Dubai

Ejo #43 – Things I Hate About Dubai #1 – SMOKING

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So, my therapist would be horrified that I’m starting a series called Things I Hate About Dubai (sorry Zimmy, I’ll call you).  You know how it is, I’m supposed to focus on The Positive and try to get something good from every experience.  But there are some things that I simply cannot be positive about.  And you know what, perhaps it’s actually therapeutic to just vent about them.  Better out than in, they say.  I like to think that I’m not being negative, per se – I’m just reporting things the way they are (based on my own subjective experiences, observations and opinions, of course).

 

Yes, of course there are some things that I do like about living here.  For instance, you can get pretty well anything home delivered.  Feel like a burger at 2am?  No problem.  Craving cupcakes?  Pour yourself a glass of milk while you wait.  And you can even get your dry-cleaning picked up, cleaned and delivered back within the day.  The convenience factor is high.  So, that’s pretty good.  Also, petrol’s quite cheap, so no complaints there.  And, of course, the one thing that literally keeps me in Dubai is its close proximity to the rest of the world.  The travel opportunities here are incredible and, as you may have noticed, we take full advantage of them (though it’s pretty sad when the thing you like the most about the place you live, is being able to leave).

 

Conversely though, there are some things that I hate.  Not just things that bug me a little bit.  It’s normal to get bugged by stuff, I get that.  I’m talking about things that make my blood boil, or my head explode in disbelief.  Things that, after having to endure them for nearly five years, really just make me kind of miserable.

 

So, let’s begin:  Things I Hate About Dubai #1 – Smoking.

 

I’ve always had a problem with smoking, so it’s not a new thing.  I have dreadful childhood memories of being in the family car after an evening spent at my cousin’s (guess what: smoky) house, Mum and Dad both puffing away at cigarettes and the windows rolled up despite my desperate pleas to open them just a little.  But my parents’ conviction that the cold, outside air would give me a chill prevented them from doing so.  I love my parents, but I still shake my head at their logic.  What doesn’t make sense about this theory (of the origins of my aversion) is that both my sisters, who were also subjected to this, were not so much scarred by the experience as compelled to start smoking at early ages and are (despite several attempts to quit the habit) both still addicted.

 

So being a rabid non-smoker in a family of rabid smokers was not the most pleasant way to grow up.  I became quite the Cigarette Nazi, constantly complaining about how disgusting the habit was, spouting off statistics about cancer and emphysema at every strike of a match or flick of a lighter.  I would threaten my parents that when (WHEN, mind you) they were dying of lung cancer, I would not look after them (after all, why should I help them when they were knowingly doing it, despite all my hysterical warnings.  Right?).  I developed the kind of olfactory sensitivity reserved for perfumers and St. Bernards.  But instead of sniffing out sandalwood topnotes and snowbunnies lost in the woods, I could smell cigarettes at a hundred paces.  And instead of getting used to the smell of cigarette smoke, I became more intolerant and more repulsed by it.  I drove my family so crazy that they eventually relented and agreed to stop smoking in the house (woop de doo).  This was a huge personal victory for me, but only a tiny moot step towards getting them to quit.

 

So, you’re probably starting to get an idea of how much I really hate smoking.  I have no qualms admitting that I am extremely, vehemently, steadfastly, unwaveringly and unapologetically against it.  I remember dating a smoker for a couple of months when I was 19 and vowing afterwards that I would never, EVER again go out with someone who smoked.  And I stick to my promises.  Some people are not aware that when David and I met, he’d been a smoker for 20 years.  I never told him to quit smoking for me (that’s just not my stripe).  But I was very clear that I didn’t go out with smokers, no exceptions.  Luckily for me, he decided I was worth giving up the habit for.  Phew!

 

An interesting fact: I have never taken a single puff of a cigarette.  Not directly anyway.  I’ve probably second-hand smoked hundreds of packets – and the idea of that makes me feel rather sick.  I mean, what other gross habit exists in which not only the person with the habit is involved, but everyone around them has to participate too?  Not many.  Can you imagine the uproar of disgust if people started freely picking their noses in public.  And then made YOU eat it??  (And yes, to me, this analogy is on par with how gross passive smoking is.)  I think it’s fantastic that so many cities around the world have taken steps to ban smoking in enclosed public spaces (and, in some cases, even in open public spaces – how progressive).  No-one is suggesting that smoking be banned altogether (though you wouldn’t see me at the protest rally, if it was).  It’s just really great to be able to go out, have a nice dinner and a drink, and socialise with friends without coming home smelling like I’ve spent the last few hours rolling around a stinky ashtray.

 

Alas, Dubai is not one of those forward thinking cities.  Smoking is allowed in many restaurants and in nearly all the bars and clubs.  We recently went out to dinner with David’s workmates and just about every single person at the table was smoking, almost constantly.  Apart from being generally pretty awful, to me this is just weird.  I like David’s workmates very much, but I am not used to going out with people who smoke.  Not a single one of my friends in Melbourne is a smoker.  And I don’t know if that’s just a coincidence, or if it was a sub-conscious act on my part to not make friends with smokers.  I just know it has never been an issue.  In Dubai, as a non-smoker, I am the pariah.  I’m the annoying one who doesn’t want to go out because I don’t want to eat in a haze of fug.  And, on the rare occasion that I do accept an invitation to go out, I’m the one who wants to leave early.  I never meet friends for a nice glass of wine after work, because when I do, I am subjected to plumes of cigarette smoke: getting in my eyes, in my lungs, in my hair and in my clothes.  The result is that I just don’t go out very much.  I like to think that I used to be a fun, social person before I moved here.  I don’t feel that way anymore.  I’m not sure what percentage of blame I can attribute to the smoking laws for that.  Is it 100%?  75%?  I don’t know.  But it’s a big part.

 

A recent concession from the local government in their ongoing “quest” to solve the second-hand smoke problem was to ban pregnant women and children under 18 from establishments that allowed indoor smoking.  Good work Dubai government.  There’s some forward thinking for you.  So, I’m not holding my breath (literally or figuratively) for things to change around here.  It’s one of the reasons I live for our holidays.  I get to go out and socialise and have fun and drink and be merry and meet people in a smoke-free environment.  And I really enjoy that – all the more so because it just doesn’t happen in the city I’ve chosen to live.

 

Maybe this “problem” of mine is not such a big deal to some people.  And (not that I give a shit, but) maybe sometimes my militant anti-smoking philosophy makes me unpopular.  Maybe you think I’m over-reacting.  But maybe you haven’t had to watch a loved one die of lung cancer (and I’m not going for the sympathy angle here, I’m just going for the truth).  My father dying of lung cancer was the single worst thing that has ever happened in my life.  And while some might dispute the role of smoking in the risk of developing this disease, I think the two are almost undeniably linked.  Remember back when I was a kid, threatening to not look after my parents “when” they got lung cancer?  Can you imagine how I felt when years later, my prediction actually came true?  On top of the grief and loss, the immense guilt I experienced only strengthened my resolve that smoking is a terrible, stupid thing to do that just doesn’t make any sense.  (Oh, and if you’re offended by me calling you stupid for smoking, why don’t you try to convince me that it’s not.  Also, just imagine how it must make my mother feel?  Sorry Mum.)

 

So yeah, maybe the memory of Dad at my 32nd birthday, laboriously hawking up thick, black phlegm over his slice of cake, a month before he died, has something to do with how much against it I am.  Maybe it’s the fear that the same thing will happen to the rest of my family and I’ll be the only one left (great, at least I’ll have the strength of my convictions to keep me company).  Maybe, maybe, maybe.  What I do know is that for as long as the smoking laws in this city remain unchanged, I’ll be staying home.  What can I do?  It’s just something that I hate about Dubai.

Ejo #35 – Welcoming Our 18th Guest To Dubai (And How We Entertained Him)

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We have just clocked over four years in Dubai. Four pretty interesting years. Lots of ups, a few downs, lots of travel, and plenty of visitors. Eighteen of them actually (though really it’s just sixteen, as two of them were returning guests)! I have to admit that next to organising our own travel (which truly is one of my favourite things in the world to do – does anyone have any idea how I can make a living from it?) I really get off on devising awesome itineraries for friends’ visits to Dubai. I’m like some kind of uber concierge (if I do say so myself), tailoring expeditions and events to each person’s unique predilections. I take into account the visitor’s personality, interests and booze tolerance (very important as you’ll find out later).

Our most recent guest (#18) was Greg, a friend I’ve known for about 15 years. Recently separated from his partner, Greg was very open to new experiences which made him a really easy guest to cater for. In fact, when I asked him if there was anything in particular he wanted to do while he was here, he gave me the following requests:

1. Something with a view;
2. Something in the desert;
3. Something in water;
4. Something that David and I hadn’t done before.

Let me make this clear. A brief like this is HEAVEN to me. It’s focussed, but not too specific. Just perfect. It allows me to flick through my mental filing system of fun things to do without getting bogged down by details. And you know what? We had fun. I admit I don’t ALWAYS get it right. But I’m getting better. And I hope that coming to visit David and me in Dubai isn’t just another thing to tick off your list. I hope it becomes a memorable, stimulating and exciting memory. So, here’s what we did when Greg was here.

    DAY ONE

Greg arrived early. Like 5.20am early. Which wasn’t a huge hassle for us as David and I were both finishing night shifts. By 8am we were all in bed snoozing and resting up for our 12.30pm Champagne brunch at Yalumba. So, brunch at Yalumba is a bit of a Dubai institution. Everyone has to do it once. And for this very reason, David and I have to do it lots of times! It wouldn’t be right for friends to miss out on this experience just because we’ve already done it several times. It’s a sacrifice, but that’s just how we roll. And since we have done it more than a few times (with the battle scars to prove it) we are better equipped to handle the copious amounts of alcohol that flow at the brunch. I say “flow” but that’s like describing a tsunami as “flowing”. Yalumba staff must be the most optimistic people on the planet, because to them no glass should ever (EVER) be half empty. I have, on occasion, had a waitress top up my glass with Taittinger before I’d even had a chance to put it down after taking a sip. They’re like Champagne ninjas! As you might imagine, this makes it virtually impossible to keep track of how much you drink. Consequently, it’s very easy to get completely hammered in a very short period of time. Which is exactly what happened on this occasion.

Greg in tiara! Things just went downhill from here.

But the fun didn’t stop there. Half price drinks afterwards enticed us (and other punters) to stick around for a few hours afterwards, ensuring lots of after-brunch shenanigans. This included literally pouring with sweat, dirty dancing with complete strangers, sneaking into the roped off swimming pool area (I’m looking at you Greg), followed by being evicted from the roped off swimming pool area, tequila shots (always the first sign of real trouble), and general good times. The good times, unfortunately, stopped for Greg when we got home at about 7pm whereupon he went into his room, closed the door and didn’t venture out again til morning. He claims he wasn’t sick but there would be no shame if he was. He certainly wouldn’t be the first!

The dreaded tequila shots! Unbelievably, I think we stopped at one. Must have been our years of Yalumba practise that stopped us from having more. Phew!

You know you’re having fun when you throw your head back laughing (and have party decorations all over your person).

    DAY TWO

So, Day 2 had been planned as a relatively gentle day to factor in recovery time. We drove to some of the city’s more iconic landmarks for photo opportunities, taking in the Burj Al Arab, Atlantis Hotel and the Palm Jumeirah. And in the afternoon we went up into the most iconic landmark of all, the Burj Khalifa, for high tea (literally the highest tea in the world, situated as it is on the 123rd floor of the world’s tallest building). We declined the champagne option (with a shudder) and opted for the fruity mocktails instead. It was a lovely brunch with fancy open sandwiches (sans bread for me), quiches, mini-cakes and scones with jam and clotted cream. All set to the soothing refrain of a talented harpist. Very civilised indeed.

Our tray of goodies. Yum!

The view of Old Town from the 123rd floor of the Burj Khalifa.

The harpist and her harp. I think Greg took about four hundred photos of her. She managed to ignore him.

The high tea served as a stark contrast to that evening’s activities. Greg, aware of my interest and (admittedly limited) involvement in helping the less fortunate labourers and workers of the city had requested that we do a food handout. So that night we arranged to meet with 20 men at an Indian restaurant in Karama to buy them a hot meal and give them some food hampers (consisting of rice, oil, lentils, spices, crackers and a few other necessities). The men we were donating to survive by collecting plastic bottles and cardboard and selling them for the meagre price of AED15 per 100kg. Their lives consist of scavenging for a pittance so it felt really great to help them out in this small way. I believe Greg was overwhelmed by how emotional the experience was.

Greg handing out the food hampers.

Greg handing out the hot meals from the Indian restaurant. An Emirati man passing by decided he’d line up for a free meal too. Nice try mister!!!

After the handout we went to Ravi’s Restaurant for dinner. Ravi’s is a renowned Pakistani restaurant that I’ve been wanting to go to ever since we moved to Dubai. The restaurant itself is nothing special, reminding me of a school cafeteria. But the food blew me away. It was delicious, simple fare and cost a fraction of the price of our high tea earlier that day.

    DAY THREE

Day 3 started with an at-home massage for Greg (the poor love must have exhausted himself at high tea the day before). And it continued into another low key day. Lunch, coffee, a bit of mall trawling, and a magnificent dinner at our favourite Thai restaurant, Mango Tree. The terrace of the restaurant looks out over the Dubai Fountain so we had an incredible view of the water works during dinner.

    DAY FOUR

For Greg’s last day, I had arranged a full day trip to Dibba, an interesting town about a two hour drive from Dubai. It’s interesting not least because of its shared ownership, split three ways between the Emirate of Sharjah, the Emirate of Ras Al Khaimah, and Oman! So, even though it’s not in Oman proper, I can technically say that I have now been to Oman! And it truly is stunning.

Chillin’ on the dhow

We were booked on a five hour dhow cruise in the Gulf of Oman, stopping several times to swim, snorkel and splash in the gorgeous blue water. David, Greg and I were the only ones onboard that were brave enough to jump off the second level of the dhow into the crystal clear waters. I admit I almost didn’t do it. It was pretty scary perched out there on the railing looking down at the water several metres below. But I had David count me down and just jumped when he ran out of numbers! It was exhilirating.

Action Gregor!!!

The cruise included a really yummy BBQ lunch of tandoori chicken, roast veggies, salads and a typical Omani dish of rice and meat. After lunch, the staff put on some Arabic music and got everyone dancing. And then (oh, horror of horrors) it was time to dress everyone up in the traditional Arabic dress of abaya (for women) and khandoura (for men). Now, when it started dawning on me that this was going on I started to slowly back away from the group, retreating towards the other end of the boat. There is no longer any novelty factor in me dressing up as an Arabic woman, and I prefer not to do it. I don’t think that donning a religious outfit is the most respectful thing in the world to do. But wouldn’t you know it, when it was Greg’s turn to dress up, the captain of the boat came and found me and coerced me into trying on the abaya. I resisted, I swear. I put up a fight. But he laid a guilt trip on me, saying that Greg would be disappointed if there was no girl next to him for the photos. Sheesh Greg, the things I do for you!

Not happy Jan! Still, I look pretty good in an abaya, don’t you reckon?

After that we stopped for a spot of fishing. A few people caught some little fishies, throwing them back after taking a photo (the fishing season hadn’t officially started yet). As we started the engines to take off home again, I had an urge to throw my reel back in the water and as we took off I had a bite!! The captain stopped the boat and I reeled in a MONSTER fish! It could have fed a small Omani village for days, don’t you think??

Call Guiness!

After the arduous two hour drive home we didn’t really feel like doing too much. David and I had to get up early to go to work the next day and Greg was flying out in the afternoon, so we chilled out at home and made our famous nachos for dinner (which Greg declared the best nachos he’s ever had, thank you very much). We also messed around with cocktails, concocting one in Greg’s honour. It’s called “Greg Is Greener” and yes, it is green! The secret ingredient is melon milk! Also: tequila!! It’s tastier than it sounds, I swear!

And, thus ended Greg’s four day trip to Dubai. I hope he had as much fun as we did. We are always happy to have people come and visit us, so next time you’re planning a trip to Europe or the region just let us know and we’ll whip you up a personal itinerary for maximum fun. And you can be sure, it’ll be fully customised, just for you!

Ejo #33 – A Few Things You Didn’t Realise You Wanted To Know About Living In Dubai (IFAQ – Part III)

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Here are the answers to a few questions you guys have fielded at me.  I’m always open to trying to find the answer to any and all queries, so please, keep them coming.

 

WHAT’S THAT FUNKY HEAD THING THAT LADIES IN BURQA WEAR?

If we’re talking about the same thing here, I’ve heard it referred to as a ‘batoola’ (please don’t quote me on the spelling).  It’s a traditional Bedouin headpiece which appears to be purely decorative.  Even though it’s shiny and looks metallic, it is usually made from cloth or leather.  I’ve seen a few of these around and it tends to be worn by the more mature lady (which leads me to believe it’s the Arabic equivalent of your grandmother’s Sunday hat, i.e. something that used to be more common a few years ago but will probably die out with the newer generations).  I must confess that the first time I saw a lady wearing one of these masks in public I kind of freaked out a little bit.  I mean, look at it!  It looks like some kind of kinky S&M gear designed to humiliate the person donning it; not dissimilar to a muzzle.  Such comparisons, however, serve only to highlight that everything I look at in Dubai is seen through Western eyes.  It’s not for me to judge something which in Islamic culture is deemed an item that garners respect and reverence towards the wearer.

 

A mature Bedouin lady wearing a traditional Batoola face mask.

 

DO YOU HAVE TO LIVE IN A COMPOUND? 

Compounds are more common in places like Saudi Arabia or Iraq, where it is considered somewhat difficult to assimilate as a westerner.  Dubai is very westernised and offers accommodation in either apartments or villas (which is what they call houses over here, for some unknown reason).  There does appear to be a tendency for westerners to cluster together in certain areas but it’s completely out of choice.

 

ARE ALL EMIRATIS RICH?

A lot of Emiratis have to work for a living.  Of course there are some obscenely rich Arabs out there but they are the exception – unlike other areas in the region, Dubai has never been particularly oil-rich.  Emiratis do receive a lot of grants and concessions from the government (such as heavily subsidised water and electricity rates), but it’s not enough to live on.

 

Having said that, I’ve heard many (albeit unsubstantiated) rumours that Emiratis are eligible for sizable cash bonuses in certain circumstances.  Specifically, that if two Emiratis marry each other, they receive approximately AED200,000 (about AUD50,000) as a gift from the government.  I guess the idea is to keep the Emirati bloodline going.  But there are also whispers that Emirati families sometimes arrange a marriage in order to receive the money, with the couple divorcing after an appropriately “unsuspicious” period.  Even more controversial is the rumour that for every Emirati baby that is born, the parents receive an additional AED200,000.  And you thought the baby bonus in Australia incentivised procreation!!!

 

DOES EVERYONE HAVE A LIVE IN MAID?

No, but a surprising number of people do.  I, personally, couldn’t stand having a stranger living in my house picking up after me.  I cherish my privacy.  Not only that, I am more than happy to pick up after myself.  People that would never consider hiring a live-in maid in their home country do so here simply because the labour is so cheap.  We occasionally use the services of a cleaning agency (on average about once a month) and that is more than enough for us.  Perhaps if we had children I would be more inclined to have regular hired help around the house, but I still don’t think I’d ever go with the live-in option.  Does this have anything to do with my own experience of being a live-in nanny/maid for a year in my late twenties?  I’m not sure – that’s one for the therapist’s couch I think!

 

DO YOU, AS A WOMAN, HAVE TO COVER UP WITH AN ABAYA?

No, I don’t (though sometimes I kind of wish I could).  Women who live in Iran, Afghanistan or Saudi Arabia aren’t permitted in public without covering up their bodies, hair and face.  Dubai is really relaxed about that and there is no problem being in public in regular clothes.  But, whilst it is relatively moderate, the UAE is still an Islamic country and this should be respected by visitors.  It is deemed immodest, and thus very rude, to show your bare shoulders or knees.  For some reason though, there is never any shortage of these body parts (and sometimes even more) on display, with women frequently wearing super skimpy outfits in public.  I’ve been here so long now that it actually makes me cringe whenever I see it.  David and I flash imaginary “red cards” whenever we see bare shoulders or too much thigh being exposed in the mall.  I can’t get over how people could be so insensitive to the culture of the country in which they are guests.  Sure, I do occasionally miss being able to wear shorts and singlet tops but you know what, I just save that kind of attire for when we go on holiday.

 

Things are getting so bad here with people disregarding local sensitivities that there is talk of making conservative dress code a law.  One for which you could actually go to jail for flouting.  Now, I think that might be an over-reaction, but it gives you an idea of how offensive it is to Muslims to see people walking around in public in varying degrees of undress.

 

DOES ALL THAT SAND HAVE (NEGATIVE) EFFECTS ON LIFESTYLE?  FOR INSTANCE REDUCED LIFESPAN FOR CARS?

There really is a lot of sand here.  And with even the slightest breeze, that sand becomes airborne.  So everything gets covered with it.  There are some labourers whose only job it is to sweep sand off the road.  Talk about a Sisyphean task.

 

A common scene on the roads in Dubai. Sand, sand everywhere.

 

Sandstorms are not an uncommon occurrence and I imagine that all that blowing sand is not very good for vehicles but there aren’t any official figures on the actual impact.  And anyway, for a very small fee you can have your car regularly cleaned at home, at work or even while you shop.  Mobile car cleaning is big business over here.  There are several guys in our apartment building car park who will clean your car overnight, three times a week for about AUD25 a month.  It works out to a little over two bucks a wash and since it’s being cleaned every couple of days, the sand doesn’t really hang around long enough to cause damage.  That’s the theory anyway.  Personally,  I’ve always been a little hesitant to have my car cleaned this way as their equipment usually isn’t the best and if they do scratch my car (i.e. by rubbing the sand into the paint with a dry, dirty rag for instance), I have no recourse.  But I think I’m in the fuddy-duddy minority about that, as it doesn’t seem to bother anyone else.  To be honest though, I’m pretty close to caving on this point.  And to be completely honest, it hurts me more to see my beautiful baby always covered in sand and dust.  She deserves to be shiny and sparkly clean.  So I relent.  So far, so good.

 

DO YOU GO TO THE MOVIES OFTEN?

We did go to the movies a few times when we first got here.  Being a shift worker is great because you get time off to do things, like go to the movies, when most other people are at work.  Unfortunately, in a city like Dubai, where a lot of people don’t actually work, that advantage is negated.  And, apart from the fact that we weren’t getting the movie theatre to ourselves anymore (as we were accustomed to back home), a strange thing occurred the few times we did decide to go.  The strange thing I speak of is censorship.  Yep!  It’s alive and well in the UAE.  Too many times we’d be getting right into a story, watching as our protagonist and his lovely lady leaned in for a kiss, when BAM – we’d be snapped back into reality by a vicious cut in the celluloid, rejoining our heroes just as they were buttoning up their shirts (a fetching glow to their cheeks).  It is considered indecent to show even the most modest re-enactments of a sex scene in this culture.  And it’s just too bad if anything crucial to comprehending the rest of the movie happens during the deleted scenes.  David and I have watched entire films, at a complete loss as to what was happening.  The explanation lay on the cutting room floor!  And the censors here aren’t winning any Oscar awards for editing either.  Five or ten minutes either side of an offending scene is considered “close enough”.  We have actually paid money to watch a two hour movie that finished in a little over an hour.  And as you can imagine, no, it didn’t make any sense whatsoever!

 

In addition to that, movie etiquette here is somewhat different than we are used to.  For instance, in Australia people tend to go to the movies to, well, to watch a movie.  In the UAE they go to catch up with friends.  And I don’t mean catch up by watching the movie together.  I mean catch up by talking loudly for the duration of the entire film.  Or sometimes they go to conduct business meetings via conference on their smartphone.  Yes, they do that.  And my personal favourite: to convey scene-by-scene what is happening in the movie to some disembodied person, who for some inexplicable reason couldn’t make it to the movie themselves, but is still there in spirit and would like to know exactly what is happening on screen.  So no, we don’t go to the movies anymore.  I’d rather stick hot needles in my eye.  Hope that answers your question.

 

DO YOU ACTUALLY LIKE LIVING IN DUBAI?

You know, this is actually a tricky question for me to answer.  It’s certainly more complex than a yes/no response.  In fact, I think it deserves an entire ejo to itself.  Let me get back to you, OK?