Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Who is this Pocari and why would I drink his/her sweat?

I've been curious to try this mysterious beverage ever since I first saw it advertised on the Emirates in flight entertainment.

It's not prominently displayed in the Western-orientated food outlets that I tend to frequent and I can see why.  It's not something that I think would appeal to your average western pallet.  The TV commercial for it is what I'm starting to think of as "very UAE".  It claims to be an isotonic energy drink and is advertised as something to drink first thing in the morning because you have become dehydrated over night rather than during or after sports.  The star of the advert is a dark haired woman who is obviously having a very active night's sleep in her bed leaping all over the place.  Alluring, you may think, but of course she is dressed in frumpy pyjamas buttoned up to her neck should you even think of getting any thoughts on that direction, thank you very much.  Dehydration is obviously a big issue here in the summer months so the makers have obviously spotted a marketing opportunity there.

I think this picture of it in a glass tells you all you need to know about what it tastes like:


It really does look like a glass of sweat.  It's got a hint of lychee juice about it with some notes of sugar and, here comes the science bit, salt.  I can't say I'm going to be a regular drinker of this nectar although perhaps during the summer I will feel the need to imbibe it for its "unique hydrating qualities".  So for the time being, Pocari, you don't need to sweat in my direction.

The Ultimate Sandcastle

The Sand Warlock, as he patriarch of all things sandy, got dead competitive when we are at the beach recently.  Here he is surveying his handy work. 


There were a family of Dutch children near by who started him off by giving out to him about his feeble efforts so he got all Dubai on their ass and had to build the biggest one on the beach. I sighed and settled down with the latest Sarah Waters until he had finished.  OK, it's all a lie.  This is in fact Jahili Fort in the oasis town of Al Ain, a couple of hours' drive from Dubai. 

Al Ain was recently suggested as the possible new exile home of Hosni Mubarak.  My feature idea of going there to do a story about what there is on offer for the modern exiled ruler was shot down in flames here, but we decided to go anyway.  I think he's settled on Sharm-el-Sheikh so I missed the boat.

The fort has been restored to its original state. It's built of mud bricks (no sniggering at the back) rather than sand and apparently until 2007 it was in a tragically crumbly state. We were the only people there and I can't help but think if it got a few more visitors, it would return once more to a crumbly state as it feels like it's made of sand mixed with mud and grass.



Admittedly, rain isn't exactly a problem here so it's not going to be washed away but if it had anything like the foot fall of somewhere like Warwick Castle it seems likely it would be powder on the wind within days.

The fort was built by Sheikh Zayed bin Khalifa Al Nahyan, or Zayed I, in the late 19th century. He was grandfather of the Sheikh Zayed, the UAE's beloved but now departed first ruler who gives his name to Dubai's monstrous 12-lane main road.  The fort has water pipes sunk into the walls for cooling and was used as a Royal summer residence.  It's had various uses over the years including a base for British forces in the 1950s.  There's a suggestion that it was one of many forts designed to protect Al Ain which was highly regarded as an oasis with fresh water supplies.  Today there is still a relatively green spot full of palm trees.


It's a peaceful and cool place.  Apparently the town is home to one of the UAE's few remaining camel markets so obviously I will be returning there soon to see what that's all about and buy myself a few beasts.

While there we drove up Jebel Hafeet, UAE's second highest peak, a towering 1,240ft.  And discovered at the top what I thought might be Mubarak's hideaway.  What does one do in Dubai and the surrounds when there's an empty spot? One builds a hotel on it. So here is the Hotel Mercure: 

   
My picture doesn't really do it justice but I think you get the idea.  We thought about staying for dinner to admire the view from the peak but the combination of the failing light, the dust from the nearby cement factory and general desert detritus made it less than worthwhile.  Plus, the promise of live music which appeared to be Red Coat-style entertainment, had us hightailing it for the door faster than you can say audience participation.

Saturday, February 19, 2011

when the going gets tough, the tough go shopping

Not to labour the point too much about how unlikely the Emiratis of Dubai are to join in pro-democracy protests, but they spent last night watching a fountain that plays tunes do its special dance and people dressed as shopping bags parading around Dubai Mall to mark the end of the shopping festival.

I have video evidence of this which I've uploaded on Facebook because blogger has some form of heart attack if I try to do it on here.

It struck all of us in the Sand Witch household last night when we were watching Sky News's coverage of Bahraini protestesers being killed that while that's going on, 300 miles away here in Dubai we're watching grown men and women dance about dressed as shopping bags and effectively saying: "The region may be falling apart but hurray! You can always go shopping! Yay! Shopping!  Buy things!"  It's a somewhat ludicrous contrast. 

Here is a somewhat blurry shot of those human shopping bags:



Dubai Shopping Festival is effectively a seven-week long January sale.  I'm reliably informed by a highly placed sources in the retail sector (oh alright, the Sand Warlock told me) that it's illegal not to have a sale in your shop during the festival.  It's a sneaky ploy to get people to still come here when the weather's not as warm.

Friday, February 18, 2011

Bahrain FAQs

1.  How far is to Bahrain from Dubai?
It's 300 miles, less than an hour by plane. If you were to try to drive the Gulf is in the way so it would be further. As Egypt is 1,500 miles away then yes, the protests are getting closer to Dubai. 

2.  Are the pro-Democracy protests there likely to spread to Dubai?
I'll just consult my crystal ball.  Hmmmm.. Ommmmmm.  No, hang on, I don't know because I don't have one of those any more because I chucked it away for talking nonsense.  I would have thought it was extremely unlikely that there will be protests here as even though UAE is not democratic, Emiratis I have met so far seem really rather contented with their lot.

3.  Er, that, in my completely non-expert opinion, is it. 

4.  Is this to be filed under the "famous last words" category of the filing cabinet of your life?
Probably.

5.  You're a journalist with nothing to do.  Why aren't you travelling to these troubled regions just a short hop away to give the lowdown from the front line?
Officially:  Because the visa people have my passport so I can't leave the country if I want to get back in.
Really:  I'm a bit scared and my mum would tell me off. 

a dry Valentine's Day

This year February 14th in UAE was decreed to be the Prophet's birthday so there was no booze to be had in any of the bars or hotels in Dubai.

We went out for dinner anyway because, as him indoors pointed out, the hotels etc were all doing Valentine's meals on February 13th of 15th to compensate, but it's not the same.  I think we escaped the experience of being stuck in a packed restaurant with tons of other embarrassed looking couples all eating the same thing with the same crap wine then being chucked out so they can cram in the second sitting.

Luckily his job means that we had access to a delicious half bottle of pink champagne.  Otherwise, we celebrated the day with steak for him, langoustines for me, and virgin daiquiris.  

My best beloved also finally succumbed to my whinging about the lack of teapot tea available in the flat and bought me these:


The minature pot is a milk jug, not the teapot's child.

I never really thought of myself as adhering to English stereotypes but as far as tea goes, I'm embarrassingly committed to the cause.  I've been an avid tea drinker since I had my first cup at the age of about five.  Teabag tea, mind, not posh tea leaves.  Tea drinking is a slightly tricky enterprise here as the only teabag source I've been bothered to discover is Waitrose which is somewhat pricier than I'm used to anyway and then more so because the only things that aren't imported are the few things that grow here, ie under-sized cucumbers.  The best deal I could find were Barry's which are Irish but I'm pleased to report they taste the same as Tetley or Yorkshire Tea. 

Speaking of stereotypes, the other thing I have always missed when I'm away from home is chip shop fish and chips.  I always used to demand that Mum and Dad bought us fish and chips when we arrived home from holidays with varying degrees of success, depending on how irksome the camper van crawl up through France had been.  I remember the year we came back from mid France to Nottinghamshire on a tow truck after the van finally gave up the ghost, my whimpers for batter, grease and carbs fell on particularly deaf ears.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

mmmmmm (Omani) Doughnut

At the weekend, the Sand Warlock and I hopped in the back of a 4X4 with some kindly Finnish people who go off road driving a lot and know the area rather well.


We drove up through to the Emirate of Fujairah to a bit of land called the Omani Doughnut.  I am not sure whether the Doughnutians prefer the traditional spelling or they've opted for the Americanisation of Donutians.  The gist of the reason for this bit of the Emirates inside a bit of Oman inside the Emirates (yes, that is correct) is referendums of people voting to be part of one or the other country, I am told.

So off we jolly well went in a really rather vast vehicle for a bit of a Wadi drive and a look at a desert oasis and some very mountainous mountains (see mountains above).

Wadis, for the uninitiated, are dry riverbeds that are only filled with water when there has been heavy rain.  Therefore if you're going to attempt to drive up one it is somewhat important to check the weather forecast because if there's a flash flood, you are in la grande merde.  Luckily it was a dry day, as is let's face it, it usually the case in this part of the world, so we were fine.

There must have been rain at some point for this somewhat bloody-minded plant to give growing a go in the dry sand and stones.



Dubai is of course marvellous and the greatest city on earth but it's pleasant to get out for the day and see the countryside.  At the risk of stating the bleedin' obvious, "countryside" here is as far removed from what we're used to as possible.  None of that rolling green hill or flat, wheat-covered land malarkey, oh no.  There's sand.  Then there's a bit more sand until you fall into the sea.  Then if you go the other way there's some more sand.   Then there's arid porous rock and sand with a few palm trees springing up where there's a water source surrounded by sand.  It's fascinating for a new arrival to see but I imagine the charm of staring out over miles of sand dunes wears off after a while. 

Then there's the roads through Fujairah which are cracked to buggery from the summer heat.  It occurred to the Sand Warlock and I that should we attempt a similar journey during the summer rather than adhering to the national pastime of staying inside with the a DVD box set, we're going to need to pack some sort of sun shelter and several gallons of water.  Because, if you break down, you are then without your car's lovely helpful air conditioning system and hanging around waiting for help to arrive for an hour or two in 40-50 degree heat could be deeply unfortunate.

Members of the intrepid party were somewhat keen to move out to Fujairah, particularly as house prices out there are probably an eighth of what they are in Dubai.  The Sand Warlock and I concluded that if you were going to do such a thing, you would want a back up electricity system, then back up to your back up for the A/C.  Then a desalinator of your very own and a backup desalinator followed by a solar-powered backup backup desalinator just in case it all went a bit wrong with the water supply.   That level of backup A/C and water supplies would probably soon eat into the savings you had made on your house price. 

Here's Emirati/Oman border marker in the mountains which someone has (reassuringly) been using for target practice.


Some palm trees at the desert oasis.  The friendly looking Emirati/Omani (not sure which part of the Doughnut I was in at this point) was really keen to get in the picture.  I suspect he was Omani because Emiratis have been known to shout and break your camera if you photograph them without consent whereas this guy deliberately stopped and posed.

no great Sheikhs

Since the last post I've been reliably informed that I neglected to see the KSA markings on the numbers one and two number plates.  It turns out that this stands for Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and I'm told that the rulers there would in no way be bothering to drive all the way to Dubai to visit the mall, even if it is the biggest in the world.

Oh well.  So near to greatness (!) and yet so far. 

Monday, February 7, 2011

Sheikhin' All Over

So, I went down to me local corner shop to get a pint of milk this evening (cos we realised a bit late that the four pints of milk we bought at the Deira City Centre supermarket yesterday was in fact four pints of strange yoghurty stuff, damn that was a nasty cup of coffee) and who should I bump into but me old mate Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum, Prime Minister of the UAE and absolute ruler of Dubai.  

Well, that's not quite what happened but the gist of it is true.  Well, the bit about the nasty coffee is.

Your typical car number plate in Dubai usually features a letter followed by five numbers.  However, fantasically rich people, who are usually Emirati royalty, have small numbers ie Government officials have double or triple fingers, close relatives of the Sheikh usually have single figures. 

And what number plate should I see when I stepped out of the Dubai Mall this evening?  None other than numero uno itself attached to a pristine chrome and white Rolls Royce.  Not sure what it was doing there, but behind it was parked a pristine black Rolls Royce with the the 2 number plate.  Perhaps me old mate Sheikh Mo fancied a go on the Dubai Mall Ice Rink or a quick gander round the Aquarium, or wanted to pick up a bit of bling for wife number two.  Or, possibly wanted to see if he could stay watching all the way through 127 hours at the cinema (unlike me).  Not sure who number plate 2 belongs to.  Perhaps the Crown Prince, Sheikh Mo's son - Sheikh Hamdan Bin Mohammed. Bin is Arabic for "son of", by the way, so presumably Osama Bin Laden's dad was called Laden.

It's interesting because a bit of Googling suggests that number 1 plate was sold three years ago to a rich businessman.  While the ever reliable (!) Wikipaedia suggests that it is in fact still registered to the Dubai big boss.

Anyhoo.  I snapped a picture of said Rolls Royce with my phone.  Unfortunately, in the terminology of League of Gentlemen, I couldn't find a magic rubber worm (cable) to connect the talking tin to the magic typewriter to make the picture jump between the two so I can't show it to you.  But anyway, after taking the pic, I sat down at the nearest cafe with a seat in prime gawping spot to see if I could spot the Sheikh struggling out of the mall weighed down under bags of designer gear to wear when he's being a boy about town and taking a break from the hard grind of day to day Sheikhing.  I ordered a coffee and a lemon tart (lemon tart = vital sustenance to aid spotting of Emirati royalty) and eventually saw the carsmoved by two slight men who were definitely not Emirati royalty because they had no beards.  They were probably just drivers.

It's hard to know as a Dubai newbie whether they really were the cars of Dubai's numbers one and two.  The cars were sitting quite innocently outside the mall and all manner of people were rocking up to them getting their pictures taken practically lying across the bonnet.  Obnoxious cars are hardly rare in this city so they don't usually cause much of a stir.  Even the locals seemed a bit interested in them, which makes me think it was indeed them. 

However, the complete lack of security suggests otherwise.  Can't imagine people would be allowed to get photographed draped over David Cameron's car due to all kinds of anti-terror gubbins, but then, it's unwise to judge anything here by UK standards as certain ex-pats have learnt to their costs.   

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Dorothy steps out from the storm cellar and says:

"Oh Toto

We're not in Kansas



Any more."




It's hard to photograph a sand storm, partly because I have a simple point and shoot camera rather than a fancy long lens weather eye piece of super kit, partly because it's a lot of fine grains being blown around in the air which don't exactly stay still and pose.

Nearly as hard it is to capture the sound of said sand storm with the video function of said camera, which failed miserably.

So, I lied yesterday that the dust had settled.  The wind started again last night and went on again until this afternoon.  I've been told by the Sand Warlock's colleagues that it won't last more than a week.

I've also been told that it's raining outside.  Imagine.  Rain in the desert.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

the dust has settled

The wind seems to have finally dropped after a couple of days of listening to it howling around the tower block.

I've been officially living here for just under a week and as yet I have no permanent visa and no job.  The Sand Warlock (that's my husband, I've spared him the indignity of being Mr Sand Witch, it seems only fair as I haven't taken his name in real life) has responsibility for sorting out his sponsorship of me with his work and providing they can sort it out by Feb 26th, I should avoid any of the fabled "visa runs" where you drive to Oman, cross the border, turn back and get yourself another month's tourist visa for the UAE.

Dubai is sandier than usual at the moment because of the wind.  Unlike the UK, where you'd expect to see rain water and sludge in a city street's gutters, the edges of the streets (no gutters, not enough rain) have been filling up with sand.  Not for long, I suspect, as armies of migrant workers have already been out sweeping.  I keep wanting to tell the poor loves to at least wait until the wind has dropped competely or they'll be doing precisely the same job in an hour's time.

On Friday the sand storms were such that they felled the giant potted palms in the back garden of the hotel where we were having brunch with the Sand Warlock's boss and partner.   When the palms went down, the chef came outside and said: "I think it's better that you move inside."  This was after several members of the waiting staff had already gently tried to persuade us inside but to no avail. There's something about being abroad that makes you think in national stereotypes, but it amused me that it was the British table that were the last to remain optimistic that the storm would blow over and it would soon turn out nice again, only giving up when the wind started to cause physical damage to our environment.

I've been variously job hunting, trying to think of story ideas and wondering around (getting lost) in Dubai Mall.  There has been the odd bit of gazing wistfully at the wedding photos today, I must admit.  Dubai Mall is very big and shiny, a bit like Dubai.  In fact I've just been reliably informed it is the biggest shopping mall in the world.  It makes Westfield London look like a corner shop.  Unfortunately I have no money to spend in it but the Dubai fountain, the insane three floor high waterfall, the Aquarium and people watching the Emiratis are more than enough to keep me amused for the time being.