Cyclone Phet is hitting Oman now, and is said to be headed towards the UAE coast near Fujairah.
Today was overcast and there is a strong wind blowing noisily outside my hotel window. It sounds like a really bad wind storm in Denver. I went to the beach for a swim, and it was obvious something was going on.
The water here is green, and is so salty it doesn't have the usual weight of ocean water. I think it would be hard to drown in it as everything is very bouyant, though drowning is the second leading cause of death of children in the UAE, car accidents being the first. There's no current or waves to speak of, especially off the intercon beach since the water is closed in by a wall.
But today the water was different. There was poor visibility and the sand from the bottom was stirred up so badly I couldn't see more than a few inches into the water. It was as if there were a fire on the bottom of the ocean and the smoke was obscuring everything. There was also a strong current pulling everything out towards the wall dividing the swimming area from the rest of the ocean. The currents were on scale with currents I've experienced swimming off the coast of North Carolina.
I just went for a walk to get a sandwich for dinner and the air is so humid it was as if I was walking in the rain. Sand was blowing everywhere. I'm wondering if we'll have the same kind of flooding that we had in November when I had to walk home from the office in water up to my knees, and subsequently almost lost my flip flops.
Whatever happens tomorrow should be interesting. I have some snacks in my hotel room in case things get bad. I just hope the weather isn't bad on Sunday. Driving in the rain here is like driving in a blinding snow storm anywhere else in the world. And I'm going to be upset if the power is out in the gym tomorrow.
It's the first cyclone to hit the UAE in almost 50 years. Once again, bringing natural disasters where ever I go...
Friday, June 4, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
culture shock
I was in a meeting a week ago with a few guys and some emirati women. The building where I work has normal-ish office cubes, and then a room at the far end of the building with a door that says, simply, "women" on it. This is where the local women are housed as they aren't allowed to be out and about with all the riff raff men (having been exposed to the men myself I think in a way this isn't a bad set up, but, all joking aside, it's kind of strange).
We were talking about the incident management processes for the company. This manager guy pontificated about how it was done. I think I'm a good consultant not because of any marketing skill, but because I'm pretty good at logic. I listened to the guy, and, having some experience with incident management, suggested that the steps he had outlined to me were illogical.
There was dead silence in the room. But, I could feel some kind of response from the local women even though I couldn't judge their reaction because they are covered up. The guy started to argue with me. I argued back. It was weird. I almost felt like somehow the local women were spurring me on. I finally got the guy to admit that he perhaps didn't understand the details of the process and that I should let the local women (who do the job) tell me how it's done.
It's like I've created a monster. The women came to a meeting on Sunday, but this time they didn't cover their faces. They argued outright with their boss. At the end I think we accomplished a lot and created some processes that actually reflect the way work is done. The boss took everything in stride and seemed, if anything, bemused that I'd turned his silent workers into outspoken critics.
After the meeting we all sat around and I guess "socialized" which is an important thing here. The boss mentioned his kid's birthday party and invited everyone. Money is important here so he made sure I knew I was being invited to a party in a private compound where one of the sheiks lives. Yawn. I do not attend children's birthday parties. Then he mentioned the drunk guys hanging around during the weekend and how he doesn't let his kids go out.
I said "stop the presses - drunk guys?!?!" (and then had to explain what that expression meant). It turns out the guards at his compound let people in if they belong to certain families even if they are not technically allowed in the compound. Some of them get drunk but no cop with arrest them for fear of being deported (many of the police force are from other countries).
I was like "that is insane! you would never be allowed to do that stuff in the US (e.g. driving drunk in a private compound, making noise until all hours of the morning because you're drunk and having a party.). The local women looked at me in shock. Then one of them said "but it's okay to be drunk in the US".
I was like not really and then explained to her how bars can get sued for serving someone to drunk, how paddy wagons wait outside certain bars to arrest drunk people, and how bad the laws are for drunk driving (okay, you don't get potentially sentenced to death like here, but still). The women were shocked. It's like they thought the US was one big block party with drunk people running around every where or driving around with a fifth of tequila sticking out the sun roof.
I also told them the drinking age was 21 which surprised them because it's lower in the UK (18). They were visibly shocked about this, and then when I told them some states don't sell alcohol on Sunday, and that in some states you have to go to a special store (like here) to buy alcohol, it was like I had told them that not only do UFOs exist but I was an alien from one of the space craft.
Anyway, strangely enough, one of the women came up after the meeting and invited me into the women's room if I ever wanted to talk. I should note that I hope that invitation is not effected by my team, all men, who seem to instinctively go into the women only bathroom at every office we visit (this is a very, very bad thing, and they should all know better because they've been here for a while).
There is a 23 year old british girl in the news lately, who was picked up by a taxi driver while drunk and leaving a bar, and then she was taken to her parents' house and raped by the taxi driver outside her house (apparently he thought she would be too drunk to notice what he was doing). She was arrested for being drunk when she called the police after finally escaping the taxi. Nothing has been done to the taxi driver. Everyone is saying what happened to her was her fault for being drunk.
It's stupid, for many reasons, to get drunk in this country. But that doesn't give a guy the right to rape anyone.
I hope that some day these women I'm working with (sort of working with) will walk into a meeting and not be shocked by a woman arguing with a man. I hope they will someday not have to argue with the boss, because they will BE the boss. And I hope that they won't be silent when things happen that shouldn't.
We were talking about the incident management processes for the company. This manager guy pontificated about how it was done. I think I'm a good consultant not because of any marketing skill, but because I'm pretty good at logic. I listened to the guy, and, having some experience with incident management, suggested that the steps he had outlined to me were illogical.
There was dead silence in the room. But, I could feel some kind of response from the local women even though I couldn't judge their reaction because they are covered up. The guy started to argue with me. I argued back. It was weird. I almost felt like somehow the local women were spurring me on. I finally got the guy to admit that he perhaps didn't understand the details of the process and that I should let the local women (who do the job) tell me how it's done.
It's like I've created a monster. The women came to a meeting on Sunday, but this time they didn't cover their faces. They argued outright with their boss. At the end I think we accomplished a lot and created some processes that actually reflect the way work is done. The boss took everything in stride and seemed, if anything, bemused that I'd turned his silent workers into outspoken critics.
After the meeting we all sat around and I guess "socialized" which is an important thing here. The boss mentioned his kid's birthday party and invited everyone. Money is important here so he made sure I knew I was being invited to a party in a private compound where one of the sheiks lives. Yawn. I do not attend children's birthday parties. Then he mentioned the drunk guys hanging around during the weekend and how he doesn't let his kids go out.
I said "stop the presses - drunk guys?!?!" (and then had to explain what that expression meant). It turns out the guards at his compound let people in if they belong to certain families even if they are not technically allowed in the compound. Some of them get drunk but no cop with arrest them for fear of being deported (many of the police force are from other countries).
I was like "that is insane! you would never be allowed to do that stuff in the US (e.g. driving drunk in a private compound, making noise until all hours of the morning because you're drunk and having a party.). The local women looked at me in shock. Then one of them said "but it's okay to be drunk in the US".
I was like not really and then explained to her how bars can get sued for serving someone to drunk, how paddy wagons wait outside certain bars to arrest drunk people, and how bad the laws are for drunk driving (okay, you don't get potentially sentenced to death like here, but still). The women were shocked. It's like they thought the US was one big block party with drunk people running around every where or driving around with a fifth of tequila sticking out the sun roof.
I also told them the drinking age was 21 which surprised them because it's lower in the UK (18). They were visibly shocked about this, and then when I told them some states don't sell alcohol on Sunday, and that in some states you have to go to a special store (like here) to buy alcohol, it was like I had told them that not only do UFOs exist but I was an alien from one of the space craft.
Anyway, strangely enough, one of the women came up after the meeting and invited me into the women's room if I ever wanted to talk. I should note that I hope that invitation is not effected by my team, all men, who seem to instinctively go into the women only bathroom at every office we visit (this is a very, very bad thing, and they should all know better because they've been here for a while).
There is a 23 year old british girl in the news lately, who was picked up by a taxi driver while drunk and leaving a bar, and then she was taken to her parents' house and raped by the taxi driver outside her house (apparently he thought she would be too drunk to notice what he was doing). She was arrested for being drunk when she called the police after finally escaping the taxi. Nothing has been done to the taxi driver. Everyone is saying what happened to her was her fault for being drunk.
It's stupid, for many reasons, to get drunk in this country. But that doesn't give a guy the right to rape anyone.
I hope that some day these women I'm working with (sort of working with) will walk into a meeting and not be shocked by a woman arguing with a man. I hope they will someday not have to argue with the boss, because they will BE the boss. And I hope that they won't be silent when things happen that shouldn't.
Monday, May 31, 2010
dislike of tv runs in the family
I got this email from my brother. Kind of funny how much everyone in my family is alike...
"I just got in from Presque Isle, Maine (just south of Loring AFB)
I was staying at the Caribou Inn (seriously) for $79.95 a night. I too had a personal assistant. OK, not really, but the maid's name is Cheryl and I was the only guest at the hotel.
People in Maine are different. We were testing radio comms with our airship by parking along roads at certain distances from the base. Old guys on riding tractors kept coming up to us and asking us questions. They didn't seem to understand that we were testing an autonomous airship - they were more concerned that we might be messing up their satellite TV. They wouldn't believe us when we told them this was the first time we've turned the system on in 4 months. I guess satellite ranks on par with cable TV (it sucks)."
"I just got in from Presque Isle, Maine (just south of Loring AFB)
I was staying at the Caribou Inn (seriously) for $79.95 a night. I too had a personal assistant. OK, not really, but the maid's name is Cheryl and I was the only guest at the hotel.
People in Maine are different. We were testing radio comms with our airship by parking along roads at certain distances from the base. Old guys on riding tractors kept coming up to us and asking us questions. They didn't seem to understand that we were testing an autonomous airship - they were more concerned that we might be messing up their satellite TV. They wouldn't believe us when we told them this was the first time we've turned the system on in 4 months. I guess satellite ranks on par with cable TV (it sucks)."
my tv is stalking me
It's hard to believe, but I get at least 5 emails a day from my TV.
Hard to believe because the internet connections here have really gotten bad. At the hotel it's consistent but so slow I'm transported back to 1995, and not in a good way. At work the internet connection is like a crack head in the midst of a binge. It will sometimes drop every 5 minutes. That's particularly annoying not because we are using outside internet, but because we're doing all of our work on a server that we connect to via a wireless connection.
The joys of working here just keep increasing by the day.
And then, after working in the insane customer environment, where I sometimes have to waste up to 15 minutes that I need for working trying to find a place for my team members to sit, I come home, sit down with the paper, and try to relax.
And the tv turns itself on, announcing its presence with a civilized chime. Oh, ANOTHER email? Let's see. Today's emails first apologized for a mistaken fire alarm at 2 pm. Then the tv informed me another might happen and my tv was really sorry if I was inconvenienced. Why doesn't my tv know that I'm usually not in my room until 8 o'clock at night? Then the tv was wondering if I wanted to try today's special for dinner (I'm so tired right now I can't even order room service). My tv followed that email with another saying I had a bunch of unread emails. Finally, the tv informed me that the phone was going to call me (which it did, shortly afterward) to explain how to use the hotel messaging system.
My phone called me twice and left 2 voice mails. I deleted them to turn off the annoying flashing light, then I unplugged both phones and put them in a drawer. Which is where the tv would be right now too if I could fit it in there.
Please don't leave a comment telling me to unplug it. I can't reach the plug, it's behind a very elaborate cabinet. How ever, if anyone knows how to delete emails so the little envelope light would stop flashing on the tv I would be grateful (the arrow keys on my remote don't work, and Dasan keeps removing the duct tape I put over the flashing envelope, even after I left what I thought was a strongly worded email suggesting he leave the duct tape where it is).
Hard to believe because the internet connections here have really gotten bad. At the hotel it's consistent but so slow I'm transported back to 1995, and not in a good way. At work the internet connection is like a crack head in the midst of a binge. It will sometimes drop every 5 minutes. That's particularly annoying not because we are using outside internet, but because we're doing all of our work on a server that we connect to via a wireless connection.
The joys of working here just keep increasing by the day.
And then, after working in the insane customer environment, where I sometimes have to waste up to 15 minutes that I need for working trying to find a place for my team members to sit, I come home, sit down with the paper, and try to relax.
And the tv turns itself on, announcing its presence with a civilized chime. Oh, ANOTHER email? Let's see. Today's emails first apologized for a mistaken fire alarm at 2 pm. Then the tv informed me another might happen and my tv was really sorry if I was inconvenienced. Why doesn't my tv know that I'm usually not in my room until 8 o'clock at night? Then the tv was wondering if I wanted to try today's special for dinner (I'm so tired right now I can't even order room service). My tv followed that email with another saying I had a bunch of unread emails. Finally, the tv informed me that the phone was going to call me (which it did, shortly afterward) to explain how to use the hotel messaging system.
My phone called me twice and left 2 voice mails. I deleted them to turn off the annoying flashing light, then I unplugged both phones and put them in a drawer. Which is where the tv would be right now too if I could fit it in there.
Please don't leave a comment telling me to unplug it. I can't reach the plug, it's behind a very elaborate cabinet. How ever, if anyone knows how to delete emails so the little envelope light would stop flashing on the tv I would be grateful (the arrow keys on my remote don't work, and Dasan keeps removing the duct tape I put over the flashing envelope, even after I left what I thought was a strongly worded email suggesting he leave the duct tape where it is).
Sunday, May 30, 2010
beach
I like to go to the beach for a few hours every weekend to at least get in a swim and to get out of the air conditioning.
The guys here are very nice, setting up my chair for me. The beach has umbrellas made out of palm tree bark that look to be over 100 years old but are probably replaced every few months. If a spark landed on one it would likely incinerate completely in seconds. The sand looks like something from a construction site (they import it from the desert) and it has all of these weird sharp things in it that end up cutting my feet, which almost burn to a crisp as I try to walk from my chair to the water. Weirdly, the beach feels like a construction site because 200 yards from the beach there IS a construction site. They've built a little island, and I'm not sure what they are doing on it, but trucks are always whizzing by carrying loads of migrant workers. The dust from their trucks eventually filters over the low wall separating our water from an inlet where boats and jet skis make a racket. There's another construction site next to the hotel and you can hear the clanging and banging on the beach.
The water has been really clear the past two days and I spotted three damsels that were surprisingly large. They are the only fish I've seen in the water here except for some clear, very boring fish that are like the non-descript guys wandering around the office.
The water is warm. Hot, actually. It's around 98 degrees now, and will only get worse as the summer kicks in to full swing and the temperature goes up to around 140. I'm trying to swim but normally it's so hot my goggles fog up and it seems that the other people on the beach like to watch me swim so they tread water right in the path where I'm trying to swim. After I give up and go back to my chair they normally do the same. As soon as I get back in the water, there they are again, swimming a perpendicular course so we almost run into each other.
I saw a very old guy with a big gut floating around with one of those noodle things. It was dark blue, in a drastic contrast to his pasty skin. He had made the unfortunate decision to straddle the noodle, and the front end of it was sticking out of the water in front of him. I laughed.
Some of the other beach goers drag plastic chairs into the water (there's no tide to speak of) and sit on them up to their waists in the water, having drinks and smoking. It's like they were having a get together and the flood waters rose but they're all too drunk now to seek higher ground.
Guys walk by as I'm trying to read the paper. They're either staring at me because I'm a female in a bathing suit or perhaps they're amused at my attempts to turn the page of my paper in the wind, which can get quite strong down on the beach.
I stay in my chair until I'm so hot it feels like my scalp is crying tears and then I get back in the water. Within minutes of leaving the water my skin is covered with a chalky residue from the salt.
It's nice to have a hotel on the beach. But, it's not exactly St. Maarten.
The guys here are very nice, setting up my chair for me. The beach has umbrellas made out of palm tree bark that look to be over 100 years old but are probably replaced every few months. If a spark landed on one it would likely incinerate completely in seconds. The sand looks like something from a construction site (they import it from the desert) and it has all of these weird sharp things in it that end up cutting my feet, which almost burn to a crisp as I try to walk from my chair to the water. Weirdly, the beach feels like a construction site because 200 yards from the beach there IS a construction site. They've built a little island, and I'm not sure what they are doing on it, but trucks are always whizzing by carrying loads of migrant workers. The dust from their trucks eventually filters over the low wall separating our water from an inlet where boats and jet skis make a racket. There's another construction site next to the hotel and you can hear the clanging and banging on the beach.
The water has been really clear the past two days and I spotted three damsels that were surprisingly large. They are the only fish I've seen in the water here except for some clear, very boring fish that are like the non-descript guys wandering around the office.
The water is warm. Hot, actually. It's around 98 degrees now, and will only get worse as the summer kicks in to full swing and the temperature goes up to around 140. I'm trying to swim but normally it's so hot my goggles fog up and it seems that the other people on the beach like to watch me swim so they tread water right in the path where I'm trying to swim. After I give up and go back to my chair they normally do the same. As soon as I get back in the water, there they are again, swimming a perpendicular course so we almost run into each other.
I saw a very old guy with a big gut floating around with one of those noodle things. It was dark blue, in a drastic contrast to his pasty skin. He had made the unfortunate decision to straddle the noodle, and the front end of it was sticking out of the water in front of him. I laughed.
Some of the other beach goers drag plastic chairs into the water (there's no tide to speak of) and sit on them up to their waists in the water, having drinks and smoking. It's like they were having a get together and the flood waters rose but they're all too drunk now to seek higher ground.
Guys walk by as I'm trying to read the paper. They're either staring at me because I'm a female in a bathing suit or perhaps they're amused at my attempts to turn the page of my paper in the wind, which can get quite strong down on the beach.
I stay in my chair until I'm so hot it feels like my scalp is crying tears and then I get back in the water. Within minutes of leaving the water my skin is covered with a chalky residue from the salt.
It's nice to have a hotel on the beach. But, it's not exactly St. Maarten.
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