Author: misschryss

Ejo #29 – Second Gear: Our Vietnam Motorcycle Adventure (Part I – The Adventure Begins)

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Late last year, David and I were invited by some friends to travel with them to Vietnam.  Nicole and Chris were doing a five day motorcycle tour and wondered if we’d be interested.  Now, this is the same couple who braved life and limb in a Rickshaw Run (look this up, it’s amazing), driving 3000km through India in a two week period in a (yep, you guessed it) motorised rickshaw.  To call them intrepid is an understatement.  Riding a motorcycle through Vietnam’s hinterland had never really been something I’d considered doing before.  I’m just not a very daring traveller.  My idea of adventure is trying a new cuisine, or sampling an exotically flavoured boutique beer.  Sure, we’ve travelled to some pretty amazing places but we usually stay somewhere comfortable and get around using fairly mundane forms of transportation.

 

The first (and last time) I’d ever ridden a motorbike on my own was twenty years ago, so my riding experience was minimal, to say the least.  After a bit of probing, I discovered that David’s wasn’t much more extensive.  So, naturally, we said yes!  By the beginning of December everything was booked and paid for.  We were locked, loaded and very excited at the prospect of such a daring holiday ahead of us.  I started writing lists for everything we’d have to do before we left.  We had to organise entry visas for Vietnam, buy suitable footwear and clothing for the trip, book hotels for the couple of days either side of the tour, organise travel insurance, learn a few Vietnamese phrases – hang on, let’s just go back one.  Organise travel insurance.  For some reason we kind of dragged our heels on this one – our medical insurance in Dubai covers travel but we only realised quite late that we’d have to get special insurance for riding motorbikes.  When we started researching it a bit more thoroughly we were dismayed to realise that no insurance company on earth would cover us for riding in Vietnam if we didn’t already have motorbike licenses from back home.

 

Actually “dismayed” is a monstrously restrained way to describe how we felt.  “Devastated” is a little more accurate.  But the idea of riding a motorcycle in a foreign land with no insurance really didn’t appeal to either of us.  We were left with no choice but to pull out of the tour.  It was with very heavy hearts that we broke the news to Nic and Chris.  They were naturally horrified for us (and themselves of course, since they’d now have to ride without us).  They had no problems with insurance because they both have full Australian motorbike licenses.  I must admit to feeling a little foolish for not checking the insurance requirements before we’d booked the trip.  We’d just been so excited and I guess we got a little swept away with the romance and drama of such an adventurous experience.

 

Sadly resigned to the fact that we’d now have five free days to do as we pleased in Vietnam (apart from ride motorbikes, that is) we started planning a different itinerary.  Chris, on the other hand, doggedly refused to resign.  He chased it up with the tour company and, after some back and forth, a representative emailed me to explain that as long as we had some kind of medical insurance, special motorbike insurance was unnecessary.  I was sceptical, but I read on.  It seems that insurance is pointless in Vietnam because if you are involved in an accident in which a Vietnamese person is injured, whether you are insured or not (or even whether you are at fault or not), you are liable.  If you happen to be injured while riding a motorbike, the standard procedure involves bribing the reporting doctor to state that you were on a bicycle when the accident occurred – and most insurance policies will happily cover bicycle accident costs.  Dodgy?  Hell, yes!  Standard operating procedure?  Absolutely.  It’s just a risk that everyone who hops on a motorcycle in Vietnam takes – licensed or not, insured or not.  We weren’t entirely convinced.  The notion of being involved in an accident and not being covered by third party insurance is just terrifying to me – but we threw caution (and yes, commonsense) to the wind and decided to hell with it.  We’d be super careful (famous last words, I’m sure) and ride really slowly and not take any risks.  The tour was back on!

 

A couple of weeks later the four of us met in Singapore before flying out to Vietnam to start our adventure.  Things didn’t get off to the smoothest of starts.  Surely that doesn’t surprise you (haven’t you ever read any of my travel ejos before)?  The flight from Singapore to Hanoi was delayed by an hour because of a fierce thunderstorm.  We had allowed a three hour layover before our connecting flight to Da Nang and, even with the delay out of Changi, we figured that would be plenty of time to process our visas on arrival.  We figured wrong.  The line at the visa collection office in Hanoi was already long when we arrived.  By the time someone kindly told us we were in the wrong line (WHAT?) it was even bigger.  Oh well, we wearily ventured down a short corridor to another desk, where our passports were taken for processing, before going back to the first (now enormous) line.  In fact, so many people had gathered there now that all semblance of a “line” structure was gone, replaced by a chaotic throng.  In seemingly random order, people’s names were called out.  One by one, people jostled through the crowd, handing over their application form, passport photos and money in exchange for their stamped documents.  It was at this point that Nicole and Chris mentioned that they didn’t have passport sized photos for their applications.  I don’t think any of us actually panicked at that moment, but I do believe our stress levels may have gone up a smidge.  And all this time, the clock was tick-tick-ticking, closing in on our scheduled departure time for Da Nang.  We never actually thought that the lack of passport photos would prevent Nic and Chris from getting their visas.  After all, what was the alternative?  Being forced on a plane back to Singapore?  We thought not.  And a little while later when their names were called out, they were offered the chance to take some pictures right there amidst the swarm of waiting travellers (for a nominal fee of course).  Unfortunately, by the time we had all collected our passports, it was very clear that there was no way on earth we’d make our flight to Da Nang (the second time David and I have ever missed a flight – the first being our connection from Madrid to Barcelona in September 2011.  We were getting a little more comfortable with it, it saddens me to say).

 

After a bit of running around, we managed to catch a later flight and arrived in Da Nang at around 11pm (a few hours later than expected).  We jumped in a cab and headed straight for our hotel in Hoi An, arriving at midnight just as the gates were closing.  Waving away our profuse apologies for being so late, the staff happily reopened the gates for us with smiles and friendly nods.  At the reception desk, a bleary eyed young woman greeted us and asked if we wanted to stay the night.  We started pulling out our respective booking confirmations when she told us, “Sorry, we fully booked.  No room available”.  Huh??  The four of us looked at each other.  Confused.  Tired.  Slightly worried.  “What do you mean?” I asked, thinking that perhaps I’d misunderstood her.  “We have a reservation.”  As if stating it with confidence would make it so.

 

She looked at us with compassion and shook her head.   “Sorry, no room available,” she said.  My heart rate doubled as I frantically searched my bag for our booking confirmation form, running our options through my mind, wondering what other hotels would be open at this time of night.  After what seemed like an interminable period of rummaging, I finally found the confirmation paper.  I looked up at her, brandishing it in one hand when she suddenly broke into a smile and said, “Just joking!”  We burst into relieved laughter.  And thus we were introduced to the Vietnamese sense of humour.  We were to experience a lot more of it over the next few days.

 

The lovely staff of Hai Au hotel in Hoi An - the first stop in our adventure

 

Something else we were lucky enough to encounter again and again on our trip was Vietnamese hospitality.  Even though it was blatantly clear that everyone had been about to turn in for the night (and perhaps a few of them had already been in bed) when we’d arrived, they asked us if we wanted something to eat.  The answer, of course, was a resounding yes!  We were starving.  So they reopened the kitchen and cooked us an incredible feast of Vietnamese rice, three different types of spring rolls and other local delicacies which we immediately devoured.  We washed it all down with refreshing local beer.  Yum!  It was a nice way to end our first day in Vietnam.

 

We could tell that everyone attending to us was sleepy (and we were too) so we scoffed down all the food, and with our bellies comfortably full we went up to our rooms for the night to get some rest.  David and I were feeling a little scummy from our long travel day so we decided to take showers before bed.  Unfortunately they ended up being cold showers, which we chalked up to the water heater not having had time to warm up.  No bother.  Nice and clean, we happily retired to bed for a very good night’s sleep.

 

The next morning I had another shower (in terms of hygiene, I am what you might call high maintenance).  I was disappointed to discover that the water was still cold.  Brrr!  Still, nothing could dampen my spirits.  I was excited about what the day held for us.  After breakfast, the four of us took a walk to the Hoi An Motorbike Adventures office, for a pre-tour briefing.  The company is run by a couple of Australian expats with several years of tour-guide and motorbiking experience between them.  It was great to meet Peter, one of our tour guides, and go through some of the broader brushstrokes of what we could expect on the ride.  Normally there is just one guide per tour but Peter was being trained to do the longer, five day tours by the senior guide, Joe (who we met a little later).  We were also told that we were to be accompanied on tour by their best mechanic, a guy called Hung (pronounced Hoong).  According to them, Hung was somewhat of a Minsk Whisperer.  He could, apparently, repair a Minsk motorcycle (no matter what the problem) with just a small toolkit and whatever else was at hand.  He had, in the past, patched up bikes with cigarette butts, twigs, chewing gum and a little bit of duct tape.  We were travelling with the MacGyver of Minsk-Moto.  And since we were also warned that Minsks are prone to breaking down rather a lot, the fact that Hung would be riding with us put us (a little) more at ease.

 

Me - I might LOOK calm, but I'm totally freaking out at all the motorbikes on the road.

 

Complete chaos on the streets of Hoi An.

 

After signing our lives away on the release forms, we took off to explore the bustling streets of downtown Hoi An.  The first thing that caught my attention was the number of motorbikes on the road.  They were everywhere.  Literally.  I think they made up about 95% of the road traffic and didn’t really seem to follow any kind of road rules that I could see.  This made me a little nervous in the pit of my stomach.  The next day we would be flung out into the madness, and the concept was beginning to startle me.  After observing the traffic for a little while though, I realised that even though it seemed quite random and out of control, there had to be some kind of sense to it (for, just like a school of fish flitting around a bed of coral, they always somehow managed to miss each other).  I wondered if I would be able to pick up on this “sense” when I got on my bike or whether I would die in the first twenty minutes.  For now, I decided to forget about it and just enjoy taking it all in.  We spent the rest of the day meandering through busy markets, admiring the flowers and balloons for sale on the street, cooling down by the river and eating wonderful local food.

 

Bustling Hoi An market, selling everything from fresh meat to postcards and pointy Vietnamese hats.

 

Colourful bowls for sale at the market

 

Nic and Chris chilling on a streetside cafe.

 

It's a glorious day for a walk across a bridge.

 

Plantains for sale on the street.

 

Bright and colourful Lunar New Year balloons for sale.

 

When we got back to the hotel I remembered to mention to the reception staff that the hot water system in our room wasn’t working.  The lady behind the desk, who introduced herself as Yummy (and she was – by name and by nature), flicked a switch on a panel and said it should be working within half an hour.  On our way up the stairs she teased me, asking if I’d had to endure a cold shower.  I nodded, and she said, “Oh well, you still alive.”  We laughed at her cheekiness.  But it was true.  I had survived the cold showers.  As Chris pointed out afterwards, the Vietnamese people have been through so much, and they have not just survived but they’ve come out the other side with their humour intact, able to smile at everything.  It’s an admirable trait and one which makes travelling through the country such a heartwarming experience.

 

The next morning was grey and drizzly.  We got picked up by taxi and taken to the bike warehouse, from where our journey would begin.  This is where I met Theresa, my Minsk.  In my mind I’d pictured a nice, modern, ergonomically designed, scooter-type motorbike.  What I got was a Soviet-era, military-type, functional piece of hardware.  And it was big.  And it looked heavy.  And rather scary.  And, at that point, I didn’t actually think I could do this crazy thing.  I wanted to run away, in fact.  Mark, the owner of the tour company (oblivious to my internal fight or flight reaction) explained to me that my bike had two saving graces.  Firstly, she didn’t require kick-starting.  All I had to do was turn a key to get her going.  And secondly she’d been retro-fitted with a scooter’s gearbox which meant that I could change gears without having to use a clutch.  Thank god, because I honestly think that if I’d had a clutch to contend with as well, I’d still be sitting at that warehouse trying to work out how to ride the damn thing.  I didn’t feel too much like a loser for choosing to ride a clutchless bike.  I mean I already felt like a hero for even going on this tour, so it would take a lot more than that to knock me off my perch (and to give them credit, no-one else in the group made me feel like a loser either – thanks guys).

 

Mark went on to explain that the bike was configured so that I could actually keep it in second gear the entire first day, until I got used to it.  I could even start it in gear and it would just idle away.  Easy peasy.  So, after he explained all the ins and outs to me, he gestured towards her and said, “Why don’t you take her for a spin?” before stepping away to check on the others.  My heart leapt into my mouth.  I knew I would have to eventually ride this beast, so it was in my best interests to get comfortable on her.   But I was really scared.  I nodded to myself, stepped up to her and swung my leg over.  My eyes widened.  Oh my god, she was so freaking heavy.  I was terrified.  It suddenly all just seemed beyond me.  I guess I could have simply backed out of the whole thing right then, but as tempting as it was to do just that, I knew I wouldn’t.  I would confront my fear, as reckless as that may be, and just get on with it.  I had a feeling that my experiences over the next five days were going to well and truly boot me out of my comfort zone.

 

I looked down at the Belarusian instrument between my legs and tried to convince myself that I could do this.  “Come on, you’ve done it before,” I whispered to myself.  Sure, it was a long time ago, but at least I knew I was capable of it.  I did a mental check of all the equipment.  The accelerator is on the right handle bar.  So is the handbrake.  No clutch (phew).  OK.  I pushed back the kickstand and revved her up a little bit, forgetting she was in second gear – and she promptly reminded me by lurching forward.  Brake.  Nervous giggles.  More revs, feet up.  And just like that, we took off down the narrow back street.  And suddenly I was riding!  Not very fast, mind you.  But I was riding.  It may not sound like a big deal but I was seriously exhilarated.  I rode about a hundred metres down the road, my face lifted to the wind and the light drizzle.  I smiled and let out a quiet “Wooohoooo!”  The first of many to come.

 

When I returned to the warehouse I had a huge grin plastered on my face.  This was going to be fun.  As I tried to dismount, my smile was wiped clean, replaced by a moment of panic as I lost my balance and nearly toppled over.  I managed to somehow remain upright, looking up at the others, hoping no-one had seen.  Nope, they were all preoccupied with their own bikes.  Phew.  But wow, she really was very heavy.  I’d have to be very careful, I told myself.  The next half an hour was spent getting ready, packing up our saddle bags, and putting on wet weather gear.  The tour company provided water proof pants and an enormous ankle-length poncho, that resembled a blue plastic mumu.  Not the sexiest riding outfits in the world but they would keep us dry.  As the rain continued I was happy that I’d gone shopping for special footwear before the trip.  I’d initially planned on riding in my Converse sneakers but changed my mind at the last minute when I’d found a cute little pair of leather slip on boots (in grey python print, don’t you know)!  They seemed far more suitable, especially now that it was raining.  I didn’t expect them to be 100% waterproof but they were surely better than canvas sneakers.

 

While we’d been busy packing up our bikes I’d noticed a Vietnamese man walking around the warehouse.  He was very smartly dressed in creased slacks, leather loafers and a very groovy black and white leather jacket (reminiscent of something Michael Jackson would wear).  I wondered who he was, speculating that perhaps he was a part owner of the business.  As the time to depart approached I saw the dapper Vietnamese dude pull on some wet weather pants over his trousers.  I was intrigued.  Was he coming with us?  Was he yet another guide?  It was then that our senior tour guide, Joe, introduced him as Hung, the infamous mechanic.  He was absolutely, hands down, the best dressed mechanic I have ever seen.  I was impressed.  He smiled shyly and it was obvious he didn’t speak very much English.  I liked him immediately.

 

Finally, we did one last check of the bikes and we were off.  Riding through the quiet back streets in a conga line formation, I imagined for a moment that we might be in for some easy riding.  I even convinced myself that my comfort zone might not be so seriously breached after all.  We were riding fairly slowly and there wasn’t much traffic.  We were easy riding!  Hey, this was going to be a breeze!  Five minutes later my head was spinning as we were surrounded by the buzzing and beeping of a million motorbikes and scooters whizzing past us as we entered a main road.  The adventure had begun.

To be continued…

Ejo #28 – Expat Life In Dubai (Some More Questions Answered)

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WHAT ARE THE MOST POPULAR TV SHOWS?

Hmm, I don’t really know to be honest.  I do know that if you pay for cable TV you can watch hours upon hours of utter crap (most of it from America and the UK).  I have, at one time or another, been addicted to the entire Food Network, the antics of the Kardashians, all three versions of CSI and, of course the adventures of Bear Grylls.  And whenever I’m not looking, David will watch sports and Ultimate Fight Club (I just can’t with that show).  For the most part though we don’t really watch broadcast television, preferring box sets.  There are, of course, several programmes on TV aimed at Arabic audiences but the only one I’m really aware of is a show called “Arabs Got Talent” (yes, it is exactly what it sounds like), which became an overnight sensation when it debuted about a year ago.  Do yourself a favour and check it out at Arabs Got Talent.  I promise you won’t be disappointed!

 

 

CAN YOU BUY PORK IN DUBAI?

Yes, you can.  A few supermarkets have special little enclaves in which you can purchase basic pork products.  They usually have a cute little sign on top stating “Pork: Not For Muslims” (you know, just in case they weren’t sure).  It’s a little harder to find restaurants that have pork on the menu.  The reason being that the license required to serve pork is associated with the license required to serve alcohol – and those are exclusively reserved for eateries in the large, five-star hotels.  Also, I imagine the logistics of keeping the kitchen “uncontaminated” by pork would be quite difficult.  For instance, a knife and chopping board used to prepare a pork dish could never be used for any other non-pork foods.  As an unfortunate consequence of this, there is a proliferation of bacon substitutes on offer around the city.  Trust me when I say that veal bacon, beef bacon and turkey bacon are all pretty bloody awful and best avoided if you don’t wish to insult your taste buds.

 

It’s not all bad though.  Very recently I was scouring the city looking for some Jamón Iberico (yeah, right!) for a Spanish tapas dinner party I was planning.  I had almost given up hope when I stumbled across the gourmet deli in Galleries Lafayette (a French department store in the Dubai Mall).  While admiring the lovely epicurean delights on offer, David and I surreptitiously inched our way towards the requisite room up the back.  As we approached the “Not For Muslims” sign, the opaque sliding doors parted to reveal a cornucopia of all things pig!  I do believe that, as the doors slid closed behind us, I jumped up and down and squealed (aptly) for joy.  We were surrounded by handmade chorizo, French pork sausages, prosciutto, smoked hams, streaky bacon and much, much more – and in the centre of this plethora of pork, majestically displayed in a large vice-like contraption, was a full hindquarter of corn-fed Iberico pig, hoof and all.  I sincerely couldn’t believe my eyes.  The attendant, noting the object of my attention, took a carving knife, sliced a little morsel of the deep rose flesh and ceremoniously handed it to me to taste.  Oh my god, it was heaven!  Suffice to say I have a new favourite shop in town!

 

 

THERE’S A LOT OF SPORT IN DUBAI, BUT WHERE TO “REGULAR” PEOPLE EXERCISE?

Yes, just like Australia, the UAE is pretty sports crazy.  Things here work a little differently than back home though, in that summertime sends us scampering indoors to hibernate, watch DVD box sets and lose the tan that we acquired during the lovely winter months.  But conversely, those winter months are perfect for all sorts of outdoor activity.  Blue skies and average temperatures of about 24ºC entice a lot of people out of their caves.  People run, walk, cycle, rollerblade, do yoga in the park, swim, sail, surf and even get their butts kicked in beachside boot camps (which is always fun to watch).  When it starts getting too hot to exercise outside, the majority of people retreat to the air-conditioned comfort of a gym (though, naturally, there are a few crazies who exercise outside all year round).  Most apartment buildings have a gym (and pool) for residents to use.  There are also plenty of stand-alone fitness centres around town offering not just gym equipment but all sorts of classes to whip you into shape.  Yoga and Pilates are also both very popular here.  In addition to all this, Dubai boasts the highest number of personal trainers per capita in the world (I’m actually just making this up, but there sure are a lot of them around and until someone proves me wrong, I’m sticking with it).

 

 

WHAT COOL BANDS TOUR DUBAI?

I’ll tell you who tours the UAE.  Elton John likes touring here.  Rod Stewart.  Duran Duran, Sting, Gipsy Kings, Snow Patrol, Dave Dobbin, Britney Spears.  Amy Winehouse toured here, five months before she died (and it was not her finest hour).  The Eagles are set to tour.  Engelbert Humperdinck was here two weeks ago!  I am so not joking.  Now, please don’t misunderstand me.  I’m not saying that the performers I’ve mentioned above aren’t good quality performers – or that they don’t put on a good show.  I mean, come on, it’s Engelbert Humperdinck, people!!!  No, I’m not saying that at all.  I’m just saying that they’re not my thing.  I long for some promoter to book Sia for an intimate gig in town.  Or Bill Callahan.  PJ Harvey would be great.  TV On The Radio?  Leonard Cohen?  Unfortunately, I just don’t see it happening, and that makes me sad.

 

 

DO YOU EAT OUT MUCH?  WHAT KIND OF RESTAURANTS DOES DUBAI HAVE?

We don’t eat out that much – we did when we first got here and we (rapidly) maxed out our credit cards, and put on an amazing amount of weight.  So, now we tend to go out to eat only on special occasions or when we have guests in town.  As for what kind of restaurants are available here, I’m pretty sure that if you can think of a cuisine you can find it here.  Argentinian, Korean, Italian, Ethiopian, Afghani, Nepalese, Indian, Pakistani, German, Mexican and Russian.  There’s seafood, all types of Asian, steakhouses, fish and chips, vegetarian, halal, middle eastern and so much more.  In fact, a search on Time Out Dubai’s online restaurant section reveals over 1500 choices.  If you can eat it, chances are you can eat it in Dubai (and yes, that even includes pork).

 

Unfortunately though, simply because it’s available doesn’t mean that the quality is that great.  My experience of dining out in Dubai is that there are very few places that do consistently good food.  The rest?  Not so good.  Strangely enough, it is in the higher end restaurants that I have found the food generally to be bland and uninspiring (which is really insulting considering how much it costs to eat at these places).  Also I’ve found the service to be grossly complacent (if not sometimes outright incompetent) – which I don’t necessarily blame the servers for.  In Dubai, it appears that restaurants prefer quantity of staff, over quality.  The servers are rarely trained to give a high standard of service, so how can it be their fault when they fail to deliver?  It’s difficult to say if the complacence is the cause, or borne, of the number of restaurant closures in town but it seems that not a week goes by that one restaurant or another doesn’t pack it in, to make room for some new (optimistic) venture.  Speaking from a non-financial perspective there just doesn’t seem to be that much investment in creating great dining spaces here, which is such a shame.  More attention goes towards importing already established eateries (Rivington Grill, The Ivy, Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse and Nobu are just a few).  Another common ploy is to stick a famous name on the door.  There are dozens of renowned chefs who have opened restaurants here.  And, unfortunately, fewer than a handful of these chefs frequently visit to check on the menu or even (shock, horror!) cook themselves.

 

Of course there are a few exceptions.  For special occasion dining it is very hard to go past Reflets par Pierre Gagnaire  – a restaurant we have been to several times to celebrate both of our birthdays, and our wedding anniversary.  A new favourite is Table 9 By Nick & Scott, the successor to Gordon Ramsay’s Verre restaurant in Old Dubai (if you are interested in reading my review of this, and other restaurants, please visit my other site “Foodie In Dubai” – still a young project but one I will definitely be growing).  On the other end of the food spectrum we have the simple, canteen-style eateries where the majority of the population (being from the subcontinent) go to fill up on a daily basis.  There are several places in the city where you can get a couple of fantastic curries and delicious, fluffy naan for less than the cost of a bottle of water at one of the fancier places.  Ravi’s is fantastic, and considered a Dubai institution.  And in the middle we have a few stalwart favourites – such as Mango Tree, our favourite Thai place where we (unadventurously) take all our overseas guests for a fantastic meal.  It’s always a winner, consistently serving up tasty, authentic Thai food and great cocktails!  So hey, why wouldn’t we take everyone there?  Certainly, no one has complained yet!

 

I’ve recently discovered a great new blog (The Hedonista) written by a fellow Australian chick living in Dubai who loves the same things that I do (food and travel) and posts far more often than me.  Even if you don’t live in Dubai, if you are interested in food and travelling then I think you’ll enjoy reading her.  Check her out.

Ejo #27 – Distributing Food To Labourers and Construction Workers (Karama Kanteen Strikes Again!)

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The alarm went off at 9.00am and I groaned.  I’d only been in bed about an hour and it was already time to get up.  But I didn’t hit the snooze button.  I had somewhere to be.  Somewhere important.  I won’t lie and say I bounded out of bed, it was more like an oozing motion.  You see, I had finished work that morning at 7am and by the time I got home, showered and flopped into bed there was only enough time for a quick nap.  But still, I was charged up on the excitement of the day’s project (and the seven espressos I’d had during the night shift).

 

After a quick breakfast (and yet another espresso), David and I headed off to meet Roshni Raimalwala at her apartment.  Roshni is the woman and driving force behind Karama Kanteen, an initiative which strives to provide food and general assistance to the beleaguered men who build the foundation upon which we all live in Dubai.  The poorest, lowest class of citizens.  I’m talking about the construction workers and labourers.  Every single weekend, Roshni is out there at the labour camps, or neighbourhoods in which these men reside, handing out food which is donated by schools, companies or individuals.  Late last year David and I donated some food for Christmas hampers that were handed out during the festive period.  Unfortunately, we had been unable to co-ordinate time off to help distribute it.  This time around, we both had the weekend off and arranged to meet with Roshni to help give the food to the men ourselves.

 

When I published my Xmas ejo last year I asked for donations from readers so that we could, collectively, bring a small ray of light and hope (in the form of a hot meal) into the lives of a few over-worked, underpaid labourers.  Several, very generous, people contributed towards the cause and together we raised 4500dhs (equivalent to about AUD1135).  This was enough to provide a hot chicken biryani meal to 450 men.  That is amazing!

 

We got to Roshni’s apartment building a little early and had to wait a few minutes for her to arrive, but when she got there at about 10.20am she lit up the room with her energy and vitality.  Even after having attended a presentation in Sharjah at 5am earlier that morning she was dynamic and bouncing with enthusiasm.  Soon afterwards, several of the volunteers that Roshni had organised to assist with the day’s work also started arriving.  We met a lady who happened to be from Mulgrave in Melbourne (two suburbs away from my parent’s house – it sure is a small world).  Also helping out was an Italian catholic nun.  Yep!  Habit and all!  I must admit it was strange to see a nun in a Muslim country.  Certainly, it was a first for me.  Sister Agnes has been helping out with Karama Kanteen for a couple of years.  I got the chance to talk to her a little, and she was so sweet, warm and generous.  I hope to meet her again the next time we attend one of Karama Kanteen’s events.

 

After the other volunteers arrived we all drove to the restaurant where we were to buy the food for the day.  We loaded up the three cars with boxes of hot chicken biryani, mint sauce, pickles and crispy pappadums.  And then we set off for Sharjah, a convoy of delicious smelling vehicles.  It really did smell incredible, and my mouth was watering!  It felt great to know that we were giving out quality food that I would have liked to eat myself!!  Nothing but the best for our guys.

 

David helping to load the boxes of food.

All the volunteers loading the boxes into the cars.

 

When we arrived in Sharjah there was already a line of about 75 men, queuing up in anticipation.  They were all dressed very nicely in pants and brightly coloured shirts.  These guys work six days a week, 12-14 hours a day.  During these long work hours, they must wear coveralls (the colour depending on the company they work for) that remind me of the jumpsuits Death Row prisoners in America must wear.  And in a way, they both serve the same purpose – to dehumanise the person wearing them.  It was nice to see them in their off-duty clothes looking like regular guys.

 

The handout happened in a sandy square, dotted with a few trees and anchored by a huge boulder in the centre.  It was on this boulder that the volunteers started unpacking the boxes and preparing the food.  We all worked together to bring the different elements of the meal into one plastic bag to hand to the men.  Because David and I had organised this donation, the others were kind enough to allow us to hand out the food.  It was a lovely gesture because it really felt more personal, actually giving the food to each person ourselves.  What I found interesting was that after passing the bag to each man with the handles closed (to make it easier for him to take it), I realised that they would, almost without exception, open the bag to look inside.  So, after a while I started passing the bag to them open.  They seemed to like this better and the line moved quicker after that.  All the volunteers worked so well together, like a well-oiled machine, to make sure that everyone got their meal before it got cold.  It was so wonderful to be part of this great team, even for just one morning.

 

Sister Agnes helping to unpack the food on the large boulder in the square.

A long line of hungry guys.

 

Not all the men were able to express their gratitude but a great many of them looked me in the eye and thanked me with a shy smile, wishing me a good day.  It was these exchanges that really touched me and made the effort of what we were doing so worthwhile.  I wish that those of you who helped to finance this cause could have been there to help out with the distribution.   The feeling was incomparable.  But please let me just say thank you, from the men and from me, for your generosity and kindness.  Without you some of these men would have gone hungry.  I know that our contribution is just a drop in the ocean, but surely every single drop helps?

David finishing off the handout.

  After all the food was gone and we were packing up, I noticed a large group of men had gathered around Roshni.  They were asking for her help.  They needed assistance with medical problems, visas, looking for work or even perhaps repatriation back to their home countries.  In a way Roshni is indeed like an angel of mercy (though I’m pretty sure she’d hate to hear herself referred to in that way).  All of the men treated, and spoke to her, with a great deal of respect and reverence.  One man even trembled as he pulled out his passport to show her.  He was very nervous and the fact is that she is probably his absolute last hope for help.  What Roshni does each and every week is provide an incredible service to the neediest people in this country.  She steps in and does whatever she can, when the government and the rest of society just turns away.  It felt great to contribute just a small bit towards what she does every week, but more than that it actually felt like an honour.  

Roshni holding court - looking over paperwork, trying to help in whatever way she can.

 

I was so blown away by how much my friends and family from Australia and America contributed.  I mean, I am directly affected by these guys on a daily basis.  Their plight assaults me every day.  I kind of feel like I have no choice but to do something to help them.  But you guys, the ones that gave money, are thousands of miles away.  The labourers’ problem can only really be just an abstract notion, and you still found it in your hearts to dig deep and give.  I take my hat off to you all.  Not only that, most of you said that you’d do it all again the next time.  That has inspired me to organise an event like this once a year.  I will probably continue to personally contribute food to the labourers and workers of Dubai on a regular basis (albeit on a smaller scale) but I plan to make this larger donation an annual project.  So, expect me to nag you for more funds this time next year!!!  In the meantime, if anyone wants to just make a general contribution, it will always be welcome and I promise to always make sure that 100% of what you donate goes to the workers.

 

On that note I’ll leave you with a quote that Roshni signs all her emails off with.  “Life becomes harder for us when we live for others, but it also becomes richer and happier”.