How hot was it?

It was sooooooo hot, that . . .

45 degrees today: bam! For those of you without a concept for this, 45 above means that stuff actually heats up, in or out of the sun, to the point that it becomes uncomfortable to hold. Case in to-the-point: cell phones (or mobiles, as we continentals call them). You stand outside IN THE SHADE, and the thing gets warmer and warmer in your hand.

Now, we realize there's a very simple principle of thermodynamics at work here--the phone contains metallic components, and it does not have an in-built cooling system--but knowing about it and experiencing it live are entirely different matters. Poolside is like being in an oven with the light on. Cancer on a stick. Hyperthermia served hot and spicy.

We look forward to Italy, and having things cool down to 40 degrees in July.

So what will August bring, you ask? Over 50, latest prediction. We are oh so glad we are not construction slaves. And we will make a practice this summer of carrying around boxes of water to hand out at roadside sites.

Christopher's piano is here, full bore. We'll give him a week and then record something so grandmas can be proud.


Finally, had a visit this week from a smashing fellow on an internship in Dubai. He's in BYU's Middle East Studies program, and spent a day with me on campus making contacts here. Very helpful, and I think we now have the will to move on it for next year.

While he was here, we took him up Jebel Hafeet, and were summarily swarmed by some smiling Omanis. Not because he was there, but he was, and they engaged, and he trotted out the ol' Arabic and impressed them. Mobile numbers were exchanged, and a gift was made of a cassette (yes, cassette, even though they have cds here) of some funkadelic Omani tunes. Sweet.

Pics (including, in the last frame, our friend Ahmad, which is pronounced Ah-h-mahd)--guess which one's the white guy:











A lady came up to Wendy's window (she'd stayed in Merv to keep out of the heat) and engaged her in what she deluded herself was English, but actually included three English words and some very excitable Arabic. Eventually, Wendy just started nodding in assent and saying "Oh, really?" We're learning Arabic this year. Halas! Anyway, couldn't get a picture of her because she was wearing a Groucho Marx and it would have been offensive if I'd asked.

They followed us part-way down the mountain, actually: like they wanted to show off their insane switchback drag-racing skeelz. Anyway, we ducked in to see the Mercure Hotel near the summit, and veered right to catch another view (closed, as it turned out). They followed us in and then bailed. Maybe they thought we were frightened. Maybe they just wanted their tape back.


One day, when we leave here permanently, we'll blog about our codes for the various getups, illustrated appropriately. But here's a taste: Groucho Marx, Skater Chic, Ichabod Crane, Ninja-sahn, Prom Night, Mumpsies. Them'll be good times. Stay tuned.

Al Ain Branch Times

Quick update for those who care:

J and S Orbiso and Baby are in the Philippines visiting the Orbiso patriarch. Miriam has also returned home, may come back, but to Abu Dhabi, most like. Joanne has been reassigned to Dubai, which leaves us with two single sisters.

Adrian has chicken pox, poor spotted fellow. Is in isolation: dying of boredom.

Chapel is almost completely furnished now: rugs, curtains, couches, tables, office for the president, wi-fi, etc. Official chairs will be sent to us in future.

New member, just found us. He's been here since November, working as on-site nurse at the new campus construction for my university. Name's Roland, and he hadn't been to church for 3 years because he'd been in Saudi before this, so he's come twice: we pick him up and drop him off, and will try to keep him company as much as we can. Pretty lonely setup. Good man, though: lifer, rm, pretty excited to have found us.

We're hoping that enthusiasm is infectious. We've been missing a few fairly consistently, and pray that changes soon.

Jordans and Fletchers are, as always, missed.


Shout-outs: D-Law, it's good to have you around. Glad you read and comment. Bodes well for your marriage.

Smash, congratulationisms! Little Ashley is expectorating a blue one in sixish months. Our baby sister, mit two babies of her own. Ay caramba.

Lurkers: let us know you're there now and then, would ya?

Oh, and a belated one to the Shirl: we appreciate your loyalty, Ma! Thanks for gracing.

Salaam alakum, todos.

Cahoondom II

As Wendy tells below, two weeks ago we had our first (and probably only) guests. While the rest of you lily-livered panty-waists (International Women's Day is long past: back to sexisms) were "safe" in your xenophobic western pantheons to redneckism, Grandma and Grandpa Knievel were here, with us, risking life and limb in roundabouts and going googly-eyed over the shear enormity of money-spendage.

We'll spare you the gruesome details, but let's just say it was a Drewdle trip from start to finish. They were on their way back from Uganda, after organizing a platoon of volunteer dentists to do some training, etc., and made it out of the airport at 3:00 a.m. on Sunday morning, which put us home by 4:30 a.m. Some of us--namely those of us who went to the airport to get them, namely Jon--had to work the next day. Ay caramba.

84 hours later we deposited them at the Stewart Hotel, every one of us spent and stuffed. Here are the pics Wendy promised. Those of you with access can find a few more on her facebook page.

Most of the group shots resembled a U2 album cover, but I think this was accidental, not artistic: Hobbles McCoy, lagging behind, eyes full of the place, would suddenly demand we turn around, which we would do in turns as the message made its way to the front lines, and then he'd snap before we could assemble (or suck in, sometimes). But we like the results.



Ghosts in the Mosquine. Or Shades of SHeikh Zayed Mosque. Some of you will ask the inevitable question, even though the picture above answers it. No, women are not required by law to cover up, except when entering the prayer rooms of a mosque.



This mosque is massive. The pictures, because of mechanical perspective, don't do it justice. You come over the Maqta Bridge into Abu Dhabi and it dominates impressively. Better during the day right now, but soon, with all the lighting, it will be impressive at all hours. We'll try to get a better shot of the whole thing, though there's some early video . . .

Riley's first ride. Was going to make a joke about camel . . . feet, but decided against it. Too easy.



Against the Abu Dhabi skyline, taken squinting into the Arabian sun just above the dock where we boarded a water taxi to go to Lulu Island, an unimpressive resort island that bored us silly.



Monkeys: Gramma C still has game.



Proof! He does read!



Jo getting ready for his modeling debut.



I am to be seeing beeg future for hees.



Chrisp ibn Goohnathon, Sheikh of the burning sands.



Cool.



Add one last album cover, taken like the last four at the Al Ain Palace Museum, which we have blogged about before.



That last one is more Beatles than U2, you know, if the Beatles were only three, and two of them were women carrying purses and they were trespassing on museum grounds despite the signs saying "Please No Treading on Grass." I think, secretly, Wendy wants to get us deported.

Anyway, sorry about the delay. We had platform issues all last Friday, and then just, you know, had life happen to us. By the way, more Christmas music today.

And we're extending the competition, so it's not too late. The choices are lame, except for Greg's (Hey, Greg and Melissa!), which I'm inclined to disqualify not because it isn't technically valid, but because he doesn't live in any of the places he mentions, except the last one, which is lovely but boring, and because Johnny Cash already wrote that song. Or at least he sang it. It was Arthur Miller that wrote the play. So that's been done.

Good Clean Fun

When you're young, male, and you don't drink--leastwise not in front of anyone else--I guess you turn to other diversions to compensate for the absence of stupidity brought on by inebriation:


http://view.break.com/398332 - Watch more free videos

It seems you find Darwin Award candidates in every culture: we once saw a kid riding in a shopping cart hurtled toward a sidewalk by his "friends." Of course, his feet got tangled in his dishdash as he tried to bail, so he wiped out pretty nicely in the desert grit, narrowly missing a makeout session with the grill of a Dodge Durango.

Speaking of stupid human tricks involving SUVs:



Then there's this:



How do you say "moxie" in Arabic?

Anyway, we used to bumperski in PG, and in Maple Ridge a favourite neighborhood game was four-square-dodgeball . . . with lawn darts. So testosterone-induced moronism is obviously universal. (No Arabs were hurt in the making of these films: al hamdulillah.)

But lions at parties is a new thing, I should think: and Siegfried and Roy nowhere to be seen. But, you know, they don't have Siegfrieds and Roys here. Clearly.

We suppose we could blog about Arabic language and literature, or lecture disquisitionally on the history of pearl-diving and dhow-making, but quite frankly it's the public behaviours that fascinate us. This is indeed a surprising and sometimes shocking culture, or rather clash of cultures. Must be something in the lookha. Sheesh.

Riley just back from his youth conference in Bahrain. Good times. He made some new friends whose names he cannot recall, and we will have pictures from Shari before long. Next week, all goes well. 'Til then . . . .

Happy Whatsama What? Huh?

File this under "Oddities." There were many things we expected to see, coming here. And there were many things we did not expect to see. We were told that Al Ain was like the Jeddah of the Emirate of Abu Dhabi, except not quite so much. But yeah, you can tell a difference between here and Abu Dhabi and Dubai, not only in what westerners generally try to pull off (and by "Westerners" we mean godless heathens--mostly European), but in what Arabs and Muslim "others" will get away with (or without).

We did not expect, for instance, to see so many flipping lingerie stores. Good golly. And even if we had, we wouldn't have expected provocative displays. Alright, so they're marginally toned down, but the dummies are anatomically correct, except for those without heads; and the models are always godless euro-heathens, but its not their compatriots who are in those stores, either as customers or employees. Weird!--I'ma say it again--Weird! to see women in the whole shootin' match--abaya (body covering), shaela (head scarf), and burkha (veil) shopping at Victoria's Secret and other local, and more, erm, lingerial specialty shops.

Okay, so we've grown accustomed to that. Not that we spend anytime there ourselves, or tend to look in as we walk by, of course. Ahem.

We were told not to hold hands in public, but guess what! Couples under 45 generally can and/or do around here, so all bets are off. We were also told to keep shoulders and knees covered at least, but the memo seems not to have enjoyed total distribution. I mean, you can tell a difference between here and, say, Ventura Boulevard or the Las Vegas strip. Generally speaking--98% of the time--even the Arabs who wear western dress sans abaya are in the main more modestly covered than the average 'tween at Johnson Memorial Junior High. So that's good. But now and then some godless euro-heathen blows by who would easily fit in on Ventura, the Strip, or at JMJH.

What's interesting is, despite my views of radical forms of dress and the mixing of social rule with religious dogma, I still experience a kind of sympathetic disappointment when I see Arab women dressed provocatively, at least by comparison. And the fact is they're not really being provocative.

But it makes me think that the veiling of bodies and faces is, at least culturo-historically, meant to be sensual--the very quality it has been appropriated by religious law to suppress. Because judging from what goes on at VS and fellows, well, let's just say Valentine's Day is a pretty big deal. No, we are not in Saudi Arabia, where that's all been more or less banned. Here it's on open display. Might not be very many folks at the movie theatre tonight.

But this is a family blog. Forgive me. I'm just in sociological shock, because I was over at the mall early tonight (V Day), and saw 5, that's FIVE, interracial couples. And I don't mean the common types: Arab and African-extraction, or Arab and Filipina, all-muslim. I mean by golly Arab and godless euro-heathen. 5 Arab men in different places in the mall in the company of geh's. 2 of the men were in dishdasha, spandex-wearing lipstick hos (God forgive them) at their sides. I had to rub my eyes and pinch my arms. I do verily believe that the Apocalypse is nigh.

With that, a special treat. Three items for your reading and viewing pleasure. The last makes fun of Bush's Iranian twin, so I don't think you have to worry too much. And another disclaimer: poems just happen to poets. It's a mood thing, a kind of oracular mood swing, if we must have the truth. I don't feel this way today. In fact, I both fear for this wonderfully, comparatively moderate society and celebrate it, as long as it lasts. And may it last. Insha'allah. Because in the main, whatever they've inherited or adopted, these are good people: kindly, thoughtful, whispery smooth, and profoundly alight. And when the luxury train makes its last stop, I hope they're wide awake and ready to hoof it on ahead. We'll need them.


Sila, Liwa, Bani Yas

They keep this up, there’ll be no desert left,
No space to wreck, no four-wheel desert cleft
To winnow down: no dry-heave, tinder bone
To let a man alone.

The death-gasp of the culture that could tear
The banshee shriek of what is drawing near
Is such a modern thing it makes me grin
Like poison: sick of sin.

They keep this up, these mincing, drifting ghosts,
These zebra forms with all their Babel boasts,
They’ll blister from the artificial cold:
The center cannot hold,

The falcon cannot hear the falconer,*
The tent is void, the women too demure,
And from the mosques a bitter incense fumes:
It’ll bring them to their tombs.


And my valentine to Wendy: she'll forgive me for posting it. I was hoping she would either laugh out loud or say it was the most romantic thing she'd ever heard, but she, well, never mind. Let's just say she passed Go without collecting the $200, and the moment kinda fell a little flat.


Heart Failure: Averted
(Thanks to you)

Here are all the things I’d do
If I hadn’t married you:

I’d drive a motorbike too fast
And wouldn’t slow until I’d passed
Each station wagon, bus, and van
Along the hairpin-turn TransCan;

I’d live in Europe, catch disease,
And contract head lice, maybe fleas;
I’d prowl her humid streets all night,
Or stay up reading in too-dim light;

I’d eat too much of the wrong thing,
And sleep too late, and never sing
And I’d hate kids, and adults, too,
If I had never married you.

If I hadn’t married you
I’d probably have learned kung fu
And used it on some smaller bloke
And done some time in the provincial poke.

I’d fail at work, make big mistakes,
Spend too much dough on crappy dates
Grow far too old for the singles scene
And drown my sorrows in ice cream.

Then I’d move home, get fat and bald,
Spend afternoons in shopping malls,
Write little, think less, be profoundly depressed,
And despise myself. Yep, I confess

That this is where I’d likely be
If you hadn’t married me.


And finally, from JibJab (we don't know what he actually says, though this was clearly taken from his Columbia U speech),




By the way, it is confirmed: "Rai-li" does indeed mean "my husband." In their dreams.

*Credits (before I forget): "sick of sin" comes from Wilfred Owen's great "Dulce et decorum est"; both "The centre cannot hold" and "The falcon cannot hear the falconer" are from Yeats' "The Second Coming." Lest ye think me a base thief, and curse me for a hack . . . .

These are the rulers in our neighborhood!

Might wanna magnify this one:



So these are four of the big five: from memory, on the left is Sheikh Mohammed bin Khalifa (Crown Prince of Abu Dhabi, Deputy Commanding Officer of the Armed Forces), then there's Sheikh Hamdan bin Mohammad, the new Crown Prince of Dubai, Sheikh Khalifa (Ruler of Abu Dhabi, President of UAE, Son of Zayed, all-around Big Kahuna), and Sheikh Maktoum bin Mohammad, Deputy Ruler of Dubai.

To clarify, the brothers Hamdan and Maktoum are sons of Sheikh Mohammad, Ruler of Dubai and Prime Minister of UAE, not Sheikh Mohammed bin Khalifa, Crown Prince (and therefore future Ruler) of Abu Dhabi. "Bin," sometimes "Ibn," means "son of": and boy howdy are there lots of "sons of," you know, given the whole polygamy thing. So chances are the brothers are half-brothers, but everyone's okay with it. "Big Love" ruffleth no feathers here.

Anyway, Sheik Khalifa is the son of Zayed, founder of the UAE, which you should all know by now is a union of separate emirates, or kingdoms, of which Abu Dhabi is the largest geographically and, by all reports, the wealthiest. There are also Dubai, clearly, Sharjah, Ras al Kaimah, and three others whose names I can never recall with certainty. Al Ain is part of Abu Dhabi, despite being closer to Dubai, and is in fact the birthplace of Zayed. Khalifa et al own 40% of the land in Al Ain, and have upwards of 20 palaces in the area. He spends roughly two days a year here, or so I heard. Maybe that's nights. I think he comes for lunch once a week to visit his mother.

So anyway, Zayed, as you may recall from last week's lecture, was the one who ushered in the era of oil exploration and development, taking Abu Dhabi and the UAE out of obscurity, and perhaps unintentionally turning them into a veritable orgy of shopping malls, fast food outlets, sheesha bars, car washes, Afghani cabbies, Pakistani barbers, Indonesian gas jockeys, Filipina nannies, luxury watches, ubiquitous incense, mysterious women, lonely men (though obviously not all of them are lonely), starving cats, befuddled moviegoers, stupefying architecture, theme parks, and marginally bemused expats. There can be little doubt that Zayed was like Gorbachev: hoping for a gradual accommodation rather than an explosion of wealth and development, though he was impatient to get things goind in terms of human resource development and infrastructure. But he also took a soft view of development: height restrictions in Al Ain, for instance: nothing over four storeys in the garden city, spank you very much. And Abu Dhabi seems to be less frenetic in its development as well when compared to Dubai. It is the seat of government, and some modicum of sanity prevails.

In sum: Abu Dhabi rules, Dubai helps out, and the others basically tag along.

Test next Friday.

On Family

Shout outs:

Ambrose--don't worry about commenting on every post. Save yourself for the ones you really get into. And we all know you're capable of incomparable wit.

Todos--thanks for the compliments on the poems. Well, they are what they are. I'm glad they served.

Note the note at the bottom of the page: we'd be glad to include more blog links if you have 'em. Remember that this is a family station.

Ahnos--still nothing. We miss you, and wish we knew who you were.



Alright. We were a bit neg last time, so we're going to point out some of the cultural high points in the coming weeks.

The first and best of these is the importance of family in Emirati culture--informed more by Arab heritage than by Islam, I think, but with its share of influences. We'd love to say that this is true of the muslim world in general, and it probably is to some extent, though it is also true that Islamic communities have historically tended to a quasi-pathological patriarchal structure. And we must also say that Emirati culture is not without its warts in this respect as well: women are still relatively limited in terms of the choices and kinds of choices they can make.

That said, domestic life here seems really very tranquil. We rarely see parents abuse their children in any way (even when we sometimes wish they would), and we see them together a lot. Emirati families love to be out and about, especially in the evening hours. There are parks all over the place, and these are generally busy: picnics in the evening, games and fun during the day. Couples and families shop together, and you'll actually see men with their children more than you see women alone with the children. Families that have nannies--the pyjama-wearing, deflated, Eeyore, subaltern types or the hip, chatty, liberated types--will generally always have the nanny in tow, especially a mother with her children.

They love them some kids, though. Jonah is regularly mobbed and always ogled wherever he goes. His hair has been tousled, stroked, finger-combed, and otherwise assaulted. His cheeks have been pinched, kissed, tickled, and scratched. He's been lifted up, full on mouth-kissed, cornered, chased, and traumatized in a thousand other ways. All in good fun. Kismet, we suppose, for the time he knocked that poor pregnant woman over on her keister (how does one spell that?).

Emirati children are a handful, mind you. We've dubbed those ones "Emibratties." We mean it in the best positive way. But they can be very sweet, and all in all kids is kids.

And we suppose that's what distinguishes and humanizes our Arab others: we all have fundamentally the same stresses, concerns, joys, and loves. Whatever its failings, Arab culture has learned to safeguard children and is increasingly egalitarian in its view of parenting and marriage. Modest displays of affection are evident even here: the holding of hands, an exchange of whispered jokes or glances, a watchfulness and patience. We've much to learn as westerners, in that respect at least. We probably chalk our own newly discovered family unity to our spiritual isolation, but we think it may well be part of an identification, an awakening, that connects us to our hosts, even as language and habit and doctrine still divide us.

And that's the way it was this Friday, February 1. We're not Paul Harvey (nor are we Walter Cronkite--whoops), but good day anyway.

Al Ain Branch (It's about) Times(!)

Sorry. We've been remiss.

Jeffy has returned to the islands. Fe and Nelson brought their daughter, Aila, back with them, and their son will come and visit in March. Numbers have been thin lately, what with work and other looming crises, but we soldier on. Shewells get back this week from Korea, so that will help. We've missed the little ankle-biters. Well, higher than ankles, really. And they don't bite.

Branch Conference in 3 weeks. Pres. B is coming.

We also have our start-up fund, so we hope to get carpets and curtains and chairs (oh my!) before the conference. The rest we can do line upon line.

And that's it. But all in all the meetings are positive and uplifting, and that's really the point. Oh (and don't be jealous), we usually run just under two hours. Suckers.

Next time: don't know. We'll surprise us.

Roundablock (or two): Google Earth Edition

Okay. Gonna try to go back to multiple small posts and spare your scrolling fingers a little. Here are some shots of the environs around our complex.

The Main Gate (whoddat sexy thang?):



And a shot of the corner store sandwiched between the "saloon" and a little restaurant/sheesha bar where I smoke all my sheesha and looka:



Our mosque--one of four within 1000 sq.m. of our place: kinda like being in Utah, only with muslims:



Singin' in the . . . sun:



Poverty is never far away. While there are newer neighborhoods that are exclusively upscale (and under-serviced), most of the seven original villages--Jahili, Mutaredh, Muwaiji, Markhaniya, Jimi, and two others--now organized as "communities," are a mix of older, poorer, and cramped worker quarters and posher row houses and compounds. This is 300 m from our place.



Another of our neighborhood mosques:



Hey! Chickens CAN fly! (If they're magical, that is.):



Al Murabba'a Fort:



And speaking of magic . . . carpets. Typical storefront (non-mall, anyway). These are places you would be expected to dicker. Along this particular strip you can buy toys, coats, canes, sheesha pipes, rugs, drugs, and bugs.



Looking under the flyover toward the Shaikha Salama Mosque:



Shakha Salama Mosque R/A (Fountain Roundabout) at rest:



The Mosque itself (sideways? yes. dang. will upload iLife this week and get this fixed):



Careful: man in dress crossing:



My bumps! My bumps! My lumpy speedy humps! (No, Ryan. Not that kind.):




For Google Earth geeks, here are our coordinates: /Users/jonathonpenny/Desktop/Penny House in Al Andalus.kmz



And now, just a fragment of the afternoon call to prayer. The footage doesn't matter. One of these days we're going to get a digital audio recorder and post all five from one day, with scintillating information about each.

Zoology: And we ain't lion!

It's the ciiiiiircle of liiiiife! And it mooves us aaaawll!



You may be wondering why we haven't posted any pictures of Jon lately. Well, the carb-rich cuisine doesn't agree . . . .



So we've been to the Al Ain Zoo twice now. The firs time was at night, and there was a lot of activity, but very few decent shots. The second time was today, and Riley took pictures of everything. We'll rummage through and find some spectacular shots to share. It really is an exceptional zoo: casually laid out, with large, natural spaces for all the animals. Even at 1:30 today, under a high sun and in 32 C, we were able to see everything but the crocs (green water), though many of the larger mammals were lolling about in the shade. (J. Young, when you come next year we'll take you around.)

They even have penguins! Last week we went to the bird show--pretty decent. Today we had a complimentary zebra-painted "train" ride: like stretch golf carts with a land cruiser engine. And it's cheap: our whole fam-damily gets in for about $10. There are large picnic spaces, hourly mistings (a cool mist dispensed over walkways), and room galore. One of the highlights.

We'll be getting to more places in the coming weeks, local and not-so. We hope to get to Salala in Oman in two weeks: this is reportedly where (for all you Mos) a certain family boarded homemade ships around 600 B.C. We'll share discoveries later. Sounds like a beautiful place, but our going depends on my holidays. Dec. 2 is a national holiday, but unless I get the 3rd off, it might be difficult to go. Anyway, we'll keep you all posted.

In other news:

Jon's job is getting tolerable, and busier. He has supervised the debate society this semester, and this week they placed third at a public speaking competition. They worked very hard, and were very sweet about everything. Bright spots occur, however infrequently, and he'll soldier on.

We bought a digital video camera this week, in hopes of improving the quality of our home videos. Problem is the mac won't recognize the file types, so we've an obstacle or two to overcome before we can start sharing the fruits.

Alberta connection: the Browns, a yank family living in Abu Dhabi that came with us to the zoo today, spoke admiringly of Elder T. Smith from Southern A. We were proud to announce that he and his son were our family doctors, and that the son and his wife were also among our very best of friends.

Two days ago we went to Abu Dhabi for American Thanksgiving. It was a lot of fun. There were three other families, all with kids of various ages, and the food was fantastic. Interesting company. Good to connect.

Al AIn Branch Times:

(Too little for its own update this week): we met in the new digs for the first time, and all agree we need rugs and curtains asap. The echo was tremendous. Three nights cleaning floors and windows last week, and there was still a fine film on the tiles that we need to remove. But it was good to be there. The BP dedicated at the outset: it was a beautiful experience. Need to set up a history.

More next week, including additional video, insh'Allah. Meantime: 6 comments on last week's post? Six comments!? Just because it was Wendy directly? I give and I give . . .

Clarificatus: I do the typing because I have the surest fingers and I know how to spell and punctuate. But most of the time everyone participates. A little R-E-S-P-E-C-T, s'il vous plait!

That's all for now. More next week, once I get over my petulance. Sniff.

Shokran. We love you, Detroit!

Casanostra a' la Greengrass

At long last, in a stunning 1 min 11 sec shot, a tour of our home. It's dark outside, and the lights are all off in the bathrooms, and I didn't show you the back "yard," but you'll get the general. Remember that the camera adds back the 10 pounds I've lost, and the angle doesn't help. No comments about the cheeks.



So that's that. New topic:

Service with a Smile

The underlings (and I'm one) around here are generally very assiduous. Yes, sometimes they are motivated by the desire for a tip, but in general they are simply conscientious. Examples: we had our first oil change this week, at a chain of gas stations called "Adnoc." The bays are spotless, as is the equipment. There is zero grease transfer, and they blow the dust out the engine and clean up any spilled oil off the engine block before they close the trunk. Always polite, of course--"Yes sir!" or "81 dirhams, please." not "Hey man. That'll be 50 bucks."--and always deferential.

Car washes are available everywhere, but when they say car wash they mean the whole enchilada. You go through the wash itself (at Adnoc), which is a scientifically calibrated precision deal, and then you drive over to a vacuum bay, where up to 6 men in impeccable uniforms descend upon the vehicle like a swarm of bees, only without the buzzing and the stinging, but with buffing cloths, air hoses, special cleaning solutions, and vacuum nozzles and give it the once over outside . . . and in. They actually polish inside the windows and the dash, etc. They insist on this. Won't take no for an answer. Then they'll check tire pressure and send you along all for under $10.

You can also get your car washed while you shop--valet style, if you're trusting, or via portable wash station: a "trolley" loaded with soapy water, rinse water, and towels. This makes homeless twenty-somethings with beards spitting on your windshield look even more pathetic than it is (though of course I sympathize). And, again, withe the uniforms and consistently cheery dispositions.

At grocery stores, especially the smaller ones, you should never expect to bag, haul, or load your own groceries. Somebody inevitably shows up who's willing to carry them halfway to Dubai, if that's where you parked. Do they expect a tip? No. Would they like one? Not always, actually. There have been times when I've perceived that they didn't want one, thank you very much: a human dignity thing. But they are always very gracious and grateful if you offer. Good folk all around.

News

Wendy is now a legal driver. Yikes. Actually, I insisted she drive home from the dmv (in the mrv) and she accepted gamely without too much cajoling. She's a Cahoon, after all: dive in first, get instructions later. Did just fine. Will wander out in gradually wider circles and at gradually more manic times of the day in the future. She is woman, hear her roar.

Boys had their first actual rugby games last Saturday: two-day tournament, but they have boycotted Sabbath games and haven't looked back. Anyway, Riley got a couple of minutes on the field (it was "sevens," meaning teams of seven playing for seven minutes) despite the fact that his team was mis-managed, poorly coached, and stacked with newcomers at the last minute. Christopher played the whole game for his team and finally got into it. At one point he was bottom man in a massive ruck--every bit as rough as it sounds, named as it is for the clawing movement of cleated feet. Kids were stepping on his head and kneeling on his solar plexus, but he hopped right up and got back in the game. I was very proud.

I'm finally almost caught up at work sort of. No more all-nighters or wake-up juice. Getting too old for this.

Q&A

We finally have some good questions. From my mater familias, the following:

Is your night-time schedule the same as always, or has that changed?

Good q. This is a night-time culture, like the Spanish: siesta mid-afternoon, out late shopping. During the summer months and into Ramadan, things are often open later than midnight, with government office open until 9 or 10, depending. We hear kids out in the complex after 11, but we generally still get the chilluns off to sleep by 10. It doesn't always happen, but we're trying to maintain some modicum of reasonableness.

What is the regular food shopping like, and are you having or choosing to change the way you eat?

I think we talked about groceries once, but you can generally find what you need, though not always what you want. This is a sugar-crazy culture (and it shows in the kids' behavior), so sugary cereals and snacks are cheap and ubiquitous. Ground beef is minced, and of course pork must be hunted out like the dog it is. So we don't bother. Breads are tasty, but all refined. So we try to be careful: lots of fruit and veggies, protein-rich entrees, and keeping a lid on eating out. But it ain't easy. Exercise is mandatory.

Does the weather change things for you? does it get dark early enough, etc?

Being almost equatorial means that daylight hours do change with the seasons. Right now we get sunrise at around 6:30 a.m. and sunset at shortly after 6:00. We're down to a chilly 31 degrees right now during the day, and a positively frigid 23 overnight. It will get cool, apparently, but, I mean, c'mon.

Do you know how you're handling Christmas this year? What will you do and not do?

No. But Wendy has some ideas: ski trip in Dubai, or maybe if we can find a cheap overseas flight to Indonesia or Singapore, we'll give that a go. I'm actually working Christmas day, so that's a bummer. But the kids are off for a bit around Christmas, so we'll do something. As for Christmas trappings, apparently that happens here, and the Emiratis kinda get into it. We were in a grocery store last night and I kept hearing "What Child is This?" Another time the muslim grocery clerk was whistling "Jingle Bells." So that's weird. But hey: who doesn't love a good party? or a reason to shop?


And these from "granola," who can only be Savannah, considering that her children are the only non-immunized hippie kids we know:

[W]ould our unimmunized [sic] kids be ok cruising the exotic aisles of ikea with you?

Do you mean while you and Adam go off on an Omani holiday? Or were you planning to be at Ikea with us? Cuz if it's the first . . . . Actually, I don't know. Check with your local health authority and the Foreign Affairs travel office. Then report back. Other inquiring hippies want to know.

More above: just realized the other questions are for the kids.

Next time: whatever.

Late Friday, Eyes are Itchy and Sore, . . .

(kinda like the red sands of the Arabian desert, only not so gritty. Trivia: the sand changes hue several times between here and Abu Dhabi: this shot is just outside of Al Ain, but the closer you get to the coast, the more tan the shade. 20 points to the person who can figure out why.)



. . . and I don't remember what I promised to blog about and am too lazy to check. Updates: curtains are in, nearly all hemmed. Wendy plans to take some interior shots this week during the daylight hours. Back garden is in better shape: we did some trimming there and in the front, and raked away the detritus. I transplanted our banana plants and one palm, and so far they seem to be managing. Cross your fingers.

Eid wasn't as insane as we thought it would be: only three major accidents, including a late-Ramadan one that Lance, Justin, and I came upon during our quick trip to Abu Dhabi: guy had plunged off of an overpass and ended up sideways behind a guardrail perpendicular to the overpass alongside the highway. Impressive bit of driving, that. Could have been very, very bad if he'd landed on the highway itself. A marvel and a wonder.

Also forayed into Dubai this week: not very far, mind you, and only to Ace Hardware and Ikea (exotic, aren't we?),



but it was apparently a good traffic day, and we made it home in one piece. Here's the proof:



Merv's a handsome fella, i'nt he?

Here's the soon-to-be new Tower of Babel I mean world's tallest structure in perspective.



Pic of the week: our first camels! Wendy's on the stick, as usual.



Moo? Mmmmm. Camel milk. . . .

Weather's turned cold: 35-37 degrees during the day, and a downright chilly 20 at night. Brrr. Might have to turn off the a/c if this keeps up. Wendy says while she misses autumn, she'll settle for spring in reverse: everything is in bloom here. Very strange. We're hoping our little garden blossoms before long.

Kids' turn will have to wait a week: sorry. Thanks for the questions. We'll queue them up. And while we're on that subject, all you silent skulkers out there need to make some noise. Let us know you're reading and what you think. Let us know what you'd like to know about as well. Sorry it's not hi-larious tonight: taxing week. I'll make sure to commit a faux-pas or two this week so I have something humorous to recount.

Salaam.

Home Sweet Home.

Some of you have been asking to see pictures of our house, and have intimated that the dearth of original shots on the blog make you wonder if, in fact, we ever did leave Canada. So I offer the irrefutable proof below: an original shot of our little hovel.



I know. What with the budget cutbacks in the last few years, the quality of housing has really taken a hit.

Jokes. No, seriously. Here's an exterior shot, which includes Merv's rear end.



And here are shots of our back yard:









And some interior shots:





Beautiful, no? Jokes. Once the curtains are all up we'll do some studio-quality shots of the domicile.

Speaking of curtains . . . I'm now wishing we'd got Nidal to install his lavender mirrors for us. Spent all of yesterday evening trying to get the hardware installed in the dining room. It went relatively well upstairs, but not so down here, where there seems to be titanium at random spots in the concrete.

Understand: hanging anything requires a master's in masonry. It's all concrete which, even with a masonry bit, fuses into a diamond-like crust when the bit stalls. And putting a hole precisely where you want it is next-to-impossible. The bit shrieks, there's dust everywhere, and to top if off you're working at dizzying heights. Ton of fun.

So anyway, the dining room was a gong show and I'll be thoroughly embarrassed when we move out and the painters discover how inept I was. Ah well. Can't be good at everything. That just wouldn't be fair.


Peace out.

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.