Merv's new look

Well, we succumbed to the sun, at long last, and had Merv's windows darkened. We think he looks pretty swanky, but we're worried about what the cops might say. Here's the shot:



And here's the context:

Given that for nearly 350 of the 365 days in the year the sun shines bright, and often hot, the trend here is to darken one's car windows, just in case one has to leave it in the hot sun for prolonged periods (like, you know, more than 2 minutes), and in order to help reduce glare while driving. Ex-pats are allowed 30% tinting on side and rear windows. So that's what we got on Merv: 30% tinting, custom Bangladeshi-tailored shades for Merv (with a little higher potency on the top of the windscreen--at the tailor's assurance it would be okay). Cost us, with generous tip, around $60 cdn. Un-believable (I'm hyphenating for effect).

(As with everything else: meticulously done.)

So we were pretty excited about this: sure, there's been talk in the papers about cracking down on tinting: Emiratis are allowed 50%, to protect their women's modesty, but they often opt for what looks like one-way tinfoil--totally impenetrable. There will be little circles on the driver's and passenger's side windows to allow a view of the mirrors, but otherwise they're as opaque as silver dollars on a dead man's eyes. Kinda freaky, actually.

And we've spent a 5 months exposed: to the sun, to the curious stares and malevolent glares of other drivers, and given the, erm, rules around here, Wendy has had to refrain from putting her naked feet up on the dash because someone might see her toes and ankles and consider himself engaged to her. You know how it is. (Though she did say that the locals had darn fine taste in cologne the other day, so hum: maybe I should consider house arrest and bed sheets around here, too.)

But then Justin S told me at church that I will not be able to park inside the women's campus now that my windows are tinted. I'll have to fight for a spot outside, and hike in. Which isn't terrible: the walk's not bad (despite the singeing topside, wot?), and now that we're tinted, my steering wheel won't actually melt all over the leather, and my seatbelt will no longer sear its brand into my palms. But if I park inside I a) do not have to cross a desert to get to my building, and b) can park under one of the many covers that have been erected to provide shade to stationary vehicles. So that was a surprise. Guess they're worried about stowaways, abductees, and elopements. Anyway, I'll find out on Sunday.

Regardless of the outcome, this is an occasion for an occasional poem (and no, it isn't serious: mockingly so, anyway):

30%

30%, and 40 on the windscreen,
Like a visor carved in obsidian,
Greasepaint under a QB's eyes,
Or a lowered cap’s brim to shield a squint.

The world is somehow smaller,
The desert held at bay,
The glare contained, the sun defeated,
And it’s bittersweet.

Attached to a shadow,
And now swallowed by an artificial shade,
A portable dusk that shrinks eyes to the bone
And calls up claustrophobic sweat.

There are variations on this theme:
From this side, the implacable glass
Humiliates the seer,
Turns each window to mirror,

Refutes his glance and piercing eye
Like chainmail the assassin’s blade.
What bearded goddess hides, imperious,
Beneath th’obscuring shade,

Her equine features double-veiled,
Her languid, frightened looks walled in?
What family secret is covered over
By Bangladeshi palms: what fear or sin?


(What toes? what feet? what porcine meat?
What looks? what books? what ex-pat crooks?)

Kidding.

Shout-outs: Fadwa, you are always welcome. Just don't report me to the authorities if I get a little carried away.

S, w-o-A: welcome back. And yes, one entry per user, but it would be a tie, which means only one poem should you win.

Ambrose: glad your enthusiasm is on the rise. We aim to inform and entertain. Keep the comments coming, and let us know, eh?

Next week: how we were expelled for windows that were too dark, arousing the suspicions of the silken dandies in plastic dirtbike gear from CHiPS (or rather, CRiSPS).

Week after: life inside an Emirati prison.