service offering up to 70 per cent off some great things to do, see, eat and buy in Dubai.

It’s kind of like the Robin Hood of the 21st century, allowing anyone to enjoy restaurants, hotels, spas and luxury goods that they wouldn’t normally be able to afford.

Among a few other things, I’ve bought a fishing trip for DH for his birthday and a keratin hair-straightening treatment as a Christmas present for myself from DH.

I’d probably spend a lot more if it wasn’t for the fact that HSBC in Dubai sends a text message to my husband the moment I use our credit card with the amount of the transaction – which seems to reach him even if he’s in deepest Africa and I can’t actually get through myself.

STD Groupon goes viral

Today, when I clicked on a newly arrived Groupon email there was a Look Gorgeous Hair Pampering Package and, next to it, a photo of a smiling couple lounging on a bed, along with the words:

‘Give Yourself Peace of Mind with an STD test at Scientific Clinical Laboratories’

The discount was undisclosed due to healthcare ad regulations, but there was some information on how sexually transmitted diseases are passed on and which STDs are checked for.

A money-off STD Groupon – hilarious. And the thing that really tickled my humour: The little gift-wrapped-box icon and button saying ‘ Buy it for a friend!’

Just in time for Valentine’s day.

Ships passing in the night

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Sometimes, when you’re juggling two kids, half-a-job and one DH – who keeps odd hours (often going to work in the middle of the night) – getting the whole family on the same time zone can be quite a challenge.

Yesterday morning, DH actually left at a normal time, but as he’s gone all weekend (sigh) and I’ve been busy with work all week, I got that ‘ships-passing-in-the-night’ feeling again:

6.50am (alarm goes off): Carry 50 pounds of boy, too sleepy to walk himself, down the cold, marble staircase. Pad… pad… pad. Shiver

7am: Persuade boy to get dressed, amid complaints about the bitter cold (13°C!)

7.05am: DH comes down the stairs, in his uniform, his suitcase trailing behind him. Clop… clop… clop. Thud… Thud. Klunk

7.10am: The Little Boy appears half-way down the stairs, rubbing his eyes and whimpering. “Mummee, carry meee … Itsch cold!”

7.10-7.15am: Interact briefly with DH, while he pulls up the flight plan on the iPad and figures out how to save it

7.15am: Our nanny appears and deposits Boo-boo the bear on the sofa. Fortunately she remembers there’s a teddy bear’s picnic at nursery (thank God for the wife!)

7.20am: School bus pulls up outside and BB darts out the door in a flash. Beep-beep-beep. Ker-thunk, as the doors clap shut

7.20-7.30am: More snatched conversation with DH as he raids our ‘bus bank’, where we keep all our foreign notes

DH's pocket money: He's got most currencies covered! (pretty, don't you think? The red Australian note bang in the middle is my favourite)


7.35am: DH’s ‘work car’ arrives, the engine humming outside – yes, he’s picked up and chauffeured to the airport – jammy, no?

7.45am: LB is peeled off me and handed over to our nanny amid protests (“Mummee, Nooooooo! No go!” so I can get ready

8.30am: I dash out the door into the car (no driver for me) and realise I’ve forgotten my jewellery AND lipstick (Thursday, the last day of the week, always throws me as it’s mufti day and finding something trendy takes at least 20 minutes)

8.32am: Feel naked, not trendy, but too late to fix this so I reverse out the garage and set off on the rat-race to Media City

And so, that was it, we all went our separate ways – to nursery, school, work and Hong Kong. [Confesses:] In fact, that was a lengthy conversation compared to when DH leaves at 2 in the morning and all I can muster is a half-formed, muffled good-bye from under the duvet.