Choose Your Weapons

Photo: The walkway conecting the two halls of the Blue Souq in Sharjah.

Dubai Day Two

I think the Fairmont employees must have been competing in a “Name That Guest” contest. Everyone seemed to know my name. I was Mrs. Case at the breakfast buffet. “May I take your Pellegrino back to your table for you, Mrs. Case?”

I was Mrs. Case at the pool. “May I bring you a refreshing cold towel, Mrs. Case?”

I was Mrs. Case by room service. “Please sit down, Mrs. Case, and I’ll pour your coffee.” Because the reservation had been made in my name, Larry got to be Mr. Case.

After being bored crazy the evening before at the art galleries, Taylor opted to sleep in and miss our trip to Sharjah. Despite the fact that the market there is the biggest attraction in town, it wasn’t listed on Larry’s GPS by either of its names: Central Market, its official name, or the Blue Souq, which is what everyone calls it.

We found it easily enough as I knew it was close to the sea on a main highway. With its distinctive blue tiles, it wasn’t hard to spot. The antique places, notably the four Sinbad stores, were the most fun so we visited them first.

I have already bought more than my fair share of antique copper pots, so we looked at things like a heart-shaped gun powder holders, camel saddle bags and Tibetan singing bowls. We ended up spending a lot of time perusing antique weapons.

I showed Larry the horse head silver Iranian ceremonial sword I’d spotted when I had been there a few months ago. When Larry also admired it, the shopkeeper offered him a substantially better price than he had me.

When Larry didn’t bite, the shopkeeper then brought out some wicked-looking Bedoin weapons. These vicious instruments were obviously NOT ceremonial. This was one souvenir you wouldn’t be bringing home in your airline carry-on.

We also looked at some old rifles before checking out the selection of Omani daggers. I was quite attracted to the daggers, some of which had beautiful silverwork. Eventually, Larry sensibly decided to check with his colleague in Oman who collects antique weapons before buying anything here.

We still had some time before the market closed for the afternoon so we decided to visit a few of the many carpet shops. We need a large carpet to go under our dining room table, but of course, we fell in love with a 3' x 5' Kazakstan. The vendor, hearing our discussion about not having a place for it, made us a pretty good deal.

We loaded up our small rug and headed back to Dubai for a late lunch at the Lime Tree Café, one of my favorite lunch spots in the world. We telephoned Taylor who declined to join us, with the excuse that he had just had room service.

Larry commented that one needs high levels of estrogen to enjoy the Lime Tree. For one thing, it’s a café in an old villa and the air conditioning does leave a little bit to be desired. Larry and Taylor, in contrast, both prefer freezing. This café has lots of vegetarian choices and the menu is heavy on foccacias, salads and wraps with things like beet chutney.

I think everything is delicious and the place is always packed with Western expat women who obviously agree. Best of all, is their carrot cake, which is ALMOST as good as the one I make. (Mine, from the Frog Commissary Cookbook, consists of three separate recipes: cake, filling and frosting and takes eons to prepare.)

Larry and I split a chicken satay wrap. We splurged, calorically that is, on dessert. Larry had a tasty mango cheesecake while I made a hearty attempt to eat most of my mound of carrot cake. About half way through, my tastebuds were saying “Yes, Yes,” but my stomache was insisting on “No, no!”

Finally, Larry and I headed back to the hotel to meet Taylor. We spent the rest of the day at the pool and had a relaxed late dinner at the Fairmont’s casual Italian restaurant. Housekeeping had been in to turn down the beds, but did not leave any chocolates on our pillows. Maybe the Fairmont should have a contest on that.

Photo: Taylor opts out of a late lunch at the Lime Tree Cafe.

None Like It Hot

Dubai Day One

Photo: Larry and Taylor take a break at a Bastakiya gallery.

While we had logged more than our fair share of time at the Mall of the Emirates, there were many touristy things we hadn’t done in Dubai.

After unpacking, we joined the slow parade of traffic everywhere and headed out to Dubai Creek, the center of historic Dubai.

We were fortunate enough to snag a parking place near Bastakiya, an area of traditional windtower houses built around courtyards and connected by a maze of alleyways. The area is slowly being restored and has several interesting modern art galleries and lovely courtyard restaurants. It was another one of those, "Alec would love this" places.

I found the first gallery easily but wasn’t sure where anything else was. At five p.m., it was still WAY too hot to aimlessly wander around and Bastakiya’s restoration didn’t include helpful signage. To forestall outright rebellion from my tour group, I left Larry and Taylor sitting in a small bit of shade to do some reconnaissance. I finally stumbled onto the second gallery on my list and was able to direct Larry and Taylor there from the excavation of the old city walls, built in the 1800s.

I’d have to rethink our dinner plans as ALL of those scenic courtyard restaurants were closed. But a more pressing need was water. I asked at one gallery and they escorted us into one of the small rooms off the courtyard. It had a line of Arabic sofas. But best of all, it was air conditioned. We reclined and enjoyed our fresh lime juices with mint.

The Bastakiya galleries had interesting but very expensive art. I should have bought more art and fewer baskets when I lived in China. Actually, I like all my Chinese baskets. I just should have bought more art, which was very affordable there.

After Bastakiya, we walked along the Creek. I had planned to hire an abra, a water taxi, to take us around the creek. We could also just ride to the other side to walk to the gold souk. But at that point, we were wilting so fast, the idea offered no appeal. Instead, we took a quick walk to the tourist souk which was picturesque but sold nothing but junk.

We made our way back to the car through the much more authentic, and decrepit, textile souk where they displayed some of the ugliest fabrics I'd ever seen. We then drove to the Jumeriah area to the Mercato Shopping Center where I knew we’d find air conditioning and a choice of casual restaurants. As a bonus, I found the Mercato also had a Virgin Megastore, earning me bonus points with Larry and Taylor. Larry was able to pick up the new Jamie Cullum jazz album.

We grabbed a light dinner at Paul’s, a French café, where we had a lovely cheese platter. I would have liked a nice crisp white wine to go with it, but this is the Middle East, after all.

The Suite Life

Photo: The living room in our suite.

Larry wanted one more short vacation with Taylor before he flew the nest. But where to go?

Most of Europe was too far away for a four day jaunt. Larry vetoed Bangkok, Taylor vetoed Jordan, and I vetoed anyplace we’d been before (Cairo, Istanbul, Muskat).

With three such picky travelers to satisfy, I spent hours on the internet researching places like Santorini, Goa and Croatia. Finally, I settled on… Dubai.

Okay, so it wasn’t as exotic as Greece. However, as our main criteria was a luxury hotel where we could eat great food and lounge by the pool. Dubai more than qualified and we didn't have to go anywhere near an airport.

It is, of course, blazing hot in Dubai. Tourists with ANY sense will go someplace cooler. You'd think the hotels would all be offering great deals. But apparently 110 degree heat is no reason to lower the rates. I finally found a special deal, on an American travel website, for a two-bedroom suite that at the Dubai Fairmont.

I booked it and signed up Larry for the Fairmont’s Presidents Club, a smart move suggested by a friend who’d been upgraded after joining the frequent guest club at another Dubai luxury hotel.

We loaded up the Queen Family Truckster for our two hour roadtrip to Dubai, stopping along the way to replenish ourselves with Popeye's fried chicken.

Even though we'd never stayed at any of their properties, the hotel upgraded us to a larger suite (1400 sq. feet) on the strength of our President's Club membership. The suite featured a dining room that seated six, a bar, an L-shaped desk, a living room, two bedrooms and three full bathrooms.

What it didn’t have was a microwave for the popcorn I’d brought or decent lighting in any of the marble-appointed bathrooms. I had to put on my makeup from the lounge chair in the bedroom.

Unlike your average LaQuinta, the suite also did not include a coffeemaker. The hot water heater and the complimentary packets of Nescafe were not going to do it for coffee snobs like us.

Decent American coffee is often overlooked here. I’ve been to morning events at five-star hotels in Abu Dhabi where there are tables of lovely finger sandwiches and beautiful little pastries. But to wash it down, all you get is instant Nescafe.

I resolved to order a real pot of coffee each morning from room service. Hey, I’m on vacation.

Photo: Taylor relaxes in one of the bedrooms.

It's Not Easy Being Small

I read an article that said when given a choice between being thin or being rich but significantly overweight, the vast majority of women would choose to be thin.

They are wrong, of course. While I've never been rich, I am now finally thin. And frankly, I'd rather be rich.

Most of my adult life, I've struggled to get rid of an extra 10 to 15 pounds. But now that I've done it, my life isn't all moonlight and roses. Hordes of adoring men did not suddenly clamor for my attention at parties. Friends didn’t gush over my new sveltness. In fact, there were some surprising negatives.

My clothes all now look terrible. They are too big, and they make me look, well, fat. So I headed to the mall. I was eager to try on all those styles I had always thought would look cute on me if only were I were thin. Guess what? I’m thin and they STILL look bad on me. I could be a stick and anything with a defined waistline would still make me look overdue for Weight Watchers.

And speaking of fat, I still see it when I look at myself in a full-length mirror. This is kind of scary as I don’t want to slide into Karen Carpenter territory. My diet plan does not include laxatives OR throwing up.

A big suprise for me is that people are now referring to me as small. I hate that term. I’m 5’6” with the shoulders of a linebacker. I’ve been building up my muscles with weight training. I am NOT small.

Hardest of all is the effort I put into staying thin. I exercise four times a week. I eat a 1400 calorie low carb diet. I write down every crumb that goes in my mouth. My portion sizes seem about right for a 10-year old. I never eat junk food and my great love, sugar, is only an occassional indulgence.

Of course, given the choice between overweight and being thin, I'd take thin every time. While it may not guaranatee a glamorous lifestyle, it certainly promotes a healthier one. And that's enough.

Modesty is the Best Policy

We had a bit of excitement at our health club last week. Some MAN, a new member, walked into the ladies’ gym. He was immediately directed to the mixed gym.

A female manager was summoned by the upset female customers. One woman exclaimed, “A man walked in and I was wearing practically nothing!” At the time of the incident, she was on the treadmill wearing loose exercise pants, a sports bra, and a tank top.

I have a problem with buying clothes in Abu Dhabi. Not because they are so modest, but because I am. Arabic women favor beautiful, colorful, embellished clothes with standout accessories and jewelry. Your typical ladies’ shirt here is likely to have ribbons, jagged sleeves, AND embroidery.

I like to call my style classic. But comparatively, the word for it is plain.

Sizing is another issue for me. The U.A.E. has a wide variety of international stores and each country has their own sizing system. I have no idea what size in that store might fit. So far, the sizes I've found that fit me include a 3, a 7, a 10 and a 40.

But this really isn’t different than shopping in the U.S. where each manufacture seems to have their own sizing system too. I actually have an array of shirts (all bought in the U.S.) that range from S to XL. They are all fit.

American stores Banana Republic and The Gap opened at the new mall here. While their styles were plain, their prices sure weren’t. A cotton-linen skirt at Banana Republic was $150. At the Gap, I could barely squeeze into the size XL teeshirt which they offered for $40. I cannot understand these prices. It couldn’t have cost that much to ship. The teeshirt was so thin, you could practically see through it.

Anyway, I am holding off on major clothes shopping until I am back in the land of Ross Dress for Less and Nordstrom’s Rack where the jeans don’t all have sequins and a plain teeshirt won’t set me back $40.

Who Are You?

Photo: Larry and Taylor at graduation.

I contacted our banker to open a joint checking account for Taylor and me. As we will be half a world away, I wanted the ability to shift funds directly to an account Taylor can access.

Our banker sent back a cover email requesting two forms of I.D. for Taylor and attached 28 pages of additional forms and instructions. This is from a bank that knows us.

I am not intimidated by forms. As an expat wife, completing paperwork is a major part of my job description. The real problem is the two forms of identification. Taylor’s passport can count as one I.D. but then we're kind of stumped. He doesn’t have a driver’s license. He doesn’t have a U.S. student I.D. He doesn’t have a voter’s registration card. And the bank told me his social security card is not a form of I.D. (I thought that was the whole point of a social security number.)

They are considering whether they can accept his birth certificate. If that’s rejected, we’re down to his proof of insurance card, his old U.S. middle school report card, or, my favorite, a note from his mom!

My Son, the Spark Plug

Photo by Larry Perkins: Taylor and Nancy.

Thursday night, we attended the 2007 American Community School Commencement. It was held at the glittery, newly-reopened Intercontinental Hotel ballroom. While the ASC woodwinds played “Pomp and Circumstances,” the 54 graduates in their green robes and motor boards slowly filed in past the more than 400 invited guests.

It was a nice ceremony. It began with a prayer in English and then a prayer in Arabic. There were several brief speeches including one by Taylor.

Taylor’s speech was the wildcard slot. He and Krissy were chosen by the administration after writing a speech comparing their class to an automobile and telling how each person in the class could represent a part of car. (I think Taylor was one of the spark plugs, the kids that liven things up.) He ended the speech by singing a phrase from their unofficial class song, “Don’t Stop Believing.”

Krissy had dropped out of this speech after she was named valedictorian and had a speech of her own to do. As she also was singing a duet, Taylor said she didn’t want graduation to be the “Krissy Show.”

The ceremony also featured the school choir, which includes Taylor and Krissy, singing “Lean on Me.” For such a small school, ACS has an excellent music program. After that were a couple of awards presentations that took too long. Or maybe they just felt too long because my kid didn’t win one.

Finally, it was time to collect the diplomas. The school had two announcers, a native English speaker and a native Arabic speaker, to cut down on the names butchered. And there was none of this, “Hold your applause until the end” stuff. The audience loudly cheered as each name was called.

The Arab kids, especially, seemed to have large contingents but I guess it’s easier to get to Abu Dhabi from Tehran or Mumbai than it is from Cleveland or Houston.

After the ceremony, the graduates formed a receiving line and greeted all the guests. Waiters passed through with glasses of Sprite and Coke and appetizers were laid out on tables.

A little before 10 p.m., they opened up an adjoining ballroom for the “Graduation Ball.” The ballroom “only” held 300, so tickets to that (at $80 a head) were limited. Most people were in cocktail attire and I was happy I’d decided to wear my more splashy satin pants suits. A few of the men were in tuxedos.

The decorating committee had elaborate table decorations and the Intercon served a wonderful buffet dinner. (Middle Eastern food stands up very well to hotplates.)

I was shocked to see that most of the graduates were enjoying a glass of wine or beer. When Alec graduated, his high school in Scottsdale had sent us a letter pretty much threatening us with jail time if we served alcohol to anyone under 21. Of course, at Intercon’s prices of $5 to $8 a glass, I don’t think too many were going to be over indulging.

We were seated at Table 16, which included the three of us, Tay’s friends Win and Dave, and Win’s family. Win’s mom, whom I’d never met, and I were both wearing necklaces by the same Dubai-based jewelry designer.

After dinner, all the seniors gathered to cut a large cake. Instead of a knife, they used a sword. The party was to last until 1 a.m., but Larry and I, like many of the parents, opted to head for home earlier. We left with Taylor’s bundle of goodies. All the seniors were given beach towels, collapsable laundry hampers and six-pack coolers with the school name in Arabic and English.

Taylor stayed on and went home with Win to spend the night, along with some other kids. Going back to our apartment, it was just Larry and me now.

Photo by Larry Perkins: The Class of 2007 (Taylor not visible) at the party.