When the desert freezes over

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In Dubai right now, the conversation on everyone’s (blue-tinged) lips is the same: the cold windy weather that’s whipping up dust storms galore.

It’s all relative, of course (in the UK, 17 degrees might be considered a chilly summer’s day), but the cool temperatures that are currently hitting our normally balmy city are having a far-reaching effect.

Spotted around the UAE today:

– Mums in winter clothes bought in 1992 (and a man wearing a shawl at the supermarket)

– Security men kitted out with ear muffs

– Nannies (the brave ones) sporting hoodies and hopping from foot to foot at the playarea while watching fleeced-up kids

– School guards swaddled in layers and resembling Arctic explorers

– Tourists fiddling with the air-conditioning units in their hotel rooms to see if they double up as heaters

– Those same visitors then heading to Starbucks for a hot chocolate, rueing the week they chose for a winter-sun holiday

– Cricketers, here for the England vs Pakistan Test match, wondering if they’re playing in, um, England

– Cats sniffing the air outside, turning their noses up and heading straight back indoors

– Business men grappling with their appendages – steady on – their ties, I mean, flapping in the wind at right angles

– Camels wearing leg warmers (joke!)

Given that Dubai plays host to more nationalities than the Olympics, there are two camps among residents: the ‘C’mon get over it! Just man-up…this is not cold” brigade and the “Brrrrr, it’s absolutely freezing’ camp.

You might think we’re all wimps but, believe it or not, the temperature in the UAE’s mountainous regions was set to dip to an almost freezing 1°C today, according to the forecast – and, even more surprisingly, did you know it can even snow in the desert?

Almost three years ago to the day, on the night of January 24-25th 2009, twenty centimetres of snow covered the peak of Mount Jebel Jais in Ras al-Khaimah, one of the UAE’s emirates.

Dubai, meanwhile, is abuzz with ‘will-it, won’t-it’ actually rain? There’s been a few drops already – more like a dog shaking off water than a downpour – but the consensus is it’s going to rain on Monday, meaning the highways will be aglow with hazard lights and cars stopped on the side of the road not knowing what to do.

Puddle-loving kids will be in their element, my own included. Some real puddles to jump in are such a novelty after months of running through the garden sprinklers pretending it’s raining (for the sweetest account of how exciting rain is for kids here, pop over to Mrs Dubai – you’ll love it, I promise, especially if you have little-uns).

As for which cold-weather camp I fall in – well, I’m absolutely loving the climate change, but, yes, I’m feeling it. Dubai’s hot weather thins your blood, you know.

PHOTO CREDIT: Emirates 24/7 News

Something out of the ordinary

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Friday isn’t normally my favourite day in Dubai, but this weekend DH is here – which means something more adventurous gets put on the itinerary.

So off we went this morning to Dubai creek, the historical part of the city where you can take a ride on an abra (a small water taxi). Amid cries of, ‘But we want to go to Mini Monsters’, we told the boys they’d love it, despite there not being a plastic playarea in sight. This is something different, we said – and, what’s more, the weather was even refreshingly different today – cool, overcast and with tiny drops of rain landing on the car windscreen for all of two minutes.

Taking in the hustle and bustle of the creek is an un-missable attraction in Dubai and strolling along the banks gives you a real taste of the city’s centuries-old trading traditions.

The natural seawater inlet also offers amazing views of old and new Dubai and as we pulled up, the boys practically shrieked with excitement at a luxury yacht-liner. Redirecting their attention to the rickety wooden sailing vessels (known as dhows), we found a water taxi about to set off and climbed on board.

We’ve done the creek with the boys before on a bigger Tour Dubai boat – also a wonderful trip, once we got over BB wanting to play Angry Birds on my phone – but nothing beats ploughing through the water on an abra, narrowly missing the other abras criss-crossing the creek.

Afterwards, we strolled around the wharf where you can see the loading and unloading of the dhows, which still ply ancient trade routes to places like India and East Africa – and, given the Iranian writing on some of the boats, to sanctioned Iran too – just across the water from us. Spices, textiles, hair-dryers, toys, tyres, fridges and even a Range Rover were some of the cargos about to go to sea.

In many cases, the sailors who brave the waters of the Gulf and Indian Ocean live in these colourful wooden vessels, turning each into a makeshift home.

Even the boys were captivated and actually walked for ages – asking, periodically, if we were in London (!) – [whispers] yes, it’s not often that we walk around so much outdoors here in Dubai.

They loved the boats, of course, but BB’s highlights: the underpants drying on the washing line on one of the dhows and the 50-or-so toilets stacked up and awaiting transportation. Why am I not surprised?

Once BB AND DH had stopped worrying about birdpoo landing on them, feeding the greedy seagulls was very entertaining

The girl next door

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When I joined DH in Dubai – LB a six-week-old newborn, BB a just-turned three tear-away and me blinking in the sunshine with sleep deprivation and the newness of it all – we moved into a small compound that was bright orange in colour with disco lights on the gate and goats round the corner.

Our temporary company accommodation, the complex was quickly renamed The Pumpkin Patch and wasn’t popular, partly because of the goldfish-bowl-style living. The villas were so close together you knew your neighbours’ comings and goings better than they did.

Despite the fact we now all own orange beer coolers emblazoned with “I survived Al-Badi”, I have blurred but fond memories of this compound as it’s where I made my first friends in Dubai – friendships that remain firm today.

By chance, our opposite neighbours hailed from the same part of the US that we’d recently moved from and had a daughter just a bit younger than BB, giving us an instant connection. Within days I’d made a lovely Dubai BF. And, what’s more, the kids hit it off too.

Today, in our permanent compound, I’m lucky enough to have Dubai BF right next door, and our children, who are in the same class at school, play together all the time.

BB calls round for his gorgeous Girl Next Door at least three times a day, and I’m sure they must at times want to disconnect their doorbell as he’s quite persistent.

Little girls are made of sugar and spice!

Inevitably there are boy/girl differences – which, at a later age, make you wonder if your partner could possibly be from another planet – and watching our two lovebirds together has proved to me that these characteristics are hardwired into the brain at birth. Men and women, boys and girls really do think differently.

The sweetest conversation that took place yesterday morning made me more sure about this in-built brain circuitry than ever.

“I just know I’m going to marry BB,” Girl Next Door confided to her mom. “When we went to the playground I told him I was going to marry him, but he told me he was going to marry a toilet [she laughs]. Mommy, can I marry BB?”

“Of course you can sweetie,” Dubai BF replied.

Girl Next Door: [closing her eyes and smiling] “Mommy, are there hearts coming out of me?”

My verdict: girls are from Venus, boys are from Pluto.

Good-bye plastic bags

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I’m not turning into an eco-warrior, I promise (with two small boys I’m far too worn out), but a comment from a good friend of mine on my last post is really worth elaborating on.

The nifty stunt she told me about combines two of my favourite things (bags and making lists), and, if you live in the Middle East, is coming to a supermarket near you soon.

As I mentioned, here in the UAE we are, for various reasons, consuming more than our fair share of the world. And when it comes to plastic shopping bags, the statistics are eye-poppingly bad.

The UAE is using more than 20 billion plastic bags annually, a figure that’s sparked such intense debate within the emirates that the Minister for Environment has ordered the country to go cold turkey by 2013: that’s right, by next year the UAE is to be plastic-bag free.

To promote Tide laundry detergent, the creative brains at Dubai advertising agency Leo Burnett came up with this reusable shopping bag that doubles as a grocery list.

Resembling a notepad, you write your list on the bag (fruit & veg, milk, bread, sellotape), then wash it afterwards and it’s ready for the next shopping trip. Elegantly simple, huh? The customers, fashion editors and bloggers who were sent the Tide Smart Bag (along with a marker pen and a box of the detergent) were impressed too, and so the plan is to make the bags available around the region.

If anyone from Tide just happens to be reading this (I’m tagging you now, 5 times), please send me one – I’m in the supermarket practically every other day and would be a great walking advert. Plus I reckon the bag could be a sanity saver too as the kids could doodle on it rather than pestering me for cartoon-character-endorsed junk food at every turn.

Customised and eco-chic, even I might remember to take this bag to the supermarket if it had my list written on it.

How big is your carbon footprint?

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Every time I visit the UK I’m struck by the “greenness” and I’m not talking about the grassy fields and rows of hedges – I mean all the eco-friendly, earth-saving devices that help you use less of the world.

It all leaves me feeling terribly guilty, because while we re-use hundreds of plastic bags from the supermarket, never tumble dry clothes (the climate takes care of that) and do recycle some things, I drive a gas-guzzling 4×4 (show me a mum in Dubai who doesn’t?) and have little choice but to use air conditioning to cool our home for at least two-thirds of the year.

In fact, I read somewhere that UAE residents consume more natural resources than anybody else on earth, ahead of the US even, and that our per capita footprint is an ecologically embarrassing 9.5 global hectares.

Now you think we’re greedy so-and-sos, don’t you?

I have to confess I do love American Crate & Barrel’s eco-friendly Oasis sofa with soy-based cushions – so good you could almost stir-fry them – and those gas-sipping hybrid cars are pretty cool. But since conservation probably shouldn’t be all about buying more things, here are some of the planet-pleasing measures that impressed me on my recent trip home:

@RubyGingerBunty loved their Cozy Coop rain covers #scrambledplease

At my parent’s house: In line with the UK’s phase-out of traditional lightbulbs, the bulbs are all ‘green’ (not literally, obviously) and uncooked scraps are tossed in a tall container. When the pot’s full my mum empties it on the compost heap in the garden – the bag and all, because that’s biodegradable too.

At my brother’s: They keep chickens in a 5-star coop and in return are treated to a bountiful supply of thick-shelled eggs (the sign of a healthy hen). These aren’t just any old chickens – lovingly cared for by my adorable, seven-year-old niece, the hens have their own twitter account and ‘tweet’ every day. You can imagine the backtracking I did when I, without thinking, offered my niece a chicken sandwich at lunch. She eats duck wraps now instead.

At my cousin’s house: They’ve had solar panels installed on the roof and are actually selling electricity to the National Grid. I think they’ve made about 42 pence so far this winter.

Maybe it was pounds, but either way just think how much money we could make if we tapped into Dubai’s year-round sunshine and put solar panels on our villas here! Ker-ching! Not to mention the joy of charging Dewa*.

Next time I go to the UK, I’m going to see if I can bring a panel back as over-sized baggage.

*Dubai Electricity & Water Authority, whose billing system, as Dubaihousewife points out, is like being connected to a reverse lottery (4,000 bucks to water your pots, seriously?)

Home for a refill and a blast of winter

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I love London, and each time I visit I’m reminded how much I enjoy being holed up in a cosy pub, drinking wine with my oldest friends – laughing till our sides ache, reminiscing, and marvelling at how much time has passed since we were at Uni together.

Nearly two decades have flashed by! How did that happen?

Our graduation ceremonies feel so recent, mine etched on my mind forever because I spied a fellow student’s grannie stuffing silverware into her handbag when she thought no one was looking.

The UK is actually having a mild winter this year, but it still feels cold when you only have summer clothes

These past few days, I’ve also enjoyed every minute of catching up with my family – loved ones I don’t see enough of due to living in the Middle East.

Everyone has said the same thing, though: “What are you doing here? Has something happened?”

They’re asking this because, since moving to Dubai four years ago, I’ve timed all my visits to the Northern hemisphere to coincide with warmer temperatures and long days.

This time, it’s winter – there’s a cold, howling wind that whips right through you, the tree branches are bare and the pale winter sun gives way to an eerie twilight at about 3.50pm.

I know my friends and family are struggling with blustery days, during which they go to work and return home in the dark like badgers, but, for me, the blast of winter is a wonderful novelty – a chance to drink warming hot chocolate by the radiator, to snuggle under the duvet with the iPad – and wear the Uggs.

I’m no stranger to winter. When we lived in the States – in Minneapolis, a city I adored in spring, summer and fall, the temperature could plummet to minus 25, so cold it hurt. During these sub-zero spells, if you threw a cup of boiling water into the air, it would freeze by the time it hit the ground.

Minneapolis in North America: Moving to Dubai was like jumping out of the freezer into the frying pan

Yet, at the same time, it was like living in a magical, winter wonderland. Fresh, fluffy snow would burst through the clouds, the flakes lightly touching your face, attaching to your lashes and tickling your nose. The sky, I remember, was nearly always blue, and the frozen lakes dotted with ice fishing huts and the odd car.


A British winter is, of course, far more dreary and overcast, but when you’ve escaped it for eight years running, it doesn’t seem gloomy. On the contrary, I’ve been revelling in the cosiness and loving the winter fashions being paraded everywhere I go. The scarves, hats, boots and coats – floor-length maxi-coats, double-breasted wool coats and fur-lined jackets in trendy winter colours like mustard and aubergine.

I’ve practically had to stop myself coo-ing at coats out loud or, worse, running up to people in the street to snatch the coat off their back.

Believe me, winter can be utterly fabulous, especially when you’ve just arrived from the desert and it’s only four days long.

Oh the coats - I love the coats. You would too if you never had to wear one

The airport run

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I don’t know about you, but the school holiday/Christmas combo wore me out – if I’d propped my eyelids open with cocktail sticks, I would still have fallen asleep.

And as BB’s school goes back a week later than nearly every other school in the world, I decided to take him home to his grandparents in England so they could do some advanced babysitting.

So here we are – in chilly Surrey (it’s 7 degrees and I arrived in flip-flops!), having got here by the skin of our teeth.

Suffice to say, our tickets – which were meant to be confirmed, weren’t – so standby it was, again. We tried four different flights over 24 hours, which involved lots of waiting (and you know how painful this can be with a small child in tow – personally I’d rather sit on those cocktail sticks), plus trotting backwards and forwards to the airport in a taxi.

On day 1, after our first crack-of-dawn attempt to get away, the taxi driver didn’t quite get that all we’d achieved that morning was an airport breakfast, and from the yawning I was doing presumed we’d just got off an international flight. So I went along with it. Later that day, we had afternoon tea at the airport too.

On day 2, after an even earlier start, the boarding pass fairy smiled on us and, with less than 45 minutes until take-off, we set off on a high-speed chase through passports and security to the gate – me dragging BB and our bags along at speed past Dubai International’s endless bling bling stores.

While everyone else settled down to enjoy a good movie, BB and I watched the map and counted down the minutes. "Look, Mummy - the front of the airplane has reached England. Are we in the front?"

The airplane, of course, was parked in the furthest-away spot, in the overflow parking by the airport fence, and we had to get to it by bus. As BB whined about how long the bus ride was taking – with eight hours of playing Tray Up/Tray Down, Light On/Light Off on the actual flight to go – my mood plummeted further.

The final hurdle was a seating problem. Having got the last two seats, BB and I were sitting in separate parts of the aircraft – and while I would have loved someone else, and even paid them good money, to sit next to him, this obviously wasn’t going to work. So I enlisted the help of a kindly cabin boy to ask passengers if they wouldn’t mind moving.

The shuffle that ensued resulted in a young man being left without a seat and, it was at this point, that my over-tired, over-active mind whirled into action, with visions of BB and I being deplaned.

“She doesn’t look like a terrorist,” I imagined the other passengers thinking, as I pictured us being marched off the aircraft. “Surely not with a child. Maybe they’re drug mules. No, the mother must be drunk. That’s it! She’s drunk – and in charge of a small boy! Disgraceful!”

Thankfully, my nice cabin boy returned and found the young man a seat – and we were on our way.

And so that’s how my relaxing break began. Just don’t get me started about the flight itself!

Boys will be boys

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What is it about motherhood that makes a congenital worry-wart grow 10 times bigger?

Since having kids, it seems I spend half my life talking the boys down from high walls, breaking up fights at home and stepping in when their antics get a bit too dare devilish.

Yet there are times when all I can do is stand by and watch their risk-taking ways – with my heart in my mouth.

As it’s a little chilly for swimming right now (if you live here, that is, tourists are not deterred), we’re making the most of Dubai’s park life. The city has wonderful parks – green, landscaped, clean and strewn with flowers and things to do, from train rides to trampolines.

One of my favourites is a smaller park near BB’s school that looks like this:

From lush golf courses to grassy parks, Dubai is surprisingly green

The landscaping, fountains and bridges are lovely and it’s set in the middle of a gated community of luxurious million-dirham villas, in which many of BB’s school friends actually live.

The only drawback – as is the case with most of Dubai’s parks and play areas – is it’s mainly nannies who watch the kids, so the chances of striking up a conversation with a like-minded mum are reduced. But that didn’t bother me today, as I imagined myself sitting on the grass with a book.

On arriving, however, we found a towering plastic inflatable slide, with various other 15dhs (£3)-a-pop rides, and I immediately knew my plans for an afternoon of wholesome, inexpensive fun were thwarted.

As BB clambered up the giant slide, I tried to close my ears to the deafening din of Bollywood music competing with ‘Here We Go Round The Mulberry Bush’ coming from the helicopter ride opposite.

A couple of kids, supervised by a nanny with no teeth (I don’t mean that literally, I mean a timid, overworked nanny with little control over her charges), were climbing the wall of the slide and, thankful that BB wasn’t doing the same, I relaxed a little – until I saw what he was doing.

He was bouncing at the top of the slide to gain momentum, then took a flying jump, which I can only describe as a backward flip with a twist – landing half-way down the slide on his head with an audible jolt.

“BB NO,” I roared, far too late. I was honestly scared he could have broken his neck. Didn’t bother him, of course. He simply sprung up at the bottom with a massive grin on his face and an expression that said, “Mummy, look at me!”

Boys – they’re not for the fainted hearted – and I know I just have to get used to it, because the day will come when they’ll want flying lessons.

PICTURE CREDIT: CollectAir

Our life on the small screen

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My humble and tiny corner of the blogosphere has kept me busy this year, providing a creative outlet and distraction for me and, I really hope, some entertaining insight into life in Dubai for people who’ve read it.

And a huge thank you for reading.

My goal when I started this blog was to attract one or two readers who aren’t related to me and, amazingly, I’ve achieved that!

Desert dwelling: Sandy pastures outside our compound

One of the fascinating things about blogging is being able to track the readership via your ‘blog stats’. I keep an eye on these because it’s fun to find out where traffic is coming from and also good to know if anything dodgy is going on.

Talking of which, I should probably change the title of my post Things that get you in trouble in Dubai (yes, sex on the beach!), because when people Google ‘sex in Dubai’ they blaze a trail to yours truly.

The seedy side of the internet aside, the blog stats also tell me which are the most popular posts – and I have to admit, I’m fascinated to see which posts about desert living people are most interested in; which nugget of expat knowledge has been most valuable; which parenting challenge has struck a chord.

As it happens, none of the above.

My most popular post has nothing to do with expat life — or kids for that matter.

A half-mile-high skyscraper, known as the Burj Khalifa, is responsible for a whopping 6,340 hits, nearly half the hits on my blog.

Watch out: No job too big, or too small

The second-most popular post was Expat brats: The signs to look out for, closely followed by Happy 40th birthday UAE (thanks to the photo of the blinged-out BMW) and the Dubai driving post with tips on how to be a roadhog.

Of course it would be silly to spend far too long online looking for a good picture of the world’s tallest building just to get another peak in my blog stats. So jettisoning the image I just found, I’ll leave you with a photo of something I saw parked near us recently that made me laugh (and wonder if I should hide).

That’s it for 2011. I have to get ready now for the black-tie-do taking place tonight on board the Queen Elizabeth 2 (QE2), moored here in Dubai, and I’m hoping they’ve filled the swimming pool with pink champagne.

Just kidding.

We don’t have a babysitter so we’ll be taking the kids up the road to a party in our compound – within stumbling distance home, so the perfect night out, if you ask me.

Thank you again for taking the time to read about us here in Dubai. Wishing you a very happy new year!

Will you marry me?

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Marriage is on the six-year-old’s mind at the moment. To start with, he’s wondering if the school bus driver and bus nanny are married.

He imagines their marital home is right next to the school (similar to his notion that all the teachers live at school, upstairs) and thinks the bus driver takes Shabhina on ‘date nights’ by bus.

The memories: Before two kids, two cats and two international moves


At bedtime tonight, this led to enquiries about why people get married.

“Why did you marry Daddy?” he asked.

“Because I love him,” I replied, catapulted back to our wedding day eight years ago and wondering if this conversation could possibly sow the seeds for a lasting marriage when BB grows up.

“But why did Daddy marry you?”

“Well,” I responded, slightly taken aback by his enquiring tone and setting the book we were reading down, ” he loves me too.”

“Mummee, D’you know who I’m going to marry?” he asked, coming closer to whisper a secret in my ear and looking pretty pleased with his catch.

“I”m going to marry the toilet!” – followed by howls of triumphant laughter.

Small boys and their toilet talk, honestly. I had NO idea!