I Love to Say Vindaloo

I've been making my way through the menu at the Indian restaurant across the street.

Paul and I share one night off, and we go out. We've been to Nihal three times so far, and are planning to go until we get tired of it or until we move, whichever comes first.

So far, for main courses, I've stuck to the lamb: Masala, Korma, Vindaloo, Roganjosh. (And now you're thinking well, that's four and she's only been three times. Paul got lamb once, too!)

I like the vindaloo quite a bit and it has potatoes in it. The rojanjosh has thinner sauce, but better quality lamb. The Korma is more of a traditional curry (or what I think of when I think of curry). I swear there was coconut milk in it, but all the recipes I've seen say the meat is marinated in yogurt and that's what makes it so creamy. In any case, the meat in the Korma was of a really low quality. It was tasty, but gristly and chewy. I don't know if that was unusual, or if the different sauces are designed to mask the qualities of the meat.

The restaurant also serves Chinese food, and what they call Continental food. I'd like to try the Chinese -- the Indians here have a decent reputation for Chinese -- but not at the expense of my once-weekly Indian. And Continental, it turns out, just means fish and chips.

Paul has mostly stuck to chicken. Last time he got the Chicken Tikka. He likes curry, and Indian food, almost as much as I do. But he's allergic to something in the curry, so ordering for him is tricky. By process of elimination, we think he is allergic to cayenne pepper. So if he asks for his curry not spicy, he doesn't usually have a problem (or hasn't so far).

We've also had the lentil soup, the spinach soup, the vegetable samosas and naan. Oh, how I love naan. And we haven't even tried the stuffed naan yet. We always end up with too much food, but that's fine by me: It mealeftovers for work the next day. I'm still looking for a different appetizer. The samosas are made with a biscuit-like crust, and are pretty heavy (considering that inside the biscuit is yellow lentils and maybe peas?) Dinner for two of us is never more than $20, and it's only that expensive because we're trying to sample different things.

But my absolute favorite part of the meal is the papadam. Oh how I love papadam! They are thin, crisp wafers/bread made of lentil flour. I think they should sell them in the store or a bakery or somewhere. I'm pretty sure they're fried, so that rules out making them at home. (Speaking of Indian food at home: Have you all tried the Indian Roti that Costco sells? Those are easy to make at home and so yummy!)

I think Trader Joe's -- or maybe it was the Monoprix in France -- had mini papadams in the chips aisle. But they were flavored, and they didn't really taste like real papadam. I think they have a pretty short shelf life, like they get soggy if they aren't eaten right away.

So I haven't yet figured out how to get more papadam more frequently. On my way into work, I see a shop sign that suggests the shop sells papapdam, but the store is always shuttered.

As to when I'll get tired of Indian food? I'm pretty sure we'll move first.

Looking for a Place to Call Home

House hunting is something I was actually looking forward to. It's always a treat, I think, to see how other societies live. And the chance to stock another household -- especially with inexpensive furnishings -- was appealing to me. I would get to nest all over again.

I had heard that the housing market in Abu Dhabi was tight and that affordable places were practically non-existent. Having had a nightmare of a search in Hong Kong, I was expecting this. What I didn't expect was the difficulty in actually seeing places here in Abu Dhabi.

There are three ways to find an apartment, from what I can tell: word of mouth, online listings or an agent. But the agent doesn't work quite the way you'd expect. An agent will only show you properties he (or she) represents. So if I see a place online that looks appealing, I have to contact the particular agency that handles it. And then the problems start. Bait and switch is definitely an issue here. It seems that whatever apartment you see an ad for has just been rented. But there's another one that's almost as good ...

Also, I'm not comfortable in this society -- whether I have reason to be or not -- going to viewings alone with a man. This means I have to drag Paul along, whereas in the US or even France I would simply find a place I liked and then bring him in at the end. Much easier.

I'm not sure either of us has mentioned this yet, but there are no proper addresses here in Abu Dhabi. You identify where you live by the closest known landmark. It's not unusual for someone to give you party directions that read like this: Walk behind the White Furniture building until you see a pile of dirt. Go around the dirt to a pathway on the left. Cross the street and go over the fence. The house you want is on your right.

So, if I find a place online that I like, I have to find it. This can't be done by taxi, really. I have to get the owner or the agent to pick me up and take me to the apartment. Again, a very specific commitment that both of us must make.

I have seen eight apartments. All but one were in villas and several were of new construction. The construction standards here appear shoddy. I think because there is a lot of pressure to get things up., the finishing touches are often missing. Frankly, it feels like the fancy vacation homes in Mexico. Almost complete but not quite. (Nice ironwork on the stairways, but the steps aren't edged properly, for example).

The first two places were spacious. They had really high ceilings and roomy rooms. But they were too far away, just off Abu Dhabi island in a place called Between Two Bridges. These places would require a car. They were also a little pricey. Not by local standards but by my budget standards. (We are here, after all, to try to save a little money.)

(An aside: apartments are paid for by the year. Yes. One check. For the whole year. Fortunately, the company will take the apartment and then take the rent out of our paychecks. Phew. Imagine trying to come up with $25K in advance??)

Next we saw an apartment owned by the company. We had hoped to get one of these, but the only one(s) available were two bedrooms and too expensive. I noticed when we looked at that apartment that one of the bedrooms had a lock on it. That's because people here tend to share apartments. Sometimes whole villas. One of the options we (briefly) considered was renting a room in a villa with a colleague. He is here and his wife is back in England. The other tenant was moving to Dubai. I never had much luck with roommates when I was younger. I'm having trouble imagining it at this stage of my life. But it's quite common here -- and was moreso, when apartments were scarce.

We heard a tale the other night of four employees -- photographers, perhaps? -- who had a four-bedroom villa with a small building in the back. They made an arrangement with a Filipina woman to stay there for free, and in return she cooks for them. Sounds too much like a fraternity house.

But I digress.

The upside of the company apartment was its proximity -- 10 minute walk -- to the office. The downside was its location in a fairly undeveloped neighborhood filled with furniture makers and dirt roads. And the price.

So I went back online and started to make more inquiries. I found a place that, until today, had been a front-runner. It was offered by the landlord (thus no agents fee) and it was within walking distance (100 meters or so) of the office. It was in a nice neighborhood and had fancy cars in the garage, so probably the neighbors were fine. So what, you ask, was wrong with it? Well, it was billed as furnished. This translated into "whatever the last tenant left behind." It was all decorated. Each room had walls painted in brilliant colors: hot pink, turqoise and canary yellow. But still, it was really close to work.

The next place we saw was a bait-and-switch. It turns out the apartment that was advertised was still occupied, but we didn't know that until we arrived. It was in a great residential neighborhood, a good start. So the landlord took us up three flights of stairs to the top of the villa. It was a nearly-new apartment, with tall ceilings and big rooms. It also had a great wraparound rooftop terrace. And a price tag 40,000 dirhams (nearly $11,000) higher than the apartment that was advertised.
Too bad for us. By the time we saw the originally advertised place, we'd been ruined by the lovely spacious one.

It didn't help that the other one was ground floor, with low ceilings, and bad carpet and a hole-in-the-wall kitchen. The landlord said it would all be cleaned up, and that he'd pull out the carpet (which covered granite floors). But I don't think so.

On to another set of apartments and another agent. Another aside here -- we have had dealings with agents and landlords from Saudi Arabia, Jordan, India and Syria. Sort of sums up the UAE.
The last two apartments: The first was in a nice neighborhood, and very close to a good mall (good mall = good grocery store). It also was close enough to a big road that taxis wouldn't be a problem. The apartment was relatively new, but badly built. It was spacious, on the second floor of a villa, and had big windows. We liked it well enough. Certainly more than anything else we'd seen.

Then, on to the next one. Here's where there's a little more trickiness. I thought we were going to see three apartments, but after seeing the second one, it turns out the third one -- the one I had originally expressed interest in -- was rented. Like magic. Things like that seem to happen here.

But here we are at the last apartment, and it may truly be the last one. We liked it. It's pretty close to work, although not really walking distance unless the weather is really comfortable. It's very tiny, but is indeed a one-bedroom. The kitchen is small -- most of the kitchens here are not very impressive -- and is part of the living room. But the place is furnished, and has wardrobes and the furniture isn't awful and if I want new furniture, the landlord will take away the old. And there was a washing machine! And a little patio out front! So this is where we stand.

Do we take the tiny but cute place? The price is right, and so is the location. But is there a better place out there?

We don't have to move for another month, but we also don't want to get caught short. And Paul is loathe to be dragged to anymore places once he's found one he finds acceptable. Having looked at all the online ads, I know that there aren't a lot of options in the price range we're looking at. I know there are a lot of really awful places out there, and we've been pretty lucky so far.

I'm used to knowing instantly when I've found the right apartment or home, and that was not the case today. But it came close.

We'll post pictures when we finally make a decision.

Abu Dhabi Photos

Finally got around to taking -- and posting -- some photos.

As you'll find out, there's not a whole lot to see here. But maybe this will give you a little taste.

The Feeling of Fall in the Air

The weather has cooled here, finally breaking 90 degrees. It's all the nicer because the humidity right now is under 50 percent and there's a breeze. It's actually pleasant.
As much as I hated going out when I first arrived, I now want to spend as much time outside as possible. I went to the beach on Tuesday, and it was just a really nice day. The beach, unfortunately, isn't open yet; it's still under construction. People nearby told me it would open Nov. 16, so I'm looking forward to that. Instead, I sat on a really nice outdoor deck and had some ice cream and read my book. I was a little overdressed for the beach. You can't very well stand on the street in shorts and a tank top and hail a cab. So i had on linen pants and a tank and a button down shirt covering it, and packed beach clothes in a tote.
But it's one thing to sit on the ladies and family beach in a tank top, and another to do so on a deck. So there I sat, all bundled up.
This isn't unusual for me.
I wear long sleeves almost every day, and often have two shirts on for better coverage, so I've been looking forward to the cooling trend. As hot as I feel when I'm outside, I try to look at the women in full abayas -- black ones -- and take comfort that I'm not as covered up as they are.
We have a dress code of sorts at work. The idea is to dress modestly, so as not to offend Muslim sensibilities. That means sleeves to the elbow for women and skirts below the knees. Because the office is so cold, I just go ahead with the long sleeves and wear pants. After a while I layer on sweaters and scarfs as needed. What I'd really like on weekends -- when it's particularly cold in the office -- is my Ugg boots. But I can't imagine wearing them on the street.
People say it will be comfortable like this until March, at least.
That would be amazing.

Groceries!

Going to the grocery store here is a treat. There are several little groceries on almost every street -- probably four small stores within a few steps of our hotel -- and I haven't spent much time in them. I would imagine they're like a corner grocery in any big city.

But the big groceries, the ones in the shopping malls, are pretty amazing. They are what the Europeans call Hypermarkets, with groceries and dry goods and clothes and electronics. And the grocery sections have a vast selection. The yogurt aisle will rival any I saw in France. (And in France, a yogurt aisle is like a U.S. water aisle)

The cost of living here is high only because the cost of housing is high. Food is not a major expense, unless you opt for one the many fancy restaurants in the hotels. But that is the case in almost any city.

I do our weekly shopping on Wednesday, usually. It's the day off I share with Paul. I like it when he goes with me, because it's easier to handle a week's worth of groceries with two people and no car of our own. But he shops like a guy: He goes in, gets what's on my list, and gets out. I like to look at all the amazing things. That's how I find all the new treats I bring him, like teriyaki flavored rice crackers. So while I appreciate his help, I think I'll probably go on my own next time.

Because Abu Dhabi is an expatriate city, there are goods from all over. In the Lulu Hypermarket, located in the Al Wahda Mall, the array of vegetables, for example, is incredible. You can get four kinds of eggplant and three kinds of pomegranates and a host of things I couldn't identify if my life depended on it. I like that each item has, under the price, the country of origin. I don't know what makes Tunisian pomegranates half the price of Indian ones, though. I can figure out why the perfect tomatoes from Holland are so much more expensive than the imperfect ones from Yemen. But I don't know that they taste better. And for the life of me, I don't know why lettuce is so astonishingly expensive.

Often, in foreign shops where you can get products from home, you pay for the privilege. This isn't usually the case here. A can of soda is 27 cents. You can get cereal and cake mix and Nestle's Quik and Peter Pan peanut butter at about the same price it costs in the U.S. (or less, in the case of cereal). French-branded yogurt is more expensive than local (which is 27 cents for about six ounces). And local cheese is cheaper than imported cheese. But it's still cheaper than at home. I paid about $11 a kilo ($5 a pound) for sliced Dutch cheese. But Feta cheese from Saudi Arabia is 11 dirhams (about $3) a kilo.

Prepared food is astonishingly cheap. I can get a small container of hummous or labneh or cut-up fruit or olives for about $1. A six-pack of fresh pita bread is 27 cents. So there is definitely an incentive to bring my lunch to work instead of ordering out.

What I'm not used to is doing the shopping for a full week, and not cooking. We're still in the hotel, and while there is a full kitchen, there is no stocked pantry. So cooking is often more trouble than it's worth. (And I find I'm missing key things, like a frying pan or a carrot peeler.)

So it's too bad I don't have the outdoor markets I had in Paris, but I have something different here. Next, I hope to find the equivalent of a souk with spices and teas. Abu Dhabi is so good about bringing the world here, I just wish I could find more of the UAE in Abu Dhabi.

Drive Me Crazy*

We have decided not to get a car here in Abu Dhabi. At first, it was for practical reasons. Why get a car when taxis are (supposedly) readily available and quite affordable? It seemed like short-term, it wasn't a good use of resources.

But now, the reason we won't get a car is the traffic.

Imagine an entire city populated by 16-year-old boys who have just received their licenses and are driving SUVs. Now you can begin to picture Abu Dhabi. Drivers give no quarter. They are extremely aggressive. The goal is to be the first one to the next light. And then there's the honking. You honk if the person in front of you stops too quickly (nevermind that you are the one tailgating). You honk if someone doesn't go *before* the light changes. You honk if you even suspect someone might want to get into your lane. Sometimes, there is no obvious reason for the honking.

Presumably all the drivers here have driven in their home countries. Presumably, too, the rules of the road are similar. Yet most other countries do not have the reputation for dangerous roads that the UAE has.

The blocks here are very long, and there is often no way to cross except at the light. This makes jaywalking desirable, and terribly dangerous. To thwart jaywalkers, the traffic authority has placed wrought iron barriers with pointy tops along the medians, to keep people from crossing the median on foot. But in the places where one is allowed to cross freely, there are always people darting across the road. And I swear drivers speed up when they see pedestrians, just so they can swerve and honk. It's crazy. And as traffic backs up, it is common for pedestrians to try to cross between cars. Most of the major streets are four lanes on each side, so it's kind of tricky to cross, even when the cars are stopped.

And because the blocks are long, the only way to get to the other side is to make a U-turn. U-turns are very big here. And it makes crossing against the light especially dangerous. So when crossing, you have to look out for the right-hand turners as well as the U-turners. The crossing light, in theory, saves you from the U-turn drivers. But you're on your own for the right-hand turners.

There are merge lanes on the right side of the road where the side streets intersect. In most of Europe, the traffic on the right has the right of way. That never happens here. It is not unusual for two cars to try to turn right at the same time. And then, for some inexplicable reason, they stop dead. Drivers don't wait until the way is clear, and they don't go fast enough to get out ahead of the oncoming cars. On the other hand, you will never see an oncoming car slow to let the merging car in. He will always speed up.

Paul says it's clear the taxi drivers do not own their cars, because they abuse the transmissions by going into overdrive between lights *my brother-in-law Alan says the proper term is "kickdown."

And the other reason not to have a car is parking. That is truly something to see. There are parking areas between the main streets and behind the buildings and shops. Cars park diagonally, as in a normal lot. But cars also parallel park in the middle, between the two diagonal lanes. And sometimes there is a double line of parallel parked cars, making passing quite difficult. This does not keep people from using the parking lots as streets, either.

The whole thing makes driving in Italy, or New York City, or even Hong Kong, look like child's play.

Mmmmm, French Fries

I splurged on dinner tonight.

Usually, I try to make something to bring in to work, but I'm not often successful. Paul eats sandwiches, but the lunch meat here is a bit, uh, processed for me. The turkey is smoked and of course there's no ham. In the lobby of our office building is a Gloria Jean's coffee kiosk. They also sell salads and I get one about every other day. The lettuce in the grocery is very sad looking, and I figure it's a good way to get vegetables with some regularity. So that takes care of lunch, but by dinner time I'm hungry again and have usually gone through my supply of "healthy" snacks: a yogurt or some grapes or some pretzels.

Everyone knows that newspaper editors eat badly at work -- it's the nature of the beast. When you work from 2-10 -- spanning lunch and dinner without a break -- your options are few.

Here at the paper someone often will place a take-out order, and Chinese seems to be especially popular. This surprises me. In a typical week I've seen people here order Chinese, Thai and Vietnamese. I can't understand why they're skipping all the good stuff! I was very happy last week when someone opted for Indian at my not-so-subtle suggestion: "Is there a good Indian place around here?"

Tonight I went to the tiny falafel shop about a hundred yards away. It has one tiny table and a guy behind the counter. There are schwarma spits in an adjacent window. It's a zillion degrees in the little place, and the kitchen is in the storefront next door. The counter guy opens a little pass door to communicate with them. He puts a bowl in and they put stuff in the bowl.

I'd been there before, and there was a bit of deja vu to Hong Kong when I looked at the menu. Seventeen items on the English side and 34 on the Arabic side. I've seen enough middle eastern food to know that "not for you" is probably not gonna be a problem. And I wonder what those extras are. (It can't be the chicken livers, which I swear I will get one time, because those are on the English menu).

I ordered an Arabic mix falafel. The regular falafel is mashed into a split pita, with some tahini and a bit of cucumber/tomato mix. It costs 3 dirhams, or 82 cents. Mine was much fancier and costs a whopping 9 dirhams -- $2.45. To make an Arabic mix falafel, you use half a pita, smash in some falafel, put on some eggplant slices, four french fries, the tahini and cucumber and what looks like coleslaw. Then you wrap the whole thing in some sort of thin Arabic bread like a burrito and put it on the panini grill so it melds together.

Back to the french fries, though. I love french fries. Especially French ones but also the kind I get at the mid-east style kabob places in Paris. I don't know why they're so good -- I know they aren't cooked in bacon grease, which isn't halal. But why would they be so much better than U.S. french fries? Anyway, french fries. I wanted some. So I asked the guy behind the counter, who really doesn't speak English, for french fries. Do you have french fries I said. Soda, he asked? French fries, I said. Falafel he asked? French fries. Then another guy popped his head in and said French! to the guy behind the counter, who still didn't get it. I gave up. I saw the guy put them on my sandwich, so I'm pretty sure they have them. If they were on the menu list (or at least the English menu list) I could point to them. But for now, no french fries.

Instead, the guy picked up a Kleenex, used it to grab a falafel ball, and handed it to me while I waited. It was warm and tasty. I appreciated the gesture.

And now I'm trying to find out how to say "french fries" in Arabic.