This is not about cars

Not too long ago there was a little event that occurred in Abu Dhabi, you might have heard of it… the Formula 1?

Yes, well. Much hoo-ha was made over it all over the world and though it appeared that the UAE had gone F1 crazy (!!!), most of the people I spoke to were decidedly “meh” about the whole thing. The biggest draw was not the cars, but the bands playing after each day of racing. We had Beyonce, Kings of Leon, Aerosmith – all very exciting but the shame was that you had to shell out for a race-day ticket in order to be able to see the bands.

The lead up to the race weekend was quite mental. For months there were stands in the malls where you could win tickets to the races, advertising was everywhere, they closed roads to clean and re-paint the sides and markings, the Corniche was brought to a standstill while one of the cars was filmed going up and down, up and down, up and down the same strip to be used in various kinds of PR and road safety stuff.

Ferrari Red was the colour of the season, and no-where more so than on Yas Island.

Abu Dhabi is an island, separated by a very thin strip of water from the mainland. The island of Abu Dhabi is, itself, surrounded by loads and loads of smaller islands, some of which are accessible by car and some by boat. Some are natural and some are man-made, created as a result of dredging the very shallow waterways around Abu Dhabi Island in order to create “paths” for boats to avoid getting banked.

One of the natural islands is Yas Island and Yas was selected to be the site of the F1 track. In a rush of construction that is still on going today (I can’t seem to find out when it was actually started) Yas, which was first turned into a nature reserve, now has the Marina Circuit (site of the F1) which is straddled by the island flagship Yas Hotel, a golf course, several other hotels and in the future will be the site of Ferrari World (allegedly the world’s largest indoor theme park), Yas Mall, a water park, a Warner Bros theme park, residential buildings and a scattering of marinas.

Formula 1 came and went and life returned to normal, except that now there is a whole new glut of hotels and their bars and restaurants to explore!


This weekend, O and I decided to explore Yas Island. We had the choice of going to the new Rotana (we are rather fond of Rotana hotels, since we stayed in one most of the time we were out here exploring and looking for a place to live) or the Yas Hotel. Cuisine was the deciding factor so we booked in to the Japanese restaurant, Kazu, in Yas Hotel.

It was a good thing that we went for the Yas Hotel because it’s a sight to behold. The outside has no sharp lines, it is all curved and smooth covered with lights that cycle through a small range of colours, which gives the impression of being organic – especially when seen from the approach out of Abu Dhabi. The inside is incredibly modern, the lobby and public areas of the hotel look like the space shuttle terminal out of 2001. It is all WHITE and very bright. Once your eyes get used to the assault of so much glaring brightness it is an interesting structure, but rather clinical for a hotel. It is a little too easy to get disoriented because all of the corridors look the same, but this in itself added to the sense of adventure for the first time visitor.

We were escorted to the restaurant, which is along a corridor that appeared to house all of the other restaurants also. After glancing briefly into the other restaurants I’d complain that the sense of being in some sort of terminal (either airport or spaceport) remains – each seemed to be of the same basic design with only the soft furnishings and the colour of the walls differentiating one from the other (although, this is based on only a brief glance inside and I may have the wrong impression).

We sat outside on the “terrace” which overlooks part of the race track. The terrace, again, perpetuates the airport feel – all of the tables and chairs along the row were exactly the same, even though they belonged to different restaurants and the view was somewhat less than exciting since the track was empty.

The food was simply awful. Actually, that’s not fair, not ALL of it was awful, but enough of it was so bad that we complained. Grilled chicken skewers (yakitori) was delicious, so I suspect the tepanyaki or anything from the grill would be good, but the edamame with chilli and garlic tasted like it was smothered in kebab shop chilli sauce, the seared scallop sashimi wasn’t seared in the slightest, the tuna belly nigiri was off and the other nigiri had been made a while before and left to sit out, resulting in an unpleasant sheen to the salmon and a distinct lack of flavour. So put off by this point we didn’t even try the yellow tail. The salmon sashimi was fresh and delicious and the spicy tuna hand rolls were nice although the nori was incredibly tough and we had to request the hand rolls to be made without the spicy mayonnaise that they always seem to come with here.

Our complaint was received with good grace and offers to replace what was below standard. We declined. The offending items were removed from the bill and we were given complementary scoops of green tea ice cream, which was a nice gesture though – sadly – the ice cream tasted awful. Clearly made from and tasting very much of UHT milk/cream and barely a whisper of green tea.

We moseyed on down the terrace to the outdoor seating for Atayeb which describes itself as a Pan Arab dining spot. Despite the identikit furniture, this looked very nice, and they offer shisha on the terrace. After pausing at Atayeb for a smoke (not cigarettes – still off those, go me!) and a beer or two we found our way to one of the four bars Yas Hotel boasts. We went to “Rush”, the hotel’s signature bar. Despite it being absolutely empty (well, not absolutely, but near enough) and the pretentious name the atmosphere at Rush was quite nice. I’d definitely go back again, even though the drinks cost an arm and a leg – although that is pretty standard out here.

The only snag, really, was getting home. Since Yas Island is not yet a popular destination for the late-night revellers (even on a Friday night) there is a distinct lack of taxis coming and going between there and Abu Dhabi island. I fully expect this to change, but for the time being it is necessary to ask the concierge to phone for a cab. In our case, he at first wanted to charge an extortionate fare – but the concierge was able to find someone much more reasonable. He only charged us twice what it cost to get there.

It was a lot of fun visiting a new place. Abu Dhabi isn’t small, but it isn’t large enough so that a new restaurant/bar/hotel/anything opening gets lost in the noise. Which means that anything new gets a lot of attention and buzz, whether it deserves it or not! Though there are still some restaurants and bars to be discovered, I predict the lure of Yas Hotel will be short lived. There are other, comparable, hotel-complexes which have more character and diversity that are no further away (and in fact are currently more easily accessible) than Yas.

Aaaaand Employed Again

I have found myself gainfully employed again, after a brief but enjoyable period of having nothing but housework to avoid doing.

Funny thing really – for all my months and months of applying for jobs, this one found me!

It was while my mum was visiting, we were treating ourselves to an expensive day on the beach (the public beach has been closed for months now while they are renovating it – again – after being open for only 6 months, so we had to go to a hotel) when I got a call on my mobile asking if I was interested in an Executive Assistant opportunity.

My reaction was decidedly lukewarm. But I had another conversation with the person who called, found out the job was a little more involved than I had thought, and decided that I’d be stupid not to go for an interview, because at the very least it would be some much needed interview experience.

First interview was ok, saw the office and met the woman I’d been speaking to on the phone. Both seemed quite nice. I learned more about the job and found it would probably be more interesting than I had thought, and certainly nothing like my last “assistant” role. What’s that thing they say about having to eat your words...? Yeah.

The decided lack of experience on my CV had me convinced that I wouldn’t be invited back for the second interview – so I carried on applying for jobs and avoiding housework.

Imagine my surprise when I got called in for that second interview, this time with the guy whom I’d be assisting in an executive manner! It went well enough, but once again I didn’t expect much to come of it. I went against advice and was completely honest about my experience and abilities, it would have been silly not to – they had my CV and could see that I’d had one “real” job aside from doing the PhD. However, an unexpected trump card revealed itself, when the guy whom I’d be assisting (henceforth to be known as “008”) said that he’d done a PhD and when it finished realised that he didn’t want to go into academia!

Trump card or no, I still didn’t hold out much hope that I’d get the job.

So, once again, I was somewhat surprised when I got a missed call while getting a leg-wax from the woman who had called me the first time when I was on the beach telling me that I had the job! Who’d of thunk it?!

I accepted, needless to say. It would have been foolish not to for all manner of reasons, the current economic climate being just one (and incidentally, who’d have thought that a phrase like “current economic climate” would become one of those that just trips off the tongue with the greatest of ease? Fun times, eh?).

Fast forward a few days and I had decided to treat myself to a mid-week sun-bath before I start working and have the chance of doing so taken away. Lying there on the self same beach I’d been on with my mum when I had that monumental first phone call and work calls again. I did not say that I was sitting on the beach (again), because I didn’t want to give the impression that I am a complete WAG, but listened while I was told that I needed to email a copy of my passport because they needed it to process my IT equipment. No biggie, thinks I, that’ll be to give me access to a desktop computer, an email address and to put me on the phone system. No no! In fact, it was so that I could get my laptop and my blackberry. I suddenly felt very aware of a heavy weight of responsibility settling itself on my nicely tanning (burnt) shoulders. I’m pretty sure I laughed. All I had running through my head was thoughts of: You see this phone? It means we OWN YOU!

I also couldn’t understand why an Executive Assistant should be in want of a laptop AND a blackberry, which made me briefly entertain the fantasy that I would actually be working for someone who was kind of like James Bond… hence the “008”… (Eddie Izzard has NOTHING on me.)


I’m starting my third week at work now, and so far it’s been ok. Had a few incredibly stressful moments and a few terribly boring ones. There’s a huge amount that I don’t understand, but that’s inevitable with any new job, and especially when one isn’t trained in the field of that job.

I’m finding my feet and getting to know the people who work around me. Everyone is very nice, very welcoming and very helpful. The office is small-ish but not too small. The only complaint is the long hours, but it’s standard here. I try* to get to work between 7:30 and 8 and 5 is the earliest I’ll go home.

Home time, whatever time that may be, is wonderful. It’s winter so the weather is gorgeous right now and I walk home! Depending on the height of my heel it can take anywhere from 20 to 40 minutes, I pop in my iPod and take my sweet time strolling around the centre of Abu Dhabi. There are always loads of people around, walking and driving, and I feel terribly cosmopolitan and smug thinking about my half hour of daily exercise. But joking aside, I’m finding it a great way to let go of the day, especially a stressful one.

My last job was depressing because it was so brain meltingly boring and kinda soul destroying. This one is way more stressful (in my last job I was finished all my daily tasks by 10:30 and had to hope for something to come up, in this one I stayed long after most people had gone on a Thursday to try and get something finished) but I feel like I’m actually doing something with my day, that my job has value and, should I want to, there is a career path I could take here. In the last two weeks there were at least three times when I thought that I was in over my head and maybe I should leave within my three months probation period, which is kind of distressing and definitely one of the reasons I need my walk home in the evening.

I don’t know what I’m going to do in the summer though!




*This is a whole other blog entry in itself!

Unemployed Again

My job was only temporary – six months filling in for someone who was on leave – so it wasn’t exactly a surprise when I was told that my services would no longer be required (only they were much, much nicer than that – they even bought me a going away present!) and I had actually been expecting it to happen two months earlier.

I worked the full six months, which is fantastic in terms of pay, but was more than enough in terms of time in the role. I was soooooooo not right for that job. It wasn’t especially difficult, it wasn’t especially challenging (apart from sometimes, but then any job is challenging when you have to deal with ‘special’ people who seem to have been put there for the sole purpose of making you want to bang your head against the desk and gouge your eyes out with a rusty tea-spoon).

But really, that was part the problem (the challenging bit, not the head-banging/eye-gouging bit). The role was not challenging in any way after the first couple of weeks. After learning all the processes and who everyone was and which gloves to use to handle them… that was it! And very often my set tasks were completed before lunch and I had to wait for something else to come up. No challenge.

I was bored and frustrated, but it taught me about the kind of jobs that I absolutely will not be applying for now that I am looking again. Anything with “assistant” in the title is out (unless the job title is “Jonny Depp’s Bathing Assistant”, in which case I might make an exception – depends on whether or not dental is included in the health insurance).


And so begins the dance of looking at job advertisements online, filling in their make-you-want-to-tear-your-hair-out application forms, attaching my CV and cover letter and never hearing a thing from them.

Job hunting everywhere is tough right now – I know that. I have enough friends (I do too have friends!) in enough parts of the world to have a decent idea of what the job market is like across a fair proportion of the globe.

Really, it is no harder to find work here than it is anywhere else. In fact, if you are in the right industry then you’re golden! Sadly, I am not in the right industry and so I am more like slightly tarnished tin.

Here’s the thing. If you’re in gas, construction or engineering you will be snapped up – in some cases they’ll even train you! Though they do prefer that you be Emirati for that. Anything else and you can find work, however you had better have been doing the exact role that is advertised for, oooo, let’s say 5-15 years.

‘Transferable skills’ is not a commonly known commodity, I’m sad to say. And since I abound with transferrable skills and not very much else… I’m not hearing a lot of response back from the applications I send out.

I’m really not going about this the right way, I know that. I know that I should be shlepping my bum around to all the places that I want to apply to and speaking directly to the HR department. But, to be honest, the thought of all that makes me very nervous. I’ve not had to do stuff like this before. Of course I’ve had interviews, but that was always in the academic world, which I know! I don’t know this world at all. And I feel completely pathetic confessing that, at the age of *cough*28*cough*.


For now, I’m enjoying being the master of my own time again. And I’m filling in those application forms and emailing my CV. It’s been a week and I’m not bored yet, I still have a number of little projects that I had neither the time nor the inclination for while I was still working. I’m also determined to get into the kitchen more and have already begun that process with a delicious lasagne last week and I have plans for all manner of soup related experiments.

CAMEL!!!

I had my first up-close real-life camel sighting today!

On the way to work there seemed to be an accident up ahead because all the drivers in front of us were driving crazier than usual (you learn to read traffic like a fisherman reads the sea out here).

It wasn't an accident though! There was a camel running along the break-down lane in between the two directions of traffic!

How it got there I have no idea because it's three lanes of very fast moving traffic on either side. It was trotting along, looking a little scared but not panicked (thankfully, also it was sticking to the breakdown lane and not going out where the cars were) and as we passed by we saw the flashing police lights in the background so someone was doing something about it.

It was quite young, teenage I think, and I hope that the police or someone was able to herd it to safety.

Certainly woke us up this morning!

Ramadan is coming

And Foreigner is getting fat.

Ok, maybe not fat, but definitely chubbier than I used to be and decidedly more squishy than I’d like to be.

Undoubtedly, a part of the reason for this is the canteen at work. The food is goooooood. It’s not amazing, sadly, but it is good considering it’s canteen food and cheapity cheap cheap cheap.

Every day there are at least three different kinds of salad, soup, a couple of curries (which are made with proper spices and everything, I crunched down on a cardamom pod the other day) and various other “regional” dishes that cater for all the nationalities that work where I work. It’s pretty groovy and very difficult not to eat loads.

They also do deserts. They have a whole display case of deserts that look a-may-zing. Cakes and mousses and doughnuts and… this




What this is I’m not entirely sure. Maybe a different angle will help…




Nope. Doesn’t help.

In the office, we agreed that the most likely answer was a frog, or frog-like creature, that had been run over. Note the bulging red eyes…



… and the delightful addition of cherries in the mouth, which I like to think of as the guts being squeezed out while the poor creature was mercilessly squished




What it definitely is, is some made up of scraps of pastry that were quite possibly left over from making something (or somethings) else and while this appeals to certain waste-not-want-not sensibilities, I cannot help but question the sanity of the mind that conjured up and then executed this delightful sweet-treat.

AHEM! Moving on.

So yes, Ramadan is coming, and in fact might already be swinging by the time I get round to posting this entry* (am so excited, got a friend coming to stay this weekend). What with O being Muslim flavour I am quite used to the whole fasting thing, and even kept him company by attempting to fast myself last year, but the one thing I am sure of is that Ramadan is going to be a very different experience in Abu Dhabi than it is in the UK.

Some things that I do know:

> Eating/drinking/smoking when in public is out of the question (not that the smoking is an issue for me anymore, 2 months and 14 days without a cigarette today!).

> Restaurants, cafes and other places of consumption that are open to public view will be closed between sun-up and sun-down.

> Shops and things will have odd hours, but what these are I don’t yet know.

> Getting a cab anywhere at any time is going to be EVEN MORE of a nightmare than it is now (woe, woe is me!).

> There are going to be massive Iftar (break of fast) feasts laid out across the city. Hotels will charge and mosques will not. Anyone is welcome to these and I cannot wait to try one out. Iftar tents will be accompanied by music and shisha tents. I imagine it to be like a big, month long party.

> Night becomes day with everyone coming out after breaking fast and staying up late late late.

I’m looking forward to this, my first Ramadan in a Muslim country. I’m going to try fasting again and see how I go without drinking in the heat (by far the worse out of not eating vs. not drinking).

It will undoubtedly be an experience and one which I will, of course, tell all and sundry who are bored enough to be reading my ramblings here.

And don't forget! Run-over frog-like creature sees and watches you...!




*Ramadan actually starts on Saturday, so Ramadan Kareem everyone!

The end of a looooong chapter

At the end of last month I went back to London to attend my graduation. Along with many other “graduands” that month I had my moment where I walked across a stage, shook a hand and sat back down as a “graduate”.

However, this was not my first time. Oh no. Not for the first time did my poor parents have to sit through a multitude of boring inspirational speeches and a long list of unpronounceable names (miraculously pronounced correctly – I have always wondered just how many days the announcer spends practicing those names) just to see those few fleeting seconds that stand to mark the time, effort and – lest we forget! – money that went in to earning that particular academic diploma.

This was my third graduation ceremony and I can now legitimately call myself Dr. Foreigner (PhD, please don’t think I can help if there is some kind of heart related emergency). Aside from the red and blue gown and the ridiculous floppy hat the ceremony was much the same as the previous two – except it also wasn’t.

Pretty early on in my path down further education I knew that I wanted to be a lecturer. I loved the subject I was studying, it engrossed me and I found my most of my lecturers utterly inspiring. It was the perfect life! The university environment is dynamic and exciting, colleagues and peers are interesting, students are enthralled, the holidays are good and research in exotic locations is the cherry in the amaretto sour!

So I did my BA and found my groove. Pursued said groove into an MA straight after that and then got offered funding to do a PhD right back at my home uni with one of my favorite lecturers from my Bachelor days. Perfect. And it was… for a while. The subject area wasn’t exactly in my groove, but the region was (Africa baby!) and the future looked bright, shiny and right on target.

I had a lot of fun studying for my PhD. I met some firm friends, I lived in a wonderful part of the world for a heart-wrenchingly short time and had some experiences that I would not trade for all the world. I also learned a lot about myself and one of the things I learned is that academia is not the right place for me. Or rather, I am not right for it. All of things that I loved about being an undergrad were still there, but the more time I spent in the university system the more I came to understand how it really works.

The interesting colleagues and peers are also competitive and not exempt from office politics as I had previously fantasized. The students are very often there for the cool or because it’s what you do, innit? (apart from the Trustafarians who are going to save the world as soon as they finish this joint), not because they are on a quest for knowledge. The holidays are spent in the office, catching up on research and writing that there is no time for during term-time because of all the admin that comes with teaching. Then there’s the research. While the locations are exotic, you need a certain something to be accomplished when it comes to research. My sister told me that if you don’t have an axe to grind it will always be a struggle, and she is absolutely right.

I do not have an axe to grind, and that coupled with all the above eventually led me to the conclusion that academia is not the place for me. I loved the teaching, but I am simply not cut out for the rest of it. The revelation came to me about 2/3rds of the way in to the whole shi-bang – far too late to quit, after all the time and money, but too soon for it to be nearly over.

So there began the struggle to the end. I won’t go into how bad it was (very, very bad), but I will say that I’m amazed O stuck with me through it since he basically propped me up, emotionally and mentally, day to day and it was not an easy job.

I completed. The thesis was accepted and I got my diploma.

Looking for work before and after we moved to Abu Dhabi was a little… stressful. I hadn’t yet (and probably still haven’t) come to terms with the fact that I am not going to be using my degree. I am not going to go in to teaching/lecturing. It is difficult to let go of the plan that an 18 year old girl had and worked for, even though the girl is now 10 years older and in a different place in her life. It is difficult to let go of all the hours of studying, writing, wringing of hands, pacing of floors, tears, tantrums and little glories when a chapter/paper/article was finally finished. Lots of highs but so many more lows. All of this had to be put aside and I had to start thinking about what I could possibly want to do (didn’t have too much of a clue), what was I qualified to do (not very much) and what could I bear to do until I found out what I actually wanted/could do (my job search criteria included “job description doesn’t make me want to cry”).

We landed in Abu Dhabi and after a couple of months I landed in a job. It isn’t an ideal job *understatement* but it pays me a wage which is so vital out here. I am still trying to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life and I look for jobs every single day.

Nearly a year later and I returned to London to attend my graduation ceremony. As I said, the ceremony was much the same as the first two – overly long speeches, uncomfortable temperatures (too hot for this and the first, too cold for the middle one) but this one was without the sense of excited anticipation that the previous two had. Before, when I walked across a stage and shook a hand, I was about to enter into a new and exciting phase of my long-term goal. I had a goal! I was moving onwards and upwards and very much looking forwards. This time there wasn’t so much anticipation, excited or otherwise. I felt sad for what wasn’t right for me and what I wasn’t right for. I looked backwards at what I was leaving behind with a certain measure of regret but knowing full well that, despite any romantic notions I might still hold on to about being an academic, it is not the life for me. Full stop. So walking across that stage and shaking that hand wasn’t the start of a new stage in my life (as the inspirational speakers so often suggest). It was the end of an old one. The closing of a chapter. Maybe even of a book that I have to put on the shelf now, for once and for all.

Despite this sounding very maudlin, and for which I apologize but is the way it is, I had a wonderful graduation trip. I hadn’t seen my family or friends in an age and I got to spend four whole days back in my fabulous home city. I had a lovely celebratory dinner with the family (lovely in spite of the food I might add) followed by drinks and a little bit of dancing in my fancy graduation clobber – though I left the gown behind. The rest of the time I mooched and munched, went to the museum with my dad and shopping with my mum. Aside from the whole graduating thing I had a list of three tasks and I completed each with aplomb: I ate my body weight in dim sum, attempted to drink my body weight in Café Nero (but didn’t succeed, which is probably a good thing for my blood pressure!) and splurged in All Saints. However, I didn’t see enough of any body and cried my heart out on the plane home - which was doubly embarrassing because we had cashed in some air miles and got ourselves upgraded to business class baby yeah! (very nice, but definitely not worth the cash cost!) and I had wanted to seem terribly sophisticated and like I belonged there *sigh*

I am proud of my achievement – but I am also very aware of what I went through to achieve it, and I can’t help thinking that if it was meant to be it shouldn’t have been that hard.

Basically, what it all comes down to is that it is Dr. Foreigner to you – got it?

Absentee Note

Dear Internet,

Please excuse Foreigner for being absent for the past month.
Things have been at the same time hectic and slow in the land of sandstorms lately, and she has not been able to come up with anything interesting to say.

She is, however, cooking up a couple of things that might make up for it.


Yours truly,
Foreigner's conscience.


P.S. There might be something really, really, cool happening soon. But not wanting to jinx it, Foreigner kindly requests that you keep your fingers crossed for her for the next couple of weeks.
F.C.

Food poisoning

I have it.

After very delicious sushi last night (yes, I'm looking at you unagi!).

Bleurgh.

So here's a fun thing

Our internet has been cut off at home.

It had been acting funny in the evenings and then over the weekend... nothing. So I called up our internet provider (there is only one, got to love a monopoly!) and the conversation went a little something like this:


Foreigner: I'm having trouble connecting to the internet, could you have a look and see what the problem might be?

Call centre man: Certainly madam... ah yes, we have cut you off because you didn't pay your bill.

Foreigner: We haven't received a bill.

Call centre man: I see that we have no records of your address on file, that would be why you have not received a bill.

Foreigner: *head implodes*


Thaaaaat's right. And instead of attempting to make contact with us by any other means (the same company that provides internet are also one of only two companies to provide telephone services - both mobile and landline - oh! And they own half of the other company as well), they just cut us off.

Luckily, it is easy to remedy and after making a quick stop in branch to pay them some money we should be reconnected within a few hours. My guess is that this happens so frequently they need the remedy to be easy and quick.

Grrrrnnnnaarrrggghhhh.


On a more positive note (because my dad - hi dad! - is worried that I'm not happy due my latest bloggings being grump-driven) I broke-in my sexy red mixer over the weekend. I made oatmeal and raisin cookies, except I used currents instead of raisins because I like them more. The mixer works like a dream, is disgustingly easy to clean and the cookies weren't half bad either.

I'd like to say I only ate one or two, but that would be a lie.

I ate loads.

Firstly it was because I wanted to test how long to cook them for, but after that it was just because they tasted good. I need to add some cinnamon and possibly a smidge of nutmeg and then they'll be perfect.

I also went shopping on Friday. I've been inspired by The Sartorialist to put a little more thought into the way I dress, rather than just relying on the usual jeans and black vest. So to that end I bought a bunch of new stuff that is a little off the beaten track, for me. The sort of things I would want to wear but which required too much thought to put together - but now I'm prepared to put that thought in and went shopping looking at how things would work together, shape, colour, details and trying to look just that little bit more stylish.

Exciting stuff. Wish me luck!

I have to thank Cover Girl over at Sandy and Danny for indirectly introducing me to The Sartorialist - he's on her blog list and I'm nosy.


UPDATE: Since I'm sure everyone will be terribly concerned about this internet issue I'm letting you know that it is all better now. Hurrah for being able to lounge and surf.

I work in an office that has no windows

Which sometimes means by the end of the week I feel a little maudlin. I’m convinced it’s the lack of natural light. I start to feel a little blue because all day I’m under fluorescents, facing a fluorescent and breathing recycled air (NOT that I’m complaining about the air-con, by no means would I be so foolish in this country, but still… you know… fresh air is, surely, better for you).

So I’m feeling a little blue, partly because O is away this week and I miss him and it’s a big flat to be rattling around in on my own. But also because when O is away I notice my lack of independence even more. Contrary, some might think, but true none-the-less. I don’t really notice that I’m dependent on O for getting around while he is here – it’s no hardship to ask for a lift to the mall or whatever. When he’s not here I’m confined to taxis and the kindness of others for getting around.

Taking cabs is not such a biggie when it’s around town, and more often than not when I go for my weekly treat at the mall I’ll take a cab there, or back, or both – depending on what O is doing that day and if he wants to join me afterwards or not. But when it comes to going to and from work it’s another matter.

My office is a good half hours drive away from home, usually more like 45 minutes or even an hour, and taking a cab both ways soon adds up – both monetarily and with ones nerves. So I ask for a lift. It’s not a big deal, I don’t think either of the people who currently give me a lift to/from work mind terribly much (especially the person who gives a lift from work since it’s less of a lift and more allowing me to sit in the car while they drive back to their accommodation in town from where I catch a cab the last five minutes of the way home).

But I mind. I don’t really like it. I don’t like having to ask. I find it can be tedious to have to make small talk for an extra hour a day, and so I’m sure they find it even more so considering it’s their car (especially in the evenings when all I want to do is switch my brain off from work, in the mornings it’s not so bad – it helps that I particularly like the person who gives me a lift to work), plus my movements are dictated by when they want to move. At least with O I could very much say that I’ve had enough and if there wasn’t some emergency we could leave at least a little early. I can’t do that with anyone else. Not so bad when they want to leave early – pretty rubbish if they have to stay late.

In theory this situation could be easily rectified. I do know how to drive. I have a driving license. However, I don’t have a local driving license and to get insurance and thus be able to drive a car I would need my UK license transferred. This in itself is not really such a big deal and I should really pull my finger out and just do it – but I would have to go to Dubai to get it done (the joys of having my residence visa issued from Dubai rather than Abu Dhabi – long and boring story, much like this one really!) but… well I’d have to take a day off work, and I’d have to get O to take a day off work to drive me there, or I’d have to get a cab, and really I don’t strictly need to be driving right now since I mostly have O around, and I can get a lift if I really need one, and it’s bloody terrifying even being a passenger in this country never mind actually being behind the wheel of a car…

It’s days like today though, that really make me want to just get on with it and get myself independently mobile.

In an effort to look on the brighter side I have comprised a couple of lists:

Reasons to be sad
O is away and I miss him.
I hate my job.
I’m struggling to find a new job.
I miss my friends and family.
I’m not getting enough sleep.

Reasons to be glad
O is coming back on Saturday.
This job is ending soon!
I'll have lots of time for baking.
I'll be back at the end of July for a bit (graduation).
It's the weekend.


I think that’ll do for now. All the negatives are cancelled out and then add an extra positive because the weekend always means two extra points.

It's the little things...

Joy upon joy! I have my sexy red mixer. Hooyah.

I saw it a couple of weeks ago and, as is my way, um-ed and ah-ed over it for a week before deciding that I actually really do want it, that I’m not a student any more, that I am earning money, that I can actually spend it on things I want rather than things I need and it’s on sale anyway so I can feel that little bit less guilty.

So I dragged O along last week to be my muscle when it came to carrying it to the car. But! Woe upon woe – they were out of stock. My world was rocked to its very core and all my weekend baking plans promptly flew out of the window. A sad day for all, I think you’ll agree.

So, wiping a tear from my eye, I wrote my name and number in the sales assistants little book with the promise that he’d call me when they got more stock in, and that it would still be on sale.

I waited. As patiently as I could (not very), whinging as little as I could (at least once a day) about how I wanted my mixer and wanted it NOW! I trawled through websites and cookbooks listing all the things I wanted to make. I bought bundt pans and mini-muffin tins. All because I didn’t have my mixer. It was starting to become a bit of a problem.

Then yesterday! My phone rang and a lovely man told me that my mixer was in stock and that they’d hold it for me until I got there after work.

Since O is away this week I made my own way to Marina Mall, having been assured when I popped in to the shop last week that I’d be able to carry the mixer on my own. Once there however, the sales assistant had other ideas. Having persuaded him that I didn’t need one of the shop men to carry it to the taxi rank for me, we then attempted to get the thing in a bag. The biggest bag they had ripped. I tried to explain that I’d like to wrap the box up using the ripped bag and some tape and that I’d carry it by the handles in the box, but the sales assistant did not approve and insisted on someone helping me. The fella turned up with a flat bed on wheels for heaven’s sake! All for a little mixer! I felt very silly walking behind him as he weaved his way through the mall and we both had a laugh about it – I think he felt a little silly too.

I managed to wrestle it out of the cab and into the flat where I unpacked it with all the excitement of a four year old at Christmas. After oo-ing and ah-ing for a little while, I put all the removable gubbins in the dishwasher, read the instructions and spent the rest of the evening trying to decide what to make first.

So here it is, my sexy red mixer. Standing proud up on the counter and waiting patiently to be christened with some batter-delight or other. I’m thinking chocolate chip cookies.


I noticed, as I was putting it all together, that our kitchen has inadvertently become a Kenwood kitchen. Completely by accident we have a Kenwood food processor, hand blender, deep-fryer (not my purchase choice!), rice cooker and now mixer! No one would believe that we aren’t a Kenwood-loving couple and that it is completely accidental – but it is! Truly and honestly… now where was that Kenwood catalogue again?

The Kenwood Krew all lined up

On Kitchens

I've been thinking a lot about kitchens lately.

The kitchen always played a large factor in my childhood, our dining table was always in our kitchen (at least as far back as I can properly remember anyway) and was where my parents would feed guests as well as the family - unless it was a big event and not everyone would fit, in which case the big table in the living room would be brought in to play.

On holidays visiting family the kitchen was always the hub of everything, good food cooked especially for the visitors, unusual tastes, laughs, drama... kitchens are important places and I've been neglecting mine lately. I've been leaving O to do all the cooking and haven't baked anything (my real cooking love) in forever.

I had lost my inspiration and couldn't find anything that I actually wanted to make until I came across this recipe by Joy (check out her blog, it's all about baking with this being one of her few savoury concoctions) in which she uses the magic words "cheesy polenta" and "fennel". I did a little substituting - beef for beans and coriander for oregano - and the result was fabulous. I am also waiting for the re-stocking of a sexy red mixer I want to buy as part of my back-to-the-kitchen programme.

So in preparation for loads of time spent there, and because I'm off work sick today, I thought I'd take you on a little tour of my kitchen if you don't mind...


There are four doors leading away from the kitchen, I'm standing in front of door number one which leads to the bedrooms and you can see door number two which leads to the laundry room. Can you spy our basil plant by the window? Keep your fingers crossed that this one survives.


There you see door number three which leads out to the back stairs and rubbish shoot for our building, and our lovely cooker (more on that in a mo). There is also my shisha pipe there on the counter on the right.


Door number four on the left which leads to the front door and door number one there on the right. The fridge needs no introduction.

Now I'd like to take a second to point out a couple of my favourite features in this kitchen.


Let me introduce you to my oven - electric oven, gas hob, 90x60cm, 5 spider burners with one double burner in the middle. Oh and also the cute green-piggy tea towel that my mum gave me. This is a beauty and bakes nice and evenly, the only compliant is that the gas burners are a little too powerful for my liking. It's pretty easy to burn stuff.


My cook books and delicious. magazines, plus up on the counter - the remnants of a cheese pie I baked.

Mmmmmm, cheese pie.

Speaking of pie...

This is my baking cupboard. Pitifully bare right now because I'm not baking in earnest but we have measuring cups and spoons, baking powder and bicarb of soda, baking beans, two kinds of flour, two kinds of sugar, orange blossom water, cooking chocolate, minced dates and cocoa.


This is the tea cupboard. I'm not sure exactly how many kinds of tea I have any more, but I counted before we moved and there were over 20 so... yeah, not going to be counting - or buying tea - for a little while.


And to drink that tea we need mugs and cups and tea pots and saucers and a sugar bowl!


Last, but not least, our spice cupboard. Looking decidedly messy but I'd like to think that it shows how much it's used.

Thank you for indulging me in my little kitchen tour. I'm appreciating it at the moment and thought I'd share.

The art of delivery - part II

In April I was talking about how easy it is to get stuff delivered out here... the one thing I was lamenting not being able to have whisked to my door after a moment on the phone was sushi.

Well, lo and behold! My life is now complete (apart from the needing a new job bit) and I have some delicious delicacies speeding their way to me as I write.

O and I went to a Japanese restaurant called Samurai two nights ago. It was most fun. They do sushi, sashimi, teppanyaki - the usual fare - but the best bit was the Yakiniku! I'd never even heard of it before, and for anyone else who is similarly at a loss - allow me to explain.

Our table had a hole in the middle of it and that hole turned out to be our very own personal table-top barbeque! You turn it on under the table and there is a gas grill that heats up super quick. We ordered a mixed Yakiniku and got three different kinds of red meat (two different cuts of beef and one of lamb I'm sure) and some veggies all marinaded in a soy sauce based marinade which we threw on the grill and barbequed exactly to our liking!

We ate too much, but it was delicious and I will definitely be going back for more.

Oh! There's the door bell.

In Fond Remembrance of Solitude

I have a little grump on, which might explain the nature of this blog entry.


Having recently started working full time, after more than 8 years solidly spent at university, there are a number of changes and adjustments I have had to make in my life and the lifestyle to which I was accustomed. Most of these changes and adjustments are not quite as bad as I make them out to be at 6am when I’m struggling to remember how to work the shower, bleary-eyed with sleep and still a bit confused as to whether there really is a Nutella-monster that wants to turn me into a piece of toast.

One of these changes is having a routine. Nowt wrong with that. It’s nice to know where I’m meant to be and when, for a set time of the day. The fact that I wish my routine started a couple of hours later than it currently does is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

In my previous life as a PhD student, I had no routine whatsoever (and yes, this was indeed part of the problem and definitely one of the reasons why it took so bloody long to finally finish the damn thing), everything was up to me. When I got up, when I went to bed, when I sat at my desk, when I watched Frasier re-runs, when I went for a look around the shops… It was just too much freedom for a champion procrastinator such as myself. That being said – I was a master of my own time, which I loved, although I didn’t have any money to do anything with that time, which I loved somewhat less.

Now that I’m gainfully employed I have much, much less free time. But I do have cash to blow on meaningless frivolities (like getting my nails done and buying coffee) which make that precious free time more enjoyable. I relish my free time now, rather than being burdened by it. Plus it is guilt free, which is something that your average, right-minded person (and by that I mean everyone who has not done a PhD) takes absolutely for granted. For 8 years I felt guilty when I was doing anything other than work. What is surprising is how the weight of that guilt didn’t a) crush me because I so often did so little work in my free time or b) inspire me to do more work. I refer you to my above statement about being a champion procrastinator. I could have won awards for my procrastination, except they’d never hold an award ceremony for it because everyone would leave making their travel plans to the last minute and end up not being able to go. Sigh.

What with now being able to relish my free time, one would think that make the most of it by embarking on adventures (mind you, look at what happened on my last adventure), expanding my horizons, exploring new avenues of all sorts… but I don’t. I tend to spend my free time sleeping, eating and vegged out in front of the TV with my laptop open, surfing various not-especially-enlightening websites (apart from a couple of special mentions such as this one, this one and, oh yeah!, this one) thus giving neither my full attention and gleaning far little from either than I would have if I had bothered! That and going shopping, which is always fun… especially when you actually have money.

Which all brings me to the final change that I want to talk about. Being alone. When I was doing the PhD (and living away from my home university) I spent cascading vast quantities of time alone. All day in fact. O would get up at stupid o’clock in the morning to go to work and then come home at some point in the late afternoon/evening, leaving me all that time by myself. I am fairly solitary by nature, I need alone time or I get even more grumpy than usual, but this was too much even for me. There were tools at my disposal to somewhat alleviate that feeling of being ALONE but really there isn’t much of a substitute for real human company – which is why I had a tendency to bounce up and down like a little Terrier puppy whenever O came home, demanding attention and to be taken out for a walk and then getting all downhearted and dejected if the cruel, mean-hearted, villain dared to even grumble that he was “too tired” after working for maybe 12 hours that day. Tsk.

So yeah, alone. Now I didn’t enjoy being alone, as I said. However I am now in the position when I look back fondly at certain aspects of that time and wish to be whisked back in a time machine for just a few precious hours of sweet, silent solitude.

I was not prepared for what it would be like to work full time in office in many ways, but definitely the aspect that is grating the most right now is that I am never, ever, alone! From the moment I arrive in the morning until the moment I leave there is always someone there. And even then that’s not the start or the end because O and I work in the same building and so drive to and from work together (but that doesn’t really count because I picked him to be the person who is always around and, frankly, I’d much rather he was there than wasn’t). So, yeah. Even on those merciful occasions when everyone else (all three of them) is out of the office and I have it to myself, the phone is ringing and people are stopping by to see the people who aren’t there.

There. is. no. escape…!

I go for a cigarette break and there is someone there, someone I’ve nodded to twice before and who now wants to have meaningless chit-chat about the same old stuff that I’ve had meaningless chit-chats about before because I’m the new one. Some days this is fine, and some of the people are very nice, but some days I just want to smoke my cigarette and play Sudoku on my phone without having to explain that I’ve been here X months, yes I like Abu Dhabi very much, I live in Y, yes it is getting hot now, blah blah AAARRRRGGGHHHH!

There is one place where one can pretty much always expect to be alone, no matter where you are (unless you have little children of the type that I was who are less sentient being and more semi-permanently attached tail) and that is the loo. Surely, surely, one can reasonably expect to be able to go to the loo in some semblance of isolation, right? WRONG! Ok, it’s not like anyone actually comes into the little cubicle with me and stands there watching, but both of the bathrooms that are within walking distance of my office regularly have the cleaning ladies in them – all the time! Chatting on the phone or with each other if there’s more than one. I can understand it, I really can. If there isn’t much work going on it’s not like they have an office to sit in like I do, but still! It means that you have to engage in even more perfunctory small talk just to have empty your bladder for heaven’s sake! Granted it’s little more than a “hello, how are you?” and a “goodbye” when leaving, but in a day when I have already had 100 other meaningless conversations that absolutely do not need to happen and when I’m at GRUMPCON 3 and rising, that is one more nothing interaction that makes me want to scream and long for the days when I would sit in desolate slump for hours on end, staring at the fake company on the TV screen and wishing with all my might for one little meaningless conversation or unnecessary, nothing interaction.

Finally A Bank Account

At the start of the month I opened my bank account.

Not terribly exciting, one might think, but everything is kind of exciting here because it more often than not opens up whole new, hitherto unimagined, worlds of red tape, complications, form filling, pencil pushing, first born promising and frustration of the sort that makes you want to rip the skin off your face with your fingernails.

First I have to mention the unusual quirk they have here of wanting you to keep a substantial sum in your bank account at all times, lest they charge you for going under that amount. This sum varies from bank to bank and from account to account. I have noted a low of AED200 for a very basic account which is essentially keeping your cash under your mattress but without the convenience of having it so easily accessible, and a high of AED10,000 which, presumably, entitles you to bank statements printed on gold-leaf and having a unicorn nuzzle your neck to ease your tension whenever you grace the branch with your presence. This practice doesn’t make any sense to me, because surely, if you thought you were going to drop below the standing amount, the logical thing to do would be to take all your money out and close the account, rather than sit immobile while you get charged for daring to use your own money! You should be ashamed!!!!

Then, there are the women’s accounts.* Aside from getting to choose which pretty picture you want on your debit card, there are benefits to women only accounts – but it’s a shame the benefits are only for women. The premise is that a woman will either not be earning her own money, and instead be provided for by the significant male in her life at that point (father/husband), will be a secondary earner in the household and probably not earning as much as the significant male in her life and that the account holder may not have a regular amount entering the account on a regular schedule. In this country, all quite reasonable assumptions. What this means for the account holder is that there is often a much reduced standing amount (if any) though quite probably a reduced interest rate to go along with it.

There is no stipulation about who may open one of these women’s accounts, apart from that you are a woman. And so, due to my somewhat unstable employee status I opened one myself!

I picked a bank that seemed to be the least sneaky with hidden charges (some will charge you every time you use your bank card, either at an ATM or in a shop, they will charge you for using the counter service, they will charge you for having a cheque book and for using a cheque, they will charge you for daring to want to dirty up their nice clean bank by keeping all your filthy money in it and for merely existing… ok I exaggerate, but only about the bank being clean), but this came with a price. They are only open between 8am and 2pm. Bit of an inconvenience since I start work at 8am but hey ho, they are open on Saturdays so not too much of andrama as long as I don’t have any urgent banking matters that cannot wait until the weekend.

I digress. Never one to be daunted in the face of needing to make a little extra effort (stop sniggering in the back – I can hear you!) I tootled along on a Saturday morning with passport in hand to become a proper grown up person who can take charge of her own money! Woohoo!

It all started smoothly enough, although the nice woman who would ultimately open my account for me was adamant that she describe – in a not altogether descriptive manner – the different kinds of current accounts that the bank provides, even though I’d done my research and picked the kind of account that I want. She was most successful in confusing me and sending my little brain round in circles. That over and done with I filled in my forms, handed over my passport for photocopying, got myself a pay slip and handed AED150 in cash to the teller. AED100 as a minimum deposit to open the account and AED50 for my debit card… well you can’t expect something for nothing now, can you?! So simple, so quick. I was delighted.

With that all nicely sorted, I was a little surprised to get a call the next day from the woman who opened my account. Apparently there were some things that were neglected (I’d be raising an eyebrow now if I could) when I initially opened the account. Some extra information about me was needed and though she could take that information over the phone I needed to sign the form to authorize the amendments. Sigh. Also, for some reason I’m not wholly convinced about (she said something about her boss and audits), I had to provide a salary certificate. Oh boy.

It takes a couple of days but I get my salary certificate through from Dubai, and despite it having my title as “Miss” it refers to me using the masculine 3rd person singular throughout. It also is missing a rather essential decimal point resulting in my salary certificate certificating that I earn an absolute mint! Ha. I wish. Hoping for the best (and already regretting not using a little biro magic to address that decimal point issue) I take it to the bank as soon as the place opens the next day.

After more palaver involving trying to explain there aren’t “departments” in my four person office, pleading that the salary certificate be accepted even though it reads like it’s been written by a baboon that had a school-leavers diploma waved in it’s general direction, providing a full UK address and phone number (even though I DON’T LIVE THERE ANY MORE!) and my bra size I was told that, Insha’allah, my bank card would be ready for me by the weekend.

Ee gads. Luckily the card was ready by the weekend and I had my May wage paid into my account so I can now spend virtual money to my heart’s content. Whoop!


In case any one was wondering what has been happening to my salary before this momentous occasion… I had it paid into O’s account, which meant that I regularly felt like the little woman saying something very much like “Darling, I need to buy some frivolous women’s things like kittens and parasols – hand over the ATM card!”

Adventures in banking this certainly was not. But I was very, very excited to have that little text telling me I’ve been paid.



*Don’t even ask about the accounts that conform to the Islamic code of interest/profit earning. I just cannot get my head around them at all – but they do exist and indeed entire banks operate based on it.

Foreigner's Adventures This Weekend

Cast your mind back a wee while, if you will, and recall our last adventures at sea.

Ah it seems so long ago now that we traipsed across the sea bed like some ancient mariners walking forth into the unknown after the tide betrayed us leaving our trusty vessel sand-banked, avoiding the urchins and me trying not to lose my flip-flops. All fun and games.


This past weekend saw us on another adventure, only this time it was more… prolonged.


It started innocently enough (as these things so often do *sigh*). It was proposed that a bunch of people get together and camp overnight on one of the islands surrounding Abu Dhabi. Nothing is ever really far away in Abu Dhabi so if the worst came to the worst we could always just hop on the boat and be safely back on terra-firma within half an hour, max. Mmmmhmmmmmm.

O, being the BBQ king that he is, was persuaded to deal with the food so our weekend began with four hours in the kitchen preparing and marinating 8kgs of meat and sundries (the sundries were my job – salads basically). All well and good, there were to be 16 of us after all! Plus the destination island comes complete with a public grill. Sorted.

We were a little late in leaving the dock in the first place, but it wasn’t too much of a problem in the grand scheme of things since we were spending the night. Anyhoo – we arrive at the island-with-grill only to find it is overrun with jet-skiers! This will not do since we wanted to swim and it is hazardous to ones health to be swimming where there are jet-skiers about. So we push on and find ourselves a nice little deserted island (I say deserted but there was a permanent camp a little way down the beach, lights, air-con, satellite!) and proceed to unload our stuff. A minor problem arises when it dawns upon the group that there is no grill on this beach, but “not to worry!” cries our captain – we have disposable BBQ thingies a-plenty. A-ha! Disaster narrowly averted.

While the captain went back to fetch some other soon-to-be-islanders, the rest of us proceeded to make camp. Having selected an area that was out of the wind, flat enough for our stuff to stay where we put it and far enough away from the apparent tide mark we happy few set out tables and chairs and some beach mats, constructed a tent or four, laid out the food, opened a bottle of sparkling grape-juice (ahem) and began the chilling out process.

When the captain finally came back (complete with one islander who brought a suitcase with wheels in which he had packed a shaving kit, cologne, pillows and a duvet – yes, there was much sniggering behind hands as we watched him dragging his case across the sand) it was getting dark so it seemed wise to get on with the BBQ. Two small disposable BBQs materialised. Allow me to remind you that we had a hella lot of meat to cook. O gamely gave it a shot but we realized after about an hour that it really wasn’t going to work. Added to the distinct lack of decent heat source was the issue of there being no light source! There were a couple of lanterns, but no wicks. There were some of those tiki torches, but not enough lighter fluid to keep them alight. While a giant search light was charging on the boat we had to make do with a little torch with dying batteries being shared between the BBQ and the camp-fire construction.

In the end it all got to be too much of a faff so we wrapped the meat in foil and threw it on the camp-fire to what it would. Turns out that you can cook alright food using this technique, but it doesn’t rival a good grilling.


After eating, the captain had to disappear again as there were a number of people not spending the night. I’d say, ooooh, maybe an hour after he left is when we noticed that the tide was coming in. And I’d give it maybe five minutes more before we realized that we were going to get flooded. Yup, flooded. The tide was coming in at a ridiculous rate and because we were on a flat there was no question of what the inevitable outcome would be if we didn’t act quickly.

I would not recommend having only two people while trying to shift the camping gear of seven people up a sand-dune* with the tide biting at your heels. I would suggest having at least twelve people to do that job. Sadly there were only five of us on the island at that stage and three weren’t at camp when the tide arrived. So O and I shleped as much as we could up the beach before the other three raced back and we all got it up the dune just. in. time! The camp-fire was gone, but the night was warm and we five waded out into the – now much nearer – water to wash the sweat off and play with the phosphorous. (My theory is that it is water angels and I do not want to be told any different thankyouverymuch.)

Four hours after leaving us, the captain and two other islanders got back and I promptly went to bed.


The next morning was early. At about 6am I awoke to find myself a sleeping bag wrapped dim sum in a tent-shaped bamboo steamer. Luckily there was a flask of coffee (vanilla and hazelnut flavoured!) and water that wasn’t yet at an undrinkable temperature. I was looking forward to a quick swim and then packing up to go home. Surely no one would really want to hang around after the farce of the night before.

From our vantage point on top of the sand dune the boat was clearly visible. As was the water. The boat. And the water. Or should I say:

The boat <-----------------------------------------------> And the water.

With the boat moored in sand and the sea somewhat further away from the boat than would be useful to facilitate us going home there could be only one conclusion. We were beached. Again. Only this time in a slightly less than fun manner since we couldn’t walk across the sea bed and we’d spent a night on the island and wanted to go home. Plus it was getting hot and it was only 6:30/7am.

Fret not however, for I am writing this to you from a lovely comfortable air-conditioned room and not using smoke signals to get the message to someone who can post it for me. At about 8:30am one of the fishermen from down the beach wondered over to tell us that the tide probably wouldn’t be back in until 3 o’clock that afternoon. We elected to have breakfast then call the coast guard to rescue us.

Perhaps inevitably, breakfast didn’t happen (I can now firmly attest that you cannot cook scrambled egg in a tin-foil tray over a butane burner) and neither did the coast guard. The local fishermen from down the beach did, however, and they sped us back home with all our stuff while leaving the captain and his loyal wife with their ship – or more accurately in the air-conditioned tent of the fishermen where they got to play with some puppies for a few hours, by recent accounts.

We made it home by midday which was nice as we got to sleep a lot and still have a bit of the day left to eat, shower and unwind our nerves which were like corkscrews by that stage.

Sadly, it was a less than happy ending for the captain. The previous nights tide was a “spring” tide which only occurs once a month when there is either a full moon or new moon – we had the new moon one – and is unusually high for only one night. Even though he anchored the boat quite far out from the beach, it was dark when he did so and was not quite far out enough. The kindly fishermen told him to go away for the night since the tide wouldn’t be coming back in for a looooong while, after dark they called some of their friends out and they dragged and floated the boat while the tide was just about high enough. The next day after work they called the captain to say his boat was in the water, cooked him supper when he arrived to pick it up and sent him on his way again.


I may complain on occasion about this place and the distinctly odd way in which things are often done. One thing I will never be able to praise enough, however, is the incredible generosity and hospitality of the Emiratis. Especially when it comes to stranded strangers.




*I use the term “dune” loosely, it was more like a sand-shelf but it was high and difficult to climb while pulling a tent so “’dune” will suffice.

The art of delivery

One thing they do really well here in Abu Dhabi (apart from hummous and manicures) is lazy.

There was once a suggestion that they should introduce self-service petrol stations, but a poll revealed that no one would use them even if it was a little quicker. It is the expected and the standard that someone will come to your house and put your Ikea furniture together for you, no matter what it is. No one seems to wash their own car, but will stand by watching the man they are paying to do it, to make sure he is doing it properly.

So now, indulge me for a moment - if you will - and make a quick mental list of the things that you have delivered, but not posted!, to your home... it's ok, I'll wait...

...

Goodness me but I need to get my nails done again...

...

Got it? Ok. I think this sort of list will vary depending on where you live so I'm going to go by where I used to live, the UK. I'll hazard a guess that most of the things on the list will be food related:
Pizza
Indian food
Chinese food

Sushi - if you live in that sort of town
Erm.... well I'm out. I think that's pretty much all I ever had delivered to me while I still lived in the UK.

Here? Well, there's most of the above, although I've not seen a sushi place that delivers yet, and we can also get every type of fast food you can think of (KFC, Maccy Ds, Subway), but it doesn't stop there - oh no!

Forgot to get some coriander for that curry or ran out of limes? Call the greengrocers round the corner and he'll send a guy.
Need some cigarettes and some mobile phone credit? The shop under your building will speed it over.
Bread, milk, water, chocolate bar, shampoo? See above.
There are people who knock on your door with sacks full of fake DVDs.
Dry cleaning? Ironing? Not only will they bring it to you when you ring, but they'll pick up the stuff that needs doing as well!

The only thing I wish I could have brought to my door, that isn't, is the post. For that they make me go to the post office and open my post office box.

Really, once you step inside your door there is precious little to force you out again. It's a good thing the weather is nice.

Whirlwind trip to Europe

Ok, so I know that doing that whole "Europe" thing is annoying in an I've never left my own country before way, but really that's the only way to describe it!

We flew out of Abu Dhabi to London last Tuesday. I got to spend a fabulous day shopping with my mum and had a fantastic dinner with my dad, mum, sister and brother in law before we had to catch a flight to Glasgow on Thursday.

The flight to Glasgow was pretty groovy - for only £20 extra each we flew "business" on BMI which was fun, but not all that much to write home about for a 1 hour flight. We did have Russle Brand sitting behind us on the flight though - and I pretended I didn't know who he was *evil grin*

Some dear friends of ours from Derby got married in Glasgow on the Friday. The wedding was beautiful and I shed a little tear. We walked from the church to the reception through Glasgow led by a piper - it was a wonderful experience marred only by my heels getting caught in the cobblestones everywhere! He he he.

The reception was fantastic. We were sitting at a table with all our Derby friends, the food was delish and the band which came on after lunch was simply brilliant. We danced the night away, shedding more than a little tear when it came to saying goodbye to everyone again.

On Saturday morning we flew to Paris (somewhat less glamourously on easyjet) for another wedding, this time a cousin of O's. This affair was rather more extravagant than the previous day. Evening gowns, fois gras and flowers is how I will remember the evening. The bride was beautiful and the groom looked happy, if a little overwhelmed.

We then spent another two days in Paris seeing some of the sights and utterly catching the Paris bug, ensuring that we'll be back again and for longer.

The trip was very tiring but very enjoyable. It's nice to be back.

Here comes the sun...

After two weeks of nothing but sandstorms and the occasional downpour the sun finally showed his face today. Hooray!

It was a perfect day, no humidity (oh thank you Little Miss Downpour last night), clear blue skies and a deliciously cool breeze wafting in from the sea.

O and I decided to take full advantage of the weather and headed for our first trip to the public beach that is, fairly, new to the Corniche.

For a mere 5 Dirhams (about £1) you can chose between the Ladies and Families Only section or the Manly Man* section. Unless of course you are a single man/group of men in which case you may not venture into the ladies section - naughty naughty!

The beach is superb. Beautifully done with lots of facilities (by which I mean toilets, of course), showers and large beach umbrellas, some of which have seats and a little table underneath for picnicking purposes.

We camped out and ventured into the water straight away. It was still a little chilly for my liking but was so refreshing after an hour or so baking in the sun.

The beach is clean, the water is clear, the lifeguards actually pay attention to what is going on and I felt totally comfortable leaving our stuff unattended while we went for a dip. Not all that usual for me, on holiday I'm often anxiously glancing up the beach in the direction of my towel to make sure no one is hovering around with intent to snoop or loot, but not here!

I can see us making full use of that beach in the years to come, it's fabulous and so close to home - plus it doesn't come with a hefty membership fee that the other hotel resort clubs do.

Two thumbs up and a strong recommendation. Now we just need some visitors to whom we can show it off!

*Not the real name, but far more fun.

Busy busy busy!

Even though we finally have the internet now - which is fabulous! - what with working and everything I've been completely cream-crackered and have not had the energy to come up with something interesting to write!

Yes, I be working now - after a good few months of nothing at all and spending my savings up a storm I am in gainful employment. It is very nice to know that there is a wage coming in and to have something to do each day! Although I must admit, I'm not overly fond of having to get up at silly o'clock every morning and I do miss being the mistress of my own time. But as I've said, what is the point of having all the time in the world if you've no cash to do anything with it? And believe me when I say that out here, without the moolah you are really stuck for things to do.

In recent news, we've had horrible weather lately! Lots of rain and there's been a sandstorm hovering over the whole of Abu Dhabi for about a week and a half. So it's been a week of gritty teeth and the glorious balcony is now somewhat less than glorious. I just haven't had the inclination to get my bucket and giant squeedgie out to give it a good ole' clean. Will have to tackle this at some point after we return from The Weddings (TM) - more on that another time, with photos I'm sure.

I am on a quest to find the perfect pair of shoes to go with the perfect dress (for which I paid £70 more than I would have in the UK!) which is proving fruitless so far, and there is only one more mall to try - will it have the shoe of my dreams? Or will I have to risk it and drag my poor, long suffering mother out on a mammoth shoe shopping trip on my one day in London next week?

I almost can't bare the suspense!