Alright, that's it.

It's time to act like a girl in her 20s and hit the club. I think I'll start at The Lodge, as soon as I can scrape together some girlfriends who want to to shake it, shake it. I guess I might have to wait until next weekend since the man is flying in this weekend, unless the man wants to shake it, shake it with us.  

Today Priya tried her very first chocolate fondue, courtesy "Swiss Week" in the cafeteria. A group of students just got back from Switzerland and brought a little Swiss culture with them. From what I can tell, the Swiss live on chocolate-covered strawberries which they eat while perched on the tops of alpine peaks in shiny red toboggans. 

I tried some of Priya's cooking today, which she brought me in a re-sealable plastic container from home.  It was a delicious chicken curry. She told me it was mild, and I agreed that it was mild. But after I'd sampled the fare, she stopped by my desk and asked, "Did you vahm-it?" And, somewhat shocked, I immediately replied, "No! Of course I didn't vomit." And she said, "nooooooo, did you VAHM it?"  Aha yes, I did in fact warm it. 

Everybody Do the Driver's License Dance

So, guess who got a driver's license? Me. It wasn't all that hard, but I had to wander around to a variety of service desks staffed by more-than-unenthusiastic traffic department employees for an hour and a half this morning. The good part is that I got to do it on work time, not my own time.

There was recently a change in the procedure for getting a driver's license in this town. The public awareness campaign went something like this: Do Nothing, and Wait Until People Show Up At Your Counter to Tell Them. You see, for a very long time, the good people of Dubai could obtain a driver's license without getting the express written consent of their employer. Now, they have to come with that particular document in hand. As if some kind of grand, twisted social experiment were in play, this new requirement is conspicuously absent from all official documents, websites, and application forms pertaining to license acquisition. Maybe they're just trying to save paper, and will start printing the requirement when they run out of old forms.

Anyway, I obviously came unprepared, but was able to finagle a workaround by having the consent letter e-mailed to Mr. Hassan Abam (Thank you Hassan!), who printed it out for me from his office printer on site.  I should note that there seems to be a generally strange distribution of what is required and what is not required to obtain a driver's license in Dubai. Although I was required to provide a letter of consent from my employer, a valid copy of my visa and passport, an eyesight test, three photographs and a hundred and ten dirhams, I was remarkably not required to provide any kind of proof that I know how to drive. A simple copy of a piece of plastic with my name on it that I cross-my-heart is a valid license in the USA seemed to do the trick. 

Now I just have to decide whether I'll consent to Dan getting a license. Hrmmm......

Hello in Malayalam

Priya's been asking me to teach her Spanish, so today I taught her how to say 'hola' and 'como estas' in exchange for some Malayalam. Priya is from Kerala, in Southern India, and she speaks Malayalam, and just getting the pronunciation of the name of the language right took me awhile. They have two L sounds (that I know of so far) in Malayalam. And you'll notice, there are two Ls in the word "Malayalam". It's actually a palindrome. Priya pointed that out to me by saying "it's one of those English things" while waving her finger back and forth through the air in a symmetrical pattern.  "Like racecar?" I asked her. "Exactly." She said. "I know what you mean," I said.

I wanted to know how to say "how are you" in Malayalam.  It's actually, "are you well?", and it's "Sukharam?"  And hello is "namastaram." I'm in search of a Malayalam word that doesn't end in 'am'.  Priya says that nobody ever uses namastaram, instead they all say "hi", a holdover from British colonialism. I told her the Chinese say "have you had your lunch?" instead of "how are you?". She asked how to say "have you had your lunch?" in Spanish. I told her, "ya comiste?" Then Mariam told us how to say "arabic" in arabic, and truthfully if you don't speak arabic you can't pronounce it. So I pronounced it the English way, which also happens to be the Spanish way. After that our heads exploded.

So far Arabic kind of reminds me of German, probably for all the gutteral sounds. And Malayalam reminds me of Pig Latin. The Greeks used to make fun of the way Barbarians talked by mocking them, saying "Bar, bar, bar, bar, bar," ha, ha, ha very funny (that's why they came to be known as Barbarians.) Today, I like to make fun of the way the Dutch sound by mocking them, saying "opedy dopedy mopedy wopedy opedy". And you could easily make fun of Malayalam by saying "I'm-am going-am to-am the-am store-am today-am." But I hope we'll keep this exchange up; I can't wait to ask about Malayalam verb structure. 

The World's Worst Library Patron

This faculty member, a screechy, whiny old woman with absolutely no sense of perspective, comes barging into the library (if one can "barge" into a library) demanding to know where her books are. "Where are my books I ordered?" She demands. "It's been months!"

I've explained to this woman before that we live in the UAE. Books take a long time to arrive. The ordering process is slow. She'll get an e-mail when they get here. We don't order books for faculty anyway, we take recommendations from faculty on what to order for the students. They're not her books. "Well I'll never order from the library again!" She threatens.. "I'm fed up!" Good, I'm thinking. Please, please keep that promise.

We keep a copy of a particular magazine, let's call it "Boating with Felines", in hard copy. We also have this magazine available in about 12 different databases, in full-text, all the way up to the most current issue. This woman absolutely demands that we also pay to subscribe to the magazine's website, because she can't be bothered to come into the library to read the hard copy, and doesn't like the databases because they don't have colors and graphics.

Now, coming from any other half-way likable idiot, I could entertain these complaints with a much wider degree of tolerance. But coming from her, they're unbearable. Not only are her demands ridiculous and self-centered, not only are her responses petulant and childish, but she is just so RUDE. I've never met an adult human being more blatantly rude than she is. As I'm patiently explaining how things work and trying to be courteous, helpful, sympathetic and understanding (an incredible feat on my part), she's blowing me off, waving her hand in my face, turning her back to me and walking away, as if I'm some kind of library serf-servant who has displeased her.

I'm sorry, the next time this woman comes to talk to me we're all going to be very lucky if I don't shred her to pieces for being all the evil, unbecoming things she is. "He-llo!" I want to say while smacking her across the face, "we're here to teach an incredible group of young women to be the leaders of the next generation, not be f*cking b*tchy to the librarians!!"

An Indian Learns to Enjoy American Junk Food

My friend Priya told me that she got hooked on cheesecake the first time an American in Dubai forced her to try a piece. Now I've forced her to try a caramel latte, and she's hooked on that too. "I feel so wicked", she says to me, looking incredibly guilty, every time I catch her sipping one. "Don't worry" I say. "Caramel lattes have caffeine. The metabolic boost will offset the extra calories." But I don't think she believes me.

I'm just happy she doesn't think cheesecake and caramel lattes are "too bland". Frankly, I'm shocked she didn't try to grind up a hot chili pepper into her coffee.

Emiratis Vote Barack

Lately I've been asked by a lot of people around campus if I'm for Clinton or the other one. "You mean Barack Obama?" I ask them. "Yes" they reply; "the other one." "How do you know I'm not voting for McCain?" I say. "Who?" They ask. "Nevermind," I say. I usually put on my thinking face for a moment before replying, "well, I'm not sure yet. I haven't decided," at which point the person I'm talking to freely endorses "the other one." For example, a male paramedic student I was talking to today, explained to me how he likes Barack Obama because he is handsome, much like Putin. Do I know Putin? He's from Russia. Yes yes, I know Putin. I'm not necessarily sure I'd agree that either one of those mugs could be considered handsome, per se, but I suppose as politicians go they're above average. We have Obama Girl, after all. I didn't get a chance to quiz this student further on his political views, because his friends dragged him away in a fit of laughter. I'm sure that to them, it's absolutely hilarious to carry on a conversation about politics with your female teacher. To me, it's absolutely hilarious that you would openly express a political preference based on handsomeness. I mean, at least Americans bury it in some kind of passable nonsense; "oh, I like Obama because he's SO well-SPOKEN." But the more I think about it, the more I think Putin is a great, great leader....

I don't care what Steve Jobs says, I know the iPod is artificially intelligent

This afternoon was one of the most successful I've had so far in terms of navigating two notoriously difficult things to navigate in Dubai: a) taxis, and b) institutional bureaucracy. In the height of afternoon rush hour, I took my fly self out on to the street and hailed a taxi in less than 2 minutes. "Take me to Lulu's!" I exclaimed to the taxi driver triumphantly. My mission was to get passport photos and an eye test at Lulu's hypermarket, both items which are required for a driver's license. On arriving at Lulu's, I was able to get my photos taken with no wait, buy toilet paper while they developed, pick them up and proceed to my eye exam with no wait, and get a 'fit for driving - no glasses required' certification from the optical center. Was it all luck and good timing, or am I just incredibly charming? I know which one I'll choose to believe. And here's my ultimate point: I arrived home, set the iPod to shuffle, and, as if I'd picked it myself, the first song that came on was "Miss New Booty" by Bubba Sparxx. Miss New Booty indeed, sir. Miss New Booty indeed.

Friday

This morning I went down to More cafe for breakfast, got myself a spanish omelette and about five lattes (It's not the latte I'm after, it's the little cinnamon-butter cookie they serve it with), and then met up with some friends who had come down for brunch and spent the morning nibbling on their crepes and stealing their latte-cookies.

After that I had to go to the airport and drop off Dan's entry permit, which was fun. I hadn't been to the airport since I arrived, and seeing it in the daylight made it look altogether different. I was one of two people in the lounge this afternoon booking in a visa, and for some reason, it took the five uniformed visa-booking staff wandering back and forth behind the service counter about a half hour to call a number. I started to wonder if some kind of visa-booking crisis had occurred. Uh-oh, ladies, we just got a call that the Qatari Sheikh is getting off the plane, and we don't have his visa ready. All five of us better wander back and forth between the desk and the back office looking lost and occasionally punching buttons on our single, shared walkie-talkie. And when they finally did decide to call a number? They called my number, not the guy who was there before me. Too bad for him.

The good news is that, 150 dirhams later, Dan's visa is now waiting for him at the airport. Hurrah. I couldn't help but notice that, remarkably, it cost me 10 dirhams in taxi fare to get to the airport and 40 dirhams to get back. I'm going to need to shop for a car soon.

More Quips and Quotes

At the circulation desk.
3 Students: Miss, may we say something?
Me: Certainly.
3 students: We think you have a pretty face.
___________________________

In the library.
Student, to staff member, referring to me: Miss, where'd that Japanese teacher go?
___________________________

In class.
Me: Alright class, we've talked about what kinds of resources are available to you, how you can use those resources, and how you can find those resources. Are there any questions?
Student: Yes, Miss. What is your nationality?
___________________________

Passing a group of students on the way out the door.
Me: Good morning ladies.
Students: Good morning, Miss Philippina!!
___________________________

In the coffee shop.
Students: Miss, where are you from?
Me: Where do you think I'm from?
Student 1: We're not sure. We think you might be from Russia. Or Iraqi.
Student 2: No! She is from America. Right?
Me: Correct.
Student 2 (proudly): I can tell the difference in the English accents so I know who is from America and who is from Australia.

Kids Say the Darndest Things

(Student, shouting from across the courtyard): Miss Aliiiicia!
Me: Miss Afra!
Student: Did you have a good weekend?
Me: Why yes, I was here working for most of it. Quite splendid indeed.
Student: Why were you working so much?
Me: I love my job. What did you do this weekend?
Student: I went to Wild Wadi! [note to reader: Wild Wadi is a water park.]
Me: Sounds like fun.
Student: I wore a bikini!
Me: Ooh la la! Aren't you a brave one.
Student: It was mixed.
Me: Even more fun. Did you go with your friends?
Student: No, my friends can't go when it's mixed because their families don't like it.
Me: But your family allows you to go?
Student: Yes. My family is open-minded.
Me: So you had fun by yourself in your bikini with the boys?
Student: Yes.

Ah, youth.

I thought it was foggy this morning

But it wasn't, it was actually a sandstorm. I noticed the difference as soon as I went outside. I wonder how much sand a human being can inhale before the lungs collapse?

India Palace

My new favorite restaurant is India Palace. Totally affordable, totally delicious, and totally fun. I went with my friend Priya, which was fun because she gave me an introductory lesson on the different types of Indian food and what you get in different regions of India. For example, in Kerala where she's from, you get good spicy food with lots of coconut. Everywhere else, you get bland food.


Now, according to the Indian food guide pyramid (right), a healthy Indian meal consists of a well-balanced portfolio of dishes based mainly on rice & bread. I can see where my chicken biryani, naan with dahl, veggie ghobi and tandoori chicken fit in, but I don't quite see where the mango lassi and the saffron/milk/sugar/dumpling/dessert thing fit in. Despite this, my rough analysis of the meaning of "serving" leads me to believe that, all-in-all, I probably had a fairly balanced day's worth of Indian food in one meal. Very efficient.

In the car on the way there, I had a nice conversation with Priya's 2 sons. The older son, about 8, was quite serious in introducing himself and explaining where he attends school, which I appreciated. I hate riding in the back seat with someone without knowing where they go to school. The younger one explained to me how excited he is generally about life, by saying "goo ga gee ga be be ga goo ma ge gaa," while gesturing authoritatively at the world outside the car. I was delighted to find that we had something in common, as I too, am quite enchanted by the world outside the car.

Unpacked! And it's the weekend again.

I've unpacked all my boxes and discovered three things:

A) Nothing is broken
B) Nothing (so far as I can tell) is missing
C) Dubai customs authorities passed all my questionable material, including 2 bibles, a sampler of Christmas cognac, a bottle of wine, a box full of foodstuffs including seeds, chilis and spices, and a Shakira CD

I could not POSSIBLY have asked for an international move to go more smoothly. I'm recalling all the times in life when I've said to myself, "Why can't anything just go right for a change?" And now Universe, I'm taking proper notice, that things have gone extremely right. Thank you!

In other news about things that are going extremely right, I just found out I'm getting a 15% raise as of August 1. (Salary readjustment.) Then, on August 2, I'll be getting another 4% raise. (Cost of living.) Net result? I can finally get that Chia Pet I've always wanted.

And, in addition to all these excellent turns of events, I'm also being sent to Umm al Quwain (neighboring city) on May 9 for an overnight stay in order to facilitate an entrance exam for the good boys and girls of Umm al Quwain high school. The company is putting me up at Umm al Quwain Beach Hotel with dinner and breakfast. That'll be nice.

In the meantime, it's the weekend again, and tomorrow I'm going to India Palace for lunch with my friend Priya. Priya, who is from Southern India, claims that all food in the world is bland except for food from South India. According to her, India Palace is pretty good. (It's not ideally spicy for her, but she likes it.) So we'll see how I like it. Her husband is going to come pick me up with her and drive us there and drop us off. Her husband, Don, amuses me quite a bit, because he comes to pick her up at work quite often, and on nights when she's closing, he'll wander around and tidy up the library and process the newspapers and shut down the computers, et cetera. She says she's got him trained. I think it's pretty cute.

My Ship is In

After a mere 8 weeks of improvising in the kitchen with 1 pot, 1 bowl and 1 package of plastic sporks, my boat from America has arrived bearing all of my worldly goods and supplies. Out with the plastic, in with the real-live genuine cutlery. Of course, until next weekend, my goods and supplies will remain packed in boxes. But - the finish line is within sight. I lost several sporks just last week due to breakage while trying to stir a container of organic peanut butter (you know, the kind that separates), and as of yesterday was down to just one. I was starting to get worried I'd have to buy a whole new package.

The delivery of my goods was quite smooth - as promised, they cleared customs, delivered to my residence, unwrapped, and hauled away excess packing material. The best part was that they didn't hold my stuff hostage and screw me with hidden port fees and handling charges and all that nonsense. Total cost on delivery? $0. Dream come true. If anybody needs to move overseas, use Meyer's Van Lines to arrange it. So far in life, this holds true: I've never been wronged by a Meyer. The handling company on this side was ISS Worldwide. Also, although the packages were clearly opened and inspected, UAE customs did not confiscate my bible, nor did they confiscate a comprehensive instructional manual on effective gambling. I have yet to see whether my kitchen spices got through.

Ain't Got No Skype

Yet another weekend

I'm starting to realize that it just continues on this way, forever, until death or retirement: wake up and go to work for 5 days, then the weekend. Wake up and go to work for 5 days, then the weekend. Wake up and go to work for 5 days...

This weekend, I started strong and ended weak. Thursday night I came home after work to meet the cockroach-killing crew who thoroughly doused the apartment in toxic goo. I once again feel safe eating food here. Frankly, I'd rather have cancer than cockroaches.

Then, Thursday night, I made a valiant effort to catch a taxi to town to meet up with one of several groups of friends doing one of several fun exciting things. One group was at Cactus Jack's getting free margaritas and champagne (Thursday is ladies night) and the other group was having an at-home dinner & drinks gathering at somebody's house. Unfortunately, after 30 minutes standing on the highway in a dust squall, I gave up on that idea. Two people did pull over in passenger cars to offer me "private taxi" portage, but I didn't really feel like Thursday was the day to be raped and murdered. Maybe next weekend.

So, I trucked it down to the gas station to pick up some good gossip magazines and caramel milk snack (I'm not exactly what this product is, as the entire label is printed in arabic, but I am aware that the ingredients contain dairy and caramel products, and it is DELICIOUS), and went home for a nice relaxing evening and finished my book, "The Plot Against America" by Philip Roth.

Then on Friday, I woke up early and caught a taxi (easy! fast! What a difference 12 hours makes.) down to More cafe in Garhoud for a little brekkie. Read the newspaper, had a watermelon juice and a spanish omelette, and then caught a cab to Wafi city to do a little shopping and check out the new arabian-souk style shopping wing. But, before I even got started at Wafi, I got a call from my friend Maureen inviting me out to the spa. So, of course, I went to the spa - we got pedicures and manicures and a 1-hour foot massage at this place called Mary Foot Spa (if I'm remembering correctly.) It was suuuuper awesome. I'll definitely go back.

After that we went back to Maureen's place for a couple of gin & tonics and a grilled burger with her husband, which was thoroughly awesome, and then I had to jet to meet up with this other friend at a spanish tapas bar back at Wafi City called Seville's. Had some yummy fried mushrooms, cheesecake, flan, patatas bravas, toast and pina colada on a rooftop outdoor terrace/bar with live music. That was pretty sweet as well, although by the end of the night I was feeling pretty fat and sassy. I'm going to have to hit the gym all week to make up for it.

I only got about 5 hours of sleep because I had to wake up early Saturday to let the internet guys in to install my internet. Which they did, successfully, in about 10 minutes. By comparison, I can't understand why the hell it takes Comcast an hour, or sometimes two hours, to install internet and/or cable tv in Portland. I didn't even have to run any discs or install any software or do anything here - they just showed up, plugged in the equipment, changed a couple settings on my computer, and away they went, leaving me in the wakeful bliss of sudden connectivity. Nobody had to run down to their truck 3 times to get more cable, the guy didn't need to call dispatch and wait on hold for them to give him a network key or something, no - nothing. So easy. Comcast - call Etisalat corporate headquarters in the UAE and ask them to FedEX you a clue.

That aside - I didn't get much sleep and felt kind of icky and sick all day so I didn't really get out of bed until about 3:30pm. The afternoon consisted of catching up on e-mail, taking a hot bath and streaming Marketplace from npr.org . Turns out the sub-prime mortgage crisis hasn't gone away since the last time I listened to Marketplace. And tomorrow it's back to work - AND tomorrow I get my shipment of household goods delivered. I'm curious to see whether anything is broken, whether anything was confiscated by customs, (like, the bible) and whether any of the boxes contain cockroaches which will rush out and instantly be killed by the toxic goo.

A brief tour of the surrounds

For interested parties, the following three vids give a quick peek at the environs here.

Karachi Darbar Rave

1 order chicken curry
1 Chapatti naan
1 Tandoori naan
1 order raita
1 package salad vegetables
Total: AED 10 ($2.72 US)

You know you're moving up in the world when you have your own private gym

Today I visited my fitness centre. I mean... "the" fitness center. The fitness centre serves a population of 2000 girls in high heels, and 150 staff, 20 or 30 of whom are male and not allowed in the fitness centre. So, we've quickly whittled the population of potential fitness centre users down to about 120. Out of those 120, how many do you think are using the fitness centre at 1pm on a weekday afternoon? I'll tell you: exactly 0. Until I come along - then there's one.

It goes like this: I walk into my beautiful, shiny, spic-and-span fitness centre and past the bubbling fountain in the lobby to the security desk, where a security guard is guarding the premises for me. I sign in, and then proceed to my locker room, past the brightly-lit, empty squash courts, and the olympic sized swimming pool and the yoga room filled with brightly-coloured yoga balls. I get dressed in my cutest gym gear, and then head upstairs to my aerobics room to walk uphill on my treadmill and read my book and listen to my music in my CD player for about half-an-hour. Then I take a shower in my shower room, which includes a private dressing room, and then I reorganize my hair in my bathroom mirror, and head back to work after stopping to get a cafe au lait. It -almost- feels like I've arrived.