The best things in life are free

I went shopping today and saw loads of cheesey souvenirs, which reminded me of the time I returned from the job interviews and tests in Dubai. 

As I was away from family for a number  of days, I bought a few gifts for everyone. I especially wanted to get something that Myles would enjoy, so I made a special effort getting things I knew he’d enjoy. There were authentic Emirates planes and airport set, there was a miniture Burj Al Arab, a soft fluffy camel, and other things. 

Each of them he liked, but put them down soon after.  BUT, when I pulled out the tiny jam bottles I flogged from the hotel, he was in awe!  He absolutely loved those, and that’s all he wanted to eat for a little while.

Goes to show, you really don’t need to buy expensive gifts. Although I don’t think hotel supplies are always going to cut it.

Service

On a long haul flight, a mother took her young son to the toilet and
told him she would come back for him, in five minutes.
However, he was finished in two minutes so he left the toilet and
wandered off down the aisle, in the opposite direction from where his
mother was.

Meanwhile, a businessman entered the toilet and locked the door.

After the five minutes were up, the mother knocked on the door and
called out, “Do you need any help with the zipper?”
From behind the door, a startled male voice said, “Good God !! That’s
what I call service!!!”

I thought Irish Village would be, well, a village

I survived my second week in the job, and joined a few Aussies at Irish Village for more than a few pints of Guinness. Until then I have been on a real health kick, and avoiding alcohol.

The Irish Village is a nice pub, in a semi-secluded spot. It’s near a couple of our offices, and the tennis courts where the Barclays Dubai Tennis Championships will be played later this month.

At the pub there was yet another case of, it’s a small world afterall. Initially there was just four of us at the pub, and my boss mentioned to one of the other guys, I should tell you, Ryan’s wife is from Tasmania.  I thought this was a bit abstract, but the guy made a bit of a joke, so I figured he may have been to Tasmania, or something.  But no! It turns out he’s from Ulverstone – the same town as my wife’s family. A town of less than 10,000 people. Now that’s getting a little freaky.

Ulverstone seems like one of those places though, like Toowoomba. If you’re having a chat with a certain number of Australians,  you’re more than likely to find someone with a connection to the place.  I remember Elle was working in a Brisbane bar a number of years ago, where she happened to work alongside someone also from Ulverstone – whom she had never met before.  What are the chances.

But anyway, The Irish Village was a nice place.  When I was in Australia considering whether to take the job or not, I did a fair bit of Google-ing to suss the country out.  One of my questions was whether they had anywhere that cooks some decent fish & chips. There seemed to be more than a couple of favourable references to the fish & chips at Irish Village.

It was funny how no matter what I searched for – no matter how obscure – there was always more than one web forum, or site where someone had asked the question previously.  I can’t think of all the questions now off the top of my head, but there were plenty of things like whether they had baby formula, childhood panadol, and things of that nature.

Google also helped me identify the sex of a person when I couldn’t discern it from the Indian, or Arabic name.  All you do is an image search on the name, and each and every time it displays dozens of images of people by that name. Presto.

Earlier in the day I did a fair bit of running around, finalising the joining stuff, such as attesting my marriage certificate. I caught a taxi from the Consulate to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and the guy was an absolute madman. Everyone on the roads here are obviously a bit crazy, but this guy took it to a whole new level. He actually had great skill with the way he could drive up to 100km/hr within 10 cm from the car in front, and stop suddenly at the lights. I was wondering why he was in so much of a hurry, and the only thing I could come up with was he going that fast to give him more time to watch himself in the rear vision mirros as he brushed his hands through his thick head of hair, and polish and straighten his shiny Ray Bans sunglasses. It was a bit compulsive. But he wasn’t just the king of speeding, he was also quite an expert at shepherding the other cars out of the lanes around him, and his use of the horn was quite special also.

In Dubai, people use their horns more than anywhere else I know. I would say on any built-up stretch of road, you’d hear a horn go off every 3 – 4 seconds. Most of the time, there are multiple horns going at once. There seems to be a number of contexts for people’s horning, and more than a few meanings attributed to it.  Yes, the humble car horn is a multi-faceted communication tool.

From what I’ve seen, people use their horns to say:

  • look out
  • hurry up
  • slow down
  • don’t cross there
  • hey, I’m driving here
  • LOOK OUT!
  • are you f-in crazy?
  • BOO!
  • you’re a mere pedestrian, don’t tempt me
  • this is your last warning. Grrrr; and
  • hey, it’s been quiet for three seconds – my turn.

The road rage statistics are actually quite low – if you believe the newspaper reports (which some have told me I shouldn’t do!)

We drove past some of the frantic construction of the Metro (Dubai’s first train system – expected to be running in Sept this yr). A sign on their wall caught my eye, “Know safety, no pain. No safety, Know Pain”. I thought this was quite insightful. Unfortunately it seems not everyone across the country has the same thinking. I was walking on a footpath, and at random intervals there were large and sudden drop-offs at least three feet in depth. I’d hate to be walking past there at night.

The night ended up going back to a birthday party of one of the expat gang. It was a pizza and trivia night party, where they used the Play Station 3 Buzz game. I was initially cynical, but it was extremely entertaining!  Particularly when the teams were split into guys and girls, and the guys would only take points from the girls – to ensure their demise.

Wow, what workers

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I wish I had earlier taken a picture of the scene across the road. It was a vacant lot, with a base of sand – like anywhere in Dubai where there’s nothing built, or planted and given a whole lot of water.  When the shops are open, it doubled as a car park.  And then it would be fenced off at other times, and people would walk through or stand in there for a chat.  Actually, it wasn’t quite a vacant lot.  It also had a single large tree – left there for the shade I imagine.

The other night when I was walking home, despite the near darkness, the lot was quite different. Instead of seeing the light colour of sand, there was clearly a layer of something that resembled oil roughly splashed all over. I stood out the front of the complex with our security guard hypothesizing what they could be doing. We both reached the conclusion that they were probably improving the car park.

The next morning when I woke-up just as the sun was rising at 5am, there was no doubt about it. 75% of the plot was covered in bitumen. There were about 6 or 7 men rushing around in the near dark.  They had a “Bessie” (for those familiar with the animated movie ‘Cars’ featuring Lightning Macqueen’); and four or five trucks waiting in the park with bitumen in their trailers. It was absolutely amazing.  By lunch time the entire car park was completed, with lines marked and fence posts cemented in.

You see a lot of  this in Dubai. The Sheik has had such amazing and grand plans, that there really is a furious pace from everyone to get it done in time. Some industries, more obviously than others. Construction work is primarily resourced from expat Indians. I’d really not like to be working in their conditions. You see whole mini-buses filled to the brim with the workers who pile out at the work site, to be replaced by the next shift so a lot of the sites are effectively working 24 hours a day. Mind you, I think that only requires two shifts in most places. Although some friends mentioned they no longer see the lights of cranes swinging about at night like they used to.

Although the conditions look extremely tough. Apparently they have improved somewhat over the years. Allegedly a few years back, instead of packed mini-buses, the workers would be packed into the back of a caged cattle truck.  I have heard people referring to it as modern day slave-labour.

Despite this, Dubai is still a fantastic place for a lot of the workers. Although they toil hard here to earn a meagre salary, it’s a huge improvement on what they would be enduring at home.

An example of this is our security guard, Manoj.  Manoj is from Nepal, and he has my utmost respect. Each, and every, day he works a 12 hour shift. He looks tired all the time, but he always has a smile for everyone and enjoys a good chat. I don’t know how someone can do it, then I learned he has a family back home – including a baby girl.  He told me he’s going to see them again in maybe July or August this year. 12 hour shifts x 7 days a week for the next 22 weeks or so, before he can see his family again.  Lots of people talk about making sacrifices, but I doubt they really know the meaning of the word next to some of the people I see.

Due to the financial crisis, the local press has been doing a number of exposes on how some example individual residents have been affected. It even detailed their incomes, and how it’s broken down. If the figures are accurate, some of the workers here are sending 100% of their incomes home while living in basic share accommodation, and eating whatever food the company provides them – which, if you see the battalions of labourers piling out of the buses, is a pretty small plastic bag full.

Some of the people the paper interviewed were illiterate so they didn’t know anything about the financial crisis, like how it was caused. All they knew is they were getting even less money for what they did before.

It’s a bleak picture I’m painting, but it’s one that still looks on the bright side of life. Despite working crazy hours here for not much, huge distances away from their families, these people are able to provide for their family like they may not have imagined back home. And still remain quite happy throughout it. Kudos and big props to them.

Dune bashing take two

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Yesterday I was involved in a convoy of seven 4WDs, filled with expats who came together to achieve a single aim.  To bash some dunes.  The mission was a tremendous success.  However we failed to find and reach either of our two destinations, despite a guide book, co-ordinates, GPS technology x 2, and plenty of blokes trying to look like they know what they’re doing.  Camel Hump, and Fossil Rock will need to be a follow-up mission.  Actually we think we may have seen Camel Hump – that is, if it’s a big rocky range that looks like a camel’s hump.

I was picked up at my apartment around 9am, and while I was waiting outside it began to rain.  It was only occasionally drops, but it was definitely rain. So much for only 5 or 6 days or rain each year.  Apparently they exhausted that in the week before I arrived.

We initially met a petrol station – where one of the guys got humorously dissed by the console operator.  Jay is a young stylish guy, and consequently has his hair impressively messed up, going every which way. Apparently the console operator was staring at Jay’s hair, and asked him what the style was called.  Jay said, it’s the “Just got out of bed” style, and said to the guy why, don’t you like it?  The guy responded, “It’s just that it’s very terrible”. HA!

It was interesting to see the camels seemingly roaming wild.  There’s actually no wild camels in Dubai – they are all owned by someone.  But given the great expanse we covered with very extreme undulations, I’d hate to be the guy to herd those camels.  Actually, that job would be pretty tops!

It’s funny cause we didn’t see any for quite some time, but then, all at once they seem to be co-ordinating an attack. They decided against it, when they saw the horse-power on display.

I still don’t have my Dubai driver’s license. It requires a passport, which has been worryingly held by work to organise my Visa.  So the trip turned out to be a good research activity, for when I am in a position to buy a car.  The Prado is a superb vehicle.  I have known this for some time, as my father-in-law solely purchases them for work.  But it was truly awesome to see it effortlessly speeding through the sand, up and down hills like they don’t even exist.

On the other hand, the Jeep Wrangler on show was a huge disappointment.  This is a good thing for me, as a mate of mine in .AU and my former director both had Jeeps which I would give them plenty about. I must forward them the pictures of the Jeep getting pulled around first by a Land Rover, then the Prado. Apparently the driver had quite a bit of off-road experience, so perhaps to the Jeep’s defense, it was not at full strength. By the end of the day, the engine was all but dead.

Also, probably not quite up to the task was a Hummer H3. It’s a pretty awesome vehicle, but way too heavy for driving around in sand.

Other cars that performed well were the Toyota FJ  and Nissan X-Terra.  I hadn’t seen these cars in Australia, but they are both serious machines – made specifically for this sort of action.  But the Prado was in a league of its own, and provided more comfort than the other two combined.

The only other car I am considering is the Nissan Pathfinder, but there was no one on the day with one.  Hmm… decisions, decisions.

On the day there was another case of unbelievable consequences, and proof that it’s a small world.  One of the Aussie guys we met on the day happened to be from Brisbane, when we talked about which suburbs.  It turns out he’s from Indooroopilly, and he just happened to go to the same Lutheran school as one of the other guys.  He was around the same age, and knew, the guys brothers.

Woops

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I made my first faux pas today, and lived to tell the tale. 

Well actually it’s my second faux pas if you count the time I was walking out of thesupermarket and inadvertently made eye contact with a prostitute, then looked curiously when I noticed she was beaming a massive, suggestive smile at me. This resulted in me doing a quick about-face, then almost running away before ducking into a different shop to escape.

And actually, it’s my third faux pas if you count my error in judgment when I thought that in my spare bathroom I had a second shower which turned out to be a jet/bidet thing.  Boy did I feel silly, and dirty once I learned how wrong I was*.

But getting back to my stuffup today.  It wasn’t until I got home that I realised, but it’s entirely conceivable- infact, quite likely – that I walked all the way home from the office with my fly/zipper down.  I thought it was a little cooler than usual. And people were pointing and laughing at me more than usual*.   Honestly though, it was quite embarassing.  I know there was at least one look I received that made sense once Irealisedthe errorof myways.

D’oh.

 

 

* This was certainly exaggerated for comic effort.

Happy Birthday honey

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Wow wifey, you’re old.  I think sleeping in til 11am on mywife’s birthday would usually be a no-no.  But with a seven hour time difference, and the safety of 12,028 kms, I can say it was entirely appropriate!  Apparently being awayin an entirely different country is not a sufficient present.  Luckily Dubai has everything for the woman who wants something.

The day was important for another reason, as it was my first dayworking for Emirates Group.  The morning was filled with meeting people,and learning what a lot of work I have to do. 

I’ve made a real effort in remembering people’s names, and it has been working amazingly well.  A while ago I think I did an advanced memory course, which taught some techniques which have really paid off. It involves changing the person’s name into words – particularly vivid picture words- then somehow associate it with the person’s appearance, so you can make the connection in future.  I really can’t get into what I’ve been coming up with for some of the sub-continental and Arabic names, but it certainly makes me remember.  Actually the names I’ve invented  are probably a little too vivid and memorable, as I honestly have to try not to laugh with some of the recall that comes when someone comes to see me.

The day also involved a bit of  a medical at headquarters,which involved yet another blood test.  With all the x-rays, blood tests, along with the eye scan at theairport,and yetanother blood test, I wouldn’t be surprised to come into work one day and see a clone of myself sitting next to me.  Well, actually Iwould be surprised.  Surely they could find something more valuable to clone, like a 20 year old baby sheep or something.

Out and about

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It should be unsurpring but today I just noticed that the Dubai escalators are around the opposite ways to what I’m used to.  They still go up and down, but like their roads people go on the right.  I noticed, however, there is no consistent (or any) convention followed while walking generally.  Actually from some reports, this is more like their roads.

I also did what I’ve said I’d never do and visited an internet cafe in my first week of going somewhere. At least I waited til after the airport arrivals section, and nearly got through the second day.  The only reason I broke this was I’ve been without a phone and wanted to get some info to family. There’s a wireless router upstairs, so I may not need to do this once I get a computer – whenever I find to research that one.

I visited an electronics and home entertainment store. Despite the loud speakers broadcasting at full volume from the nearby mosques early in the morning, I thought I should get an clock radio or something to make sure I wake up at the right time for work.  My sleeping patterns haven’t yet matured to sleeping in anyway.  But anyway, at the shop I heard the beautiful voice of a woman obviously demonstrating the karaoke machine. As I got closer I realised that the female voice was actually coming from a short pudgy Arab guy with a moustache.  Woops.

After shoping in a few clothing stores I’ve learned Dubai’s not great for Australian guys concerned about their waist size.  Pants here are labelled an average of 2 inches larger than at home.  OR, I made more of a pig of myself in Business Class on the way over than I first thought.

At the moment I can’t help but feel a bit like Guy Pierce’s character in the movie, Memento.  I’m in my apartment all by myself so I constantly have monologue running in my head, and being in a strange new country I’m unsure of everything.  It hasn’t yet got to the stage where I need to tattoo words to my body, or photograph people’s faces – but I have certainly been writing names down, and making loads of other notes.  Those who love Indian cinema may be interested to know a Bollywood version of Memento has been released. No, honestly!

Touch down

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I flew out of BNE on Thursday at 2000 hours after very emotional goodbyes with family. The flight was wonderful – as is always the case with Emirates. It was made all the more interesting by my German neighbour with a wicked sense of humour.

There had been a thick fog in Dubai for the past couple of days. The pilot indicated he was able to see directly below the plane, but only 150m in front. He reported that unfortunately planes can’t really drop land – they have to land gradually. After 30-40 mins of circling due to the thick fog I finally touched down in my new home, Dubai.

It’s a shame I didn’t have a window seat. The images of Dubai’s extrememly tall buildings growing out of the clouds looked amazing.
When I came here in November there was was the opposite picture of the building tops being hidden within clouds.

The walk through the new Terminal three was impressive, although quite confusing with me getting directed into departures where it became quite difficult to return from. They’re obviously still ironing out a few bugs, as certain check points could be avoided by walking 10 metres to the right instead of following the crowd on the left.

I was fortunate on my first afternoon in the country to go out and do a real tourist thing. We went out dune bashing in a 4WD, followed by a fantastic bedouine experience of dinner, sheesha, and belly dancing – that was watching, not participating in the belly dancing. Although quite a few followed their feelings and joined in.

The belly dancer was good, but the main attraction turned out to be the Magic Man. No he didn’t do any David Copperfield tricks. He was a dancer, crossed with a spinning top – cum electric light show. I’m not sure of the dance’s origins, but he simply went out onto the stage in the middle of all the dinner tables, and spun around in his impressive outfit. The show probably went for a good 10 minutes, and the pace of his twirls would be measured with g-force. He got a couple of tourists up on stage to dance in his bright kaleidoscope dress. They made a good go at it, I must say. I took some photos which looked quite active. I’ll upload them at some stage.

The first time I left the apartment I knocked into a random Australian tourist. I heard him say “Ah, Brisbane” in relation to the Brisbane Marathon Shirt I was wearing I guess – unless I exert a specific BNE look. The guy happened to be from the Gold Coast City Council. Small world – but I’d hate to paint it.

Straight to the point

Today the lady from across the road dropped in to say goodbye to Myles, as they were leaving for Tasmania this morning – before joining me in Dubai in four weeks or so.

Myles, as usual, was straight to the point.  When she said goodbye to him, he almost immediately changed the subject when he asked why her son speeds on his motorcycle.  She said she didn’t know, but she’d mention it to him.  I thought this would be the end, but oh no, Myles just had to mention at that point in time that he was going to become a police officer. I think it could have been deemed a warning shot from the four year old.