Sunday, February 20, 2011

Can I Help You Madum?






If you live in the UAE, you get used to the sand, the dust and the poor air-quality, and you're not surprised at the occasional sandstorm. You might even have to walk through the sand to get to your car from your front door, or to your office from the parking lot. Our first house here in the UAE was on a sand road, on which the municipality would run a plough from time to time, in an effort to fill in the ruts and stamp down the drifts, especially after windy spells. This, we thought, was so civilized.

What all of this sand means on a daily basis however, is quickly broken down shoes (the sand eats into the space between the souls and the leather), dirty feet (I see now the symbolic importance of the bible's 'washing of the feet' story), filthy windows on your house (despite regular attempts to clean them), and regular smoggy days. It also means a newly washed car is dirty almost immediately, and a seldom washed car looks like it's just sailed off the dunes from a desert safari.

My own car, a 13 year old Volvo V70, otherwise known as the 'green machine', the 'dream machine', and the 'two-and-a-half Blackberry' (it cost roughly the same as 2 1/2 Blackberries at the fateful time of purchase) is especially susceptible to the dirt, as its forest green color nicely contrasts with the dust that gathers in its crevices. It should be noted that my husband drives a lovely new people-moving SUV, because his schedule allows for the shifting of children from home to school and to various other activities, or so he has argued.

So I am left to care for my ageing car, which means washing it from time to time, when the visibility through the sandy windows becomes a safety concern. And if you need to wash your car, it is easily accomplished, as every mall has a band of car-washers, some with ecofriendly mobile power-washers. Or, many families, ours included, employ a housekeeper whose job might include the washing of cars. As a last resort, if you don't trust the mall-guys and if your housekeeper's job is altogether too full with kid care and cooking, you might have a guy in your neighborhood from India or Pakistan who comes along every second day and washes your car for a monthly fee.

But I have not been satisfied with any of these options, either because they didn't do the stellar job I would expect, or because I simply like to wash my car myself. Why not? When the winter weather brings mild temps and sunny (but dusty) days, it is perfect for hanging out with the garden hose and a bucket taking care of your trusted automobile. Or so you would think.

Yesterday I was out in the sand shoulder in front of our villa working on my green, mean, two and a half blackberry dream machine, and I could not get any peace. It is apparently, such a spectacle, a baseball-hatted white woman actually doing a chore for herself in this culture, that passersby could not help but to offer me solutions. A neighbor I know kindly offered the services of her 'car boy', who 'has his evenings free', and at least three neighborhood workers, either from a nearby construction site, or local gardeners or houskeepers stopped by and gently asked 'Can I Help You Madum?'

The only tempting thing about these offers is that by saying yes, I'm offering work to people who've got very little of it. And if my saying 'no thanks' causes whispers in the neighborhood, I sometimes wonder if I should just give in, go local, and get my own car boy. But alas, I am a nearly middle-aged American woman who enjoys the satisfaction of a job well done. Why shouldn't I wash my own car?

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Jordanian Jaunt
















































In our house here in the dusty suburb of Mirdif, we have a love-hate relationship with the Emirate of Dubai and the entire UAE. For instance, local road etiquette nearly sends my husband Billy packing, straight to the visa cancellation office and onto the next plane for America. It's a kind of harrassment, this driving, like a high-speed up-close lights-flashing tailgate, a 150KPH bumper-to-bumper lane change, and a two-unbuckled-babies in the front seat mentality, which gets so bad sometimes that we sit beside each other in the car and say why, just why are we putting oursleves and our children through this madness, this danger, this reckless disregard. At the same time, if we tire of the normal road home, it's completely acceptable to hop the curb, put the car into four wheel drive and cruise over the dunes when it suits us. Like I said: Love it. Hate it.

But then we take a trip to a lovely nearby country like Oman or a little further afield to Jordan, to the real and slowly modernizing middle-east and we remember the benefits of planting ourselves in what is the Las Vegas of the Arabian Gulf.

Last week we took the three hour flight to Jordan and spent seven days touring the Arab country, rich in biblical and archaeological heritage and friendly to Christians. Yes, our driver even has a Christmas tree. Only right after we left did the politics and protesters start to heat up, and in Jordan's case, a more or less peaceful government changeover is taking place.

The most striking thing for us about Jordan is that the experiences we had seemed uniquely Jordanian. After almost three years in Dubai, I can say with some certainty that a 'real' street corner where people are speaking Arabic is hard to come by. 80 % of the residents here are either Western teachers or other professionals, or minimally paid labourers from India and Sri Lanka, all of whom communicate in English (or Urdu or Pashto..).

In Jordan, when I attempted my very weak Arabic hello: 'Salaam Alaikum', an actual Arabic greeting and even a smile would be sent back my way, a small encouragement to break out my Arabic phrase book (or Blackberry). I was actually inspired to have my six-year-old coach me through the Arabic numbers, just in case.

But the real bonus in Jordan is the sites. The ancient Roman City of Jerash, built out of stone, and the even more ancient 300BC city of Petra, carved into stone, are treasures largely unknown to us before, and in Petra's case, so monumental and amazingly preserved that we were astounded at our failure to come here sooner. What were we waiting for?

In seven days we were able to see most of the highlights, including the Roman City of Jerash near the capital, with its meticulously carved column-tops and recently dug-out Roman shopping nooks. We moved along to the Dead Sea, where we pretended to lie on a sofa and watch TV in the thick but strangely clear water, and then dug up the therapeutic mud to bathe ourselves in the mineral-rich earth. We then carried on to the biblical Lot's Cave, which contains a bread oven and a small tomb, and then spent two nights and one amazing day in Petra.

Petra is at once awe-striking and humbling, both in it's architectural ingenuity and archaeological setting. Traipsing through the 10-foot-wide yet hundreds-of-meters-tall canyon pathway in order to get to the most impressive structures we were stricken by the most visible displays of tectonic shifts - you can see just where the massive formations were broken apart by quakes. Even the kids were more or less quieted by the uniquely massive Treasury building carved completely from gorgeous orange rock, deep into the side of the formation, where you can still peer in to see tombs and imagine the civil goings-on that took place there. If you have stamina, and amazingly even six-year-old Rosie stayed with us, you also can treck via donkey and on foot to the Monastery, set higher up a narrow rocky path, where the remaining structure is even more massive, and if you can hoist yourself into the entryway, they are still allowing you to enter the 1400-year-old building, carved completely into a rock face.

Our children withstood the challenges of this rigourous vacation I am sure because of the breakfasts and our fantastic driver and guide, Ibrahim. As a party of five we were able to book a private 4-star package tour. Surprisingly, what they call 4 stars in Jordan was even posher than expected, with gorgeous breakfast buffets, laid out with egg cooking stations, made-to-order pancakes, local cheeses, granolas, olives, hummous, dried, fresh and preserved fruits and of course, hot dogs and hot chocolate. Only on the very last day was there any moaning and groaning as we toured the Amman Citadel, mostly because climbing on stuff was forbidden.

The day after proudly finishing the 9 hour day at Petra, we were ready to relax and carried on to our final destination of Aqaba. Aqaba is on the Red Sea, just a few Kilometers across from Israel and Egypt. It was just warm enough to swim in the water, which was full of the most beautiful and various colored rocks. The tourist class here seemed to be the whitest and most Western looking people we had come across the whole week. Where were all these tourists in Petra? We didn't see them there. The seaside village of Aqaba was lovely and quiet and experiencing a building boom, with giant ads from AbuDhabi development companies lining the newly finished roads. My guess is it won't be the same when we go back again in a few years time. Lucky us.