I spent most of last night packing my stuff up to move to a studio in my hotel. But I kept worrying about what would happen to Lance. He's just a kitten and even though there's plenty of food to eat around here, I was worried he would starve.
So, after work AH dropped me off at the residence part of the hotel. He insisted on coming in with me to make sure everything was okay. It wasn't. They had no reservation for me. AH tried to straighten things out for me, but everyone at meridien was moving at snail's pace (like this morning, when it took me 25 minutes to check out of my room - seriously, 25 minutes, mostly because the guy behind the front desk kept folding every printed piece of paper and putting it into an envelope - and somewhere, a tree screams).
They brought my luggage over to the residence compound (not exactly close to the hotel), and then showed me this room they were going to put me in. I was like um, I don't think so. It was tiny, horrible, and I didn't like the bed at all. The manager of the residence compound was a little aggravated with me, but I was like you are not seriously expecting me to move into a room for the next 5 months that is no where near as nice as my hotel room, are you? Apparently, he was, but I decided I was going back to the hotel.
The poor bell hop with my luggage on the trolley had to take it all the way back to the hotel (well, don't cry too hard for him, he loves me because I pick up stuff for him when I go to the co-op and I tip him well) so I could check back in. I got this guy that I really don't like. He argued with me about the room rate for 45 minutes. I was like dude, this is a [my company] negotiated rate. We are not at the bazaar. You can't change prices on me. But still, he kept trying to do all this crazy stuff to try to get me to pay more for my room, culminating with him telling me I would have to check in every day because he refused to make me a reservation for more than one day.
I was like fine, what ever dude, just give me my key. Even the bell hop kept going behind the desk to try to move things along. I got my key and went to my room. It was on the other side of the hotel from my original room. Everything in the room was backwards. I was not happy. But, I thought, at least I'll be close to Lance again.
Then I realized the roof system off of my balcony in my new room didn't connect to the roof system off the balcony of my old room. So there was no way to get to Lance. And, I had lost my ocean view. So I went back downstairs, and got the guy I like at the front desk. I told him I didn't mean to be difficult, but I really just wanted to go back to my old room. He started to make me a key and the guy I don't like got upset and was like you can't move her back to that room because of the rate her company negotiated.
Another long discussion ensued until I invoked the name of AH, at which point I was given two keys to my old room. The bell hop came up with me and moved all of my stuff, and when I tried to tip him he refused to take it. At this point I had about 10 keys and the bell hop tested each one to see which ones worked while I unpacked all of my stuff again.
Hopefully Lance didn't listen to me last night, and will be waiting for me on the roof. Even though I wasted a lot of time moving out of my room just to move back in, I'm glad to be back here.
When traveling, it's the little consistencies that mean a lot. The best part of the story is that I had a big box of cookies that I didn't eat, and, rather than throwing my cookies away, I hid them behind the safe in the closet and left clues in the mini bar as to their whereabouts. The maid inexplicably threw my clues away. The cookies could have been there forever. But, instead, I'm eating them.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
relocation
Tomorrow I move from my hotel room to a studio in the same hotel, but a different building. I have no idea what the studio looks like but it supposedly has a refrigerator and is smaller than my room.
I've been trying to explain this to Lancelot because I'm worried he won't be able to find me. For the past week I have told him that I'm moving, and then I point to the building where the studios are, but he usually just gives me a look like "um, why don't you stop talking and give me my sandwich?" Tonight, after he finished dinner, I brought him some cheeses (he likes them for dessert) and had a great idea to explain to him where I'm going to be moving.
After some experimentation I discovered that Lance really likes laughing cow light cheeses (I told him that he's a little skinny to be eating light cheese but I don't think he cared). Since they are triangular I thought I would make a cheese arrow pointing to my new building. But, Lance ate the arrow before I could finish it.
Hopefully I can call him and he'll know where I am. He responds when I call him now, though he only let me pet him that one time. Usually if I get to close to him he cries and then hisses at me. Sometimes he's in a rotten mood and acts really mean. I'll bring him a sandwich and he won't touch it until I walk away. And then when I check on him to see if he ready for his cheeses, he'll give me this look like he doesn't know who ate the sandwich, but it wasn't him, because he's too mad at me to eat anything I might bring him.
Other times he'll sit outside my sliding glass door and cry. But when I open the door he stops and looks at me like oh, what are you doing out here this late? Some days he's really excited about dessert and he runs around on the external roof piping. Other days he lays on the roof like it's too hot to move (it is) and gives me this attitude like "oh, just put my cheese over there, and maybe I'll eat it".
Strange cat. I never know what he wants. I hope he finds me in my new place. I'm going to miss my nightly walks on the roof. Maybe I'll sneak over to the roof every night until Lance figures out where I am. Now that I've been feeding him I don't think I should stop.
I've been trying to explain this to Lancelot because I'm worried he won't be able to find me. For the past week I have told him that I'm moving, and then I point to the building where the studios are, but he usually just gives me a look like "um, why don't you stop talking and give me my sandwich?" Tonight, after he finished dinner, I brought him some cheeses (he likes them for dessert) and had a great idea to explain to him where I'm going to be moving.
After some experimentation I discovered that Lance really likes laughing cow light cheeses (I told him that he's a little skinny to be eating light cheese but I don't think he cared). Since they are triangular I thought I would make a cheese arrow pointing to my new building. But, Lance ate the arrow before I could finish it.
Hopefully I can call him and he'll know where I am. He responds when I call him now, though he only let me pet him that one time. Usually if I get to close to him he cries and then hisses at me. Sometimes he's in a rotten mood and acts really mean. I'll bring him a sandwich and he won't touch it until I walk away. And then when I check on him to see if he ready for his cheeses, he'll give me this look like he doesn't know who ate the sandwich, but it wasn't him, because he's too mad at me to eat anything I might bring him.
Other times he'll sit outside my sliding glass door and cry. But when I open the door he stops and looks at me like oh, what are you doing out here this late? Some days he's really excited about dessert and he runs around on the external roof piping. Other days he lays on the roof like it's too hot to move (it is) and gives me this attitude like "oh, just put my cheese over there, and maybe I'll eat it".
Strange cat. I never know what he wants. I hope he finds me in my new place. I'm going to miss my nightly walks on the roof. Maybe I'll sneak over to the roof every night until Lance figures out where I am. Now that I've been feeding him I don't think I should stop.
fat face
My poor colleague N. He had to drag me all over hell and gone today trying to get my visit visa updated so I don't have to leave the country to renew it. We couldn't find the immigration building and then, once we found it, it took us a while to get a parking space and find the room where they process the visitor visas because the building looks like it was designed by some hollywood director making a movie about scary government buildings. It was really hot today, and not a fun task to do when fasting and not getting sleep.
I had actually hired someone to renew my visa, but he needed a photo (for some inexplicable reason). N and I were working away on a technical reference model when he got the call saying we needed to come down to immigration immediately with the photos. I was freaking out, but then realized immediately in arab time means they aren't expecting you to show up for at least an hour.
N found a photo shop close to the base and the guy said he could make my photos in 10 minutes. I walked into the room where he was going to take my photo and tried to do something with my hair. I haven't washed it since last Thursday (it gets a salt water rinse when I go swimming so why wash it) and it was looking kind of bad as I haven't taken it out of a ponytail in forever.
N stood behind the photographer and made faces at me, including one that made him look like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. So I ended up with a horrible picture with my hair looking like crap and a stupid look on my face. The photog did not show the photo to me. He showed it to N, apparently thinking I was N's bitch or something. N told him to print 20 copies of the photo (and then complained about the price, roughly $20 - I was like dude, in the US you only get 2 photos for that price).
When the photos printed out I got to see how horrible the picture was. N was laughing the whole way to the immigration office. I told him that if I got kidnapped and he gave someone that photo so they would know what I looked like that I would kick his ass. I then said I was going to throw all the photos away, and N said he wanted them so he could make a collage of me, like a serial murderer. Hm. That seems creepy when I write it, but it was actually pretty funny when he said it.
We got to the immigration office after driving around for a while. Whenever N was getting aggro about the traffic I would pull out the picture and show it to him and he would laugh. Then while we were waiting for my visa guy (after we rushed to get there, he wasn't even there, so we had to wait 10 minutes for him) N examined the picture in more detail.
N: You look really fat in this picture. Which is weird because you aren't fat.
F: Thanks. Give me my picture back.
N: Look at your hair. It's so weird.
F: I look like a lesbian, I know.
N: Like you have a mullet. You would be the guy lesbian.
F: Nice. Give me my picture back.
N: You know, you look at least 10 pounds heavier in this picture. I think the problem is you have a fat face. (He holds the picture up next to my head). Yeah, you definitely have a fat face.
A short discussion ensues about how Africans have the best bone structure, and I obviously have flawed genes because I have no bone structure in my face, which is why it looks fat. Then my visa guy showed up right before N had the chance to totally destroyed my self esteem.
When we got back to the base, he told everyone about my picture and now they all want to see it. This french guy I work with said he wants a copy to put up in his cube. They all think it's so funny I have 19 horrible pictures of myself, and one horrible picture forever in my UAE government file. Great.
I am, however, grateful to N for helping me out with my visa renewal. I never could have figured the system out by myself, and he did everything for me.
I had actually hired someone to renew my visa, but he needed a photo (for some inexplicable reason). N and I were working away on a technical reference model when he got the call saying we needed to come down to immigration immediately with the photos. I was freaking out, but then realized immediately in arab time means they aren't expecting you to show up for at least an hour.
N found a photo shop close to the base and the guy said he could make my photos in 10 minutes. I walked into the room where he was going to take my photo and tried to do something with my hair. I haven't washed it since last Thursday (it gets a salt water rinse when I go swimming so why wash it) and it was looking kind of bad as I haven't taken it out of a ponytail in forever.
N stood behind the photographer and made faces at me, including one that made him look like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. So I ended up with a horrible picture with my hair looking like crap and a stupid look on my face. The photog did not show the photo to me. He showed it to N, apparently thinking I was N's bitch or something. N told him to print 20 copies of the photo (and then complained about the price, roughly $20 - I was like dude, in the US you only get 2 photos for that price).
When the photos printed out I got to see how horrible the picture was. N was laughing the whole way to the immigration office. I told him that if I got kidnapped and he gave someone that photo so they would know what I looked like that I would kick his ass. I then said I was going to throw all the photos away, and N said he wanted them so he could make a collage of me, like a serial murderer. Hm. That seems creepy when I write it, but it was actually pretty funny when he said it.
We got to the immigration office after driving around for a while. Whenever N was getting aggro about the traffic I would pull out the picture and show it to him and he would laugh. Then while we were waiting for my visa guy (after we rushed to get there, he wasn't even there, so we had to wait 10 minutes for him) N examined the picture in more detail.
N: You look really fat in this picture. Which is weird because you aren't fat.
F: Thanks. Give me my picture back.
N: Look at your hair. It's so weird.
F: I look like a lesbian, I know.
N: Like you have a mullet. You would be the guy lesbian.
F: Nice. Give me my picture back.
N: You know, you look at least 10 pounds heavier in this picture. I think the problem is you have a fat face. (He holds the picture up next to my head). Yeah, you definitely have a fat face.
A short discussion ensues about how Africans have the best bone structure, and I obviously have flawed genes because I have no bone structure in my face, which is why it looks fat. Then my visa guy showed up right before N had the chance to totally destroyed my self esteem.
When we got back to the base, he told everyone about my picture and now they all want to see it. This french guy I work with said he wants a copy to put up in his cube. They all think it's so funny I have 19 horrible pictures of myself, and one horrible picture forever in my UAE government file. Great.
I am, however, grateful to N for helping me out with my visa renewal. I never could have figured the system out by myself, and he did everything for me.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
this emirati life
Things are going to be slow at the office this week with ramadan wearing people out and Eid about to start next week. There was a lot of chit chat today, and I found out some interesting things.
First, it's almost impossible for a westerner to meet an emirati family. The women are kept more or less locked up. There is a separate entrance in every house for men and women. Even siblings are separated when they turn 13. Some emirati girls sneak out and try to have dates with boys. If they are caught (there are special police patrolling the corniche, a popular area that runs along the sea) they are arrested and put in jail. Most emiratis have arranged marriages, and the potential groom will normally send his sisters to the house of the girl he might be marrying, and they check her out for him. It's very expensive to get a divorce here, but if you are caught having an affair both people are killed (men usually by hanging, and women by stoning). And an emirati woman who marries a foreigner loses her emirati benefits (they get housing and health care), but the same does not happen to an emirati man if his spouse converts to islam and becomes a UAE citizen.
Second, playing chess is considered haram, or, forbidden. This is because some imams think it takes away from time that is supposed to be spent praying.
Third, it is an accepted thing that most pakistani men have, um, relationships with other men. Almost everyone I work with, except for the frog, are pakis, and they discuss this as if they are talking about the weather. I was pretty shocked to hear that homosexuality is rife in the pakistani community because it's illegal in UAE and punishable by jail or removal from the country. But the pakis were like whatever, what's the big deal? That conversation started because the frog told me that I shouldn't take taxis after 10 pm, and that if I did, not to get into a taxi driven by a paki because he might abduct me (one thinks this is wishful thinking on the part of the frog). The pakis jumped in and said "oh no, they only do that to boys".
Fourth, since everything is supposed to be bigger and better in the UAE, I get special attention because 1. I have the biggest hair (which currently looks like a 70s afro) and 2. I'm the tallest person in the office. One of the retired generals who now work in my space came over during this part of the conversation and asked me how tall I was (the height conversation started because I said I thought a taxi driver wouldn't abduct me because I'm too big) and then he said "you must be at least 6 feet tall". Figuring his grasp of english measurement was equivalent to my grasp of the metric system I said "no, I'm only 5'8"". A short silence ensued, and then the general said "You must be at least 6 feet tall, because I am 5'8" (he's 5'4")". Realizing what I had said embarrassed him I admitted that yes, I am 5'8". Now everyone is calling me "the amazon".
Fifth, when I was commenting on the fact that UAE was able to build a metro in less than two years, but at a huge cost, when they have not provided public transportation to anywhere else in the country, I was told "yeah, sheik [one of the sheiks in charge of UAE] had a temper tantrum because he wanted a train, so they built one". UAE is one of the few countries I've visited with no bus service between cities. If you want to go to a remote part of the country, your only option is to rent a car (which has it's own dangers as rentals here are renowned for being unreliable and breaking down in the middle of the desert). There is a bus that goes from Abu Dhabi to Dubai, but there's no station for it, it's always crowded, and there is no set schedule for it.
And, about the metro, it opened Wednesday. There is a gold class car that is supposed to be like business class on a plane (considering the entire metro line only takes 45 minutes to traverse, that seems a bit over the top). There were technical difficulties that caused huge delays because the emiratis riding the trains (which are computer controlled and have no driver) kept pushing the emergency button and stopping the trains. The paper yesterday had a huge article that people would be fined the equivalent of $200 for doing that.
Sixth, the worst thing you can do in UAE is run a red light. In fact, my colleague AH said "You can kill someone here, but don't run a red light". I looked this up on line and it's true. There's a huge fine and jail time because of the potential that you could have caused an accident or a death, even if you didn't.
If you kill someone here you can pay the family blood money (what ever amount they think the life of the person you've killed was worth) and then you don't even have to go to jail. This is especially true in the case of women. Most killings here are kept out of the press unless the case is so high profile that the public has found out about it.
And, finally, this (http://www.thenational.ae/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20090912/MAGAZINE/709119988):
Muslims are extra careful when dealing with fruits and vegetables mentioned in the holy Quran because we consider them very healthy and respect their holistic qualities. When eating a pomegranate we make sure to not drop any seed on the ground or forget it on the plate because one could be the seed that blesses us to go to heaven. The heavenly paradise of the Quran describes four gardens with shade, springs and fruits — including the pomegranate, which, legend has it, contains a seed that has come down from paradise.
First, it's almost impossible for a westerner to meet an emirati family. The women are kept more or less locked up. There is a separate entrance in every house for men and women. Even siblings are separated when they turn 13. Some emirati girls sneak out and try to have dates with boys. If they are caught (there are special police patrolling the corniche, a popular area that runs along the sea) they are arrested and put in jail. Most emiratis have arranged marriages, and the potential groom will normally send his sisters to the house of the girl he might be marrying, and they check her out for him. It's very expensive to get a divorce here, but if you are caught having an affair both people are killed (men usually by hanging, and women by stoning). And an emirati woman who marries a foreigner loses her emirati benefits (they get housing and health care), but the same does not happen to an emirati man if his spouse converts to islam and becomes a UAE citizen.
Second, playing chess is considered haram, or, forbidden. This is because some imams think it takes away from time that is supposed to be spent praying.
Third, it is an accepted thing that most pakistani men have, um, relationships with other men. Almost everyone I work with, except for the frog, are pakis, and they discuss this as if they are talking about the weather. I was pretty shocked to hear that homosexuality is rife in the pakistani community because it's illegal in UAE and punishable by jail or removal from the country. But the pakis were like whatever, what's the big deal? That conversation started because the frog told me that I shouldn't take taxis after 10 pm, and that if I did, not to get into a taxi driven by a paki because he might abduct me (one thinks this is wishful thinking on the part of the frog). The pakis jumped in and said "oh no, they only do that to boys".
Fourth, since everything is supposed to be bigger and better in the UAE, I get special attention because 1. I have the biggest hair (which currently looks like a 70s afro) and 2. I'm the tallest person in the office. One of the retired generals who now work in my space came over during this part of the conversation and asked me how tall I was (the height conversation started because I said I thought a taxi driver wouldn't abduct me because I'm too big) and then he said "you must be at least 6 feet tall". Figuring his grasp of english measurement was equivalent to my grasp of the metric system I said "no, I'm only 5'8"". A short silence ensued, and then the general said "You must be at least 6 feet tall, because I am 5'8" (he's 5'4")". Realizing what I had said embarrassed him I admitted that yes, I am 5'8". Now everyone is calling me "the amazon".
Fifth, when I was commenting on the fact that UAE was able to build a metro in less than two years, but at a huge cost, when they have not provided public transportation to anywhere else in the country, I was told "yeah, sheik [one of the sheiks in charge of UAE] had a temper tantrum because he wanted a train, so they built one". UAE is one of the few countries I've visited with no bus service between cities. If you want to go to a remote part of the country, your only option is to rent a car (which has it's own dangers as rentals here are renowned for being unreliable and breaking down in the middle of the desert). There is a bus that goes from Abu Dhabi to Dubai, but there's no station for it, it's always crowded, and there is no set schedule for it.
And, about the metro, it opened Wednesday. There is a gold class car that is supposed to be like business class on a plane (considering the entire metro line only takes 45 minutes to traverse, that seems a bit over the top). There were technical difficulties that caused huge delays because the emiratis riding the trains (which are computer controlled and have no driver) kept pushing the emergency button and stopping the trains. The paper yesterday had a huge article that people would be fined the equivalent of $200 for doing that.
Sixth, the worst thing you can do in UAE is run a red light. In fact, my colleague AH said "You can kill someone here, but don't run a red light". I looked this up on line and it's true. There's a huge fine and jail time because of the potential that you could have caused an accident or a death, even if you didn't.
If you kill someone here you can pay the family blood money (what ever amount they think the life of the person you've killed was worth) and then you don't even have to go to jail. This is especially true in the case of women. Most killings here are kept out of the press unless the case is so high profile that the public has found out about it.
And, finally, this (http://www.thenational.ae/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20090912/MAGAZINE/709119988):
Muslims are extra careful when dealing with fruits and vegetables mentioned in the holy Quran because we consider them very healthy and respect their holistic qualities. When eating a pomegranate we make sure to not drop any seed on the ground or forget it on the plate because one could be the seed that blesses us to go to heaven. The heavenly paradise of the Quran describes four gardens with shade, springs and fruits — including the pomegranate, which, legend has it, contains a seed that has come down from paradise.
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