Expat Paparazzi

One of the strangest phenomena of the Abu Dhabi ex-pat experience is what I call the 'Expat Paparazzi.'

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." 

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). 

Go for coffee with new expat friends? Snap a photo! Go for coffee with old expat friends? Snap a photo! 

Yoga class? Snap! 

Tuesday morning golf? Snap! 

Pool date? Mani-Pedi? Book club gathering? Snap! Snap! Snap!

Sure, at first I saw the excitement. “We’re in a new place! Doing new things! With new-found friends!” But after a while, any time somebody called out to me to gather for a photo, my eyes began to roll. 

"Not this again," I thought. 

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.'

But posing for a group photo after going to see a movie??? (I mean, come on, right?!)

Recently, however, I began to have a different view on the whole Expat Paparazzi thing.

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.

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. 

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!)  

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. 

So now when it comes to the 'Expat Paparazzi,' and someone jumps up and wants to take a group photo, I'll understand the meaning of it more. I realize that maybe it's not about the social media and the 'look at me, look at me' aspect of it, but of the fleetingness and the 'here and now' of it.

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.  

Or maybe, I will be the one with the itchy feet and be next to move on.

So, from here on in, I’m embracing the Expat Paparazzi.

I’ll be the one throwing myself in the middle of the group photos. Snap!

I’ll be the one smiling big for the cellphone camera. All six iPhones at a time. Snap! Snap! Snap!

I’ll be the one looking around and taking in -- really taking in -- the people I'm sharing the moment with. Snap!

And not just here in Abu Dhabi. When I visit home and spend time with my nearest and dearest peeps, too. Snap! Snap!

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. 

"It’s not about the photo," she said, "but the moment shared."

Snap.

Ramadan Redux

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.

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). 

A date and camel's milk is the traditional
way to break one's fast during Ramadan

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.

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.  

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 Iftar 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..

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.

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).

Waiting for the sun to set in Al Ain

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.). 

In fact, our local newspaper reports 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.   

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).

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.

Ramadan Mubarak!

Excess Baggage: The Reality of Expat Luggage

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.

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.

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 tiara...

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:

“Do you have any dangerous liquid or anything flammable in your bag?”

“No.”

“Batteries?”

“Nope.”

“Explosives?”

“Definitely not.”

“How about car parts?”

“Car parts?”

“Yes, car parts.”

“Well… as a matter of fact…”

Yep, not ball gowns. My bags were running over with car parts.

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.

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:

• Three cases of cat food (that’s 72 cans, people!),
• Liquid concentrated chicken and beef stock (because the canned stuff is absent here),
• My favorite cooking pan,
• My oversized Starbucks insulated coffee cup for iced coffee,
• My cheap but oh-so-awesome vegetable slicer-dicer doohickey,
• An array of vitamins and health supplements,
• Six sticks of deodorant (hey, you get stinky in the Sandpit!)
• My big fluffy winter slippers (because the air conditioning is hell on my always cold feet),
• 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).

…And an England hat.

The reality of my excess Expat baggage.

What kind of life these TSA guys must have pieced together from this stash was almost laughable. 

And yet, this is reality of the excess baggage of the expat housewife.

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.”

And indeed, Abu Dhabi does have EVERYTHING…

Except our cat’s favorite flavor of Fancy Feast…

…and I don’t seem to be able to cook meals as well in any other skillet than my beloved pan…

…and that vegetable slicer? We go way back.

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:

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.

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) can bring back those beloved items that make me feel a bit more connected to my life at home.

• My favorite wool sweater, ratty fleece and ripped shorts for house-lounging;
• That running club t-shirt with the NYC reference that once had little meaning but now speaks volumes to others about who I am;
• My most favorite dog-eared writing books.

Of course, the problem becomes what will go back when the time comes...  

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.

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. 

“We had many great parties with this bar,” she said. “So many friends… we celebrated… everything.”

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.

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.

It’s not just part of the expat life. It’s part of ANY life.

It just goes with the territory.

  

A Ramadan Knock-Knock Joke

Knock-Knock.

Who’s there?

Ramadan.

Ramadan who?

Sorry to say, I don’t have a punchline. It’s just that Ramadan 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.  

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.

A light display in our neighborhood

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!”

But it’s all about fasting, right? Yeah, but, after the fasting comes the celebrations.  This is where we get into Iftar, 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 hotels, 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.)

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?

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.

Seems simple enough, right?

Well… yes and no. The challenges begin to dawn on you when you start preparing for your day-to-day activities…

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.

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 warnings about increased accidents and road rage. 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.

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.”

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…

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:

• 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 AIrabic television shows will premiere their newslate of shows, with series’ running through the month and ending at Eid. (Fascinating!)
• I’ve got to clean my computer files, and rejigger my email folders. This could take weeks.
• 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. 
• 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.
• 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. 
• Finally, I am going to attempt to construct a cat tree 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.  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!).

I will play less golf, socialize less during the day (lots of people have left for the summer anyway) and not go to the beach (can’t drink water unless I sneak into a toilet stall). I will shop early in the morning instead of in the afternoon as I usually do. We’ll likely not go out much in the evening, though we’ve been told our local will be open after 7:30 p.m. each evening.

I’ll keep you all posted on our Ramadan experiences. In the meantime...

Ramadan Kareem!