It’s the Humidity

It’s hot outside!

This is not a news flash to all the Western expats in Abu Dhabi who last month hightailed it out of here.

How hot is it?

It is so hot that moms have to fill bathtubs with only “cold” water and THEN let it sit before it is cool enough to put their children in.

It is so hot that an easy 20 minute morning stroll left me weak and nauseous the rest of the day. It’s only 109 outside. But it’s the humidity that gets you. It feels like you are carrying five pound weights on each of your wrists and ankles. You sweat but it doesn’t evaporate. Moisture hangs on your skin like a fur coat. Tay and I have had to give up on playing tennis, even at 10 p.m.

Most of the local businesses (retail AND offices) operate on the traditional “split shift.” This means they close from about 1 to 4 every afternoon. The business day ends at 9 p.m.

And don’t think you can get by in tank tops and shorts. Appropriate street attire for women means at least covering your arms past your elbows and your legs past your knees. I am rediscovering the joys of linen and am considering buying a parasol.

I certainly don't need an umbrella. Despite the horrendous humidity, it never rains.

Serious Shopping

Photo: My new gas cooker.

After two weeks of scoping out Abu Dhabi’s home and appliance stores, I am making up for lost time. Yesterday, Larry and I bought a 25 cu. foot refrigerator, a gas oven (called a cooker here), four leather arm chairs, a daybed, a footstool, an armless chair, four lamps, and oh yes, a great red microfiber sofa my husband had a few doubts about.

I was curious how I get this stuff delivered when I have no street address. The stores, however, provided me with a blank piece of paper and I had to draw them maps.

I did get a break when I found yesterday that the funny-looking box in my utility room is a “drying cabinet” which I can use in lieu of having to buy a tumble dryer. I still don’t understand why the apartment includes a “drying cabinet” but no washer and no oven.

Luckily, all our small appliances from Russia will work in U.A.E., although the plugs all need adapters. Instead of two round holes typical of European plugs, U.A.E. sockets have three slashes.

So in one day, we blew through over half the money we’d budgeted to get set up. And I still need to buy window treatments, light fixtures, a dishwasher, a washing machine, a microwave, a grill, paint for all the walls, and furniture for THREE other rooms. I’ve decided that along with modern furniture, I am going to have to learn to love the “open, empty” look.

Photo: The "open" look of my apartment.

Looking For A Few Good Women

Right now, I am in the network building phase. My job is to meet as many expat women as I can.

This is much easier to do in an overseas community. Women I meet here are usually willing to get together for lunch, to show me places to shop, to explain how to get the Internet set up in my apartment, and to just call or IM so I won’t feel so alone.

This is not because they necessarily want me to be their life-long friend, although sometimes that happens. Mostly, they do this because they know that when you are brand new to a country, you need a buddy right NOW.

Expat women move, on average, every two to three years. They were new to Abu Dhabi once too. And, sooner or later, they’ll be starting over again somewhere.

The easiest women to befriend are people who arrive the same time as you. What they lack in local knowledgeable, they make up for in personal availability. With that in mind, I struck up a conversation with a likely expat woman next to me on the treadmill at the hotel gym. It turned out, she was relocating to Abu Dhabi from Ireland. She then introduced me to her acquaintance from Canada, who had been living at the hotel for several months looking for an apartment.

While these ladies seemed perfectly nice, right that minute I didn’t want to get to know them better. I have wonderful women friends in places like Arizona, Texas, Africa, and Russia. I didn’t want any substitutes. That’s how I felt.

But the intellectual part of me knows I will not be happy sitting in my hotel room alone all day, emailing my faraway friends. And I know there’s always room in my life for more wonderful women.

So I will head back to the gym today to offer to take them to the used furniture place I found. And I won’t miss the Expat Women’s coffee morning this week, my third coffee in Abu Dhabi. For one thing, I chipped my tooth and need the name of a good local dentist. I need to know how to get cable TV. And I need a local travel agent with package deals to the Maldives...

Someday, I won't be so needy. Someday, I'll be surrounded by friends and then I will be happy to meet you for coffee and share my information.

Photo: Me and some friends in Moscow.

What's in a Name?

Following Arabic style, my name is Mrs. Nancy bint Calvin al Case. (Mrs. Nancy, daughter of Calvin, the Case).

But because we are close, personal friends, you may call me by my informal Arabic name, Mrs. Nancy. Incidentally, Arabic women do not take their husband's name.

And speaking of close, personal friends: This morning at the hotel, I overheard a very loud and nerdy-looking American tell his hard-looking foreign female breakfast companion, "Yeah, I'm close friends with Brad Pitt. I was the one who told him to have his baby in Namibia."

Then he complained about the cost of dining out in Abu Dhabi, which is roughly half the cost of Moscow. He said if it weren't for McDonald's, he couldn't afford to take her to dinner. I guess Brad is too busy with the baby to spot him a few dirhams.

Anyway, after Mrs. Nancy finished choking back uproariously laughter, she walked over to the apartment to supervise the cleaning crew. The four guys arrived before the appointed 8:30 a.m. time and immediately set to to work.

They worked until 1 p.m., when I caught them all stretched on the marble floors of my living room taking a nap. After naptime, they resumed working, finishing up at 5:30 p.m. They collected their agreed-upon price of $480 diram (US $130) which also included pest control, thanked me and left.

After that, I went back to the hotel and met Mr. Taylor bin Larry al Perkins to go out for some velvet butter chicken. Mr. Larry bin James al Perkins, however, is previously engaged in Brussels.

Photo: One of the 4.5 bathrooms at Mrs. Nancy's apartment to clean.

No Directions Home

Photo: The street where I live. My building is the third skyscraper from the left.

There are no street addresses in Abu Dhabi. All mail is delivered to post office boxes.

The street where we will live has the official name of Sheik Zayed the First. This is how is it labeled on maps. But the city also decided to number all the streets, so it is 7th Street. But everyone knows it as Khalidiya Street, even though there’s no written reference to that name anywhere.

So when I gave directions to the cleaning company, I had to tell them my building was “the new one with green windows next door to Rak Bank” on Khalidiya Street. We are hiring a cleaning service because, along with light fixtures, major appliances and window treatments, we are also responsible to clean up the mess left by the construction crew.

Someday, there may be some kind of business sharing the ground floor, like a Starbucks. Then I can simply tell them I live in the Starbucks Building on Khalidiya Street.

I am hoping for a cafe or a bank branch and NOT a Baskin Robbins or a Cinnabon. I am having a hard enough time here controlling myself. I have left the world of beets and cabbage and entered a land of international culinary delights. They have nasi goreng. They have caramel corn. They have enchiladas. They have fruit smoothies. They have naan. And it’s all wonderful.

Soon, I may be needing one of those black flowing caftans to walk around myself.

Goodbye and Hello

Photo: Russia when it's green.

I’ve learned never to say never, but it’s unlikely I’ll be back to Russia—if only because it’s so hard to get a visa.

Riding to the airport, I thought that Moscow had never looked so lovely. For the past two weeks, I’d been shivering from the rain, wind and cold. But the day we left was sunny and green. The kind of day about which I would fantasize during most of the brutal winter.

At the airport, I discovered Larry’s office had booked my ticket in the WRONG name. There’s no way Russian Immigration was going to let me out when my passport, visa and arrival/departure card were in one name and my boarding pass was in another.

I was a little panicked when the airline was unable to print me a correct boarding pass. Instead, the clerk marked out the wrong name and corrected it with a pen. Then she stamped it. I was immediately reassured because in Russia, there’s no higher authorization than a stamp.

Taylor and I flew Emirates Airlines. If you have to fly coach (and we do), the best way to go is via Singapore Air or Emirates. First of all, there are TV screens with about 20 different viewing options, including 10 movies. If you get tired of that, you can use your screen to play video games. I have been taking advantage of the system to watch bad Sarah Jessica Parker movies like “The Family Stone” and “Failure to Launch.” Yes, there were better movies offered, but I’ve aleady seen King Kong.

After a 4.5 hour flight, we landed safely in Dubai. As I deplaned, the flight attendant looked at the cashmere shawl draped over my shoulder and remarked, “You won’t need THAT here.” She was wrong, of course. I may not have needed it walking down the staircase from the plane which felt like walking into an oven. But we were immediately shephered onto buses. The 20 minute bus ride to the terminal (Where HAD we landed? Sharjah?) featured sub-zero air conditioning and I was grateful to be able to bundle up in my shawl.

The loudspeaker on the bus announced in Arabic and English there would be two stops: one for passengers continuing their flights and one for passengers for whom Dubai was their final destination. Almost everyone got out at the first stop.

It was nearly midnight. Did these people all have 1 or 2 a.m. flights elsewhere? I decided maybe they were escaping the brutal air conditioning at their first opportunity. Larry later told me that Dubai was probably their final stop but they all got out because they didn’t understand Arabic OR English.

Anyway, that meant less competition to clear immigration at the second stop. I can’t read Arabic, but there seemed to be a special line for women traveling without men with women immigration officers. One man, thinking to take advantage of a shorter line, was shoo’d away.

After clearing immigration, our bags were waiting for us at baggage claim. They obviously got to take the fast bus to the terminal. There is a huge duty-free shop beside baggage claim. In U.A.E. alcohol is only available at limited places. Even then, there is a 30% tax. But at duty-free, you can legally bring in two bottles or 24 cans of beer tax-free.

Suitcases in tow, we walked out of the terminal to the sauna-like car park where we were met by the car service. The driver loaded us up in a van, cranked the air conditioning up to overdrive and we set off for the 90 minute drive to Abu Dhabi. Tay and I fell asleep almost immediately and woke up when we arrived at the hotel.

Larry was waiting in our generous-sized suite and had put lilies on my pillow on the bed. It was good to be home.

Photo: Our living room-kitchen at the Sheraton Residences.

Manic Moscow

Photos by Alec Perkins: Moscow scenes.

Here are three Moscow scenarios from my week:

1. I was lured into a shoe store by a pair of cute flat sandals in the window. I flipped them over to see the price: 1600 rubles (about $60). This is not a bad price for Moscow.

There wasn’t much to them, so I took a closer look to see whether I thought they’d hold up. That’s when I noticed the manufacture’s label: Pucci. Pucci is an Italian design firm so I knew I should rechecked that price.

Yep, I had missed a zero. They were 16000 rubles ($600). The average monthly wage here is a lot less than this.

2. Sue, and I went to the New Tetrakov Art Gallery to see an exhibit on loan from the Museum D’Orsay. While it included some very nice Degases, Monets and Van Goughs, I noticed they'd left the cream of the crop back in Paris.

I also noticed that the place was packed with Moscovites, even though it was a weekday and the exhibit was in the second week of a five week run. Russians relish the arts. They build monuments to poets all over the place. They are known for their ballet. They read hardcover books in the Metro.

But that’s not all they do in the Metro. On the way to the art gallery, our train stopped and a young man entered our otherwise empty car. I watched in shock as he got out his glue and plastic bag and started getting high. While it’s not unusual to see drunks sleeping it off in the Metro, this was the first drug use I’d seen there.

3. I attended a fair on the grounds of the Indian Embassy compound with friends. With huge mature trees, nicely maintained lawns and lovely 19th century architecture, it was like walking into a secret garden in the middle of Moscow.

It made me realize how lush and green this city probably once was. Today, however, there’s no trace of the “gardens” that gave the major ring road, the Garden Ring, its name.

After the fair, we went to a charming 24-hour café where you could sit out on the patio, drink very good cappuccino and listen to the classical music emanating from the Tchaikovsky Institute next door.

Living in Moscow is like living with someone who’s bipolar. You get to experience great highs but you must put up with even more lows.

Photo by Alec Perkins: The Moscow Metro sans drug abusers.

Cultured

While I have plenty of culture (American), it is not especially the kind I need in Abu Dhabi. So I decided to take advantage of Larry's company-paid cultural training. I filled out a survey about my expat background and my expectations for the training.

A consulting company flew one of their reps in to Moscow. She first spent four days with other clients, Russian-natives who were starting new jobs in other parts of Europe. Then it was my day.

The trainer had 18 years of experience in relocation. But she’d never lived in the Middle East and never even been to Abu Dhabi. We had both lived in the same number of countries, but while mine were spread out over three continents, she’d only lived in Western Europe. Nevertheless, she started her program with general information about international relocations.

While I had made it very clear that I only needed specific information on living in the Middle East, I was treated to her hand-outs on How Culture Shapes Us, etc. As I already know that compared to other cultures, Americans are materialistic, youth-oriented, individualistic, optimistic, friendly, and selfish, I kind of zoned out. I woke up sometime after the stuff on Adjusting to a Host Culture, about 90 minutes later. This was when she commented on how my “unexpressive face” would serve me well in Arab cultures.

We finally got to the Arab specific-stuff. From the books I’ve read, I know that the Muslim religion serves as the foundation upon which all this culture exists. Yet, she only had one handout on Fundamentalist Muslim Beliefs. “So,” I said as I carefully reviewed the brief fact sheet, “how does this differ from mainstream Muslim beliefs?” She would have to get back to me on that one.

She had about 10 handouts on how to act in various Arab business situations, which as a housewife and a woman, were completely inapplicable to me. But we finally got to at least 90 minutes of relevant information. Her big piece of advice was for me to avoid eye contact with men so as not to be seen as sexually aggressive. This is a culture so different from what I'm used to that I am not even suppose to maintain eye contact. That's what I really needed help understanding, instead of the cycles of relocation.

I did enjoy our lunch where I got to hear about her experiences with other expat families, including one American family that found the only English-speaking school in their European host city refused to take their son because he had ADD. And home schooling wasn't an option either, as it was illegal in that country. The things we don't know about the places we go CAN hurt us.

After lunch, we finished up and she left me some resource materials on UAE. This seemed to be useful, although I noted at first glance, at least one piece of information on apartment rentals was wrong.

So while I got a little more cultured through my training, all the information I need is not quite fermented.

Country Living

Photo: The grounds of the Abramtsvo Estate.

It is always surprising to me that is such a short distance from the dirt and concrete of Moscow to the tranquility of a beautiful forest.

This is why many Moscowvites choose to maintain country homes called dachas. A second home is not a big expense here as many of them do not feature luxury items like electricity and running water.

On the way back from Sergiev Pasad, my tour stopped at the Abramtsvo Estate, an artist and writer's colony. The compound had a large home and a lot of 19th century wooden architecture. The wildflowers were blooming and I enjoyed walking outside, at least until it started raining.

Photo: The dome of the small church At Abramtsvo. It is decorated with ceramics which were made on the site.

Daytrip to the Mideval Monestary

Photos: The Trinity Monestary at Sergeiv Pasad.

Just to get out of the hotel, I took a day trip to Sergiev Pasad.

Before signing up for the tour, I was familiar with Sergiev Pasad as a center for wood carving. This is where my Father Christmases hail from.

However, the town's real claim to fame is as the main monestary of the Russian Orthodox Church. This is where the Russian patriarch is elected. The monestary holds a huge seminary with over 1,000 students.

Sergeiv Pasad is only about a little over an hour outside of Moscow when the traffic is good, and three to four hours when traffic is bad.

The monestary featured several old churches. And when you say old in Russia, you mean old. One church was from the 14th century. As today is Sunday, the churches were conducting worship services. Going into the ancient churches with their chanting priests performing various rituals felt like stepping back into the Middle Ages.

But my biggest musical treat were the huge bells. Russian Orthodox believe that the lower the tone of the bell, the more easily God can hear it. So they have almost of tribal sound that actually reminded me of Kodo drums!

The main square had a cupola over some holy water where people stood in line to cart some away in plastic bottles. A small shop selling snack had a sign that said "Food for Pilgrims." I bought some bread even though I wasn't sure I qualified.

The monestary was closed, of course, after the communist revolution. But Stalin reopened it when things were not going well for him during World War II in an effort to hedge his bets. And of course, the monestary did not fare well during the Krushchev and Brezhnev eras. But things picked up with Perestroika.

Outside the monestary was the usual tourist market with tables full of souveniers that belied the town's fame as a wood handicraft center. (Their better stuff seemed to head for the Ismalova tourist market in Moscow.)

After Sergiev Pasad, the tour took us to the Abramotsevo Estate where we walked around the lovely forest and looked at the charming wooden architecture of this 19th century artist's retreat. (Look for pictures on my next blog.)

Then, it was time to load up the van and head back to the city.

Photos: Churches on the grounds of the monestary.

Gilded Cage

Photo: Our old apartment building, with the red Prology sign at center, as seen from my room at the Golden Ring Hotel. The Ukraine Hotel is in the background.

For the next two weeks, Taylor and I are making ourselves at home at the Golden Ring Hotel. This is the most expensive hotel in which I’ve ever stayed. This is because Moscow probably has the highest hotel rates in the world.

London and Tokyo may be expensive, but they also offer plenty of middle class hotels. Moscow’s city center has nothing BUT five star hotels. And there aren’t even enough of these to go around.

I was quite surprised to see that the hotel is now offering very expensive theme dinners at one of their restaurants. They are recreating the Soviet Union in the 1970s. Like I would want to experience that!

Tay and I each have a junior suite featuring a separate small living room and the same number of bathrooms as our Moscow apartment: 1.5. On the minus side, the suites have only one 18-inch TV, no microwave, only three small drawers for all my clothes and a total of one free electrical outlet. I have to unplug a lamp to plug in the electric water pot. There’s no coffee pot and the coffee from room service ($6) was awful.

I checked out the channels on my small TV. Sandwiched between Euronews and Cartoon Network were several channels of hard core pornography. To “order,” you just continue watching! It took two phone calls and a visit to the front desk to get this blocked. They didn’t understand the word “pornography” so I had to refer to it as “sex” channels. I found out tonight that it’s STILL working in Taylor’s suite, so that’s another trip to the front desk.

The best thing about my room is the lovely 45 degree view of Moscow. But I awoke from a nap in the bedroom and was startled to see a man in camouflage directly outside my window on a rope swing. I am on the 17th floor. I shouldn’t have to worry about peeping toms. On further inspection, the guy was changing the lights attached to the side of the hotel. The Golden Ring is one of the increasing number of buildings in Moscow covered with obnoxious neon lights which beam advertising.

I’ve been trying to make myself at home here. I had them empty my mini-bar refrigerator so I could fill it up with my own cheese, yogurt, and Diet Coke. I’d also brought over some comforts of home from my apartment like scented candles, my favorite bubble bath, slippers, and my picture of us getting ready to hike the Grand Canyon. But they don’t disguise the fact that I’m living in a hotel room.

We lived in the Golden Ring when we first arrived in Moscow, so it seems fitting we are ending our time here. Other than the addition of the porn channels, it seems very much the same. But we’ve changed. For one thing, we can now speak enough Russian to make ourselves understood. We know our way around this complicated and often difficult city that’s been our home for almost two years. And we are very aware that it won’t be long until we are saying our final “das vidanya.”

Photo: Another view from my hotel room, this time of Moscow traffic gridlock in front of Old Arbat Street.