Tag Archives: rain

On being jerked awake by Dubai Police

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If you live in Dubai, were you woken up to the sound of your phone blaring out like a police siren last Monday morning?

If, like me, this roused you from a deep slumber, did you have absolutely no idea what was going on? Were we at war? Had Iran launched a nuke?

All these thoughts ran through my head, my pulse rising, before the voice of reason chimed in – it’s surely just my alarm sounding extra … erm … extra alarming.

As it turned out, none of the above applied. It was the Dubai Police issuing a public safety alert – a loud warning tone designed to forewarn residents and visitors in the UAE about an imminent emergency.

My phone was also vibrating on my bedside table like a maniacal insect.

I picked it up in the half-dark, almost dropping it, and looked at the screen.

There was a message written in Arabic and English.

“The city of Dubai is exposed to fluctuations in weather conditions,” it read. In other words, rain in the UAE.

Members of the public were advised to “stay away from beaches, avoid areas of valleys, torrent flows, and low places.”

Putting all notions of trying to get back to sleep aside as my heart rate subsided, I got up and carried on with my day – working at home as the government had advised due to the wet weather. The schools that weren’t on half-term break proceeded with online learning.

Some people got the National Early Warning System alert up to four times.

There was indeed heavy rain, thunder and lightning across parts of the UAE, and I was glad to be able to stay home (rain in the UAE is like a snow day in the UK), but it’s funny how a downpour in this country can be so wild – and gets treated like a cyclone, even though it isn’t.

It’s raining, it’s pouring

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“Ag-ain, again!” LB’s eyes were cast skywards, taking in the granite clouds above. The heavens had just opened for the umpteenth time and raindrops were rolling down the window pane. “It’s raining again!”

Pitter-patter. Splish-splosh. Quite honestly, I think I’ve seen more rain in the UK over the past five days than the UAE has seen in a thousand years. There’s been floods of biblical proportions, a month’s worth of rain in 24 hours and a lifeboat rescue, inland. 

All because the jet stream has apparently moved south, meaning the British summer is taking place somewhere over the mid-Atlantic.

I must say, I’m rather enjoying it.  I know, I know. I haven’t had to put up with endless showers for the past two months, and in the morning we’re leaving for the States, where the weather is freakishly hot. But, aside from the length of time it takes to get out of the house (wellies, raincoats, brollies, waders, lifebelt..I’m so out of practice), it’s really refreshing to see the wet stuff again.

Not only are the kids in puddle-jumping heaven, but LB also saw his first-ever rainbow yesterday – a double-arched one too. For me, the wayward weather is a chance to sit on my favourite sofa in the conservatory, listen to the sound of the rain pounding on the roof and admire the lush view outside, in all its greenness.

Splat!

Rain – and peeping at leaf porn

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It seems I’ve been prowling the Internet looking at photos of autumn leaves.

On trees, on the ground, piled up – it really doesn’t matter what position, any kind of leaf porn is marvellous! Though photos from America are obviously the best, like these lovely shots taken by a blogger in the Midwest.

I know, I know, fallen leaves mean endless raking and bagging up, not to mention signalling that winter’s on the way. But when you’re a desert dweller, and surrounded by sand and palm trees, you miss the changing of the seasons.

That said, the weather is perfect right now and to make the most of where we live I’ve instigated a weekly trip to the beach, whether the kids want to or not – rather like the compulsory visits to National Trust gardens I remember my own parents insisting on!

Sunset over the Arabian Gulf this weekend

And while I’m talking about the weather, let me tell you about the rare treat we enjoyed last week – rain! The first in at least eight months.

You wouldn’t believe how excited we get. Anticipation mounts a few hours before, with all eyes cast skywards to see if it’s true.

Windows and doors are flung open to let the fresh air in – such a nice change from air conditioning – and when the downpour (or should I say dribble) starts, you feel like doing a rain dance outside.

Every single Tweet and Facebook update from a UAE friend will mention the rain and if you’re in the car, it takes a minute or two to remember how to work the windscreen wipers.

It’s amazing how rain clears the air, too. Seeing the enormous, billowing Burj al Arab (pictured above) from as far away as Arabian Ranches was quite a shock (had someone moved it, I wondered?) and just goes to show what a dust ball we live in the rest of the time.

But, rain in the Middle East has a downside if you’re out and about – the drivers don’t slow down and aquaplane along the roads, with car crashes all over the emirate. The drainage is also completely useless, meaning parts of Dubai, including our compound, actually flood if the rain is prolonged.

If the heavens open twice, puddle-loving kids can’t believe their luck, though may act confused. “Mummy, why is it raining again?” my friend’s four-year-old asked – boy, are our kids in for a shock if we move back to England.

Flooding in 2009: Who would have thought? It literally brings Dubai to a standstill

Wildest Wales: We survived!

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Five adults, four young children – all related – sharing a holiday home in a remote part of North Wales. What could possibly go wrong?

The adults sipping wine, watching on as the children play happily in a grassy field. Long walks through beautiful countryside and tired kids falling into bed at the end of the day.

Well, no. Not exactly.

But it was, mostly, lovely, and everyone enjoyed our time en masse.

I discovered, however, that being taken to deepest Wales at least 10 times while growing up in no way prepares you for going as a grown-up and having to think about things that never even cross our minds in Dubai, like wellies, water-proofs, fleeces and socks. Things that, in North Wales, stop your kids from getting hyperthermia. Things that my mum, thankfully, remembered every time I forgot.

Here are some more important lessons I learnt (and sorry to my friends on the blogosphere for some repetition here, it’s all still sinking in!):

>• The road trip there is short by American standards, but long when you factor in the whining from the back, Shaun the Sheep on a loop on the DVD and Electronic Eddie’s devious short cuts along winding mountain roads so narrow they only fit one car.

>• You’ll need to pack at least five bags for every outing to carry the necessary wet-weather gear, plus spares of everything – and, even then, your kids will end up in their swimming stuff (the only dry clothes left) for the ride home. Spare pairs of wellies are also a good idea because when water comes over the top, they take a week to dry.

That's MY bed! (but since you're both so cute and quiet when sleeping, I'll have to forgive you)

>• The kids (mine) will not happily settle into a routine of a set bedtime and 12 hours’ sleep. They’ll go to bed late, join you in bed and get up early with excitement. By the end of the week, you’ll be on your knees with sleep deprivation. The younger one will power nap in the car while everyone else holds onto their seats on those mountain passes, then he’ll wake up thinking it’s morning and keep going for hours. His delight at all the farmyard animals will go a long way towards making up for this, though.

>• You’ll marvel at your brother’s kids, who go to bed when told, get dressed when told, don’t snack, eat their meals and walk for ages without a whimper – both utterly lovable kids who are a joy to have around. But you’ll find you can no longer claim your own kids’ bad behaviour is a temporary blip when it lasts all week long (not to mention, end the holiday with a parenting crisis).

Child-proofing not a priority here then

>• Just when you think you can relax and enjoy a picnic, the two-year-old will find a stone wall to climb and walk along, a big stick to poke you with, or be irresistibly drawn to a pile of poo. Even in the house the kids will keep you on your toes by choosing the most dangerous area to play in – this really odd open attic, high above my bed, that became the games club.

>• Your knowledge of all things related to the countryside will let you down spectacularly because you’ll be stumped by oldest son’s questions, including: Why are there no trees on the mountains? Why are the cow pats so big? (is it because cows have two stomachs, or is that camels?) Did the chicken or the egg come first? Where’s the swimming pool?

Perfect trap for little feet

>• You’ll find that people with bigger feet have a much easier time at the cattle grid we had to lug the kids and 10 bags over every day to get to the car – parked a long way down a stony track because the access to our holiday home, over a teeny-tiny bridge that gave my brother’s car a flat tyre, was better suited to mountain bikes.

>• The alpha males of the group will attempt to keep the pack together, but find this increasingly difficult as the females are sidetracked by shops and the kids all run off in different directions.

>• You won’t enjoy having one bathroom for nine people (the horror!), the novelty of rain will wear off, and will really miss your husband (in Florida), who makes everything so much easier. But you’ll absolutely love the amazing scenery, seeing the kids enjoying the steam trains, the castles, the seaside, the cool air, the pies, the fudge and your own childhood memories it brings back.

Because North Wales was, without a doubt, the perfect antidote to summer in the desert.

Train driver-to-be: The hat stayed on all holiday

Trekking from the house to the car

Mount Snowdon: Touching clouds

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Given my phobia of spending more than 45 minutes in a confined space with my children (developed during airplane journeys, I’m sure), going on a two-and-a-half-hour round trip up Snowdon in a packed train carriage may seem a surprising choice of activity.

But the tickets were booked online weeks in advance, so we were going to the top of Wales’ highest peak come rain or shine.

The former being the forecast, of course. Undeterred, off we went, hoping the weather might clear.

Once the mountain train started climbing, and the grey slate roofs below disappeared from view, there was no going back. We made our way through forest, then open, treeless countryside, past ruined shepherd’s cottages and into the very rain clouds that the drizzle was coming from.

Inside a cloud: Whiteout at the top

Some elderly ladies showed true British spirit by singing "She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes" while we kept the kids happy, fed and warm.

Oldest son, in particular, thought it was one big adventure. He's obsessed with trains, spends half his life pretending to be a train, and is planning on being a train driver when he grows up. He was just thrilled that we were being pushed up a steep hill by a coal-fired steam locomotive (dating back to 1895) and wasn't the least bit upset when the view disappeared.

At the top of Snowdon, we spent a few minutes peering through the mist at the craggy summit, before scurrying indoors to dry off and make sure we didn’t miss the train down again.

The summit: Quite crowded up there!