tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53280561093208362632024-02-08T06:17:34.726+04:00Another Day, Another PetrodollarLearning to love the United Arab Emirates, one day at a time.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-89544750722240613202009-03-21T20:35:00.008+04:002009-03-23T19:01:26.411+04:00A Book Fair in a Land of Oil<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA6bmItjc-rg_wzyChR6PKuZUDGhKqLYRa7I8MryDueFaS7FS_Kj75a-skSO_bQXSEyspFKVdvZwRmRaA5F2bpxq8XxFMD7p1b7hBF2Z3Soqw6XK-BYX40cRRGfntzT8INOwWtJDV_sHSy/s1600-h/book+fair+logo.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 190px; height: 127px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA6bmItjc-rg_wzyChR6PKuZUDGhKqLYRa7I8MryDueFaS7FS_Kj75a-skSO_bQXSEyspFKVdvZwRmRaA5F2bpxq8XxFMD7p1b7hBF2Z3Soqw6XK-BYX40cRRGfntzT8INOwWtJDV_sHSy/s320/book+fair+logo.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316397551894496450" border="0" /></a>Yesterday the 19th Abu Dhabi International Book Fair wrapped up after six days of cultural events and professional programs, children's activities, book signings, and panel discussions, all staged inside the National Exhibition Centre at the outskirts of the capital. Aisle after aisle of colorful stands crammed with books and other publishing-related merchandise ran the length of the main hall, a space whose exposed pipework, unrelenting lighting, and lofty ceilings contrive to remind one of an airport hanger.<br /><br />Embedded within this principal area were smaller venues dedicated to the fair's many sideshow offerings: a brightly clad children's corner where youngsters could make bookmarks and watch puppet shows; several forums for seminars on everything from translation to digital publishing; a high-tech soundproof box designed to give performing poets an illusion of solitude as they recited their work for an audience listening through headphones outside; a miniature fair-inside-a-fair for antique books, maps, and prints, many selling for thousands of dollars (the sale of the world's third-largest Quran here was one of the fair's most publicized transactions); and a stylish show kitchen where twice a day a rotating lineup of chefs demonstrated their culinary techniques to the public.<br /><br />My own part in this collage of activity was to staff the press center, after having spent the last month helping out at the office of the fair's organizers. The ADIBF is run by a company called Kitab ('book' in Arabic), a joint venture project between the Abu Dhabi government's Authority for Culture and Heritage and the Frankfurt Book, which was established a year and a half ago to help bring the existing AD book fair up to speed with industry trends and, more importantly, to put Abu Dhabi on the cultural map as a publishing hub in the Arab Gulf.<br /><br />The first of these goals has certainly been accomplished, and with aplomb--the fair was a model of professionalism and class, with neatly labeled stands, a bulky catalog of over 600 exhibitors, multilingual cordless translation earpieces available at every lecture, and an endless supply of free wireless internet and coffee (the bread and butter of any journalist) for the media.<br /><br />The second goal is more problematic. No matter how much money the Abu Dhabi government is willing to divert to publishing enterprises here, whether they are startup operations just getting off the ground or local branches of major international publishing conglomerates, the publishing industry in the Arab world suffers from several significant ills that money alone won't fix.<br /><br />The distribution network here is woefully underdeveloped for both the local and regional markets. In Cairo, for example, each major Arabic publishing house in the city sells its books only at its own bookstores, while differing censorship laws, customs regulations, the lack of a formal ISBN system, and general disorganization have typically impeded the migration of books across national borders.<br /><br />Another problem is the rampant disrespect for copyright law that plagues the Middle East, whether manifested in the cheaply bound copies of AUC Press manuscripts fished from the trash bin that used to appear at sidewalk bookstalls in Cairo or the branded logos freely slapped onto everything from shoes to soda to lend them an air of first-world authenticity. It is difficult for Abu Dhabi to attract top authors and publishers to settle here when there’s no guarantee that their books won’t turn up in a back alley selling for half the market price.<br /><br />Finally, it’s incredibly difficult for authors to make money off their books in the Arab world. The fact that many publishing houses here lack a standardized system of advances and royalties for ensuring that authors profit off their work, coupled with the effects of the two factors mentioned above--the absence of distribution networks and widespread piracy--means that even the most successful authors rarely earn a living from the sale of their books. Of course this doesn’t dissuade many creative minds in the Arab world from continuing to write anyway, plugging away late at night after a day spent practicing dentistry (like Alaa Al Aswany, author of <i>The Yacoubian Building</i>) or some other mundane profession. But without the possibility of financial returns to encourage them, no doubt many would-be authors turn away from writing and opt instead for more lucrative careers, and who can blame them?<br /><br />The Abu Dhabi government is not unaware of the obstacles it faces in turning the emirate into the global publishing hub it envisages. Many of the informational sessions and panel discussions at the book fair focused on just these issues, and next year, in a bid to show its commitment to cracking down on intellectual property theft, the capital will play host to the annual International Publishers Association copyright symposium. But even for this country, which has built its reputation on defying predictions and accomplishing the unthinkable, there is a long way still to go.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-89866762794666927792009-02-25T15:32:00.003+04:002009-02-25T16:02:46.538+04:00Ten Things I Like About Abu Dhabi1. The small scale of the city. Without traffic, you can drive from one side of Abu Dhabi to the other in fifteen minutes. The streets are laid out in a grid pattern, so even though every street has two or three names (take 4th Street, which is usually called Murour Street and occasionally referred to as Old Airport Road, or 11th Street, better known as Defense Street but labeled on signs as Hazaa Bin Zayed the First Street), it’s virtually impossible to get lost.<br /><br />2. Great Asian food. From Pakistani and Indian joints with barebones décor that serve the most delicious curries you’ve ever eaten, to a tiny Nepalese place whose specialties are dumplings and an all-you-can eat platter of rice and chicken, to the logic-defying Asian Garden that does decent Filipino and Chinese grub while still managing to crank out the best Thai food I’ve ever had, to an Indonesian dive where the hygiene is dubious but the chili beef is mouthwateringly good, to a sushi bar in a dumpy hotel that even Japanese diplomats and oil wonks consider worth their time, to a simple Korean restaurant where the freshly made kim chee on offer changes daily according to the whim of the chef, to a Vietnamese spot with a mind-boggling menu of fresh juices and iced teas and wonderfully comforting giant bowls of phô soup, Abu Dhabi boasts an enormous and diverse selection of excellent Asian nosh.<br /><br />3. The beach. I’ve never been much of a beachgoer, generally finding it preferable to spend the afternoon inside with a book and a cup of tea than to outfit myself in skimpy pieces of slippery cloth, slather on half a tube of SPF 50, and pass several hours lying uncomfortably on rough, hot sand and battling sun and wind to read the same book that I could have read much more easily indoors. But there’s something to be said for having beautiful, pristine expanses of beach only a ten-minute drive from your home, especially in a climate where warm temperatures and sunshine are guaranteed all but two months a year.<br /><br />4. Cheap taxis. I complain whenever I have to pay for a cab, but to go all the way across the city for $5 is pretty reasonable.<br /><br />5. Intermissions at movies. Having a few minutes in the middle of a two-hour movie to stretch your legs, use the bathroom, or refill your popcorn makes any trip to the cinema that much better. I don’t know how many movies have been ruined for me because I spent the last 20 minutes of them waiting desperately for a chance to relieve myself. Here I don’t have to.<br /><br />6. Champagne brunch on Fridays. Okay, so the ubiquitous alcohol-sodden buffet brunches that a majority of hotels in Abu Dhabi and Dubai host each Friday except during Ramadan have <a href="http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/article1398204.ece">become infamous</a> for producing soused Westerners who stagger out at four in the afternoon and do inappropriate things in public places, but they really are a lot of fun. Heaps of fresh seafood, salad bars of Arab mezze, endless desserts (the brunch at the Intercontinental in Abu Dhabi has a chocolate fountain!), plus all the usual breakfast and lunch offerings, washed down with (in some cases) unlimited glasses of bubbly. Decadent, unhealthy, and expensive, and definitely not for every week, but oh so enjoyable.<br /><br />7. The outdoors. For about half the year, the camping, hiking, and offroading to be found in the UAE and neighboring Oman rival anything in the American Southwest. Rugged mountains, jaw-dropping canyons, <a href="http://www.nymoon.com/pubs/desert/singingsand/">singing sand dunes</a>, herds of half-wild goats wandering across the road—what more do you need? Not to mention the fact that you can camp anywhere, with no pesky National Park Rangers forcing you to relocate after you’ve already pitched your tents because you’re not in a designated campsite.<br /><br />8. Diversity. The number of different nationalities represented in this country of 4.5 million is astonishing. In one day here, between friends, coworkers, and taxi drivers, store clerks, etc., I might easily interact with people from at least 19 different countries: Argentina, Australia, Canada, Egypt, France, Germany, Hong Kong, India, Lebanon, Pakistan, the Philippines, South Africa, Sri Lanka, Sudan, Switzerland, Syria, the UAE, the UK, and the US. Not to mention those nationalities that I personally encounter less often but who still have a strong presence here, like Bahrainis, Bangladeshis, Ethiopians, Indonesians, Iranians, Irish, Italians, Japanese, Jordanians, Kuwaitis, Malaysians, Omanis, Palestinians, Qataris, Saudis, and Yemenis. Whew!<br /><br />9. Safety. The occasional murder or rape makes the news now and then, but by and large the UAE is an extremely safe place to live. Despite the lack of a visible police presence in most areas, I feel comfortable walking around by myself in Abu Dhabi at any hour of the night.<br /><br />10. The call to prayer. It can be annoying at times when you’ve just stepped outside the office to make a phone call or you’re trying to watch a quiet movie with the window open, but hearing the haunting, minor-key cry of the muezzin echoing through slumbering streets to summon the faithful to the first morning prayer at 5 a.m. is an experience never to be forgotten. <em>God is great, God is great.</em> <em>There is no god but God, and I witness that Muhammad is His prophet.</em>Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-11307356935507964892009-02-12T17:31:00.003+04:002009-02-12T18:44:55.558+04:00Dubai the Ghost TownIs Dubai's economy disintegrating before our eyes? Is the former boomtown only a few more failed investments away from bankruptcy? The <span style="font-style: italic;">NY Times</span> <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/02/12/world/middleeast/12dubai.html?pagewanted=1&hp">seems to think so</a>, although from my perspective here on the ground, I'm not so convinced. I was in Dubai earlier this week and I saw little evidence that the emirate is in trouble. The "mostly clear" roads described in the <span style="font-style: italic;">Times</span> article were certainly nowhere in evidence as we battled traffic for 45 minutes on our way to dinner at a Sri Lankan restaurant only one neighborhood away from where we'd started. The brand new Dubai Mall filled up with shoppers as soon as the workday ended, and even if this can be attributed in part to the steep discounts (up to 75 percent) currently offered at many retail outlets in honor of the month-long Dubai Shopping Festival, it was still a sign that Dubaians aren't hoarding their dirhams so closely that they can't still indulge in frivolous consumerism. In the end, it may be exactly that enthusiasm to spend, spend, spend that Dubai is famous for that saves them, keeping their economy alive where that of the thrifty Americans failed.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-13978857320287851402009-02-05T13:27:00.002+04:002009-02-05T13:28:06.335+04:00A New Blog for Y'All to Check Out<a href="http://annasfictionforum.blogspot.com/">http://annasfictionforum.blogspot.com/</a>Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-41547401781099446082009-02-04T16:29:00.026+04:002009-02-05T11:46:42.070+04:00Getting Away from It AllFor much of the year here, high temperatures make any outdoor activity more strenuous than lying on the beach unpleasant, if not downright unsafe. Going jogging in 115-degree weather is a good way to give yourself heatstroke, not to mention a nasty sunburn. But from November through March, the Gulf transforms into veritable amusement park of natural wonders, many within half a day's drive of Abu Dhabi and Dubai. At the northern tip of the country, along a coastline owned by Oman, the magnificent rocky fjords of Mussandem are a prime spot for snorkeling, dolphin watching, and rock climbing. Southwest of Abu Dhabi, the Liwa Oasis has one of the most beautiful expanses of wind-swept sand dunes you'll ever see, perfect for offroading if you have the necessary motoring skills or for staging reenactments of Lawrence of Arabia if you don't (remember the part where the guy disappears into a pit of quicksand?). And east and northeast of the capital, a crest of craggy mountains, scarred throughout with deep flood-canyons known as <span style="font-style: italic;">wadis</span>, offers ample opportunity for camping, hiking, and all sorts of au naturel adventuring. For five months a year, with the right equipment and a bit of initiative, the Gulf is a genuinely good place to live.<br /><br />Last weekend, for instance, Chris and I and four friends packed tents, sleeping bags, and plenty of food into the back of two cars and headed into the mountains that straddle the Omani-UAE border east of here. We followed the paved road until it abruptly ran out shortly after we crossed into Oman, then rattled up a winding dirt road for 30 minutes, past tiny tin-sided houses inhabited by goatherds and up into a wadi hemmed in by jagged rock walls 200 feet high, until the trail became too rough for our Mazda and we were forced to stop. We pitched our tents and spent the night in the lee of a massive tumble of boulders that at some point in the not-too-distant past had been swept down by a rush of water from the clifftop above, carving out a secondary gorge much shorter and steeper than the one we had been following. Our guidebook warned us against camping in a wadi, especially in the winter months when flash floods can be sudden and devastating, washing away everything in their path, but like all overconfident novice outdoorsmen, we didn't listen.<br /><br />In the morning we all piled into the second car, an SUV better suited for bumpy terrain than the Mazda, and continued up the wadi into the heart of the mountains. As we drove, we passed many more ravines like the one we had camped beside that cut rocky channels between the wadi floor and the cliffs overheard, suitable for traversal only by goats. Acacias, the only trees that seemed able to grow in this arid, high-altitude ecosystem, squatted crookedly along the flat wadi floor like hunchbacked old women with tangled hair.<br /><br />We were on the lookout for the start of a hike described in our guidebook, so when we spotted a set of makeshift stone stairs climbing in short switchbacks from the road to the top of the cliff, we assumed that we had found it. A man in a faded tunic holding a large plastic water jug was standing at the base of the steps, so we asked him in Arabic if it was possible to go up here and how long it would take. After assuring us that it was only a ten-minute trip to the top, he beckoned us to follow him and began a swift ascent up the stairs. We were out of breath and sweating when we caught up with him where the stairs ended at a broad plateau, yet to our guide it was as if he had climbed nothing more challenging than the staircase in my parents'<br />home in California--and with several gallons of water on his back, no less.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis_63bRw3YUx5nw534dTxd1TloblzoX5pjKSnfCgwODn6PhwSETWGoFAbzR4njBGr1aiV2vMLKQ_t_PCjqRfetJXQHEo1RgZJOs3ROmEbj5B5w-_1eMtU3wzSGDWd7iiRFsu_MgurNuQt-/s1600-h/IMG_0996.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 224px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis_63bRw3YUx5nw534dTxd1TloblzoX5pjKSnfCgwODn6PhwSETWGoFAbzR4njBGr1aiV2vMLKQ_t_PCjqRfetJXQHEo1RgZJOs3ROmEbj5B5w-_1eMtU3wzSGDWd7iiRFsu_MgurNuQt-/s320/IMG_0996.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299208558402087986" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">The plateau where Muhammed lives was once inhabited by bedouins, who left after the nearby freshwater well dried up. </span><br /><br />This friendly man, whose name is Muhammed and who turned out to be not Omani as we had originally thought but Pakistani, lives in a house made of stones without running water or electricity, where he tends a flock of goats six months a year for a rich man in the UAE. The other six months he spends in Pakistan with his wife and seven children, but since he is unable to find work in his native country, he is forced to return to the goats year after year. Every Thursday he travels to Dibba, the closest town over the Emirati border, to buy food and supplies. On lucky days, he hitches a ride from someone passing through the wadi; the rest of the time he walks four hours on foot to get there. He told us all this over cups of sweet tea lightened with goat's milk as we sat in the shade of a shelter he'd constructed from thatch and watched the goats nibble at the sparse patches of grass that dotted the plateau. Then he took us to see the cistern where he collected rain water for washing, the nursery where he kept the baby goats, and the ruins of a village built by the bedouins who had once occupied this spot.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl_c0E7IYnq_-QD941OxntlB-h-LQkhIfDIPrcIeDjECBjq4kVVj6sQAZMsrFfpdPjdC_BnMQQyfn-WwOm5OSR7higIGAAqB8vlgGQt17xO438hl-Ll2vnouCcrJTqiIRFn3xaY7lDaZIO/s1600-h/IMG_0999.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 289px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl_c0E7IYnq_-QD941OxntlB-h-LQkhIfDIPrcIeDjECBjq4kVVj6sQAZMsrFfpdPjdC_BnMQQyfn-WwOm5OSR7higIGAAqB8vlgGQt17xO438hl-Ll2vnouCcrJTqiIRFn3xaY7lDaZIO/s320/IMG_0999.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299212955272722770" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">The basic necessaries of life: a cooler, a propane water heater, baskets and bags for storing food, and two plastic stools.</span><br /><br />Muhammed's solitude was startling in its absoluteness. Other than a battery-powered radio, he has no contact with the outside world. Days must pass without him speaking to or even laying eyes on another human being. His life is simple, governed by the habits of his goats and by making sure that his basic survival needs are taken care of: food, propane for his water heater, fresh water from the tank beside the road. It was hard not to make the comparison when we arrived back at our own posh digs in Abu Dhabi later that night. Just as sleeping on the ground for a night makes you appreciate your mattress at home like never before, witnessing another person's solitude that's so much more complete and unrelenting than your own can serve as a valuable reminder of how much worse off you could be. Muhammed didn't seem unhappy with his lot, yet I bet he would have given anything to have the weeks of leisure in a modern, comfortable apartment with a fancy TV, a video game system, books, well-stocked cupboards, and expensive furniture that I've so impatiently dismissed as a waste of my time.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-64752930963917260102009-01-28T12:43:00.013+04:002009-01-29T18:55:43.991+04:00(Cow)Boys in BeemersThe young men of the Emirates love their cars like I imagine the cowboys of the old west loved their horses. In fact now that I think about it, that comparison seems particularly apt for this country, where the rule of law often plays second fiddle to the demands of honor and pride, males hold uncontested authority in all matters within the public sphere, and the prevailing ethos on the streets is <span style="font-style: italic;">may the stronger man win</span>. The reckless confidence of the twenty-something Emirati barreling through Abu Dhabi at 80 mph in his shiny Land Rover, starched white dishdasha clearly in evidence through the tinted windows, seems to have much in common with the devil-may-care attitude of the young gunslinger in the wild west, boots gleaming, stirrups jangling, hat rakishly askew, who gallops into town with a bravado born of the certainty that no one dares challenge him on his own turf.<br /><br />Both of these notions are obviously stereotypes, the second popularized by the Hollywood film industry and the first no doubt arising from the animosity I feel toward the speeding Land Rovers that endanger my life every time I venture onto the roadways of Abu Dhabi. But the fact remains that cars have become for many young Emirati men an essential part of their public persona, as important to crafting the image they present to the world as their traditional clothing.<br /><br />On a rainy day last weekend, perhaps two dozen young men and boys convened in the intersection in front of my apartment building for what can only be described as a modern-day rodeo. For more than an hour, those among the group who were old enough to drive (and probably some who weren't) used a circle of wet pavement to show off their motoring chops before a crowd of eager onlookers:<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzlQzAhKitlKou7thCV6AU3c543Erpy12w-Q8j_ISuoF6Tl9vaGgL6HuAeKnqSG9Nbl9QFffvup5EIEln56hg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />Skidding, as it's commonly known, is a favorite pastime on Abu Dhabi streets. After banning skidding contests and threatening skidders with fines, jail time, and loss of license did little to diminish the activity's popularity, concerned authorities proposed building a track where skidding enthusiasts could practice their hobby without risk of hitting other cars or pedestrians (both have happened recently not far from where I live) and without disturbing residents with sounds of squealing tires and roaring engines.<br /><br />One Abu Dhabi police officer suggested that <a href="http://www.thenational.ae/article/20090123/NATIONAL/230491983&SearchID=73343660988510">skidding could be a way to combat the boredom</a> of being young, male, and Emirati in a society where wealth and prestige are handed to you from birth on a silver platter. Is that the real explanation, or should we simply say that in any society, at any point in history, boys will be boys?Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-758929240214117162009-01-22T10:30:00.000+04:002009-01-22T10:31:37.614+04:00New Mailing AddressAnna Ziajka<br />P.O. Box 93752<br />Khalidiya Post Office<br />Abu Dhabi<br />United Arab EmiratesAnnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-74395286991408810962009-01-19T17:29:00.003+04:002009-01-19T17:31:15.182+04:00PhotosNew! Check out my photo site under the Links header to the right, or click <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/anna.ziajka">here</a>.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-32333880418999840862009-01-19T12:50:00.001+04:002009-01-19T17:21:33.965+04:00The Fairer SexDuring the first half-year I lived here, the acquaintances I made were overwhelmingly male. My roommates are male, most of the <span style="font-style: italic;">National </span>newspaper reporters with whom I socialize on a semi-regular basis are male, and my boyfriend, my companion for most of my leisure-time activities, is--of course--male. Although I had frequent opportunities to observe the female citizens of Abu Dhabi at malls, grocery stores, and through the tinted windows of their Land Rovers, my contact with other human beings who share my anatomy was nearly nil.<br /><br />At a gender ratio of almost three males for every one female in the 15-64 age group, members of my sex are a distinct minority in this country; on a busy Thursday night in the capital, you would be hard pressed to find a single female amid the crowds of South Asian men talking, eating, and smoking cigarettes in front of the lighted storefronts on Hamdan Street. Women are scarce in the Emirates, and those that do live here are hard to access. Local women shut themselves away in gated villas and only appear in public swaddled in the visually and culturally impenetrable armor of an abaya, while the majority of foreign women are employed in the service sector, so although I exchange words with them every time I eat out or shop in a clothing store, the power differential of our relative positions in society makes it difficult to transcend these determinedly formulaic and impersonal interactions. Both the statistics and the anecodotal evidence were on my side, excusing my lack of female friends.<br /><br />But though I could justify the pitiful number of other females in my life, I wasn't happy about it. So two weeks ago, I set out to change that. My first step has been to join a women's a cappella group, which goes by the rather pedestrian name "Voices of Harmony" but which nonetheless maintains a large and surprisingly quirky repetoire of American pop songs that it performs several times a year at concerts around the city. The women in the group are a diverse bunch, hailing from places as far removed as South Africa and Spain as well as Britain and the U.S., and seem to be generally genial people who enjoy getting together for a few hours each week to sing, socialize, and partake of the seemingly requisite tea and cakes that are served halfway through each rehearsal by the group leader's Filipina maid. So perhaps among these harmonious ladies is a friend or two for me.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-81515867720215038012009-01-04T22:16:00.003+04:002009-01-04T22:50:59.020+04:00The Passing of a SheikhThe UAE is presently in the midst of a prolonged period of mourning for Sheikh Rashid bin Ahmed Al Mu'alla, the ruler of the Emirate of Umm al Quwain, who passed away last Friday in a London hospital at age 78. All government offices and schools were closed for three days immediately following his death, and flags across the country are flying at half-mast until the end of the week--although the Saudi Arabian flag, which is inscribed with the <span style="font-style: italic;">shahada</span> (the Muslim declaration of faith: "There is no god but Allah and Muhammed is his messenger") and thus can never hang lower than the flags around it, is exempt. Radio stations have discarded their usual generic pop rubbish in favor of somber keyboard renditions of Aaron Copeland and Elton John, and post-New Year's festivities were toned down or canceled.<br /><br />If this were another country, we might worry about the succession of power in Umm al Quwain, the least populous emirate, which has had only two rulers since joining the UAE in 1971. But instead of political infighting or the threat of a coup by opportunistic Umm al Quwain residents, the crown passed peacefully to Sheikh Rashid's son Saud, while the leaders of the other six emirates looked on with benevolence and sympathy--and no doubt a bit of relief that things had gone so smoothly.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-778188914759356042009-01-03T12:33:00.011+04:002009-01-19T12:31:32.406+04:00In Abu Dhabi, Shakira's Hips Don't OffendIn a move that must have provoked some scratching of heads among those familiar with this city, Abu Dhabi chose to kick off the new year last week by rocking out to Shakira, the tousle-haired, booty-wagging South American popstar best known for putting out a steamy chart-topping duet with ex-Fugees member Wyclef Jean in 2006 and for slithering half naked through mud in the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-3brRCRsA8"></a><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W7NPnSVfx6A&feature=related">music video</a> for the first single off her debut English-language album.<br /><br />And yet, performing in front of an enthusiastic if lyrically challenged crowd at Abu Dhabi's Emirates Palace arena on Wednesday night, Shakira proved surprisingly well suited to the UAE. From her superb belly dancing to the trio of Arabic musicians who joined her onstage to provide backup during several songs, the half-Colombian, half-Lebanese diva ("I am the fruit of my father's Lebanese cedar") offered much that was familiar to the people of this region. And while there was plenty of the singer's toned golden body on display, her costumes--which ranged from a beaded pink halter top and matching skirt to a studded black leather bra-and-trousers ensemble--were modest enough where it mattered to appease all but the most conservative critics. The Shakira that appeared in Abu Dhabi was not the redhot Latin siren of reputation but a talented performer whose physical allure came from her expert use of her body, not from her sex appeal.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs9qCDrkMCxId87uvGyasKP-DFIEBYF2rGTcnt7a1hrAaQk4ykC5utwDBO0kj3JUhd-xvT7Ats96mnRAJKR6mzaDS3UK3bH020g31GyfHAH0rwmazkTn61aF7EPaq1TP80PliKQzFQr2h7/s1600-h/IMG_1840.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs9qCDrkMCxId87uvGyasKP-DFIEBYF2rGTcnt7a1hrAaQk4ykC5utwDBO0kj3JUhd-xvT7Ats96mnRAJKR6mzaDS3UK3bH020g31GyfHAH0rwmazkTn61aF7EPaq1TP80PliKQzFQr2h7/s320/IMG_1840.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287103526377581794" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">Shakira - Abu Dhabi, New Year's Eve 2008</span> </div><br />As midnight arrived and clouds of sparkling confetti descended on the audience, Shakira thanked Abu Dhabi first in English, then in Arabic, and finally in her native Spanish for allowing her to help the UAE usher in the new year. If it was personally significant for her to greet 2009 in an Arab country, it was just as significant for an Arab country to round off their celebrations with someone like her. But as it turned out, neither side needed to have gotten so worked up: Shakira and Abu Dhabi were a perfect fit. <br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Video to come once Etisalat fixes the internet in the UAE....</span>Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-77064787147314202892008-12-19T04:08:00.005+04:002008-12-19T07:52:07.126+04:00Happily Cold in CaliforniaDuring the month of December in Abu Dhabi, the temperature climbs to upwards of 75 degrees every afternoon, the sun shines cheerfully from dawn until dusk, and the blue of the Arabian sky never falters. Except for the very occasional freak rain shower, each day unfolds as a perfect meteorological duplicate of the one before it.<br /><br />To anyone who's lived through a bitter midwest winter or knows what it's like to fear going ouside so much that things like social engagements, exercise, and basic nourishment all become second in importance to staying warm, December in Abu Dhabi probably sounds like paradise. But when you take the cruel coldness out of winter, you lose all the best parts of the season which exist to defy it: fires, apple cider, scarves and mittens, sweaters, hot meals.<br /><br />Let me quote Charles Dickens in <span style="font-style: italic;">Our Mutual Friend</span> to show you what I mean:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">At length the door stood open, and Mr. Fledgeby's retreating drapery plunged into bed again. Following it at a respectful distance, Riah passed into the bed-chamber, where a fire had been sometime lighted, and was burning briskly. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Why, what time of night do you mean to call it?" inquired Fledgeby, turning away beneath the clothes, and presenting a comfortable rampart of shoulder to the chilled figure of the old man.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Sir, it is full half-past ten in the morning."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"The deuce it is! Then it must be precious foggy?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Very foggy, sir."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"And raw, then?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Chill and bitter," said Riah....</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">With a plunge of enjoyment, Fledgeby settled himself afresh.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Any snow, or sleet, or slush, or anything of that sort?" he asked.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"No, sir, no. Not quite so bad as that. The streets are pretty clear."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"You needn't brag about it," returned Fledgeby, disappointed in his desire to heighten the contrast between his bed and the streets.</span><br /><br />While there is as little snow, sleet, or slush to be found in Berkeley as there is in Abu Dhabi, the weather is chilly enough here to warrant plenty of bundling-up before venturing out of doors. It's nice to come inside shivering and peeling off layers of clothing as you slowly thaw in front of the furnace, and nicer still to hunker down under heaps of blankets each night as you go to bed. Dickens, always a keen observer of the little pains and pleasures of life, was definitely onto something.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-32961549000272888192008-12-11T18:40:00.001+04:002008-12-14T17:02:22.053+04:00The God in All of UsIslam has traditionally forbade the artistic depiction of living forms, founded on a principle expressed in one of the hadith of the Prophet Muhammad, which states: "Those who paint pictures would be punished on the Day of Resurrection and it would be said to them: Breathe soul into what you have created" (Hadith, <i>Sahih Muslim</i> vol.3, no. 5268). This hadith views art as a form of creation, with creation being a capacity uniquely given to humans by God when he made them in his own image. On the grounds that to shape a person or animal out of clay, paint, or marble without endowing it with the gift of life as God did is to make a mockery of that divine capacity, Islamic scholars have made a practice of banning figurative representation in art (although it has been permitted under certain rulers and at certain times in Islamic history, most notably during the Safavid period in Iran). For this reason, most Islamic art is characterized by geometric shapes and abstract motifs or is calligraphic in nature, making it perfectly suited for housewares, furniture, textiles, and architecture but not as suited to filling a canvas.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrpax8sDWf6Yx_yBPGMkYEdDyI6URgKqewlS83MQ6hdY_hKUR8MUKNgJcW_u8bypmxJqxik_ofRa-73ZW7zUxd3hBLzdoW4wSRRMMfwL-dMaWvDXGOqtBWWTZhciwPsjVlmj003nTabW8K/s1600-h/IMG_0808.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 227px; height: 170px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrpax8sDWf6Yx_yBPGMkYEdDyI6URgKqewlS83MQ6hdY_hKUR8MUKNgJcW_u8bypmxJqxik_ofRa-73ZW7zUxd3hBLzdoW4wSRRMMfwL-dMaWvDXGOqtBWWTZhciwPsjVlmj003nTabW8K/s320/IMG_0808.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278531334494412994" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">An illuminated Quran in the Sharjah Museum of Islamic Civilization.</span><br /><br />European artists have never had qualms about depicting the human body, not even when it belongs to the son of God himself. Each time I stroll through the pre-Renaissance European painting collection in the New York City Metropolitan Museum of Art, I am confronted by dozens of seemingly identical artistic renderings of the Virgin Mary holding the baby Jesus. Close examination reveals that each one is differentiated from the one beside it on the wall only by a slight variance in the color of the Madonna's robe or the arrangement of celestial beings posing in the background. This is art clearly meant to be functional rather than expressive; most of the paintings seen here once adorned churches, and were intended to remind the faithful of God's presence in their lives, not to distract them from their piety with beautiful images.<br /><br />But as unimaginative as these early takes on the Madonna-and-Child theme seem now, such devotional works were crucial to the development of European art as a whole. With the emergence of humanist ideas in philosophy and religion and the birth of Protestantism, artistic representations of sacred figures did not dwindle in popularity, but instead began to follow a new fashion of being modeled after regular people (think Rembrandt's quietly reflective Christ or Peter Paul Rub<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBIX34E_gQ7oQcNknnEz4hWGNQAq26rD54ddiyJ1ClwxnfdP_37SnADAYnN3oGULdYeU-87PVWvrQocRNtHcNEqK4JUzkTsArytcpXeoxMtrsRGScBZZtCD66r9rXUEUaleiIjGgi1UMsu/s1600-h/rembrandt+jesus.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 169px; height: 222px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBIX34E_gQ7oQcNknnEz4hWGNQAq26rD54ddiyJ1ClwxnfdP_37SnADAYnN3oGULdYeU-87PVWvrQocRNtHcNEqK4JUzkTsArytcpXeoxMtrsRGScBZZtCD66r9rXUEUaleiIjGgi1UMsu/s320/rembrandt+jesus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278533888960088882" border="0" /></a>ens's famously humanized saints). When the dedication to capturing the human form that this movement inspired was applied to secular subjects as well, the door was opened for future generations of Europe's painters and sculptors to produce some of the most celebrated art we know today.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span style="font-style: italic;">Portrait of Christ</span>, by Rembrandt Van Rijn.<br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />Yet perhaps, with the Islamic point of view in mind, we might consider it a sign of self-obsession that the art we hold in highest esteem in the West is that which depicts the human form. Nearly all of the "best" paintings of the European tradition are of people, and even when the people are ugly or distorted, these paintings reflect a preeminent interest</span></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> in the human body</span></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> that we cannot help but find flattering, whether we realize it consciously or not.<br /></span></span>Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-74804767356077305432008-12-08T15:51:00.003+04:002008-12-08T19:09:05.723+04:00Picture of the Day<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkPP98j_S_0k-IyUGtA_193_HSvgcEs9wMypu4DPAqPbBf7rEcwOgak0KhsijYB4zka6yFkEG9b-3Ywl-64-cnMFg5TxfYKlg42oC8FnpJaJhxX6cggeQtONt5dFOzd1STycPRF_d3Ii6J/s1600-h/IMG_0820.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkPP98j_S_0k-IyUGtA_193_HSvgcEs9wMypu4DPAqPbBf7rEcwOgak0KhsijYB4zka6yFkEG9b-3Ywl-64-cnMFg5TxfYKlg42oC8FnpJaJhxX6cggeQtONt5dFOzd1STycPRF_d3Ii6J/s320/IMG_0820.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277403113921817106" border="0" /></a>A ferris wheel in the emirate of Sharjah at sunset.<br /></div>Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-32897862279164028402008-12-05T09:27:00.004+04:002008-12-06T11:38:29.265+04:00Happy Birthday UAEThe United Arab Emirates celebrated its 37th birthday this week. On December 2, 1971, the founding fathers of this country signed a constitution that transformed it from a loose confederation of British protectorates known as the Trucial States into one nation, unified under a common flag and with a single preeminent leader--a man named Sheikh Zayed, the UAE's national hero--at its helm. The nearly four decades since that day have seen the UAE grow from a sleepy desert trading post with a fledgling oil industry and a political system weakened by tribal infighting and colonial interference into a fully modern country of 4.6 million with a sophisticated system of governance, a diversified economy, well-maintained highways, and stores stocked with everything from organic cereal to Nike sneakers. In record speed, a nation of tent-dwelling nomads was transformed into a nation of businessmen and visionaries that has one of the highest per capita incomes in the world. Truly this country’s history has been exceptional.<br /><br />Like the United States in its halcyon days of immigrant-fueled prosperity in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the UAE provides unrivaled opportunity for employment for workers of all backgrounds. Even in the midst of the current financial crisis that has paralyzed the job market in much of the rest of the globe, companies here are continuing to hire, cushioned by years of oil profits and buoyed by the confidence of a people that believes it can do anything. The coming year will tell how well the UAE is able to weather this storm, and some predict that it is only a matter of time before Dubai, with its multibillion-dollar real estate projects financed on the promises of a booming property market that no longer exists, suffers the same catastrophic credit bust that hit Iceland last month. But after 37 years of making the impossible possible--man-made islands shaped like the seven continents, the world’s tallest building, a ski slope in a mall, a hotel built around an aquarium inhabited by a live shark--it is understandable why the Dubai government shrugs off these predictions with such apparent lack of concern.<br /><br />The brazen materialism and love of money and status displayed by many native Emiratis make the UAE an easy target for critical Westerners like myself, who were brought up to view obvious displays of wealth as gauche and to believe that the best successes are cloaked in humility. But still, looking at what this nation has accomplished in so short a time, there is much here that is worthy of admiration.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-64796257065361803052008-12-03T18:27:00.006+04:002009-01-04T12:22:11.462+04:00The Not-Quite-Melting PotHere's a myth about the UAE that ought to be debunked.<br /><br />Despite what you read in the official UAE tourist literature, which aims to lure progressives and exoticaphiles alike by touting the country's diverse multinational makeup, "cosmopolitan" attitudes, and "mixture of culture and traditions," it is not a melting pot. There is no common language, for although English is generally recognized as the lingua franca here, few people other than native English speakers and educated Emiratis are actually able to converse in it. The job market is founded on a frankly hierarchical principle that places Emiratis at the top, white foreigners in the middle, and non-white foreigners at the bottom. Rarely will you find a Sri Lankan or Malay in a position of CEO; you will never meet an Emirati selling tickets at the cinema. Restaurants, long prized by Americans for their painless facilitation of cross-cultural exchange (who doesn't enjoy rolling those paper-thin pancakes around a scoop of hot moo shu chicken doused in plum sauce?), make no bones here about exluding anyone who doesn't fit the criteria for their preferred clientele. A white woman will be made to feel extremely uncomfortable in a popular Pakistani eatery; a Pakistani in a salwar kameez will be openly frowned on in an upscale hotel bistro.<br /><br />This country is not a patchwork quilt of immigrants living shoulder to shoulder in colorful camaraderie. It is a deeply segregated place where 20 percent of its inhabitants live in terror of losing their identity to the other 80 percent, and the only common thread that spans divides is not patriotism, but the pursuit of money. And am I any different?Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-1017869625824825162008-12-01T18:06:00.011+04:002008-12-04T11:48:25.435+04:00Return to EgyptFrom the moment our plane touched down on the runway of the Cairo International Airport, it was impossible not to notice that we were back in Egypt. As the aircraft rushed toward the terminal, wheels squealing on the tarmac, row after row of passengers sprang to their feet in anticipation. A mixture of young men in tight jeans and faux-leather jackets and older men in galabiyas spilled into the aisles, prying open the overhead compartments to retrieve bags and suitcases with one hand and clutching their ringing cell phones to their ears with the other. The concerned hostess implored them over the PA system in both English and Arabic to stay in their seats until the plane stopped moving, but their excitement at being home seemed too great to contain. Each brandishing an oversized green passport like a proud symbol of their shared national identity, the Egyptians on our flight pushed past us and surged into the airport as if this homecoming were a thing too precious to delay for even one more instant.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFXJg3gK77O9IoUfkNsAG-eZ9g89_1ymY9-k-emOETz3RHKEsLlWPC95jxt-zHEp2Akm-eTkwk8YaEoXwOC3FFr22q-cS4vXCaIPMdyhXzMn4CdPD142sI7QDBpzMiWb2xgAXwbSq3SrRB/s1600-h/IMG_1765.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 187px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFXJg3gK77O9IoUfkNsAG-eZ9g89_1ymY9-k-emOETz3RHKEsLlWPC95jxt-zHEp2Akm-eTkwk8YaEoXwOC3FFr22q-cS4vXCaIPMdyhXzMn4CdPD142sI7QDBpzMiWb2xgAXwbSq3SrRB/s320/IMG_1765.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275836022850105394" border="0" /></a>As I hurried down the crowded, dingy corridor to passport control, my own feelings about returning to Egypt were not so simple. I had looked forward to this visit for months, imagining how I would reacquaint myself with the friends and places I had left behind, reviewing my favorite Egyptian Arabic phrases in my head, and making a mental itinerary for each day we would spend in Cairo--I had offered to play tour guide for my boyfriend's parents on their first trip to Egypt, and I intended to do it right. Yet as we approached the creaking conveyor belt where our luggage would hopefully soon appear--if it hadn't already been tossed aside into one of the many piles of unclaimed belongings littering the floor--I felt a rush of misgivings. What if our bags had gotten lost? What if I had to fight tooth and nail to obtain a reasonable taxi fare into the city? Would I be able to find our hotel, which was on a street I'd often walked before but whose exact location relative to the airport I couldn't quite remember? Most of all, what would my guests think of this chaotic, dirty, noisy, but ultimately supremely lovable (at least to me) place?<br /><br />The four days we spent in Cairo sped by, crammed with sightseeing and expensive dinners, a felucca ride and a day at the pyramids, shopping and drinking local beer and snapping hundreds of pictures. My feelings about being back remained complicated. I vacillated between exultation when things went smoothly and a sort of desperate anxiety when they didn't. I thrilled at each compliment my visitors paid to the city; I despaired each time we fought with a taxi driver or were accosted by hustlers, afraid that Cairo was making a bad impression. I felt like each interaction that my guests had with the place reflected on me personally, not just because of my responsibilities as tour leader but because of how entangled my identity is with the city's own.<br /><br />This trip back to Egypt after six months away was a homecoming for me just as it was for the Egyptians on the plane. I have come to define who I am as a person in part by my relationship to this country, by what I have taken from it and what it has taken from me over the past three years. Like any home, its continued existence--even in absentia--validates mine. Like any home, my feelings for it encompass both love and hate.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-10160742870860524682008-11-30T00:18:00.003+04:002008-11-30T00:51:18.935+04:00Guests in the UAEFor the past two weeks I've been helping my boyfriend show his parents around on their first-ever visit to the Middle East. We spent a day ogling the tall buildings in Dubai, sampled the culinary highlights of Abu Dhabi, took weekend jaunts to Cairo and Oman, cooked Thanksgiving dinner, and generally enjoyed ourselves immensely. For my part, I was so happy to have a splash of something different to spice up my rather bland existence here that I was more than willing to play the parts of tour guide, chauffeuse, sous-chef, etc. More later....Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-21326256840740800032008-11-17T17:22:00.009+04:002008-11-18T13:26:47.549+04:00Living in a Lawless LandIt's an oft-repeated adage that rules are meant to be broken. By limiting yourself only to what is allowed you miss the opportunity for innovation; by bowing to authority without dispute you may be failing to challenge narrow-minded or antiquated ideas. Many of us would agree that a certain amount of intelligent examination of the rules in place around us is wise. Maintaining well-informed opinions on whether or not, and in what circumstances, our governments should forbid us from doing certain things is the key to having a free, just society.<br /><br />The Arab world, however, has a tendency to take the old adage rather too much to heart. In general, laws are treated here with a mixture of extreme suspicion and casual disregard, the proportions of the two varying from country to country.<br /><br />In the UAE, motorists ignore traffic signs and make u-turns where none are allowed, boldly drive the wrong way on parking lot ramps, and leave their cars sitting in the middle of the street for hours. The alcohol laws ban bars from serving Muslims and prohibit the sale of bottled spirits to anyone without a liquor license. Yet Emiratis, unmistakable in their distinctive white kandoras, are as common as foreigners at many upscale hotel bars, and my fellow expats and I purchase beer and wine every week without a license from several local liquor stores, who don't care as long as we don't use a credit card and sometimes not even then. The other day when the time came for me to pay, the cashier asked me if I had a license, and when I admitted that I didn't, she simply told me the price of my two bottles of wine, took my money, and told me to have a good day.<br /><br />In Egypt, the situation is far worse. There is no adherence to traffic rules whatsoever: stoplights are disregarded, divisions between lanes are rendered meaningless, speed limits on city streets are routinely exceeded. Bribes are a normal part of any dealings with the police or the government, as I found out once when an Egyptian guy I knew was caught carrying hash and some American friends and I had to raise money to pay off the policeman who would have arrested him. Illegal housing developments are as much a part of the Cairo skyline as the pyramids, and utilities like water, electricity, and satellite service are widely considered fair game for stealing if you can get away with it. With a population of 20 million, the number of laws, large and small, that are broken every day in Egypt must be astronomical.<br /><br />At home, I was uneasy filching paperclips from the office or smuggling bananas out of my college dining hall, and when I'm stopped at a red light, even if it's the middle of the night and there are no other cars around, I still won't run it. I shudder at the thought of overstaying the limit on my parking meter. So why doesn't this same respect for the law exist here?<br /><br />When it comes to social behavior, which is determined by the dictates of religion and longstanding tradition rather than by the government, Arab societies are models <span style="font-style: italic;">par excellence</span> of how to follow the rules, which is why I don't buy the arguments some people make that Arabs are an inherently disorganized, disorderly race whose predilections for reckless driving and cutting in line are indicative of an innate lack of civilization. But the fact is that laws are simply not important to many Arabs. A large part of it is a lack of proper enforcement. In the UAE, the police are impotent and ineffectual, victims of the hierarchical social structure that puts Emiratis on top and everyone else at the bottom. In Egypt, the legacy of the unspeakable brutalities committed by policemen long ago cost them the respect of the Egyptian public.<br /><br />But I would argue that it goes beyond this explanation alone. It is as though, being set in place by human beings rather than by divine decree, there is a sense among many Arabs that laws are worthy of only as much respect as the men who created them. I am inclined to think that there's something to be said for this attitude. With dictators, monarchs, and tribal oligarchies running the show around here, I'm not sure I'd put my trust in their laws either.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-27920661019955177882008-11-17T16:47:00.007+04:002008-11-17T17:16:25.952+04:00Rain in the Desert<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8mZvlSQ6YE2ndUlDe1LV2Vo6WKo6IVklDHty6tRbvES_9Ww_7SXVgRf1KRgU3ucHbQX_pxW3BcVcxI940mWDXw3fDrU9GgGTmSMTNqtuBgb-Q2dvXi0E-T6acd8IjteMHdMx0U5gdWqsD/s1600-h/IMG_1750.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8mZvlSQ6YE2ndUlDe1LV2Vo6WKo6IVklDHty6tRbvES_9Ww_7SXVgRf1KRgU3ucHbQX_pxW3BcVcxI940mWDXw3fDrU9GgGTmSMTNqtuBgb-Q2dvXi0E-T6acd8IjteMHdMx0U5gdWqsD/s320/IMG_1750.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269613284220472466" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Yesterday morning I was woken by a deafening clap of thunder, followed immediately by the sound of water drops splattering against the roof. In Abu Dhabi, which averages only about 100 mm of rainfall per year, this was an event worth getting out of bed for. The shower lasted only scant minutes (yet despite its brevity, still managed to cause 25 traffic accidents in the city), but the smell it left behind was that unmistakable, universal scent of clean earth after the rain.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-242116370295696502008-11-15T19:37:00.000+04:002008-11-15T19:52:35.213+04:00Watch Out, Nermal!<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMYRoWNW4srVbua4ge_bmR8sms8UFvxWoHdk4s3bHuwsuq2KFIsLXDH9t6NDhbMpOpr-6ddRdX8B7OS_RdeWkIzdJJohp1me81bSJ8DmYkm9KEXAtqeuvJ3k79pqSijFR6TEuAikIbrKSs/s1600-h/Garfieland-nremal02.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMYRoWNW4srVbua4ge_bmR8sms8UFvxWoHdk4s3bHuwsuq2KFIsLXDH9t6NDhbMpOpr-6ddRdX8B7OS_RdeWkIzdJJohp1me81bSJ8DmYkm9KEXAtqeuvJ3k79pqSijFR6TEuAikIbrKSs/s320/Garfieland-nremal02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268910082795934146" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"To: Anyone, Abu Dhabi"<br />From </span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">The National</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">, November 15, 2008</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">By John Mather</span></span></span><br /><br />Garfield, the obese cat who believes “lethargy takes real discipline”, stands in front of a mirror admiring his physique while Nermal, the self-proclaimed cutest kitten in the world, sits beside him. “How do you think I look?” Garfield asks.<p></p><p>“Like a million, give or take a year,” Nermal responds.<br /><br />“I think I carry my weight rather well,” Garfield continues.<br /><br />Nermal shoots back: “You should. You’ve had the practice.”<br /><br />Finally, Garfield says: “Do you think I have a strong chin?”<br /><br />“Which one?”<br /><br />With that, Garfield pats Nermal on the head, stuffs the kitten in a box and places him on the doorstep with the address: “Anyone, Abu Dhabi”.<br /><br />It is not the first time the lasagne-loving feline has tried to ship his nemesis to the capital. The joke began in 1984, when Jim Davis, Garfield’s creator, picked the UAE as the last stop on the Annoying Kitten Express. Since then, the gag has been syndicated in more than 2,000 newspapers worldwide, and has put Abu Dhabi on the map for many people contemplating a move to the Arab world. But few know why Davis chose Abu Dhabi as the place where all the cute kittens go.</p><p>“I wanted to pick something that sounded like nothing in the United States,” he says from his office in Albany, Indiana, where he runs the all-things-Garfield company Paws Inc. “I didn’t want to send him to Middleton or Springfield.”<br /><br />The cartoonist remembers liking the ring of Abu Dhabi – “it sounds like a song” – but his assistant was pushing him to send Nermal to Tierra del Fuego, the archipelago on the southernmost tip of South America.</p><p>So Davis began researching his choices. He discovered the UAE, then an adolescent nation, is a friend of the United States and predicted the two countries would remain peaceful. “I was careful to pick a location that we were not going to be at war with in 10 years,” he says. “And I just love that name. It was a perfect fit.”<br /></p><p style="font-style: italic;">Read the rest of the story <a href="http://www.thenational.ae/article/20081115/MAGAZINE/875423177">here</a>.</p>Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-62753943958745946952008-11-14T13:34:00.000+04:002008-11-14T17:45:25.824+04:00Flying the Friendly Skies...in StyleI met a Swedish girl yesterday who is a flight attendant for Etihad Airways, the official airline of Abu Dhabi. She and her fellow attendants are required to wear seven types of makeup at all times while on duty, as the airline prides itself on having not only an internationally diverse flight crew but also an attractive one. This is superficial, yes. But it also demonstrates a care for customer satisfaction that seems to have ceased being a primary concern for American carriers years ago, and which went out the window completely when fuel prices soared earlier this year.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicZ9nPFl11K8pBdI3O3xw0NEQpfLyt_4DWxP535i0Kemaschx0_xnF-UABdMl4Ef5Py8UhD2dxtvK7Yvgf3GhZqMdSC61NuFrhYU2RrxyYCgJ7JYiwtbL7c0L-_2NEsqTW1ycy9hT7DS7R/s1600-h/Etihad.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 165px; height: 142px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicZ9nPFl11K8pBdI3O3xw0NEQpfLyt_4DWxP535i0Kemaschx0_xnF-UABdMl4Ef5Py8UhD2dxtvK7Yvgf3GhZqMdSC61NuFrhYU2RrxyYCgJ7JYiwtbL7c0L-_2NEsqTW1ycy9hT7DS7R/s320/Etihad.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268506785221895762" border="0" /></a><br />Not so in this part of the world. Compared to the bare-bones amenities on American airlines today, even the economy class on carriers in this region seems luxurious. Qatar Airways, billed as one of the world’s only five-star airlines, offers each passenger a personal TV screen with a library of hundreds of movies to choose from, has 180-degree reclining beds in the first-class cabin, and served a smoked salmon appetizer before dinner the last time I flew with them. On the forty-minute morning flight from Abu Dhabi to Doha, Qatar Airways passengers are treated to a breakfast of warm croissants and coffee, even though the flight is so short that the seatbelt sign never turns off. Bahrain-based Gulf Air, despite being one of the oldest carriers in the Middle East, boasts spanking clean planes, friendly service, and restaurant-quality meals. On Etihad, passengers order their dinner from a three-course menu, receive a complimentary pack of goodies on overnight flights that include ear plugs, a toothbrush, and socks, and enjoy the comforts of a fleet of brand-new planes. I’ve heard more than one American say that Etihad is the best airline they’ve ever flown on.<br /><br />Americans who stay in America, however, have become sadly accustomed to shabby planes, canceled flights, surly flight attendants, and B movies shown on tiny screens either so far away that they're barely visible or so close that they're sure to induce neck cramps. Weight limits on luggage are enforced with a dictatorial hand, and many airlines now charge an extra fee for each checked bag. As for food, you’re lucky to get free peanuts on a six-hour cross-country trip, and when you’re traveling internationally, the meals are barely edible.<br /><br />If you have any feminist sympathies, you are surely digusted by the thought of makeup requirements for flight attendants. The populist in you may cringe at the idea of so much money spent, so much attention lavished on something as relatively unimportant as a plane flight. Realizing that an unattractive person will never be hired by any of these airlines, your inner activist no doubt wants to sue them all for discrimination. But the next time you fly on one of our homegrown American carriers and disembark hungry, stiff, and three hours late only to discover that your luggage never made it past your latest transfer point, I challenge you not to wish that you, too, could travel on one of the Gulf's luxury airlines.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-71743494633940573142008-11-12T22:54:00.000+04:002008-11-16T11:28:05.446+04:00A Tan in NovemberOn the first day of my newly launched program to find things I like about Abu Dhabi, I spent the afternoon at the beach. A narrow strip of white sand hugs the corniche along the northwestern edge of the city, and on weekends it is crammed full of locals and foreigners alike, out to enjoy the sunshine and take a dip in the aqua-blue waters of the Persian Gulf. At midday when families come for lunch, laden with shopping bags full of bread and hummus, watermelon and potato chips, you can gawp at the peculiar juxtaposition of Emirati women in black abayas slogging through the sand with their skirts trailing and feeding themselves morsels of food beneath their veils, side by side with well-bronzed foreign women in string bikinis reclining on towels beside their pasty, pot-bellied husbands.<br /><br />But on weekdays the beaches are quiet, populated mostly by white women alone or in pairs, occupying themselves while the men are at work by working on their tans and catching up on their Danielle Steel. An entrance fee of 5 dirhams admits you to a secluded stretch of sand reserved for families and females, where--if wearing an abaya at the beach is not your style--you can strip down to a swimsuit unmolested by the stares of the young male laborers who often gather on the free public beaches in nice weather to talk, eat, and fool around in the sand (but rarely to swim). Since the only other outdoor hangout spot I've ever seen them use is the grassy medians between lanes of speeding, honking traffic, I don't blame them for flocking to the beach whenever they can. But still, it's hardly pleasant to be leered at, and so yesterday I was happy to exercise the privileges of my Western status and pay a little money for some privacy.<br /><br />However much you resist becoming <span style="font-style: italic;">that </span>privileged Westerner, you will inevitably end up assuming that role on many occasions when you live in the Middle East. Social norms in the Arab world are powerful, and when they assign you a particular place in society based on your race, nationality, and way of dressing, it is nearly impossible to go against their decision.<br /><br />So I lay on the beach, I swam, I sunbathed, I ate lunch, I luxuriated in the feeling of absolute idleness. While meanwhile, just beyond the margins of the sand, the city hummed with the pulse of hundreds of thousands of foreign workers from India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, the Philippines, and Malaysia, Egypt and Syria and Yemen, sweating for long hours under the very same Abu Dhabi sun to build this country.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5328056109320836263.post-21827703873750338222008-11-11T12:07:00.000+04:002008-11-16T11:27:50.793+04:00Starting OverIn the four months since I left Egypt and moved to Abu Dhabi, I've been surprised at how much I can miss a place that at times was anything but good to me. Every day in Cairo brought new challenges, small and large, from trying to figure out where to buy coat hangers (and how to say "coat hangers" in Arabic) to being harassed by my doorman each morning, afternoon, and evening as I passed in and out of my apartment building. My monthly salary was less than my monthly rent, so that I grew to consider eating red meat, going to the cinema, and buying new clothes to be luxuries I could seldom afford. As the Middle East's largest city, Cairo can be a downright unpleasant place to live. The streets are dirty; the cab drivers are crazy; the food can make you sick. The noise is unrelenting. The lack of organization is astonishing. Yesterday an Emirati acquaintance of mine told me he'd never visited Egypt and never wanted to. "It's dirty, and nothing works there," he said. "The people have a sense of humor but you can't trust them."<br /><br />And yet I miss Egypt so much at times it's almost painful. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that I feel this way. When I returned to the U.S. after six months of studying in Cairo in 2006, I spent hours staring at photos of the places and people I'd left behind, babbled endlessly about my so-called experiences abroad in an attempt to keep them from slipping away, and whispered the Arabic phrases I had learned over and over to myself like cherished prayers. This second parting should have been easier. Abu Dhabi is only a four-hour flight away from Cairo, and my chances of returning there either for pleasure or for business while I'm living in the UAE are high. So why has it been so much more difficult than it was two years ago?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS12rFv7ECCl0ocM-dA8RMYHmD44eNQtkCClnxf5F05UpSeHGeae9_Eqd8i39GUbnhrLGcoD9k7K2dSKKKIviXFSLnzOBfocr6iZXhs_GNiLY1zXXbkfpYVPfgZqVzHYup2LjGys6Cg2wl/s1600-h/cairoblog.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS12rFv7ECCl0ocM-dA8RMYHmD44eNQtkCClnxf5F05UpSeHGeae9_Eqd8i39GUbnhrLGcoD9k7K2dSKKKIviXFSLnzOBfocr6iZXhs_GNiLY1zXXbkfpYVPfgZqVzHYup2LjGys6Cg2wl/s320/cairoblog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268510999015121618" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Cairo: an evening in late spring.</span><br /></div><br />I think the answer lies in Abu Dhabi. Everything here reminds me of Cairo, from the shisha cafes to the Arabic on the street signs. And yet it is not Cairo. I hail cabs that are nearly as shoddy and beat-up as any in Cairo, but when I try to talk to the drivers in Arabic they only shake their heads and look apologetic because they are Urdu-speaking Pakistanis, not Arabs. I walk into smoky, higgledy-piggledy little shops armed with my best bargaining skills and discover that in these shops, everything has a price tag. Fruit juices, which I used to chug by the freshly squeezed glassfull while leaning on the counter of a juice stand and chatting amiably with the stand's proprietor, is just as good here (and probably cleaner, too) but seems to be available only in shopping malls. Where's the charm in a shopping mall?<br /><br />After months of feeling tricked, disappointed, and taken for a fool by Abu Dhabi, I have come to resent it. But to be honest, it's my own fault. I've been too busy making comparisons between this city and Cairo to confront Abu Dhabi on its own terms. Frankly--unfairly--I haven't given the place a chance.<br /><br />So how can I change this? I can try to start appreciating Abu Dhabi for what it does have to offer, which includes beautiful beaches to go to all year long, a rich heritage of Arab traditions dating back to before the time of the Prophet Muhammad (tribalism, burqas, and whole roast camels, among others), a diverse society encompassing people and cuisines from all continents of the world, and of course, like any new place, a smorgasbord of new haunts to discover and new people to meet once I stop pining for Cairo enough to take an interest in them.<br /><br />So this is my resolution. And this blog is the first step.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17016587320404234574noreply@blogger.com0