tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2527909996132887232024-03-05T13:16:10.729-08:00Screaming Ab DhabsTales of a Formerly Reluctant Expat Living in Abu DhabiChristine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-3794742262168693802016-09-29T04:45:00.000-07:002016-09-29T04:46:12.634-07:00Moving On...No, we're still enjoying our adventures here in the United Arab Emirates, but I've moved the blog.<br />
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You can now visit me at <a href="http://www.screamingabdhabs.com/">www.screamingabdhabs.com</a><br />
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See you there!<br />
<br />Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-10486574666189006412016-06-17T06:10:00.000-07:002016-06-17T08:15:47.829-07:00Summer, and the Lies We Tell Ourselves<div class="MsoNormal">
We are standing on a tennis court, arms spread out wide. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“It’s not that hot,” I lie, wiping the sweat off my
forehead before it seeps into my eyes and renders me blind with my body's own stinging salt. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Yeah, there’s actually a nice little breeze,” my tennis
partner says, also lying. She flaps her arms, trying to catch whatever gasp of cool
air might be floating our way. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But the ‘breeze’ she’s talking about isn’t one of those
gentle 10 mph jobs that keep places like the Caribbean bearable through the
summer months. This ‘breeze’ wouldn’t get a feather to float. In fact, this 'breeze’
is nothing more than a cough, and subsides before we pick up our rackets and
attempt to keep playing in a ‘real feel' temperature of about 110 degrees
Fahrenheit. (I should mention, it's barely 9 a.m.).<o:p></o:p></div>
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Out on the golf course things are similar. We’ve already
pushed back our start time by an hour to make the most of the cooler mornings,
but by the time we’ve rounded to the ninth hole, I’m practically delirious. Despite
sticking to a rule of sipping one 12 ounce bottle of water per green, I feel
dehydration taking over. I’ve got a massive
headache, can’t remember how many strokes I’ve taken, and despite being plied
with cold towels and ice pops on the course, I just want to make it back to the
club house before collapsing so I can take a cold shower. It will take me 1.5 days to recover, but I will lie to myself, convince myself that I'm fine and attempt to do it all over again the following week. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Welcome to summer in the UAE. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Despite my heartiest efforts to stay outdoors, this is the
time of year when my routine switches. As I count down the weeks until the ‘heat
really sets in,’ I find myself running around madly trying to
take advantage of all the great outdoor things in the region. There are beach
days, camping weekends, golf and tennis outings, biking and even running. There are
barbecues and dining al fresco, and walks along the Corniche. Indeed, between March and May, we work
hard to get it all in while we can. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And when the summer comes? Well, that’s when I pick up my
reading, indulge in daytime movies, and hang out in the malls. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Yes, I know. This New Yorker hangs out in malls. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Given my suburban roots, mall life back home has a different connotation than it does here. Where I grew up, going to the mall was
one of those things I did as a youth to free myself from parental guidance,
to check out boys from other schools, buy stuff like records (yes, records!)
and eat crappy pizza while I wallowed in my teenage angst. By the time I turned
sixteen, I had shunned suburban life and shopping malls and opted for trips to NYC’s Greenwich
Village with girlfriends. Truth be told, we did pretty much the same thing - crappy
pizza and all - yet somehow, it felt ‘different.’<o:p></o:p></div>
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Mall life in the UAE is ‘different’ as well. During our
first year here, any time John would mention a mall outing I’d practically get
angry – as if we couldn’t come up with something... anything... better to do. Back home growing up, malls felt tacky and
dismal, a sad commentary on the vast lack of recreational activities or cultural
offerings available to us. <o:p></o:p>What I failed to realize, is that malls here in the UAE are full of awesomeness -- ice-skating rinks and aquariums and movie theaters and good restaurants. Truth be told, malls are a real treat and part of the great life we enjoy in the UAE. </div>
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After exploring mall culture here, I realized that going to the mall is like taking a stroll on the
High Street (or spending an afternoon hanging out on Columbus Avenue in NYC). In
the UAE, saying you’re going to the mall is the same as saying you’re going into
town. In fact, malls in the UAE have dress codes (no hanging out in your cut off dungarees looking like a slob) and each mall has its own vibe, the same as different neighborhoods or sections of a city might have back home. </div>
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UAE malls serve as town centers largely because of the heat. Where else can local people
gather with friends and extended family comfortably, and where else can expats go for a meal, a mooch
around the book store, a coffee or ice cream, to check out a movie, and stop by the supermarket (also in the mall) to buy a couple of things for
dinner with a minimal amount of sweat?<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m lucky in that we live within distance of a mall that I
can walk to in the middle of the summer without spontaneously combusting. Some
people even live in buildings with malls in their lobby. But as someone who
lived in New York City for more than twenty years and was proud because it was
a place that didn’t have any malls (except for that horror on 34<sup>th</sup>
Street), I have really changed my views. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Now, especially in summertime, I find myself craving the mall (not cringing about it the
way I did as a teenager). I even have favorite malls that I frequent in Abu
Dhabi. Khalidiyah Mall is my hometown mall, while Marina Mall is my fave for women's fashion clothing and easy parking. John and I have a soft spot for
Dalma Mall, with its Shake Shack, Emack & Bolio ice cream shop and we like to check out the outdoor gear
and sporting goods shops, you know, for when the heat breaks. And now that Pizza Express has opened at the World
Trade Center Mall, well, we're all over that mall too! <o:p></o:p></div>
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So here’s to summer in the UAE!</div>
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It’s crazy hot. </div>
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And there’s
even worse humidity to follow. </div>
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But at least there’s always the mall. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-71056218657705811102016-05-04T05:54:00.001-07:002016-05-04T07:57:26.022-07:00On Becoming So Spursy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSwhNrO9nCGpINVxx3AkPMEIBooVlIiymfu26zbdJtob30w1HAXTutEkrqwjDbyfXSdqqDMB22VyE4dYC9BwHCSgvp0Iky23pa8hjXMI05-7rSiH4P9mJU4iLDUq70zq25NS7e8WdYuQad/s1600/IMG_20160116_185751.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSwhNrO9nCGpINVxx3AkPMEIBooVlIiymfu26zbdJtob30w1HAXTutEkrqwjDbyfXSdqqDMB22VyE4dYC9BwHCSgvp0Iky23pa8hjXMI05-7rSiH4P9mJU4iLDUq70zq25NS7e8WdYuQad/s400/IMG_20160116_185751.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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“<i>If they always
disappoint you, why don’t you just support another team, like Chelsea or
something?”</i></div>
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That was me, back when this New York City gal started crossing
the Atlantic with her then new steady boyfriend who happened to be a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tottenham_Hotspur_F.C." target="_blank">Tottenham Hotspur</a> supporter (along with two generations of his entire family). We were commiserating over a pint at the Irish Cultural Centre following a disappointing loss at White Hart Lane. <o:p></o:p></div>
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From the glare I got from John (the beau who would
eventually forgive me and become my husband) and his first cousin (who still
hasn’t forgiven me), I had only begun to realize just how deep support of one’s
English Premiership team runs – not to mention the ground I’d have to make up if
I wanted to be welcomed into the family fold. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Over the years, I’ve tried my best to support Spurs, sort of
following along but not really keeping track of their top players, their
managers, their trades, or their standing in the table. And while I named my first cat after former
Tottenham striker <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mido_(footballer)" target="_blank">Mido</a> (I had witnessed his stunning two goal debut in 2007 at
White Hart Lane), I admit that it wasn’t so much because I was a die-hard Spurs
supporter, but because I knew that by naming the cat after a Spurs player, John would
be more likely to embrace the new orange tabby in my life – and that calling a cat 'Klinsmann' just didn’t have a good ring to it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Over the past two years of living in Abu Dhabi, I’ve found a whole new love for the 'beautiful game,' mainly due to living in a far more forgiving time zone, combined with what's become of this blossoming young team just hitting its stride.<o:p></o:p></div>
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With many Premier League games starting as early as 8 a.m. in NYC on
a weekend, getting up and making my way to a sports bar that showed the
Tottenham game felt like too much heavy-lifting. To say that I’m not a morning person is an
understatement. My friends, former work colleagues and even my husband know that
there’s an unspoken ‘do not disturb’ sign that hangs over me until ten in the
morning. Also, the weekend trains in Manhattan are notoriously slow… or
non-existent, making it an hour or more endeavor to get to a spot to watch
a game when during the week the same trip might only take 25 minutes. Even further, on the rare occasion that I’d make it to watch a game, the guilt of being in a bar that early and the unwritten obligation
to have a beer as a way of thanking the establishment for showing the match, was
even to this enthusiastic beer drinker -- a challenge. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So fast-forward four time zones ahead of the UK, and suddenly
watching English football has a whole new aura.<br />
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Here in the UAE, watching the
footy is predominantly an evening activity, which often falls on a Saturday. With our work week starting on Sunday, it has become a nice way of
winding down the weekend either at a local sports lounge, or at home with a
nice meal. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGBtAlO5GbbwX7kPTOLrG5XGaUJZ1dIZTrqG34nQNADUyFnscyDil3oytlf_SKNt9jn5ZeSYFhZKzyksj_oRqgYIs_0i0YNcmD4VGJlfkTjWVo36LkilBqciuTiot5l1y5lyzqoDIlgsYz/s1600/IMG_20160310_233209.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGBtAlO5GbbwX7kPTOLrG5XGaUJZ1dIZTrqG34nQNADUyFnscyDil3oytlf_SKNt9jn5ZeSYFhZKzyksj_oRqgYIs_0i0YNcmD4VGJlfkTjWVo36LkilBqciuTiot5l1y5lyzqoDIlgsYz/s320/IMG_20160310_233209.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even our cats support Spurs.</td></tr>
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Also, here in the UAE there are TONS of footy fans. While ‘back in the day’ supporting English football
in New York City was kind of a fringe activity (that has recently become the <a href="http://gawker.com/urbane-new-yorkers-now-ruining-the-sport-of-soccer-ahem-1565868023">new
hipster thing to do</a> -- along with things like playing <a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/life-style/real-estate/b-klyn-hipsters-new-day-court-shuffleboard-article-1.1618475">shuffleboard</a>),
the UAE is kind of like a Little Britain, there are tons of British expats
here, and I’ve met gaggles of ManU and other football supporters. Also with local investment in
teams like Etihad’s Man City, NBAD’s Real Madrid, and Arse-*al’s Emirates Stadium,
there’s always something to talk about when you’re following the footy here -- there
are even ‘supporter clubs,’ where you can meet up with like-minded football
fans to watch a game together. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjme4slKXKl1It3DcOyvPjYSZIzoGBPBVGWpoCc4DpPQLhriUGVMEXULMTKrUdS3x2_xFbovEfp2Xu_5Oh0g3ptLORbIA719gfo6IrBnwI2PqoTJJz70HvEcwi2aRj3UWDlEo_lCwulzUKq/s1600/20160410_210548.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjme4slKXKl1It3DcOyvPjYSZIzoGBPBVGWpoCc4DpPQLhriUGVMEXULMTKrUdS3x2_xFbovEfp2Xu_5Oh0g3ptLORbIA719gfo6IrBnwI2PqoTJJz70HvEcwi2aRj3UWDlEo_lCwulzUKq/s320/20160410_210548.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abu Dhabi Spurs Supporter's Gathering, All Two of Them</td></tr>
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On another note, the football coverage on <a href="http://www.beinsports.com/us/soccer/" target="_blank">BeIN sports</a> (out of Doha) has
been great for me. Suddenly I understand the meaning of off-side (okay, I may
still be working that out), and I can follow the commentary (“That foul was
rubbish!”), and I can even catch a glimpse of my man Mido all grown up and working as a pundit on
the Arabic version (and will even tune in on Saturday, to see him <a href="https://www.dreamteamfc.com/c/mido-will-humiliate-himself-on-live-tv-after-betting-against-leicester/">shave
his head</a> as a result of the Leicester win.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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But also, the confluence of Spurs’ strength that has brought
Tottenham to the top end of the table has been the biggest gift of all for this once
wishy-washy now die-hard Spurs fan. Last year as I began to awaken my senses to
the beauty of football, we saw the beginnings of the brilliance of Harry Kane.
This year we watched as he fumbled during the first few games, then literally
got his footing to become the highest scoring striker in the league this season. I recently took the time to learn how to pronounce 'Pochettino' correctly, and began researching the Spurs’
manager’s past, seeing where this new style of fast play and not taking crap
from the other team has emerged. I began to fall hard for all of the players…
following the bromance between Dier and Alli on Twitter, adoring the work of
Son, Lloris, Vertonghen and Dembele on the field… and oh, when Lamela pulled
off that rabona…! <o:p></o:p></div>
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I even began singing “We’ve got Alli” -- for no reason at all.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>I just don't think you understand...</i></span></o:p></div>
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While books by Nick Hornby and movies about Arse-*al are verboten
in our household (Hornby's a Gunner, “Never red!”), John had gone out of town this season and I surreptitiously watched the movie <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fever_Pitch_(1997_film)">Fever Pitch</a>. Not
only did I finally ‘get it,’ but I later found myself waking up on Valentine’s
Day not wishing for flowers and candy, but hoping for a Spurs win that day
against ManCity. (They did. And I was happy.)<br />
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What I didn't realize was that I had fallen in love. </div>
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Our passion for Spurs this year got so intense that John and I went to watch the team play in the Europa Cup in Baku. And there wasn't even a question when John had a chance to go watch Spurs versus Dortmund. I sent him packing, it's just what you do. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over the past few weeks, Tottenham has felt the pressure,
being a young squad and the last team standing a chance to nick the top spot of
the Premiership from Leicester. I’ve felt the pressure too. Last week, Dele Alli
got a ban after being targeted on the pitch by West Brom. Even though his ban
was legit, I was spitting nails at the whole episode, of how he was goaded after just being handed the Player of the Year Award on the field.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And this week, Spurs' chances at winning the league were
dashed by Chelsea and the team earned a record nine yellow cards during the
game. All deserved, but the Chavs were hardly playing fair… or nice. And me? I
was gutted. First cheering and jumping around the living room at the two goal
lead, <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">then crushed in the ruins as it all went to hell in the second half. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Thinking back to that afternoon at the Irish Centre, I knew it all went with the territory, but I had never 'felt all the feels,' about a sports team before. I didn’t cry, but I did grieve at how hard Spurs fought, at how beautifully they
played this season, and at how overlooked they have been when everyone keeps
talking about the ‘fairy tale’ that is Leicester. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Because for me, the real fairy tale, the true romance, is with Spurs. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggJ2vFLeLIRaCMfrfQQjqmzSgcrbMaUaLSKfibtnEzl_Ive3j2EBilgRJAnj8_6NYXWgGKZy8oBxm4R66JjER6pAfsIihS-85_D4zJK-rsBICm2ry1hCdoNl_xaPXKpTFrZUciNu75Kf9b/s1600/CH+Spurs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggJ2vFLeLIRaCMfrfQQjqmzSgcrbMaUaLSKfibtnEzl_Ive3j2EBilgRJAnj8_6NYXWgGKZy8oBxm4R66JjER6pAfsIihS-85_D4zJK-rsBICm2ry1hCdoNl_xaPXKpTFrZUciNu75Kf9b/s320/CH+Spurs.jpg" width="258" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me So Spursy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So even though the last game of the season hasn’t yet been played, and we're still working to hold off another league rival, I’m
already counting … just 101 more days until the next season begins.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Come On You Spurs!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-34867255539656840232016-03-07T01:29:00.000-08:002016-03-07T02:01:05.888-08:00Hometown Pride<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’m from New York.”<br />
<br />
That’s how I usually introduce myself.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Back home in New York, we love the Yankees and hate the (Boston)
Red Sox, think our pizza is better than Chicago’s, and can’t comprehend why
anyone would want to live any place else in the world other than in “The City.”
It’s what we call ‘hometown pride,’ and whether you’re a born and bred New
Yorker, or a transplant, one wears their New Yorker-ness as a badge of honor. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As a ‘born and bred’ New Yorker, leaving the city was one
of the biggest hurdles in starting a new life in Abu Dhabi. With life so
fast-paced and cut-throat in New York City, when one has the opportunity (or is
pushed) to leave, it’s hard not worry that people will see one’s departure as
some sort of personal failure. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So nearly two years into my ‘new’ life in Abu Dhabi, I’m
still a New Yorker, but I’m feeling a different kind of hometown pride as well.
Recently, <a href="http://www.gulfbusiness.com/articles/country/united-arab-emirates/dubai-ranked-best-city-for-expats-in-middle-east-and-africa/" target="_blank">Dubai was dubbed the best city in the Middle East for expats</a>… beating
out Abu Dhabi for the top spot in the region.
Upon reading this news, I can’t deny I got my back up a bit. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiva4RdMCA1FxEpGd6ZNqHXzWrWSz3bg7HaPmb_2Fbb39HZazQIk4ZVeF4RBje_UtSfXPhZkTovLNl087Zn3sHzagCpKKQOtn0cNTPj69mpAIrEteLgRQr60bwkNCTvDY5ZkA3cdCNRbjFW/s1600/20150821_151951.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiva4RdMCA1FxEpGd6ZNqHXzWrWSz3bg7HaPmb_2Fbb39HZazQIk4ZVeF4RBje_UtSfXPhZkTovLNl087Zn3sHzagCpKKQOtn0cNTPj69mpAIrEteLgRQr60bwkNCTvDY5ZkA3cdCNRbjFW/s400/20150821_151951.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Showing my pride when America's favorite morning show aired live from Abu Dhabi.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
For people who have never been to the UAE, Dubai and Abu
Dhabi are as similar as they are different. Sure, we’re both part of the United
Arab Emirates. And both cities are
dynamic, progressive even. But Dubai and Abu Dhabi have totally different vibes
and it’s hard to explain the differences to people who don’t live here or haven’t visited before. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I often compare Dubai and Abu Dhabi to Los Angeles and
New York. Dubai’s
geography is vast, the city extends for miles and miles and the traffic on
Sheikh Zayed Road is as notorious as LA’s 405. A city of superlatives, Dubai is
glitzy and has a star-struck element that lures the world’s top celebs. In that
way, Dubai verges on being like Las Vegas and I think that’s where Westerners
forget that there are certain rules of etiquette that need to be honored here –
you can’t just get all sin-city in Dubai. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
But I digress.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
On
the other side of things, Abu Dhabi is the capital of the Emirates, and is the
seat of power for this very, very powerful nation. Unlike the sprawl of Dubai, Abu
Dhabi’s heart is on an island laid out on a grid, much like Manhattan. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
While
Dubai shows its wealth with tall glass buildings, Abu Dhabi celebrates its
strength with its verdant riches. And while you may be wondering how a place
might demonstrate its deep pockets through planted trees – just try growing a lush rain forest in a desert and you’ll understand completely. Much like New Yorkers
revere places like Central and Prospect Park (green space where investors could
be prospering with prime real estate), in Abu Dhabi we enjoy an embarrassment of
green spaces, whether it’s the Al Ain oasis, the modern Mushrif Park, or the
drive along the palm tree-lined section of Sheik Zayed Highway -- that abruptly
stops when you cross over into the emirate of Dubai. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Where
Dubai has a fast-paced mindset that centers around tourism, media and real estate
investment – fast-talking, fast-paced and young; Abu Dhabi is deep into oil,
culture, finance, and, well, oil. It’s stately, quiet and proud. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
For
the most part, people who live in Abu Dhabi don’t like the idea of living in
Dubai, and people in Dubai wouldn’t dream of living in Abu Dhabi. Truth be told, Dubai and Abu Dhabi have what
I believe is an unspoken rivalry that plays out in interesting ways. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
For
instance, last year Dubai came out with this cool video about the ‘super cars’
in its police fleet: <o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/xKHYW8PZQ9Y/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xKHYW8PZQ9Y?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Soon after, in advance of the <i>Fast & Furious</i> film, a
video popped up showcasing Abu Dhabi’s cops using similarly fast cars,
helicopters and cutting-edge technology to keep our place safe (and yes, the technology
is real):<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Hazuw0ghjXc/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Hazuw0ghjXc?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And it kind of goes like that here. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
While Abu Dhabi has Etihad Airways, Dubai has Emirates…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
While Abu Dhabi has Emirates Palace, Dubai has the Burj al
Arab…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
While Dubai has the Burj Khalifa, Abu Dhabi has the Grand
Mosque…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And while Dubai has its epic brunch, Abu Dhabi has, well… The Dubai Brunch. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Okay, you can't win them all.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvuaqlGkT4XCeEKgFEQIMeTEn9VXhCiDydz6898aI79V3xchHMWTxG3yy1U5pF4vy-_nedT2nE294g-At-kK2z-p-IrapBvIbAXwGDtK9cANExcIeAKK1iah51vT3AtfG1xKDJNKwODqy-/s1600/IMG_20151023_174147.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvuaqlGkT4XCeEKgFEQIMeTEn9VXhCiDydz6898aI79V3xchHMWTxG3yy1U5pF4vy-_nedT2nE294g-At-kK2z-p-IrapBvIbAXwGDtK9cANExcIeAKK1iah51vT3AtfG1xKDJNKwODqy-/s320/IMG_20151023_174147.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Grand Mosque</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
*** <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Recently I went back to the States for a quick hit of New
York City living and to get a fix of my fabulous forever friends. Though I understand it's
still winter, New York seemed dark, dirty and dangerous. Moreover, I felt out
of step with the place. Unlike my New York-self, I didn’t have a thousand
places to be or a million things to do. Living in New York, I was always busy,
busy, busy. But this time, even the dogs seemed like they had more urgent
places to be than me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
For the first time since living in Abu Dhabi, I didn’t
feel like New York was home and I was just temporarily away for a while. And it's okay, New York may be home again at some point in the future, for now, I’m
clearer about my present place in the world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
On the return flight to Abu Dhabi, a fellow passenger
asked me where I’m from. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I live in Abu Dhabi,” I proudly replied.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
But I’ll always be a New Yorker.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<br /></div>
Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-76906961869986244152016-01-03T06:10:00.001-08:002016-03-03T00:25:01.652-08:00It Rained in Abu Dhabi TodayNo big deal, right?<br />
<br />
Well, yes, actually, it is a very big deal in these parts. So far this season we had one other day of rain, I think sometime in December. Then a bit of a sprinkle, for about two minutes, in October.<br />
<br />
Before that, the last time it rained was last January... so we probably won't get rain again for another nine or ten months.<br />
<br />
Crazy, right?<br />
<br />
I remember back in the States one time when I was in Los Angeles and it rained. The place went nuts. It seemed like just a normal, rainy day, the kind you get fairly regularly in New York. You'd wake up, see the grey sky, grumble a bit, then put on the rain coat, bring the umbrella and leave behind the good pair of work shoes.<br />
<br />
But in LA, people stopped working. There were warnings and alerts and live broadcasts of newscasters in the street discussing the rain, with people making goofy rain-dance gestures in the background, all for a bit of rain -- all quarter of an inch of it!<br />
<br />
I laughed at this stuff, but now, it's happening to me.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtB0CwFehuvC7nGrqscgv-3s3g1a5tEDmaVat1KsQcmnbAw9XQ3ym6giCJ5SoDhI4qw8OmkqwPVfFbjLZSFEiXCH4oax47osRXErW3oyhJy-b0y4tlR4W_6M8zeNq8gYsYz3OwQYVNDBrr/s1600/2016-01-03_1451802002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtB0CwFehuvC7nGrqscgv-3s3g1a5tEDmaVat1KsQcmnbAw9XQ3ym6giCJ5SoDhI4qw8OmkqwPVfFbjLZSFEiXCH4oax47osRXErW3oyhJy-b0y4tlR4W_6M8zeNq8gYsYz3OwQYVNDBrr/s640/2016-01-03_1451802002.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A rain-soaked downtown Abu Dhabi.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This morning I woke up, saw the grey and wanted to dash out and do the Snoopy dance in the streets.<br />
<br />
Rain! Glorious, beautiful, Sting-singing <i>'I dream of rain, I dream of gardens in the desert sand'</i> kind of rain.<br />
<br />
And then, I just wanted to curl up, drink tea and read the paper in front of the window while watching it pour.<br />
<br />
I don't even drink tea!<br />
<br />
That said, we all celebrate the rain in different ways, and next time, I may celebrate it this way...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Az2-kdLAr7A/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Az2-kdLAr7A?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<br />
Woot!Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-57998107668012187442016-01-01T03:28:00.004-08:002016-01-01T05:09:14.111-08:00This is Boz.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaTTjZdY3bSCR71vyvH748R2L9f5KQHdWtpBtmLA2MYyVmzjyPRj-bavbwAy-BSDy9SY3KlYJHxxtAIFye-zYU4Xha36vFEOvTzWmWxbRdXqyN81jYPLlHx4ZsIe8BQbAy2ltaqG6eKtYJ/s1600/Boz+Portrait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaTTjZdY3bSCR71vyvH748R2L9f5KQHdWtpBtmLA2MYyVmzjyPRj-bavbwAy-BSDy9SY3KlYJHxxtAIFye-zYU4Xha36vFEOvTzWmWxbRdXqyN81jYPLlHx4ZsIe8BQbAy2ltaqG6eKtYJ/s640/Boz+Portrait.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is Boz. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bozzie.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Boz-Man.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Bozter.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Boz-Meister.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Bozzie-Moto.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Baaaaaahz. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He is our fourth (foster-ish) kitten currently in residence.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
John spotted this Birman on his daily walks to work. Since
he’s a purebred, it means this kitty wasn’t born on the streets – he was
put there. Over the course of a few
weeks, John would stop by and say hello and feed the cat (who we originally
called Fluffy) and give him some attention. Fluffy could be found in a few
usual spots, the most common was in front of a shuttered storefront where he
could capture the cool air-conditioned air escaping from a crack underneath the
doorway. Because even back in October, the days were still hitting highs of 110, with 85 percent humidity – not good for a long-haired, fluffy cat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next door was a beauty salon and the lovely Filipinas who
work there also kept an eye on him. Many times John or I would stop by and ask
if they had seen Fluff. They told us that after his morning walkabout he
usually wouldn’t be seen again until around 6 p.m. Then one day, John came home and said a couple
from the neighborhood had taken him in to their villa…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Problem solved. Or so
we thought. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few days later, Fluffy was back on the street. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And we were back to feeding him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then Fluffy disappeared again, and we learned that another
couple had taken the cat into their flat. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Done and dusted, we figured. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But a few days later, with the fur ball back on the street,
we realized we figured wrong and in the interim, we had scooped up Patchi (an Arabian Mau)
and were wrestling with the idea of bringing yet another kitty into the fold. What
were we becoming? A kitty halfway home?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Apparently, yes. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One weekend while John was in the UK, I went for a bike ride and spotted the poor little Fluff-monster. He
was getting mangy and matted. I saw the injured paw John had mentioned, along with an
infection building. I saw the weary look in his eye… and headed home to bring
back the carrier to get the fella out of harm’s way once and for all.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Before I left, I knocked on the door to the Beauty Salon and
told the ladies that I was taking the kitty away. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They laughed at me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“He’ll be back,” they said, as they reminded me of his
history with the other area cat rescuers. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, no,” I said. “We’ll get this sorted. We’ll clean him up
and get him a home.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The ladies giggled, stroked the big, dirty, hairy cat and humored
me, “Bye bye kitty. See you soon.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I got him home, he was obviously stressed, so I left
him in his own space with food and water and litter, and quiet cat bed for him
to rest. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the morning, I opened the door – and he was nowhere to be
found. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And when I say nowhere… I mean NOWHERE. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Not under the bed. Not behind the curtain. Not behind the dressers.
Not under the blanket. Not in the laundry hamper. Not in the closet…. Okay,
maybe after about 15 minutes of further looking, and really considering going
BACK to the salon to see if he had somehow escaped and made his way back there,
I found him tucked into the tiniest of crawl spaces in the back of the closet,
behind a few pillows and under a suitcase. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Boy, could that boy hide.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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A few days later and some time for Fluffy to gets his bearings
and it became clear – this big furball had quite a set of vocal chords. It wasn’t
the sound of a cat in heat per se, but he was very yowl-y. He also had the hint
of a ‘quack.’ No seriously, this gorgeous abandoned cat quacks (and I will try to post video of it here.).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shortly after his
visit to the docs for his paw and shots, he went in to get fixed. I asked if
maybe his neutering might help with his *cough* vocal manner. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thank goodness for the astuteness of our doctor at British
Vet – he picked up on my question and was quick to diagnose the Flufster with cystitis – a bladder inflammation.
With a round of anti-inflammatories, and his, um, procedure, he’s quieted down…
a bit. But when mealtime comes, there’s no doubt, the boy likes to sing for his
supper. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So we had to call him Boz. Not only because of his crooning
ways, but because Boz Skaggs is one cool cat. And so is this kitty. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He continues to surprise us as he comes out of his shell.
Usually super cool and somewhat stand-back-ish, last week he began jumping up
on the bed and rolling on his back, looking for a cuddle. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yesterday he began
playing with a feather toy and showed us how nimble he is. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I'd say if he were really
a person he’d be Chris Hemsworth, but John thinks he’s more like The Dude in
the Big Lebowski – giant paws, kind of shuffling about from room to room (with
that little quacky-chat/rant thing going on) and always on the search for good food,
or a White Russian. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTTi1IJhoP1QF5dNb5Qzw2s-aUsSqxO0dV3UyVSZRzqtRg-xqoq3kpDYJ2bh2yKfbQ2WGvQ1RVT7L-hwzBubsHyFw1Pa_P_jIfhb2Z7XcphL4XlNla9kcdMx5A-eaMAmsQEJVfWzPAP2Xy/s1600/Boz+Man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTTi1IJhoP1QF5dNb5Qzw2s-aUsSqxO0dV3UyVSZRzqtRg-xqoq3kpDYJ2bh2yKfbQ2WGvQ1RVT7L-hwzBubsHyFw1Pa_P_jIfhb2Z7XcphL4XlNla9kcdMx5A-eaMAmsQEJVfWzPAP2Xy/s400/Boz+Man.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We think Tessa might be in love with him. They get on pretty
well… playing a bit and Tessa batting her kitten eyelashes at him. Or at least letting
him have first dibs at the plate at mealtime. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With the New Year we’ll see what happens for our two
fosters. The expat families who have been away for the holidays are coming
back, and hopefully we can find some good homes for one or both of them.</div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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If you’d like to adopt Boz or Patchi, let us know. We're very discerning about who we will place these precious pets with, but we are also open to shipping these kitties back to friends in the States knowing that there
are wonderful homes for them among our peeps. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHY48kw_L9dClfEE6jkeZB_AL-ZemlyWcEKxpA8bzegJMSoAoD923tWCQq18IpQSCTFpGJ2qNLy2rV8RakU38XPWWc-N0RheSid1cBmk4afSHhLP_DL5rDshBdGft44NT8j6CV6EDEIdJV/s1600/20151121_150634.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHY48kw_L9dClfEE6jkeZB_AL-ZemlyWcEKxpA8bzegJMSoAoD923tWCQq18IpQSCTFpGJ2qNLy2rV8RakU38XPWWc-N0RheSid1cBmk4afSHhLP_DL5rDshBdGft44NT8j6CV6EDEIdJV/s320/20151121_150634.jpg" width="274" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
In the meantime, Happy New Year!</div>
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<br /></div>
Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-79442882494494682812015-10-11T03:08:00.000-07:002015-10-11T04:09:18.416-07:00Oops, We Did It Again<div class="MsoNormal">
We thought we had sworn off cat fostering...<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtnOsid_oy6EALLJ8hQj7BXQMYlmhHKauJn331Nslj-t3oe3xRgkpJam1Kg3JTHX4peKlD8w_i8KfETo-IewxdylSjGCfJSpEaY-siypLiZh4FGicm_LfBFRKts6RFDptICu93Z68B8NFU/s1600/Patchi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtnOsid_oy6EALLJ8hQj7BXQMYlmhHKauJn331Nslj-t3oe3xRgkpJam1Kg3JTHX4peKlD8w_i8KfETo-IewxdylSjGCfJSpEaY-siypLiZh4FGicm_LfBFRKts6RFDptICu93Z68B8NFU/s400/Patchi.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Patchi'</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But then, there we were, taking an innocent stroll through the
streets of Khalidiyah, when we came across a purebred Birman, looking so out
of place – no street posse (cats find little packs to hang with here) and
little street smarts (oblivious to car traffic) – that by the time we got home John
and I pretty much convinced ourselves that if we were able to scoop up ‘Fluffy,’
we’d have him cleaned up and rehomed in
no time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So day after day, John has been walking past the location where
we first met up with Fluffy on his way to work. Despite one or two sightings,
every time we went around with our rescue cat carrier we’ve come up empty,
unable to locate the elusive Fluffy despite the sightings and encouragements of local shop workers and neighborhood folk.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Then on Thursday, as we headed out for the evening, a young
sprite of a kitten came bounding at us right outside our own building. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh crap,” I said. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Because this kitten had all the telltale signs of being
recently unencumbered by its human. She was clean, super friendly and (worst of
all) blissfully ignorant of the dangers nearby -- namely the highly trafficked parking
lot right outside our door and the bus stop where a kitten underfoot might not
fare too well. With Fluffy our main
focus and running late to meet up with friends, we quickly put out some food
and water, gave the kitten a little ear rub and went on our way and decided we’d
figure it out if we came home and she was still there... </div>
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<br /></div>
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She wasn’t. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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But yesterday, after another failed attempt at finding
Fluffy, we came back to the apartment, with empty cat carrier in hand, and
there she was – the little kitten sitting in front of our apartment building
door, looking as if she was just waiting for us. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What are we going to do?” I asked John, as if I didn't already know the answer.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a few cheek rubs, John suggested I go upstairs and
bring down some more kitten food. But this 'little babe' (as my cousin would say) already knew the score. Forgoing the cat carriers, she strode right into the building walking right past the security
desk. Then with little hesitation, she stepped onto the elevator, barely
flinching as the elevator doors closed and we headed up. At that point we had no other option than to invite her in for lunch…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Less than ten minutes later she had cleaned off her plate
(as well as Mido and Tessa’s), had a long drink of water, and helped herself to
the litter box. Then just like a little Goldilocks, she then settled down for a
nap… <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCPnPPnrCfvuQRxHEtIe6CAxqLkYosx1qbS6EqKE_mCKJqJfOoY60HWqqF01e2YwqF7BvqKad7BxyS-QqaNS0obUor8v3uoLo2t2Mo7laPcw_jIXfdu5AeVooJJi_QC9Or8MvA8x3KWD4T/s1600/patchi2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCPnPPnrCfvuQRxHEtIe6CAxqLkYosx1qbS6EqKE_mCKJqJfOoY60HWqqF01e2YwqF7BvqKad7BxyS-QqaNS0obUor8v3uoLo2t2Mo7laPcw_jIXfdu5AeVooJJi_QC9Or8MvA8x3KWD4T/s320/patchi2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>'And this one was just right.'</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over the past year
and a half, we’ve helped get two kitties off the street (and
sadly put one kitty out of her misery when she was hit by a car in front of our
building – RIP little girl). It’s not much, just check out <a href="http://gulfnews.com/culture/people/meet-the-cat-man-of-abu-dhabi-1.1220471" target="_blank">The Cat Man of Abu Dhabi</a>. Many cat people here do far more,
but we do what we can, including feeding the cats on the Corniche -- trying to keep it all manageable and Mido and Tessa content. It’s also never easy for me to give these little loves up (there are many tears on my
part), but our resident cats Mido and Tessa are pretty clear about their feelings
of another permanent kitty in their brood. Besides, when I hear stories about
our rescues in their new homes, it fills my heart. One kitty would have ended
up trying to survive in an underground car park. She now lives with a family who
is crazy about her in Dubai. The other was trying her best to stand her ground
on a small patch of grass on one of Abu Dhabi’s busiest intersections. She is
now living on Saadiyat with a cool young cat mom, complete with an outdoor
terrace. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For now, we are calling our latest foster friend Patchi,
because of the unique dark patches on her pristine white body, and because she
was found outside of the <a href="http://www.patchi.com/" target="_blank">Patchi 'boutique chocolate shop,</a>' while we get her health checks
in order and find her a home. We’re also still keeping an eye out for Fluffy
and have resigned ourselves to the possibility of setting up a
small halfway house for kittens if we need (one stray per bedroom). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I guess it's all part of being a crazy cat lady in Abu Dhabi. And it goes without saying, if you'd like to adopt Patchi, just drop us a line (free shipping for the folks at home!). :)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-16401737254114872852015-08-23T06:51:00.002-07:002015-08-25T08:31:04.946-07:00Expat Paparazzi<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="http://images.rapgenius.com/378e777fa50be61663646b7724092481.500x308x7.gif" height="245" width="400" /><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New';"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One of the
strangest phenomena of the Abu Dhabi ex-pat experience is what I call the 'Expat Paparazzi.'</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At first I wasn't sure if this was something borne out of an overall society trend of
posting everything we do on social media, or as one of Dubai's top travel
marketers explained to me as "having to constantly justify our
decision to live here to the people back home." </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Whatever the reason, I was, and still am, astounded at the number of pictures
taken whenever a group of expats get together (particularly, but not
exclusively, with women). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Go for coffee with new expat friends? Snap a photo!
Go for coffee with old expat friends? Snap a photo! </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yoga class? Snap! </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tuesday morning golf? Snap! </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Pool date? Mani-Pedi? Book club gathering? Snap! Snap! Snap!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sure, at first I saw the excitement. “We’re in a new place! Doing new things! With new-found friends!” But a</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">fter a while, any time somebody called out to me to gather for a photo, my eyes began to roll. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Not this again," I thought. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At first I
assumed this was a sign that my inner jaded New Yorker was clouding my bright, shiny, new expat exterior. That said, I kind of understood it.
Despite all the comforts and unusual number of similarities to home, the reality is that living in the UAE *is* an exotic, less than one-percent of the world's
population kind of experience (especially if you stick around for the summer... and Ramadan). And there are mosques and camels and palm trees
and things that, after awhile, don't feel so extraordinarily foreign when you
live here day-to-day, but do make for extraordinary photo displays 'for the
people back home.'</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But posing for a
group photo after going to see a movie??? <i>(I mean, come on, right?!)</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Recently, however, I began to have a different view on the whole Expat Paparazzi thing.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You see, now that I'm about a year and a half in to our 'new' life in Abu
Dhabi, the never-ending turnover of the place is starting to have its effect on
me. When I first arrived, I found the transitional nature of the place
surprising, but refreshing. I knew no one, and that brought freedom to me because
for the first time in twenty-five years, I was a blank sheet of paper. As a
person who lived her life up until that point looking for ways to stake roots, here
I was among an entire community of people who didn’t like to see grass grow
under their feet. It was eye-opening, awe-inspiring, electric.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But this summer it happened. Those people who I started out with in Abu Dhabi
were suddenly packing up and leaving. For some, it was planned and we saw it
coming for months. For others, it wasn't planned, necessarily, but part of a
chosen way of life as an expat. Simply put, a new, more
lucrative offer had come their way. And for others, just like anywhere, you
just never know when you'll wake up and walk into the boss's office and say, ‘enough,’
or when the work just won’t be there any longer. Unfortunately in the UAE,
there's no such thing as waiting around for another opportunity. Without work,
you are politely pointed to the exit sign, so you quickly, (and for the most part) quietly pack your
bags and move on. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the past three months I have 'lost' about a dozen fabulous women from my
core group in Abu Dhabi to their new outposts and adventures. In fact, I have lost
so many people that I don’t even have a core group anymore! (Ha!) </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In some ways I
feel like the kid whose mom forgot to sign her up for summer camp. If I'm honest, it’s been a rather dull summer, and I keep waiting for everyone to come back, only to remind
myself that that won’t be happening. And sure, I’ve used my quiet time wisely,
regrouping on my goals (for the umpteenth time), sticking with the golf and screenwriting. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So now when it comes to the 'Expat Paparazzi,' and </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">someone jumps up and wants to take a group photo, I'll understand the
meaning of it more. I realize that maybe it's </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">not </i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">about the social media and the </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">'look at me, look at me'</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> aspect of it, but of the </span><u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">fleetingness</u><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
and the 'here and now' of it.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Because those
fast-found friends, the ones I was laughing like teenagers and swinging golf
clubs with? The ones with the itchy feet who are so full of life and adventure
that they've broken me wide open to new possibilities in my own life? The ones
who I’d never likely befriend in NYC, but who have proven to be the
greatest of allies and have shown me new ways to look at my world? Well, those
fabulous people may not be here next year, next month or sometimes next week. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Or maybe, I will
be the one with the itchy feet and be next to move on.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, from here on in, I’m embracing the Expat Paparazzi.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’ll be the one throwing
myself in the middle of the group photos. Snap!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’ll be the one smiling
big for the cellphone camera. All six iPhones at a time. Snap! Snap! Snap!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’ll be the one looking
around and taking in -- really taking in -- the people I'm sharing the moment
with. Snap!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And not just here
in Abu Dhabi. When I visit home and spend time with my nearest and dearest
peeps, too. Snap! Snap!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And sure, my Facebook newsfeed may run over with group photos this fall. But that whole part of it doesn't matter so much anymore. I won't be as embarrassed about it as I have been in the past. It reminds me of a time several years ago (when I was using a Polaroid), when a friend told me that if I wanted to make friends with someone else, all I had to do was take a picture with them. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"It’s not about the photo," she said, "but the moment
shared."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Snap.</span><span style="font-family: Courier New;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-28658650366177344002015-07-08T07:19:00.000-07:002015-08-14T02:37:30.523-07:00Ramadan Redux<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can hardly believe it myself, but not only is it my second
Ramadan in the UAE, but I’m already finding we’re halfway through the Muslim holy
month. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s strange what a difference a year makes. Last year
during Ramadan I found myself nervous about the whole event. There was a sort
of self-consciousness on my part about not fully understanding Ramadan, a
feeling of sticking out as a Westerner, and a constant worry about making a
giant gaff. I even had dreams about committing a Ramadan faux pas. In it I am struck over the head with a blunt object, only to wake up and find myself drinking water and dressing immodestly and ending up in Ramadan jail. For the record, there is no such thing as Ramadan jail, though the leering look of observers can be punishment enough so people need to be and are very mindful in these parts). <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8mxuq1OUtepQv0hLLTCFJnux9WsMqKfAorQaut3zOrqjASWF8fsQlghgi8Yabu9fGx62U-3mIPioAM5TZwnRyxB7jfooA0XRShMEIqgOaXl35ud39VrN6NRWWIerGPS8Ha39DlZIrpnZK/s1600/20150704_082508.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8mxuq1OUtepQv0hLLTCFJnux9WsMqKfAorQaut3zOrqjASWF8fsQlghgi8Yabu9fGx62U-3mIPioAM5TZwnRyxB7jfooA0XRShMEIqgOaXl35ud39VrN6NRWWIerGPS8Ha39DlZIrpnZK/s400/20150704_082508.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A date and camel's milk is the traditional <br />
way to break one's fast during Ramadan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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And while my self-consciousness has pretty much abated,
Ramadan does still remind me that I am a minority here. That’s not to say that
I’m the only tall blonde shiksa in Abu Dhabi – believe me, we’re a dime a
dozen. But when three-quarters of your community is observing a month-long
fast, you feel it. You feel it in the flow of the day, in the demeanor of the
people (ALL people, not just those fasting) and you feel empathy for what
people might be going through.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With the focus off myself, I’ve found that I have a much
keener sense of the hunger among my Muslim neighbors this year than I did last
year. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There were the first days when I was out with my running
club and all along the Corniche (a waterside promenade that is a popular
gathering place for everyone in the city), workers such as taxi cab drivers,
security guards and well-heeled Arab families set up both simple and lavish
picnic <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iftar" target="_blank">Iftar</a> meals, waiting for the sundown call to prayer to break the fast. No matter
who you were (my running group was waiting to be able to drink water), the
sense of anticipation was palpable as people gazed at the sunset. Of course, it was the runners who
guzzled fast and furiously when the prayer finally started a bit after 7 p.m.. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then there’s the security guard in my building. A burly and
devout Muslim man, as I pop in and out of the building throughout the day I see
how his look and demeanor change as the daytime hours wear on. The bright morning
greeting turns to a mere grunt and nod as his eyes sink into his hungry head.
By late afternoon I do my best to avoid him.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was also the evening when John and I pulled up to a
popular hotel for a quick bite before a movie and outside in front, cars were
practically left abandoned in the porte cochere as those observing the fast bee-lined for the
massive Iftar buffets in a specially constructed Ramadan tent that can be as opulent, popular and well-attended as the
famed Dubai brunches (minus one very noticeable feature -- alcohol).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN_Lw5ZqgoV3K-WAP4oY4aqvBOfeFDP7SAae7koD5hWxSP5INg5hnkBYraOL_-a7qKbHLXNGEnA49i1um_aJIgDeLsbipWN3J8s-vFRvssVF-Y1fyri_bQljhyphenhyphenUR-3B4dIxDqqLEoYHqNV/s1600/20150619_190601-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN_Lw5ZqgoV3K-WAP4oY4aqvBOfeFDP7SAae7koD5hWxSP5INg5hnkBYraOL_-a7qKbHLXNGEnA49i1um_aJIgDeLsbipWN3J8s-vFRvssVF-Y1fyri_bQljhyphenhyphenUR-3B4dIxDqqLEoYHqNV/s400/20150619_190601-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting for the sun to set in Al Ain</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But once that sundown call to prayer arrives, it’s feast time. While the fast is
recommended to be broken with a glass of camel’s milk and a date, followed by a
larger meal a bit later, extended families gather in the nighttime hours, coworkers mingle
at corporate-sponsored Iftar tents at the posh five-star hotels, and even the tiny storefront kebab shops in our neighborhood
stay open late and do brisk trade (for instance, the local Kentucky Fried
Chicken stays open until 4 a.m., many other places are open until 2 a.m.). <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In fact, <a href="http://www.thenational.ae/uae/health/iftar-gorging-leaves-hundreds-in-hospital">our
local newspaper reports</a> that a local hospital is currently seeing up to 50
patients in their emergency rooms each evening during Ramadan. Of course, it’s not the fasting that’s driving them to
the ER, it’s the gluttony that follows – eating too much, too quickly. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now that I’m in my Ramadan groove, I try to avoid everything
from about 3 p.m. until 7:30 p.m. -- in
the same way I always avoided rush hour on the subways while living in NYC.
Driving on the roads is dangerous – what with the road rage and exhausted
drivers drifting in and out of the lanes.
Even just walking the streets can be tough. Seeing people so obviously
hungry, tired and worn out makes me want to reach out and give people a hug
(and slip them a candy bar, though that would not be looked upon positively). Then there’s the hubs, who seems to have to
partake in the fast as collateral damage for working during
Ramadan. While work hours are shorter and there are special places for non-Muslims
to eat in the office, many people just take the time off. Not John, and unfortunately he doesn’t come prepared to get through the day (nearly all restaurants are shuttered during the day). In other words, I
don’t send him off in the morning packed with a sandwich (bad wifey).<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As for me, I keep a low profile and stick to the outer
edges of the community. I spend the days writing (I finished a screenplay draft!), check out the very few places I can go for lunch, play
lots of golf (mainly for the post-golf clubhouse dining)
and despite my best efforts of using Ramadan to do house projects like
organizing my clothes closets and cleaning out my computer of old files and trying
my hand at painting, I find I slow down my pace just like everyone else.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ramadan Mubarak!<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-46000091458542326412015-06-17T02:09:00.001-07:002015-06-17T02:09:33.349-07:00Our Latest 'Edition'<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-49-OKpVsY4AvvJFn2roS_k0ZzwlVtnaQ8PHbIgoBQ0nbLGdQwEW9-Tg4hdlMqIB-sVrPosICPcq8hcwJBz4fvzzl5BTlsTGbhIoOZx6kO2BCVnmdegHxeW-wcixCoEotsftHg81XSMyO/s1600/20150606_113641.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-49-OKpVsY4AvvJFn2roS_k0ZzwlVtnaQ8PHbIgoBQ0nbLGdQwEW9-Tg4hdlMqIB-sVrPosICPcq8hcwJBz4fvzzl5BTlsTGbhIoOZx6kO2BCVnmdegHxeW-wcixCoEotsftHg81XSMyO/s640/20150606_113641.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Khali, the Khalidiya kitten who <br />once made her home in front of Shining Tower</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This is Khali, named after the Abu Dhabi neighborhood we live in and where this little ginger tabby-mau mix was dumped sometime this spring.At least I think she was dumped. As a cat person, I tend to invent wild back stories for the young and not-so-young homeless kittens I've scooped up.<br />
<br />
For Mido, his story was simple. He was left in a cardboard box at a construction site in Manhattan. Tessa was a bit more of a mystery. We have absolutely no idea where our 'Taghkanic Kitten' actually appeared from, but there she was one day, climbing up the painter's ladder looking for food and affection (she got both, and then some). We think she had been someone's house cat, then got dumped. By the time she reached us she had worms, ticks, fleas and was nearly starving. Another few weeks and I'm certain with the cold setting in (it was October), she wouldn't have made it.<br />
<br />
Then there was Parker, our Abu Dhabi car park kitten, who I decided had hitched a ride in the under carriage of someone's car and was living underground in sweltering heat. After we rescued her she was eventually whisked away to a fabulous life in Dubai. Then there was Street Cat, who didn't live long enough for us to name her (she had been run over by a car in our neighborhood and had severe internal damages). :(<br />
<br />
Then there is Khali. John and I spotted her on our regular evening walks to 'our local' and John's walk to work. She was adorable, clean and friendlier than most street cats. We attempted to take her in once, but she freaked out at the sight of the carrier. Since she made her home on one of the busiest street corners in Abu Dhabi (with just a small patch of grass), we were afraid of her running into traffic to get away from us.<br />
<br />
So we let her be, and stopped by to feed her regularly.<br />
<br />
And so did a lot of other people.<br />
<br />
Which is kind of the amazing thing about Abu Dhabi. People take care of the street cats. Not necessarily picking them all up and taking them home, but leaving food near their buildings, bringing food on walks to feed them, and just generally being kind to all creatures. Unfortunately, there are also horror stories about animal abuse, usually by children here who have never been exposed to cats, or pets, but that's another post for another time.<br />
<br />
But with Khali, what we saw was that she seemed to be really well fed.<br />
<br />
Because she kept getting bigger.<br />
<br />
And bigger. And bigger.<br />
<br />
(What we didn't realize, is that she was pregnant.)<br />
<br />
Then she disappeared. I'd look for her on her street corner in the cool of the evening and wonder where she went. After three days of this, something told me to go out and look for her...<br />
<br />
So I went out to the area where she was usually spotted and there, along the shady side of a building, someone had placed down a cardboard box for her to give birth to her kittens. There were remnants of food and a small dirty bowl of water. There were also three dead kittens, and two barely hanging on. And Khali had one freaked out teenage mom look on her face. She is, afterall, still a kitten herself (probably about seven months old).<br />
<br />
I immediately called John and asked him what I should do. His motto is that we do the right thing by these animals, so we scooped her up and her two little survivors and went to the vet. Once she checked out okay, we took her home. Unfortunately, the two newborns didn't make it.<br />
<br />
But Khali is doing well.<br />
<br />
We are trying to help get her acquainted with our posse, which is proving a challenge. My back story for Khali is that she had a home once, but someone got tired of her or saw she was pregnant and tossed her out. I suspect her earlier home was not a happy place, just yesterday she recoiled when I emptied the dishwasher and was brandishing a metal spoon in my hand.<br />
<br />
So she's affectionate, but wary. According to the cat websites, she is probably a 'stray' (meaning once having home) vs feral. And with our cats, she's making great strides in getting more comfortable, but she's got a way to go before we can feel she is not going to get all aggressive with our main kitties now and again as she tries to figure out her place here.<br />
<br />
Once we can settle her down a bit (teach her to be more comfortable with us, and with our other cats), we'll look to re-home her. She's got wonderful potential and as all the websites tell us, this stuff just takes time. Hopefully getting her spayed next week will also help.<br />
<br />
So send good vibes our way for this little one as we continue to try to do the right thing by her.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-72558789320241894102015-02-20T04:20:00.001-08:002015-02-20T04:44:43.626-08:00Excess Baggage: The Reality of Expat Luggage<div class="MsoNormal">
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<br />
It was about a year ago when I flew over the Arabian Gulf
and landed at the International Airport to do a recognizance tour of Abu Dhabi.<br />
<br />
Having escaped the polar vortex plaguing NYC and stepping off the jet into 80 degree
warmth and streaming sunshine, I reminded myself not to tell the hubs I was
already sold on the place. By the time I reached baggage claim, the day-dreaming had started when I spotted a woman who, based on her English
accent, subtle tan, and inordinate amount of luggage -- was obviously an Expat
wife.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Looking at the suitcases piled so high on her cart that they
reached over her nose, I imagined them filled with fabulous fashions -- Pucci
dresses for day and sparkling Vera Wangs for night. I imagined designer golf
gear and yoga pants with brand names only fit to be worn by people like
Victoria Beckham. I imagined that that would be soon be me, a
glamorous Expat wife crisscrossing the globe with my fabulous life tucked in
a trunk… a Louis Vuitton trunk, at that. I envisioned dazzling pool parties,
epic brunches, decadent evenings in five-star hotel ballrooms. Truth be told, I
may have even entertained the thought of having an occasion to wear a tiara. Yes, a <i>tiara</i>...<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fast forward a few months, after I shut down my life in NYC
and began to settle in to my new Abu Dhabi existence and spent a few weeks of indulging
in the ritual of the “flight of the Expat wife” (when non-working expat
housewives head out of the Sandpit to enjoy the cooler summer temperatures of the
UK and USA), I was back at John F. Kennedy Airport with three large pieces of
luggage filled to brim to check-in. The conversation with the ticket agent went
something like this:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Do you have any dangerous liquid or anything flammable in
your bag?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Batteries?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nope.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Explosives?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Definitely not.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How about car parts?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Car parts?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes, car parts.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well… as a matter of fact…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yep, not ball gowns. My bags were running over with car parts. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I won’t get specific here, but the parts were very much
questionable, and I would end up spending the next hour or so with the TSA fellas
getting my bags and their contents pre-cleared before the airline would approve
taking them onboard. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Standing with the TSA, I found myself in the awkward
position of not only explaining my car parts, but also feeling judged by obvious
lack of dress gowns (and tiaras) that were making room for far more
important things like:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ul>
<li>Three cases of cat food (that’s 72 cans,
people!),</li>
<li>Liquid concentrated chicken and beef stock (because the
canned stuff is absent here),</li>
<li>My favorite cooking pan,</li>
<li>My oversized Starbucks insulated coffee cup for iced coffee,</li>
<li>My cheap but oh-so-awesome vegetable slicer-dicer doohickey,</li>
<li>An array of vitamins and health supplements,</li>
<li>Six sticks of deodorant (hey, you get stinky in the Sandpit!)</li>
<li>My big fluffy winter slippers (because the air conditioning
is hell on my always cold feet),</li>
<li>A pair of salt and pepper shakers I bought from the Duty
Free trolley on our trip home from Australia… That look like rocks (don't ask).</li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal">
…And an England hat. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhatuUErI7vZPxOiNKU3Ka-rdmewei0xuSZJWgVYIg8A1Er8Xd1YKWv94N_qym6VJBiXN_T_zwVCuoYj-y3noTriNzQqZtGYIQHftatUIystHdxxMWEMGQDvcxiq_BqMk1tFZwJMkb4jyvK/s1600/2015-02-20_1424431702.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhatuUErI7vZPxOiNKU3Ka-rdmewei0xuSZJWgVYIg8A1Er8Xd1YKWv94N_qym6VJBiXN_T_zwVCuoYj-y3noTriNzQqZtGYIQHftatUIystHdxxMWEMGQDvcxiq_BqMk1tFZwJMkb4jyvK/s1600/2015-02-20_1424431702.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The reality of my excess Expat baggage.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What kind of life these TSA guys must have pieced together from
this stash was almost laughable. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And yet, this is reality of the excess baggage
of the expat housewife. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
John always tells me as I begin to spin into a panic about
luggage and being able to get everything in, “If you forget something, you can
always get it there.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And indeed, Abu Dhabi does have EVERYTHING…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Except our cat’s favorite flavor of Fancy Feast…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
…and I don’t seem to be able to cook meals as well in any
other skillet than my beloved pan…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
…and that vegetable slicer? We go way back. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are just things, little touchstones from home, that
after being out here in the expat world, when you reconnect with them you find
you suddenly just can’t live without. It’s
like the scene from THE JERK, when Steve Martin announces he’s going to leave
his wife and all his worldly belongings for a simpler life:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/rSWBuZws30g/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/rSWBuZws30g?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And while one of the things we did when we left NY was to
get rid of the clutter and commit to living a more ‘minimalist’ life, there are
just… things… that are hard to live without. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So now when we go back and forth, we end up packing as light
as we can and putting in an extra bag so we (or rather, <i>I</i>) can bring back those beloved items that make me feel a bit more connected to my life at home.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ul>
<li>My favorite wool sweater, ratty fleece and ripped shorts for house-lounging;</li>
<li>That running club t-shirt with the NYC reference that once
had little meaning but now speaks volumes to others about who I am;</li>
<li>My most favorite dog-eared writing books.</li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course, the problem becomes what will go back
when the time comes... <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We recently attempted to purchase a cocktail bar (it didn't fit in our elevator) from
a couple who had lived in Abu Dhabi for seven years but whose contract -- and thus
time -- in the Sandpit were up.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I went to check out the bar, the place was filled with
a heavy cloud of emotion. I was greeted by a teary-eyed woman who escorted me
through a villa full of the remnants of still palpable memories of her UAE life. Book cases filled with travel guides
to ‘far off’ places like India, Sri Lanka, Egypt and Jordan – all a mere
puddle-jump away. Rugs and kilims from Turkey, Iran and the carpet souq down
the block. Camping gear for desert excursions among dunes and camels a mere
hour’s drive away. A shisha pipe. The dark wood, well-worn bar. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We had many great parties with this bar,” she said. “So
many friends… we celebrated… everything.”</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At that moment, I
wished I had had that tiara to place upon this woman’s head. Even without an evening
gown in sight, to me she was a belle of the expat ball, having spent her time in the
region embracing all it offered -- and digging in the emotional dirt of living fully in a very
temporary space. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Despite my lack of ball gowns and party frocks, I realize even
if my bags are packed full with mundane items like cat food tins, skincare
products and car parts (yes, car parts!), life at the moment is BIG! And there would always be baggage of some sort to deal with.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s not just part of the expat life. It’s part of ANY life.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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It just goes with the territory. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-52030966150663281892015-01-04T05:35:00.000-08:002015-01-14T03:48:23.596-08:00Foggy Abu Dhabi!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It’s Fog Season in Abu Dhabi!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I had no idea what ‘fog season’ was. Here I was drifting along and marking time by glorious sunny day after glorious sunny day, when suddenly one morning I woke to pull back the drapes and revealed a wall of fog so thick outside my window, I couldn't see the street twelve stories below.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVsztw0IIZ40nXbQKvrKazQd5mzNd6DFZs5-u17d0TLKQOMK8Oeii8bMELUh73_uHh5E1_DxonfDevvWKoC6uV_tkVapOm6_bEFCmDhg0g2UB1RzpG5mQfmxCbKiDEjRdnfqjhstArlo8X/s1600/2014-12-29_1419845928.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVsztw0IIZ40nXbQKvrKazQd5mzNd6DFZs5-u17d0TLKQOMK8Oeii8bMELUh73_uHh5E1_DxonfDevvWKoC6uV_tkVapOm6_bEFCmDhg0g2UB1RzpG5mQfmxCbKiDEjRdnfqjhstArlo8X/s1600/2014-12-29_1419845928.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A room with no view: Abu Dhabi's famed Hyatt Capital Gate Hotel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I first got to Abu Dhabi, I thought I was moving to a
place where I would, for the most part, enjoy perpetual summer. After one of
the most hellish winters anyone in the Northeast US had ever experienced (hello,
Polar Vortex!), I was ready for life in the sun, with just one season, and with
the only real difference being the change in temperature. Turns out though, that just like Eskimos have
fifty-plus words to describe anything from wet to powdery snow and from sleety to
icy snow, you can also break Abu Dhabi’s perpetual summer down not just in to ‘hot,’ ‘really hot,’ and 'really <i>effing</i> hot,' but into seasons within the season of constant heat. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For instance, when I first arrived, it was March. And it was
summer. The kind of summer we are used to in the Northeast United States. It
was in the mid-80s and not humid. It was, in a word, wonderful. In more than
one word it was glorious, heavenly and wonderful and I was the happiest girl on
Earth having to make the choice each day of whether to wile away the daytime hours at the beach, or on the golf course... or both. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Then came June, and the only way I could find to describe
the heat in late June, July and August in Abu Dhabi is by referencing the whole “<i>This One
Goes To Eleven</i>” bit from THIS IS SPINAL TAP. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/KOO5S4vxi0o?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As you could imagine, the heat in Abu Dhabi goes to eleven come the summer months, topping out at anywhere between 125 and 130 degrees and making you seriously worry about the real possibility of spontaneous combustion. I have a vivid recollection of walking
to meet a friend for lunch, less than a ten minute walk away. Halfway
there, while standing on the median of the road hiding in the shade of a street
sign waiting to make my way across three lane of traffic, I began to wonder
whether I should turn back. Truth was I wasn’t really sure I could
actually make it on foot without dropping dead on
the way. Even worse, if you decide to take the car then you worry that the tires might melt. (I'm not even kidding.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But then… September arrives. Relief, right? Well, sure, if you
just measure things by temperature and not humidity. Because September’s humid
season in Abu Dhabi is akin to what T.S. Eliot wrote about the month of April. The cruelest
month, September in Abu Dhabi has the ability to break one’s spirit, because just when you think the temperatures have subsided
and life is going to be bearable again, the humidity wooshes in to extend the
misery. This is the season of wondering
what the point is of showering only to step out and feel completely soaked. It's the season of sapped energy. And the season of fogged up window panes... and spectacles.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXVGVMMyzG1mzY17KE9A9W_xfr0kHAQqp1STpbyHmVb0gcWCOylu9oO67Tiat0nkMsUMZL2ELauKdR4DdG3dReu3tItCSPoJ7h710Hj_V4sNKSQs9JrA67wOsjF3vX8iU-QCe6cnRvQUCX/s1600/IMG_20140718_175153.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXVGVMMyzG1mzY17KE9A9W_xfr0kHAQqp1STpbyHmVb0gcWCOylu9oO67Tiat0nkMsUMZL2ELauKdR4DdG3dReu3tItCSPoJ7h710Hj_V4sNKSQs9JrA67wOsjF3vX8iU-QCe6cnRvQUCX/s1600/IMG_20140718_175153.jpg" height="288" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what 100 percent humidity looks like.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Come October, though, and things get better. Legend has it
that once three sandstorms have passed through, the Gulf goes back to the
glorious temperatures that make going to the beach heavenly. And really, it’s
heaven straight through until… well, until now, Fog Season.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s early January and it’s embarrassing to say this, but,
it feels a bit chilly. I know I’m being a baby, especially seeing photos of snow
storms back home, but even more so because I’m putting on a fleece and whining
about the cold -- when it’s 75 degrees outdoors. Even worse, I’ve become that person
who puts on the seat warmers in the car when it’s 68 degrees out at 8 a.m.
(though I’ve always been a sucker for seat warmers, even in August, so maybe it's just a good excuse).</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
But the wall of fog, is well, pretty wonderful, as long as
you don’t have anyplace really important to go. <a href="http://www.thenational.ae/uae/drivers-warned-as-dense-fog-again-blankets-the-uae" target="_blank">Driving can be treacherous</a> and there are terrible accidents due to low visibility along the E11 road that links Abu Dhabi to Dubai. <a href="http://www.thenational.ae/uae/fog-closes-abu-dhabi-airport-disrupts-flights" target="_blank">Flights get cancelled</a> again and again and again. Still, I love it. I never
thought I’d say it, but it’s nice to have a break from the endless string of
sunny days. It makes for amazing views and photos.<br />
<br />
Plus, it's just nice to know that Abu Dhabi is more than some one-season, one-heat wonder. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCUl7R_he-qqDNFhNcdr4wCWacR8dAavrdHjmIeE7cTlr8WVw9tO6UoPp4DOJYuBclXwV9rIzs5poe_EITHXY5DA0t34Tl0p2YSU2CSPQrcNtmYPYb8EOUZgWjHoeo4ttla56o8pxe1elq/s1600/2014-12-29_1419846556.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCUl7R_he-qqDNFhNcdr4wCWacR8dAavrdHjmIeE7cTlr8WVw9tO6UoPp4DOJYuBclXwV9rIzs5poe_EITHXY5DA0t34Tl0p2YSU2CSPQrcNtmYPYb8EOUZgWjHoeo4ttla56o8pxe1elq/s1600/2014-12-29_1419846556.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abu Dhabi's Grand Mosque, barely visible through the fog.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</div>
Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-431672664264916542014-12-18T05:46:00.000-08:002015-07-19T07:53:42.054-07:00Thoughts on National Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiashNLZVEtVDWLEc08QkA8ehpmVclQ1iS-953jEwKp_s9sb43DyKLsu8Qj3dkuu8ySnsjy7up7z70AAARULbVFKyfXZG0SYO9HpYqQY2z8m21o_6Z3czUr1CJmi6TmeDVkfes-WQxX3Ved/s1600/National+Day+43-+750x500+EN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiashNLZVEtVDWLEc08QkA8ehpmVclQ1iS-953jEwKp_s9sb43DyKLsu8Qj3dkuu8ySnsjy7up7z70AAARULbVFKyfXZG0SYO9HpYqQY2z8m21o_6Z3czUr1CJmi6TmeDVkfes-WQxX3Ved/s1600/National+Day+43-+750x500+EN.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Back when I was in elementary school (or maybe it was early
in junior high), we learned about the concept of ‘Nationalism,’ the belief,
creed or political ideology that involves an individual identifying with, or
becoming attached to, one’s nation.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the time, I didn't really think much of it. I was the first generation
daughter of an immigrant from Germany. An immigrant, who, as family lore has
it, was so focused and headstrong about leaving Germany and getting to America from
such a young age, that his mother actually learned English so that she could
teach my Dad in hopes that it might help his chances of actually
getting to the place. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I guess because of my Dad’s story (and similar stories of
immigration by my mother’s parents) it never occurred to me not to love my
country -- deeply and enthusiastically. I was an All-American kid and speaking German in our house was <i>verboten</i>. I loved hot dogs and carried the American flag with a sense of honor in the Bicentennial Day Parade. I memorized the words to the Pledge of Allegiance as soon as my brain could manage it and took great pride in earning one of those Presidential Physical Fitness Awards complete with a patch and certificate and the president's signature on it (that I still own and cherish).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But fast-forward a few decades and take a big step back…
back to my view of my home country from my new place in the UAE, and, well, it’s not all Bruce Springsteen and Fourth of July fireworks any more. These last few months
have been a strain for my home country. A government in gridlock. The Ebola scare.
The snow disaster in Buffalo and rains in California. Ferguson. Eric Garner. The never-ending shooting sprees. The Sony hacks. It’s been painful
to watch from afar, as if every day brings a new reason to ask oneself, “What
the hell is going on over there?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And yet, I still love my country and my home with all my
heart.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That said, there’s something about the breath of fresh air
that is the United Arab Emirates.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Earlier this month we celebrated the UAE's National Day. This
is the UAE equivalent of Independence Day, but without the secession (though
there may have been a slight booting out of the Brits if you read through the lines of revisionist history). The United Arab
Emirates is just forty-three years young (younger than me, gasp!) and yet the
place has developed at an astonishing pace and is one of the world’s richest
and most dynamic emerging powers in the world. (Whoa, I need to cut back on the
Kool-Aid!). <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDyantTMoCdG7mTrEN9zPFD4txKz-YfcBx55yzYRVv6YJwbwGctMDdIzLFAgsj9jTx2auI_wQK0X2iqkqmhhufSadoabQg6gjVpmxyuuYorwdmbTlATs2-8mfMTNqDeIYnMuldUOM8ypOu/s1600/20141201_200145.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDyantTMoCdG7mTrEN9zPFD4txKz-YfcBx55yzYRVv6YJwbwGctMDdIzLFAgsj9jTx2auI_wQK0X2iqkqmhhufSadoabQg6gjVpmxyuuYorwdmbTlATs2-8mfMTNqDeIYnMuldUOM8ypOu/s1600/20141201_200145.jpg" width="204" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Landmark Tower shows its UAE pride</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The run up to National Day includes the appearance of cars
being decorated with the flag and images of the nation’s founding father and
leading sheikhs. There are massive light displays from buildings and along light
posts, and large, landmark buildings draped in UAE flags (I'm talking flags that hang 15 stories). There are also
fireworks. And air shows. And silly string.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Silly string? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, yeah. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pretty much anyone who wants to partake in the revelry heads
down to the Corniche on the day, where they watch the air show with some pretty kick-ass fighter jets, check out some
military equipment on display, drive in an unofficial parade of pimped out
cars, or stand on the curb and shoot silly string at each other while wearing funny
hats, silly glasses and sequined and sparkly garb with UAE colors. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbFWvUHO3qL5VnTPXTUmmT_KCYLrJqmlZaQHouVeg1-_P7JNM8tQOYy7RutkGYU5uaVt_n4PyYoyjt5J-Ktx2fUSdqKrDAyc7_HrMy85lNHf7RlSmA_m6pPVSGhHPeywYmX2EQXEPNFNg4/s1600/20141202_165959.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbFWvUHO3qL5VnTPXTUmmT_KCYLrJqmlZaQHouVeg1-_P7JNM8tQOYy7RutkGYU5uaVt_n4PyYoyjt5J-Ktx2fUSdqKrDAyc7_HrMy85lNHf7RlSmA_m6pPVSGhHPeywYmX2EQXEPNFNg4/s1600/20141202_165959.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pimped out rides</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB1c6y4cTJEOcOQ688tOjriMfJ9ToD4zXMjbHlCDYI-D9B1GuqjFI9n0rSFvd5HvNRoAcrMr_pNTOfYNQg5FNW5BZFN-gly64HtMKrVHueV-Fn0Pd7I_q6CGS1Xfw_g-NII2_0IfeZJtYW/s1600/20141202_170846.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB1c6y4cTJEOcOQ688tOjriMfJ9ToD4zXMjbHlCDYI-D9B1GuqjFI9n0rSFvd5HvNRoAcrMr_pNTOfYNQg5FNW5BZFN-gly64HtMKrVHueV-Fn0Pd7I_q6CGS1Xfw_g-NII2_0IfeZJtYW/s1600/20141202_170846.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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It’s Fourth of July meets the Puerto Rico Day parade meets Carnival meets New Year’s Eve all
wrapped up into one.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And the beauty of it? <o:p></o:p></div>
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All are welcome. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeS2QWIbg26F1b98jmtGL4KcFMsRVYeFmhBlw67_cTyicoGTb-6BSqYySOamUi4Cf1bVjiVuFEoXZiG0hU0q6MICI8Lk_Zwvb-5nka-BlzBL6shQVIMxjfGNbJDwqge1q2ScEwYCBAzweK/s1600/DSC00827.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeS2QWIbg26F1b98jmtGL4KcFMsRVYeFmhBlw67_cTyicoGTb-6BSqYySOamUi4Cf1bVjiVuFEoXZiG0hU0q6MICI8Lk_Zwvb-5nka-BlzBL6shQVIMxjfGNbJDwqge1q2ScEwYCBAzweK/s1600/DSC00827.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doesn't matter the nationality, we all celebrate National Day in the UAE</td></tr>
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You see, this is not an Emirati-only day. Down on the
Corniche, the Emiratis are joined by the Pakistanis, the Filipinos, the folks
from India, as well as the Brits, Aussies and Americans. We all celebrate, dress up and wave our UAE flags. And
it’s exciting. I mean, in the days that led up to National Day, my heart
swelled, my chest thumped. I was a kid all over again looking forward to the
fireworks, flying UAE flags from the car and just generally getting pumped up. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Beyond the fun of the day, I guess the reality is that in a
very short time I have developed a fair amount of national pride for the place.
I know it isn’t perfect (I know, I know! But show me a country that
is!). But it’s young and hopeful and so damn full of promise here,
that’s it’s hard not to get caught up in the possibilities.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTje4hMPWdOiuzTAyEbLV5oExfJHPCk2Bd7paFjewdki7BqtRvTwTY85R8hfkst44LqelWToK9FDtKu8wNDuf6588-7Tncd0IO9ncpGpItQgVY9SlvJ246nHDyC2UI4z6qoKg-41Onx17U/s1600/DSC00821.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTje4hMPWdOiuzTAyEbLV5oExfJHPCk2Bd7paFjewdki7BqtRvTwTY85R8hfkst44LqelWToK9FDtKu8wNDuf6588-7Tncd0IO9ncpGpItQgVY9SlvJ246nHDyC2UI4z6qoKg-41Onx17U/s1600/DSC00821.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the UAE, with love from the Air Show</td></tr>
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So bring on the silly string while I send out hugs and well
wishes to my true homeland.<br />
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I love you, and miss you, and hope with all my
heart that we can get through this rough patch soon. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMmoyJvfF2tfbuDGCOA6UNUujNKDRsSofwl_WloAu7gprA-vSYVoSszBlKPreeevqKqccdlwVh7MY5FGLixFoMgP4NkqtC9d3IJ0j9tOAbTORysEVxa5WA5ZWRqyJz97x9w4iiUBRYgI4w/s1600/20141130_082323+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMmoyJvfF2tfbuDGCOA6UNUujNKDRsSofwl_WloAu7gprA-vSYVoSszBlKPreeevqKqccdlwVh7MY5FGLixFoMgP4NkqtC9d3IJ0j9tOAbTORysEVxa5WA5ZWRqyJz97x9w4iiUBRYgI4w/s1600/20141130_082323+(1).jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My pimped ride</td></tr>
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Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-77349787618101785402014-10-19T06:37:00.000-07:002014-10-19T09:35:58.678-07:00Barefoot in the Desert<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Rw43DBHmHppWXbSmSJ2CxHO0DW2_-y8CJZFzrdwmCAakvdbVRU2JmQcHt6ShJkpFYVBgTjpAwnlPileWq4yfWvWN-ZRyRxBpixOh9xbmEzHI9ReN8SR_I_yAm3pt-MyM1lBlG_THXeHY/s1600/DSC00521.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Rw43DBHmHppWXbSmSJ2CxHO0DW2_-y8CJZFzrdwmCAakvdbVRU2JmQcHt6ShJkpFYVBgTjpAwnlPileWq4yfWvWN-ZRyRxBpixOh9xbmEzHI9ReN8SR_I_yAm3pt-MyM1lBlG_THXeHY/s1600/DSC00521.JPG" height="128" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The early morning knock at the door came hard and furious. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was barely five a.m. after
a night that that went into the wee small hours and included a wonderful Arabic meal, great conversation, star-gazing, and a scorpion sighting. It was time to get to the desert. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This is the weekly Friday morning ritual at <a href="http://www.adah.ae/#!liwa-art-hub/c1cwb" target="_blank">Art Hub Liwa</a>,
where I have been fortunate enough to be selected as the ‘Writer in Residence”
for the International Historical Memory Festival – an art event taking place
throughout the month of October with more than ten artists from around the
globe (Iran, Italy, UK, Thailand, Australia and more) exploring the history of
the UAE and the Transformation Era through their works of art. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But I digress. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One thing you need to know about me is that early mornings
are not my thing (and that sound you just heard? That's the yowl of agreement from
my husband). <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But this was one of those moments where I remind myself that there will be plenty of time to rest when I’m dead. Or that the early bird gets the worm. Or at least fresh coffee… or something.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here I was in Liwa, with a chance to walk in the
desert at sunrise thanks to Mr. Ahmed, the owner of Art Hub, and moreover, an Emirati gentleman who is affable, generous and eager to share his country and culture with all its visitors.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One by one, we emerged from our rooms set in a campus quad
meets oasis setting that is the Art Hub Liwa facility, quietly took
that fresh Arabic coffee offered, and piled into Mr. A's Land Cruiser. When
one last straggler managed to emerge from their slumber, we raced against the sunrise to the point where Liwa Oasis fades into the foothills of the largest sand
desert in the world – the Empty Quarter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While I had been to a desert before – Death Valley, the
Sonoran Desert of Baja and Arizona, and even Moreeb Dune down the road and the red sands of
Al Ain, this was the
first time I actually WALKED in the desert rather than view it from the
air-conditioned coolness of a car, rushing by at 50 mph or dune-bashing with quick stops to jump out for requisite photo-ops.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This time, we were communing with the place. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mr. A led our early morning walk, instructing us to kick-off
our footwear and go barefoot. To the east we could see the first break of
light, while to the west, the moon began to sink behind the horizon. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Walking barefoot along the
dunes gave me a whole different perspective. You see, the desert isn’t hard.
It’s soft. My first step was taken gingerly (worried about glass shards and dangerous
desert critters emerging from the sand). But the sand was pristine, cool and silky underfoot.
And through this we walked nearly a mile with the sand giving way and at
the same time standing firm with each step. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiusdFg0du-4QHYcyUBExmj2jDeACdAddgEbe-uvbxsTtSalqEbIATeia20fbuIjSxKNh3i9d6DVEIUotPW6wNillFaf7n03hKNfvMtWkOw7j-7Gz_yPGwvn2XieSFsObsZUdOxADSSifQk/s1600/DSC00584.JPG" height="400" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="396" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early morning shadow play</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiusdFg0du-4QHYcyUBExmj2jDeACdAddgEbe-uvbxsTtSalqEbIATeia20fbuIjSxKNh3i9d6DVEIUotPW6wNillFaf7n03hKNfvMtWkOw7j-7Gz_yPGwvn2XieSFsObsZUdOxADSSifQk/s1600/DSC00584.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; line-height: 16.1000003814697px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Depending
on the wind, the atmosphere, and probably a thousand other factors I
haven’t even thought of, in the early morning hours in the Empty Quarter there is almost a dance – of color, light and shadow – as the sun rises the desert moves, moment by moment – and
suddenly you realize that those peaks and dips are actually waves. They have
motion. They are in constant flow.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDiE-JuOu4Imu_pwz9wn75szCPwdjTKj8X_ppQbJS8donr2Viot4Ktdcw8uUgExvAalNRLpaapVYyHmnTLLt_O3Pn8kAtYmSS9-NYQIFfJTcnDImWHge0Bgy-bsbNJLVsfxoM4M_hwexO1/s1600/DSC00581.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDiE-JuOu4Imu_pwz9wn75szCPwdjTKj8X_ppQbJS8donr2Viot4Ktdcw8uUgExvAalNRLpaapVYyHmnTLLt_O3Pn8kAtYmSS9-NYQIFfJTcnDImWHge0Bgy-bsbNJLVsfxoM4M_hwexO1/s1600/DSC00581.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Desert 'Waves"</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s with this flow that you come to realize that the desert
is alive. I mean vibrantly so. Up close walking in the dunes you’ll see the tracks of a gazelle, the
slither marks of a snake, the scampering footprints of a gecko and tufts of
green from desert plants bursting and flowering from the dunes.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s hard to put the camera down on a walk like this. There’s
just no comparison. I’ve been to Uluru (Ayer’s Rock), and while I admit that it
rained on the morning that we trekked out in the pre-dawn to capture the red
sunrise that’s promised in all the Australian travel brochures, nothing comes
close to seeing a desert sunrise in the Rub’ al Khali.</span></div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0yUhkEOauJe3OEBJZ3uuzVwt4LNVIGO-MP7clDFM7081vN82O19PxiARVwO3FK7ZP7doMp5ZKopLeScxg0JHrcs9v50DJYBiRh-NWQEitZIGqjnbJIxsKdyg57ai38Dwg5Dv65KLFh9f3/s1600/DSC00543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0yUhkEOauJe3OEBJZ3uuzVwt4LNVIGO-MP7clDFM7081vN82O19PxiARVwO3FK7ZP7doMp5ZKopLeScxg0JHrcs9v50DJYBiRh-NWQEitZIGqjnbJIxsKdyg57ai38Dwg5Dv65KLFh9f3/s1600/DSC00543.JPG" height="152" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Into the Empty Quarter</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As we walked, I felt like I was in a half dream state. Mr. A led us up to the top a large dune. And there, just over the ‘ledge’ was a stunning valley, full of desert shrubs and flowers, along with a bright and beautiful red kilim set atop the dune with a gorgeous breakfast spread.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We sat down and had our meal, quietly in awe as we looked
over the deep valley full of green, thinking of the past people who lived here.
Seeing it up close, its life and luster, I could see why people </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: center;">have made a
place like this – with all its exterior harshness and secret softness -- their
home. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqPa-jo0m5ZYn7TtAnY0_L_Yr7sJY6fhjMXsDzzjyP9bCtI7a5WTVwEYhuNPf1PkJ4GD8MDrmxw6-XUl3eS0OKIH6h754yYf8UwzitIkqjtSspyfO0NTDMtj-_F2DglYwGe6ZLAAuoo-Og/s1600/DSC00525.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqPa-jo0m5ZYn7TtAnY0_L_Yr7sJY6fhjMXsDzzjyP9bCtI7a5WTVwEYhuNPf1PkJ4GD8MDrmxw6-XUl3eS0OKIH6h754yYf8UwzitIkqjtSspyfO0NTDMtj-_F2DglYwGe6ZLAAuoo-Og/s1600/DSC00525.JPG" height="101" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: center;">Sheikh Zayed </span><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%; text-align: center;">Sulṭân Âl Nahyân once said, <i>“He who does not know his past cannot make
the best of his present and future, for it is from the past that we learn.”</i></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #252525; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In a way, Liwa represents one of the geographic hearts of Emirati history and culture. Over that weekend, I learned
about the Liwa oasis, about the water that was once just five meters below the
sand’s surface, and of how the Bedu lived and thrived in the region. Even
though it was harsh, the desert was good to them, the harshness protected them.
To them the desert was soft, at times cool and colorful, and always full of life. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">Art Hub Liwa is beginning to offer weekend retreats at their compound at the edge of the Empty Quarter. <a href="http://www.timeoutabudhabi.com/art/features/57316-liwa-art-hub" target="_blank">Here’s an article about the Art Hub Liwa festival</a> I’m currently participating in, and details on the overnight desert experience available. If you have the chance (and don’t mind getting up before dawn), it’s one of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences not to be missed in the UAE.</span><br />
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<span style="background: white; color: #252525; line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD2cO8m2YGIzBJ1bEe5m_IHan8HiwXV8qmAx9WD_bGmolsZKFvxsNl2BPtsul-CbDETB1i5V0vVK8uxi1GxO6uZUbDcn0vh1rVhBW6Gf5xFUshF0K0bLCghaW5905ljgY3X9fRIPCchqnV/s1600/DSC00523.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD2cO8m2YGIzBJ1bEe5m_IHan8HiwXV8qmAx9WD_bGmolsZKFvxsNl2BPtsul-CbDETB1i5V0vVK8uxi1GxO6uZUbDcn0vh1rVhBW6Gf5xFUshF0K0bLCghaW5905ljgY3X9fRIPCchqnV/s1600/DSC00523.JPG" height="140" width="640" /></a></span><br />
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Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-23244667349276317912014-10-13T06:30:00.000-07:002014-10-19T09:32:20.564-07:00The Happy Camel of Liwa<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjshR7Z-gTAoRlxnKefKPRfCpduK3hTo5sWmQkd2wUB64yEeMUzAWs55D4iSBJQKw0crnO93WdjuLNvlIEUScwWP-xLNtxgS2nl0kahJzm30BxTYltm6qmm8Lh2UN8Hl0pdEdYljt58JvjE/s1600/DSC00601.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjshR7Z-gTAoRlxnKefKPRfCpduK3hTo5sWmQkd2wUB64yEeMUzAWs55D4iSBJQKw0crnO93WdjuLNvlIEUScwWP-xLNtxgS2nl0kahJzm30BxTYltm6qmm8Lh2UN8Hl0pdEdYljt58JvjE/s1600/DSC00601.JPG" height="640" width="620" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This gorgeous one-humped, white wonder lives out on the Art Hub farm in Liwa. A farm that has several rescued salukis, a few desert farm cats, a couple of horses, an ATV, a swimming pool and one gigantic sand dune.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This ain't no mirage, just camel at an oasis within an oasis...</span>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-86440444214378017082014-10-12T08:31:00.000-07:002014-10-13T02:55:14.113-07:00On My Bookshelf: Mother Without a Mask<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Recently I read <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mother-Without-Mask-Patricia-Holton/dp/1856265498/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1413126825&sr=1-1&keywords=mother+without+a+mask" target="_blank">MOTHER WITHOUT A MASK</a>, a book about the early days here in the UAE (which can be picked up at many book shops or supermarkets
in Abu Dhabi). It was written by Patricia Holton, a woman who came from New
York (just like me), married a Brit (just like me) and somehow, through the
confluence of passion, work and fate, ended up being deeply connected to an
Emerati family during the 1970s and 80s in Abu Dhabi and Al Ain. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWvAM1YC5mzjuZDuKUDj_N7FrKPzf18wdR7_GEUuTsT0mdZPClQVPbsE3Sy8861a15nw24gQpUzvMx2xpAupeUkhfk3QVGIq63Ef7vl8JcH2A8Um72ztwPXgxudgYcZ11gSPE22Or5IIUu/s1600/MWAM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWvAM1YC5mzjuZDuKUDj_N7FrKPzf18wdR7_GEUuTsT0mdZPClQVPbsE3Sy8861a15nw24gQpUzvMx2xpAupeUkhfk3QVGIq63Ef7vl8JcH2A8Um72ztwPXgxudgYcZ11gSPE22Or5IIUu/s1600/MWAM.jpg" height="320" width="207" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s a phenomenal read if you want to understand the Emerati
people and culture as she goes into her experiences with this family as well as
traditions, stories and wonderful and compassionate explanations about the
Emerati people (and people of the Arabian Gulf). For instance, why women wear burkhas, why sometimes important information is only offered up on an 'as needed' basis (a great insight into how business negotiations are done) and what an Emerati wedding extravaganza looks like. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Holton also spent her time in the UAE
during the time of transformation, and she writes about the changes to the
place and people with a wistful preciseness. Reading it gave me a real sense of just how quickly things
have changed here in the past forty years. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One passage in particular really called to me. In it, the
author is visiting an area in Oman with her Emerati ‘son’ and another family
friend and is overwhelmed by the experience... by how distant it is from her other life: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“What was I
doing there? How did I get there? How did it all happen? There I was sitting on
a wall with a young Arab Sheikh and an old Omani villager, sitting on the wall
of an open mosque under date palms growing out of the cleft of a mountain a
thousand miles away from nowhere. Ten thousand miles away from home. What was
that song? That American folk song? Ten thousand miles away from home? I was
living it out. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Was I the same
person who had once sat wreathed in her grandfather’s cigar smoke listening to
talks of the Indians? Was I the same person who stood watching white clouds scud
over a blue New England sky…? Was I the same person who lay disobediently in
the dolphin net of a schooner watching the green Long Island Sound cut under
the bows? <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Where was that
child? Absorbed? Forgotten? How did she grow older and find herself here?
Strange. Strange. What was the touchstone of my life? How was the pattern
weaving? Towards what end?”</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Some writers (including myself) write and write and write
until the story reveals itself. But sometimes the story is real life. For Holton, when the invitation came to host
two young Emerati ‘royals’ in her London home one summer and then accepted an
invitation to have the hospitality returned with an invitation to visit the son’s
family in Abu Dhabi and Al Ain, a whole new life story began to reveal itself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I doubt she has gotten rich off this book (and she goes to
great lengths to protect the family she spent time with), but what she has left
is legendary. Young Emeratis look to this book as almost a history of the UAE’s
transformation era and of earlier times.
And until recently it was the only book written by a UAE expat (though
technically, she is probably best described as a former frequent VIP visitor). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tonight I find myself sitting in the ‘camp’ at <a href="http://www.adah.ae/#!liwa-art-hub/c1cwb" target="_blank">Art Hub Liwa</a>
(I’m a writer in residence for the International Historical Memory Festival),
watching the sun play on the sand dunes where a large scale art work of Sheikh
Zayed bin Sultan Al Nahyan shines. There is comfort and community here. But
there is also isolation, heat and ants nipping at my feet. Just out of view
is the massive and massively gorgeous Empty Quarter (Rub’ al Khali). And
suddenly I feel so minuscule, like the time I was in a plane flying 35,000 feet
high over Japan looking down at waves washing along the Island’s shoreline trying
not to freak out at being so high, so far away and so completely out of control.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's times like this that I think about Patricia Holton
(she’s become my hero of the moment). With a series of ‘yes’ decisions, she saw a new
and exciting world begin to unfold to her little by little and suddenly a new chapter
in her life revealed itself and became immense. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I love that she realized in the moment that
this was something different, and special, and wrote about it. And she had
those scary ‘what the hell am I doing here' moments and wrote about those, too. Instead
of feeling alone, when I read that passage I feel like I'm actually okay, and it's normal to feel this way. Afterall, we’re all in it together out
here in what I lovingly call ‘the sandpit.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-32250964738396461432014-10-06T03:39:00.000-07:002014-10-06T04:42:08.682-07:00September Update<div class="MsoNormal">
As a freelancer, September has always been a tough month for
me. For most others, I suspect September feels like a return from summer
vacations and back to school, where the relaxed vibe of summer dissipates into
an enthusiasm to get back to business and get things done. For a freelancer though, there can be a lag. New projects
don’t usually trickle in until well past Labor Day (if at all), and if you work
alone this can feel like being the last kid waiting to be picked up on the last
day of sleep away camp.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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While work for me is ‘optional’ here, there is a strong part
of me that isn’t quite ready to fully live a life of leisure (I don’t need to
work.. but it would be GREAT if I did). It’s not that I don’t like (or
even love) the social side of things here in Abu Dhabi for myself. It’s easy to
embrace the days with rounds of golf, beach outings, coffees, movies and lunches
and stuff.<br />
<br />
Maybe it’s the case of some good old German heritage
work ethic guilts, or maybe it’s because without having children I feel the
need to ‘produce’ or continue to contribute to my world in a significant way.
But the reality is that I also make a crap housewife… barely cleaning and
cooking, and grousing a bit at some of the errands I have to run. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I remember that very moment this September when, with little
on the docket and taking steps to begin an all-out job hunt and launch my
‘personal brand’ (yes, I hate the term too), I looked into my closet for something
to wear to a coffee gathering, wondering aloud, “What happens next?” <o:p></o:p></div>
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The answer to my question came just hours later. At a coffee
morning a woman from a local art institution made an announcement that she was
in search of a writer to join an artist’s retreat taking place out in Liwa.<br />
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I
nearly jumped over tables to get to her.<br />
<br />
Then later that day an editor from New
York inquired about whether I’d be interested in participating in a press trip
for media covering meetings and conventions (my tourism specialty) in Dubai…<o:p></o:p></div>
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With that, I was back in business (personal brand be damned)
and I’ve been in a flurry of travel and activity since. <o:p></o:p></div>
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First came the much needed vacation for John to the amazing
place that is Musandam Oman that we took (which I will blog about in depth
shortly).<o:p></o:p></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirpwUNuGoBFhs0wDQZSv6hQ_zC2MWhdczf9n6F0JuxTKW4QYlEHWczXW5iypAoFqRt0fE4buSJSY1019_0UhTxZg7yYrPcwmLq3tc_dPDHFoPEK-DxkOTcdsLHi_2FYJOCCiR31neqbXF3/s1600/DSC00190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirpwUNuGoBFhs0wDQZSv6hQ_zC2MWhdczf9n6F0JuxTKW4QYlEHWczXW5iypAoFqRt0fE4buSJSY1019_0UhTxZg7yYrPcwmLq3tc_dPDHFoPEK-DxkOTcdsLHi_2FYJOCCiR31neqbXF3/s1600/DSC00190.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John swimming in the crystal blue waters of Oman.</td></tr>
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Then came the five day business trip to Dubai, where for the
first time in my life I joined a group of travel writers as a member of the
press instead of the hosting ‘flack.’ Not only was seeing Dubai from a meeting and convention travel
writer’s perspective with lots of great VIP perks amazing, but I also
reconnected with some of my favorite industry writer friends. We visited top
properties (Burj al Arab) and took in some ‘only here’ experiences – a trip to
the top of the Burj Khalifia, a helicopter tour of the city, a private dhow
cruise on the Dubai Creek, etc., etc.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKDLw-1X2rfXzoa6D9SPxRzefC0vo8DnHfy2Hkkhv2VOPyg59626oxoPjaMBrUfm5q9A6fnk8A-rFkpW7yebg7p36FX9C08MbYXkLX5h8Q9D_sINg3vvZP3lmOXl-wUZi7USBI7XP5u4iB/s1600/DSC00439.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKDLw-1X2rfXzoa6D9SPxRzefC0vo8DnHfy2Hkkhv2VOPyg59626oxoPjaMBrUfm5q9A6fnk8A-rFkpW7yebg7p36FX9C08MbYXkLX5h8Q9D_sINg3vvZP3lmOXl-wUZi7USBI7XP5u4iB/s1600/DSC00439.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me strutting my press credentials following a helicopter tour of Dubai</td></tr>
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After being accepted to the artist retreat, I turned around
and packed my bags for the desert. For the month of October, I’ll be commuting
out to the desert, interacting with artists from around the world (there are
already artists in residence from Iran, Spain, France, Morocco, Italy, UK and
Estonia), learning about the Empty Quarter and the UAE’s trans-formative years
(1960s and 70s). </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji0mQMQlXU2WPUq5FMl8NhUdIWmJ8JD0Paw1pn_LZClt0Bp7R8CCaUFN2aLjm9blV6JyeP7197IiaDy_27AfVj-RhU6cV0S1CzRVhZG11wsbJ-jSXSzweE-LQqx-bcZwnFGufZH6A9DGAo/s1600/DSC00496.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji0mQMQlXU2WPUq5FMl8NhUdIWmJ8JD0Paw1pn_LZClt0Bp7R8CCaUFN2aLjm9blV6JyeP7197IiaDy_27AfVj-RhU6cV0S1CzRVhZG11wsbJ-jSXSzweE-LQqx-bcZwnFGufZH6A9DGAo/s1600/DSC00496.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise in the Empty Quarter with Art Hub artists</td></tr>
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We’ll see what transpires on the writing front as a result… it
may be a blog recording the artist’s and my experience, or modern re-workings
of Arabic fables, maybe a new screenplay, or merely personal essays on my UAE
experience – we’re not sure. As the administrators of the festival keep saying,
it’s all an experiment. </div>
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So, I’ll keep you posted. <o:p></o:p></div>
Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-81058022150221259072014-09-26T05:23:00.000-07:002014-10-06T04:40:14.695-07:00The Trip to Liwa Starts in Oregon...<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At least for me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Oregon was the first vacation that John and I took together
as a couple. I remember going out to the sporting goods store wondering if it
was a strange for a gal to be purchasing rain gear for her first romantic getaway
with her guy. We were going to drive along the Oregon Coast and this included a
visit to one of the region’s rain forests.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The trip was fantastic and it’s high on my list for people
looking to do a scenic, even romantic, road trip, but one of the most memorable
stories from that trip was my search for that rain forest. On the day that we were to visit, we drove and the rain showers picked up. Then the showers turned to
steady, if not heavy, rain. And the trees grew larger and the canopies thicker. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">With my focus on the destination (and not the journey), I
wondered aloud where this damn rain forest could be. Searching on the map for some
sort of ‘entrance,’ I finally made John pull over at a visitor center and asked
the volunteer on duty how to get to the rain forest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He looked at me like I had three heads. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“You want to know how to get to the rainforest?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Yes,” I said, shaking the map. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The gentleman shrugged. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“You’re in it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I just didn’t get it. I wanted an entrance, something
official to mark this rainforest that everyone was talking about. (Or that I
was talking about.) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When we got to a small piece of National Park land, I was finally satisfied, if not somewhat embarrassed. That’s because the trees and the rain and the landscape
were just as beautiful, and just the same, inside the park as they were outside…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And that’s what it’s like going to Liwa. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmVGsrU38mu2-6GAhUpwqnXc4_9HDGw_AsXDLA4B_SBuBpJ_acqu2tXJuUWC3SmebFlTr3VAYIvNy16DL-8VOyzMb7OjiKb_ezMBPqglCOJiZ6xrZZ-BZp6qO7cvbQp5Ta2mvpAAcgNqnj/s1600/DSCN2071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmVGsrU38mu2-6GAhUpwqnXc4_9HDGw_AsXDLA4B_SBuBpJ_acqu2tXJuUWC3SmebFlTr3VAYIvNy16DL-8VOyzMb7OjiKb_ezMBPqglCOJiZ6xrZZ-BZp6qO7cvbQp5Ta2mvpAAcgNqnj/s1600/DSCN2071.JPG" height="183" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Excuse me, is this the entrance to the Oasis?</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When John suggested we take a weekend trip to the Liwa Oasis, I envisioned
driving down the road that cut through the desert, reaching a gated park where
we would pay our entry fees, be reminded to check out the gift shop and then stroll through a cool and shaded oasis that
would have some water, a camel and a palm tree or two…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Have I learned nothing? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In fact, the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liwa_Oasis" target="_blank">Liwa Oasis</a> is GIGANTIC. It’s sixty miles wide and
is home to nearly 50 villages (one called Liwa) with a spread out population of over 20,000
inhabitants.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf7DDr0VJYIgfcFqQfp25GvYFhauQ7nuzZ246tzh9-hhJ4RV-bHvPpK6lqGs3_vto7-opHYSOwTXtBU_TGAcEmbcyQeRIREQxv7sQbQ16bsIOcR-q-eRB81DSsmes6DJS-6InzhxHz7_nn/s1600/DSCN2073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf7DDr0VJYIgfcFqQfp25GvYFhauQ7nuzZ246tzh9-hhJ4RV-bHvPpK6lqGs3_vto7-opHYSOwTXtBU_TGAcEmbcyQeRIREQxv7sQbQ16bsIOcR-q-eRB81DSsmes6DJS-6InzhxHz7_nn/s1600/DSCN2073.JPG" height="182" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtqWI1UG0qmJ_rYcFcuKD1nm5LGluvl_V6MgAjPfYI0v0QO5W_PKas8b_ZnycTbdMp2JkH1e6dIFY5L7JRKexSnc__puRPVqdCeVIXyxX4rpXZYzZ-kFbjpcfNgsYW4lu7pD5TDSIN9nkD/s1600/DSCN2078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtqWI1UG0qmJ_rYcFcuKD1nm5LGluvl_V6MgAjPfYI0v0QO5W_PKas8b_ZnycTbdMp2JkH1e6dIFY5L7JRKexSnc__puRPVqdCeVIXyxX4rpXZYzZ-kFbjpcfNgsYW4lu7pD5TDSIN9nkD/s1600/DSCN2078.JPG" height="197" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Liwa Oasis</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Even more mind-blowing, the Liwa Oasis sits next to the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rub'_al_Khali" target="_blank">Empty Quarter</a>, the largest sand desert in the world. This massive moonscape of desert
dunes is about 250,000 sq. miles (apparently that’s similar to France, Belgium
and the Netherlands combined) and extends from the UAE through Saudi Arabia and
into Yemen and Oman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There isn’t much to do in Liwa beyond driving along the road
which borders the oasis and driving into the dunes of the
Empty Quarter, and I guess that's pretty much the whole point. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiUEvdPnxgFRz7QcmqjzwsoWu5S6sUpAHTzYJyZVfP4sAk4tJ-_JB3g7Dmd6KelXq4CpZOwCztPE1oGTW721isB9IC2LgB-jt2wgTwYhjS01SBmIyl7WZFJoL6YjlDxuz2iOxUQUd1dRST/s1600/DSCN2056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiUEvdPnxgFRz7QcmqjzwsoWu5S6sUpAHTzYJyZVfP4sAk4tJ-_JB3g7Dmd6KelXq4CpZOwCztPE1oGTW721isB9IC2LgB-jt2wgTwYhjS01SBmIyl7WZFJoL6YjlDxuz2iOxUQUd1dRST/s1600/DSCN2056.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The sand dunes from the Empty Quarter creep onto the roadway.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzeo_zveXkeyOVDqOohZUGqmZVOixuZRernaHlY5fmMb3nKqNOXlypmOAlnOoh0LXB1ZO43xlHU4ojIFNErn6mk-eW8Wk1jG5SRqaakg4LDX_cZWIgSmRPqfbrVX3mYNNryUqQGRRU3Nrf/s1600/DSCN2057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzeo_zveXkeyOVDqOohZUGqmZVOixuZRernaHlY5fmMb3nKqNOXlypmOAlnOoh0LXB1ZO43xlHU4ojIFNErn6mk-eW8Wk1jG5SRqaakg4LDX_cZWIgSmRPqfbrVX3mYNNryUqQGRRU3Nrf/s1600/DSCN2057.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Did I mention it's only about 120 degrees out? But it's a dry 120...</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhadqBnvVpk26lbZptFCO9rVggNyEz7mDAIKItq1VFISEQAxh18A5HGfWEsPuENXGMH2EClQwLSJXW2S7JL5GN-De6R-epA0Ns6StlMRvYDAvi0jRK87oVgCruTJtKW9x8U8wYpTUWja8uQ/s1600/DSCN2052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhadqBnvVpk26lbZptFCO9rVggNyEz7mDAIKItq1VFISEQAxh18A5HGfWEsPuENXGMH2EClQwLSJXW2S7JL5GN-De6R-epA0Ns6StlMRvYDAvi0jRK87oVgCruTJtKW9x8U8wYpTUWja8uQ/s1600/DSCN2052.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">This is not the tallest dune in the UAE, but it sure looks big.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxZ93yMzfqVaoVZb8LlYP3kKRTQ0o7Agq-vKJOIyvdFiyACljd8e2_iYdOzDAuGo2C4vVS7uSs1cP3wvhl2w4o6jBrjaIMIVaSA6BQNpzzIPB9fL5aAb8M0QtYO6byn1632hfimM-fhTF5/s1600/DSCN2046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxZ93yMzfqVaoVZb8LlYP3kKRTQ0o7Agq-vKJOIyvdFiyACljd8e2_iYdOzDAuGo2C4vVS7uSs1cP3wvhl2w4o6jBrjaIMIVaSA6BQNpzzIPB9fL5aAb8M0QtYO6byn1632hfimM-fhTF5/s1600/DSCN2046.JPG" height="332" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Driving out to the Empty Quarter. Look guys, no traffic!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That said, it is a must to drive out to the massive dunes that lead to Moreeb
Dune, the tallest dune in the UAE. There is also the gob-smacking <a href="http://qasralsarab.anantara.com/" target="_blank">Qasr Al Sarab Resort</a> to check out (I’ll be requesting a stay there for a birthday or
anniversary at some point!). <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The peak times of travel to Liwa are during the date palm festivals, the camel races, and during the camel beauty contest (Yes, that’s right, the Camel Beauty Contest).</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We stayed at the <a href="http://www.tilalliwa.danathotels.com/" target="_blank">Tilal Liwa Hotel</a> which is a nice property with
a lovely pool in a great location for camel activities, but not so much for
views of the Empty Quarter and checking out the town of Liwa. That's because it’s about
25 minutes north of Liwa toward Abu Dhabi so you’re not really in the heart of
the dune/oasis divide. That said, lovely room, nice restaurant, kind staff.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">During our visit we
were days away from the end of Ramadan and we saw lots of big SUVs with luggage
on top of vehicles coming from Saudi Arabia to celebrate Eid. Using the pool area was a young family from
Saudi Arabia consisting of mostly young women. Me in my ‘modest’ tankini and they in their ‘modest’
swimwear (imagine a <a href="https://ahiida.com/" target="_blank">lycra abaya</a>, and yes, they call it a burqini), it was the youngest girl’s look that told the
tale… she stared at me in my strange swimwear without hesitation and in the
water we all sort of carefully avoided each other. It wasn’t that they had a huge problem with my swim costume, but I think they were as uncomfortable (or
curious) with what I was wearing as I was with their get-ups. (Since then I’ve
invested in a few beach cover-ups to avoid any similar situations where I might be viewed as immodest or just a bit out of the norm).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, why did the trip to Liwa start in Oregon? Well, without that first
successful road trip with John, I’d never be on this wild journey to places
like Liwa. (So thanks, my love!)</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’ll be heading back to Liwa in coming weeks and look
forward to the experience of communing more closely with the desert. More on
that as in coming days, but for now here’s a video from the Camel Beauty
Contest! </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/8ZCqfrZpb4o?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<br /></div>
Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-4052127518862907412014-09-25T07:09:00.000-07:002014-10-06T04:40:49.863-07:00Princess From A Car Park<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s been a while since I’ve posted, and we are well
into the swing of all things post-summer here in the UAE. I’ve picked up my
golf clubs again, have been doing a bit of freelance writing work (paid,
apparently!) and reconnecting with the many expat wives here who flew the coop
for the summer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiawvPxr-ZO7AxwvwKKXvH5UmZNiW8THgZ7arebeWmvkkj83f0ku_zAtVel3tOWabFhgAV8tY7cWXqnTt3PADdh1VU-sCrrxsDoMRn9jxv_CM43wIPN5kMlBsznyx15KrivBn8aY_-n30ME/s1600/IMG_20140703_080316.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiawvPxr-ZO7AxwvwKKXvH5UmZNiW8THgZ7arebeWmvkkj83f0ku_zAtVel3tOWabFhgAV8tY7cWXqnTt3PADdh1VU-sCrrxsDoMRn9jxv_CM43wIPN5kMlBsznyx15KrivBn8aY_-n30ME/s1600/IMG_20140703_080316.jpg" height="200" width="112" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But the big story in the house this summer was our foster
kitten, Parker. Named because we rescued her from a car park, she cleaned up
pretty nicely. While I was completely smitten with this kitten, our other two kittens
in residence were not. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After keeping Parker with us for two months of non-stop
ball-playing (the girl loves to play ‘fetch’), non-stop swatting at the other
kitties’ tails, non-stop trying to eat our food from our plates and non-stop
purring all night long, we found her a new home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuDPnpln4tXdiZWk8QrxFy_iMbim1CJDOH3sK4u9Tb0fVfX-_GMTq5T-BC-ZLm3v8KdN2jigqs8oXUPVz4VwBscuwd6wd7nC0QqiyhlBmZP_NGoBMHbL106hfqUzQ528DmIEVNreMibDd1/s1600/Parker+House.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuDPnpln4tXdiZWk8QrxFy_iMbim1CJDOH3sK4u9Tb0fVfX-_GMTq5T-BC-ZLm3v8KdN2jigqs8oXUPVz4VwBscuwd6wd7nC0QqiyhlBmZP_NGoBMHbL106hfqUzQ528DmIEVNreMibDd1/s1600/Parker+House.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One Thursday evening, one of John’s work mates came around
and whisked little Parker off… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To Dubai.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In a Maserati. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Talk about a fairy tale ending... </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUzjE9i4sgosIy6MB-2sSOa1XUf4TSef_xUuX7ZOaSw9Gy5bKLKV2C9xrX4M6At1jShywM9mGZmn4n28VDRC1dyOnMR5O4OX1I_gUkcPRH0MvxRJDScFKTX-ouwPdqePPKpcBj52zwaOPV/s1600/IMG_20140831_160229.jpg" height="400" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="318" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All this gal needs is a little tiara, right?</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While I don’t know what the folks in her forever home are calling
her, ’Princess Parker’ is a true rags to riches story and she is part of a young
family that has three boys who love her to pieces and where she is the center of kitty
attention in her fabulous new home. YAY!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And even though many tears were shed (by me), we know in our
hearts it was the right thing for all kitties and people involved. Our Mido and Tessa are back to their old
selves (Parker made them both out of sorts) and we are all sleeping through the
night again. Double YAY!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On a sadder note, early in September we came across a
beautiful little dark gray tabby kitten who had taken harbor on the steps of
our apartment building. Unfortunately, this poor gal had been hit by a car and
was in very bad shape. We took her in for the night, fed and gave her a cool,
safe place to rest. The next day we consulted with the vets and agreed that her
suffering needed to end. That little darling passed over the kitty rainbow, but
she will be remembered and missed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We continue to check on the cats of the Corniche, though not
as often as we’d like. But now that the weather is cooling, we are looking to
be better about that. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<o:p></o:p>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-78937698178004010162014-07-12T08:17:00.001-07:002014-07-18T04:32:35.973-07:00You've Got Your Ramadan Problems, I've Got Mine<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s been two Saturdays since John and I sat on our couch
looking down along Electra Street watching a flurry of activity as Ramadan
commenced. We learned enough to not be surprised
that the supermarket was doing brisk trade, but when we saw the cars triple-parked, lights flashing, with a chaotic charge of kundara-clad men and
abaya-fied women heading into Starbucks for one last caffeine fix before the
holy month began, I have to admit, we had a bit of a chuckle. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since the start of Ramadan, I have felt a bit guilty
about laughing at that frenetic sight. The tone that came
over my neighborhood by the very next morning when I said good morning to my
normally gregarious doorman and normally friendly shop workers at the dry
cleaners was certainly a more somber one. So when John sent me a link to a <a href="http://www.bbc.com/news/blogs-trending-28165519" target="_blank">BBC article about #RamadanProblems</a>, a new trending term on various social media
platforms, I felt a bit of relief.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I’m not fed for a few
hours (say, five) my blood sugar crashes and I go into a state that the hubs
and I have come to term ‘bitch hungry.’ </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO4ifk3sF2lTO9Lgs5sJBE9DL-Gcbhd6LtcIdEB0s531toBmvM-g3Ul0f-1n2lVB_H8lkTl26ILeQCS-ZAC5zeckRSBXjWuOkFO2W_lv1xaivHqetqBN2GLy8GxXbhXU-VSQI5us4egiAJ/s1600/Ramadan+Probs1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO4ifk3sF2lTO9Lgs5sJBE9DL-Gcbhd6LtcIdEB0s531toBmvM-g3Ul0f-1n2lVB_H8lkTl26ILeQCS-ZAC5zeckRSBXjWuOkFO2W_lv1xaivHqetqBN2GLy8GxXbhXU-VSQI5us4egiAJ/s1600/Ramadan+Probs1.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bitch hungry, anyone?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You probably know the signs. Cranky
mood, spinning eyes, on the verge of a meltdown at the slightest of triggers --
like if someone merely looks at me funny. Oh, and when I’m 'bitch hungry,' I find
humor in absolutely nothing. For this reason, John can usually be found with a
stash of granola bars at the ready whenever we go on a road trip or are out and
about for a few hours… just in case.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So when I read about these Ramadan problems, I was impressed. Not only could fasting Muslims manage to last fourteen
plus hours without any food or water, but they could LAUGH about it as
well. That said, this is my first
Ramadan in a Muslim country, and if I plant my tongue firmly in my cheek, I
guess you could say, I have a few #RamadanProblems of my own… <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEDnSdJhAYNzupYqQvE1Vc6k0ukciWGb_26I5R36KvBKB-Op27PG0ebnfLetqGlOekrxCcipxhVgkGr2ubNaSsMbeha0MPDk8ipNh3yCL16F4uiDET4cdEhajVCcXHCb__UE3yjmqV40QH/s1600/ramadan3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEDnSdJhAYNzupYqQvE1Vc6k0ukciWGb_26I5R36KvBKB-Op27PG0ebnfLetqGlOekrxCcipxhVgkGr2ubNaSsMbeha0MPDk8ipNh3yCL16F4uiDET4cdEhajVCcXHCb__UE3yjmqV40QH/s1600/ramadan3.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This... Worse than the white man overbite.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For starters, every day for me is like one big blonde
moment. I find I’m constantly checking myself before I go out. Am I dressed
modestly enough? (Yep, shoulders and knees are covered.) Am I eating a candy
bar? (No, it appears not. I’m good to go.) Am I sure I’m not eating a candy
bar? (Yes, no candy bar.) Or walking down the street with a slice of pizza in
hand? (Nope, nope, they only do that in NYC, I’m good.) Then I slip on out to meet a friend and as I wait
in the searing sun I think, “Oh, I should just pop into this store and get a
bottle of water, since it’s so damn hot out.” And then I think, "DOH!" Because I
can’t drink water in public. And really, I do something like this every single
day.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another Ramadan problem I’ve been faced with is going to the
supermarket. In the morning it’s fine.
There’s still a sense of sanity, but one day I made the mistake of going in the
afternoon and it was mayhem. What I didn’t realize is that despite the
fasting, somebody’s got to prepare the evening and morning meals (iftar and
suhoor). So not only are you dealing with people’s mounting hunger (ever on the
lookout for those spinning eyes), there are so
many large-scale family gatherings that afternoons at the supermarket is like
food shopping right before Thanksgiving or Christmas -- a complete madhouse
(and a complete madhouse for thirty days!). And while I maneuver through it pretty
well, allowing people to cut me at the produce line and not even bothering at
the ‘deli’ counter and keeping clear of people with their carts overflowing
with food, all I can think is how pathetic I must look with my small shopping basket of cat food tins and a medium-sized slab of salmon to cook dinner for two.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIw0tPNy4l0Bot0c36g0_cCTY9xG0PGQRiVdB_JNeRnyys118Eo4CMN_M8kfIRGSnkd-sFmZ8nI1k6SnTFsAQFIXG1LPpKhowpMf5CjHPghZCuvYSkGpJXiY96pEbON6mu0GKnsswHGhgn/s1600/cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIw0tPNy4l0Bot0c36g0_cCTY9xG0PGQRiVdB_JNeRnyys118Eo4CMN_M8kfIRGSnkd-sFmZ8nI1k6SnTFsAQFIXG1LPpKhowpMf5CjHPghZCuvYSkGpJXiY96pEbON6mu0GKnsswHGhgn/s1600/cat.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What’s really noticeable is that during Ramadan, Abu
Dhabi is a sleepy seaside town during the day that becomes pulsing and alive at
night. After sunset, if you’re Muslim, there are iftars to attend, shisha to be
enjoyed, family to gather with, and shopping to be done (not for food, but for fun
stuff like electronics and clothes). At two in the morning there’s bustling street
traffic and the shops and the malls and even my dry cleaning shop closes around
one in the morning. I haven’t hit up the
malls at night since I prefer to avoid the crowds, and we haven’t done iftar,
because if you’re not fasting the feeling I get that it’s probably just like
going out for an Arabic meal, buffet style – and I hate buffets. But still, having a strong memory of my ‘party’ days back in NYC, there is this sense of ‘missing
out’ on the fun. FOMO, my friends call
it. Fear of Missing Out. But when you’re not Muslim, you really can’t expect an
invitation to the party.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc2S4KK697y83Fk9PM3s7U_RgQI-dm4nl_95reS1mI6z0RqNZSCuaOzrfg1hoifAtssEjNl60vN4qcUozYBDw7M42gROzm6-pzYBaKyehBgswTqQp4EiJV5l1sbqASi1yaezhpqnn0ZrHo/s1600/ramadan4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc2S4KK697y83Fk9PM3s7U_RgQI-dm4nl_95reS1mI6z0RqNZSCuaOzrfg1hoifAtssEjNl60vN4qcUozYBDw7M42gROzm6-pzYBaKyehBgswTqQp4EiJV5l1sbqASi1yaezhpqnn0ZrHo/s1600/ramadan4.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
So really, Ramadan for the non-Muslim in the UAE is just a
series of small inconveniences in exchange for some bonuses as well. The pubs
may not open until after sunset, but there’s no music allowed so you can have a
decent conversation with your spouse or friends. You may have to watch out for
the driver who floats from lane to lane delirious with hunger or
sleep deprivation, but the roads are overall quieter and less traveled (during
the day at least). And while there are very few restaurants or cafes open, I
can still buy bacon by the basket full. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Being here for Ramadan was discussed as a ‘really big
thing.’ I guess what I’m finding is that while this is starkly different to
anything I have ever experienced before… it’s not difficult, or unbearable. Of course, that's easy for me to say as I eat a cookie and a full English breakfast at whim, but out of sight.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRDA08iQwXB46t61B1k5mecNbyFq72NUAdm9KJp0Mflxu_yeuT9mu_l8UkI5HVdDQekrho8vjM73a0Xfbbzz0dPVuj-F5XXSmkKr1uZLiWEXbpNBZZfGtJOzIvOJSg6WsgALhiM0Z5ouDJ/s1600/Ramadan+Problems2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRDA08iQwXB46t61B1k5mecNbyFq72NUAdm9KJp0Mflxu_yeuT9mu_l8UkI5HVdDQekrho8vjM73a0Xfbbzz0dPVuj-F5XXSmkKr1uZLiWEXbpNBZZfGtJOzIvOJSg6WsgALhiM0Z5ouDJ/s1600/Ramadan+Problems2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
What I have learned is that as different as we are in our faith and
practice of it, we’re all just people, doing our thing, getting by with a bit of humor... so we’re really not that different at
all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I just hope I don’t run into my fasting, b*tch-hungry
nemesis any time soon. ;-)<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgybjmY8O4CKHlOndGo38d6Zegqxe4CB9wIsZqvF5zECELq4k2M2Ppn6CXljHyAhsmswRxsyijP0r1sSk-oxo0B1td2NOL52BkwJeHbavpAI-pirKTJmEPvLAUmJ-Gm8ZXeQqFvW5ephgSs/s1600/shoor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgybjmY8O4CKHlOndGo38d6Zegqxe4CB9wIsZqvF5zECELq4k2M2Ppn6CXljHyAhsmswRxsyijP0r1sSk-oxo0B1td2NOL52BkwJeHbavpAI-pirKTJmEPvLAUmJ-Gm8ZXeQqFvW5ephgSs/s1600/shoor.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-40484568172367110452014-07-05T06:55:00.000-07:002014-07-05T11:40:17.442-07:00Cat Capers in Khalidiyah<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m lying flat on my back, core tightened, sweating my
brains out with three other ladies nearby in similar poses. You may be thinking this gal must have moved on from
belly-dancing to Bikram yoga classes. But you’d be wrong. You see, this is the appropriate pose for 'kitten spotting in a car park.'</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It started with a few of John’s office mates, who alerted
him to an abandoned kitten left in the lower level of a car park near his
office. On Wednesday afternoon, there were text messages, phone calls and
images sent my way. Should we, could we foster? There’s already strong interest
in ownership… just a matter of working around trips planned, etc. Long ago, even before I arrived, I said no
fostering… fostering leads to ownership… we already have two… I didn’t want to
become a cat hoarder. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But how easily I broke surprised me, I hadn’t even seen the
little thing and already I was committing to helping out.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The plan was I’d go
to the Expat Ladies' coffee morning (priorities, priorities), then head out to the car park to try to capture the
kitten. When I mentioned it to a few new cat-loving friends, the next I knew we
had an afternoon planned. Tea with a quick visit of one of the ladies' own new kittens plucked up from a nearby school and picking up of cat carriers and off we went on
our mission with Maggie, Lynda and Rhie – all cat owners and very aware of the
plight of kittens here in Abu Dhabi.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAZV5Gq8INWBGWD5Zd9bEqQwOBThvgk5_kI87ONIRqLCDys4Kx4gyPqowBV4gdVH7dR0c5R5c4xd4xEPu_R4_hB2kMib3BvKiDRpQo4ujnPAm6DTXhr4pA8OM5L9dg-GqYyxnkcYIgruf2/s1600/IMG_20140703_080316.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAZV5Gq8INWBGWD5Zd9bEqQwOBThvgk5_kI87ONIRqLCDys4Kx4gyPqowBV4gdVH7dR0c5R5c4xd4xEPu_R4_hB2kMib3BvKiDRpQo4ujnPAm6DTXhr4pA8OM5L9dg-GqYyxnkcYIgruf2/s1600/IMG_20140703_080316.jpg" height="400" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kitty in the car park</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But this tiny kitten, not much bigger than the palm of my
hand, proved to be a far larger challenge than any of us thought. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a first go that included not only lying on the ground
in the sweltering heat of the underground car park, but mad dashes and sprints
as this nimble creature easily out ran and out smarted us all darting and
hiding in the engine and undercarriages of parked cars.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Who the hell dumps a single kitten in an underground car park?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, no one. But car engines are warm safe spots so many a
kitten here in the Emirates inadvertently hitch rides, finding themselves
zipped across town, separated from their kin, with just a small window of
opportunity to get help, get to safety, and to become something more than ‘just
another street cat’ in Abu Dhabi. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Luckily, with the Cat Ladies of Khalidiya (which included
John dripping in sweat in his business suit) at the ready, we weren’t about to
let that happen. After terrifying the little thing with our first attempt at
rescue and feeling a bit dehydrated (and unable to drink water in public due to
Ramadan) we went home and regrouped, before having another go…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Unfortunately, the second go was as unfruitful as the first.
This time the Cat Ladies of Khalidiya found themselves in the strange position
of being caught surrounding a high-end Audi SUV with towels and sheets at the
ready for when the kitty dashed off. When the car’s owner showed up he was a
bit startled by the scene… what the hell were these women doing surrounding and
shrouding the car? And despite his kindness and empathy for our plight (he’s
probably still scratching his head at the thought of us), when he drove off
(even after checking the engine, etc.), we were convinced we had lost the
battle… that this kitten would be hanging on for its life in another trip
across town.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dropping the ladies off, sans kitten, was tough. It’s one of
those little reminders here in Abu Dhabi that not everyone has it easy in these
parts. Some situations feel downright desperate, especially when nothing you do
seems able to help. But a final pass by the garage that evening with John proved
that this kitten was even quicker than the eye. There it was, nibbling at the
food that had been left out for it by its many, many admirers and carpark Samaritans. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It wasn’t until the next afternoon, after John put in a few
hours at work, that we gave it another try. This time I had a full arsenal -- a
carrier, a laundry hamper, towels, cat toys, cat food and even calming sprays.We had the exact same scenario with an SUV, our thinking the cat was in its
undercarriage and a woman who drove off… but after waiting fifteen minutes,
John spotted the little smudge of gray resting between two air compressors,
oblivious to John’s presence. I got the carrier ready and with a swift swoop
John scooped the kitty up and we were off in a flash, bringing the kitten back
to our flat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Woot! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZMnS9EAQz9F41HGtdsMqPiwyybkZdjwYp7jUn4DYPZPSweAMAHlNymMqwBQ0cuBmm8CyDne02FSrGPfZE7JrEojWhbiv0S-xLZ7RNJsWL_sc6Mgk2Uj37gdE34jyDdmjhCK46FzC8V-h3/s1600/IMG_20140704_161211-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZMnS9EAQz9F41HGtdsMqPiwyybkZdjwYp7jUn4DYPZPSweAMAHlNymMqwBQ0cuBmm8CyDne02FSrGPfZE7JrEojWhbiv0S-xLZ7RNJsWL_sc6Mgk2Uj37gdE34jyDdmjhCK46FzC8V-h3/s1600/IMG_20140704_161211-001.jpg" height="320" width="244" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kitten in captivity</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today we brought the kitten to the vet where we met another
woman who found an even younger cat in her car’s undercarriage. When she
learned she couldn’t just drop the kitten off, she ranted a bit. The cat would
have to go back out on the street, she yelled.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Next thing you know we’ll be leaving here with two fosters,”
I said to John. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But before that happened, the woman left in a huff, cat in tow. We had
our examination, and when we fell back out the door the woman had come back, looking
a bit more prepared to take the care of her undercarriage kitten. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“She chose
you,” I offered. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The woman smiled. From the look of her and her friend, I knew she relented. Another cat lady born. I’m not sure why this woman gave in, or why I gave in
on the fostering front. I suspect it’s because it’s Ramadan. Everyone, Muslim or not, has thoughts of being a bit
more caring, a bit more flexible, a bit more giving on their mind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway, our little thing, it turns out, is a girl. John has
named her Parker because of her carpark beginnings and her Arabic name is Ooday
which means ‘fast runner’ (great suggestion, Lynda and Rhie!). She’s already about eight weeks old. She hisses as
well as she runs, so there’s going to be a slow introduction
process for her and me and John… and later down the road to our kittens. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOw9Piu030Ka9EWLyrJqXxjzTF_S_hdR2PRXqhKVhzQ6hGYaNcMh8QV2Fa1ogyK9KrT2-jf7ltetjHSNfBPhfhmPSsbu7csBGEvA3rJDB2410-uLtIanM-7_v725gps6Ujin2H7Ljk1m-q/s1600/DSCN1988.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOw9Piu030Ka9EWLyrJqXxjzTF_S_hdR2PRXqhKVhzQ6hGYaNcMh8QV2Fa1ogyK9KrT2-jf7ltetjHSNfBPhfhmPSsbu7csBGEvA3rJDB2410-uLtIanM-7_v725gps6Ujin2H7Ljk1m-q/s1600/DSCN1988.JPG" height="400" width="380" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This gal cleans up well!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s only temporary,” I have to remind myself while
thinking that in reality, it’s not that big a deal, to be a professional cat
fosterer while we’re here (especially if I’m not working). One thing at a time, I guess. For now, we’re plying her with warm comfy spots in a room all her own, along with plenty of water and kitten food and kindness.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It's kind of funny to me, how situations unfold here. One minute you're having coffee, the next on a rescue mission, bonding with good people while doing a good deed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I guess this goes down as a good week. We saved this scrappy little fighter, my abs feel tighter, and I’ve made a few more cat
lady friends. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-28244019321063736492014-06-27T06:07:00.000-07:002014-06-27T06:45:33.942-07:00A Ramadan Knock-Knock Joke<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Knock-Knock.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i></i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Who’s there?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i></i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Ramadan.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i></i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Ramadan who?</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sorry to say, I don’t have a punchline. It’s just that<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramadan" target="_blank"> Ramadan</a>
is knocking on our door and it’s no joke. It's serious. There is no
Muslim equivalent to being a ‘Christmas Catholic’ here. People are preparing,
discussing, and fleeing town. The holy month begins here on Saturday evening,
with the first full day of Ramadan on Sunday.
And John and I are here to see our way through it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As most know, Ramadan is a time when Muslims around the
world fast during daylight hours. But what I didn’t know is that the month of
Ramadan is not about atonement, and the fasting that Muslims do is not about
looking for forgiveness for sins. It’s actually about living more simply, self-reflection
and becoming closer with Allah. So, this is not exactly a somber time, even though
I suspect I would feel a bit somber if I had to abstain from food and water for 14 hours a
day for 30 days. In fact, the word ‘celebrate’ is used a lot when referring to Ramadan and there are
sparkly lights being put up all around the city that reminds me a lot of…
Christmas. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUWCo3R9msClXRoENhgy6v1F0-wnGWzX6asQWTIYwq4uDD8K3UFHF5QbBT0djRn47967HvLpS6edrTKCX6FYI0cmk9xkCacMVGGR6Ycs3ou4houmgJGQbDi_RdCIcZkuX5umoHPhmg5x3I/s1600/2014-06-24_1403625009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUWCo3R9msClXRoENhgy6v1F0-wnGWzX6asQWTIYwq4uDD8K3UFHF5QbBT0djRn47967HvLpS6edrTKCX6FYI0cmk9xkCacMVGGR6Ycs3ou4houmgJGQbDi_RdCIcZkuX5umoHPhmg5x3I/s1600/2014-06-24_1403625009.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A light display in our neighborhood</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Christmas? Well, that’s confusing, right? Let’s confuse
things more. Because, right now at the supermarkets, there are heaploads of
foodstuff on display complete with point-of-sale promotions, discounts on
staple items and festive decorations that say “Ramadan Kareem!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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But it’s all about fasting, right? Yeah, but, after the
fasting comes the celebrations. This is
where we get into <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iftar" target="_blank">Iftar</a>, which are these large elaborate meals that ‘celebrate’
the breaking of the fast. Iftar meals seem
to be large banquet-style affairs or family meal gatherings, usually set up in
a tent. So far I’ve seen iftar tents set up at <a href="http://blog.conciergedubai.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/MG_3119-emirates-palace.jpg" target="_blank">hotels</a>, in town squares next to a
mosque near Hatta a few weeks ago, and even next to a private villa in our
neighborhood. John and I have even been invited to an Iftar hosted by his
company. (I can’t wait.) <o:p></o:p></div>
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Of course, being non-Muslim, I haven’t bought anything to
prepare. I wonder if it’s like not buying milk and bread in advance of a
snowstorm, or not having flashlights and a generator at the ready in advance of
a hurricane. Right now our pantry is not exactly stocked (I’m kind of a
buy-as-you-go kind of gal) and I feel like I should be squirreling away food,
putting together meal plans and hoarding a supply of pork products or at least
a package of dates. Oops?</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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As an expat newbie in a Muslim country, I’ve asked everyone
from my seasoned expat golfing ladies to my taxi driver what it all means and
how it will impact my life. On the surface it seems simple enough. Work hours
are shortened. Restaurants, cafes and food courts at the shopping malls are
closed during daylight hours and shops may or may not be open. If they are, the
hours may be odd. The other thing I was told is that dress needs to be really
kept in check, so any knee-baring skirts will be put into the back of the
closet for a few weeks (as a rule, I generally don’t wear shorts outside of the
home or on the golf course). Oh, and there’s also the issue of food and drink.
No food or drink (even water) out in public during the fasting hours. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Seems simple enough, right? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Well… yes and no. The challenges begin to dawn on you when
you start preparing for your day-to-day activities… <o:p></o:p></div>
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For instance, Sunday is a golfing day for me. Usually I get
up, throw on my golf shorts/skirt, crack open a diet coke and grab a granola
bar and depart the apartment with both in hand. Then I drive to the course,
radio (sometimes) blaring with one of the morning shows from Dubai. Out on the
course, I’ll drink lots of water, eat a pineapple Popsicle, and then meet the
ladies for coffee or tea and maybe a bite of lunch in the clubhouse before
heading home. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But this week, I will wake up earlier so that I have time to
eat in my home (if I’m seen drinking water or eating in public or even in my
car, I could be arrested, fined or publicly scorned). I’ll put my golf shorts
on, but will throw a long skirt over it as well. In the car, I’m not sure if
radio stations will be playing music (music is not allowed), so Lady Gaga may
be on hold for a while and I’ll have to be more mindful of drivers who are
fasting as there are <a href="http://www.thenational.ae/uae/transport/warning-to-motorists-racing-home-to-break-fast-this-ramadan" target="_blank">warnings about increased accidents and road rage</a>. As for
what happens on the golf course, it’s anyone’s guess. I suspect thirst will be
an issue and forget the Popsicles, and it’s only about 104 degrees here at Midday
at the moment. Back at the clubhouse, they may serve food and drink, but it may
be in a partitioned area away from any public view. Or it may be closed until
the evening hours. I just don’t know. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When I asked the taxi driver the other day how this will all
go down, he responded, “It will be extremely quiet. No one on the roads.
Everything shut down during the day.” I asked if he will continue working during
the day since the hubs relies on cabs to get to and from the office. He shook
his head. “I will stop work from 2 p.m. until 7 p.m.” He explained that he will
rest during this time, waiting for his fast to end… which means if my husband
hangs out at the office, I may become his personal chauffeur for the month. In
the evening, “everyone will be out, the streets, the malls, the hotels will all
be busy, people will be everywhere.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m not sure how this will all shake out. In the big scheme of things, this isn't going to be too big a deal. At least I hope that's the case. And there are several
things I like about Ramadan. I like the idea that fasting (and
also refraining from water, caffeine, cursing, smoking and a few other things)
is a way to get closer to one’s faith versus what I originally thought was some sort of self-punishment. I
also like that getting closer to Allah (or any god or higher power) is seen as something
to celebrate. I’d like to believe that if there is a god, then s/he needs to be
a kind and generous one. I also like the focus on celebrating iftar with
others, whether it be family, friends or friends you just haven’t met yet at
the iftar tent. The sparkling lights are nice, as are the small acts of
kindness and generosity that also go with Ramadan. Charitable giving is in
focus during Ramadan, as well as just being kind to your neighbor. And just like Christmas, there are megasales
going on, if you're up for going to the mall at 10 in evening… <o:p></o:p></div>
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Anyway, I suspect this slowed pace will provide for some
introspection and stock-taking of our own as well, but for now I do have a few
Ramadan projects:</div>
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<ul>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">John and I have a ‘playlist’ of television shows
and dvd box sets we are going to watch. Apparently, our Muslim counterparts
will be doing the same, as </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arab_television_drama" style="text-indent: -0.25in;" target="_blank">AIrabic television shows will premiere their newslate of shows, with series’ running through the month and ending at Eid.</a><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
(Fascinating!)</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I’ve got to clean my computer files, and
rejigger my email folders. This could take weeks.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I’m going to begin writing a new script. It
would be amazing if I could jam out a first draft in thirty days, but that’s
not going to happen, I just don’t write that way. At least it will get started.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I will be focused more on developing my writing
life here. I need to develop a schedule, set some goals, treat the writing like
a very important but (for now) unpaid job. Until a paid job appears or I sell a
screenplay. I will continue to job hunt in the travel/tourism sector here.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I’m already reading more, but I will read EVEN
more! I’m aiming to read 15 scripts in 30 days and finish reading two books. </span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Finally, I am going to attempt to construct a <a href="http://www.ikeahackers.net/category/hacks/pet-furniture/cats" target="_blank">cat tree</a>
for my two furry housemates. I think our apartment suits them very well, but
they are tree dwellers and need high perches, of which we have none at the
moment.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I tend to start and not finish
projects like this, so I will be mindful to only start what I know I can
finish. This will take planning, and tools, and possibly the use of a saw and staple
gun (thank god for that upholstery class I took last year!).</span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I will play less golf, socialize less during the
day (lots of people have left for the summer anyway) and not go to t</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">he beach
(can’t drink water unless I sneak into a toilet stall). I will shop early in
the morning instead of in the a</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">fternoon as I usually do. We’ll likely not go
out much in the evening, though we’ve been told our local will be </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">open after
7:30 p.m. each evening.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ll keep you all posted on our Ramadan experiences. In the meantime...<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2WmZd7DV-Yr56CTglss33ctU8H4DTnljGazP2riSsgz2S-S1bbYmONbkBfwOjUSyIeifwvec39d-WnLgWiVMgqA8gf_WV2Jo2Stg_Z85e9XMw_ZSfx-uoK_-2WjjHW2UKj3ev7FtrWow6/s1600/Studio-EM-Dubai-Interior-Design-Company-Ramadan-Kareem-Card.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2WmZd7DV-Yr56CTglss33ctU8H4DTnljGazP2riSsgz2S-S1bbYmONbkBfwOjUSyIeifwvec39d-WnLgWiVMgqA8gf_WV2Jo2Stg_Z85e9XMw_ZSfx-uoK_-2WjjHW2UKj3ev7FtrWow6/s1600/Studio-EM-Dubai-Interior-Design-Company-Ramadan-Kareem-Card.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Ramadan Kareem!</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-47213034515256002082014-06-22T04:56:00.000-07:002014-06-22T05:20:38.572-07:00Road Trip: It's Getting 'Hatta' HereIt's getting hot here. Not in the way where you're psyched to be hanging out with your friends at outdoor cafes in little tank tops and drinking rose wine full of carefree thoughts and wispy feelings. No. It's not like that at all.<br />
<br />
It's more like a worry, the heat. I'm trying to figure out how to get around it... how I'm going to walk to the supermarket without keeling over dead, or spontaneously combusting. It's not like I didn't know this would come. It's just that I have never actually 'felt' 111 degrees in the shade. Now I have, and it's only getting hotter. And for a gal who always loved summer, gets into a funk when it ends and has been known to curse all other seasons, all I can say is - be careful what you wish for...<br />
<br />
So, in advance of the heat, John and I set out to the <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/Attraction_Review-g295424-d478912-Reviews-Hatta_Rock_Pools-Dubai_Emirate_of_Dubai.html" target="_blank">Hatta Pools</a> in Dubai/Oman with a group called the <a href="http://sandpithash.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Sandpit Hash House Harriers</a> (best described as a 'social' running club). It was their last overnight excursion for the season and seems to be a much looked forward to annual event. We were in. <br />
<br />
The drive from Abu Dhabi -- taking the scenic route -- was just about three hours. The drive included crossing the border into Oman in Al Ain, driving along the stunning Al Hajar mountain range.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxgiO6wS2Xpm5mREfTUk2kMEa2AiGMJL1mMiO9ie0iKEhCPJd9Zh-p26sGtnI4JEqdrlJJENEGJSOIeiPDLloISm3Arto6Z5kpzesw_xcDEGCJRvNXHazfF9k3jVr6zkM9ycNcKRSaCEGX/s1600/DSCN1847.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxgiO6wS2Xpm5mREfTUk2kMEa2AiGMJL1mMiO9ie0iKEhCPJd9Zh-p26sGtnI4JEqdrlJJENEGJSOIeiPDLloISm3Arto6Z5kpzesw_xcDEGCJRvNXHazfF9k3jVr6zkM9ycNcKRSaCEGX/s1600/DSCN1847.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The road to Hatta. Glad it's paved!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Instead of camping like we did when we helped celebrate the Al Ain's 30th year of hashing antics in the desert, we took up residence at the <a href="http://www.jaresortshotels.com/Properties/hatta/hotel/Overview.aspx" target="_blank">Hatta Fort Hotel</a>, a darling spot with the 'throwback' feel of a family resort in the Poconos that has been transplanted to the Middle East. There was a fish pond. Bungalow rooms. Continental cuisine (onion soup, prawn cocktail and flambes made tableside). Two swimming pools. Welcome glasses of orange juice. And just about the nicest staff ever.<br />
<br />
But the hotel wasn't why we were there. We were there for the wadis... the dried river beds and carved out rocks with water still running through them to explore. We met up with about about 15 other hashers and set off, caravan-style through the town of Hatta then pulled off to the pools... then we parked, got our act together and floated down the first of two wadis...<br />
<br />
We lined up along a rock-carved slide and each took turns plunging in, wearing our shorts, t-shirts and footwear. From there we kind of swam along until it got shallow, walked a bit and then plunged in again.<br />
<br />
[Okay, okay... here's the thing. The guidebooks and stuff warn Westerners about bringing valuables to the pools. We read that cars get broken into, passports and wallets stolen, etc. Also, since I was going to be wading or swimming in the wadi, I couldn't bring my camera. Therefore, if you want a good sense of the Hatta experience, please refer to this uber-cool video below...FAST FORWARD to 1:45 for wadi wading.]<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/SmKxtqjncS0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
After the first wadi, we had a bit of a regroup and then proceeded to the second section. It was here that I decided not to continue on. Apparently there was a rather large narrow jump to maneuver, and quite frankly, like the guidebooks said, the water was, sadly, polluted with empty water bottles, orange rinds and food wrappers. All I could think was how sad that such a beautiful spot could become so... trashed. It's like another 70s throwback, how folks handle their litter here.<br />
<br />
After the pool adventure, it was back to the hotel and a bit of a hanging out for the evening.<br />
<br />
Then the next day, John and I took another road excursion... hoping to make our way up to Fujairah. Armed with our cell phones and map, we hit the road and followed the PAVED parts until they turned into UNPAVED parts.<br />
<br />
Of course, this left me nervous. There were lots of rocks so I was worried about changing flat tires in the 115 degree heat. And even though there were homes here and there, I don't know, it kind of made me nervous in the same way that driving down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere in the U.S. might feel... like something could go terribly wrong.<br />
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Luckily for us, the only danger we encountered were these 'free range' camels...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiopwVTXPvqTfxzliceAX3UW0Je0Tu_ziCT-CnEvYddhIjEy6cJpcN9zF_YuXA10qkZTpuev2GQuiPBBIUP91KOei4M5woIqwdpfwP6p0tnNTwde0gnXVHofK45IYvMDpKCyo68rzYGMAuH/s1600/DSCN1858.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiopwVTXPvqTfxzliceAX3UW0Je0Tu_ziCT-CnEvYddhIjEy6cJpcN9zF_YuXA10qkZTpuev2GQuiPBBIUP91KOei4M5woIqwdpfwP6p0tnNTwde0gnXVHofK45IYvMDpKCyo68rzYGMAuH/s1600/DSCN1858.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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And goats...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTv54gpm2Znf_n9KcZCLDT8x47REF8a4Ldx0eZ9zsvr9dUMNgVdlTQ3ouFHRFt4MJhoVkqaPFqo4j2L2ZrpYwsEGgANDD8GIu6PCpPeA1wvHGW_KaKrAN1u-gWH7qdy-MgM5QL5a-r_XAD/s1600/DSCN1861.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTv54gpm2Znf_n9KcZCLDT8x47REF8a4Ldx0eZ9zsvr9dUMNgVdlTQ3ouFHRFt4MJhoVkqaPFqo4j2L2ZrpYwsEGgANDD8GIu6PCpPeA1wvHGW_KaKrAN1u-gWH7qdy-MgM5QL5a-r_XAD/s1600/DSCN1861.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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But here was the road... [It's times like this that I thank god my mother isn't on the Interwebz!]</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsLmfuCTtsTvWhf6xSev5twuHoWBRo_35IBKgNkxKM0pNudwvhjHgjYTp9NV-F0-e7Z8UcVz4uTbOZU1_S29miZNPziHPoaZoXQijAEomVG4DLd29jyVhGv_KHgKBnM3Nb72G6q9miAu3b/s1600/DSCN1863.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsLmfuCTtsTvWhf6xSev5twuHoWBRo_35IBKgNkxKM0pNudwvhjHgjYTp9NV-F0-e7Z8UcVz4uTbOZU1_S29miZNPziHPoaZoXQijAEomVG4DLd29jyVhGv_KHgKBnM3Nb72G6q9miAu3b/s1600/DSCN1863.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deliverance, Middle Eastern-style.</td></tr>
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When we finally made it back to civilization, we headed to <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/Attraction_Review-g311321-d2517190-Reviews-Al_Hayl_Castle-Fujairah_Emirate_of_Fujairah.html" target="_blank">Al Hayl Castle</a> just outside of Fujairah. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoWyhgBeha2obF-XK6AuKUoBrC4GJjLUutBNOcRb_QVWZsP0tejPZOOD1yeGBcJxXTVv75K7lsJphgkiyPQFRbV6hLGFEqJHB7V7HVCQZUNfTKDAnG303dOOnfVKTrL0yDSdRNbby4-pRz/s1600/DSCN1890.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoWyhgBeha2obF-XK6AuKUoBrC4GJjLUutBNOcRb_QVWZsP0tejPZOOD1yeGBcJxXTVv75K7lsJphgkiyPQFRbV6hLGFEqJHB7V7HVCQZUNfTKDAnG303dOOnfVKTrL0yDSdRNbby4-pRz/s1600/DSCN1890.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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There, we were met by a 'guide,' who, to be honest, seemed to be making things up as he went along. "This place, for people shower... shampoo, razor, conditioner." Hmmmm... </div>
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Still, the place, which we still can't determine whether its 300 years old (according to the guide) or built in 1930 (according to a brochure that was given to us as a memento by our guide), was pretty cool. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO_grZHTuso3705B6o2SHbXD8Tyqgd4L2sstbdD_i75ZtSiKy8Nn8BxmX4xd76uNzRvk40l0Qs7ZYU5KRiIp36gcY9IZJSA6yet0Y-jpmVy_OXDCPmjescVaDjahQ2Cm6O6_VX6lDAbhpG/s1600/DSCN1894.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO_grZHTuso3705B6o2SHbXD8Tyqgd4L2sstbdD_i75ZtSiKy8Nn8BxmX4xd76uNzRvk40l0Qs7ZYU5KRiIp36gcY9IZJSA6yet0Y-jpmVy_OXDCPmjescVaDjahQ2Cm6O6_VX6lDAbhpG/s1600/DSCN1894.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The fort at Al Hayl Castle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg36J03W0O5KG52wV4yOEeTutyirFdS4pknBwUCXCGqccgCYCN3HcGzHAKI-wKKe2kP6KmxytoP55g_BqSlhAAP42PBKc6vIHwsTgK5S2JN8KzWwz_WaExMHzBkD1gtKFmOliWOeIRDNo4/s1600/DSCN1896.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg36J03W0O5KG52wV4yOEeTutyirFdS4pknBwUCXCGqccgCYCN3HcGzHAKI-wKKe2kP6KmxytoP55g_BqSlhAAP42PBKc6vIHwsTgK5S2JN8KzWwz_WaExMHzBkD1gtKFmOliWOeIRDNo4/s1600/DSCN1896.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John taps his fingers, he doesn't suffer poor tour guide information gladly...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjQ0YTUfAuU7BY7ykNFWcmBTD0u1W6eeCUZF93hkuQgC0gt3Smoi-R2lwRikoCRwA1Lppg3TNXH84pFBPMfl88Qha40ez3_TLL8gkFwBaGk7pOYf4HZ5VGR4AEAqankWtWPq74WLjl_2dY/s1600/DSCN1906.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjQ0YTUfAuU7BY7ykNFWcmBTD0u1W6eeCUZF93hkuQgC0gt3Smoi-R2lwRikoCRwA1Lppg3TNXH84pFBPMfl88Qha40ez3_TLL8gkFwBaGk7pOYf4HZ5VGR4AEAqankWtWPq74WLjl_2dY/s1600/DSCN1906.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our guide explains his wealth of useful information, 'The big man uses the big door, the children, the little door...' Really, we didn't have that much of a problem with this, except for the pretty aggressive shakedown for a larger tip than we had given after the tour...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Anyhoo, back on the road, we hit up downtown Fujairah... which looked like what downtown Abu Dhabi might have looked like twenty years ago...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQFO5FE9X07UQXbw3TUnF0ZOStWk5XW_UB0qN21fGRYHELin0FFBRUTEfVx4GcqRk453_wXPw1Sdjyx13bfbcx0qXsj5W7nbsZNU1fuXF4VzB0Mfq8Kg6ZVl0WwpWUAnZvpE_w2kglFGFE/s1600/DSCN1908.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQFO5FE9X07UQXbw3TUnF0ZOStWk5XW_UB0qN21fGRYHELin0FFBRUTEfVx4GcqRk453_wXPw1Sdjyx13bfbcx0qXsj5W7nbsZNU1fuXF4VzB0Mfq8Kg6ZVl0WwpWUAnZvpE_w2kglFGFE/s1600/DSCN1908.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Downtown Fujairah</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
A drive along the coast of the Indian Ocean (the waves were rough because of a tropical storm that had been heading to the area)....</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5H3VQbG8-nX914ZjQXPLIHa5rRNEOG5Sgikz-FBh1qj9c8MKvqXdcR3yy0vXcmBpX_ZOqL0Y1KNswvagRmILNi6gIdjRLVCmbByj_ukqplXaj9968MyibJhnOp1UVdsVAviqUX0153Em9/s1600/DSCN1910.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5H3VQbG8-nX914ZjQXPLIHa5rRNEOG5Sgikz-FBh1qj9c8MKvqXdcR3yy0vXcmBpX_ZOqL0Y1KNswvagRmILNi6gIdjRLVCmbByj_ukqplXaj9968MyibJhnOp1UVdsVAviqUX0153Em9/s1600/DSCN1910.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Indian Ocean, Fujairah's Corniche</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Then back to the hotel and poolside in the late afternoon.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUis9bGe0hJ0J0xR1FbcPEy1_ed4hFLCjHLsvFdVJ5MLllkqxcBdd4Hd63YuKzShVis8Fq9nf7S_W0F9vK8xtYWWo5zIaFbWv62iqvmOpnWGbXyIivfBwcJ-8XDCFkepxmeLTLqe5Lk1Kn/s1600/DSCN1920.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUis9bGe0hJ0J0xR1FbcPEy1_ed4hFLCjHLsvFdVJ5MLllkqxcBdd4Hd63YuKzShVis8Fq9nf7S_W0F9vK8xtYWWo5zIaFbWv62iqvmOpnWGbXyIivfBwcJ-8XDCFkepxmeLTLqe5Lk1Kn/s1600/DSCN1920.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hatta Fort Hotel... <br />
Where you can hang at the pools, play mini golf, hike the on-site mountain top,<br />
check out the koi pond and peacocks... or do nothing at all. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih_RSh3S50dXfXKVrwyc3BHTb2un_2KncLu3yaNAngvbc-zBtTXM5VaDJh0LyUpHL9wzpATuT_E5bkTMdsIn_VpffURgfUoxuPJksKnCS9HVYZBvvtsZKXZ0NnOV1-xXb8MIUox-U2irHL/s1600/DSCN1926.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih_RSh3S50dXfXKVrwyc3BHTb2un_2KncLu3yaNAngvbc-zBtTXM5VaDJh0LyUpHL9wzpATuT_E5bkTMdsIn_VpffURgfUoxuPJksKnCS9HVYZBvvtsZKXZ0NnOV1-xXb8MIUox-U2irHL/s1600/DSCN1926.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our bungalow.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was a lovely weekend and one of the things we've been told is that it's important to get out of town every few weeks. Not only because there is so much to see, but because a little decompression from Abu Dhabi 'city/work life' can be a very good thing.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFypUV2tbL0jpaxVvWIzGY_aErUES2-SjbBnUKr2XIT8o18ZBQIJNrENhP25whZ0HVtxgv8VCSQ8SwTPV1Xx7Lb_GsHLkCB064RR7nfTKOq2qNkoVAZfvAW9zGFo7sW4C5q04Gz7X69a-R/s1600/DSCN1918.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFypUV2tbL0jpaxVvWIzGY_aErUES2-SjbBnUKr2XIT8o18ZBQIJNrENhP25whZ0HVtxgv8VCSQ8SwTPV1Xx7Lb_GsHLkCB064RR7nfTKOq2qNkoVAZfvAW9zGFo7sW4C5q04Gz7X69a-R/s1600/DSCN1918.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The town of Hatta.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Til next time!<br />
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<br />Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-39306957816522246082014-06-16T01:13:00.001-07:002014-06-16T04:53:53.480-07:00Superstar, Supermarkets and Shangri-La<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">About a month after my arrival in the UAE, I learned that blogger
<a href="http://mannahattamamma.com/" target="_blank">ManhattanMama</a> was giving a lecture on New York University’s role in the UAE. I
went along and it was a fantastic talk that swirled around a number of subjects
including the UAE’s vision, the Emirati people, the education process, Frankenstein, what it
means to be female here, day-to-day expat life and what they might think
at home and so many other things that I wished I had taped it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Afterwards I went up to chat with ManhattanMama in a small
group of other new expats and one of the things she asked us was ‘Have you
cried in the supermarket yet?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the time, I thought it was such a strange question. I
mean, sure, I had experienced the frustration and chaos of not knowing that I needed to get my produce weighed and priced
BEFORE going to the cashier. And I had also survived the one or two glaring
looks (scowls actually, and I think I might have heard growling) by women who I
suspect thought my cart was getting a bit too close to theirs, but whateves,
right? So, I kind of shrugged at ManhattanMama, not really sure what she was
getting at.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But fast forward a few weeks and one day, there I was, standing
in front of the abbreviated pasta section of the local Spar supermarket, trying
to remember the difference between Spaghetti No. 2 and No. 3 (and wishing the box just said 'angelhair' like it does back home) when it started…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Long ago, and oh so far away….”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A familiar song over the supermarket sound system. A song and soundtrack supposed to cheer shoppers to buy more. Then came the sad clarinet, the grieving
sound of brass and violins, and the wistful croon of Karen Carpenter. My lip quivered. I started wincing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Loneliness is such a
sad affair….”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then, well, I lost it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/SJmmaIGiGBg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">An open, unrestrainable weepy crying jag as I pretended to study the ingredients of a box of
macaroni and cheese. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What the hell was happening? Where were my tissues? I didn’t
understand. Everything was <b>FINE</b> fifteen minutes ago… I was having a great day.
It included golf. And new friends. And sunshine. WTF was going on here!?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then it hit me. I
was homesick. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">@!*$#!*$#!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Seriously? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Earlier in the week, I had to say goodbye to a friend who
was visiting me in the UAE from home. </span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_bXXjvTedaUaUac4h4-2VXcTNorYxE5yT8RrZmTD_y0fOpee-a4wCQRWYWe9cqb3fro0k06fHWgZ6b_hXC_eCZLAhPTUMpDcWNuv8WO7mEMCgyn6aOfEG2XR6PjbddluCcBHIUinpqy0F/s1600/2014-05-17_1400346895.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_bXXjvTedaUaUac4h4-2VXcTNorYxE5yT8RrZmTD_y0fOpee-a4wCQRWYWe9cqb3fro0k06fHWgZ6b_hXC_eCZLAhPTUMpDcWNuv8WO7mEMCgyn6aOfEG2XR6PjbddluCcBHIUinpqy0F/s1600/2014-05-17_1400346895.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Having the time of my life when my BFF was in town.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There were lots of tears the evening of
her departure, but I knew that would happen. I’ve never been good with
goodbyes. Following a fantastic time catamaran sailing, visiting the mosque and
dune bashing, as she and her niece packed up their things I had this sudden
urge to pack my bags as well. I wanted to just continue the fun on the plane,
head back to the States, flop into my bed back in NYC, recover, and just get
back to my life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My former life, that is.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I was a kid at summer camp, they used to tell us that
homesickness wasn’t ‘real.’ But I’m here to tell you it is. It’s a low grade
heaviness that sits in one’s throat and chest, and wells up into tears at the
strangest and most modest of triggers…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like when I hear The Carpenters. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Or when John and I watch DVD episodes of Person of Interest
and Blue Bloods and with each new scene I try to pick out the NYC spot where it’s
being filmed, and if I recognize it, then I think about what the spot means in
my own personal NYC history. The Brooklyn Bridge, a park in Washington Heights,
a tree-lined street in Hell’s Kitchen… The Dive Bar. (Sigh.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Or when I went to the Gap store at the mall and spotted a
t-shirt that said, ‘Montauk, as East as it Gets!’ And suddenly I see a painful
irony. Montauk is… was, my turf, afterall, growing up on Long Island,
lifeguarding on its beaches and spending many, many, many summers out on its east
end. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Based on my world view at the time, Montauk <b><i>was</i></b> ‘As East as it Gets!’ </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Until I moved to the
Middle East, that is.</span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk3-0V2NU7HwiarOu0CmbuC7SE5wDxOxn4LIir-PsBTu4g9-ZGV-cela8XcCR-2eIgqENw06NMWVc61KGUgpw41GJVUkkjmQM2VX3NIJ6EjAz55RXAeDGALmAKB5yInlEX7qKet56if-aS/s1600/2014-05-24_1400938806.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk3-0V2NU7HwiarOu0CmbuC7SE5wDxOxn4LIir-PsBTu4g9-ZGV-cela8XcCR-2eIgqENw06NMWVc61KGUgpw41GJVUkkjmQM2VX3NIJ6EjAz55RXAeDGALmAKB5yInlEX7qKet56if-aS/s1600/2014-05-24_1400938806.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, the IRONY!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While I’m no expert in getting over homesickness (no 'Ten Tips!' here), I know
what has worked for me over the past few weeks is keeping busy, but not to the
point of being ‘overwhelmed.’ You can busy yourself to exhaustion here with all
the expat activities, so I’m taking care to take plenty of time outs, as needed.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The other thing I have done is just let people know if
I’m on the verge of a crying jag that I’m feeling homesick. This has resulted
in a lot of great talks with great women who have been there and completely
understand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But one of the best things I did was write a note to a few
friends basically saying ‘Hey! I’m homesick!’ And their response was awesome.
‘Hey! That sucks!’ they said. But then they filled me in on the day to day
things going on in their lives, the things they would chat about to me if were
together out for a run on the weekend. And that felt… well, great. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don’t expect you to have pity for me. Seriously, I know
these ‘expat problems’ probably sound worse than ‘white people problems.’ I
know what I signed up for, and I knew that this might come with the territory. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The reality is, as pretty a place this is, it’s still real
life. Despite the pretty photos, this ain’t no Shangri-la. There are bills and
work and worries that mingle in with the glamour, glitz and exotic-ness of the
place. And, like anything, you gotta take the good with the bad.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRX1s4Rzvs4hyphenhyphen_2w4CuUgLzIToZ0lhVdRwD8-uGzlCDIJzBjBmZeOSlBh_HAmlmuslMzYQZsF_d3JISnCbJIzZ0-ASBmhnsyjQPyJsATGXojVRJ157xZL98WlQa8OFYr9LUbJ-Gn5rPSbb/s1600/golf+w+ladies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRX1s4Rzvs4hyphenhyphen_2w4CuUgLzIToZ0lhVdRwD8-uGzlCDIJzBjBmZeOSlBh_HAmlmuslMzYQZsF_d3JISnCbJIzZ0-ASBmhnsyjQPyJsATGXojVRJ157xZL98WlQa8OFYr9LUbJ-Gn5rPSbb/s1600/golf+w+ladies.jpg" height="320" width="294" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The Fabulous Life: Golfing with Ferrari World as the backdrop</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So everyday, I get up and try to find some grounding. Lately
it’s been reading a chapter of a book. And when I get up, I put on my big girl
pants and think about the good stuff, the great new people I’m meeting, the
great golf courses I’m playing, the prospect of work in my future, the latest
screenplay I’m writing, the big and little adventures I’m having with John, our
beautiful cats, and the great little spot with a waterview we call home, for now.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So yeah, even though there will be times when I will find myself
crying in the supermarket, recently I also found myself in Dubai -- sexy,
fast-paced, swinging Dubai -- driving past the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burj_Khalifa" target="_blank">Burg Khalifa</a> with that ‘oh-my-god-pinch-me-now-because-I
can’t-believe-I’m-really-here’ feeling. Everything was good. Really good. And there was a kick-ass song on the radio…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And it wasn’t The Carpenters. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because that sh*t has been permanently banned from my playlist.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252790999613288723.post-26046247833098501302014-06-06T03:36:00.000-07:002014-06-19T01:37:21.632-07:00Licensed and Dangerous<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsA37O1rOqu1ZUK5oAgKbDPtXX87tRNO890xgPnmt949vYx7mIE-bAa2W_IOqtcD4ItihX9XdVZcCPh38PCEfFlyUGLtH2p3e4JRfixKAL46hlZ3tYcD1dm7-nE0YhxBVOQKE7gG1iFZSo/s1600/IMG_20140602_0003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsA37O1rOqu1ZUK5oAgKbDPtXX87tRNO890xgPnmt949vYx7mIE-bAa2W_IOqtcD4ItihX9XdVZcCPh38PCEfFlyUGLtH2p3e4JRfixKAL46hlZ3tYcD1dm7-nE0YhxBVOQKE7gG1iFZSo/s1600/IMG_20140602_0003.jpg" height="144" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I recently got my UAE
residence visa!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And I just got my drinks
license...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And I also just got my
driver’s license… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s like turning 18
again! I’m licensed and dangerous, people!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So for starters, my
residence visa means I can stay here with the hubs. YAY! The uncomfortable
part of the visa is that my official occupation is ‘HOUSEWIFE.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For those of you who
know me (and my lack of domestic goddess skills), STOP LAUGHING. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For those who don’t know me
well, or at all, I find things like the residence visa, drinks and driving
license to be some small karmic joke. Because when it comes to driving (for
women) and alcohol (for everyone) while it’s allowed, there is a bit of process
to be able to do both here in the UAE. You see, in order to do either, you need
to be licensed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Okay, fair enough.
Pretty much the same as home, right? Well, here it goes just a bit further for
women. Because in the UAE, you also need to get permission (which they
call a ‘no objection’ letter) from your husband to drive (if married, or here
on your spouse’s visa). And in order to get your drinking license, you go under
your husband's license.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Does this bother me?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Shrug. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Am I going to make a big
deal out of it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">(Seriously?) Okay, in
truth, I’m a bit of an Alpha-Gal. I married after 40, and have always been g*d-d*amn
independent and all that. Really, my marrying was like the Taming of the Shrew. So yeah, having to get the okay from my spouse stings a little.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Maneuvering
through the licensing and the husband permission slips, I find I have to keep
myself in check a bit and be polite on the feminist front. I realized that I a lot of times here I have
to take into account the world views that I’m surrounded by. To me or you
(reading this someplace in the West), this licensing stuff may seem restrictive
and wrong. But from where I am now in the Middle East, next to a country where
the women MUST wear abayas and cover their heads in public and NOBODY can drink
alcohol and the women not only can't drive cars, but they can't even drive a
motorized golf cart if they are out on the links. So in truth, I think I've got it pretty good. In fact, when I compare things here to the place next door, I
consider myself lucky to be in a place that’s so progressive. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And yes, there are many women
on the road. And yes, plenty of Emirati and other women from other Arab nations drive.
And talk about girl power, Range Rovers seem to be the Emirati female vehicle
of choice, when not being chauffeured in a Maybach, that is. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But I digress… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When it comes to
driving, I’ve been enjoying cab rides all around town (at dirt cheap prices!).
In that way, it feels a lot like NYC in that even if you have a car, most of
the time it's just easier to take a cab. The only time I really want to use the
car is when I'm golfing because the cabbies don't really know their way to the
golf courses, and for a while, neither did I. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This has made for rather
interesting encounters with local cabbies. Somehow, I managed to get a lot of
new cabbies when I arrived, the ones who were on their second day on the job. Together
we’d manage the roads, me pulling up my google map on my phone and co-piloting --
not always getting the directions right. In fact, one morning instead of ending
up on the driving range for a golf lesson, my cabbie and I ended up taking a driving
tour of the horse stables adjacent to the golf course at the Abu Dhabi
Equestrian Club. Driving around large flower planters meant to keep the cars
from going too fast wasn’t how either of us expected that morning, but it was
fun teaming up, getting through it together and finally getting to the place I
needed to go. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">John was great when it
came to getting my driving license. He managed most of the paper work and he
brought me to the DMV. I suspect this is because I'm not known to be a morning
person (we showed up at 7:30 a.m. when the place opened). Showing up unfed and
uncaffeinated meant I was primed for a public meltdown. So John kept me calm,
coached me through, and we were in and out in fifteen minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s definitely handy to
have driving privileges, but the driving here is definitely on par in terms of
‘craziness’ as New York City. No, there aren’t as many traffic jams or pot
holes, but the driving style is different. You've got drivers from the US, UK,
Australia, New Zealand, India, Pakistan, Africa and other places in the Middle East all
trying to get places in a hurry. You never know what side of the
road the driver would prefer to be on, or if the driver’s other car is a
Lamborghini… or a goat… so you have got to be always anticipating the other
guy. Always. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When it comes to
drinking… Up until now I’ve enjoyed just giving the hubs a list of goodies I’d
like from the discreet little liquor shops in the neighborhood. These shops are
the ones with no windows and obscure names like 'African and Eastern' (which I originally
thought sold artwork and furniture from Africa) or 'Gray Mackenzie &
Partners' (which I first thought was a men's clothing store, night club or law
firm). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I figured that getting
the drinks license wouldn't be too much of a big deal. All puffed up from
having my resident’s visa and driving license, I jumped on the 'Special
License' web site and began filling it out. In no place did it say that I
needed to have my husband apply for it on my behalf, providing his 'no
objection,' but when I got to the part about my occupation and income the quiet
realization came over me that this wouldn't be an independent endeavor, but one
which the hubs would have to do for me and provide permission for...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And yeah, I kind of
growled at this... But an alcohol license is sort of a must have if you like to
imbibe without the worry of the authorities. They ask for it at the shops and you never know when the bar you're in
gets raided (kidding, this isn't the Lower East Side. Bars DON'T get raided, at
least not the ones I've been to… yet.) Also, if you’re a visitor, you can drink
in the hotels and other designated ‘tourist’ spots. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, yeah! I’ve reached a few major UAE milestones. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My residence visa… my
driving license AND my alcohol license. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Drinks are on me, peeps!
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That is, if the hubs has
'no objection.' ;-)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0