Sadly, I take few pleasures from life in the Gulf. But going to the beach in December is one of them.
It is the start of beach season here. After an eight-month summer, the lovely weather has finally arrived. Families are out and about, hitting the parks and beaches.
The country inaugurated winter with a four-day weekend last week, and I stayed away because of the crowds (ok and because we were moving and I was sick). Instead, I went to the beach today and it was beautiful. It wasn't a really nice day -- too much smog -- but being at the beach alleviates all that for me.
When I'm stretched out on a lounge chair, with a book (or a kindle) in hand, listening to the water lap the shore, there's nothing better. No matter how many times in my life I do this, I don't think I'll ever stop being surprised at how therapeutic it all feels.
We plan to make the most of the winter. Maybe get a barbecue for our new, more-spacious patio. And I plan to spend more time at the beach.
A New Year's resolution.
December 11, 2010
October 23, 2010
Another Paris Interlude
Yes, yes, I realize it's been more than two months since I blogged. You see, I get these ideas and then ... I know, you don't care. You just want to see something, anything, written in this space.
I get that. Really I do. And my intentions are good. But I get an idea and then when I get to the computer ... I'd like to say it's age related, but I'm just kind of bad at remembering.
We are finishing up a three-week trip to France that has been very relaxing and easy-going. One week house hunting in the south, in the Languedoc region, and two weeks in Paris. The house hunting was interesting, but not terribly fruitful. And because two job leads fell through, not entirely practical, either.
Back in the city it feels like home to me. I'm oddly comfortable here. I probably wrote that in the previous post, too, and it remains true, even though the Paris of summer -- empty, warm, endlessly light -- has disappeared in October.
We went to the food fair -- my parents' excuse for visiting us here during this trip -- and came back with armagnac, foie gras and lovely fig chutney. And some death trumpets. Those are deep black mushrooms with an earthy taste and a bit of a chewy texture. The mushrooms have been one of the highlights of this visit. Being here in the fall brings with it so many good food things: pumpkin soup, fricassee of wild mushrooms, roasted figs ... It's my favorite time of year.
We also had the opportunity to go to Deauville to watch a friend's horse race. The horse, George, didn't finish in the money, but she is optimistic about his future. See below
In terms of being optimistic for the future -- what other options are there? We've had so much time to think lately, and ponder options and wants and needs. We're sort of sure what we want, we're not entirely sure of how to get it, and yet I am certain we will.
How's that for optimism?
I get that. Really I do. And my intentions are good. But I get an idea and then when I get to the computer ... I'd like to say it's age related, but I'm just kind of bad at remembering.
We are finishing up a three-week trip to France that has been very relaxing and easy-going. One week house hunting in the south, in the Languedoc region, and two weeks in Paris. The house hunting was interesting, but not terribly fruitful. And because two job leads fell through, not entirely practical, either.
Back in the city it feels like home to me. I'm oddly comfortable here. I probably wrote that in the previous post, too, and it remains true, even though the Paris of summer -- empty, warm, endlessly light -- has disappeared in October.
We went to the food fair -- my parents' excuse for visiting us here during this trip -- and came back with armagnac, foie gras and lovely fig chutney. And some death trumpets. Those are deep black mushrooms with an earthy taste and a bit of a chewy texture. The mushrooms have been one of the highlights of this visit. Being here in the fall brings with it so many good food things: pumpkin soup, fricassee of wild mushrooms, roasted figs ... It's my favorite time of year.
We also had the opportunity to go to Deauville to watch a friend's horse race. The horse, George, didn't finish in the money, but she is optimistic about his future. See below
In terms of being optimistic for the future -- what other options are there? We've had so much time to think lately, and ponder options and wants and needs. We're sort of sure what we want, we're not entirely sure of how to get it, and yet I am certain we will.
How's that for optimism?
August 17, 2010
Comfortable Again
We interrupt the usual Abu Dhabi whine-fest to detail the joys of being back in Paris.
Paris is a funny place. When I left, in 2006, I definitely needed a break from it. I suspect that is true of all cities, and maybe all places. Sometimes you just need to deal with a completely different set of circumstances.
In the last year or so, especially after we spent five weeks here last summer, we have been trying to return permanently. Paris, it is clear to me, is where my home should be. I am more comfortable here than I am in California. I know this place, and it suits me.
All sorts of ideas are cropping up in my efforts to figure out how to get back here, more or less permanently. How long must I work in Abu Dhabi to afford living here without constant work? What sort of company can I start that will fund a meager lifestyle? Is there anyone who needs a freelancer with my particular talents?
We stayed in the 11th arrondissement when we arrived. More than ten years ago, when I first spent time in that neighborhood, it was awful. Sketchy and dangerous. Now, it's more vibrant, a little more gentrified, a lot more expensive. There are still some dubious characters hanging around -- it seems to be a favorite spot for 20-something junkies and their dogs -- but it's nothing like it was in 1998. Or even 2004.
Part of this neighborhood wandering we are doing is to try to suss out where we would like to live. Some if it is pure daydreaming, but the reality is if we come back here, we won't be able to afford the old neighborhood -- the 7th -- and that's a shame.
Each trip back here we find new opportunities and get a little closer to life goals we weren't aware we had. And it's been a fabulous adventure.
Paris is a funny place. When I left, in 2006, I definitely needed a break from it. I suspect that is true of all cities, and maybe all places. Sometimes you just need to deal with a completely different set of circumstances.
In the last year or so, especially after we spent five weeks here last summer, we have been trying to return permanently. Paris, it is clear to me, is where my home should be. I am more comfortable here than I am in California. I know this place, and it suits me.
All sorts of ideas are cropping up in my efforts to figure out how to get back here, more or less permanently. How long must I work in Abu Dhabi to afford living here without constant work? What sort of company can I start that will fund a meager lifestyle? Is there anyone who needs a freelancer with my particular talents?
We stayed in the 11th arrondissement when we arrived. More than ten years ago, when I first spent time in that neighborhood, it was awful. Sketchy and dangerous. Now, it's more vibrant, a little more gentrified, a lot more expensive. There are still some dubious characters hanging around -- it seems to be a favorite spot for 20-something junkies and their dogs -- but it's nothing like it was in 1998. Or even 2004.
Part of this neighborhood wandering we are doing is to try to suss out where we would like to live. Some if it is pure daydreaming, but the reality is if we come back here, we won't be able to afford the old neighborhood -- the 7th -- and that's a shame.
Each trip back here we find new opportunities and get a little closer to life goals we weren't aware we had. And it's been a fabulous adventure.
August 4, 2010
(Fill in the Blank) Need not Apply
In the US, while we still have pay disparities between men and women and, I'm certain, between people of different races, it is nothing compared to what goes on here in the UAE.
It is not unusual for someone to advertise a job and say "Indians only" or Filipinos, for that matter. And your nationality is the key to your pay. If you are from the west -- Europe, North America, Australia -- you can command a salary far higher than someone with similar experience and education.
Salaries here at the paper run the gamut. And there are definite rumors that those journalists from the sub-continent are not paid as well as those from Great Britain for doing equal work. A colleague's wife is a naturalized American citizen from Russia. She was applying for a job, haggling at the point of salary. The manager, a Singaporean, was unwilling to pay her more than he, himself, made. And he told her he could get a Russian cheaper. She stubbornly told him that she was American, not Russian. It's a curious thing: citizenship determining salary.
This plays out in all fields. Filipina maids can earn more than Indian maids. Families are particular about which nationalities they have in their home. There is no great equalizer here -- everyone speaks English, those who are educated are often well-educated. I suspect at some point, skin color comes into play, too. But with the nationality looming large, it's hard to see.
It is not unusual for someone to advertise a job and say "Indians only" or Filipinos, for that matter. And your nationality is the key to your pay. If you are from the west -- Europe, North America, Australia -- you can command a salary far higher than someone with similar experience and education.
Salaries here at the paper run the gamut. And there are definite rumors that those journalists from the sub-continent are not paid as well as those from Great Britain for doing equal work. A colleague's wife is a naturalized American citizen from Russia. She was applying for a job, haggling at the point of salary. The manager, a Singaporean, was unwilling to pay her more than he, himself, made. And he told her he could get a Russian cheaper. She stubbornly told him that she was American, not Russian. It's a curious thing: citizenship determining salary.
This plays out in all fields. Filipina maids can earn more than Indian maids. Families are particular about which nationalities they have in their home. There is no great equalizer here -- everyone speaks English, those who are educated are often well-educated. I suspect at some point, skin color comes into play, too. But with the nationality looming large, it's hard to see.
July 30, 2010
Picking Through the Plastic
The amount of packaging here, for food products, is phenomenal. At our home, we go through an appalling amount of plastic wrap and plastic containers and foil and wrappers. We do recycle the containers by washing and reusing them, but there are so many other things we have no control over.
When I go to the grocery store, if I have bought any fresh food, I will emerge with between seven and ten plastic containers. Each one of these will be double-wrapped in plastic wrap. If the food is meat of some sort, then it will be on a styrofoam tray, wrapped in foil and then wrapped in plastic wrap. Muffins come in cupcake papers, in cardboard cupcake holders on top of styrofoam and wrapped in plastic wrap.
It's pretty awful.
And what made me think about this is actually cookies. There are some sugar wafers they sell here that I like. They appear to be made in Dubai, (the company is based in the UAE_ but imported from Lebanon. They also have English, and Spanish on the label. That kind of throws me -- the Spanish.
But perhaps their origin explains the packaging. They are sealed in a foil packet, and then put into a cardboard box. Then they are wrapped again in a foil-type wrapper. Because they are sugar wafers, they don't hold up well in the humidity. This is the only explanation I can think of.
Yet there is no question that everything here is over-packaged. Coming from a culture where it has been drilled into us to recycle and re-use, it's maddening to find the trash filled only with plastic and packaging. And it makes me feel guilty, because I know better.
But recycling is a long way off here. There are recycling bins in some places, and some neighborhoods claim to recycle. But anecdotal information tells us that the recyle trash bins go into the same truck with the regular trash. And if even if the municipality supported recylcling ... where would this happen? We have no recycling plants.
I still think there must be a better way. I have no idea what it is, though, so I do my part by re-using my plastic forks and washing my plastic containers. a
When I go to the grocery store, if I have bought any fresh food, I will emerge with between seven and ten plastic containers. Each one of these will be double-wrapped in plastic wrap. If the food is meat of some sort, then it will be on a styrofoam tray, wrapped in foil and then wrapped in plastic wrap. Muffins come in cupcake papers, in cardboard cupcake holders on top of styrofoam and wrapped in plastic wrap.
It's pretty awful.
And what made me think about this is actually cookies. There are some sugar wafers they sell here that I like. They appear to be made in Dubai, (the company is based in the UAE_ but imported from Lebanon. They also have English, and Spanish on the label. That kind of throws me -- the Spanish.
But perhaps their origin explains the packaging. They are sealed in a foil packet, and then put into a cardboard box. Then they are wrapped again in a foil-type wrapper. Because they are sugar wafers, they don't hold up well in the humidity. This is the only explanation I can think of.
Yet there is no question that everything here is over-packaged. Coming from a culture where it has been drilled into us to recycle and re-use, it's maddening to find the trash filled only with plastic and packaging. And it makes me feel guilty, because I know better.
But recycling is a long way off here. There are recycling bins in some places, and some neighborhoods claim to recycle. But anecdotal information tells us that the recyle trash bins go into the same truck with the regular trash. And if even if the municipality supported recylcling ... where would this happen? We have no recycling plants.
I still think there must be a better way. I have no idea what it is, though, so I do my part by re-using my plastic forks and washing my plastic containers. a
July 29, 2010
Random Thoughts
Random and pointless musing:
It takes a bit of ingenuity to live in a foreign country. It's not that it's difficult, per se, it's just that things are not always done in a manner you are used to.
After living in France so long, I know the French tricks by now. For example, you can't buy aspirin in a grocery store, you must go to the pharmacy. And if you forget how much income tax you owe you can simply go to your local tax bureau and ask them. You can buy stamps at the post office -- or at a bar that sells cigarettes. I had a whole list of these things, but of course now I've forgotten them.
(And an aside: this is why I haven't been blogging -- I get ideas and then forget them by the time I'm anywhere near the computer)
In any case, Abu Dhabi is no different. You can get just about anything you want here -- it's probably better, even, than the US in that sense -- but you need to know where to look. And, of course, that's the trick.
We are staying downtown for the summer, as I'm sure we've mentioned, in a high-rise apartment. Below us are dozens of tiny shops that sell hardware and materials. I don't know exactly what they sell, but they seem to pack a ton of stuff into their little shops.
Like other cities (Hong Kong, for example) the businesses here tend to cluster. We are in the hardware neighborhood. Several blocks over is the cellphone neighborhood, and closer to work is the tailor neighborhood. In these little enclaves, there are dozens of the same businesses. I don't have any idea how this works, in terms of competition.
In any case, I have gone to the little stores for various things, never knowing until I get there if they will have what I want. Tonight, I needed a light bulb. I'm pretty sure I could get one at the big supermarket, but I already did my week's shopping, and I'm not going back until I have to.
Keep in mind, too, that the temperature hasn't dipped below 95 in months, so when I go out, I plan it pretty carefully.
I decided I would go to the little shops tonight, after work. Somehow it seems a bit cooler at night, even though it isn't, really. So I walk over and out of six shops on the nearest side street, five are closed. I forgot that it is Thursday night, and while big shops are open later, small shops close earlier. And these shops cater to builders and handymen; Friday is the one day they take off.
I walk into the store, a bit tentatively. There are faucets and electrical adapters and drills on the walls. I have been to a store like this and had keys made and bought drill bits. Almost nothing is accessible by the consumer. The man behind the counter takes the proffered light bulb from me, and turns to the jam-packed wall behind him. Then, he slides out a hidden shelf filled with light bulbs.
He takes down a package of bulbs, opens the box, compares the bulb to mine and says: "Only frosted." My bulb is clear. I think a minute, and figure well, at least it will last until I can get to a place that sells clear bulbs. Remember, it's (and I've just looked this up) 97 degrees, feels like 118 ... I'm not interested in turning this into a project.
So I say fine. He says four dirhams. I think I've misheard him -- four dirhams is $1.09. For two specialty light bulbs. I give him a five, and he gives me back two -- saying there's a discount. There's always a discount, and I never know why or when. Prices are incredibly flexible here.
Now I have two lightbulbs. That's the whole story. I thought it would be more interesting. But it's not.
Wait till I write about shopping for clothes.
It takes a bit of ingenuity to live in a foreign country. It's not that it's difficult, per se, it's just that things are not always done in a manner you are used to.
After living in France so long, I know the French tricks by now. For example, you can't buy aspirin in a grocery store, you must go to the pharmacy. And if you forget how much income tax you owe you can simply go to your local tax bureau and ask them. You can buy stamps at the post office -- or at a bar that sells cigarettes. I had a whole list of these things, but of course now I've forgotten them.
(And an aside: this is why I haven't been blogging -- I get ideas and then forget them by the time I'm anywhere near the computer)
In any case, Abu Dhabi is no different. You can get just about anything you want here -- it's probably better, even, than the US in that sense -- but you need to know where to look. And, of course, that's the trick.
We are staying downtown for the summer, as I'm sure we've mentioned, in a high-rise apartment. Below us are dozens of tiny shops that sell hardware and materials. I don't know exactly what they sell, but they seem to pack a ton of stuff into their little shops.
Like other cities (Hong Kong, for example) the businesses here tend to cluster. We are in the hardware neighborhood. Several blocks over is the cellphone neighborhood, and closer to work is the tailor neighborhood. In these little enclaves, there are dozens of the same businesses. I don't have any idea how this works, in terms of competition.
In any case, I have gone to the little stores for various things, never knowing until I get there if they will have what I want. Tonight, I needed a light bulb. I'm pretty sure I could get one at the big supermarket, but I already did my week's shopping, and I'm not going back until I have to.
Keep in mind, too, that the temperature hasn't dipped below 95 in months, so when I go out, I plan it pretty carefully.
I decided I would go to the little shops tonight, after work. Somehow it seems a bit cooler at night, even though it isn't, really. So I walk over and out of six shops on the nearest side street, five are closed. I forgot that it is Thursday night, and while big shops are open later, small shops close earlier. And these shops cater to builders and handymen; Friday is the one day they take off.
I walk into the store, a bit tentatively. There are faucets and electrical adapters and drills on the walls. I have been to a store like this and had keys made and bought drill bits. Almost nothing is accessible by the consumer. The man behind the counter takes the proffered light bulb from me, and turns to the jam-packed wall behind him. Then, he slides out a hidden shelf filled with light bulbs.
He takes down a package of bulbs, opens the box, compares the bulb to mine and says: "Only frosted." My bulb is clear. I think a minute, and figure well, at least it will last until I can get to a place that sells clear bulbs. Remember, it's (and I've just looked this up) 97 degrees, feels like 118 ... I'm not interested in turning this into a project.
So I say fine. He says four dirhams. I think I've misheard him -- four dirhams is $1.09. For two specialty light bulbs. I give him a five, and he gives me back two -- saying there's a discount. There's always a discount, and I never know why or when. Prices are incredibly flexible here.
Now I have two lightbulbs. That's the whole story. I thought it would be more interesting. But it's not.
Wait till I write about shopping for clothes.
July 10, 2010
No Drinking Problem Here
I was aware of the unusual circumstances surrounding alcohol before I moved here. To wit, only non-Muslims may drink legally, and one may drink publicly only in hotel bars and restaurants. (This is a slight oversimplification, but you get the point).
In any case, I made sure to pack my trusty corkscrew. It's a waiter's corkscrew, with a double notch and it makes it easy to take the cork out -- no strenuous pulling.
Interestingly, though, I have rarely used it. Not, of course, because I am not drinking. Ha. But because almost all the wine available here has a screw top. It's a bit weird, and at first it doesn't seem like you're drinking wine. I like the ritual of pulling the cork, the satisfying pop it makes when it comes out.
But I have to say -- the screw tops are pretty easy. And on those rare occasions when we don't finish a bottle, we just put the top on and open it later. It keeps quite nicely.
As I mentioned, we are staying downtown, at the home of some friends. The apartment is well-located, about a half-block from a very large liquor store. You wouldn't know it was a liquor store, of course, unless someone told you. There are no windows or signs indicating what it is. It's just a red building.
I went last week, and took a colleague's just-arrived wife with me. I have a liquor license, and she doesn't (yet). So we went on a bit of a spree. There was a sale, with wine 40 percent off. Since the tax on wine is 30 percent, that can make for some well-priced bottles.
I have not seen many familiar labels, outside of the Australian wines. But it's been fun trying to pick and guess what might be decent.
One especially amusing grouping of French wines caught my eye: a Longue-Dog (with a picture of a dachshound) and a Chat en Oeuf (a cat sitting on an egg). I thought the puns were hysterical. A Languedoc and a Chateau-Neuf; how incredibly clever.
We opened the Longue Dog last night --it is a grenache syrah blend, a vin de pays d'oc or a tablewine. Blends, and wine made from out-of-region grapes in France are not afforded any AOC designation, but that doesn't make them less good.
In any case, the bottle was originally priced at Dh35, or about $9.50. Wine doesn't get much cheaper than that here. Plus the 40 percent off made it a bargain.
It was actually very good. Drinkable, smooth ... no complaints here. So I will buy it agian, and be amused when I do so. And next, we will try the Chat en Oeuf.
In any case, I made sure to pack my trusty corkscrew. It's a waiter's corkscrew, with a double notch and it makes it easy to take the cork out -- no strenuous pulling.
Interestingly, though, I have rarely used it. Not, of course, because I am not drinking. Ha. But because almost all the wine available here has a screw top. It's a bit weird, and at first it doesn't seem like you're drinking wine. I like the ritual of pulling the cork, the satisfying pop it makes when it comes out.
But I have to say -- the screw tops are pretty easy. And on those rare occasions when we don't finish a bottle, we just put the top on and open it later. It keeps quite nicely.
As I mentioned, we are staying downtown, at the home of some friends. The apartment is well-located, about a half-block from a very large liquor store. You wouldn't know it was a liquor store, of course, unless someone told you. There are no windows or signs indicating what it is. It's just a red building.
I went last week, and took a colleague's just-arrived wife with me. I have a liquor license, and she doesn't (yet). So we went on a bit of a spree. There was a sale, with wine 40 percent off. Since the tax on wine is 30 percent, that can make for some well-priced bottles.
I have not seen many familiar labels, outside of the Australian wines. But it's been fun trying to pick and guess what might be decent.
One especially amusing grouping of French wines caught my eye: a Longue-Dog (with a picture of a dachshound) and a Chat en Oeuf (a cat sitting on an egg). I thought the puns were hysterical. A Languedoc and a Chateau-Neuf; how incredibly clever.
We opened the Longue Dog last night --it is a grenache syrah blend, a vin de pays d'oc or a tablewine. Blends, and wine made from out-of-region grapes in France are not afforded any AOC designation, but that doesn't make them less good.
In any case, the bottle was originally priced at Dh35, or about $9.50. Wine doesn't get much cheaper than that here. Plus the 40 percent off made it a bargain.
It was actually very good. Drinkable, smooth ... no complaints here. So I will buy it agian, and be amused when I do so. And next, we will try the Chat en Oeuf.
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