Good Bye (Buy)

Photo: Russian matrioshka dolls.

As you may have noticed, Larry and I have been working on that time-honored expat activity of “leaving” shopping.

This is when you realize you are facing your best and last chance to buy local stuff. You scurry around trying to figure out if there’s ANYTHING else Russian you should get.

This is so when you're back in the U.S. and see that $500 matrioshka doll set in the expensive home accessories shop (that you could have gotten for $125 here), there will be no regrets.

I already have Russian colored crystal, carved Father Christmases, Soviet impressionist paintings, lacquer boxes, Uzbek pottery, amber jewelry, and linen tablecloths all covered.

This may sound like a lot, but keep in mind I’ve passed on a lot of other popular expat purchases such as Lumonosov china, Gus stemware, everything Ghel (and that’s a lot), sketches of Russian orthodox churches, Kolkhoma tableware, decorated birch boxes, carved chess sets, Fabrege egg pendents, Soviet “memorabilia,” and matrioshka dolls.

I’d bought an antique samovar when we’d first arrived. I’d learn from living in Beijing that you shouldn’t wait to buy local antiques. (The supply inevitably goes down and the price goes up.) But I had to admit, the small (12 inch high) samovar was never one of my favorite things.

I mentioned it to a friend who offered to buy it sight unseen. She told me that not only had samovar prices gone up, but you couldn’t even find the smaller sized ones like mine anymore.

Taylor who, with his brother Alec, will one day be disposing of all my carefully-chosen souvenirs in an international-themed garage sale, advised me to hang onto it. And, of course, now that my friend wants it, the brass samovar seems to have a brighter gleam for me.

So I’m keeping the samovar. I'm sure it will look lovely along side the antique Arabian coffee urn Larry and I will no doubt be purchasing on our way out of Abu Dhabi.

Photos right: Interesting Russian stuff I'm not buying: birch boxes, Kolkhoma, Fabrege egg pendants, and Lumonosov china.

Prom Night

Last night at midnight, I stood outside by the busy street in front of my apartment. I was wearing flannel pajamas under my coat while I waited for a Ford Excursion limo. Taylor had called me 10 minutes earlier to meet him and his friends to take photos. It was prom night.

One of Taylor’s Australian friends described prom as “kind of an American thing,” which I think was his excuse for not attending. But a vast majority of the juniors and seniors at the Anglo-American School attended this year’s prom, including my very handsome youngest son.

On the whole, prom is a cheaper proposition here than in the U.S. The event begins at 7 p.m. so there’s no time to go out for dinner. The prom is held at the American ambassador’s residence, Spasso House, where they served sushi. (If you don’t eat raw fish, you have no business being an expat kid, I guess.)

We also save money as there are no tuxedoes available to rent. (All the boys wear their suits.) And they don’t do corsages or boutonnières here, so no money for flowers either. But with their oversupply of millionaires and billionaires, what Mosocw does have is limousines.

So our only expense was $100 for the limo so Taylor could ride in style to Spasso House. a place that’s actually WALKING distance from our apartment. I thought that was pretty expensive until I heard a 12th grade parent’s mom complaining about the $250 she was providing as her daughter’s share to go in a Hummer limo.

It was pitch dark when the limo arrived after the prom. Taylor and six of his friends happily greeted me and posed in front of the massive vehicle while I snapped bad photos. Not a bad way to end an evening in Moscow.

Photo: Taylor, ready for the limo.

Cuba or Gus?

Photo: Votives and vase from Gus.

My International Women’s Club meeting this month is at the Cuban Embassy. The Cuban Embassy is technically a part of Cuba. As Americans are prohibited from going to Cuba, did that mean I couldn’t attend?

Actually, how would anyone outside the IWC know? I’d just show my membership credentials at the embassy gate. There wouldn’t be a record. It’s not like they are going to stamp my passport or anything. I wasn't going to be supporting the Cuban economy by coming home with cigars.

But I didn’t go. I had spent Tuesday doing volunteer work to benefit a local charity and that met my personal minimum weekly community involvement requirement.

Instead, as Larry is home, we went to the Gus Factory store. I waited to go with Larry, as he is much better than me at hauling heavy crystal home via the metro. We could have saved 20 to 30% by shopping at the crystal market in the town of Gus. However, it is more than a four hour drive from Moscow and the market closes at noon. This means leaving Moscow around 4 a.m. and being on often scary roads for 9 or 10 hours.

Many expats leaving Moscow opt to buy at least 12 sets of crystal white wine, red wine, champagne, water and cordial glasses. At $2 a stem, it’s hard to go wrong. Although Larry and I tried, we could not find a pattern we liked from the limited Gus selection. And we are smart enough now, not to buy anything just because it’s cheap.

So instead of stemware, we bought more colored crystal: vases, bowls and votives in cobalt blue.

Photos: Crystal bowls from Gus with my Uzebek hand-painted platter.

Direct to the Outsource

Use to be, companies had human resources departments that handled most employee relocations. But in this world of specialization, our move has been outsourced.

Most of it went to a major accounting firm. (Although strangely enough, the accounting firm doesn’t handle our relocation expenses. That’s been outsourced to another company.)

The accounting firm has further outsourced much of the move to a cross-cultural company. They, in turn, handed off our cultural training to an outfit in Germany and our resettlement coordination to a company in Abu Dhabi. The resettlement service brought in two real estate companies to help us find a flat.

The cross-cultual consultants also subcontracted a resettling company in Moscow to help me close up my accounts here and a foreign language company in England with contacts in Abu Dhabi who will teach me Arabic.

I realized yesterday that I wasn’t sure WHO was in charge of outsourcing shipping our belongings! Do they fall under the category of cross-cultural? Anyway, we have to be out of our apartment in about a month and I had yet to be contacted by a moving company. Larry thinks there may be a hold up because the consultants they hired to get his Abu Dhabi residency permit can’t begin the process because the consultants they hired to get his Moscow work permit lost his college diploma. I’m not sure if that company outsourced getting a replacement copy or is working their way through the college burocracy themselves.

Luckily, Larry has a personal relocation manager who keeps on top of all these service providers to ensure everything goes as smoothly as possible. This is the job he outsourced to me.

Fighting Words

For the second straight week, I won my league racquetball match. I said, “Good game,” to my opponent as we shook hands. She replied seriously, “You were lucky.”

I was lucky? She had a hard time returning my forehand lob serve, so I pounded her with that during the tiebreaker to win. “You have some good shots,” she continued, “but you really need a harder serve.” I shrugged this off, first of all because I WON! (So there!) Secondly, Ms. Unlucky wasn’t American. So I gave her “helpful” remarks the benefit of the doubt, hoping that the next foreigner I unknowingly insult will also chalk it up to well-meaning ignorance, rather than deliberate rudeness.

Ms. Unlucky is from the Philippines. She works at the American Embassy’s health club. Back in the olden days, the American Embassy couldn’t hire locals because they were RUSSIANS and probably all spies. They had to import cheap labor from the Philippines and many of those folks are still working there today.

In fact, the Philippines, which has a horrible economy but lots of lovely hardworking people with good educations, supplies a lot of workers to wealthier countries around the world, including the U.A.E. Chances are good that any cleaning lady I hire there will be Philippino. So it probably wouldn’t hurt me to learn a little about the Philippino culture while I’m also delving into the Middle East. I have lot of new people I need to figure out how not to insult.

Faux Sure

Photo: Turandot, a new Moscow restaurant.

I read a review about a new restaurant in Moscow. It's called Turandot. The owners, who operate the highly successful and expensive Pushkin Cafe, decided what Moscow really needed was another extravagent place to dine. They spent $50 million on the project.

The reviewer talked glowingly of the Turandot's atmosphere: "Beneath the elaborately detailed and hand-painted cupla ceiling, bewigged and costumed chamber musicians performed classical music." http://www.passportmagazine.ru/article/432/

He went on to discuss the extensive menu and wine list. Keep in mind this place serves CHINESE food. Oh, and there's some Japanese food too. I think there's some law in Moscow that requires every dining establishment to offer Japanese food. At little cafes, it isn't unusal for sushi to share the menu with borsht, mushrooms and potatoes, and assorted sausages.

The Turandot restaurant is named after the Italian opera which is set in China. (I actually once saw Turandot performed at Forbidden City in Beijing. Conducted by Zubin Mehta and directed by Zhang Yimou, my Turandot was an extravagence of sight and sound.)

Anyway, the restaurant review finally got to costs. He suggested $200 per person should cover the tab, a cost not usual for this kind of place in Moscow. Most revealing to me, however, was the last paragraph where he said, On the whole, the food was short of great..."

There are some places I still want to go in Moscow. For example, I haven't been to the banya yet to be flogged with Eucalyptus branches. But even though I quite enjoy Chinese cuisine, I'm not adding Turandot to my list. I don't mind "faux-grand atmosphere," but not "faux-grand" food.

Spring Has Sprung

While walking home from the Embassy yesterday, I saw a guy rollerblading across the bridge while taking swigs out of his glass beer bottle. I guess that's as good a sign as any that it's spring in Moscow.

Striking Gold

Photo by Taylor Perkins.

I love jewelry. It's one of my favorite souvenirs. I have silver from Mexico, pearls from Beijing, diamonds from Hong Kong, and amber and malachite from Russia.

Now that we're moving to UAE, I'm hoping there is some 18 karat gold in my future. I can hardly wait to meet the guy in the souk that does all that great hand-crafted gold work for local expats. (I'm sure there's somebody out there like that, even if I haven't heard of him yet.)

Larry and I were checking out the shops in Abu Dhabi, when suddenly I spotted something extra special. It was gleaming at me across the sales floor, and I was filled with desire. I moved towards it, almost instinctively. How much was it? Was it possible that someday I could possess this beauty? "Larry," I said in an awed tone. "Look at this. Isn't this wonderful?"

Larry turned to see me cooing over... a full-sized Maytag washing machine. And next to it was a full-sized Maytag dryer. As I said, I like jewelry. But being able to have American full-sized major appliances, that's more precious than gold.

Photo: My current washing machine. Capacity: one queensize sheet.

Overloaded

One night in Abu Dhabi, we had reservations to eat at at a restaurant on the beach. The restaurant is usually a five minute taxi ride from our hotel. But that night, traffic on the Corniche was deadlocked. Both sides were filled with cars of men wearing white robes with purple sashes. But they weren't in their seats. They were hanging out of their car doors or sitting on the hoods. They’d hop out into the street barefooted, shouting and doing some dance. Something sounding like firecrackers exploded all around us.

Boxed in by stopped cars, with all this unfamiliar activity, my internal alarm system was going into overdrive. Seeing our unease, the taxi driver explained that this was a football celebration. Then, he politely kicked us out of his cab. (It was actually much faster to walk and we were only about a kilometer from the restaurant.) Larry and Taylor took off down the sidewalk rapidly. But the surrounding noise and heat and the pace were just too much for me.

I came to a dead halt and blurted, “My weird-o-meter is off the scale!” As the two of them stared at me, I continued, “I can’t do anything about the heat or noise or all the men darting around in the traffic. But we can at least SLOW down.”

I wanted one environmental factor I could control. Because sometimes, when you’re out there exploring strange new worlds, it all gets to be just a little too strange.

Photo: Taylor, Nancy, and Larry exploring strange new worlds.

Abu Dhabi Dames

Photo: Larry and Taylor join the heavily male population of the UAE.

In the U.A.E., 80 percent of the population are expats. And most expats are males. So the women are definitely outnumbered. Many of the local women are covered in black from head to toe, with only their eyes and hands exposed. Since there are so few of us around, Western-dressing women attract more than their fair share of attention on the street.

I learned this the hard way by wearing a short skirt. I am not talking about the mini-skirts of my youth. With age, my definition of a short skirt has changed. These days, a short skirt to me means anything above the calf. The skirt I was wearing that day, made of flowing silk, hit me mid-knee. It’s not exactly street-walker attire. In fact, my MOTHER borrowed this skirt to wear when her suitcase was AWOL.

When we stepped outside the hotel to catch a cab, I was astounded at some of the long second looks I was getting. This is quite a change from Moscow where local women are POURED into their clothes and it’s not unusual to see a LOT of cleavage even at the office. (Websites aimed at American men bride hunting in Russia warns them not to be mislead by the provocative clothing women wear here.)

Of course, at the private beach clubs and the restaurants and hotels catering to tourists in the UAE, none of my attire would attract the least amount of attention.

Expat wives in Abu Dhabi dress much more casually than Moscow. They wear a lot of jeans and there’s a tendency toward what Larry calls “that gypsy look.” I, of course, wear a lot of Ann Taylor, Jones New York and Talbots, none of whom stock anything remotely gypsy.

And it’s not just the dress that different. Our last night in Abu Dahbi, we decided to get some take-out food at a local Lebanese Restaurant where we’d had a lovely dinner earlier in the week. They took it down my order, but addressed every follow-up question to TAYLOR, who was with me but who had not said a word. Then they told Taylor where to pay. They weren’t unfriendly. In fact, they graciously brought us free hot falfela while we waited. They just weren’t going to deal with a woman, even one “appropriately” dressed, if there was another alternative.

“Don’t get used to this male preferential treatment,” I warned my son on the way back.

“You’re lucky we’re not moving to Saudi,” he replied. He told me his friend had lived in Saudi where his mother (the family are Americans) was forced to walk behind him if they went anyplace. Of course, in Saudi, women can’t drive. They aren’t supposed to go out without a close male relative either.

In the words of Aladin, at least the Disney version, "It's a whole new world."

Safari

Photo by Larry Perkins: Four wheeling in the dunes.

To celebrate Taylor's 17th birthday, I signed us up for a "Half Day Desert Safari." The tour company picked us up from our hotel in a Toyota Landcruiser and drove us out to the desert. The driver had brought along "his girlfriend," a baby bunny which rode on the dashboard as we zoomed down the highway.

Our first stop in the desert was the camel "corral" where we met up with other tourists in their Landcruisers and we took turns posing for photos. Then we all loaded up and our caravan set off to go four wheeling over the sand dunes for about an hour. Physically, this felt like the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland but was much more fun as it was real. (The driver kept plastic bags on hand for motion sickness.)

Then we went to the camp, a large open air enclosure with low tables, cushions, and carpets. Taylor grabbed a board and did some dune boarding, an activity that sounded cool but was actually tedius.

Then Taylor and I took our turns on the camel ride. The challenge here is staying in the wooden saddle while the camel stands up. There's no seatbelt or even a hold and I was scrambling to find something secure to grab when I was suddenly thrust forward 40 degrees as the camel rose on his back legs. Then I was thrust 40 degrees back as he rose on his front legs.

After all that excitement, we took off our shoes and rested on the carpets while a buffet dinner was prepared. Our friend, the bunny, decided to join Larry. Dinner consisted of traditional Middle Eastern food, followed by the bellydancer floor show. After a short performance, the bellydancer dragged various people up on stage to dance with her. Eventually, she had the entire group of about 40 0f us all dancing with her.

After the show, they set up hookah pipes. Instead of birthday cake, we had a few puffs of the apple-flavored smoke. After awhile, our driver loaded us and his bunny back up for the trip into Abu Dhabi.

Photo: Larry and the bunny take a break at the encampment.

The Look-See

Photo: Taylor, Larry and the housing agent check out an almost completed flat.

We were in Abu Dhabi for our look-see. A look-see is a company-paid trip, ostensively to see if you like the place enough to accept a job offer.

In actuality, the only acceptable reasons for turning down a job offer from your company after they have forked over all this travel money is if your life was threatened. (And as far as the company is concerned, it had better be a serious threat on your life.)

So in self-defense, most trailing spouses will have done extensive Internet and personal research on the prospective locale before the look-see. For example, I had contact with several different expat wives currently living in Abu Dhabi. These included a friend of a woman I met on a Moscow neighborhood walk and the daughter of one of my mother’s aquaintances in Ponca City.

This is the result of me saying, “Oh, you know someone who knows someone in Abu Dhabi. Can I get their email address?” (Expats on the move often rely on the kindness of strangers. And even on the kindness of the friends of strangers.)

Tay and I checked into the Sheraton Residences in Abu Dhabi very early Saturday morning. They had screwed up our reservation but as it was 2 a.m., I took the available room and figured we’d sort it out after Larry arrived on Sunday night.

Tay and I spent much of Saturday and Sunday (which are week days in Abu Dhabi) househunting. Actually, we were “villa” and “flat” hunting. We stuck to a very small area (less than five square miles) called the Khalidayia which contained the American Community School, Marina Mall, the Beach Club, and every place else we are likely to go on a regular basis.

Since Abu Dhabi is an island, land here is at a premium. The villas in this area would be called townhomes in the U.S. They were all connected and each had three stories and average sized rooms. Many had six or more ensuite bedrooms. This would be useful if we were planning to open Nancy and Larry’s Abu Dhabi B & B. (But don’t expect us to go into the inn keeping business.) And who wanted to run up and down all those stairs, anyway? And you didn’t even get a yard. The villas only had small patio areas.

The flats, or apartments, seemed a better idea to Taylor and me. There were fewer bedrooms, but larger living spaces. While we have a generous housing allowance, the problem is availability. Every decent place is immediately snatched up.

We did see one apartment we liked. It’s on the 18 floor in a brand new building and the lobby is still under construction. The apartment, which is pictured above, needs finishing touches like light fixtures and electricity.

However, our furniture probably will not arrive until July. We aren’t sure if should bet we’ll find something better in the next few months or snap this place up now. As soon as we rent anything, however, Larry will have to move in and forgo the comforts and conveniences of his hotel suite for an empty apartment.

As Larry’s Personal Relocation Manager, I have delegated THAT decision back to him.

Photo: The building with the flat we liked on the 18th floor.

The Road to Abu Dhabi

While the flight from Moscow to the UAE is only 4.5 hours, my total travel is closer to 12 hours. It’s a 60-90 minute ride from my apartment to Moscow’s Domodeveda Airport; a two hour check-in for international flights (more than an hour of which is devoted to checking in, clearing passport control and going through various security check-points); an hour to clear passport control, customs and security in Dubai; and a 60 to 90 minute drive from Dubai to Abu Dhabi.

The journey began with my first trip to the east side of Moscow, generally considered the “bad” part of town because of the pollution from all the factories there. (And I thought the drive to Shermetevo was ugly.) Anyway, the privately-owned Domodeveda turned out to be a surprisingly modern airport.

I found our flight on the electronic board and went to the appropriate check-in window. I was a bit confused at first because the Emirates check-in person didn’t act like the Aeroflot counter help. She didn’t snarl. She didn’t even sigh and roll her eyes. In fact, she smiled at me and said, “May I help you?” (No wonder I was startled. But I quickly recovered and dredged up a smile to give her in return.)

I was in for another surprise. The check-in weight limit was only 20 kilos (about 44 pounds) per person. This is less than HALF the weight allowance on a flight in the U.S. As I was bringing a bunch of summer clothes to leave in Abu Dhabi, Taylor and I were 12 kilos over our combined limit. (The overweight charge is $28 PER kilo.)

But my friendly check-in person got permission to waive the overage charge AND gave us seats in an exit row, big scores in the world of flying. Dorothy, I don’t think we’re in Russia anymore.

Photo by Larry Perkins: Taylor and I, pictured here on camels, actually traveled to Abu Dhabi via plane.