Christmas in Dubai. . .

It’s been a quiet holidays for me here.  Don’t get me wrong – there are TONS of Christmas trees here.  And lots of Christmas dinners, sales, holidays parties. . . etc.  But as one of my British blokes said to me when I commented on the strangeness of doing Christmas in a warm country, “It’s just wrong, isn’t it?”  Yeah.  It’s just wrong.

Christmas Eve . . I actually put on some Christmas tunes on the computer, and cooked a nice, healthy pasta meal for myself in my little apartment kitchenette. Did some skyping . . . and then fell asleep.  

The next morning, I went for a walk:  in the warm weather, around the Marina – grabbed a frappucino from Starbucks, and walked around, looking for little Christmas signs:  Saw a construction crew dressed up in dark red overalls and white construction hats.  From afar, I could convince myself they were “elves” packing gifts on a Dubai rooftop.   A poor-looking man (Indian?  Bangladeshi? A laborer? . . or perhaps A Wise Man?!) approached me – holding out a phone and speaking to me in a language I didn’t understand.  I thought maybe he was trying to sell me the phone so I just smiled and shook my head and walked away.  He kind of followed me a bit, imploring me to do something with the phone, but I just didn’t understand him.  (Today in the office, my colleague suggested that this is the new high-tech beggar – they make you listen to a “message” that is saved on their phone - in English? -- and which explains their very difficult situation and why they need some $$$. . . That’s why he kept shoving the phone in my face!)   Saw a few people jogging in Santa hats. . and shorts (“wrong” again!  They must be from Australia. . . )  In Vancouver, if I were walking around outside on Christmas Day, everyone would say “Merry Christmas” – and I desperately tried to make some eye contact with some “foreigners” to do the same . . . but I couldn't get the reciprocal eye contact.  Don’t know if it was because I didn’t necessarily look like I would "celebrate Christmas" in this part-of-the-world context. . .

Afterwards, I went for a lovely English Christmas brunch (with my British colleagues) at “The Ivy” – a posh celebrity hangout in London, with an outpost in Dubai.  As we walked to the restaurant, we saw a very souped up Mercedes Benz white SUV, with the license plate “Dubai 1”.    My friend started walking very quickly and whispered to me, “OMG, that’s Sheik Mohammed’s car.”  As in THE Sheik (monarch) of Dubai.  As in the bearded, robed Dude whose picture is on every billboard and building in the city (along with Sheik Zayed, the founding father of the UAE, and his relative/distant cousin?, Sheik Khalifa of Abu Dhabi.)   Well. . . we didn't see the Sheik.  But at least I can claim to have seen his $400,000 car!  (and his – I’m guessing --  security detail of cool white robed dudes with Bluetooth ear pieces.)  Apparently, Sheik Mohammed drives his own car. . .and has an office in the building where we were eating.  I was kind of shocked that he would go around with a license plate that pretty much said, “Hey, this is ME!  I am HERE!”   I mean, for security reasons alone, wouldn't one in his position try to be a little more. . . discreet?  Does he really need to have a license plate that announces his stature and presence?   (BTW, if you have a “single-digit” license plate in this country, it pretty much announces that you’re a member of the royal family.

The rest of the brunch continued:  A fantastic meal (with sausage and bacon! Didn’t realize how much I missed good old fashioned pig meat!)   A few too many drinks (I was with Brits, afterall)  and fruit cake! (not usually a fan, but this one had mostly raising and currents -- and not the weird dried fruit, so it was really  good!)  The posh restaurant had everyone wearing those silly paper crowns you get from the Christmas crackers!  A really lovely time.  I was thankful.

But the “Dubai 1” license plate thing was kind of intriguing me.  I raised it the next morning at work (but I decided that it was probably not necessary to mention that if I saw a guy cruising around with this kind of license plate in NY, I would definitely put him in the "douche bag" category.) Instead, I focused on other reasons: Why do this? Is it ego?  Conceit?  Craziness?  Isn’t the Sheik concerned for his own safety?  

My Arab colleague explained, “why should he be afraid for his safety?  He is extremely popular.  As we say in a famous saying, “If you rule, and you are just, you are safe.”    OK, that’s a pretty cool saying. . .but I countered back, “Alright. That works for educated, reasonable people.  But what about the crazies?  Don’t you have crazies here?  Or did they all go to the U.S. and become terrorists?”

   

As soon as those words left my mouth, I cringed.  Aw shit.  I did it.  I told myself I was NOT going to get into any type of conversation about religion or terrorism . . or anything controversial.  I did not come here to change or try to understand global geopolitics.  I came here to sight see, shop and work. 

I looked at him and tried to soften things a bit . . "I didn’t mean that last part.  I’m sorry, that was not what I meant to say. . it came out wrong.”

But my robed, religious, daily praying, Subway sandwich-loving friend just took it in stride, and ACTUALLY AGREED with me!  “Listen, Betty. . . we think these guys are crazy too.  We hate that the guys who behead your journalists on TV are the ones that people think represent us.  It makes us very angry.”  We continued, albeit carefully, to talk a little about different perceptions.  I shared with him that I would probably be described as being quite “liberal” in the U.S.   He jumped at this, and said, excitedly, that he, too, was someone who was also “very liberal.”  I smiled at this:  Liberals look different in the U.S. in that they don’t usually wear traditional robes and head pieces every day to work.  He explained about the “intention” of many of the Arab traditions.  Why women are covered, or “veiled” as they call it (for their protection.)   Why the strictness of their punishments is one reason why it feels so “safe” here.  (Have to admit, it really does feel pretty damn safe here.)  How many Arabs are very concerned about the Muslim brotherhood taking over in Egypt. . . 

It was a fascinating conversation. One which forced me to separate the concepts of "religion" from "tradition" and "political leanings."  I realized it was possible to be liberal, traditional and religious.  Somehow these concepts don't mesh as easily back home. . . .

I didn't push the conversation too much today.  We still have time. 

No.  It wasn't a perfect Christmas holiday.  But it was still kind of special in its own way.  

Week 3: Being called "Ma'am"

In the last post, I had vented (rather bitch-ily) about the ex-pats here. . . as if I were somehow "better" than they were. Well this week, I'm going to talk about how I LOVE having access to such a subservient class, and how appreciative I am of what "great service" should really be like!  In short, today I embrace my indulgent, entitled ex-pat experience! 

In short, anyone in the service industry should do a training in Dubai, where they can learn to be appropriate servile, respectful, with any conversation to be initiated and concluded only by the served, not the server.  Most importantly -- it should not be tagged to tipping.  It should be one's job.

I am, unquestioningly and happily a "Ma'am" here.  

In New York, I HATED being called Ma'am.  Being called "Ma'am" in New York was almost always preceded by a request, and usually followed by some passive-aggressive, back-handed insult -- and undoubtedly spoken by some dramatic little queen (who is really an "actor," and not a waiter), and who, not so secretly, thinks you're an old bitch:   "Ma'am?? (In the U.S.  it's two-syllables, with voice inflection always going up at the end.) Was there a problem with the service?"  "Ma'am? I'm trying to help you. . !."(Read:  You're being difficult or stupid.)  To me, the word "Ma'am," in New York, is always followed by an angry question mark.  And it's usually some kind of veiled insult.  When someone's actually trying to be nice to you, they'll say "Miss" -- even if you're 75 years old -- and even then it's a statement: "Clearly you're no spring chicken, but I'm being NICE!"    But when you get a "ma'am" here, you're a bitch.

I know it's different in the South.  Definitely more respectful, but I find it's turned a bit "emphatic" today.  Kind of a politeness calling card that says, "See? I'm showing you respect! I was raised well.  I'm polite!" (Read:  Not like you Northern heathens.)  It almost doesn't matter what you say:  "Yes, MA'AM."  "No, MA'AM".  Just saying "ma'am" is more important than the gratuitous other words. . .don't matter what you say, more important how you say it!  The Southern "Ma'am", to me, is not an angry question mark. But it is a (polite) exclamation point.  

But here, in Dubai, the "ma'am"s here are just quiet periods at the end of any sentence they say to you. They say it quickly, efficiently, one short syllable, sounds more like "mom".   Yes, ma'am.  Thank you ma'am.  Of course, ma'am.  No upward inflection. No implied question mark. Just a quiet stop. 

And, blessedly, they don't talk with the expectation of any response from me.  No "Hi!  How are you today?"  They wait to be addressed.  At the most, I will get a "good morning, ma'am."  "Hello, ma'am."  Nothing open-ended.  I can nod, acknowledge and just smile.  And frankly, it's blissful.  

The majority of the service class here are from Southeast Asia.  Indian, Pakistani or Bangladeshi men seem to drive the taxis and do work/service in the hotels, restaurants.  The female cashiers, waitresses and retail sales people appear to be from Thailand or the Philippines (with strange finger-polish sounding names like "Pinky", "Teddy" "Candy" "Gigi".  I sometimes imagine what their previous jobs might have been in Thailand. . .)  

Dubai should adopt Bryan Adams for its national anthem:  They hail a cab for you.  They deliver food for you.  Everything here is done for you.  Everything is delivered for you.  Everything I do.  I do it for you.

And you don't have to tip for everything. Tipping is at is should be: appreciated, and not expected.  When I first got here, I noticed that I kept seeing the same taxi drivers waiting for me in the morning. . . clearly my "New York" tipping standards not going unnoticed here.  But I'm getting more hip to local standards.  5-10% max.  Usually service is already included in the bill.  Taxis almost never. . . maybe one dirham or two, just to round up.  

And frankly, I love it.  Okay, I did feel a pang of guilt when I found myself calling to complain that they forgot to empty one of the garbage  bins in my apartment.  (they come in to clean 2x a week!  I don't even clean my own apartment in NY that often! Shame, Betty. Shame.)  But, it was fleeting.

QUICK ROUND: 

--  It feels like "opposite" day here a lot:  Lights turn on when you push the switches "down" (not up, like we do back home.) . . . and turning off the faucet, I have to push it "up", not down.  Don't know if this is symbolic somehow. . . 

-- I went to a Holiday Party at a lovely beach bar at "The One and Only" hotel.  Found out there are TWO "One and Only" hotels in Dubai.

-- Dubai is intent on having the best Christmas trees in the world.  There are Christmas trees EVERYWHERE.  Apparently, they are also intent on having the largest Christmas tree in the world here.  

Not sure whether "irony" is a full-developed concept here yet.   

Honeymoon's wearing off. . . starting to get annoyed.

I've decided this is a great place to live in:  tons of food, choices, restaurants, retail. . . . But a lousy place to "visit":  No real history (UAE is only 40 years old.  A few decades ago, there was just lots of sand and bedouins, apparently.)  So this place is kind of like a "Disneyland" of what people who don't live in a major city think that living in a big city is about:  tons of apartments, restaurants. . . fancy cars. . . . big shopping malls, global brands. . . but it's missing a "soul". Don't really feel an arts or culture scene here. . . big recent news here:  Tim Horton's opened up stores in Abu Dhabi and Dubai. . . and Canadians lined up overnight to be the "first" to try their beloved coffee and "tim bits" (doughnut holes. Go Canada!)

But their lack of "city building" experience rears it head:  there's no logical "city planning" -- new streets and highways just pop up. . . but they're convoluted and don't seem to fit into any "larger" vision or plan.  They're just built wherever they "fit" . . . and then they build a round-about or crazy u-turns to get the traffic flow going.   If you miss a turn-off, you go through a maze of round-abouts, u-turns, and side ramps just to get back on the road.  Maddening.

But more maddening:  There are no street addresses here!!!  Taxis are told to go to/near major buildings or landmarks.  Every day, when I take a taxi to work, I tell them:  "Downtown Jebel Ali, at the Galleries, Building 2."  If they don't know where this is, I explain further:  It's next to the Jafza 18 and 19 buidlings. . . "  By this time, they usually know.  I have to go to my agency tomorrow.  They sent me a "location" map, so I can show the taxi driver.   My local friends all have GPS and use it religiously.   Mailing addresses are P.O. boxes only.  Local people don't get mail delivered to their houses.  Nuff said.

The "things to see" are all "XXXXest" :  The TALLest building in the world; the LARGest fountains in the world; The BIGGest shopping mall in the world. . . . Ok, the fountains were cool --Picture Bellagio fountains X 4, with much more intricate "choregraphy" of the water sprays. . . but it rings shallow.  Families all gather on the weekend and go to the mall together.  They don't even do that in suburban America.

There's also the troubling "working class" breakdown here.  There are the expats.  And then there are the workers on whose backs all this development has been built.   And the ones who kind of turning me off are the expats (of which I am a spoiled member, of course.!)  I find the ex-pat community here a little different than the ones I experienced in Korea or China.  First of all, this is definitely not a hardship post!  But the way the expats complain here!  There's such a sense of "entitlement" here. . . .If I'm being really b*tchy, I would agree with a sentiment I recently read in an article someone shared with me:  Most of the expats here are the mediocre ones -- the ones who can't get good jobs back home.  But they come here and taste a "good life" they would never otherwise have access to, and they become monsters.  I have to say I do see a more "varied" ex-pat community here: A new crowd from Central and Eastern Europe throwing around attitude (and skin!) at the shopping malls. . . .

But frankly, the Ex-pats I've met (mostly colleagues) have been pretty decent  Though, I did have ONE recent incident that led me to want to "vent" a little. . . .

"So -- how did you make your way to Dubai as an ex-pat?" asked a local British colleague. . . someone who doesn't sound like Catherine Middleton, more like Posh Spice. "Well, the office here expressed that they needed help, I had a supportive boss, and we are strongly staffed in that we recently just had a delegate from Germany, so there was that perfect storm of  enough "cover", supervisory support and local need to make this happen,"  I explained.

And then she said it:  "And I guess you, being Korean and female, also helped fill all those 'diversity' check boxes too!  Tick, tick!"

What the F??!!!   OH NO SHE DIH-UNT!!

I was so shocked.  Did she have no idea how offensive that could be to someone like me?   I kept reciting my  boss's words of advice to me in my head, "Betty, be careful.  I don't want you to get stoned!"  So I just kind of smiled and didn't say much.   But I was seething inside.  What type of person feels entitled to say such a thing to a fellow professional?  The conversation continued. . . (and my "New York attitude" reared its ugly, silent, head.)

"So -- hint, hint, .  how does one get a delegation to New York City? Nudge, nudge, you know what I mean?"

I said, "I'm not really sure -- but maybe this is a sign that the company will do more of these things. . . who knows?"  I thought:  Well, you'll never fucking know, will you?  We already speak English in NY.  Don't really have a need for your particular expertise there.

We finally got to my apartment.  "Thank you so much!  I really appreciate you dropping me off like this," I said.  I thought:  Hey!  In New York, your husband would drive my cab!

I was still bruising the next day.  When I went out with one of my Arab colleagues, I asked more about this person:  What's this person's story?  Why such anger and resentment towards a fellow ex-pat?   The read from this colleague was one of:  "Oh, she's one of those angry ex-pats.  She didn't get a package.  She moved on her own. The company didn't help her find a place, etc." Well I guess that explained things a little. . .

I went on to explain to this friend about how I was really hurt by the "diverse" comment.  She looked at me with shock!  How could she say such a thing??  That's the worst thing one could ever say!  I started feeling better:  Wow. . . these Arabs are way cooler than I thought.  So in-tune with the intricacies and sensitivities inherent in complicated race relations today. And then, as our conversation progressed, and she started talking about how marriages break apart in this part of the world all the time, I slowly realized:  OMG. . . She thought I said "divorced" and not "diverse."

Yup . . this place is starting to feel a little old.

Week 2: Finally have some "Arabic" or "Middle East" moments. . .

Dubai is by far one of the easiest places to "acclimate" to:  Everyone speaks English.  All the signs and food labels are in English, so shopping for food is a breeze.  Tons of TV channels in English.  Every type of food imaginable -- and it's really excellent!  (Everybody here has warned me that everyone gains 5 kilos (around  11 lbs.) when they come to Dubai.  Great.)  The one slightly disappointing thing my first week had been the lack of anything really "Arabian" or "Middle Eastern".  Had a GREAT  brunch by the water (eggs.)  Had fantastic pasta for lunch.  Really good sushi.  Exceptional Thai food.  And even lousy American food. (which made me feel quite at home, actually!)   But where was my fantastic "Scheherazade" moment??

As background, one of the more interesting learnings for me regarding this fascinating city was that 80% of the inhabitants are all foreigners or ex-pats.  This place is a cornucopia of races and religions (except Jews, or course!)  My team has 2 Saudis, 2 Indians (one of whom was raised in Bahrain), 2 Germans (including one of Turkish origin) a Brit, and a Somalian (who speaks fluent French and German.)  I always prided myself on my "diversity" story:  born in Japan of Korean origin, raised in Canada, living in U.S. . . I had always kind of enjoyed flinging out this "diversity" descriptor about myself, thinking it especially unique.  But here, it's nothing.  Everyone here was born somewhere else, went somewhere else to school, and is now working somewhere else.  Sigh. . . so much for feeling special.  Our office building here has around 800 people, representing some 60 different nationalities.  I thought the US was diverse.  Which it is.  But it feels different here somehow.  Everyone in the U.S. "acts" American.  Everyone here acts like their own culture.  I guess it's that "melting pot" vs. "mosaic" concept.  Here in Dubai, it's definitely a mosaic.   Today's dress-code of "business casual" or "smart casual" looks very different here: Indian colleagues in saris, many women in scarves, even a few local in Abayas (the black gown and scarf which hides half their face.) Saudi men in gowns and headpieces (kaffiyas, kanduras.)  One of my male colleagues is from Saudi, and he is quite traditional, and usually wears the full gown with headpiece to work.  I couldn't stop staring the first few days -- fascinated and enamored with the crisp beauty of this traditional wear.  And then I find out he's also obsessed with Subway sandwiches, and runs out to lunch every day to get his subway sandwich, with diet coke and with chili-flavored Lays potato chips.  (which are awesome, by the way!) I can barely stop myself from smiling at him as I see him devour his Subway sandwich -- every day--especially when he wears his beautiful, full traditional Saudi dress!  

Many of my colleagues smoke (which I used to do several years ago, and being here I am often tempted to start up again, though I haven't yet!)  Though, as one of my colleagues affectionately noted, "Betty. . . you know it's not too late start up again."  (an example of the humor and bantering that goes on regularly here.)  "Betty -- I am leaving early, but I will leave a few of my cigarettes on my desk for when you are here late at night . . . just to keep you tempted!"  I told her she's the devil and to stay away from me.  The team here is lovely and funny:  always joking and teasing each other.  But there's also a lovely under layer of tradition here too:  several of my colleagues disappear quietly throughout the day to pray.  sometimes they go to the designated women and men's prayer rooms.  But often, if they're busy, they'll just sneak into an empty conference room and do it.  And every Thursday (which is our TGIF, or perhaps here, we should name it TAIT (Thank Allah, it's Thursday!), our Saudi colleagues brings dates or sweets with a beautiful carafe of Arabic coffee that his wife dutifully sends wraps up for him to share with the team.   Every week.  It is these lovely traditional moments that remind me that I'm in a Muslim culture.

Well, this week finally got me a little closer to "Middle Eastern Food."  I'm personally a hummus lover, and was dying to have some "local" humus, but have since been corrected that this is Lebanese and NOT "local".  Apparently only the Lebanese excel in this, so I have to go to a Lebanese restaurant for good hummus. (I wasn't going to get into the fact that I think the Israelis do some decent hummus too. . . figure I'd leave that discussion for another day.)  But, I was fortunate enough to go to two Arabic restaurants this week:  One, an emirate restaurant, based in a shopping mall (p.s. anything of high-quality or expensive taste is in a shopping mall in this country) - which had beautiful square tents (because, as I've noted, everything here is square!)  The food was simple and delicious:  basically roasted meats with rice (beef, chicken, lamb and fish.  Absolutely no pork.) Ended off with some delicious, doughy deep-fried doughnuts, dipped in honey!  Delicious.   The other restaurant was a typical Saudi Restaurant -- a stand-alone restaurant, with tons of  square tents set up inside, and two entrances:  One for men.  And one for families.  With our mixed gender team, we were relegated to the family side.  Sat on the floor -- leaning on some nice pillows (I started fantasizing about having some servile young thing "fan" me with palm fronds and feed me dates. . (Note for women:  Never wear a skirt when you go to a typical Saudi restaurant -- or make sure it's a really long-ass gown! i.e. picture sitting cross-legged on a floor eating. . .!) and then the waiter came in and spread a plastic sheet on the rug. . . because we were going to eat with our hands!  (Yes!!) 

At first, I was kind of psyched about the concept of eating with my hands.  It felt like I could be "naughty" with my food and it would be totally and socially acceptable.  But, I had pictured big chunks of food that one could easily pick up with one's fingers.  Not large platters of meat with rice!!!  I had to watch my more experienced colleagues eat first:  Basically, you take a piece of meat, and then make "mounds of rice" around it and then pick up this little "rice pie" and put it in your mouth!  I tried this a couple of times, but found it difficult.  They all laughed -- and said it was no more ridiculous than trying to eat food with two long thin sticks!  (fair point.)  After a few very messy tries, I ended up being that lame person in the Chinese restaurant asking for a fork. . . .  All's fair in life.

It was a very busy work week for our team, and I asked one of my non-traditional colleagues whether we could go for. . PLEASE. . a drink!  We ended up in a nameless lounge in a hotel.  Unlike in most U.S. hotels, here you wouldn't "advertise" a booze-available rooftop or pool-side lounges or bars openly.  You just sort of find these places (in almost all big hotels.)  Being Thursday night, the bar was packed with expats.  But there were DRINKS!  Cocktails and wine.  Which were very-pricey (probably 30-40% more than back home) and the serving was watery and a little small . .  .But TOTALLY worth it.  I have also identified someone with a liquor license (you can only purchase booze, in special foreigner-only stores if you have a liquor license.)  Kind of feels like finding a "dealer" for drugs.  Note to any visitors:  Bring me a bottle of wine!

My "aha" moments (i.e. moments when I say "wow, I'm really in the Middle East"):

One of my colleagues saying:  "The best honey in the world comes from Yemen."  (Really?  Yemen?  Who knew?!) 

Another of my colleagues saying good-bye on Thursday:  "Yessss!  It's shisha night with the boys!"

(shisha is the water-pipe  (hookah) tobacco smoking that they do in a group  When I've seen it done, kind of looks like what I picture might have been an opium-den scene centuries ago.  They just kind of share this huge water pipe and talk/discuss in a strong, fruit-flavored tobacco haze. . . )

Can't wait for MY shisha night! 

First Week: Quick Impressions

Still kind of jet-lagged and out of it.  But, here's a rundown of a few quick observations:

CLEAN:  Like probably one of the cleanest cities ever.  Don't get me wrong, there seems to have been an ever-present "sand haze" this week -- but every shop, store, restaurant has been absolutely immaculate.

FRESH:  Remember that "bidet culture" thing?  Well, EVERY toilet here has had a little "personal faucet hose" attached.  Each of the toilets in my apartment, and even all of the toilets in our office.  If that's not feeling "fresh" -- I don't know what is.  And yes, the toilets in my apartment are also square-shaped.  (Did you notice I said "toilets" plural?  I have 2  bathrooms!)  But with Robes being the clothing of choice for the locals, doubtful that I'll be able to prove any theory as to why they prefer square-shaped toilets here.

CHEAP OIL:  It costs around $5 to fill a tank of gas.  That's right.  A tank.  Not a gallon.

EXPENSIVE WATER:  It can cost $5 to buy a gallon of water.

"THANK YOU" MEANS "NO".  When I ask my colleagues whether they'd like something (say, a piece of chocolate, or gum) they say "thank you."  And I just look at them, not knowing whether I should just walk away or shove a piece of gum in their mouth.  I now realize they mean "No, thank you."   Funny -- how "Thank you" means "yes" to us.

EVERYTHING CAN BE BOUGHT HERE:  Seriously. There's more in Dubai, than in Canada or the U.S.  I went to a mall today and it had all of the things I can't get in the U.S. or Canada (Canadian: Boots drugstores, Marks & Spender, Mars bars; US:  Pinkberry, Sephora, Excedrin.)

TACKY LOOKS THE SAME EVERYWHERE IN THE WORLD:  Saw a few Ferraris, and Bentleys cruising down "Jumeirah Walk" (the Rodeo Drive of the Middle East), and the obligatory "cool dude" wearing sunglasses with the music turned up a little too loud.  Looks just as ostentatious and ridiculous here as it does back home.

SAFETY VS. SECURITY:  I have never felt safer in a city as I do here. There doesn't seem to be the same level of creepiness that you sometimes get when you're in a big, modern, developed city -- people checking you out, leering, or just plain crazy;  Nor is there that underlying fear for crimes of poverty" (i.e. pick pocketing, theft, etc.) that you expect when you're in a developing country city.  Here -- there are tons of security-type guards everywhere. . . but they don't check anything.  They seem to be more like "receptionists" -- or to make sure people pay their $$ (which is the real God here?)   I could go in or out of a building, through gates . . . and I just nod, and they let you in.  But then.. . upon thinking, I guess that would make sense.  I mean, after all, the "security threat" that we all have learned to live with really wouldn't exist here, would it?   (I wonder -- do they do the same "airport security" thing here? Do they even think it's necessary?)

Moment of Zen:  Sat at the beach today, watching surfers against the backdrop of mosque domes.

Starting to want a drink. . . !  Let's see how this goes.  

I just arrived in Abu Dhabi -- A full spectrum of emotions. . .

Had a last minute change and had to fly into Abu Dhab (not Dubai)i to pick up my visa and get a medical exam, etc.

Plane ride was AWESOME: Was in business class, Etihad airlines.  Full reclining bed, little mini "cubby hole" -- lots of entertainment, even a massage chair!  I started relaxing immediately, just ordered the express meal, and fell asleep . . . and woke up 8 hours later!!! How awesome is that?!  I was disoriented and asked the stewardess how many more hours until we land, and she said "2"!  Unbelievable.  I didn't even have time to read, do crosswords or watch movies!  Definitely one of the more pleasant long-distance rides ever!

Arrival . . .WOW.  Abu Dhabi has one of the newest, most modern, impressive airports EVER.  It was super clean. . . over-the-top modern. . . and the Arab men, in their white robes, are just so noble-looking.  I was blown-away, until I walked by an airport food court, and saw.-- DEFLATING -  . . Burger King and Yum Chinese!  I mean, not even hummus!

Picked up my visa, got my eyes scanned by another cool-looking dude in a white robe, and got through customs  very easily.   Found a nice Pakistani porter, who helped me with all of my bags, and found another Pakistani driver, who took me to the hotel.  and then -- ANOTHER WOW -- the Hotel Fairmont Bab Al Bahr.  Really beautiful. . . modern, light, airy . . . can't wait to see it in the daylight.

My room was GREAT.  The Bathroom (a room in itself with both a tub and a ceiling shower) and the toilet (another separate room) were a little confusing at first:  Realized almost too late that this is a "bidet" culture:  I had to go to the bathroom badly, and after finding the toilet room, saw just a "white square" and a toilet-shaped object, with a faucet in it.  I wasn't thinking clearly -- because I really had to go and was starting to do the "half bow, half walk"  thing that you do when you're about to lose it -- but luckily I saw the faucet, and realized "OH, this is a bidet!" and looked more closely at the white square, and realized that this was a square-shaped toilet with its cover down and not just a cute stool, as I had originally thought.  Phew.

While thankful that I didn't piss in the bidet, after actually sitting on the square toilet seat, started thinking that the bidet would have been more comfortable.  Haven't been here long enough to check out average "ass size" here . . but am thinking it much be larger .. . and definitely more square?  Or else, it's just a "cool looking, but impractical" design thing with the hotel.  We'll see tomorrow as I hopefully get a chance to check out other toilets!

Tried to call my parents on Skype . . but am having problems, and am suspicious that Skype-to-telephone calls don't work in UAE, according to some website articles I saw. . . . BUMMED at the thought of limited contact with friends and family. . .

Am tired (again.)  It's 11 PM in Abu Dhabi, and am ready to climb into this awesome bed and sleep another 8 hours.  I see my dear old friend H tomorrow for breakfast!  Whoo hoo, so far so good.

So. . .I did it. I bought myself a wedding ring.

It just arrived.  I actually can't believe I did this, but I bought myself a wedding ring.

Ostensibly, I found myself buying it thinking it would be a great "cover" in case I actually did find myself being pre-judged for being a "single woman of a certain age" -- and I thought it might just save me from having to explain myself to a complete stranger that I will probably never see again anyway. . . I admit I got kind of freaked out by R telling me that I did need to be careful.  That some (especially local) men would really have a hard time understanding someone like me and I just didn't want to be some local freak show all the time.  I just want to go . .. work hard. . . party a little, make a few friends. . and take a few pictures  (and write a few blogs.)

I started looking on-line at wedding bands. . . and found myself nostalgically remembering those years when I thought I was going to get married -- and fantasizing over what kind of ring I would want.  They were long-forgotten (or suppressed, perhaps) memories . . . and eventually, I found myself being most attracted to a very simple, thin, gold band which was real gold (10k!) and . . .$50!

Hey, at that price, it was difficult NOT to order one.  So I did.  (I admit, I did have some problems though:  what the hell was my ring size?  Never having been married, I never had to find out my own ring size, I realized.  Does that hold true for all single women?  That they don't know their own ring size, I wonder?  It was actually a little bit of drama: who, today, has a ruler or tape measure in the house -- and with millimeters on it?  Finally settled on a guess, and based on the fit, it was exactly right!)

So. . . here I sit.  Typing away with a wedding band on my finger and, frankly, feeling a little weird:  Am I one of those repressed single women who really wants to be married secretly and I was just looking for some excuse to pretend to be where I can be in a foreign country and no one will ever know?  Will I actually have the balls to wear this . . . and start the inevitable trickling of "little while lies" that might snowball into something much bigger. .  funny maybe? . or even bad, where someone might get hurt?!  Or will I just carry it around with me and never wear it?

It's just a ring . . . but it's already feeling kind of heavy:  it's such a bearer of "truth" somehow and such a defining piece of jewelry.  If I wear this and not say anything, I am lying.

Or am I delusional. . . do people even notice these any more?  When you're past a certain age, it's hard to think that people actually check to see whether you're married.  If I wear this out tomorrow -- will strangers treat me differently, I wonder?

Getting ready. . . .for Dubai!

If someone had told me just 2 months ago, that I would be closing out this year living in Dubai, I would have told them they were high.  But here I am. . . just weeks away from jetting off to this fascinating and exciting part of the world for a few months (for work). . . a land where indoor ski resorts and designer handbags thrive equally.

Met with R the other night -- who's an ex-colleague who lived in Dubai several years back.  Everyone's been telling me: "Don't worry!  It'll be great!  I'm so JEALOUS!  You'll be like Carrie in "Sex in the City". . . tons of shopping!)  But . . um. . . I'm not exactly like the SITC girls . . in that I'm Asian, and Asian women tend to have a different socioeconomic context in different countries.  I went to R because he spent a ton of time there, and was a real straight-shooter.  I wanted a reality check from him.

"So", I asked him, "How low on the totem pole will I actually be in Dubai?"  (I, being Asian, single, female.)  His answer was less than comforting.

"Look, just make sure you make it clear ASAP that you're not a Filippina." (?! I was already curious that he didn't follow this descriptor with an occupation:  i.e. a Filippina . . .nanny. . .housekeeper? It was already understood. And apparently, this would be just millimeters above Indian, which is pret-ty low there.)
"Make sure you get it out there first thing after you say Hello:  "I'm from a Western country, and I work for a big-ass multinational conglomerate."  (Read:  I am not a Chinese hooker, and I am not looking for work as a nanny.)

Listen, he continued, I will be more than happy to introduce you to some ex-pat friends I still have there. . . but. . uh. .  I don't think it's a good idea for me to introduce you to my Arabic buddies there.  I mean. . .I wouldn't want them to misunderstand. . . you know?. . . I don't want them to think you're like a. . . "present". . . or something. . . .

Great.