Packing and Moving and Moving and Packing

How did I get into this seemingly never-ending cycle?

I have vowed, many times, never to move again. This, of course, was never going to happen, but I never expected this.

Since I left France in 2006 (where I stayed put, essentially, for seven years) I have moved from Paris to Long Beach to Highland to Long Beach to Hong Kong to Long Beach to Abu Dhabi. Within these moves, there were two long-term stays in Paris, one month and three monts, each of which had several subset moves. In Hong Kong, there were three moves., and in Abu Dhabi, so far, two.

Now, we are preparing for another move. We have been asked to house sit for friends who are fortunate to have the entire summer off. They live downtown, a neighborhood we find too crowded, but they have a 14th-floor three-bedroom, three-bathroom palace. We figured why not -- our place is small, a change of scenery would be nice. They have two couches!! And a kitchen!! With a real stove!! Cold water in the showers!! And, best of all: no ants.

We have had an ant infestation since the weather turned super-hot (as opposed to merely really hot). They aren't in the kitchen, thankfully, but they are everywhere else. Climbing up the walls, in and out of outlets in search of ...water? cooler climes? They even drag their food inside to eat it. No kidding -- several times we have seen ants eating a dead bee or some such in our entry way. They have come inside to dine.

We have been reluctant to use poison because it's already hard to breathe here. And our home remedies (Windex) work a little. So there are ants that appear on my computer, and on my arm when I'm on the couch and across the coffee table and in the newspaper. It's maddening. They are tiny and very, very fast.

But back to the move. So now we are preparing to move into this new place until early September. For the time being, I'm packing just enough to get myself to work until my next day off. We don't own anything here, really, so it's just like getting ready for a vacation.

At least that's what I tell myself, as I realize that moving is inevitable in my life these days. Just like death and taxes.

I'm So Hip

There is an expression among women that goes a bit like this: "That (fill-in-the-blank) will go right to my hips."

I've heard it all my life, but it was never an issue for me -- until this week. I was lucky enough to be a skinny girl most of my life. Until I turned 30, and since then it's gone a bit downhill. But I've never been one to worry about dieting or food, really.

Then came the Italian vacation. I didn't worry then, either, and came home to discover that after two weeks of amazing pasta, pizza, pastries and a little gelato, my pants didn't fit. It's not that they were snug. It's that they didn't fit. None of them.

How did I not notice this as I ate my way down the Italian coast? Easy. I was wearing skirts or yoga pants the whole time. Pure comfort. If I had sen it happening, I might have eased off the Italian pastries. (OK, who am I kidding? I adore Italian pastries. My only saving grace in Paris is that I don't like French pastries).

While I acknowledge that I am fortunate it hasn't happened sooner, it still kind of freaks me out. How does that even happen? Two weeks? And in this case, it really did go right to my hips. Not my butt (where it usually goes), my hips.

I refuse to buy new pants, so I'm just going to have to get rid of the weight. A former co-worker said that one time, upon return from an Italian vacation, "my ass was so big I swear I could see moons orbiting its sphere."

So, it's back to salads, and good intentions. No booze, no pasta, no pastries to be sure. I've got to get rid of this extra weight -- in just six weeks I'm heading to France.

I should have stayed at work

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Off work an hour earlier than usual, why not take advantage and go shopping? Real shopping, not grocery shopping. Pick up a few things I need.

I neglected to take one major thing into account: it was Friday night. Like a Saturday at home. What do you do in a country where there's nothing to do? Go to the mall.

Clearly, I was not the only one who had this idea. But I'll skip all the good parts and go straight to the trauma. And I'm not even counting the part where my taxi was rear-ended in a traffic jam trying to get to the mall.

No, it happened at the end. My colleague calls and says he and Paul and some others are going for a drink after their shift ends in 10 minutes. Do I want to join them? Sure.

So, I go outside and it's so humid my glasses fog over. Once they clear, I think I must still be having problems because what I see is roughly 70 people in a line for a cab. I also don't see any cabs. Not a one. None in the distance. None dropping people off. Zero.

I start to consider my options: Wait in line or take a bus. This mall is too far from home to walk back (about 1o miles), and I decided to go at the last minute and I'm wearing rubber flip-flops so even if I were closer, it would be a bad idea.

I go back inside for 10 minutes thinking maybe my timing is just off, that people are leaving in a big surge and things will normalize. Might as well wait somewhere cool than stand outside. When I come back there are now 100 people waiting for a taxi.

There are buses, but the system is Byzantine and there are no routes posted. Each bus has an end location, but that's it. I start to consider it, because I figure once I get somewhere more populated, a taxi won't be a problem. But then I remember the fare is 1 dirham, and I don't have any change. So I stand the line a while longer. Another 35 minutes or so. In this time, I have seen exactly three taxis come through. And there are another 50 people in line now.

There is also a huge crowd at the bus stop. As each bus pulls up (and there are only four), people run to get on. The buses supposedly run in 20-minute cycles, but they aren't regular cycles. So there is a mass of humanity cramming onto the bus that I think I want.

I finally decide to check out the bus option. See if maybe I can give them more than exact change, and let them keep the rest. When I get to the bus, which is not going anywhere near where I want to end up, I just decide to get in with about 60 of my closest friends. I actually get a seat, which is lucky.

Because I will be sitting in it for nearly two hours.

Not only are there no taxis, everyone is trying to leave the parking lot at the same time and there are too many cars. Imagine a Paris transit strike in 95 degree weather combined with the end of a game at the LA Coliseum. Nothing at all is moving.

Something is weird, but I can't tell what it is. Is it simply that it's Friday night? Is it that strange carnival across the road that suddenly appeared? And why isn't there any incoming traffic?

And, as I had two hours to ponder these issues, I figured some of it out. And this part makes it more ridiculous. One of the city's soccer teams played its last game tonight. I assume it won, but it doesn't matter, because it clinched the league title days ago. Tonight, however, is the night everyone decided to celebrate (and by everyone, I mean Emirati men-boys who drive overpowered trucks and SUVs and rev their engines and hang out the windows and sun roofs).

In the 90 minutes it takes my bus to go 500 meters and get out of the parking lot I also notice that traffic along the Corniche, the nearest main artery, is stopped dead. I'm not close enough to actually see it, but I can see the lights. And they're not moving.

It's the men-boys again. They are cruising and mucking up the traffic.

(An aside about traffic: It is the great equalizer. Even rich people in fancy cars can't pay their way out of traffic jams)

Eventually my bus gets to a place I recognize, so I get out. But now there is even more traffic because the cruisers have been diverted. And still there are no taxis (because there is too much traffic!) It's getting ridiculous.

I call Paul and ask him to come and pick me up because I can't get a taxi. Although as I'm waiting for him, they close the road I'm on and I realize he won't be able to get me. So we arrange for me to walk about a kilometer up the road (yes, in flip-flops and yes, now I have a blister between my toes) so that he can get to me.

At this point, I'm walking alongside the men-boys, who are blowing air horns, spraying me with silly string and throwing firecrackers. I am not enjoying myself. Not even a tiny bit. And have I mentioned it is 1:30 in the morning?

Just as I've about had it, an Emirati woman leans out of her SUV three lanes over and tells me to come over and get in. She is actually concerned about me. At the same time, I get a call from Paul saying he is in a taxi just behind me. I thank the woman, wave her off. She tries to insist. I try to tell her my husband is behind me. Finally, I get in the taxi.

And three and a half hours after I first walked out of the mall, I'm finally home.

A Handful of Sites

The longer I'm here, the more great blogs I come across. Recently some friends were teasing me about reading so many blogs, but hey -- that's a hobby, isn't it? (I don't think it's any less valuable than knitting in a place where it's 90 degrees at midnight)

In any case, feel free to take a look. The newest details the um, adventures, of my friend who has just moved to Kabul to help teach reporters to put together an English-language wire service.

Another describes life in Dubai -- and her life, with three kids and lots of staff, isn't remotely like mine.

Anyway, things I like to read.

(Speaking of which, two acquaintances recently published novels, and they come highly recommended. You can find them on Amazon. The Imperfectionists, by Tom Rachman, a former IHT colleague, and The Night Counter, by Alia Yunis, an Angeleno now teaching at Zayed University.)

Both are already on my Kindle, but I'm recommending them on word of mouth, because I'm saving them for my upcoming vacation and both have gotten raves.

My Mini Staycation*

*photos added

I needed a break. Even though my real vacation is just three weeks away, and I've only been working full-time since October, it has felt like ages since I've had a vacation.

Seven weeks a year and then a bout of unemployment will do that to a girl. Not to mention split days off since New Year's.

So I scouted around for a hotel in town that would feel out of town. We contemplated Dubai. Hotel deals are great here for weekenders, but not if you want to go on Wednesday and Thursday -- the days we had off. (Did I mention it was also the first time Paul and I had the same days off since we arrived?)

So this is what I did. On Wednesday I slept late and went to the beach. Good start, eh? I finished a so-so crime novel (An aside here: Who thinks Jesse Kellerman only got a book deal because his parents are Jonathan and Faye? Me.) and just generally relaxed. I was going to rent a lounge chair and an umbrella, but it was overcast, so I spread out on my towel. I also contemplated having a little lunch in one of the great boardwalk cafes that have cushy couches and swing seats -- but no, I wasn't hungry. This is the benefit of vacation: you can change your plans at will.

When I got home Paul and I got ready to go to a swanky bar for good-bye drinks for a colleague of ours. I'm sorry he's leaving, actually. But one day he woke up and decided he'd had enough. That happens a lot.

On Thursday I went to the mall. Sounds not so special, doesn't it? Well I actually went shopping. Usually, I have a very small window at the mall and have to do the grocery shopping in a certain time-frame. The sole reasons for this are crowds and taxis. Too much of one and not enough of the other. But here I was in the middle of the day. Leisurely looking at long skirts and cute tops.
Of course then I did do the grocery shopping (hey, the family still has to eat, right?)

After, I came home and got cleaned up for our "Big Night Out". The coup de grace of my staycation. We had made reservations at Bord Eau in the Shangri-La Hotel. The best restaurant in town at one of the nicest hotels. I really like that area because it feels out of town and it really isn't -- about 15 minutes away.

We hoped to get there for sunset, but I lagged. But we caught the tail end of it, and I'll post pictures ASAP. The view from the hotel area (there are three hotels, all pretty nice) is of the private beach area, an inlet of the Arabian Sea called The creek, and the Grand Mosque. Also some ugly construction, but it was my fantasy vacation, so I saw what I wanted to.

We arrived too early for our reservation, and so decided to wander along the beachfront. Then, to the rooftop bar of a restaurant called Pearls and Caviar, for happy hour. The space is lovely. Big sail-cloth ceilings and couches to lounge on. There was soft techno ambient music playing, and three couples a huge, circular space with the large bar in the middle. No one had to sit near anyone else. The back of the bar was roped off, presumably for VIPs, for later in the night. Bottles of expensive Champagne and vodka were chilling.

Part of the point of the happy hour, we assumed, was to get people there early, when it's still empty so that it isn't. (That made sense, right?)

So we lounged, sipping very nice mojitos and looking at the water. And we pretended we were somewhere, anywhere, else. I don't think we made a decision as to where we were. But we weren't in Abu Dhabi. That was the plan.

After cocktails, we strolled back to our restaurant. It's a newsroom favorite among a certain crowd and they said they would put in a good word for us. That good word got us an excellent table by the window with an equally excellent view of the water and the lit-up mosque. A stunning room, very opulent.

This was going to be our big splurge. Instead of the hotel, we opted for a fancy meal at a French restaurant. But splurges here are more like what real restaurants cost in big cities. Not so horrible. And I had a plan: The newspaper was offering a gift certificate to various fancy restaurants worth Dh500 if we subscribed to the paper for a year. The yearly cost is Dh300. We planned to subscribe eventually, so now was the perfect time. Free money. for a fancy staycation dinner.

We were greeted warmly in a city not know for its service. We were offered complimentary glasses of Joseph Perrier champagne, with a bit of raspberry liqueur. Kir royales. Some lovely nibbles.

The waiter read the menu to me while I held it, turning the pages he described everything on offer. After, the maitre d' came by to see how we were. He asked me in French and I replied in kind. Someone must have tipped him; it was entirely pleasant and made the whole thing even nicer.

I opted for the five-course tasting menu. Paul, who is much more sensible than I, opted for far fewer courses. I also decided to do the wine pairing. I have never done a tasting menu, and done a pairing only once, but not for so many courses. The food was flawless. And the pairing was lovely. My only problem is cocktails+champagne+five tastings = a little too much to drink.

The menu, briefly, for those who wonder: An amuse bouche of roquette and ricotta in pumpkin veloute. Another amuse bouche, I suspect just for us, of lobster and morelles in a light curry sauce. OMG.

My first course: Pan-seard foie gras in a gingerbread crust on finely chopped chestnuts. It was paired with what tasted like a Sauternes, but I didn't catch it when the waiter mentioned the name.

Second course: A pair of perfectly cooked scallops in a lovely sauce and nope, I don't remember any other details. I remember thinking the portion was perfect. The wine was a completely non-oaky Chardonnay from, I think, Australia.

Third course: Monkfish with tapenade and a choice of vintage olive oils to eat it with. I chose French, one that had something to do with Alain Ducasse and one that was Belarussian. The latter was the most flavorful. The monkfish, which I had actually been warned off, was very nice. It was served with a Chablis.

Fourth course: A small Black Angus filet served with peas and the restaurant's famous mashed potatoes with truffle oil. Sublime. I haven't had steak in maybe a year and I eat almost no beef here. Delicious. Paired with a very nice Medoc.

Fifth course: I asked if I could have the cheese course instead of the dessert. Of course it was no problem. Five cheeses, including a St Marcelin and a Fourme d'Ambert. Some not-too-toasted toast, and it was fabulous. As was the glass of Port it came with.

I was full at the finish, but not stuffed. I do regret having had so much to drink, only because I think it was a bit excessive. But it didn't ruin my meal -- not by a long shot.

After, the bill, with the help of the gift card, was extraordinarily reasonable.

Paul escorted me out of the hotel, poured me into a taxi and I happily went to sleep.

The perfect staycation.

What's That Smell

I had never thought of myself as having a particularly keen sense of smell. But in the last few years it has become increasingly clear that I do.

I can walk into a market and smell ripe peaches and strawberries and be filled with delight. I think my sense of smell has helped with my sense of taste -- nearly 70 percent of what we taste is related to what we smell. I like to think I can identify different ingredients in my food.

But it's not all roses out there.

I am also finely attuned to unpleasant smells. Paul can never smell these things. He says he's blessed. (Yesterday at work, I told him one of the stray cats must be annoyed; I was certain I smelled cat in one of the hallways leading outside. He didn't notice)

But forget pet smells and other unpleasant things like Metro stations or foreign taxi drivers. The thing that bothers me most is the smell of mildew.

One summer in Paris I was plagued by the smell. For weeks, everywhere I went it overwhelmed me. I was sniffing everything. It wasn't my clothes. Nobody around me ever noticed it. It was driving me mad. Finally, with the help of a very understanding friend, I realized it was me after all. My hair had mildewed.

Yes, it's gross. I know. It must have been during the heat wave in 2003 and I was always hot; it was impossible to cool down. So each morning I would take a cold shower and go out with my wet hair tied up. This went on for several weeks. Ultimately, it never dried, and thus the mildew. Ewww, huh?

That particular smell isn't one you encounter often in the states, because people have dryers in their home. There is usually no problem of leaving the clothes in the washer too long (and if you do, you know right away) and clothes dry fully.

This is not the case here. Clothes never dry fully. Even when they are put outside in the heat, there's always a dampness to them. And always a dampness in the apartment. It doesn't feel damp, but I can smell it in my freshly washed clothes.

It drives me crazy to put on clothes that smell like this, even faintly. And at work, it's not uncommon to sit near someone who also has that smell. How does everyone else not notice this?

One solution may be to send everything to the laundry, instead of just sheets and towels and clothes that need to be ironed.

The other might be just not to breathe too deeply.

A Sunny Outlook on Life

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.