Tag Archives: Irish Village

Hatta Pools

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We’ve had quite a hectic weekend.

Thursday night after work I went out with colleagues to Irish Village.  In the morning Elle, Myles and I had already decided to have dinner somewhere so I organised a driver to bring them along also.  The Village is very child-friendly (until 8:30pm – at which time they must leave).  They do great steaks! The beer is nice also, but at the equivalent of $15 AUD a pint they’re not as appealing as they could be.
A family from our apartment came along with their son who Myles got on famously with.  The two were playing the entire night.

They were within eyesight, but some distance from us.  The parents took it in turns to walk by and make sure everything was going ok. Elle mentioned when she had finished her round, that a group of bikies had arrived next to the rocks where the two boys had made their fort.  She had a bit of a giggle, as the boys mistakenly thought the bikies were police.  I got up to have my turn when I saw the boys weren’t on their rock. They had actually moved into the circle of the bikies, and were getting photos taken with them.  It turns out Dubai’s currently hosting their 4th annual Bike Week, and the gang that had become quite fond of the boys were the Ukrainian chapter of Hells Angels.  All the bikie stereotypes were thrown out the window when you saw the bikies getting photos taken proudly posing with the kids.  Must Google for their site to see if our kids got published.  They boys also got some stickers which were happily accepted.

The next day we went for a drive to Hatta to have a picnic.  With a few late cancellations, there were only seven of us so we all traveled in the one car. This turned out to be great because the place proved difficult to find with plenty of driving around in circles.  And also, at the end of the day we were all extremely tired so it was good to divide the driving.

The trip was mostly on one of the major roads leaving Dubai. It’s always interesting, and scary at the same time, to see the appalling driving on display on any straight road with more than two lanes. Without fail you’re bound to see a Porsche Cayenne travelling over 150km/hr within a metre or two of the car in front of it. Also scary were the group of guys riding their four wheel motorbikes on the highway near a popular dune-bashing site. They were standing up on their bikes, with no helmets or any protective gear.

Getting there was an interesting experience of its own.  We’re not entirely sure, but we think we passed over a national border with Oman.  There were a couple of road blocks with an army presence equipped with automatic weapons.

Another interesting site to see were one town’s warning of the effects of driving while talking on your mobile phone.  Around their round-about were four former cars that were absolutely smashed to smithereens in car crashes. Each had a sombre warning below of the dangers of talking on phones while driving. It was a coincidence that earlier in the day we saw a policeman driving his 4WD while talking on his mobile.  I guess no one was going to arrest him.

We picked up a biryani in a small village in Hatta to take with us to the Hatta Pools. However the pools were almost impossible to find – particularly after we took directions from the locals. But the wait was definitely worth it.  The place was quite a contradiction. We drove through a couple hundred kilometres of dry Dubai (and maybe Omanian) desert. Yet Hatta happened to have a series of beautiful rock pools tucked away amongst the sand. It was almost mirage-like to spot the many rock chasms all filled with extremely cool water. We found one in the shade which we sat at with our feet dangling in. It was amazing. We were all in agreement that it could only be improved with a nice chardonnay.  While we were kicking back enjoying the moment, groups of locals kept arriving in their swimming gear. It seemed a popular place for them was near where we were slothing. The noise from them jumping in was hysterical. In fact, at times it sounded like they were having a little too much fun – if you catch my drift.

The temperature in Dubai is starting to climb so we didn’t stay at the pools for too long – much to the boy’s disappointment. The road blocks were still there, but this time rather than spotting that we were foreigners and letting us go, the soldier stopped us and asked for all our paperwork. Christine and I both had driver’s license and UAE gate card, but Elle’s passport is still with Immigration. The guy didn’t care too much about any of these though, but took an interest in Christine’s houseboy, Mani.  Luckily Mani takes a photocopy of his passport, visa, and work permit wherever he goes. The soldier seemed OK with this, so we kept going. We had a big laugh as we left and Christine mentioned that Mani must have had the face of a terrorist. Mani giggled, but said it was because he was black.

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.