Taking a Reading

My sister once told me that someone described her as a “scavenger reader.” A scavenger reader is someone who if given time, will read ANYTHING that happens to be lying around—old grocery lists, dishwasher installation instructions, Russian novels. It doesn’t matter.

I fall into that category. As teenagers, my sister I would read the parenting books my mother brought home from the library. We would then “correct” her on her parenting skills. (My husband thinks Cases have a tendency to be know-it-alls. But really, it’s just that often we do!)

Larry and I consider reading a great pleasure, a joy we’ve shared with our children. In fact, Taylor would become so immersed in novels in grade school, we had to limit his reading time. I remember attending a parent-teacher conference where his teacher was sharing with me for ideas for encouraging children to read.

When I admitted that we LIMITED Taylor’s reading, she looked at me as if I had admitted to regularly flogging him with a whip. “I’ve never heard of a parent limiting a child’s access to books,” she said in a shocked whisper.

But then she probably never had a kid who would compulsively read for 10 hours straight, tolerating no interruptions, to get through a book, either.

Anyway, being a scavenger reader probably explains why I read “Things Fall Apart.” I think Alec first brought it home as a required novel in his high school English class. Then Taylor had to read it as a freshman. After we moved to Russia, Taylor’s Moscow English class studied it again.

Last week, Tay asked if I’d seen the book. “Surely you aren’t reading that again,” I said as I pulled it out of our bookcase.

“We’re studying it in English,” he said. I have taken to calling it, “Things Keep Falling Apart” as this will be the third time Taylor’s studied it. I hope he saved his previous essays so he can recycle them. In any event, he should be the class expert.

The book is set in Africa and one of the major themes is a changing society. It’s worth a read, but worth three reads? I don’t know. Aren’t there any other novels worthy of high school English essays? If all the high schools are now down to ONE book, I vote for “Catcher in the Rye.” Or maybe something I haven’t read.

I’ve already perused the flyer on how to pay my utilities bill and the effects of various anti-malarial medications, so I’m ready to read something else. Just leave it around and I’ll get to it.

How I Spent My Eid Vacation

“Ed Mubarak,” the taxi driver said as I scrambled into his backseat.

“Ed who?” I thought. Was he introducing himself? This was an awfully strange name for an Afghani taxi driver.

“Ed Mubarak,” he repeated. Suddenly it hit me. This was the Eid greeting. If it were Eid, that meant the officials had looked at the moon the day before and determined that Ramadan was over.

People would now stop sleeping all day and eating all night. I could actually drink water while taking a morning walk. Stores in the mall would now be open past 1 p.m.

“Eid Murbarak,” I repeated with a smile.

Larry missed the two day Eid holiday as he had meetings in Brussels. He had wanted Taylor and me to join him but trying to get flights out during Eid, even if you don’t know QUITE when it will start, is like trying to get a flight out during Thanksgiving in the U.S.

At least during Eid, we got our health insurance issue resolved. I also used the holiday to review the health requirements for Taylor's trip with Habitat to Humanity to India.

My first priority on that was getting him anti-malarial medication and making sure he had the recommended vaccinations. And Taylor wasn't the only one heading off for Asia. It suddenly occured to me that in a couple of weeks, I would be in rural Cambodia. It probably wasn’t a bad idea for me to get a few “jabs,” as the British say, myself.

When businesses reopened, I made an appointment for Tay and me to go to a recommended doctor's office where we got Typhoid innoculations and Hepatitis B boosters to start us off. But unlike going to Brussels together, I wouldn’t really call it a holiday bonding experience.

Next week we get to have polio boosters (is polio around anymore?) and I need a DPT booster. Ah, the joys of adventure travel!

My Problem with Malaria

While Taylor doesn't enjoy roughing it, he's readily agreed to go to Pondicherry, India through Habitat for Humanity. His entire senior class is going to build houses for tsunami victims for a week in January.

I started wading through the thick parent package of information and health advisories. The most important seems to be no matter how good it looks and smells, “Don’t eat ANYTHING outside the hotel.” Luckily, one of the chaperones is a medical doctor.

There were also advisories on suggested vaccinations and medications to prevent malaria. Malaria preventatives must often be started weeks in advance. As long as Taylor was out of school this week for the Eid holiday, I put getting Taylor a doctor appointment to the top of my daily To Do list.

First, I needed to find a local doctor.

I checked out an expat women’s online chat board and got a few local doctor recommendations. I decided to cross reference these with my insurance company’s provider database, if they had one for Abu Dhabi.

So, for the next step, I went to our insurance company’s website. They referred me to their new Middle Eastern medical network affiliate. Our insurance company had previously sent me an announcement on this by email but it didn’t have any specifics.

The affiliate medical network had many of the recommended doctors and hospitals on my list. Even better, they could direct bill my insurance company so I wouldn’t have to pay upfront, file an insurance claim and wait for reimbursements. All I had to do was show my local affiliation card. Except, I didn’t have one.

It didn’t surprise me that I didn’t have this card. The insurance company still lists our home address as Beijing, a situation that seems so impossible to rectify I gave up trying about a year ago.

So I called the local number of the medical affiliation and gave them my insurance card information. Yes, they had a deal with our insurance company. But we, personally, weren’t on their records as being part of the agreement.

I then dug out the insurance company’s AT&T direct access number. I very much appreciate having this as I mind being on hold MUCH less when I do not personally have to pay $1.37 per minute for the pleasure. (1-800 numbers don’t work overseas. Well, they work, but at the usual non-800 number cost.)

I also appreciate the fact they offer 24-hour service, so I don’t have to wait up until past my bedtime to get stuff resolved.

After a relatively short wait on line, I found out there were two problems with us getting the local network affiliation card. Problem Number 1: The insurance company wasn’t sure if my husband’s employer was a part of that program. “If it doesn’t apply to me, then WHY are you sending me emails about it?” I demanded.

The helpful insurance customer service woman ignored my question to delve straight into Problem Number 2 which also caused me forget all about my previous issue. She told me our medical insurance had been cancelled Aug. 31.

As we have money deducted monthly for our portion of health insurance, this was news to me. This is no small matter, especially overseas, as hospitals in a lot of countries will let you bleed to death on the steps outside if no one steps forward to guarantee payment.

I sent an email to our overseas employee benefits consultant in the U.S. and copied Larry in Brussels. It was now 90 minutes later and I had failed to do the first thing on my To Do List. In fact, with the new predicament, I hardly remembered that this started as procuring anti-malaria medication.

It’s amazing what malaria can lead to.

Photo: Taylor some of his school chums who will be heading for India.

Stairway to Iftar

Last Friday evening, Larry’s office held their annual family Iftar dinner. This is the Middle Eastern equivalent of what use to be the annual family company Christmas party. Now, of course, most American company Christmas parties have been cancelled due to budget cuts.

Iftar dinners are traditional times to feast with friends and family during Ramadan. During the three weeks of Ramadan, Muslims fast from 5 a.m. until Iftar which is about 6 p.m. The times vary slightly every day and are so precise that Dubai and Abu Dhabi differ by a few minutes.

At least 90% of the local workforce in the U.A.E. are expatriates. Larry’s office here employs people from all over the world.

Of the 300 people attending, probably at least 30 countries were represented including Australia, Britain, Egypt, Germany, India, Jordan, Korea, Mexico, the Phillipines, and South Africa. There was even one guy from the U.A.E.

The dinner was held in the ballroom of a Hilton Corniche hotel. The only other American attending outside of our family, walked through the arch of red and gold balloons and remarked, “This looks like prom.”

It did, actually. With the lantern centerpieces, cutouts of the traditional crescent moon
stars hanging from the ceiling, and elaborate balloon sculptures, it did sort of have the “Arabian Nights at the American Chain Hotel Ballroom” feeling. All that was missing was a band playing a bad rendition of “Stairway to Heaven,” the great makeout song of my generation. The Hilton did have the usual TV set on but without sound.

Larry and I greeted everyone at the door. While woman are not suppose to extend their hands to Muslim men, I did not have time to figure out everyone’s religious background and will have to be forgiven if I offended anyone by shaking hands. Taylor was left to his own devices, essentially schmoozing the room on his own. (He’s a very good schmoozer, if I do say so myself.)

The round tables of 10 were already set with dried fruits and glasses of water. When Iftar hits, people should not be expected to WAIT to eat and drink. Waiters were also standing by with the trays of traditional juices like apricot or date. At Iftar, people immediately moved to the soup station where they had a choice of lentil or creamy tomato.

The buffet offered probably 30 choices of hot dishes, plus all the usual salads and appetizers. There was an emphasis on Arabic and Indian cuisine. This included baked hammour, a popular local fish; chicken shwarma; samosas; grilled kebabs, and lamb bryani; Of course, there were absolutely no pork dishes. Alcohol is also forbidden. I took about 2 Tbs. of each of the items I wanted and was completely stuffed.

While dinner was a buffet, the food was very good and the service was impressive. The servers kept Taylor in Orange Fanta and even offered to bring us dessert from the probably 20 choices at the dessert buffet. Tay told them sliced fruit and baklava, and it was delivered, artfully arranged, on a plate to our table.

I, of course, passed on that offer as I would NEVER pass up the opportunity to peruse a beautiful array of desserts, even though I was too stuffed at that point to enjoy more than just a bite or two.

Larry, looking very GQ in his new cream linen blazer, took to the podium to distribute some employee awards. He had to strain to be heard over the children loudly tearing up the balloon displays in the back of the room.

As usual for Iftar dinners, the whole thing was over around 8:30. But overall, it was a very nice way to celebrate Ramadan.

Talking Trash at Ikea

When I think of globalization, I don’t think about McDonalds or rock music. I think about Ikea. Ikea is a retail outlet offering cheap modern Danish furniture and home accessories all over the world.

I have been to Ikeas in Beijing, Moscow, and Abu Dhabi. They are all the same. They are so identical that if I had been drugged and woke up in the middle of an Ikea store, I would have no clue what country I was in. After the drugs wore off, I could stumble down to checkout and see what currency they accepted. From the meatballs served in the cafeteria, to the identical pre-fabricated furniture, to the Danish store manager; only the currency accepted bows to local sensitivities.

Every store has the same two-story layout which forces you to follow their track through each and every section of the place before you can exit. There’s no skipping to the linen department without first having to wade through office furniture, kitchen cabinets and futons. This invariably makes me feel like a trapped lab rat. I have heard rumors of secret shortcuts through the store, but once imbedded in the bowels of Ikea, I get too panicked to try to ferret these out.

People all over the world love Ikea because it is so cheap. For the same price, a family of four could decide to see a movie with popcorn, candy and sodas OR they could use the same funds to buy furniture at Ikea.

The reason Ikea is so cheap is that their furniture is mostly-particle board which they charge you extra to assemble. Ikea are experts at furnishings that fit the smallest of living spaces. If you are looking for imposing over-the-top pieces to fill up your McMansion, shop elsewhere. If you need a table and chairs to fit in your breadbox-sized kitchen, you’ve come to the right place.

Ikea furniture is Danish minimalist. Highly functional, it has no matching pillows, no tassels, no beads. The upholstery is likely to be the kind you can unzip and throw in the washer. Ikea stuff is so distinct that you can easily go through someone’s apartment and within five minutes correctly identify which pieces came from there. You probably even know what other wood veneer colors it comes in.

Ikea is so popular I just heard their new catalogue has surpassed the Bible in terms of printing.

Larry and I went to Ikea in search of a replacement chrome trashcan for our kitchen. The old one died due to overuse. We could only find one small model, large enough to encompass only two soup cans which means we would have to go from emptying the kitchen trash twice a day to emptying the kitchen trash 20 times a day. “Do you have any large trash cans?” I asked.

“Trash cans?” the Ikea helper replied. “Trash cans?” It was as if I had asked for frozen headgear or some other undecipherable commodity.

I thought quickly and came up with an alternative, “Garbage cans? Do you have large garbage cans?”

His eyes lit up, “Oh, garbage cans. No, we don’t have anything bigger than this.” I would have liked to leave then, but of course, this was only possible after having to meander past the rest of the home organization section and then into home decor and finally through the warehouse stuff before being able to escape into the mall.

I save a lot of money at Ikea because by the time I reach the register I am often too tired to buy anything.

Postscript: As a reader noted in the comments section, Ikea is SWEDISH, not Danish.

We Do Decour

Photo: Our revised living room.

When we first moved in, Larry looked around and proclaimed, “We need a decorator.”

A decorator! Who needed a decorator? Weren’t all my friends complimentary about our home decour? Okay, we had a huge amount of work with the new apartment but I could do this!

Yeah, I could do this... If I had an establish list of local workman I trusted... If I was intimately familiar with all the retail and wholesale furniture and home accessory resources in the U.A.E.... And if I spoke Arabic and could negotiate for better deals and quicker delivery dates.

Okay, maybe, a decorator wouldn’t be a bad idea. Eventually, I found Annie, a Lebanese woman who provided all those services with the added benefit of just being fun to hang around.

She came up with great suggestions and opened us up to ideas we may not have been brave enough to try on our own (like the huge horizontal striped red wallpaper in the living room).

Like a mom who kisses a boo-boo, she rearranged our furniture and made it all better. Best of all, when the painter did a sloppy job on my aubergine dressing room, she was the one who called him repeatedly to get him to come back and fix it. (He did so only after she threatened to call the police on him.)

We had a few other decorating glitches. The quote we got on the custom inlaid marble table was about 10 times higher than it should have been in a country with cheap marble and cheap labor.

With all the construction going on here, the stone companies have all the business they can handle from marble-laden new high rises. Their outrageous pricing was their polite way to tell us to get lost. We got the message.

But overall, the process has been fun. In fact, I displayed such enthusiasm, Annie offered me a job shopping for her. I had no idea that shopping was such a marketable skill. I probably won't take her up on this. After years as an expat wife, I like shopping as a social activity, so I can share the triumph of finding the pre-measured sticks of Crisco. (Currently available at Westzone Market, but hurry.) Finding dimmer switches all by myself doesn't seem as much fun.

Making 50

I will turn 50 or, as they say in Louisiana, make 50 next month.

The big day will find me in Southeast Asia with girlfriends from Moscow on my Cambodia-Viet Nam trip. The week before, Larry, Taylor and I will be completing our Open Water Scuba Certification in Furjara, one of the other Emirates.

While I didn’t set out to have this flurry of activities that week, they will be awfully good distractions from worrying about getting old.

Larry, Taylor and I have have already completed the classroom portion of our SCUBA certification. Generally, I like to study. I was one of those “smart” kids who loved school. But I do not have a natural aptitude for science. In fact, it took months for me to figure out that the labs we did in chemistry were related to what we were studying in the text book. I really thought they were random assignments.

While I don’t find studying science any easier now, learning to dive certainly increases my motivation. I have to know the relationship between pressure and volume because ignorance just doesn't lead to bad grades. It can lead to bursting my lungs.

On the other hand, I am a whiz at the nitrogen recovery tables (which is really more math—a better subject for me). This is important as it tells you how long you can stay down at what depths with what time intervals between dives, without risking the Bends.

They now sell expensive oversized wristwatch gadgets called dive computers which can track and compute all this for you automatically (and even load it on to your laptop so you can generate excrutiatingly detailed reports of every meter you’ve ever traveled underwater). But you can’t get your certification without being able to use the chart. It’s like being unable to pass math if you don’t know your multiplication tables even if you can use a calculator.

The fun part of diving, however, is exploring underwater. One thing I've learned is that nothing keeps you young like trying something new.

Photo: Taylor tests the regulator before our family Discovery Dive in the Maldives.

Ramadan for Non-Muslims

Ramadan kareem!

That’s happy Ramadan. Ramadan is an important religious and cultural holiday in the U.A.E. Ramadan dates are not set in advance but are determined by actually looking at the moon. Now that it's started, Ramadan last four weeks.

During these weeks, Muslims fast during daylight hours, from about 5 a.m. to 6:15 p.m. This means no food, no chewing gum, no smoking and no beverages including water during that time. There are exceptions to fasting such as for young children, the elderly, pregnant women and nursing mothers.

Out of respect, non-Muslims like us must also refrain eating, drinking, chewing gum, and smoking in public. All restaurants and coffee shops, including MacDonald’s and Starbucks, are closed every day until sundown. Some hotel restaurants do stay open to serve non-Muslims, but they are hidden behind curtains.

For these four weeks, Taylor’s school has shortened their school hours by 90 minutes a day. Almost all offices close by 2 or 3 p.m.

Stores, including the mall, close every afternoon at around 1 p.m. and all the employees go home to sleep. Things reopen around 7 p.m. when everyone has had a chance to eat.

Of course, there’s a lot more to Ramadan than fasting. It’s also a special time of giving to the less fortunate and socializing (feasting) with friends and family, sort of like our Christmas traditions. A Muslim friend told me than some people lose weight during Ramadan and some people actually gain weight.

For a more complete look at the significance of Ramadan, including more on the religious aspects, see http://www.dubaiplanner.ae/index.htm

In any event, it’s the one time of year you really feel like you are in the Middle East.