I wasn't going to mention this incident, but since certain individuals that I work with who read my blog have threatened to leave comments about this "incident". I've decided to tell the story before someone else does.
There's a hot guy at my hotel. I used to call him the spaniard but recent evidence suggests he's actually lebanese. For purposes of the story, he'll be hg. He's been at the hotel since I got here, and he works out in the gym around the same time I do, and I always see him at the beach. This guy is so hot that I noticed him immediately the first day I was at the gym (harbinger of things to come - the first day I saw him he walked by me and I dropped a weight on my toe). Also, I've seen him in a bathing suit so I know there's no "surprises" about him, e.g. the hairiest back ever.
I mentioned him in passing to a guy I work with at the base because aforementioned guy was trying to set me up on a date with someone. I really, really hate people trying to play matchmaker because they always think some idiot cousin of theirs with no hair or muscle tone would be a good match for me because we're both single. I politely declined the offer and said I was interested in hg.
Well, all you have to do is tell one person something on the base and then everyone knows. People in my office starting asking me what was up with hg. The truth is, I just wanted to look at him, and had no desire to talk to him in case he's a moron. But, the longer time has gone on, the more pressure people put on me to talk to him.
So, last week I decided to say hi to him in the gym for the purposes of reporting status back to my office. But, he didn't come to the gym all week. I was sure he was gone from the hotel, breathed a sigh of relief that I managed to avoid yet another attempt at a relationship, and that was that.
But then on Friday, while I was cleaning off my flip flops in this little sunken pool thing because I was done swimming, I spied hg walking by himself on the stone path that goes around the beach. He was about 30 feet in front of me. It's the first time I've ever seen him alone as he's usually with this group of equally good looking guys (but, I like him the best). Since I was leaving the beach I had this big beach bag with me that had two full bottles of water, two rather large books, my swim stuff, and a towel. Visualize a big and bulky bag, tucked under my arm.
I got this surge of adrenaline, and as he got closer I took a quick step towards him to kind of get in front of him on the path before he went by me. Unfortunately, I forgot I was standing in the sunken pool, and tripped, practically face planting right in front of him. Then my beach bag swung around and hit me in the face. I got up as quickly as I could and ran in the other direction before he had time to say anything to me.
I saw him at the gym on Thursday, walking in as I was walking out, but, I was walking out because I had to puke, so I didn't have time to stop and say hi (gym was insanely hot and I drank way too much water before deciding to do some sprints on the treadmill - stupid mistake - that always makes me puke). As I was explaining this to Ireland later in the evening she said that she was going to come to my hotel and track hg down if I didn't do something.
Friday I was at the beach when hg showed up with his friends. They were sitting about 40 feet away from me, next to the beach bar, which is currently being renovated. Hg was standing by himself, again, and I thought maybe he was looking at me. I texted Ireland and she told me to put my phone down and go over to him IMMEDIATELY. Then she said "I want scandal in the office on Sunday! Go get him!"
I made my way carefully towards him, focusing on not tripping, when I was suddenly cut off by this 20 something french girl. She threw her towel down on a beach chair positioned as kind of a dmz between me and hg, and then proceeded to take her top off.
All of hg's friends swarmed her chair and started talking to her. That's when I realized hg speaks french (and I heard him speaking arabic and english in the gym, thus the guess that he is in fact lebanese). I sent Ireland a text explaining what happened, and went for a swim. When I came back someone had yelled at the french tart to put her top back on (total no no to go topless here), and I thought maybe I could get hg's attention. But then this guy showed up with a yellow canoe and hg and his friends started talking to canoe guy. I sent Ireland a message that the situation was hopeless as I'm not as interesting as a topless french girl or a yellow canoe. I gave up talking to him, slumped onto my beach chair, and started reading the new yorker.
Lance showed up, and we were hanging out, and I was telling him about hg. Suddenly, and I am NOT making this up, Lance ran out from under my chair and ran under hg's chair. Then he started crying really loudly. I sent a text to Ireland saying Lance, the little kitty genius, had found a way for me to talk to hg. I started walking over to hg's chair to retrieve Lance, on the same stone path as the previous week's disaster.
Unfortunately, in the time I had spent texting Ireland, a billion little kids from the pool had run over and surrounded hg's chair. I was so focused on Lance, and trying to figure out how to get all those kids out of my way so I could talk to hg, that I failed to notice a foot tall pile of tiles that were being used to renovate the pool bar.
I tripped right over them and once again fell in front of hg. But this time was worse, because the tiles falling over made a lot of noise, and the guys working on the bar saw me and kept going "Oh my god! Are you okay?!?!?" and making a big production. I was like "um, I'm fine" even though the top of my foot was sliced to shreds. I got up and tried to, with some dignity, walk back to my chair but my foot was gushing blood and one of the workers was yelling after me "you should go get a tetanus shot!"
When it seemed matters could not get any worse, they did. A little indian fellow, who cleans up trash on the beach, started following me down the stone path with this huge blue bucket full of water, trying to wipe the blood from my foot up with this little white cloth. Well, he would splash around in the bucket, take a few swipes at my bloody footprints with the cloth flying all around, and then he would pick up the bucket and run as fast as he could, which, frankly, was unnecessary, to wipe the next bloody footprint.
I was totally humiliated, and Lance must have been too, because I didn't see him the rest of the afternoon. As soon as my foot stopped bleeding I decided to leave the beach, making sure to use the flip flop cleaning pool located as far as possible from hg.
When I got into N's car to go to the base this morning, he was like "gross! what happened to your foot?" Why I told him the truth, I will never know. And now everyone knows.
I just got a text message from N about 15 minutes ago that said "fastest thumbs in the west but the slowest toes in the east - pls watch where you step".
Sigh...
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Lance comes to the beach
I was laying on a chair at the beach today, reading back issues of the new yorker, when I heard someone crying. I looked around, and there was Lancelot, whom I haven't seen for two weeks. I was like "dude, come here!" because he was hiding in the bushes about 15 feet away from me.
He ran over to me and then crawled under my chair (the sand is insanely hot). Then he put his head in my beach bag to see if I had any cheese (it was under there because that's the only shade on the beach). I didn't, so he looked at me and started crying again. I was like "fine, I'll go get you some cheese". I went to my room and when I came back he had taken a bite out of a few pages of my new yorker. I was like "dude, that's totally not cool". He smirked back at me and waved his tail like "hurry up and open the cheese!"
I put his cheese on a little plastic lid and he knocked it into the sand and started crying. I had to brush the sand off with my beach towel before he would eat it. I noticed one of his teeth looks a little messed up, but I don't know if I'll be able to convince him to go to a kitty dentist.
I went for a swim and when I came back Lance had bitten some holes in my water bottle and was drinking it. Luckily I had another bottle, so I let him keep that one. It was nice to have him to hang out with. I was laying on my stomach on the chair with the new yorker in the sand, and every time a breeze would blow and the pages would start to ruffle I would see this little white and orange paw come out from under the chair to smack down the page.
He might be a brat, but he's also helpful when he wants to be.
He ran over to me and then crawled under my chair (the sand is insanely hot). Then he put his head in my beach bag to see if I had any cheese (it was under there because that's the only shade on the beach). I didn't, so he looked at me and started crying again. I was like "fine, I'll go get you some cheese". I went to my room and when I came back he had taken a bite out of a few pages of my new yorker. I was like "dude, that's totally not cool". He smirked back at me and waved his tail like "hurry up and open the cheese!"I put his cheese on a little plastic lid and he knocked it into the sand and started crying. I had to brush the sand off with my beach towel before he would eat it. I noticed one of his teeth looks a little messed up, but I don't know if I'll be able to convince him to go to a kitty dentist.
I went for a swim and when I came back Lance had bitten some holes in my water bottle and was drinking it. Luckily I had another bottle, so I let him keep that one. It was nice to have him to hang out with. I was laying on my stomach on the chair with the new yorker in the sand, and every time a breeze would blow and the pages would start to ruffle I would see this little white and orange paw come out from under the chair to smack down the page.
He might be a brat, but he's also helpful when he wants to be.
Friday, October 2, 2009
the making, and breaking, of planets
The children of my colleague were in the office the other day, waiting for him to get done with a meeting because they were going to Dubai. The boy is 4 and his sister is 7. My colleague is always, always running late. So when I saw the kids in the lobby of our office, looking bored, I asked them if they wanted to make a planet with me.
Of course they did. What kid wouldn't want to make a planet? We went into the kitchen and took the glass plate and that little rotating ring thingy out of the microwave (the tea boy looked on, fear in his eyes). Then we got some binder clips out of the supply closet (no one uses paper clips here, weird, they didn't use them in Greece, either). Finally we took some paper out of the trash next to the printer, and headed to the conference room.
We spent a few minutes making space debris by wrinkling up the paper into balls. Boy seemed to really enjoy that. Then we put the space debris on the microwave plate so we would have our solar belt. An argument ensued between Boy and Girl, because they both wanted to be the sun, but then I convinced Girl that being the space debris manager was a much harder job, so she finally agreed to do that. While I was selling Girl on the management position, Boy was practicing making sun noises. He did a good job of sounding like the sun.
We got our solar belt rotating, and then Boy, playing the sun, started having sun flashes and knocking the space debris out of its orderly orbit and into other space debris. Girl did her best to keep up, but she's very methodical, and it was taking over a minute for her to combine to bits of space debris together with the binder clips because she wanted it to look nice. Meanwhile the sun was going crazy with sun flashes, and spinning the microwave plate way too fast. I explained to Girl that no planet is perfect in shape, and that they are more interesting for being not perfect in shape, and we were able to continue on at a faster pace.
Finally, all the space debris had been joined up. Girl was holding this mash up of wadded paper and binder clips. Boy was interested in seeing it, but luckily did not try to grab it away from her. His hands were busy still spinning the microwave plate.
"Behold," I said, "the planet you created!"
Now, most people might be excited for at least 5 minutes after creating a planet. But, kids have a shorter attention span than that. So, after naming the planet ("Dog" because they both want a pet dog), I realized they were getting bored and that perhaps the microwave plate was going to get broken.
So I asked them if their planet was going to be dense or light. They wanted dense. Then I created another planet, out of one piece of space debris, and said mine was a light planet, and then I was going to show them how these planets could orbit, except that they took this as an opportunity to chase me. So we started running around the conference room with our planets, and I started to worry because there are a lot of power strips laying on the floor, and most of them give off sparks because they aren't fully plugged in to the wall sockets, and I didn't want anyone to get an electric shock or trip, so I thought it might be time for a location change.
My planet, coming to the end of a conference room rotation, near the door, said "this galaxy is too scary, I'm going to another galaxy somewhere else where planets aren't trying to crash into me". Then I ran out of the conference room, but not before slowing down the killer planet Dog by closing the door after I exited. I dashed across the lobby, ran into my office, and hid under the desk.
By this point I could hear the planet Dog, more clever than I, slowly walking across the lobby so as to not get yelled at for running in the office. I could hear them whispering in the hall, trying to figure out where I was, so my planet said "I like this galaxy a lot better, because no planet is trying to get me". Boy and Girl ran into my room and I jumped out from under the desk, brandishing my planet. They both shrieked, and then Boy slapped my planet out of my hand. It landed on the floor and was flattened by Boy's sandal. Girl participated in the destruction too, grinding the little paper wad ridges down with her fabulous low heeled sparkly pink shoes.
"This is a cosmic catastrophe!" I said. I picked my planet up and pretended it was crying.
Girl told my planet that it could be part of planet Dog if it would just stop crying. So my planet stopped crying and we tried to fasten it on to planet Dog. But it was crushed so badly the fastening wasn't working. We finally folded my planet up and put it inside their planet (this can actually happen in real life).
Meanwhile, my colleague had walked into the office. He was giving me that look like what in the hell are you doing besides teaching my kids to run around the office? They showed him their planet. I think he was expecting something a little more, I don't know, stylish. He wanted them to throw it away but they wouldn't. He growled at me "I don't want that thing in the car" because he's a super neat freak (worse than me, even). I said I would keep the planet in my galaxy until they came back to the office and that it might get lonely not being with other planets. Girl said "But we can make more planets at home". My colleague looked even more unhappy.
Anyway, last I saw of planet Dog, it was leaving my galaxy and heading off to another galaxy far, far away. I got a text from my colleague last night. Boy is still making noises, pretending to be the sun, and Girl keeps saying "this is a cosmic catastrophe" every time the littlest thing goes wrong.
Of course they did. What kid wouldn't want to make a planet? We went into the kitchen and took the glass plate and that little rotating ring thingy out of the microwave (the tea boy looked on, fear in his eyes). Then we got some binder clips out of the supply closet (no one uses paper clips here, weird, they didn't use them in Greece, either). Finally we took some paper out of the trash next to the printer, and headed to the conference room.
We spent a few minutes making space debris by wrinkling up the paper into balls. Boy seemed to really enjoy that. Then we put the space debris on the microwave plate so we would have our solar belt. An argument ensued between Boy and Girl, because they both wanted to be the sun, but then I convinced Girl that being the space debris manager was a much harder job, so she finally agreed to do that. While I was selling Girl on the management position, Boy was practicing making sun noises. He did a good job of sounding like the sun.
We got our solar belt rotating, and then Boy, playing the sun, started having sun flashes and knocking the space debris out of its orderly orbit and into other space debris. Girl did her best to keep up, but she's very methodical, and it was taking over a minute for her to combine to bits of space debris together with the binder clips because she wanted it to look nice. Meanwhile the sun was going crazy with sun flashes, and spinning the microwave plate way too fast. I explained to Girl that no planet is perfect in shape, and that they are more interesting for being not perfect in shape, and we were able to continue on at a faster pace.
Finally, all the space debris had been joined up. Girl was holding this mash up of wadded paper and binder clips. Boy was interested in seeing it, but luckily did not try to grab it away from her. His hands were busy still spinning the microwave plate.
"Behold," I said, "the planet you created!"
Now, most people might be excited for at least 5 minutes after creating a planet. But, kids have a shorter attention span than that. So, after naming the planet ("Dog" because they both want a pet dog), I realized they were getting bored and that perhaps the microwave plate was going to get broken.
So I asked them if their planet was going to be dense or light. They wanted dense. Then I created another planet, out of one piece of space debris, and said mine was a light planet, and then I was going to show them how these planets could orbit, except that they took this as an opportunity to chase me. So we started running around the conference room with our planets, and I started to worry because there are a lot of power strips laying on the floor, and most of them give off sparks because they aren't fully plugged in to the wall sockets, and I didn't want anyone to get an electric shock or trip, so I thought it might be time for a location change.
My planet, coming to the end of a conference room rotation, near the door, said "this galaxy is too scary, I'm going to another galaxy somewhere else where planets aren't trying to crash into me". Then I ran out of the conference room, but not before slowing down the killer planet Dog by closing the door after I exited. I dashed across the lobby, ran into my office, and hid under the desk.
By this point I could hear the planet Dog, more clever than I, slowly walking across the lobby so as to not get yelled at for running in the office. I could hear them whispering in the hall, trying to figure out where I was, so my planet said "I like this galaxy a lot better, because no planet is trying to get me". Boy and Girl ran into my room and I jumped out from under the desk, brandishing my planet. They both shrieked, and then Boy slapped my planet out of my hand. It landed on the floor and was flattened by Boy's sandal. Girl participated in the destruction too, grinding the little paper wad ridges down with her fabulous low heeled sparkly pink shoes.
"This is a cosmic catastrophe!" I said. I picked my planet up and pretended it was crying.
Girl told my planet that it could be part of planet Dog if it would just stop crying. So my planet stopped crying and we tried to fasten it on to planet Dog. But it was crushed so badly the fastening wasn't working. We finally folded my planet up and put it inside their planet (this can actually happen in real life).
Meanwhile, my colleague had walked into the office. He was giving me that look like what in the hell are you doing besides teaching my kids to run around the office? They showed him their planet. I think he was expecting something a little more, I don't know, stylish. He wanted them to throw it away but they wouldn't. He growled at me "I don't want that thing in the car" because he's a super neat freak (worse than me, even). I said I would keep the planet in my galaxy until they came back to the office and that it might get lonely not being with other planets. Girl said "But we can make more planets at home". My colleague looked even more unhappy.
Anyway, last I saw of planet Dog, it was leaving my galaxy and heading off to another galaxy far, far away. I got a text from my colleague last night. Boy is still making noises, pretending to be the sun, and Girl keeps saying "this is a cosmic catastrophe" every time the littlest thing goes wrong.
two burners
Today I was reading an article in a back issue of the new yorker (thanks mom for fed exing! even though I know you never read my blog!) written by David Sedaris. He was talking about this succeed in your career seminar. The woman giving the seminar said people should imagine their life as a four burner stove. The burners are: family, career, health, and friends. At any one time, only two burners can be going at the same time.
I thought that was really interesting because I've been having a bit of a life crisis lately because all I do is work and work out. Even though I thought my assignment in the middle east was going to be less stress and work, it's the same as in the US except that I don't have to fly (thought about going to Muscat or Petra this weekend, but then was like I have to work, and if I went I'd have to get on a plane). Some of my colleagues here think I'm crazy, but I can't stand having something work related looming over my head. Even if I took a day off I wouldn't enjoy it because I would be stressing the whole time about getting my work done.
I guess I'm lucky in a way that my family and friends are geographically dispersed, so they don't expect to see me that much. I actually do pretty good on email though some of my friends don't like that and want me to call them. I never call because I'm always busy working.
I don't know. I've punted things in my career to try to make a relationship work. But the end result is always the same. It drives the pakis that I work with nuts that I am not married and won't even meet their single friends (single, I'm sure, for a reason). I had a long conversation the other night in the office with Dr. T, who was almost thrown out of his family for marrying a european woman. He was going on blah blah blah and finally I was like dude, I have no idea where anyone else in my life will be in 6 months. All I can worry about is where I'm going to be.
The weird thing is, this seems to be working, in some ways, in my favor. A relationship I had that imploded due to my job/master's degree/cancer has come full circle and I'm friends with the guy. And I can't say that for most of my ex boyfriends. And most of my US friends send me supportive emails and pictures to get me through some of the shit show experiences I'm having here.
Maybe some day my priorities will change. After putting in a 16 hour work day on my "saturday" (even though it's friday) all I can think of is laying on a chair tomorrow listening to the waves coming in on the beach.
Though I know, in the back of my mind, I'll be stressing about getting all my stories in order for Banff. Thank allah for sand on the beach. Otherwise I'd be sitting under an umbrella pecking away at the keyboard.
I thought that was really interesting because I've been having a bit of a life crisis lately because all I do is work and work out. Even though I thought my assignment in the middle east was going to be less stress and work, it's the same as in the US except that I don't have to fly (thought about going to Muscat or Petra this weekend, but then was like I have to work, and if I went I'd have to get on a plane). Some of my colleagues here think I'm crazy, but I can't stand having something work related looming over my head. Even if I took a day off I wouldn't enjoy it because I would be stressing the whole time about getting my work done.
I guess I'm lucky in a way that my family and friends are geographically dispersed, so they don't expect to see me that much. I actually do pretty good on email though some of my friends don't like that and want me to call them. I never call because I'm always busy working.
I don't know. I've punted things in my career to try to make a relationship work. But the end result is always the same. It drives the pakis that I work with nuts that I am not married and won't even meet their single friends (single, I'm sure, for a reason). I had a long conversation the other night in the office with Dr. T, who was almost thrown out of his family for marrying a european woman. He was going on blah blah blah and finally I was like dude, I have no idea where anyone else in my life will be in 6 months. All I can worry about is where I'm going to be.
The weird thing is, this seems to be working, in some ways, in my favor. A relationship I had that imploded due to my job/master's degree/cancer has come full circle and I'm friends with the guy. And I can't say that for most of my ex boyfriends. And most of my US friends send me supportive emails and pictures to get me through some of the shit show experiences I'm having here.
Maybe some day my priorities will change. After putting in a 16 hour work day on my "saturday" (even though it's friday) all I can think of is laying on a chair tomorrow listening to the waves coming in on the beach.
Though I know, in the back of my mind, I'll be stressing about getting all my stories in order for Banff. Thank allah for sand on the beach. Otherwise I'd be sitting under an umbrella pecking away at the keyboard.
get rich or die trying
Today I learned a valuable lesson, which is never ever ever, ever, go to the co-op on Friday (which is actually Saturday in most countries, but, I forgot since I was at work today). The traffic in there was worse than the traffic going from the base to Abu Dhabi. I actually glared at a woman who cut in front of me in line with a shopping cart full of produce, when I only had a bag of tangerines and nectarines to get weighed. My death stare must have frightened her because she moved and then apologized, and that never happens here, as people don't really understand the concept of orderly queuing.
That was probably karmic payment for the silliness I've been up to lately. Now that the gov guys are talking to me, they want me to teach them American things. So I've been educating them in gangster parlance. I taught them the concept of OPP, which they liked a lot. I taught them the expression "don't be a playa hater", though they don't always use it appropriately:
me: I'm going to the kitchen for tea, does anyone need anything?
customer: Don't be a playa hater. Bring me an orange juice.
Some of their favorite expressions include:
"I wasn't born a hustler, I was birthin them"
"This ain't TV but I'll show you what a fear factor is"
"I'm expressin with my full capabilities, and now I'm living in correctional facilities"
"Oh look how he's rapping, look how he's collapsin"
"I want y'all to reach in your (edited for them because I don't want to use bad words) pockets and pay me some (edited for them because I don't want to use bad words) attention"
And, after sitting through a few breakfast "meetings" (during which I'm getting an ulcer because I have a lot of work to do but am spending quality time with the customer instead), I was asked what the US gov says when a meeting has ended. This question was posed after I impolitely left to go work on architecture. I told them that every meeting ends with the top ranking officer saying "get rich or die trying". They loved it.
Okay, most of the US military doesn't say that at the end of meetings. But the cool guys do.
That was probably karmic payment for the silliness I've been up to lately. Now that the gov guys are talking to me, they want me to teach them American things. So I've been educating them in gangster parlance. I taught them the concept of OPP, which they liked a lot. I taught them the expression "don't be a playa hater", though they don't always use it appropriately:
me: I'm going to the kitchen for tea, does anyone need anything?
customer: Don't be a playa hater. Bring me an orange juice.
Some of their favorite expressions include:
"I wasn't born a hustler, I was birthin them"
"This ain't TV but I'll show you what a fear factor is"
"I'm expressin with my full capabilities, and now I'm living in correctional facilities"
"Oh look how he's rapping, look how he's collapsin"
"I want y'all to reach in your (edited for them because I don't want to use bad words) pockets and pay me some (edited for them because I don't want to use bad words) attention"
And, after sitting through a few breakfast "meetings" (during which I'm getting an ulcer because I have a lot of work to do but am spending quality time with the customer instead), I was asked what the US gov says when a meeting has ended. This question was posed after I impolitely left to go work on architecture. I told them that every meeting ends with the top ranking officer saying "get rich or die trying". They loved it.
Okay, most of the US military doesn't say that at the end of meetings. But the cool guys do.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
america's most wanted
My etiquette handbook is really lacking for the situations I find myself in. For example, when my customer invited me to go shoot RPGs tomorrow, I really wasn't sure how to respond. So I said maybe we should stick to guns and archery. The customer said "oh, but it's so much easier to hit the target with an RPG". When my manager got wind of this invite, he said I couldn't go. I can't say I'm too disappointed.
And today, I accidentally stuck my hand out to the wrong guy, and was completely humiliated by his reaction. This happened in a group of my customers. I apologized profusely but then one told me afterwards not to worry about it. I would like to point out that my etiquette book SAID I should offer my hand first as most ME men will not take the initiative. That was completely wrong, and in fact it's the opposite. I'm supposed to wait until they offer their hand to me.
And, I'm never quite sure what to do when people bring me things. One of the frogs has started calling me "the don" because people bring food to my desk all the time (today I was brought a Thai banana from a frog, a normal banana from a brit who gets fresh fruit at his hotel, a sandwich from one of the officers who doesn't even work in my building and whom I've met once, a bag of sesame sticks, a breakfast bar, and a coke). He jokes that he is my tea boy, and made a big production in the office the other day, shifting my tea cup around saying "Today, she wants her tea here. Tomorrow, if she is not happy, I will move her tea here. And every day I will clean her desk." The tea boy in our office cleans my desk every morning and then arranges my cup exactly where it was when he started cleaning my desk. I don't know why he does this. He doesn't clean anyone else's desk. Maybe because my desk is always sticky from eating grapefruit.
I've started calling the frog that fixed my hotel room, and that pretends to be my tea boy, "Cheeky". He calls me "darling" (well, he calls everyone darling). I've nicknamed one of my colleagues "gangsta" and the other one "kid Texas". The brits call me blondie, the MEs are all starting to call me Freddie, and the scots, I just found out today, refer to me as "america's most wanted". Who knew they were fans of Ice Cube.
My etiquette book, BTW, says that nicknames are considered inappropriate since they are normally reserved for family because they are considered too informal for outsiders.
And today, I accidentally stuck my hand out to the wrong guy, and was completely humiliated by his reaction. This happened in a group of my customers. I apologized profusely but then one told me afterwards not to worry about it. I would like to point out that my etiquette book SAID I should offer my hand first as most ME men will not take the initiative. That was completely wrong, and in fact it's the opposite. I'm supposed to wait until they offer their hand to me.
And, I'm never quite sure what to do when people bring me things. One of the frogs has started calling me "the don" because people bring food to my desk all the time (today I was brought a Thai banana from a frog, a normal banana from a brit who gets fresh fruit at his hotel, a sandwich from one of the officers who doesn't even work in my building and whom I've met once, a bag of sesame sticks, a breakfast bar, and a coke). He jokes that he is my tea boy, and made a big production in the office the other day, shifting my tea cup around saying "Today, she wants her tea here. Tomorrow, if she is not happy, I will move her tea here. And every day I will clean her desk." The tea boy in our office cleans my desk every morning and then arranges my cup exactly where it was when he started cleaning my desk. I don't know why he does this. He doesn't clean anyone else's desk. Maybe because my desk is always sticky from eating grapefruit.
I've started calling the frog that fixed my hotel room, and that pretends to be my tea boy, "Cheeky". He calls me "darling" (well, he calls everyone darling). I've nicknamed one of my colleagues "gangsta" and the other one "kid Texas". The brits call me blondie, the MEs are all starting to call me Freddie, and the scots, I just found out today, refer to me as "america's most wanted". Who knew they were fans of Ice Cube.
My etiquette book, BTW, says that nicknames are considered inappropriate since they are normally reserved for family because they are considered too informal for outsiders.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
the boy's club
Today I was summoned to this AF guy's office. I was surprised, and a little apprehensive, as the officers avoid me like the plague unless they have to talk to me. Except for the 3 secretaries I'm the only woman in the building, the only woman in western dress, and I'm taller than most of the men I work with.
I walked into the office and there were four other guys there. I was invited to sit down, and given a large glass of watermelon juice. Then a tea boy came in and gave everyone else orange juice. The AF guy told me that he had heard I like watermelon (probably from the meat sandwich incident) and he had sent someone out to get it for me.
I tried to discuss something I've been working on, but the officer finally told me to chill. He just wanted to hang out. It was kind of strange because people kept coming in to his office to get papers signed and permissions for things and we were all just sitting there while he yelled at people and refused to sign forms.
Then I was given a hummus wrap. The officer asked if I knew what hummus was. I launched into a description of the different places I buy hummus in the US. He asked if I was scared to be in his country. I told him I wasn't, and that I wanted to go rock climbing in a particular area which, by coincidence, is where he is from, though most people never visit there because it's really remote and considered the back water. Brownie points.
There was another officer there who apparently thought I was british, who launched into a diatribe about americans who come to this country. Then someone else pointed out I obviously am not british. I told the officer that I enjoyed his diatribe, and that he should have his own TV show. This was surprisingly the right thing to say. I also nicknamed him the Rock because I couldn't really pronounce his name. More brownie points.
After about an hour I said that I had to get some work done. The officers invited me to go shooting with them. But they shoot not just guns but RPGs. I was like I don't think I should shoot an RPG and one of the officers said "they are much easier to hit targets with than guns".
So, somehow, I suspect because of my colleague AH, I've been inducted into the boys' club at the base. They apparently frequent the restaurants at my hotel so I'll probably meet up with them one night. Weirdly, I think rock climbing is what made them think I might be more fun to hang out with than the average girl. They want to learn.
As I was leaving, the officer who invited me up said if I ever have any problems to call him. Since I am scheduled to go out for ladies' night with Ireland and her UK friends, I thought it wouldn't hurt to have an ace in my back pocket.
I walked into the office and there were four other guys there. I was invited to sit down, and given a large glass of watermelon juice. Then a tea boy came in and gave everyone else orange juice. The AF guy told me that he had heard I like watermelon (probably from the meat sandwich incident) and he had sent someone out to get it for me.
I tried to discuss something I've been working on, but the officer finally told me to chill. He just wanted to hang out. It was kind of strange because people kept coming in to his office to get papers signed and permissions for things and we were all just sitting there while he yelled at people and refused to sign forms.
Then I was given a hummus wrap. The officer asked if I knew what hummus was. I launched into a description of the different places I buy hummus in the US. He asked if I was scared to be in his country. I told him I wasn't, and that I wanted to go rock climbing in a particular area which, by coincidence, is where he is from, though most people never visit there because it's really remote and considered the back water. Brownie points.
There was another officer there who apparently thought I was british, who launched into a diatribe about americans who come to this country. Then someone else pointed out I obviously am not british. I told the officer that I enjoyed his diatribe, and that he should have his own TV show. This was surprisingly the right thing to say. I also nicknamed him the Rock because I couldn't really pronounce his name. More brownie points.
After about an hour I said that I had to get some work done. The officers invited me to go shooting with them. But they shoot not just guns but RPGs. I was like I don't think I should shoot an RPG and one of the officers said "they are much easier to hit targets with than guns".
So, somehow, I suspect because of my colleague AH, I've been inducted into the boys' club at the base. They apparently frequent the restaurants at my hotel so I'll probably meet up with them one night. Weirdly, I think rock climbing is what made them think I might be more fun to hang out with than the average girl. They want to learn.
As I was leaving, the officer who invited me up said if I ever have any problems to call him. Since I am scheduled to go out for ladies' night with Ireland and her UK friends, I thought it wouldn't hurt to have an ace in my back pocket.
Monday, September 28, 2009
french high five
These days, I am perplexed and a bit confused by the world in which I live.
Take, for example, my hotel odyssey this weekend. Every day, for three days starting Thursday night, my hotel would call me and say that they had expected me to check out, even though, in the system, my reservation clearly shows I am at this hotel until I leave for Banff at the end of October. When I would go down to the front desk to try to sort the matter, I was told they could only check me in for one more day, and the next day the process would be repeated (going to the front desk, having my credit card imprint taken, closing the previous day's bill, having my passport re-copied, getting new keys, having the towel boy stop by my room to see if I needed fresh towels, and then the annoying phone call from the manager welcoming me to the hotel).
I was complaining about this at work on Sunday, when I discovered one of the frogs I work with knows the general manager of my hotel (all the frogs here know each other). He called the GM, got my reservation sorted, and even got me invited to the nicest restaurant in my hotel for a private dinner with the GM. Since I have all my hotel room phones stuffed in the bedside table drawers because I really don't like phones, I missed that invite. But still. I was amazed the frog tried to help me.
Then, today, he brought me a "surprise" of "sweeties". The "sweeties" were these miniature Thai bananas that are sort of dried out, but they still look like miniature bananas. They are covered in something brown, which isn't honey, or sugar. Maybe I don't want to know what the brown stuff is. But it's mildly sweet, and the bananas were really good.
Being somewhat suspicious of the frogs being nice to me, I headed into a meeting this afternoon with the one who brought me the bananas. It was supposed to be only an hour, but ended up being almost three hours. We worked out some strategic issues on a new project, and then, at the end, he said, in french, my hat is off to you. The only reason I knew what he was saying is because of reading a version of cat in the hat with a french translation that went along with the english. Then the frog gave me a high five.
The french, they are such an odd group. They bring you nice snacks and then try to kill you. They're moody, prone to strange pronunciations, and think the entire US is built on a foundation of chicken wire.
But every once in a while, you get along with them. And that's nice.
Take, for example, my hotel odyssey this weekend. Every day, for three days starting Thursday night, my hotel would call me and say that they had expected me to check out, even though, in the system, my reservation clearly shows I am at this hotel until I leave for Banff at the end of October. When I would go down to the front desk to try to sort the matter, I was told they could only check me in for one more day, and the next day the process would be repeated (going to the front desk, having my credit card imprint taken, closing the previous day's bill, having my passport re-copied, getting new keys, having the towel boy stop by my room to see if I needed fresh towels, and then the annoying phone call from the manager welcoming me to the hotel).
I was complaining about this at work on Sunday, when I discovered one of the frogs I work with knows the general manager of my hotel (all the frogs here know each other). He called the GM, got my reservation sorted, and even got me invited to the nicest restaurant in my hotel for a private dinner with the GM. Since I have all my hotel room phones stuffed in the bedside table drawers because I really don't like phones, I missed that invite. But still. I was amazed the frog tried to help me.
Then, today, he brought me a "surprise" of "sweeties". The "sweeties" were these miniature Thai bananas that are sort of dried out, but they still look like miniature bananas. They are covered in something brown, which isn't honey, or sugar. Maybe I don't want to know what the brown stuff is. But it's mildly sweet, and the bananas were really good.
Being somewhat suspicious of the frogs being nice to me, I headed into a meeting this afternoon with the one who brought me the bananas. It was supposed to be only an hour, but ended up being almost three hours. We worked out some strategic issues on a new project, and then, at the end, he said, in french, my hat is off to you. The only reason I knew what he was saying is because of reading a version of cat in the hat with a french translation that went along with the english. Then the frog gave me a high five.
The french, they are such an odd group. They bring you nice snacks and then try to kill you. They're moody, prone to strange pronunciations, and think the entire US is built on a foundation of chicken wire.
But every once in a while, you get along with them. And that's nice.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
my special forces surprise
Today I was sitting in my cube drawing a data model and trying to drown out the conversation around me. With all the euros back from vacation I felt like I was in a Wallace and Gromit cartoon. They were complaining about having to work a 10 hour day right after getting back from vacation.
I was also a little worried because my base pass has expired and my colleague AH had taken all of my paperwork to get a new one. If security came by to check everyone's papers I was going to be in trouble.
So when a high ranking commando in cammos walked into the office I tried to pretend to be really busy so he wouldn't notice me. But he walked right up to my desk. He said something like "are you Franki?", but he couldn't pronounce my name, so that isn't quite what he said (my name is as hard for them to say as theirs are for me). I turned around and noticed he had two guns strapped outside his uniform. Uh oh, I thought. Conversation in the room ceased as everyone was well aware I didn't have my base pass.
I admitted to being me, and then saw he was also carrying two plastic bags. One had what appeared to be a sippy cup full of something pink (for reasons I'll never understand, people here put drinks in plastic bags, and then hand them to you, causing the drink to spill inside the bag and the cup to get all sticky). The other bag had something oblong in it.
He said "strawberry is heavy, watermelon is light, so light for you" and he handed me the sippy cup. It contained watermelon juice. Then he said "I present you." He handed me the other bag. "A meat sandwich". Though I've had guys say and do many strange things around me, I've never had one give me a present of a meat sandwich. I must have looked confused. He said "with hummus". I nodded and smiled as if I understood exactly what was going on, and thanked him. He did an abrupt about face and left the room.
It turns out my colleague AH put this guy up to delivering me a lamb sandwich, I think because he was tired of listening to me whine about how much weight I lost during ramadan (gained back a total of 7 lbs as of today). But then it was like the flood gates opened. After I finished the sandwich another guy in the office brought me falafel balls. The little french twits that sit near me were like "oh, did you see that dog outside?" as I bit into one (admittedly, it did look like poo).
Then my colleague brought me a lunch box from this Saudi restaurant. It had two huge pieces of fish, more rice than one person could eat in a day, yogurt sauce, something like salsa but not, and a salad. It will probably take me three more lunches to finish it.
One thing I'm learning is that in general arabs are very hospitable and generous. And if you show the least amount of gratitude they will go over the top to do even more for you. The other day I was walking with two of my colleagues who had both offered, in spite of my refusals, to carry my bag and one finally said "This is embarrassing. You are with two men and you are carrying your laptop. If anyone sees us they are going to wonder what kind of men we are to make you carry your own bag."
Now I'm thinking. Could I have been getting these guys to drive me around, get me food, and carry my stuff all this time? Hm. I wonder how long it will take me to turn into a total prima donna in these conditions.
I was also a little worried because my base pass has expired and my colleague AH had taken all of my paperwork to get a new one. If security came by to check everyone's papers I was going to be in trouble.
So when a high ranking commando in cammos walked into the office I tried to pretend to be really busy so he wouldn't notice me. But he walked right up to my desk. He said something like "are you Franki?", but he couldn't pronounce my name, so that isn't quite what he said (my name is as hard for them to say as theirs are for me). I turned around and noticed he had two guns strapped outside his uniform. Uh oh, I thought. Conversation in the room ceased as everyone was well aware I didn't have my base pass.
I admitted to being me, and then saw he was also carrying two plastic bags. One had what appeared to be a sippy cup full of something pink (for reasons I'll never understand, people here put drinks in plastic bags, and then hand them to you, causing the drink to spill inside the bag and the cup to get all sticky). The other bag had something oblong in it.
He said "strawberry is heavy, watermelon is light, so light for you" and he handed me the sippy cup. It contained watermelon juice. Then he said "I present you." He handed me the other bag. "A meat sandwich". Though I've had guys say and do many strange things around me, I've never had one give me a present of a meat sandwich. I must have looked confused. He said "with hummus". I nodded and smiled as if I understood exactly what was going on, and thanked him. He did an abrupt about face and left the room.
It turns out my colleague AH put this guy up to delivering me a lamb sandwich, I think because he was tired of listening to me whine about how much weight I lost during ramadan (gained back a total of 7 lbs as of today). But then it was like the flood gates opened. After I finished the sandwich another guy in the office brought me falafel balls. The little french twits that sit near me were like "oh, did you see that dog outside?" as I bit into one (admittedly, it did look like poo).
Then my colleague brought me a lunch box from this Saudi restaurant. It had two huge pieces of fish, more rice than one person could eat in a day, yogurt sauce, something like salsa but not, and a salad. It will probably take me three more lunches to finish it.
One thing I'm learning is that in general arabs are very hospitable and generous. And if you show the least amount of gratitude they will go over the top to do even more for you. The other day I was walking with two of my colleagues who had both offered, in spite of my refusals, to carry my bag and one finally said "This is embarrassing. You are with two men and you are carrying your laptop. If anyone sees us they are going to wonder what kind of men we are to make you carry your own bag."
Now I'm thinking. Could I have been getting these guys to drive me around, get me food, and carry my stuff all this time? Hm. I wonder how long it will take me to turn into a total prima donna in these conditions.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
more meridien madness
Saturday
I woke up at 7 am because my hotel phone was ringing. Of course I didn't answer it but instead decided to get up, eat some oatmeal, and read my book in bed.
An hour later I heard some fumbling outside my hotel door, and then a swishing sound. I went over to the door to see what was going on, and there was an envelope addressed to "Annie". Always curious to read other people's mail, I opened the letter. It was actually for me. The letter stated I had to move out of my room by 10 am "to accommodate another guest".
I figured this was a trick to get me out of my nice room into a room I wouldn't like so I called the front desk. They told me there was a handicap guest coming to the hotel that needed my room. Apparently they had asked all the other people on my hall and no one was willing to move. I agreed to move and they gave me a new room number.
I packed up my stuff and went to the beach. When I came back I picked up a key for my new room, went in, and discovered the air conditioning in my room didn't work. I discovered this because it was like a million billion degrees in my room.
They sent someone up to fix the problem. I went to the gym for two hours. Came back, and waited another two hours. The room was still boiling hot. So I packed up my stuff again, and this time was relocated to a really nice room one floor above with a private balcony overlooking the beach. Very nice.
Except, the hot water didn't work. I took a shower around midnight and almost froze.
Sunday
Before going to the gym in the morning, I asked the front desk to fix the water problem. It wasn't fixed by the end of the day. So they made me pack my stuff up again, at 6 pm, and moved me back to the room with the non-working air-conditioning. The bell hop who was hauling my stuff around turned the thermostat down to 12 degrees C and the room cooled off. Somewhat.
Monday
I decided living with cold water was better than living with no air-conditioning. So I packed up my stuff, again, and moved back to my room on the third floor. After I moved I realized that the water temperature knobs were installed incorrectly and realized that was why I had no hot water.
So now I have a room I like, with a private balcony, that's quieter than my last room, and won't have to move until I leave for Canada at the end of October.
If I could only get them to clean out my mini bar so I had a refrigerator...
I woke up at 7 am because my hotel phone was ringing. Of course I didn't answer it but instead decided to get up, eat some oatmeal, and read my book in bed.
An hour later I heard some fumbling outside my hotel door, and then a swishing sound. I went over to the door to see what was going on, and there was an envelope addressed to "Annie". Always curious to read other people's mail, I opened the letter. It was actually for me. The letter stated I had to move out of my room by 10 am "to accommodate another guest".
I figured this was a trick to get me out of my nice room into a room I wouldn't like so I called the front desk. They told me there was a handicap guest coming to the hotel that needed my room. Apparently they had asked all the other people on my hall and no one was willing to move. I agreed to move and they gave me a new room number.
I packed up my stuff and went to the beach. When I came back I picked up a key for my new room, went in, and discovered the air conditioning in my room didn't work. I discovered this because it was like a million billion degrees in my room.
They sent someone up to fix the problem. I went to the gym for two hours. Came back, and waited another two hours. The room was still boiling hot. So I packed up my stuff again, and this time was relocated to a really nice room one floor above with a private balcony overlooking the beach. Very nice.
Except, the hot water didn't work. I took a shower around midnight and almost froze.
Sunday
Before going to the gym in the morning, I asked the front desk to fix the water problem. It wasn't fixed by the end of the day. So they made me pack my stuff up again, at 6 pm, and moved me back to the room with the non-working air-conditioning. The bell hop who was hauling my stuff around turned the thermostat down to 12 degrees C and the room cooled off. Somewhat.
Monday
I decided living with cold water was better than living with no air-conditioning. So I packed up my stuff, again, and moved back to my room on the third floor. After I moved I realized that the water temperature knobs were installed incorrectly and realized that was why I had no hot water.
So now I have a room I like, with a private balcony, that's quieter than my last room, and won't have to move until I leave for Canada at the end of October.
If I could only get them to clean out my mini bar so I had a refrigerator...
etisalat epic
Anyone who has known me for any length of time knows that, with a few exceptions, I never answer or talk on the phone. But here everyone lives by their mobile, and it isn't uncommon in the middle of an important meeting for someone to answer their phone and carry on a conversation (this happens in movie theaters as well, from what I've read in the papers).
So, being without a phone here is considered the worst possible existence. My phone stopped working on Thursday, though. I couldn't figure out what was wrong and then AH told me I had run out of money. No problem, I thought, I'll just add money using my online account.
I did that Thursday afternoon and then was swept up in my hotel room epic so I never got a chance to test my phone until Friday. It wasn't working. I called etisalat, the phone company here, to find out what was wrong. They couldn't tell me over the phone but instead kept sending me text messages in arabic that I couldn't read. I tried to find someone in the hotel that could read them but no luck.
Finally, while waiting in line at the co-op with a bag full of nectarines on Saturday, I got a guy in line behind me to read the message. It turns out etisalat changed their policy a week ago so they no longer allow foreign credit cards to be used on line to add minutes to their phones. I was like how do I get my phone to work? He told me to buy a card to add minutes.
Seemed simple enough. I got a card and followed the instructions on adding minutes to my phone. All I had to do, according to the directions, was type in the number on the card and the minutes would be added. But every time I did that I got an error message that the number I entered was invalid. Meanwhile my colleagues here were getting aggravated with me because I never answer my phone and couldn't respond back to text messages. I tried to go back to the co-op to enquire what was wrong with my card, but it was closed for Eid.
Finally, I was sitting in my lebanese pizza place waiting for my food and the girl at the cash register told me that I had to scratch off this silver band on the card to get the number to add the minutes. How I would have known that if someone hadn't told me remains a mystery. Anyway, my phone is working again after 4 days.
Although no one is texting me anymore. I'm sad.
Not really :D
So, being without a phone here is considered the worst possible existence. My phone stopped working on Thursday, though. I couldn't figure out what was wrong and then AH told me I had run out of money. No problem, I thought, I'll just add money using my online account.
I did that Thursday afternoon and then was swept up in my hotel room epic so I never got a chance to test my phone until Friday. It wasn't working. I called etisalat, the phone company here, to find out what was wrong. They couldn't tell me over the phone but instead kept sending me text messages in arabic that I couldn't read. I tried to find someone in the hotel that could read them but no luck.
Finally, while waiting in line at the co-op with a bag full of nectarines on Saturday, I got a guy in line behind me to read the message. It turns out etisalat changed their policy a week ago so they no longer allow foreign credit cards to be used on line to add minutes to their phones. I was like how do I get my phone to work? He told me to buy a card to add minutes.
Seemed simple enough. I got a card and followed the instructions on adding minutes to my phone. All I had to do, according to the directions, was type in the number on the card and the minutes would be added. But every time I did that I got an error message that the number I entered was invalid. Meanwhile my colleagues here were getting aggravated with me because I never answer my phone and couldn't respond back to text messages. I tried to go back to the co-op to enquire what was wrong with my card, but it was closed for Eid.
Finally, I was sitting in my lebanese pizza place waiting for my food and the girl at the cash register told me that I had to scratch off this silver band on the card to get the number to add the minutes. How I would have known that if someone hadn't told me remains a mystery. Anyway, my phone is working again after 4 days.
Although no one is texting me anymore. I'm sad.
Not really :D
Thursday, September 17, 2009
meridien odyssey
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
the ramadan diet
Ramadan is over Sunday next week. I don't know if I'm going to make it to then without starving to death.
I don't mean to whine, but, as a westerner, it kind of sucks to be forced by law to follow the ramadan diet. In what feels like the billionth week I have lost so much weight that my stomach is actually concave. It's not that I don't want to cheat. It's that I can't. Places that sell food aren't open during fasting hours and I only have a tiny refrigerator (currently stuffed with dates) and a little kettle that makes hot water. So even if I could buy food during non-fasting hours I have no where to put it or make it.
For the muslims, it's not that bad. They have family spending the entire day cooking food for iftar. They stay up until the wee hours of the night eating. I have a narrow window to get food and then I have to eat it all in the 3 hours between the breaking of the fast and when I have to go to bed.
Yesterday, as an example, I had four packets of oatmeal and two cokes for breakfast. Then, 2 hours before the breaking of the fast, I found myself laying on my bed trying to not throw up because I was so hungry. Literally the minute the fast was up I was at the food court buying dinner and snacks. Over the course of 3 hours I ate an entire medium pizza, two garden salads, two rolls, two nectarines, 3 plums, 8 cookies, two oatmeal bars, half a bag of yogurt potato chips (and I don't even like potato chips) and before I went to bed, another packet of oatmeal because I was still hungry.
I would buy cookies and snacks to eat during the fast except you have to keep everything in the refrigerator or else it goes bad in a day. Even my oatmeal turns into these disgusting clumps and I have to break it up before I can fix it, and it doesn't taste quite right. Cookies will turn into a crumbly mush about 12 hours after the packet is opened. And I've found from past experience that I will eat an entire box of cookies waiting for the fast to end, causing me to have a stomach ache for the rest of the night. Part of the problem is the heat and humidity, and that's compounded by the fact that there's no air conditioning in my room unless I'm here. I've gone to work and come back 10 hours later only to find my grapes shriveled up like raisins in the short time I was gone.
Oh well. Just 8 more days. I can survive that...
I don't mean to whine, but, as a westerner, it kind of sucks to be forced by law to follow the ramadan diet. In what feels like the billionth week I have lost so much weight that my stomach is actually concave. It's not that I don't want to cheat. It's that I can't. Places that sell food aren't open during fasting hours and I only have a tiny refrigerator (currently stuffed with dates) and a little kettle that makes hot water. So even if I could buy food during non-fasting hours I have no where to put it or make it.
For the muslims, it's not that bad. They have family spending the entire day cooking food for iftar. They stay up until the wee hours of the night eating. I have a narrow window to get food and then I have to eat it all in the 3 hours between the breaking of the fast and when I have to go to bed.
Yesterday, as an example, I had four packets of oatmeal and two cokes for breakfast. Then, 2 hours before the breaking of the fast, I found myself laying on my bed trying to not throw up because I was so hungry. Literally the minute the fast was up I was at the food court buying dinner and snacks. Over the course of 3 hours I ate an entire medium pizza, two garden salads, two rolls, two nectarines, 3 plums, 8 cookies, two oatmeal bars, half a bag of yogurt potato chips (and I don't even like potato chips) and before I went to bed, another packet of oatmeal because I was still hungry.
I would buy cookies and snacks to eat during the fast except you have to keep everything in the refrigerator or else it goes bad in a day. Even my oatmeal turns into these disgusting clumps and I have to break it up before I can fix it, and it doesn't taste quite right. Cookies will turn into a crumbly mush about 12 hours after the packet is opened. And I've found from past experience that I will eat an entire box of cookies waiting for the fast to end, causing me to have a stomach ache for the rest of the night. Part of the problem is the heat and humidity, and that's compounded by the fact that there's no air conditioning in my room unless I'm here. I've gone to work and come back 10 hours later only to find my grapes shriveled up like raisins in the short time I was gone.
Oh well. Just 8 more days. I can survive that...
dates
I just got back from the fruit and vegetable market. AH took me so I could buy some dates. I've been kind of obsessed with them since I had them Thursday night.
It's kind of surprising how many different types of dates there are. That's why I enlisted AH to help me. We went to the stall of his date person (there are at least 50 date vendors in the market). He told me to sample some dates (I had to sneak into the back room to do this since I'm technically not supposed to be eating) and figure out which ones I wanted.
I had a local date, a date from Saudi, a just ripened date, a date that's supposed to be eaten when drinking coffee, and a date for people who aren't supposed to have a lot of sugar. There were also yellow dates, red dates, dates in various stages of becoming dehydrated (the less raisin-ish the date the less sugar it has), dates in a fancy package for giving to guests, light brown dates, dark brown dates, dates from Kuwait, dates from Turkey, dates for cooking, dates for dessert, dates covered in chocolate with the pit replaced with an almond, dates for drinking tea, dates for kids (small and super sweet), and dates "for the health" as it was explained to me. And that was only the first part of the stall.
I ended up getting a mix of dates, and the guy didn't charge me for them. He said since it was my first time to the market I was considered a guest, so it would be rude for me to give him money. He said next time I come I can pay.
Then AH drove me around the rest of the area. Back 10 years, Abu Dhabi had a souk right in the middle of the city. But, about 7 years ago, the government decided that was not the impression they wanted to give people of the city. So they moved the souk out to this area called the port (though, there was only one boat there). AH said it was hard for the vendors at first because people didn't know where the souk had gone and so not many people were showing up to buy stuff. But now it's crowded (though, more so at night than when we went).
Besides selling dates there are also fruits, vegetables, and a fresh fish stand. It's funny to watch the emiratis "shop". They pull up to a vendor's stall, stay in the air conditioning of the car, order what they want, and then the vendor stacks what ever has been purchased into the car. The emirati doesn't have to even turn off the engine. This is quite different from the souks I've been to in other parts of the world, where the streets are so narrow you can barely walk through them.
AH showed me the carpet souk (he said he would take me if I wanted to buy one), a place that sold baby stuff, the abaya shops, the shops for men's traditional dress, and what he called a nursery. The nursery looked to me like a few palm trees in the sand, but maybe they didn't have much due to the season.
I also found out some interesting things about the men's traditional dress. A head covering that's a turban is considered "young wear" and is worn, traditionally, by younger guys. Collars are kuwaiti style, saudis wear robes with buttons. In the summer everyone wears white, but in the winter men will wear different colored robes. A head covering with one rope hanging down the back is traditional emirati. Two robes is Saudi. The ropes are a nod to the old days, when they were used to tie a camel's legs together so it couldn't run away (or run far). The more detail of the robe (collars, cuffs, etc.) the more formal it is considered.
So now I have two packs of dates to eat and am a little wiser in understanding men's clothes, which will be helpful next time I have a meeting at the base...
It's kind of surprising how many different types of dates there are. That's why I enlisted AH to help me. We went to the stall of his date person (there are at least 50 date vendors in the market). He told me to sample some dates (I had to sneak into the back room to do this since I'm technically not supposed to be eating) and figure out which ones I wanted.
I had a local date, a date from Saudi, a just ripened date, a date that's supposed to be eaten when drinking coffee, and a date for people who aren't supposed to have a lot of sugar. There were also yellow dates, red dates, dates in various stages of becoming dehydrated (the less raisin-ish the date the less sugar it has), dates in a fancy package for giving to guests, light brown dates, dark brown dates, dates from Kuwait, dates from Turkey, dates for cooking, dates for dessert, dates covered in chocolate with the pit replaced with an almond, dates for drinking tea, dates for kids (small and super sweet), and dates "for the health" as it was explained to me. And that was only the first part of the stall.
I ended up getting a mix of dates, and the guy didn't charge me for them. He said since it was my first time to the market I was considered a guest, so it would be rude for me to give him money. He said next time I come I can pay.
Then AH drove me around the rest of the area. Back 10 years, Abu Dhabi had a souk right in the middle of the city. But, about 7 years ago, the government decided that was not the impression they wanted to give people of the city. So they moved the souk out to this area called the port (though, there was only one boat there). AH said it was hard for the vendors at first because people didn't know where the souk had gone and so not many people were showing up to buy stuff. But now it's crowded (though, more so at night than when we went).
Besides selling dates there are also fruits, vegetables, and a fresh fish stand. It's funny to watch the emiratis "shop". They pull up to a vendor's stall, stay in the air conditioning of the car, order what they want, and then the vendor stacks what ever has been purchased into the car. The emirati doesn't have to even turn off the engine. This is quite different from the souks I've been to in other parts of the world, where the streets are so narrow you can barely walk through them.
AH showed me the carpet souk (he said he would take me if I wanted to buy one), a place that sold baby stuff, the abaya shops, the shops for men's traditional dress, and what he called a nursery. The nursery looked to me like a few palm trees in the sand, but maybe they didn't have much due to the season.
I also found out some interesting things about the men's traditional dress. A head covering that's a turban is considered "young wear" and is worn, traditionally, by younger guys. Collars are kuwaiti style, saudis wear robes with buttons. In the summer everyone wears white, but in the winter men will wear different colored robes. A head covering with one rope hanging down the back is traditional emirati. Two robes is Saudi. The ropes are a nod to the old days, when they were used to tie a camel's legs together so it couldn't run away (or run far). The more detail of the robe (collars, cuffs, etc.) the more formal it is considered.
So now I have two packs of dates to eat and am a little wiser in understanding men's clothes, which will be helpful next time I have a meeting at the base...
Friday, September 11, 2009
a night out in Dubai
I had a meeting in Dubai yesterday with some customers from Pakistan. Because they flew in to see us, we took them out for iftar.
My colleague, AH, made reservations at the Palmyra restaurant in the Atlantis hotel. I was looking forward to the experience as I've never been to iftar before. I wasn't disappointed. However, our dinner almost got canceled because some idiot in my company started to worry the dinner could be seen as a bribe. We were like dude, they already bought stuff from us. And it's really, really rude to not take a customer out for dinner when they've flown to see you on their own dime. But, the lawyers at my company have to justify their existence I guess.
The restaurant is in a hotel owned by the Jumeirah group. They built the first 7 star hotel, the burj al arab, which is on the same property as the Palmyra. The iftar consisted of 6 food stations, sort of buffet style, with all kinds of middle eastern food. For drinks I had what was described to me as "rose juice" (roses squished into water...it was interesting) and "fruit juice" (juice of local emirate fruits, each country has their own special juice they serve at iftar and everyone is supposed to drink that juice to break their fast). One of my customers tried to talk me into drinking this purplish pink concoction (milk with roses in it) but luckily I'm allergic to milk.
I had the best hummus ever, a dish that consisted of pumpkin and chick peas all squished together like hummus but it was orange and tasted like pumpkin. Dr. T said I had to eat at least one unhealthy thing (a lot of food for iftar is fried) so I had this pastry with a sweetened cheese in it. I was a little worried about eating it because I brought it back to the table and everyone was like "ooh, what's that thing?" but it was good. I could go on and on about the food (we were there for almost 4 hours eating) but I will spare you. Except to mention that I also ate a bunch of dates, and I always thought I didn't like them, but they are actually quite good so I'm going to buy some next time I go food shopping.
Then AH and I left our customers (they were headed to the airport with Dr. T - in fact, they had so much fun at our iftar they almost missed their flight home) and he took me to the Burj Al Arab. It's funny, when that place first opened I told a bunch of people I worked with on TRAILBLAZER that I was going to go there some day. Finally made it...
We went to the Skyview Bar. AH goes there all the time and was able to get us a reservation on an hour's notice (impossible for the mere mortal). He then yelled at me for trying to order the house wine (there was a $75 per person cover just to get in) and had his waiter bring me some wines to sample (go me, I picked the most expensive one, $200 for one glass, Jeffy, see how you've spoiled me). We got the best table, with a view of the city, and they brought us snacks like these little cheese quiches, cucumbers and olives, and this sushi thing which was smoked salmon wrapped in tamago, with caviar on top.
A long conversation ensued on a number of topics. I found out AH's family is very famous in Pakistan (they are like the bin Laden's of Pakistan) and that's why he has so much pull in the UAE. We both love to talk about architecture frameworks so that was a couple hour conversation. Then we came up with this little side work project that, if we can pull it off, is going to be a huge deal in the middle east. My favorite story that AH told was about his crap work issued laptop (he uses a mac). He said that the only reason he still has his work laptop is that when his 1 year old son cries, if he puts him in front of the laptop, he'll start banging the keys and forget about crying. Well, the story is funny if you could see him acting that out, and if you knew what our work laptops were like (pieces just randomly fall off of mine, and in the past 6 months I've replaced the keyboard, memory, and the mouse, which I actually had to replace twice).
Finally AH's wife called and said she was heading back home from her mom's, so we headed home as well. We got this poor cab driver who was not happy about taking us to Abu Dhabi (it's an almost 2 hour trip, and it was in the wee hours of the morning by this point in the story). AH asked him if it was his last trip of the shift and the cabbie said yes. We were like uh oh. The cabbie fell asleep 3 times that I saw, and then we almost ran out of gas.
The cabbie of course waited until we were in desperate straits to look for a gas station. Here's a description of the road between Dubai and Abu Dhabi: sand, construction, more sand, unfinished overpasses, sand, more sand, some road work, construction. We took this little, I wouldn't even call it an exit as much as a random turn-off that just happened to connect to the highway. We drove around this weird installation that had all these armed guards. I was getting a little worried. Then we finally found a gas station and the cabbie's credit card didn't work. I was exhausted and hot by then (running around in a suit and real shoes, the first time I've not worn flip flops since arriving here) so I was like just give him some money for the gas. But AH said we shouldn't, and miraculously, after about 10 minutes of arguing, the cabbie's card started working again.
As we pulled into Abu Dhabi we were almost in a major accident because the cabbie was speeding like crazy and the police, for what ever idiot reason, decided to set up a blockade around a blind corner to make sure everyone had on their seat belt. Our cabbie didn't, but the cops didn't notice, probably because we almost hit them swerving to avoid hitting the stopped cars in front of us. I think AH was saying some really bad words in Urdu, but every word in Urdu kind of sounds like a bad word to me.
The best part of the story is Dr. T called us when we got into the cab and said the pakis want both of us to work on their project in Islamabad. I was worried they wouldn't like me because I'm american and a woman, but they were incredibly nice. In fact, one of the guys, who is a general in the paki army, told me "you should come to Islamabad because it's not as dangerous as everyone says". I suppose, being under the protection of a general, that's probably true.
Then he said "We are a civilized society. You will not see our women covered up." That was an insult to all the emiratis in the room, since here all the local women must wear a burqa that even covers their face (though some don't cover their eyes). This area of the world never fails to confuse and amuse me. The stereotypes of most people in the middle east are totally true, but then not true at all.
My colleague, AH, made reservations at the Palmyra restaurant in the Atlantis hotel. I was looking forward to the experience as I've never been to iftar before. I wasn't disappointed. However, our dinner almost got canceled because some idiot in my company started to worry the dinner could be seen as a bribe. We were like dude, they already bought stuff from us. And it's really, really rude to not take a customer out for dinner when they've flown to see you on their own dime. But, the lawyers at my company have to justify their existence I guess.
The restaurant is in a hotel owned by the Jumeirah group. They built the first 7 star hotel, the burj al arab, which is on the same property as the Palmyra. The iftar consisted of 6 food stations, sort of buffet style, with all kinds of middle eastern food. For drinks I had what was described to me as "rose juice" (roses squished into water...it was interesting) and "fruit juice" (juice of local emirate fruits, each country has their own special juice they serve at iftar and everyone is supposed to drink that juice to break their fast). One of my customers tried to talk me into drinking this purplish pink concoction (milk with roses in it) but luckily I'm allergic to milk.
I had the best hummus ever, a dish that consisted of pumpkin and chick peas all squished together like hummus but it was orange and tasted like pumpkin. Dr. T said I had to eat at least one unhealthy thing (a lot of food for iftar is fried) so I had this pastry with a sweetened cheese in it. I was a little worried about eating it because I brought it back to the table and everyone was like "ooh, what's that thing?" but it was good. I could go on and on about the food (we were there for almost 4 hours eating) but I will spare you. Except to mention that I also ate a bunch of dates, and I always thought I didn't like them, but they are actually quite good so I'm going to buy some next time I go food shopping.
Then AH and I left our customers (they were headed to the airport with Dr. T - in fact, they had so much fun at our iftar they almost missed their flight home) and he took me to the Burj Al Arab. It's funny, when that place first opened I told a bunch of people I worked with on TRAILBLAZER that I was going to go there some day. Finally made it...
We went to the Skyview Bar. AH goes there all the time and was able to get us a reservation on an hour's notice (impossible for the mere mortal). He then yelled at me for trying to order the house wine (there was a $75 per person cover just to get in) and had his waiter bring me some wines to sample (go me, I picked the most expensive one, $200 for one glass, Jeffy, see how you've spoiled me). We got the best table, with a view of the city, and they brought us snacks like these little cheese quiches, cucumbers and olives, and this sushi thing which was smoked salmon wrapped in tamago, with caviar on top.
A long conversation ensued on a number of topics. I found out AH's family is very famous in Pakistan (they are like the bin Laden's of Pakistan) and that's why he has so much pull in the UAE. We both love to talk about architecture frameworks so that was a couple hour conversation. Then we came up with this little side work project that, if we can pull it off, is going to be a huge deal in the middle east. My favorite story that AH told was about his crap work issued laptop (he uses a mac). He said that the only reason he still has his work laptop is that when his 1 year old son cries, if he puts him in front of the laptop, he'll start banging the keys and forget about crying. Well, the story is funny if you could see him acting that out, and if you knew what our work laptops were like (pieces just randomly fall off of mine, and in the past 6 months I've replaced the keyboard, memory, and the mouse, which I actually had to replace twice).
Finally AH's wife called and said she was heading back home from her mom's, so we headed home as well. We got this poor cab driver who was not happy about taking us to Abu Dhabi (it's an almost 2 hour trip, and it was in the wee hours of the morning by this point in the story). AH asked him if it was his last trip of the shift and the cabbie said yes. We were like uh oh. The cabbie fell asleep 3 times that I saw, and then we almost ran out of gas.
The cabbie of course waited until we were in desperate straits to look for a gas station. Here's a description of the road between Dubai and Abu Dhabi: sand, construction, more sand, unfinished overpasses, sand, more sand, some road work, construction. We took this little, I wouldn't even call it an exit as much as a random turn-off that just happened to connect to the highway. We drove around this weird installation that had all these armed guards. I was getting a little worried. Then we finally found a gas station and the cabbie's credit card didn't work. I was exhausted and hot by then (running around in a suit and real shoes, the first time I've not worn flip flops since arriving here) so I was like just give him some money for the gas. But AH said we shouldn't, and miraculously, after about 10 minutes of arguing, the cabbie's card started working again.
As we pulled into Abu Dhabi we were almost in a major accident because the cabbie was speeding like crazy and the police, for what ever idiot reason, decided to set up a blockade around a blind corner to make sure everyone had on their seat belt. Our cabbie didn't, but the cops didn't notice, probably because we almost hit them swerving to avoid hitting the stopped cars in front of us. I think AH was saying some really bad words in Urdu, but every word in Urdu kind of sounds like a bad word to me.
The best part of the story is Dr. T called us when we got into the cab and said the pakis want both of us to work on their project in Islamabad. I was worried they wouldn't like me because I'm american and a woman, but they were incredibly nice. In fact, one of the guys, who is a general in the paki army, told me "you should come to Islamabad because it's not as dangerous as everyone says". I suppose, being under the protection of a general, that's probably true.
Then he said "We are a civilized society. You will not see our women covered up." That was an insult to all the emiratis in the room, since here all the local women must wear a burqa that even covers their face (though some don't cover their eyes). This area of the world never fails to confuse and amuse me. The stereotypes of most people in the middle east are totally true, but then not true at all.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
timing is everything, and nothing
Today I had a meeting with the new base commander to brief him on some potential new projects. I wore pants today instead of making him look at my knees again. I got to the briefing room 30 minutes before I had to start to make sure the room was set up and the AV was working. My colleague N did everything because I think he was afraid I would screw something up.
Then, right before the briefing was supposed to start, these cleaners came in and started cleaning everything. I was like WTF? I guess the commander wanted everything spit shined before showing up. The program manager and Dr. T showed up 15 minutes late. I was in a panic by then, but they were like "the customer is always late so we didn't rush". I was told that you usually have to wait for 2 hours after the scheduled meeting to have a meeting. Sometimes you have to wait all day, and then the customer decides not to see you after all. I told Dr. T I had read in my customs and etiquette book that it is considered very impolite to show up late for anything, and he said "Yes, it's impolite for YOU to show up late."
Meanwhile, we had a moment of panic because the cleaning people had dis-engaged one of the wires going to the computer, and we couldn't get the presentation up. We ended up crawling around in a rat's nest of wires until N found the one that was disconnected. The general finally showed up only an hour late (I was told that was "a good sign"). He made a joke that "Obviously arabs could not have been behind 911. We are late for everything and would have missed our flights." I can see his point even after living here for less than one month.
The presentation went well, and we'll see what happens next. In the mean time, hopefully my company is working on my residence visa, and I'm going to renew my tourist visa for another 30 days so I don't have to take vacation during Eid. Eid is like Christmas, except it lasts 5 days, and only little kids are supposed to get gifts. There is a second Eid later this year, but that's more of a feast than a gift giving thing.
The Christmas Eid happens at the end of ramadan, and the dates are not known until the imams all agree they've seen the new moon. It's kind of weird. Everybody is on a different schedule for all these religious things. For example, Dubai breaks their evening fast 4 minutes sooner than Abu Dhabi. In Pakistan, they start ramadan two days later than everyone else (to start ramadan, as with the ending, all the imams have to agree they've seen the new moon - apparently pakistan always "sees" the new moon later than everyone else - when I ask a pakistani why that was, he said "it's because they are fools").
So, basically there's a 5 day holiday, but you can't really schedule travel, because the day the holiday starts might change if no one can see the new moon, like if it's cloudy. As some people at work explained this to me I was like dudes, they have lunar calendars that will tell you when the new moon is - why exactly do you have to see it? They looked at me as if I had suggested we sing the dreidl song. I was also told that anyway, Eid is the worst time to travel (imagine christmas and thanksgiving in the US happening at the same time) because muslims are supposed to spend the time with their family. In fact, any family.
One of the other consultants was telling me he is going to Pakistan for Eid to celebrate with distant relatives he's never even met before because his immediate family is in UK and he just got back from visiting them and doesn’t want to fly there again with his young son. When I asked why he didn’t just stay here and celebrate with just his wife and son he said “You can’t do that. That’s not the way Eid works for real muslims. Only muslims that are not serious would do such a thing.”
And, in the car on the way home, I mentioned to N that I was surprised the commander told that 911 joke. He started in on a tirade about how Osama bin Laden is not a real person, that there is no proof he ever existed, and that the US government made him up to make muslims into "bad guys". I decided to just keep my mouth shut because I was too tired to have a debate.
I may get the hang of this culture eventually, but I doubt it.
Then, right before the briefing was supposed to start, these cleaners came in and started cleaning everything. I was like WTF? I guess the commander wanted everything spit shined before showing up. The program manager and Dr. T showed up 15 minutes late. I was in a panic by then, but they were like "the customer is always late so we didn't rush". I was told that you usually have to wait for 2 hours after the scheduled meeting to have a meeting. Sometimes you have to wait all day, and then the customer decides not to see you after all. I told Dr. T I had read in my customs and etiquette book that it is considered very impolite to show up late for anything, and he said "Yes, it's impolite for YOU to show up late."
Meanwhile, we had a moment of panic because the cleaning people had dis-engaged one of the wires going to the computer, and we couldn't get the presentation up. We ended up crawling around in a rat's nest of wires until N found the one that was disconnected. The general finally showed up only an hour late (I was told that was "a good sign"). He made a joke that "Obviously arabs could not have been behind 911. We are late for everything and would have missed our flights." I can see his point even after living here for less than one month.
The presentation went well, and we'll see what happens next. In the mean time, hopefully my company is working on my residence visa, and I'm going to renew my tourist visa for another 30 days so I don't have to take vacation during Eid. Eid is like Christmas, except it lasts 5 days, and only little kids are supposed to get gifts. There is a second Eid later this year, but that's more of a feast than a gift giving thing.
The Christmas Eid happens at the end of ramadan, and the dates are not known until the imams all agree they've seen the new moon. It's kind of weird. Everybody is on a different schedule for all these religious things. For example, Dubai breaks their evening fast 4 minutes sooner than Abu Dhabi. In Pakistan, they start ramadan two days later than everyone else (to start ramadan, as with the ending, all the imams have to agree they've seen the new moon - apparently pakistan always "sees" the new moon later than everyone else - when I ask a pakistani why that was, he said "it's because they are fools").
So, basically there's a 5 day holiday, but you can't really schedule travel, because the day the holiday starts might change if no one can see the new moon, like if it's cloudy. As some people at work explained this to me I was like dudes, they have lunar calendars that will tell you when the new moon is - why exactly do you have to see it? They looked at me as if I had suggested we sing the dreidl song. I was also told that anyway, Eid is the worst time to travel (imagine christmas and thanksgiving in the US happening at the same time) because muslims are supposed to spend the time with their family. In fact, any family.
One of the other consultants was telling me he is going to Pakistan for Eid to celebrate with distant relatives he's never even met before because his immediate family is in UK and he just got back from visiting them and doesn’t want to fly there again with his young son. When I asked why he didn’t just stay here and celebrate with just his wife and son he said “You can’t do that. That’s not the way Eid works for real muslims. Only muslims that are not serious would do such a thing.”
And, in the car on the way home, I mentioned to N that I was surprised the commander told that 911 joke. He started in on a tirade about how Osama bin Laden is not a real person, that there is no proof he ever existed, and that the US government made him up to make muslims into "bad guys". I decided to just keep my mouth shut because I was too tired to have a debate.
I may get the hang of this culture eventually, but I doubt it.
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