The Great Curtain Caper and other (mis)adventures in communication

Alright, so that belongs better on a driving entry, but it pretty much sums up the essential zen of expat life in the UAE. Anything can happen at any time. Beware! Surpri-ise!!

The Great Curtain Caper

Well, "great" is a relative term. Whatever hooks the reading public . . . . Exposition: when you move into one of these places it is, of course, unfurnished in the extreme. When people move or leave, they sell absolutely everything, right down to potted plants and venetian blinds. So the places echo like crazy and they are fishbowlish (ish dish swish--sorry: Dr. Seuss moment) with gigantic windows and sliding doors all over the place. So one has to be careful. A lot of newbies apparently assume that the windows are polarized and/or one way, so there have been a few interesting introductions around here in the past.

Anyway, we aren't that naive, so two days after we moved in (we took possession Thursday night and went off to Abu Dhabi the next morning for church, so it wasn't until Saturday that we managed to hit the shops) Wendy picked up some lovely paper table covers--the kind on a roll--and we taped them up in the vital windows (bedrooms) to guarantee some privacy. Had to be retaped several times, of course, what with the heat unsticking (and eventually soldering) the tape from/to the window frames.

Then we started looking for curtains. We received two recommendations: one was for a place called "Sedar," which speacializes in high-end stuff, some of it quite lovely, all of it sumptuous. We're talking $20/meter as a base cost. But they tailor and install whatever you order. So they came and measured the windows, we picked out some materials, and then asked for a quote on that basis. Whole place in curtains (simple, lined panels) for 5,900 dhs, which is roughly $2,000 cdn. Not bad, really, but a whack of dough for us. So we hemmed, and they dropped a few hundred off.

Then Don Lacey, of whom I have spoken admiringly in the past (see Post the First) suggested another company, with the salvo that his guy had moved on. This place is called "Violet House Decorations" and specializes in the gaudy, 4-layer, tassle-fringed curtains of 70s concert-rock sensibility: the kind of curtain that threatened to suffocate me when I was a child. This is a tame example:



How about this (no, this is not our bedroom: read on):



Arabian Ni-i-i-ights, like Arabian da--ahem. Sorry. Where was I?

Ah yes. So Violet House. We walk in and I do my usual ex-pat-with-a-penchant-for-foreign-greetings-so-give-me-the-Emirati-price-thank-you-very-much spiel.

Me: Asalaamu alakum.

Him: Alakum salaam. How ahr yu?

Me: (Good. Speaks English.) Well, thank you. We just moved into Al Andalus Housing Complex and I have heard from a few residents there that your company has done a lot of work in those units. We need curtains throughout the house and I was wondering whether or not you--

Him: Sahry. No Arabiy?

Me: (Oh crap.) No, no Arabiy. Sorry. Only English?

Him: Spanish?

Me: No Spanish. Italian.

Him: Ah, no Spanish.

Me: (What the heck?) Si. Ma proviamoci. Noi viviamo in Al Andalus, e vogliamo--erm, quieremos--le cortine dappertutto in casa.

Him: Las cortinas en todo la casa?

Me: Si, en todo la casa. Potete venire misurare?

And cosi via. I mean, and so on. We had several such conversations over the course of a week with me speaking increasingly in Spanish as I remembered things or as he said them, and by and large we understood. Tossed in some English now and then, plus the odd Arab expression (Halass! Done!) and kept forgetting to translate for Wendy.

All he had, of course, was shiny stuff. Seriously. If it didn;t have at least a third of the spectrum of colours it reflected light. And I'm pretty sure that if all the mirrors in our house broke at once, Wendy could have applied her makeup flawlessly just by standing in front of the curtains.

He came in at 1,000 dirhams under Sedar. Went back to Sedar, and their prices had magically increased. So we finally said screw it and went to Ikea and bought rods and panels and all manner of curiosities for less than 2,000 dirhams and have been installing them ourselves. Of course, I had to buy an electric drill and masonry bits and a ladder, but hey, you only have your ears and lungs once . . . . Bedrooms are done: living room, dining room, kitchen, and grand staircase coming up. Going up.

This is sounding increasingly like one of those Mastercard commercials. Priceless.

Anyway, the point was to boast about my prowess as a pidgin speaker of several languages. Riley, who is studying Spanish (Te gusta estudiar el Spanol? Si, me gust estudiar el Espanol.), thought it was cool anyway.



One thing I was going to mention last week, but didn't: even the shopping "trolleys" are suvs! These are four-wheel independent suspension contraptions that if they are more than 2 weeks old make shopping--everywhere--anaerobic. Good golly! All four wheels turn, but not usually in the same direction at the same time. You've got to distribute weight just so on the old ones to even have a hope of getting to your destination. Collisions are inevitable and legion. I believe I now have several hernias. Wendy can't stand the sight of them (the trolleys, not the . . . yeah). Part of the problem is that because all floors are tile--and regularly buffed--unless you're Spiderman you haven't a hope in the hot place of finding traction. So let's just say there are no hairpin turns. I usually have someone push from the back and I steer from the front, and drift my way Tokyo-style around the corners.

And speaking of collisions: Jonah knocked a pregnant woman on her keister the other day. Actually, she fell over him and onto her knee and hands, so she was fine. He bonked his head. Anyway, here's the interesting part: she was in full veil (which is partly why she didn't see him), and while I think this alarmed him a bit (seeing it from a distance is one thing, but up close it could be a bit sinister--like when mom used to watch me cross the street through a small crack in the door, only the crack is horizontal and mom is all in black), he didn't freak out. He actually apologized to her on his own, and meant it.

I wasn't there, but Wendy was, and she had a good chat with the woman, who was really very kind and understanding. Interculture clash, anyone? So far they haven't kicked us out, anyway. I did learn this week that chewing gum during Ramadan is offensive. The hard way.

And now the kids . . . .

Next time: misrules of the road (I'm groovin' on the traffic, ma!), Arabian soaps, and the boys' first Rugby practices.