Category Archives: Dubai

So who is the noisy man?

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I read somewhere that you know you’re a long-term desert dwelling expat when you stop explaining to people that the weekend here is Friday and Saturday.

In fact, it used to be Thursday and Friday, changing in 2006 after it was deemed that having a weekend halfway into the rest of the world’s working week wasn’t productive.*

Every Friday at noon, Muslims go to the mosque for Friday prayers and the city erupts with noise as the mosques broadcast their sermons on loud speakers. If you’re parked in the vicinity, you’re highly likely to get blocked in as people flock to pray, leaving their cars in every available space, on the pavement, and on the sand.

The call to prayer (azaan) is heard five times every day (seven days a week) and I really enjoy hearing it when we’re out and about. It’s such a part of life in Dubai and always reminds me where we are.

The children here, for whom going back to school on Sunday is perfectly normal, can even be trained to come home when they hear the call to prayer.

“I have to go when I hear the noisy man,” one of BB’s friends told me once during a playdate at our previous villa, located in a compound right opposite a mosque.

“The noisy man?” I enquired. “Ah, of course!” When you live so close to a mosque, it is pretty loud – and the first call to prayer is at sunrise!

But, as I said, I love listening to the echoing song of the iman (and quickly learnt to sleep through the dawn call). You can also hear it in shopping malls, where even if you don’t practice Islam, it’s a signal to think beyond the shopping.

Have a quick listen below!

*As an aside, in several other parts of the Middle East (Saudi Arabia, Oman and Yemen), the weekend is still Thurs-Fri.

Back to the gym (sigh)

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Like many compounds in Dubai, ours has a gym that I visit erratically. It overlooks the pool, so while you’re working out, you can watch swimmers and sunbathers, which makes it marginally more interesting, I suppose.

For a while, it was a running joke that it was harder to gain access to the gym than it was to drive into our compound. If you’re behind the wheel of a 4×4, merely looking like an expat is usually enough to get you waved through security into our compound, whereas the gym became all draconian, requiring paperwork, access keys and a signing-in-and-out system.

The Yummy Mummies straight after school drop off (who I secretly want to look like)

All rather off-putting, especially if you’re not particularly gym-inclined in the first place.

Today, I got past the security guard perched outside the gym with no problem, and stepped on the treadmill to start my back-to-the-gym campaign.

Admittedly, it was a soft, leisurely start and so as the conveyor belt revolved at a fast walking-pace beneath my feet and my lungs contracted, I had time to read the gym rules.

I just love the rules that are posted in public places in Dubai. They’re always amusing…here are a few of my favourites from the gym:

● Wear proper gym attire (athletic tennis or cross training shoes only, T-shirt, shorts, or sweat pants. NO: Jeans, sandals, open-toe shoes or boots) … [Boots! As if! Half expected heels to be listed too]

● Do not put hands on mirrors … [you cheeky monkey]

● Only water bottles to be used in the gym & on equipment. Cups are prohibited … [so leave them at home, naughty!]

● Do not use weights on cardiovascular equipment … [do people actually do this?]

● No bags (gym bags, purses or back packs) allowed on the gym floor … [don’t say you weren’t warned!]

Though, perhaps the funniest thing was the sweet cleaning lady in the restroom afterwards who started wafting a big wad of tissues by my bright-red face, fanning me as though I was about to expire.

In my defence, the AC was broken – yes, really! And humidity levels are in the ‘high stress’ zone this month.

Back to school: The Dubai drop off

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Mothers across Dubai were either breathing a huge sigh of relief or sobbing into their hankies this morning as they dropped their children at school for the start of the new term.

But rather than simply depositing your offspring into the classroom roughly on time, it seems there are plenty of tactics you can use (some of them underhand) if you want to achieve a flawless drop off. Much is doubtless universal, but there are certainly some skills that are specific to Dubai schools.

Tips and tricks:

● Even if you only drop off one child, make sure you drive your 7-seater SUV right up to the school gates.

● Drive at speed, prepare to race other parents from the red light, bully your way round the roundabouts and take every opportunity to jump the queue.

Creating the illusion of a six-hour workout is a useful skill

● Ignore the car parking attendants and remember to cut up your best friend to get that prime parking spot.

● When alighting from your car, greet your friend with a cheery smile and a wave.

● Pay special attention to your chosen outfit. Currently trending is gym wear, preferably black. Whether or not you actually go straight to the gym from the drop off is entirely irrelevant.

● Make sure you and your children are perfectly laundered. Even the slightest trace of toothpaste, breakfast cereal, chocolate, snot, vom or poo will make itself glaringly apparent at the worst moment.

● Although a huge pair of sunglasses will hide a plethora of cosmetic tardiness, make sure your nails are perfect and you hair is pristine.

● Do not rush or run. Do not push or drag your child. Irrespective of what is actually happening, glide serenely through the school with a relaxed and happy expression.

● Greet each member of staff and wish them good morning. Train your children to do the same.

● When engaging in small talk with other parents keep to the following subjects: how charming the children are, how much the children are growing, how lovely everyone looks, the weather.

● Never admit to another mother any homework not done, lost library books, tantrums endured either at home or in the car, diarrhoea or head lice.

● Of course, all of the above also applies during pick up – although you must ensure that whatever you wear is entirely different from the outfit you were sporting only a few hours earlier.

● The only possible exception to this rule is you may return in the same gym wear, creating the aura of a potential six-hour work out. Sweat patches, however, are not acceptable.

Silent Sunday: 50 Shades of Yellow

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Returning to the Middle East after summer leave is really the only time you see Dubai through the eyes of a tourist. What always strikes me is the colour palette – the yellows, beiges, saffrons, hints of lemon, touches of ochre, seen on the ground, on villas and buildings, and at the beach. They’re such warm, cheerful colours, but best of all, I love the way the city is bathed in almost non-stop golden sunshine.

Sunset over the land of sand, taken by my friend Elin Boyd

Organised Mum’s fait accompli

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My boys are attending different schools this academic year (long story), so this week, whilst prodding them with an iron poker to prevent them napping in the car, I’ve been running from pillar to post, spending a small fortune on two sets of (different) uniforms, shoes, lunch boxes and water cups.

I’ve tried really hard to get it right, to make sure each boy is kitted out properly, with well-fitting shorts and shirts, that are labelled, and with hats that I know will get lost (due to the sun, there’s a no-hat/no-play policy).

You think you’ll just get it done on time, then you bump into her: Organised Mum. Yummy mummy-of-three-hen-pecked-children extraordinaire.

Organised Mum browses the uniform store at leisure, while everyone else’s shopping trip screeches to a halt due to the out-of-stock hats

You meet her at the uniform shop – except she’s not there to buy uniforms. She bought those in June, long before the store ran out of book bags and PE shirts. She’s there to buy a new wall planner, because last year’s didn’t have enough space for all their extra curricula activities.

“Are you ready for school?” she trills, with the smug air of someone who could quite easily spend this week by the pool. “Olivia can’t wait for school to start, can you darling?”

You see, Organised Mum has every reason to gloat, because she spent her entire summer planning for this moment. The Organised family went to the Rockies to climb mountains in July, with two weeks in St Tropez on the way back. But she never took her eye off the start of the new term.

Her children were measured and fitted for shoes on a stop-over in London; haircuts were done at Vidal Sassoon in Mayfair; her maid sewed satin labels on while they were away; and she restocked their stationery supplies with some stylish new lines sold exclusively at a French boutique.

Organised Mum has all the time in the world this week, and it’s beyond her that other mothers might still be buying last-minute uniforms. She finds a wall planner she likes and asks at the till if she can pre-order a diary for 2013. As she discusses typefaces, the working mothers in the line behind her, with approximately 10 minutes to get all their back-to-school supplies and get back to their desks, start silently cursing.

She leaves her details and the queue exhales a sigh of relief as she moves aside, but she’s not finished yet. With Mr Organised, a big cheese in oil pipelines, away in Saudi, she fancies a little more adult interaction and asks what activities we’re signing up for this term.

“We’re doing some extra French tuition,” she says. “The girls practised so hard on holiday. Go on, Trixabelle, say something in French. She sounds so clever when she speaks French.

“And we’ll be at the swimming trials, of course. Harry was very inspired by the Olympics … You never know!” she tinkles proudly.

“Maybe see you at the pool later,” she calls, as she breezes out the door into the sunshine.

Maybe not, Organised Mum. Some of us still have shopping to do.

Jet lag: The scourge of summer travel

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I’ve never been one for keeping a really strict routine. When the children were babies, the Gina Ford-esque Open the curtains at 6.24am regime didn’t suit me. But, like all mums, I’m well aware that if certain things happen at the same time each day, then life is a lot more enjoyable.

Bedtime is a case in point.

At no time is a routine more appealing than when it’s all going pear-shaped: I’m talking about jet lag here – that dreaded circadian rhythm sleep disorder that can hold you in its steely, fatigue-inducing grip for days, especially after an eastbound flight.

With her jet-lagged children up for hours in the night, Mom felt like she’d been run over by the airport bus

It’s a disorientating condition that people in our community know well, especially the Americans and Canadians who travel half way round the world to get back, with small children, who then spend the next two weeks mixing up night and day.

We only had a three-hour time jump between London and Dubai, but to be honest, even this is enough to play havoc with your family’s sleep.

Making it worse this year was the fact that BB and LB hadn’t really adjusted to British time anyway. After returning from America, and with no school to get up for, they stayed on a mid-Atlantic time zone, treating us to 11pm bedtimes in England.

No surprises, then, that our first full night back in Dubai went like this:

11.30pm: BB and LB finally succumb to sleep

2.20am: I nod off at last

2.30am: Pitter, patter … BB comes running in. “Mum, I can’t sleep!”

5.30am: BB, who I [foolishly] allowed to climb into our bed, falls back to sleep after three hours of fidgeting

6.15am: LB wakes up – for the day

Tonight (yawn), my overtired boys were also resisting bedtime, in a can’t sleep/won’t sleep fashion.

“I’m NOT tired!”

Then, just before nine, BB lost it, despite being allowed to watch some extra telly. “I want Nanny,” he wailed, in between distraught, heart-breaking sobs.

“But you’ve got me,” I soothed, feeling a bit like the booby prize.

I took him and his brother upstairs and tried reading a book, but it didn’t really distract my by-now-exhausted BB.

More raspy, uneven sobs.

So, I pulled out all the stops: I started singing.

“Show me the way to go home. I’m tired and I want to go to bed,” I crooned, trying to replicate a song my mum used to sing to me while drying my tears years ago.

BB went quiet, finally, and his breathing slowed as the song worked its magic. But then LB, who until now had been quite placid, started crying.

“Mum, don’t sing,” he spluttered, visibly shaken. “I really don’t like your singing. “It’s bad singing,” he snivelled, and sat up in bed, wide awake again.

There really is no pleasing everyone, is there?

Return of the Mac

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I flew back to Dubai with the boys on Thursday, on what we call ‘Daddy’s airplane’. Except DH wasn’t flying it, and nor was he on it.

BB and LB are good at air travel really, and I guess for a 3 and 6 year old, they could be classed as frequent travellers, but there are certain inevitabilities about flying with small children.

They needed the toilet just as the food arrived, and also the moment the seatbelt sign came on; they couldn’t get comfortable despite being pint-sized; they weren’t hungry when given their meals then clamoured for food later on when there was none. They wriggled, fidgeted, got bored and LB kept bumping the seat in front.

Brilliant, brilliant idea

As we boarded the full A380 at Heathrow, LB asked a flight attendant if we were going to space. “Too many people today,” he told her, as though he commuted the route daily. But not funnily for me, he didn’t sleep a wink, preferring to give me the Spanish Inquisition over whether there were owls chasing us (it was mostly dark) and would they get chopped up in the engine?

For my part, I ruefully turned down an upgrade (it was only for me, not the kids!), I entertained two energetic boys for seven long hours, rummaged around for missing items, let the 3yo sit on my lap for as long as was tolerable and made multiple trips to the loo.

But, you know what, it is getting easier. Each year is a little better than the last, and when I think back to last year’s long flight with a tantruming two-year-old, playing tray up/tray down, light on/light off and ding the flight attendant, I realise we’ve come a long way, even if it’s still really tiring.

Thanks to an iPad loaded with games, there were even some moments of quiet reflection, when I looked out the window at the ink black sky and the airplane’s shadowy wing. I found myself thinking about the gleaming metallic finish, the gentle, sloping contours, the speed it was capable of, and its ability to transport me from the sights and sounds of Seoul to the sunsets of Long Island.

So, was I appreciating DH’s airplane in all its gigantic glory?

Well, if I’m honest, I was thinking about my new beautiful, super-speedy MacBook Pro laptop, which I bought in England to bring back to Dubai. Love it!

IHOP opens in the Middle East

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There’s been some excited chatter on my Facebook timeline this week about the new IHOP at Mall of the Emirates (not a new product from Apple – it’s a restaurant and stands for International House of Pancakes).

Yes, for anyone who spent the summer in a cave, IHOP has actually opened in Dubai. There’s been some debate over whether the whole experience will be the same as in America (“Hello Maammsirrr”), but the verdict seems to be that it’s well worth a visit. Forty more are planned around the Middle East, apparently.

I have to confess I’m really looking forward to going: breakfast has always been my favourite meal of the day, and I’ve found it nigh on impossible to find a great ‘greasy spoon’ in Dubai.

What use do these miniature pots have, other than to create extra washing up?

For a start, pork is restricted, so without a pork licence, restaurants can only offer turkey or beef bacon. Same goes for sausages of course. Whilst I do enjoy a beef burger every now and then, when it comes to beef bacon, I’d rather stick the fork up my nose.

A nearby restaurant we sometimes go to for a ‘silver spoon’ breakfast is permitted to offer pork bacon and sausages (on the side), but for some reason, they ration out the beans and mushrooms in little pots – just like the kind your children would use for a doll’s tea party – then charge more than £10.

Having put up with this for the past four years, I was, quite literally, rubbing my hands with glee on our first morning in America this summer as we set out to The Original Pancake House, another popular breakfast restaurant.

Smiles all round: An IHOP kids’ pancake

My taste buds were dancing on the table with anticipation as the waitress took our order with panache, understood every word of it and returned with bottomless glasses of unsweetened iced tea.

She then brought rashers of crispy bacon, fluffy saucer-sized pancakes, sunny-side-up eggs, the biggest omelette I’ve ever seen (five eggs at least), corn beef hash and buttered toast with delicious jam bursting with flavour.

There’s really no doubt about it – Americans are Olympic-level breakfasters and if Dubai’s new IHOP can recreate the American breakfast experience, my taste buds will be hopping up and down all the way there.

Postscript: Dubai’s IHOP features many of the same items as the US restaurants, but no pork (Halal-certified turkey hams, veal sausages and beef bacon instead)

Edit: The Cheesecake Factory has opened too, with two-hour waits over Eid!

Dubai logic strikes again

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With the Dubai Summer Surprises festival well underway, we’re reminded once again that summertime in the UAE is full of, ahem, surprises. Along with Modhesh climbing a lamp post near you, there are raffles with big-ticket prizes (including Nissan Patrols, money and gold) and some fantastic summer sales all over the city, like this one:

The whole rack was marked the same, with the original price on the actual tag down as 79dhs. So Dubai!

The view of the Burj we never see

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These will be my last Dubai photos for a little while so I’m posting two from our seaplane ride, and one that, although old, has a Wimbledon twist.

Built on an artificial island, the Burj Al Arab is a shapely sight, visible on a sunny day from miles around. Brilliant white during daylight hours, the Teflon-coated hotel takes on an entirely different look at night, with spotlights creating a changing tableau of colours. But have you ever seen this iconic building from behind? (sorry the quality’s not great – iPhone, through the window, moving target, etc!)

The Burj Al Arab, one of the most expensive hotels on earth, pictured as we all know it. I love the fact that the 210 metre-high helipad has doubled as a grass tennis court

And around the back: Built to resemble the billowing sail of a dhow (an Arabian vessel), here’s a behind-the-scenes view of the vast mast

Didn’t believe me about the tennis court? Here it is, with Roger Federer and Andre Agassi having a friendly knock-about to promote the Dubai Open in 2005