Showing posts with label Tourists-r-Us. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tourists-r-Us. Show all posts

Friday, June 13, 2008

Today in Arabia (and in Roma in 12!)

Nice for the last few days--41/41 tops, and a little overcast (read: high altitude dust storm, though there were a few teasing clouds as well), so it actually feels quite pleasant. The direct sunlight is a substantial factor, obviously, except for mobile phones, as noted earlier.

In the news: here, complimenti al nostro grande amico e agente di viaggio volontiere (compliments of our good friend and volunteer travel agent) Emanuele Guidara, are some shots of where we'll be staying while in Italy:









Double-click to magnify. The "casale" is more or less central in every shot. Impressive views on all sides, as you can see. It will be lovely to be "in campagna" (een cahm-pah'-nyah) because of a reduced humidity and heat dispersion. In the city at night the stone and concrete release heat all night long, making sleeping in an a/c-averse culture nearly impossible.

It is apparently subdivided into a handful of apartments: ours is ground floor with private entrance. 2 bedrooms, kitchen, living room, and single bathroom, so that will be an adjustment after our palatial villa here in Al Ain. We'll be taking the Wii for moral support (and rainy days).

We will also be joined by our good friends from Raymond for a couple of weeks. Plan to head up to Pisa, Florence, and Venice with them. Also down to the hall of sunbaked horrors that is Pompeii. I wish I could remember which rooms had the dirty pictures in them so our kids can avoid them: nudity is one thing, porn quite another, frescoed or no.

And yes, we do expect the boys' heads to explode at some point during our trip. Should be interesting.

Interior shots next week. Our objective is to make you as jealous as possible!

Pace vade vocum,

Us.

Saturday, March 22, 2008

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.

Sunday, February 24, 2008

Funnies, and not so

Subtle, but I get a kick out of it all the same.



I can't wait for the levitation part. And if they boil it I'm calling them out for cheaters, because nobody says anything here about transformation from liquid to gas. Nope, they've got to levitate it in its liquid form or I'm demanding a refund.


The poster is pretty typical of things around here: everybody gets a poster for everything, especially if they're already important. Like, "Sheikh Somebody-or-other cordially requests the honour of your presence as he enjoys his daily breakfast of jam-on-toast, crumpets, a fruit cup, scrumptious dates, and Arabian coffee what could levitate a horseshoe."

We are also fond of rubber stamps, whether they are legitimate or not, principally, we suspect, because a) We find it amusing to make the Western ex-pats beg, borrow, and steal to get the stamps in the first place, or b) the damned British done wrote them into the post-colonial rule book, like the continuing presence of ruggers and cricket, the usage of roundabouts, boots, bonnets, and spanners, and the occasional twirling of umbrellas as fashion accessories for the slightly effeminate.

Don't get me started on decrees. Wa'allah. (Loosely: ay caramba.)


Alright. Not sure this is going to work, and it's probably illegal, but it's a nice rendition of the "Adhan," or call to prayer. It's by the Cat Formerly Known As Stevens, or, if you prefer, the Artist Formerly Known As Cat Stevens, and whose tenure on Billboard is matched only by his tenure on the no-fly list after some injudicious comments made post-7/7. Without further ado, except for the production credits by the hired infidel, I give you Yusuf Islam:



Might wanna listen to it twice, just to let the stream catch up. His Arabic is a little different from what we hear around here--might be because he's a Brit: he does the kinds of things I can imagine Dad doing if he ever got his Lancashire jaws on a semitic tongue (which sounds rather violent, now that I think about it).

Anyway, we hear "Allahu okhbahr," not "Allahu aikhbaihr." Potayto, potahto.

Friday, January 4, 2008

Strange Tales

We've converted!











Okay, we didn't. We took these pictures at the Al Ain Palace Museum in one of the smaller majlises (women's sitting rooms) there: there were two racks of clothes, and sign that invited dressup and snapshots, so this was totally halal.

The museum itself is laid back: just the old palace displaying family items from the last 150 years or so. We believe this is the traditional family home of Sheikh Zayed, the founder of the UAE and father of the current president of the UAE. Someone still lives there--there are some areas marked "private residence." But we doubt they're upper royalty. We now know where the Sheikh's Al Ain residence is--one of them, anyway, since there's an official presidential palace in another part of the city.

But here's the story: Wendy came home from church needing some alone time. I secured a promise from her that she wouldn't leave our complex, but she's a Cahoon. So that lasted all of three minutes. She called me from what she described as a beautiful, lush, tranquil garden of indeterminate ownership. Couldn't possible be a private villa: the gate was wide open, and there was no one visible in the hut. Well, you can see where this is going. On her way out, she was stopped by two en who quizzed her for several minutes about how she got in, did she have a camera, had anyone seen her, what was she up to. They searched her purse and exclaimed in a combination of consternation and amazement that she had blundered onto the grounds of the Sheikh's personal residence, and that the penalty for trespassing there could be, well, bloody, under the law.

But of course the Emiratis are kind and understanding people, and they soon realized she was not a threat, but was innocent of evil intentions, and let her go with a keen and clear understanding that she should not repeat her blunder. She says it was so lovely in there that it was worth the risk. Ay caramba.

Here's the front gate of the palace:



And a side view of the west tower:



The grounds: Wendy took some fine stills that she will probably post as a facebook album, so watch for that:



Tent dwellers:



Many a country song was written about the Sheikh's old truck: only with ululations instead of yodels, and sitars instead of ghee-tars, and belly dancers instead of backup dancers:



Next week: end-of-term madness. Wa'allah!

Friday, December 14, 2007

Mercifully Brief

Enjoy the following video in THREE EASY STEPS:

1) rotate your head 90 degrees to the right, or rotate your monitor 90 degrees to the left,
2) laugh uproariously (snorting is optional--no donkey laughs, please),
3) wet yourself.





I could spring for Quicktime Pro and turn that around for you, or I could go and refilm it, but considering it took me 4 months to get it the first time, I think we'll just leave it as is. What say?

Here's something we've blogged about before: it's more, um, interesting in person, but snapping a shot is tricky. So here's the leader of the "free" world demonstrating with the help of the House of Saud:



"Bushie, I wish I knowing how for to be quitting you!" Don't we all.


News this week: Christopher returned safely from a three-day school trip into the desert, during which he rappelled, sand-boarded, dune-busted, man-eating ant-helded (parallelism trumps grammar), camel-rided (again), port-a-potty-potty-ed, and several other hyphenated-ed things. He had a blast, and is a better man for it all. We're very proud that he dove in like a Cahoon (Mom, you know that the Pennies, me excepted, of course, are panzies when it comes to the New, especially if the New involves the potential for death) and survived like Robinson Crusoe.

Also: school concert.



He's got rhythm. Just not sure which.

Next week: more signs of the climes to make you chortle (or at least chuckle, Amber--maybe snigger, if we get it wrong, or guffaw if we score big). Update on the Big Eid-y. Perhaps a comment or two about the Christmas concert I participated in this evening.

Shout Outs:

All y'all for making last week's the most commented on post thus far: so two were double posts and one was Wendy (how dare she speak for herself without written and rubber-stamped permission from the Y-chromosome!), but still: good showing.

Some clarifications: hmac (good to hear from you, by the way), some Bible, some B o M. Be happy to explain by email.

mom penny: mama c is Erin (Darren's trouble and strife), not Joanne. Joanne is gramma c, but only rarely posts comments for . . . reasons. Don't really know. But yes, you are both lucky to have such handsome grandsons. It was a dirty job, . . . .

Mark: Wha?

adam: we went right out to the Tweety Saloon and got Jonah's hair cut. Or rather his bowl cut. Scary moment there. Also, they don't call me Francis Ford for nothing. Actually, they don't call me that at all. But maybe they should.

Saw two movies last week: Elizabeth and Michael Clayton. Where, you ask? In the theatre in the mall five minutes from our door. Great popcorn, some other weird snacks, and twittering little twits of adolescents being very obnoxious during Elizabeth. It was almost as bad as going to a movie with Joanne (sorry, mom), who laughs at all the inappropriate moments, and Drew (sorry, Dad), who makes whole cities cower in fear with the sound of his munching.

Neither recommended, by the way. (The movies, I mean.) Meh.

Peace out.

Thursday, December 6, 2007

O(h)Man(!)



Alright, so here it is: a week late and four contributors short. Everyone's out for the count except me, and I'm dealing with a bout of insomnia, so I guess I'll pound this out: Mama C, c'est pour toi! The rest of you can read it, too.

So yeah, we went to Salalah last weekend: 9 hours of driving to the southern coast of Oman.



We took some back roads, but these were well groomed highways, even though they were through the "Empty Quarter," which you should google or look up in an encyclopedia for context. In sum, it's a big, bad desert, and the likely place of Lehi's wanderings.



In fact, the purpose of our visit to Salalah is that it is widely believed by scholars and amateurs alike that that the Dhofar region of Oman is the land Bountiful. That might not mean anything to some of you, though I think non-relatives and all but a few close friends stopped watching this channel a while ago. So anyway, yeah.

We went with the Stewarts (formerly of Red Deer) and several other families from Dubai to scope it all out and get a feel. It was a disappointment for those expecting placards and revelations, but most of us were pretty realistic that what we were after was atmosphere. Saturday morning we drove out to Taqa Castle, a small fortress currently under renovation. Significance? non that I know of. But it's an old bedouin outpost, dating back many centuries, and gives us a little insight into the durability of the civilization that has inhabited the area for millennia.









Then it was off to Khor Rouri, a protected archeological site that may never be the same after our visit.





Just down oceanside from the old settlement is a bay that is a possible site for embarkation.



Inland up the river is a dry fall that, in monsoon season, is a stunning waterfall.



The idea is that a boat could be constructed on the riverbed and then, as the water levels rose, could be carried out to sea.

The Dhofar region is green by any standard. It's quite amazing to come down out the desert over the crest of the Dhofar mountains and see all that green. In monsoon season, it's apparently trebly stunning.





Anyway, yes, there are bees, cows (though I suspect these are imported from decades ago, not indigenous--they look Jersey, not indo), and lumber aplenty (though I suspect the "milk and honey" thing is merely a cultural translation of a Hebrew idiom, and not meant to be literal). We were under no illusions, of course, that this was exactly the spot--things change over the centuries and millennia--but it was nifty nonetheless. Our geologist friend who used to live here and visited the area several times says he's doubt-free that that was, indeed, the general place.

Another candidate for the launch is Wadi Sayq, 200 kms or so west along the coast, sandwiched between the Yemeni inland and the Indian Ocean in the narrow strip of Omani territory, in what I think was part of Aden historically. He's been there, too, but isn't as impressed. The FARMS folks, on the other hand, say it's all but certain. A group went on Sunday, but we elected not to because getting there is tricky and uncertain, and we didn't want to put our kids through that.

Anyway, Saturday continued with a trip east to a little town called Mirbat--an old fishing village. We wandered through the narrow dirt roads and met with our first anti-American sentiment: some female students in a bus had already met members of the group, and assumed we were also yanks. Thumbs down (no car bombs).







Got some beach time, wondering why we were the only ones in front of our hotel, and learned it was a "public" (meaning Omani) beach, and that we probably shouldn't be there--had to hike half a k to the Crown Royale hotel beach instead. Then Jamie S went with us into the mountains to visit the mausoleum of Nabi Ayub, otherwise known as Job's tomb. (Nabi means prophet, I believe: Ayub must be Job's Arabic handle.)

This first one is of Job's footprint (apparently) next to the hoofprint of a horse. Look really closely and you'll see both (I suggest double-clicking the pic to magnify).



These three are of the tomb itself: note that whoever is buried here was very, very tall. The footprint is more believable after seeing this. The tomb is close to 12 feet long, if not a little longer. Incense burns all the time, and instead of charging admission, the guide, who has worked there for 15 years, accepts donations to help pay for the upkeep of the mausoleum and maybe to help with groceries.







This last one is the remnant of an old mosque that is attached to the mausoleum just outside the window to the left of the guide in the picture above. The wall on the right faces Jerusalem, and the wall on the left faces Mecca. The implication is that Job was muslim, and prayed in this mosque. It's anachronistic, of course, but since Muslims believe that Mohammed restored true worship, they have no more difficulty "owning" Job than we might see Peter and GBH as part of a contiguous line. Muslims consider Mecca a holy site for several reasons: 1) it is where Adam and Eve reunited after being removed from the Garden, 2) there Adam built a replica of God's home, called the Ka'aba--a structure Abraham rebuilt when he deposited Hagar and Ismael on the Mecca plain, 3) it was near there on Arafat that Abraham was ordered to sacrifice Ishmael (not Isaac--otherwise the story is the same), 4) and of course Mohammed was a Meccan and the sites of his vocation and restoration are all right there.

Anyway, the picture:



A brief but interesting visit--there was a special feeling, which I wouldn't describe as spiritual so much as still. As we left, a group of muslim men arrived and stood very pensively and reverently beside the tomb. The mountains themselves reminded me very much of Italy, actually. Little settlements sort of sandwiched onto hilltops. Peaceful and beautiful.

Drove around Salalah that evening, and had dinner at a Lebanese restaurant called "Obar." Meh. They were out of all the traditional fare, so whatever. Underwhelmed. The other members of the group had better luck at the mom-n-pop places. Live and learn.







Our hotel, by the bye, was a bit of a dump, but cheap. We ended up in spacious if musty rooms in the old villa where the owner and employees lived. They gave us the second floor, and we had beds for everyone, so while we worried about bugs, we couldn't argue with the price, Two nights, two rooms for about $120 cdn. Shower kinda worked even. But it was run by a lovely Indian family and what looked like an assortment of brothers and cousins and friends (oh my!). There's a shot in there somewhere of the proprietor's daughter with Jonah. The beach was pristine: shell fragments, but fine sand and fun little snails that would wash in with the surf and then burrow immediately into the sand to avoid the kestrels and other birds hunting them.











Spent Sunday morning at the beach (the right one this time) doing some boogie boarding and introducing Jonah to ocean waves. Took some video but can't get it off the camera yet. It was a blast for all. Headed back home.

So besides the camels on the road,







the squat-and-leave-it toilets without toilet paper or even functional water hoses (a bucket under a tap was sometimes all there was for washing--so we tried very hard to limit bathroom use), we also shared the trip home with mosquitos--the first we'd really seen since coming here. Where they were coming from is still a mystery, but we guess they hatched in our truck after being tracked in with the sand from the various beaches we visited. I killed upwards of twenty, and everyone else between them killed as many. We let several dozen out the windows, and they still kept showing up. The only to get bitten, however, was Christopher (poor kid) who was asleep in the back seat.

And now I've managed to make it all sound incredibly boring. It's the insomnia. Anyway, some video to leave you on this split Sabbath. (How did you spend your first weekend in December?)

"



In other news, Wendy's now 37. "Old woman, old woman, old woman, says I/Oh whither, o whither, o whither . . .