It's hard to say why I don't like it here in Abu Dhabi.
It can't truly be the weather -- that hasn't kept me from France, and as cold as gets in Chicago, I think I'd find that city very livable.
It isn't the job -- granted, I have had the luxury of three different assignments in six months, but I've enjoyed all of them and am very happy to have landed with my current gig. So work is peachy.
And it isn't the Teeny Apartment (at least not the teeny part). Paul and I have different schedules and manage to stay out of each other's way. Sure I'd like a bigger place, but that wouldn't make me love it here. Even with a grand kitchen.
So what is it about a place that makes it livable and likable? I wish I knew. If I could pinpoint it, maybe I could solve the dilemma.
For each reason I think it might be, I have an argument to counter it. Third world? I love Mexico and Morocco... Rude people? Hello Paris Metro. Nothing to do? I don't do all that much anywhere I live.
So here I am, with a good husband, a good job, good health insurance and making some tax-free money every month. I have the freedom to travel and I'm close enough to all sorts of interesting places.
Maybe it will grow on me. Maybe I will learn to love it.
In the meanwhile, I'm hoping to learn to make the best of it and look on the bright side.
That's one thing Abu Dhabi has going for it: plenty of bright side.
April 25, 2010
April 20, 2010
A Handful of Party Photos
For those of you who didn't catch the link on Paul's post about The National's birthday party (or on Facebook) here they are.
April 19, 2010
Making Me Sick
Food poisoning is a serious issue here, and I fear it's only a matter of time before I get really sick.
Paul and I have gotten ill at least five times in the last six months. Nothing severe, but food poisoning nonetheless. And from curious sources: A strawberry, non-dairy smoothie; packaged, unexpired couscous salad; freshly made hummos from the deli counter (although it may have been in the fridge for about three days after I bought it).
I'm not talking about shellfish -- I think you take a risk with that every time. Nor am I thinking of street food -- I've been to a few dicey places and had no trouble at all. And street food, in fact, has never made me ill.
There is a government campaign going on to try to combat the problem. It's widespread enough that people die from it here. Some children in Dubai ate bad Chinese food a while back and that got people's attention. Especially when, after an investigation, they let the restaurant reopen.
The problem isn't just lack of hygiene, although that's the beginning. It's also the heat. And the distance your food travels. And how it gets to you from wherever you buy it. The sign in the hot food part of the supermarket advises people to eat their food within two hours. On the other hand, if it takes you two hours to get home and it's 90 degrees out, I wouldn't really pay attention to that window.
Some of the problem, too, is culture. Certain cultures like to keep their kitchens a certain way. International cleanliness standards go above and beyond anything most of us do at home. We all know how many really good Chinese restaurants have B food ratings. It's less a concept of being unsanitary than not being familiar with new rules.
After a raid by health inspectors here the other day, a restaurant owner was very put out that he was cited for not having color-coded cutting boards: one for meat and one for veggies. He also didn't understand why he should use a clean rag for, well, cleaning.
Milk has a short shelf life here -- about three days before it expires -- but you can smell that, so you're a little safe there.
It's not as easy as it seems, to avoid getting sick here. Again, there is the heat to contend with. For eight or nine months of the year, temperatures are 90 or above. That means you;ve got to get to your transportation pretty quickly after you leave the grocery store with any chilled items. No waiting for the bus.
The grapes I bought the other day were wrapped in plastic and must have been wet -- the day I went to eat them they were completely moldy along all the stems. Things come from so far away and they use so much extra packaging here, you just have to be really careful.
No matter how careful you might be -- it's all just a crap shoot.
Paul and I have gotten ill at least five times in the last six months. Nothing severe, but food poisoning nonetheless. And from curious sources: A strawberry, non-dairy smoothie; packaged, unexpired couscous salad; freshly made hummos from the deli counter (although it may have been in the fridge for about three days after I bought it).
I'm not talking about shellfish -- I think you take a risk with that every time. Nor am I thinking of street food -- I've been to a few dicey places and had no trouble at all. And street food, in fact, has never made me ill.
There is a government campaign going on to try to combat the problem. It's widespread enough that people die from it here. Some children in Dubai ate bad Chinese food a while back and that got people's attention. Especially when, after an investigation, they let the restaurant reopen.
The problem isn't just lack of hygiene, although that's the beginning. It's also the heat. And the distance your food travels. And how it gets to you from wherever you buy it. The sign in the hot food part of the supermarket advises people to eat their food within two hours. On the other hand, if it takes you two hours to get home and it's 90 degrees out, I wouldn't really pay attention to that window.
Some of the problem, too, is culture. Certain cultures like to keep their kitchens a certain way. International cleanliness standards go above and beyond anything most of us do at home. We all know how many really good Chinese restaurants have B food ratings. It's less a concept of being unsanitary than not being familiar with new rules.
After a raid by health inspectors here the other day, a restaurant owner was very put out that he was cited for not having color-coded cutting boards: one for meat and one for veggies. He also didn't understand why he should use a clean rag for, well, cleaning.
Milk has a short shelf life here -- about three days before it expires -- but you can smell that, so you're a little safe there.
It's not as easy as it seems, to avoid getting sick here. Again, there is the heat to contend with. For eight or nine months of the year, temperatures are 90 or above. That means you;ve got to get to your transportation pretty quickly after you leave the grocery store with any chilled items. No waiting for the bus.
The grapes I bought the other day were wrapped in plastic and must have been wet -- the day I went to eat them they were completely moldy along all the stems. Things come from so far away and they use so much extra packaging here, you just have to be really careful.
No matter how careful you might be -- it's all just a crap shoot.
April 17, 2010
It's a Small World -- But We Already Knew That
In January 1994, I flew to Atlanta to interview for a job. It was a memorable trip for two reasons: I was there the day of the Northridge earthquake and Atlanta was in the middle of an unusual cold snap and an ice storm.
The sports editor drove me around town, giving me his best pitch for a move to Atlanta. It seemed such an alien concept to me. In the end, I accepted a job with the Los Angeles Times.
If you had told me then that I'd end up in France -- a place I had never been to -- in five years I would have laughed. And if you had told me in 2006, when I left France, that I would end up in Abu Dhabi -- well, it's beyond my imagination.
Which brings us to 2010. Here I am in Abu Dhabi, thousands of miles from Atlanta and Los Angeles, and I'm about to go work in the sports department for the first time since 1999. And for the same editor who interviewed me in Atlanta.
Small world indeed. Or, behave well, because what goes around surely comes around.
The sports editor drove me around town, giving me his best pitch for a move to Atlanta. It seemed such an alien concept to me. In the end, I accepted a job with the Los Angeles Times.
If you had told me then that I'd end up in France -- a place I had never been to -- in five years I would have laughed. And if you had told me in 2006, when I left France, that I would end up in Abu Dhabi -- well, it's beyond my imagination.
Which brings us to 2010. Here I am in Abu Dhabi, thousands of miles from Atlanta and Los Angeles, and I'm about to go work in the sports department for the first time since 1999. And for the same editor who interviewed me in Atlanta.
Small world indeed. Or, behave well, because what goes around surely comes around.
April 1, 2010
Passover: Abu Dhabi-style
It wasn't the weirdest Passover seder I've ever been to -- that honor goes to one that ended with a joint passed around the table -- but it was certainly the most makeshift.
I tend to lose track of time here. I'm off on Wednesdays and Fridays and the week starts on Sunday ... I'm always confused. My Mom gave me a heads up last week that Passover was looming. She may have asked what I was going to do.
What indeed. First, I had to find out if there were any Jews at my newspaper. And if you're reading this in the US, you're laughing out loud. No US newspaper has a shortage of Jewish journalists. (Ask anyone: we run the media). Certainly, any English-language daily with 250 editorial employees should have more than me, right? Well, it turns out it does. One more. There are rumors of a third, but if she doesn't want to be named, who am I to out her?
Personally, I like to think I keep a relatively low profile even as a Jew in America. Here, I'm very quiet about it. I had to note my religion on my visa application, but it doesn't appear on the visa itself. Local opinion seems to be "We like Jews just fine -- we just don't like their (i.e., Israel's) politics".
In any case, I made a quiet inquiry and found a religious fellow-traveler. I introduced myself and asked her if she had plans for Passover. She'd been here a few years, I'd been told, so maybe she knew of any other Jews. She said she had no plans, but agreed to try a seder and she invited some others. In the end, we were six: two Jewish girls, one non-Jew who had been in a Jewish sorority, two non-Jewish husbands, one girl from Northern Ireland and a Canadian.
There were rumors of a Passover care package being Fed-Exed from Ohio, but it did not arrive in time. But it's the thought that counts, right? The hostess couldn't find brisket so she made some sort of very tasty smoked meat that looked like brisket. When you live abroad you discover different cultures cut their meat differently. (Kind of like pork steak in Missouri; what part of the pig is a steak?)
There was a nice charoseth made with almonds, and tzimmes -- carrots and raisins simmered with honey and cinnamon. I was making coconut macaroons for dessert, so all we were missing was matzah.
Yeah, the important part. We used Wasa flat bread instead. Obviously that violates the rule of the law, but we felt it was in keeping with the spirit of things. We were making the effort. Surely that counts for something?
I downloaded a Haggadah onto my Kindle. It was called "Ina Gadda Haggadah" and it's like a Cliff's Notes version of the real thing. Perfect, actually, for Passover newcomers. It explained things, had the prayers and songs, and then a few jokes for good measure.
Paul noted the absence of the hills and rams and lambs part though, oft-remarked upon by my brothers.
We all took turns reading and enjoyed the company of new friends. Isn't that in the spirit of Elijah?
It felt a little naughty, to be honest. Sorta underground.
There is no prohibition against what we did. As long as we were in a private home, we could do as we pleased, religion-wise.
But it wasn't your everyday dinner party in Abu Dhabi.
I tend to lose track of time here. I'm off on Wednesdays and Fridays and the week starts on Sunday ... I'm always confused. My Mom gave me a heads up last week that Passover was looming. She may have asked what I was going to do.
What indeed. First, I had to find out if there were any Jews at my newspaper. And if you're reading this in the US, you're laughing out loud. No US newspaper has a shortage of Jewish journalists. (Ask anyone: we run the media). Certainly, any English-language daily with 250 editorial employees should have more than me, right? Well, it turns out it does. One more. There are rumors of a third, but if she doesn't want to be named, who am I to out her?
Personally, I like to think I keep a relatively low profile even as a Jew in America. Here, I'm very quiet about it. I had to note my religion on my visa application, but it doesn't appear on the visa itself. Local opinion seems to be "We like Jews just fine -- we just don't like their (i.e., Israel's) politics".
In any case, I made a quiet inquiry and found a religious fellow-traveler. I introduced myself and asked her if she had plans for Passover. She'd been here a few years, I'd been told, so maybe she knew of any other Jews. She said she had no plans, but agreed to try a seder and she invited some others. In the end, we were six: two Jewish girls, one non-Jew who had been in a Jewish sorority, two non-Jewish husbands, one girl from Northern Ireland and a Canadian.
There were rumors of a Passover care package being Fed-Exed from Ohio, but it did not arrive in time. But it's the thought that counts, right? The hostess couldn't find brisket so she made some sort of very tasty smoked meat that looked like brisket. When you live abroad you discover different cultures cut their meat differently. (Kind of like pork steak in Missouri; what part of the pig is a steak?)
There was a nice charoseth made with almonds, and tzimmes -- carrots and raisins simmered with honey and cinnamon. I was making coconut macaroons for dessert, so all we were missing was matzah.
Yeah, the important part. We used Wasa flat bread instead. Obviously that violates the rule of the law, but we felt it was in keeping with the spirit of things. We were making the effort. Surely that counts for something?
I downloaded a Haggadah onto my Kindle. It was called "Ina Gadda Haggadah" and it's like a Cliff's Notes version of the real thing. Perfect, actually, for Passover newcomers. It explained things, had the prayers and songs, and then a few jokes for good measure.
Paul noted the absence of the hills and rams and lambs part though, oft-remarked upon by my brothers.
We all took turns reading and enjoyed the company of new friends. Isn't that in the spirit of Elijah?
It felt a little naughty, to be honest. Sorta underground.
There is no prohibition against what we did. As long as we were in a private home, we could do as we pleased, religion-wise.
But it wasn't your everyday dinner party in Abu Dhabi.
March 31, 2010
And We're Back
OK.
I didn't realize it had been more than a month since I posted. Time flies and all. And thank you, Michael, for your heartfelt admonishment. I fear once you finish reading this you'll realize I wasn't joking when I said I had nothing to say!
This is the deal -- it's not that nothing has been going on, it's that I can't really write about so much of it. Either it's inappropriately personal, or it has to do with work -- and that's a no no. Or even the country. That's kind of a no-no too.
So, herewith some drips and drabs.
I'm obsessing about vacation right now. Most of you won't relate because you're in America and you're content with your two or three weeks every year, if it's even that good. And your bosses begrudge you even that much. But it's been more than 10 years since I was limited to that kind of vacation time, and counting the part-time and unemployment eras of my recent life, I've had it awfully easy.
Now, I haven't had more than two consecutive days off since early October, and I haven't had two consecutive days off since early January. So I'm really looking to get away.
We are fortunate to be able to take time in late May to go to Italy. I am WAY looking forward to that. Sorrento and Sicily. Sicily is likely to be a little to warm, but what the hell, at least there's stuff to see. And things to eat. And good company. It all sounds good to me.
But now, I'm dying for a mini-break. What we should have done was booked a three- or four-day trip to Istanbul, as our friend Robert did. Take advantage of winter prices and just bug out of town for a couple of days. I went to make a booking for mid April, and prices have doubled. It's crazy. So it's probably not an option.
So I came up with a new idea. What if take a pretend vacation? Stay here in Abu Dhabi in a hotel with a private beach or go to one of the fancies in Dubai -- we save on air fare, we feel like we're far away .... So that may actually happen. I'm aiming for next Thursday. And then I'll post pictures -- like a real vacation!
* * *
You know those shoes little kids have with roller skates built into them? I hate them. I'm certain that as a kid I would have loved them. Now, it's like having a cat underfoot all the time: It's all I can do not to trip over a kid everytime I'm in the mall. Children here aren't particularly well-behaved or even supervised, and they're always underfoot. (Or, as I saw today, on the tables in the food court). And they weave in and out on those stupid roller shoes.
What a cranky old lady, I know.
* * *
I had to replace the power cord on my laptop today. Not a huge deal, fortunately. On the other hand, it's the second time and it's quickly making my bargain laptop much less of a bargain. But the machine itself seems to be trucking along. (Fingers crossed)
Anyway, unlike Hong Kong, where I thought it would be easy to get computer stuff, here it really is easy. I stayed away from the small computer stores, mostly because of (in)convenience as they're all downtown and instead I went to the mall. Got what I wanted right away. Bingo!
Because it's already hot here -- we had two plus-100F days last week, and the avg temp the last two weeks has been low 90s -- running errands takes serious planning. And there's no question I take the easiest way, which is get my taxi driver to take me to the mall and try to accomplish everything possible in that same mall. One trip only.
* * *
Last night they recovered the body of a dead sheikh, who was in a glider accident in Morocco on Friday. He was one of 17-odd half/whole brothers of the ruling sheikh. We were pretty sure he was dead, but nothing could be done since there was no body. So everyone at work has been on pins and needles, waiting for the announcement, which we feared would come at a particularly inopportune time. That was almost the case -- because we had been waiting so long, when news came it was early enough we could scramble and make the paper come together.
In any case, we began a three-day mourning period this morning. And under the heading of how does this affect us, the self-centered of the world ... it means the bars are closed for three days. No alcohol. No upbeat music on the radio. No cultural events. No alcohol. Oh, did I mention that? It's a particular problem because we have a handful of colleagues leaving these last few and upcoming weeks, and so parties to throw and attend. One of them was scheduled for Friday night. Not anymore. And this colleague is going to Kabul, where I doubt she'll be having any raucous parties.
But hey, we're journalists. And more than a few of us are hard-core, hard-drinking Brits. (OK, more than a few of them). Where there's a will, there's a way.
Tomorrow: the Passover seder in the Arab country.
I didn't realize it had been more than a month since I posted. Time flies and all. And thank you, Michael, for your heartfelt admonishment. I fear once you finish reading this you'll realize I wasn't joking when I said I had nothing to say!
This is the deal -- it's not that nothing has been going on, it's that I can't really write about so much of it. Either it's inappropriately personal, or it has to do with work -- and that's a no no. Or even the country. That's kind of a no-no too.
So, herewith some drips and drabs.
I'm obsessing about vacation right now. Most of you won't relate because you're in America and you're content with your two or three weeks every year, if it's even that good. And your bosses begrudge you even that much. But it's been more than 10 years since I was limited to that kind of vacation time, and counting the part-time and unemployment eras of my recent life, I've had it awfully easy.
Now, I haven't had more than two consecutive days off since early October, and I haven't had two consecutive days off since early January. So I'm really looking to get away.
We are fortunate to be able to take time in late May to go to Italy. I am WAY looking forward to that. Sorrento and Sicily. Sicily is likely to be a little to warm, but what the hell, at least there's stuff to see. And things to eat. And good company. It all sounds good to me.
But now, I'm dying for a mini-break. What we should have done was booked a three- or four-day trip to Istanbul, as our friend Robert did. Take advantage of winter prices and just bug out of town for a couple of days. I went to make a booking for mid April, and prices have doubled. It's crazy. So it's probably not an option.
So I came up with a new idea. What if take a pretend vacation? Stay here in Abu Dhabi in a hotel with a private beach or go to one of the fancies in Dubai -- we save on air fare, we feel like we're far away .... So that may actually happen. I'm aiming for next Thursday. And then I'll post pictures -- like a real vacation!
* * *
You know those shoes little kids have with roller skates built into them? I hate them. I'm certain that as a kid I would have loved them. Now, it's like having a cat underfoot all the time: It's all I can do not to trip over a kid everytime I'm in the mall. Children here aren't particularly well-behaved or even supervised, and they're always underfoot. (Or, as I saw today, on the tables in the food court). And they weave in and out on those stupid roller shoes.
What a cranky old lady, I know.
* * *
I had to replace the power cord on my laptop today. Not a huge deal, fortunately. On the other hand, it's the second time and it's quickly making my bargain laptop much less of a bargain. But the machine itself seems to be trucking along. (Fingers crossed)
Anyway, unlike Hong Kong, where I thought it would be easy to get computer stuff, here it really is easy. I stayed away from the small computer stores, mostly because of (in)convenience as they're all downtown and instead I went to the mall. Got what I wanted right away. Bingo!
Because it's already hot here -- we had two plus-100F days last week, and the avg temp the last two weeks has been low 90s -- running errands takes serious planning. And there's no question I take the easiest way, which is get my taxi driver to take me to the mall and try to accomplish everything possible in that same mall. One trip only.
* * *
Last night they recovered the body of a dead sheikh, who was in a glider accident in Morocco on Friday. He was one of 17-odd half/whole brothers of the ruling sheikh. We were pretty sure he was dead, but nothing could be done since there was no body. So everyone at work has been on pins and needles, waiting for the announcement, which we feared would come at a particularly inopportune time. That was almost the case -- because we had been waiting so long, when news came it was early enough we could scramble and make the paper come together.
In any case, we began a three-day mourning period this morning. And under the heading of how does this affect us, the self-centered of the world ... it means the bars are closed for three days. No alcohol. No upbeat music on the radio. No cultural events. No alcohol. Oh, did I mention that? It's a particular problem because we have a handful of colleagues leaving these last few and upcoming weeks, and so parties to throw and attend. One of them was scheduled for Friday night. Not anymore. And this colleague is going to Kabul, where I doubt she'll be having any raucous parties.
But hey, we're journalists. And more than a few of us are hard-core, hard-drinking Brits. (OK, more than a few of them). Where there's a will, there's a way.
Tomorrow: the Passover seder in the Arab country.
February 23, 2010
I Can't Complain
It's been a pretty decent week.
Got a pedicure the other day ... nice when you wear sandals all the time. Skipped out early yesterday for cocktails on the beach at sunset. Got a massage (Valentine's Day gift) tonight after work, my Friday. Treated myself to Indian street food. And I plan to head to the beach tomorrow.
Nope, can't complain at all.
The massage was great. It was in a hotel spa downtown, an oasis of calm in the middle of chaos that is that neighborhood.
Afterward, I went in search of vada pao, sometimes called wada pav. I know I said I hit the Indian food wall the other day, but not really. I've just cut back from many times a week to once or twice.
My colleague has been writing about delicious Indian street food. Here and here. (And yes, this is the same woman who gave me the most valuable information to date: How to make papadam in the microwave.)
I finally find myself in the right neighborhood and I ask the doorman at the hotel where to find the vegetarian snack restaurant. He asks someone and tells me to go down the street and it's right next to the El Dorado theater.
This is good news, because I actually know where the El Dorado theater is. So of course, once I find it, I discover it isn't the right one. It's actually a satellite version, much smaller and specializing in sweet Indian street food.
I call my colleague, apologize for interrupting her personal time and tell her I don't see what she is talking about on the menu. She asks to speak to the guy behind the counter. They speak ... I don't know. Hindi? Bengali? Probably.
He hands the phone to me and she says: You're at the wrong one. Ask him for directions to the restaurant. I hang up and think this isn't going to work out so well, since I had to call her in the first place because the guy didn't speak English.
He tells me "Straight, right at ADCB. Very tall building." So you know I've mentioned the whole address and directions thing. These directions would work much better if I had any idea what the ADCB building was. And I didn't. And telling someone "very tall building" means little when you're in a downtown area filled with high-rises.
Meanwhile, I've received a text -- after I've set off -- that says: Tell him to give you precise directions to their main spot, on Salam Street, behind the ADCB bank's HQ. I'm mumbling to myself. Precise directions? He doesn't speak English. No directions here are precise. But whatever.
Onward I go, undeterred. I cross the busy street via the underpass and make my way toward the water. I'm going straight. The last building before the big-dig construction site that is Salam St seems to have an ADCB on it. I turn right. I'm along the side of the building, next to where Salam St would be if it weren't a gigantic construction site and there is nothing behind this bank building.
I look to my right and see a gas station. I worry that the restaurant is actually across the construction site, on the other side of Salam St. But nobody told me to cross the street. So I wander some more, discover a Thai restaurant I had been wondering about (Aha! There's the Royal Orchid!)
Finally, I find it. By behind the bank building what everyone really meant was behind the bank building and through a construction area one street over and back two blocks through a parking lot.
Of course. But I've found it! Victory!
The waiter is nice (I have been warned that he might not be, and not to take it personally). He brings me a bottle of water, gives me some time to look at the menu, and I look for the wada pav, as it's called here (as opposed to what it seems to be called in Mumbai). There it is, right where it's supposed to be. By now I've forgotten what wada pav is and just know that I want to try it.
I order one, for Dh4.5 ($1.23). Spicy, medium or hot, he asks. Medium.
I am surprised when it comes out. It's an overstuffed sandwich that I am apparently expected to eat with my hands since no utensils have come with it. Imagine a dinner roll -- sort of like the sweet, doughy ones they used to have at Kentucky Fried Chicken. (I'm sorry! That's what they remind me of!) Between the two halves is a fried potato pancake, chunky and golden. There are chopped onions and chutney in there somewhere. The whole thing has a sweet and spicy delicious taste. Flavors I've never had. It's very, very good. I think if I were to discover this at a street stall, I would be amazed.
The waiter asks if there is something else I'd like to try. I get another text: If you are feeling really hungry, order a masala dosa. So that's what I ask for. There are more than 80 items on this one-page menu. I recognize only a few words -- aloo (potato) gobi (cauliflower) and daal (lentils) .
My masala dosa arrives. I don't know exactly what I expected, but this wasn't it. A fried crepe, slightly sweet, stuffed with seasoned potatoes. And it comes with three sauces that, presumably, I am supposed to pour over the crepe, or dip into. I'm not sure which. I get a spoon and a fork, but no knife. And the thing is huge. The first one was a small sandwich with big filling. This is a folded crepe the size of a large plate.
It was unusual and tasty and I can't wait to go back for more. Afterward, the waiter gave me a take-away menu and marked some things I should try next time. He explained that one column was south Indian and another north Indian.
My colleague's final words: That place is a treasure trove! Will require multiple visits.
Got a pedicure the other day ... nice when you wear sandals all the time. Skipped out early yesterday for cocktails on the beach at sunset. Got a massage (Valentine's Day gift) tonight after work, my Friday. Treated myself to Indian street food. And I plan to head to the beach tomorrow.
Nope, can't complain at all.
The massage was great. It was in a hotel spa downtown, an oasis of calm in the middle of chaos that is that neighborhood.
Afterward, I went in search of vada pao, sometimes called wada pav. I know I said I hit the Indian food wall the other day, but not really. I've just cut back from many times a week to once or twice.
My colleague has been writing about delicious Indian street food. Here and here. (And yes, this is the same woman who gave me the most valuable information to date: How to make papadam in the microwave.)
I finally find myself in the right neighborhood and I ask the doorman at the hotel where to find the vegetarian snack restaurant. He asks someone and tells me to go down the street and it's right next to the El Dorado theater.
This is good news, because I actually know where the El Dorado theater is. So of course, once I find it, I discover it isn't the right one. It's actually a satellite version, much smaller and specializing in sweet Indian street food.
I call my colleague, apologize for interrupting her personal time and tell her I don't see what she is talking about on the menu. She asks to speak to the guy behind the counter. They speak ... I don't know. Hindi? Bengali? Probably.
He hands the phone to me and she says: You're at the wrong one. Ask him for directions to the restaurant. I hang up and think this isn't going to work out so well, since I had to call her in the first place because the guy didn't speak English.
He tells me "Straight, right at ADCB. Very tall building." So you know I've mentioned the whole address and directions thing. These directions would work much better if I had any idea what the ADCB building was. And I didn't. And telling someone "very tall building" means little when you're in a downtown area filled with high-rises.
Meanwhile, I've received a text -- after I've set off -- that says: Tell him to give you precise directions to their main spot, on Salam Street, behind the ADCB bank's HQ. I'm mumbling to myself. Precise directions? He doesn't speak English. No directions here are precise. But whatever.
Onward I go, undeterred. I cross the busy street via the underpass and make my way toward the water. I'm going straight. The last building before the big-dig construction site that is Salam St seems to have an ADCB on it. I turn right. I'm along the side of the building, next to where Salam St would be if it weren't a gigantic construction site and there is nothing behind this bank building.
I look to my right and see a gas station. I worry that the restaurant is actually across the construction site, on the other side of Salam St. But nobody told me to cross the street. So I wander some more, discover a Thai restaurant I had been wondering about (Aha! There's the Royal Orchid!)
Finally, I find it. By behind the bank building what everyone really meant was behind the bank building and through a construction area one street over and back two blocks through a parking lot.
Of course. But I've found it! Victory!
The waiter is nice (I have been warned that he might not be, and not to take it personally). He brings me a bottle of water, gives me some time to look at the menu, and I look for the wada pav, as it's called here (as opposed to what it seems to be called in Mumbai). There it is, right where it's supposed to be. By now I've forgotten what wada pav is and just know that I want to try it.
I order one, for Dh4.5 ($1.23). Spicy, medium or hot, he asks. Medium.
I am surprised when it comes out. It's an overstuffed sandwich that I am apparently expected to eat with my hands since no utensils have come with it. Imagine a dinner roll -- sort of like the sweet, doughy ones they used to have at Kentucky Fried Chicken. (I'm sorry! That's what they remind me of!) Between the two halves is a fried potato pancake, chunky and golden. There are chopped onions and chutney in there somewhere. The whole thing has a sweet and spicy delicious taste. Flavors I've never had. It's very, very good. I think if I were to discover this at a street stall, I would be amazed.
The waiter asks if there is something else I'd like to try. I get another text: If you are feeling really hungry, order a masala dosa. So that's what I ask for. There are more than 80 items on this one-page menu. I recognize only a few words -- aloo (potato) gobi (cauliflower) and daal (lentils) .
My masala dosa arrives. I don't know exactly what I expected, but this wasn't it. A fried crepe, slightly sweet, stuffed with seasoned potatoes. And it comes with three sauces that, presumably, I am supposed to pour over the crepe, or dip into. I'm not sure which. I get a spoon and a fork, but no knife. And the thing is huge. The first one was a small sandwich with big filling. This is a folded crepe the size of a large plate.
It was unusual and tasty and I can't wait to go back for more. Afterward, the waiter gave me a take-away menu and marked some things I should try next time. He explained that one column was south Indian and another north Indian.
My colleague's final words: That place is a treasure trove! Will require multiple visits.
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