Dubai through the tired, confused eyes of a brand new ex-pat
It’s been a month. A month since we stumbled off the plane
in Dubai from Sydney, 12,000 kilometres and 14 hours of straight movie-watching
behind us. A whole complicated life disentangled, unravelled, rolled up and stuffed
badly into boxes, ready to spill out in a new place.
This means a couple of things. The first is that we have to take a
short evening drive to Oman this week to exit and re-enter the country. This is
in the absence of a resident’s visa for me and the kids, which has met a few
hurdles. Nothing I can’t stagger over (even if I have to knock down a fence or
two on the way). The fact that I have not met anyone who didn’t have to do an Oman visa-run at least once is also
reassuring.
Now it might sound sort of glamorous, visiting another
country in between Eve’s gymnastics practice and dinner and homework on a
Wednesday afternoon. Where you would maybe fit in a visit to the gym or the
supermarket, I will be swanning my way around the Middle East, poking my nose
across the border of a land of beauty and mystery. But in reality, it will look
like this:
for about an hour or so heading east, then much the same for
an hour or so heading west. In between, we will go in and out, twice, of a
small building on the border.
We are hoping to make a more substantial visit to Oman quite
soon, in the April school holidays (or ‘spring break’ as I am now required to
call it. Funny how quickly you adopt the words and practices around you. I am
now quite naturally asking for people to pass the ketchup at barbecues,
although calling thongs flip-flops keeps slipping my mind. Some strange looks
there). Then we will see landscape that looks more like this:
Yay! Now that’s glamorous (cue jealousy on other side of the
world).
The other thing being here a month means is that our
container from Australia will arrive tomorrow. Am I longing for my precious
keepsakes and framed family photos? Do I want some relief from the six dresses
I have been rotating for two months? No. I want – I really, really, really want
– my coffee maker (or my happy maker, as I now realise it should be called). The
first two weeks involved some shameful imbibing of Starbucks and the similarly
insipid Tim Horton’s brew, until a canny Scot (thanks, Carol-Ann!) pointed
out that a fancy providores nearby sold Byron Bay coffee, made properly by a
real barista who did more than press a button. That has been a lifesaver, but
unfortunately they don’t open til 7am, and since my antipodean sleep patterns
are still not quite reversed, I often want something before then.
Apart from that I’m actually a bit worried about how I’m
going to fit all my boxed junk back into my life. Streamlined living has rather
suited me. So much less clutter. Okay, I don’t have exactly the right kitchen implement
or a t-shirt in the exact shade of green I might need, but I’m willing to put
up with that. Here is a picture of my lovely new lounge room now:
(Mind you, it’s
the absence of kids that perhaps makes the room look good). Tomorrow I will
provide one when it is full of unnecessary bits and pieces. You decide.
I started writing this thinking I would provide – for my
very first blog entry – a list of five things we love about Dubai, and five
things we love perhaps slightly less. But I’ve rambled on too long already.
Much better to leave it for next time. I’m hoping next time will include a
recording of the call to prayer (or the ‘man with the annoying song’ as Archie
first referred to it) and our neighbours’ unbelievably obnoxious sprinklers,
recorded at full-force at 4.50am tomorrow morning. I think you can probably
guess what category they will fall under.
