Prior to arriving to Dubai, I had decided that I didn't want to have a car. I didn't want to worry about a car payment, getting insurance in a foreign country, or a driver's license. The gas is cheap, so that wasn't a worry, but the construction of the roads is.
Everyone told me I would need a car here, but I refused to believe that I couldn't get anywhere I wanted to go via taxi. So, I took this decision on like a mantra, dedicated to creating my life here "car free". I succeeded in many ways: I live in the building that I work in, so that takes care of the morning and evening car commute. I have a few friends with cars, so that alleviates the need for an emergency car excursion or the weekend get-away road trip.
Many people have complained that part of the need for a car is that not many taxis are available, and even when they are, they are finniky (sp?) about who they take, depending on where you are going or who you are. My blonde hair has proved to be a valuable asset in relation to this. Not only does it set me apart from the myriads of other people on the street desperate to see a taxi pull over for them, but it's something that I believe intrigues the taxi drivers.
I'm not happy to use it in this way....I'm just saying it works.
The taxi drivers are mostly from Pakistan or Afghanistan or India...a few from Egypt. They speak very broken English. Most are middle aged. They all drive like friggin maniacs. I know that if I were a taxi driver here, I would drive like a maniac also, but it's one thing to be the maniac in control of the car, and another thing entirely to just be a maniac driver that happens to be at the mercy of another maniac. It's a completely un-nerving experience to say the least.
Taking a taxi here is very inexpensive. Even to the furthest places I have gone, I don't think I've spent more than $10 each way to get there and back.
The other morning I had the most bizarre taxi experience as of yet. I was waiting for a cab, on my way to work (prior to moving into the new apt) and there were three men waiting ahead of me, seemingly not having any luck with the taxi, given the exasperated looks on their faces. When they saw me standing in the taxi queue line, it was if someone stuck a pin in a balloon.
A taxi pulled over almost immediately and drove up to me. I motioned to the other men. The taxi driver told me he would not take any of the men and that if I wanted a taxi to get in. I told him "no thanks, please take these other men--they were here fist". He sped off in typical maniac form.
The gentlemen waved a thank you to me. I said "I'm sorry". A second taxi pulled over to the exact same place. Same story--he wanted to take me--i asked him to take the men before me. He refused, then drove away. By now, ten or so minutes had passed. I walked over to the men to learn that they had been standing there for an hour! Not one taxi had pulled over for them. Another taxi driver pulled up to me, same as the others. This time, I got in but asked the taxi driver to share the ride with the other men. He refused. I asked him why he wouldn't take the men.
He said that it was rude in their culture (and against their rules as a taxi driver) to pick up a man when a woman is waiting. He explained to me further that women were "fragile" and couldn't take the heat like men could. I laughed a little inside at this. God made women to bear children but not capable of enduring some heat, huh? Anyway, I didn't completely believe this story because it wasn't that hot and I didn't believe that all of these taxi drivers were "that" noble...and still that didn't explain why the men had stood there for an hour when I had the first taxi pull over in less than 2 minutes.
Apparently, my standing there refusing the taxis had hurt the men more than it helped. I thought this was quite interesting.
So--if you ever come to visit, dye your hair blonde and dress up as a woman. Otherwise, hope for a corner free of females!
Friday, November 28, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
"Sunday"
Its Saturday today--which, in Dubai, is "Sunday". Sundays have always been the favorite day of the week for me.
When I was little, my family would wake up early Sunday morning to the smell of the bacon and eggs breakfast that my mother was cooking in the kitchen. My mother did this wonderful thing when we were little and woke us up with warm wash rags on our face and she would sing this cute little song every morning.
It was a nice way to wake up to say the least.
She would then shoo us to the table in our pajamas, all sleepy-eyed and not wanting to be there, until she would come around to hug us and set orange juice on the table.
We would all eat together and then she would clean up the table and begin dressing us for church--curling my sister's and my hair, combing my brothers, tying my dads tie for him.
After we were all dressed, I remember sitting on the edge of the bed in her and my dads room, and watching her get ready in the leftover 15 or so minutes we had before leaving for Sunday School.
She was always running late--and for good reason: she had fed, dressed and coifed three children and a husband--and she always did it to perfection, which took a lot of effort, patience and...time.
I would watch her scurry around, rolling her hair before ironing her dress. She had a very calculated method for putting the rollers in her hair: 4 medium sized ones would go down the middle of her head starting in the front, with two smaller sized ones on either side of the initial four. I still remember watching how she put each of them into her hair--sometimes digging into her scalp a little too far with the curler clip, which would make her wince a little from the pain, but she never made a sound of complaint. Next, she would iron her dress while waiting for the curlers to set her hair. She never wasted a minute.
After dressing and taking the curlers out of her hair, she would sit down to her make-up mirror--one of those "old school" kind with lights built into either side of it. You could even change the color settings on the lights to emulate night time lighting or day time lighting. I thought that was so neat.
I would sit behind her and watch the reflection of her in the mirror as she carefully concealed the barely noticeable red spots on her face and the small broken vessels that she claimed to have around her nose. She would then raise her eyebrows and move in closer to the mirror to put mascara onto the longest eyelashes I have ever seen in my life--her big blue eyes sparkling with the reflection of the mirrors light in them.
She would always say that if it took longer than 5 minutes to put on your make-up, you were putting too much on. I have never forgotten that.
Ever so often, she would catch me staring at her and she would stop mid-motion and look back to smile at me, and when she did her whole face would change. It was as if every other thought in the world had left her mind and all she saw in that moment was me. Her eyes would light up and soften at the same time--her forehead would lower, the corners of her mouth would extend out as far as they could raising her cheeks to make the ends of her eyes rise with them, and she would always tilt her head slightly and lower her shoulders as if looking at me washed all of her stress away.
When I saw her face like this, I never needed to hear "I love you", although those words and that look always went together. Reflexively, I would return the look to her and she would go back to her makeup.
Those moments when she looked at me like this were my favorite.
I would watch her carefully finish her makeup until the most beautiful creature I had ever seen would emerge--every Sunday morning. She was perfect to me. Not just on Sundays, but especially on Sundays. Something about taking care of us and getting us ready for church really made her happy...and it glowed out of her.
Today I woke up thinking about those Sundays.
Today, I had my first good cry over her being gone. It took two, nearly three months, but I finally had it. It's weird, but I think I had been waiting to get here to have it. Somehow I feel like I needed to save it for a time and place when I could really be alone and let it happen. I didn't have to worry about someone seeing or hearing me, or about someone being worried about me. I didn't want someone to hold me through it, or to tell me it would be ok. I didn't want to talk about it or have someone hand me tissue while telling me how I will always have her with me no matter what.
I needed to do it here where I could be this alone with it. So I did.
For more than three hours I cried until I thought it would be impossible for my body to produce any more saline, and then.....I just stopped. It felt like 500 pounds had been released from me.
I got up and went to the bathroom to wash my face. I turned the water on as cold as I could possibly get it and I put my hands under the water to wet the rag. With the rag opened, I draped it over my whole face. Sitting down next to the sink, I left it on my face until all of the cold had moved from the rag to my skin. It felt better than anything I've felt in a long time. It was so refreshing. I sat there thinking how much I wish I could see her look at me that way again.
As I stood in the mirror, removed the rag and used the corners of it to wash away the black tears from my face, I saw two big blue eyes sparkling back at me in the mirror. They were completely tear-stained, but they had such a familiar shape, size and color. They were a little red, but large like hers. The lashes were completely mascara free, but long and blonde like hers.
They were soft like hers....and they had a familiar look like hers.
In that moment, I may not have seen her mouth form the words, or been able to see her head tilt slighly when she said them, but I definitely heard a very fond "I love you".
And Sundays are still my favorite day of the week...
When I was little, my family would wake up early Sunday morning to the smell of the bacon and eggs breakfast that my mother was cooking in the kitchen. My mother did this wonderful thing when we were little and woke us up with warm wash rags on our face and she would sing this cute little song every morning.
It was a nice way to wake up to say the least.
She would then shoo us to the table in our pajamas, all sleepy-eyed and not wanting to be there, until she would come around to hug us and set orange juice on the table.
We would all eat together and then she would clean up the table and begin dressing us for church--curling my sister's and my hair, combing my brothers, tying my dads tie for him.
After we were all dressed, I remember sitting on the edge of the bed in her and my dads room, and watching her get ready in the leftover 15 or so minutes we had before leaving for Sunday School.
She was always running late--and for good reason: she had fed, dressed and coifed three children and a husband--and she always did it to perfection, which took a lot of effort, patience and...time.
I would watch her scurry around, rolling her hair before ironing her dress. She had a very calculated method for putting the rollers in her hair: 4 medium sized ones would go down the middle of her head starting in the front, with two smaller sized ones on either side of the initial four. I still remember watching how she put each of them into her hair--sometimes digging into her scalp a little too far with the curler clip, which would make her wince a little from the pain, but she never made a sound of complaint. Next, she would iron her dress while waiting for the curlers to set her hair. She never wasted a minute.
After dressing and taking the curlers out of her hair, she would sit down to her make-up mirror--one of those "old school" kind with lights built into either side of it. You could even change the color settings on the lights to emulate night time lighting or day time lighting. I thought that was so neat.
I would sit behind her and watch the reflection of her in the mirror as she carefully concealed the barely noticeable red spots on her face and the small broken vessels that she claimed to have around her nose. She would then raise her eyebrows and move in closer to the mirror to put mascara onto the longest eyelashes I have ever seen in my life--her big blue eyes sparkling with the reflection of the mirrors light in them.
She would always say that if it took longer than 5 minutes to put on your make-up, you were putting too much on. I have never forgotten that.
Ever so often, she would catch me staring at her and she would stop mid-motion and look back to smile at me, and when she did her whole face would change. It was as if every other thought in the world had left her mind and all she saw in that moment was me. Her eyes would light up and soften at the same time--her forehead would lower, the corners of her mouth would extend out as far as they could raising her cheeks to make the ends of her eyes rise with them, and she would always tilt her head slightly and lower her shoulders as if looking at me washed all of her stress away.
When I saw her face like this, I never needed to hear "I love you", although those words and that look always went together. Reflexively, I would return the look to her and she would go back to her makeup.
Those moments when she looked at me like this were my favorite.
I would watch her carefully finish her makeup until the most beautiful creature I had ever seen would emerge--every Sunday morning. She was perfect to me. Not just on Sundays, but especially on Sundays. Something about taking care of us and getting us ready for church really made her happy...and it glowed out of her.
Today I woke up thinking about those Sundays.
Today, I had my first good cry over her being gone. It took two, nearly three months, but I finally had it. It's weird, but I think I had been waiting to get here to have it. Somehow I feel like I needed to save it for a time and place when I could really be alone and let it happen. I didn't have to worry about someone seeing or hearing me, or about someone being worried about me. I didn't want someone to hold me through it, or to tell me it would be ok. I didn't want to talk about it or have someone hand me tissue while telling me how I will always have her with me no matter what.
I needed to do it here where I could be this alone with it. So I did.
For more than three hours I cried until I thought it would be impossible for my body to produce any more saline, and then.....I just stopped. It felt like 500 pounds had been released from me.
I got up and went to the bathroom to wash my face. I turned the water on as cold as I could possibly get it and I put my hands under the water to wet the rag. With the rag opened, I draped it over my whole face. Sitting down next to the sink, I left it on my face until all of the cold had moved from the rag to my skin. It felt better than anything I've felt in a long time. It was so refreshing. I sat there thinking how much I wish I could see her look at me that way again.
As I stood in the mirror, removed the rag and used the corners of it to wash away the black tears from my face, I saw two big blue eyes sparkling back at me in the mirror. They were completely tear-stained, but they had such a familiar shape, size and color. They were a little red, but large like hers. The lashes were completely mascara free, but long and blonde like hers.
They were soft like hers....and they had a familiar look like hers.
In that moment, I may not have seen her mouth form the words, or been able to see her head tilt slighly when she said them, but I definitely heard a very fond "I love you".
And Sundays are still my favorite day of the week...
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
The Nuances of Dubai..and my first complaint list.
I've been here for two weeks without one negative word...so, I figured it was time for a couple:
First of all....in the city of the Future, there are no addresses. Nope. Not a one.
Apparently, Dubai intends to implement"beaming" oneself across the city sometime very soon, so they never bothered to put any street numbers or building numbers....or any numbers of any kind..anywhere that you might possibly need them.
Finding a building means "landmarking" it, like in the old days when they would say stuff like..."go right at the ole wagon wheel...you'll see a cow skull 'bout half a mile down, go west there to the chicken coop and that's the driveway to my homestead.
I can't believe in a city of 1.5 million and with the money they have to build the worlds largest mall, tallest building, MAN made islands in the middle of the sea...they couldn't have had the common sense to put a dang number anywhere. Try communicating with your taxi driver (at all for starters) where to take you and how to get there when nothing has an address. It's quite something to be experienced.
Secondly....I took a 'shower' this morning in water pressure equivalent to that of someone drooling on me. Tomorrow it might be enough to knock me over....today, it took 20 minutes to wash the soap out of my ear and another 10 to wash my pinkie toe. I then got ready to blow dry my hair and I had a little flame of fire shoot right out of the end of it, as the electrical socket successfully killed my hair dryers little life plan of making my hair look like Giseles. Instead I went to work with frizzy flat hair (quite a combo), a dead hair dryer...and the fear of plugging anything into that socket ever again. Ever.
Last night, I ordered a spicy tuna roll for dinner and was brought peppered, CANNED tuna (yes..."full on" Jessica Simpson endorsed "Chicken of the Sea") wrapped in rice and seaweed. It was awesome.
After deciding that being "polite" for me didn't extend as far as completing that meal, I ordered another one: Peanut chicken Salad with Ginger. Sounds good, right?Picture a plate of Iceburg lettuce (wet) with slightly watered down Jiffy peanut butter scooped on top of it with some sprinkles (and I do mean "sprinkles", not chunks) of chicken on top of it. Layer some ginger shavings on top of that, and you have the makings of this rendition of "Peanut Chicken salad with Ginger". There were all three ingredients--so technically they were correct. About as correct as the "spicy tuna roll". :)
Ok.....complaint list completed. I had to vent! ;)
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Homesick
Today is Saturday, Nov. 15th. I've been here for 9 days and today I felt my first tinge of sadness toward being Homesick. I spoke with my brother this morning at 2:30 am (he hasn't adjusted the the new time zone yet :) ) and my fears about his marriage were confirmed: he and his wife are getting a divorce.
This has perhaps been the most difficult year yet for my family. We lost our dear grandmother (the rock of our family) in March of this year, followed by my mother in late August. Just a few days ago my sister had a near fatal accident and now this for my brother...? I will be VERY thankful when 2008 comes to a close. I felt sooo homesick after I got off of the phone with him. I haven't lived in Texas for nearly 10 years now and although I can't see myself ever living there again, my family is there so it will always be "home" to me in the ways that matter the most.
One homesickness led to another and I began thinking of my 'real' home in San Diego---and the homesickness that I knew would be inevitable began to sink in.
San Diego is the first "home" that I selected and made truly for myself...and by myself. By the time I visited there for the first time, I had been around the world a couple of times and had never felt about a city the way I felt about San Diego. It was definitely "Home at First Sight". Over the eight years that I have spent there, I have created some of the best relationships of my life---not like the childhood ones that were somehow pre-selected and packaged for you like a lunchbox at school or church; not because my parents were friends with their parents, etc.
The people in my San Diego life are my true family. They know me on a level few know me...and today, I am missing that.
Today, I am missing WHS (inside joke...sorry).
I miss being on the couch at Suzy's, snuggled up in her blanket with Batman on my lap, watching as she dances in the doorway of her patio---one hand outside holding a cigarette...the other one, inside waving to the rhythm of the music playing in her living room. Watching her dance with her eyes closed is one of my favorite things ever.
I miss late dinners with Athena and drinking white wine (which I only drink with her) out of vintage, rose-colored glasses. I miss seeing the fiery passion that comes out of her eyes when she talks and I miss how there's not one word that she speaks that lacks Meaning.
I miss waking up on a Sunday morning at Justin's house and having the boys stand in the doorway, each wishing me a good morning and the way we then all talk about the night before and the inevitable hangovers that we're going to have that day....and maybe the next day too.
I miss music at the Casbah with Justin and how he always goes to the front near the stage, while I stay at the back so that I can watch the crowd's reaction to the music. I miss how every now and then he will look back to find me just to give me a "thumbs up--this ROCKS" look with his eyes...and then how we then go back to dancing in our own little worlds. Separate....but so Together.
I miss having milk green tea with boba out of small tea cups with Kate---and all of our many, many talks about love and dating...religion and marriage and women and trust and friends and family and self-love...and loving being alone. I especially miss how everytime she spends the night without DJ, she refuses to sleep anywhere else in the house but in my bed with me and how we then stay up until the wee wee hours of the morning talking until there isn't energy for one more word.
I miss hanging out with Steven and Erin and the little girls and how they always apologize for their "messy" house (it really isnt), all the while not knowing that letting me into their "messy" house is the best compliment that they could ever give me. I miss how her little girl, Stella, says my name and smiles when she sees me, and I miss SO much the way that Erin always knows exactly what I'm feeling and thinking, before and without me saying anything at all.
I miss beach days with Jessica and how natural it is to be friends with her. I miss how passionate she is and how she always calls me when there's any political activism to be done. I love the fact that she counts on me to be present for those things...and I love sharing them with her.
I miss my Landmark buddies and how much belief they have in me--especially when this Dubai opportunity came up. But most of all, out of that group, I miss Pablo. I miss how truly Honest our relationship is--it's so rare to be able to completely be your naked, raw self with someone and have them graciously return themself to you in the same manner.
I miss the friendship that I have with Scott...born out of a business transaction. I can't even imagine my resume (personal and business) without this person in my life.
I miss weekends out with Misty and Molly and the boys, and how Misty and Patrick always subtly disappear right around midnight, even thought we always know when they leave...(they really think we're NOT going to notice!!!???). I miss Molly's infamous "booty dance" and the way she engages people right down to the marrow in their bones. I miss the way she makes me (and everyone) laugh and feel so comfortable and I miss the countless hours of dating advice from Misty---who also taught me the most regarding the importance of female friends.
I miss my oldest San Diego friend, Dan...and his dry sense of humor that comes out at the most unexpected times. I miss hair cuts and passionate discussions with William. I miss Billy's hugs and the way Patrick snorts when he gets into a laughing fit. I miss Stacy's energy.
I can't even BEGIN to describe the ways in which I miss Sylvie.
These people are really my 'home' no matter where I am. I'm thankful to know that wherever I am, I take you with me. It brings me a lot of comfort. Today, however, I'm wishing I were with all of my San Diego friends...and I'm sending my love out to all of you who are my home...no matter if you are in San Diego, or Texas or on the East Coast, West Coast, New Zealand, France or otherwise.....I'm sending love out to you in volumes too large for my meager words.
This has perhaps been the most difficult year yet for my family. We lost our dear grandmother (the rock of our family) in March of this year, followed by my mother in late August. Just a few days ago my sister had a near fatal accident and now this for my brother...? I will be VERY thankful when 2008 comes to a close. I felt sooo homesick after I got off of the phone with him. I haven't lived in Texas for nearly 10 years now and although I can't see myself ever living there again, my family is there so it will always be "home" to me in the ways that matter the most.
One homesickness led to another and I began thinking of my 'real' home in San Diego---and the homesickness that I knew would be inevitable began to sink in.
San Diego is the first "home" that I selected and made truly for myself...and by myself. By the time I visited there for the first time, I had been around the world a couple of times and had never felt about a city the way I felt about San Diego. It was definitely "Home at First Sight". Over the eight years that I have spent there, I have created some of the best relationships of my life---not like the childhood ones that were somehow pre-selected and packaged for you like a lunchbox at school or church; not because my parents were friends with their parents, etc.
The people in my San Diego life are my true family. They know me on a level few know me...and today, I am missing that.
Today, I am missing WHS (inside joke...sorry).
I miss being on the couch at Suzy's, snuggled up in her blanket with Batman on my lap, watching as she dances in the doorway of her patio---one hand outside holding a cigarette...the other one, inside waving to the rhythm of the music playing in her living room. Watching her dance with her eyes closed is one of my favorite things ever.
I miss late dinners with Athena and drinking white wine (which I only drink with her) out of vintage, rose-colored glasses. I miss seeing the fiery passion that comes out of her eyes when she talks and I miss how there's not one word that she speaks that lacks Meaning.
I miss waking up on a Sunday morning at Justin's house and having the boys stand in the doorway, each wishing me a good morning and the way we then all talk about the night before and the inevitable hangovers that we're going to have that day....and maybe the next day too.
I miss music at the Casbah with Justin and how he always goes to the front near the stage, while I stay at the back so that I can watch the crowd's reaction to the music. I miss how every now and then he will look back to find me just to give me a "thumbs up--this ROCKS" look with his eyes...and then how we then go back to dancing in our own little worlds. Separate....but so Together.
I miss having milk green tea with boba out of small tea cups with Kate---and all of our many, many talks about love and dating...religion and marriage and women and trust and friends and family and self-love...and loving being alone. I especially miss how everytime she spends the night without DJ, she refuses to sleep anywhere else in the house but in my bed with me and how we then stay up until the wee wee hours of the morning talking until there isn't energy for one more word.
I miss hanging out with Steven and Erin and the little girls and how they always apologize for their "messy" house (it really isnt), all the while not knowing that letting me into their "messy" house is the best compliment that they could ever give me. I miss how her little girl, Stella, says my name and smiles when she sees me, and I miss SO much the way that Erin always knows exactly what I'm feeling and thinking, before and without me saying anything at all.
I miss beach days with Jessica and how natural it is to be friends with her. I miss how passionate she is and how she always calls me when there's any political activism to be done. I love the fact that she counts on me to be present for those things...and I love sharing them with her.
I miss my Landmark buddies and how much belief they have in me--especially when this Dubai opportunity came up. But most of all, out of that group, I miss Pablo. I miss how truly Honest our relationship is--it's so rare to be able to completely be your naked, raw self with someone and have them graciously return themself to you in the same manner.
I miss the friendship that I have with Scott...born out of a business transaction. I can't even imagine my resume (personal and business) without this person in my life.
I miss weekends out with Misty and Molly and the boys, and how Misty and Patrick always subtly disappear right around midnight, even thought we always know when they leave...(they really think we're NOT going to notice!!!???). I miss Molly's infamous "booty dance" and the way she engages people right down to the marrow in their bones. I miss the way she makes me (and everyone) laugh and feel so comfortable and I miss the countless hours of dating advice from Misty---who also taught me the most regarding the importance of female friends.
I miss my oldest San Diego friend, Dan...and his dry sense of humor that comes out at the most unexpected times. I miss hair cuts and passionate discussions with William. I miss Billy's hugs and the way Patrick snorts when he gets into a laughing fit. I miss Stacy's energy.
I can't even BEGIN to describe the ways in which I miss Sylvie.
These people are really my 'home' no matter where I am. I'm thankful to know that wherever I am, I take you with me. It brings me a lot of comfort. Today, however, I'm wishing I were with all of my San Diego friends...and I'm sending my love out to all of you who are my home...no matter if you are in San Diego, or Texas or on the East Coast, West Coast, New Zealand, France or otherwise.....I'm sending love out to you in volumes too large for my meager words.
"Firsts"
I've officically completed my first week here in Dubai. I can't believe it's only been a week and at the same time, I can't believe how fast the week has gone by.
I absolutely LOVE my job, my colleagues and my boss. I can't remember the last time, if ever, that I was able to say that in truth. I think I never really felt like my job fit my capacity or direction. For the first time, this one fits both, and in such a gracious way. The principle of Delta Lighting (his name is Ziad, for future referencing) has completely taken me under his wing. I feel like I "get" this man. I think we already have a very strong rapport, appreciation of each other and mutual respect. He literally treats me as if he had been dog-paddling in the middle of the ocean for a day, and somehow someone threw him a lifesaver, and it's me. Yesterday, he took me aside to let me know how glad he is that I came and how much I've already contributed in such a short amount of time. It was really a wonderful end to my first week at work.
I wasn't quite sure what my job was going to fully look like. It has been my experience that frequently when a person in a management position (and who has been there solely, and for quite some time) requests management assistance, it's rarely relinquished to the new person very easily or without hesitation. My situation here could not be more opposite. Not only does Ziad have no "ego" attached to the managing of the company, he completely and totally makes me feel like he has full trust in me and my capabilities--which gives me a dual feeling of gratitude and fear at the same time. I'm obviously grateful that someone sees me this way, but there is that inherent fear that I will somehow let him down or disappoint him in some way. I think that's normal, but I certainly am working to repress those thoughts as much as possible.
Another "first" this week was the heart attack that I had as I spent every evening after work looking for a place to live that wasn't going to literally cost me an arm or a leg, or the promise of my firstborn child. I had no such luck. The rents are in excess of triple the amount that I paid in San Diego. I could buy a small car each month for what I will pay to rent a 1600 sf flat. I did, however, completely fall in love with a place, so at least I have a "home" now and one that I am extremely excited about. However, whatever vertical financial step I thought I had made by moving here might have been stunted significantly by the most basic living expense.
Today, it's my first Friday completely to myself. Friday here, means Saturday at home. Our work week is Sunday thru Thursday, which has taken some time to get used to but was a pleasant surprise yesterday (on Thursday), when I realized my first week of work was over.
I'm at the beach for the first time today. It's stunningly beautiful. Moreso than I imagined. I stepped off of a very dirty, dusty concrete Dubai road and into a park that was covered with brilliant greenery and fuschia bouganvilla trees. I could have easily been in Balboa Park, only there was turquoise ocean in front of the park, peeking at me beneath the trees.
I stepped off of a little Indonesian looking bridge onto a patio and then into the fine white beach. I looked around to see palm trees growing right out of the sand populated with dots of sunbathers seeking shade lying beneath them. Red and white umbrellas lined the edge of the water, which was clear and blue and stunningly beautiful. I couldn't believe this was where I would spend the day...not on vacation, but in my new home city. It was my favorite 'first' since being here as of yet, although I can't get enough of them (the "firsts").
"Firsts" are what I love about traveling. Seeing something or someone new for the first time---hearing a new dialect, tasting a new cuisine; having a brand new experience, after thinking you couldn't possibly see anything else in your life that would truly 'stun' you. And then something else does...and another....and another. It makes me feel young and inexperienced......humble and small, which is always a refreshing way to feel.
My ex used to call me "insatiable" in Life...and the way he used it wasn't positive. I guess in a lot of ways that is true about me---I do love to experience new things and I'm rarely captivated enough by one experience to not reach for another one. This is what Life is about for me. Is that wrong? I don't want to have been given the amazing gift of breath on this earth and then have used it all in one place. I think for me, it doesn't feel like being 'insatiable' is in any way tied to being ungrateful. For me, it's about being SO grateful that I want to keep experiencing the gift that I have. It's the difference between the child that receives and then puts a gift up on a shelf behind a glass case, and the one that carries it with them everywhere they go, because they can't stand the thought of being without it. I want to carry my gift with me far and wide. I want, at the end of my life, for it to be completely tired and worn out...like the precious stuffed animal that has lost it's eye and stuffing and has the ear hanging on by a thread. If that's what being "insatiable" means...I'm up for that label. And I'm definitely up for continuing to see more and more "firsts".
But for now, I'm really enjoying the "first" I'm currently in, sitting here at the beach with my toes in foreign sand, with myriads of dialects going on around me and even in the being of another "first", I feel at oddly "at home".
I absolutely LOVE my job, my colleagues and my boss. I can't remember the last time, if ever, that I was able to say that in truth. I think I never really felt like my job fit my capacity or direction. For the first time, this one fits both, and in such a gracious way. The principle of Delta Lighting (his name is Ziad, for future referencing) has completely taken me under his wing. I feel like I "get" this man. I think we already have a very strong rapport, appreciation of each other and mutual respect. He literally treats me as if he had been dog-paddling in the middle of the ocean for a day, and somehow someone threw him a lifesaver, and it's me. Yesterday, he took me aside to let me know how glad he is that I came and how much I've already contributed in such a short amount of time. It was really a wonderful end to my first week at work.
I wasn't quite sure what my job was going to fully look like. It has been my experience that frequently when a person in a management position (and who has been there solely, and for quite some time) requests management assistance, it's rarely relinquished to the new person very easily or without hesitation. My situation here could not be more opposite. Not only does Ziad have no "ego" attached to the managing of the company, he completely and totally makes me feel like he has full trust in me and my capabilities--which gives me a dual feeling of gratitude and fear at the same time. I'm obviously grateful that someone sees me this way, but there is that inherent fear that I will somehow let him down or disappoint him in some way. I think that's normal, but I certainly am working to repress those thoughts as much as possible.
Another "first" this week was the heart attack that I had as I spent every evening after work looking for a place to live that wasn't going to literally cost me an arm or a leg, or the promise of my firstborn child. I had no such luck. The rents are in excess of triple the amount that I paid in San Diego. I could buy a small car each month for what I will pay to rent a 1600 sf flat. I did, however, completely fall in love with a place, so at least I have a "home" now and one that I am extremely excited about. However, whatever vertical financial step I thought I had made by moving here might have been stunted significantly by the most basic living expense.
Today, it's my first Friday completely to myself. Friday here, means Saturday at home. Our work week is Sunday thru Thursday, which has taken some time to get used to but was a pleasant surprise yesterday (on Thursday), when I realized my first week of work was over.
I'm at the beach for the first time today. It's stunningly beautiful. Moreso than I imagined. I stepped off of a very dirty, dusty concrete Dubai road and into a park that was covered with brilliant greenery and fuschia bouganvilla trees. I could have easily been in Balboa Park, only there was turquoise ocean in front of the park, peeking at me beneath the trees.
I stepped off of a little Indonesian looking bridge onto a patio and then into the fine white beach. I looked around to see palm trees growing right out of the sand populated with dots of sunbathers seeking shade lying beneath them. Red and white umbrellas lined the edge of the water, which was clear and blue and stunningly beautiful. I couldn't believe this was where I would spend the day...not on vacation, but in my new home city. It was my favorite 'first' since being here as of yet, although I can't get enough of them (the "firsts").
"Firsts" are what I love about traveling. Seeing something or someone new for the first time---hearing a new dialect, tasting a new cuisine; having a brand new experience, after thinking you couldn't possibly see anything else in your life that would truly 'stun' you. And then something else does...and another....and another. It makes me feel young and inexperienced......humble and small, which is always a refreshing way to feel.
My ex used to call me "insatiable" in Life...and the way he used it wasn't positive. I guess in a lot of ways that is true about me---I do love to experience new things and I'm rarely captivated enough by one experience to not reach for another one. This is what Life is about for me. Is that wrong? I don't want to have been given the amazing gift of breath on this earth and then have used it all in one place. I think for me, it doesn't feel like being 'insatiable' is in any way tied to being ungrateful. For me, it's about being SO grateful that I want to keep experiencing the gift that I have. It's the difference between the child that receives and then puts a gift up on a shelf behind a glass case, and the one that carries it with them everywhere they go, because they can't stand the thought of being without it. I want to carry my gift with me far and wide. I want, at the end of my life, for it to be completely tired and worn out...like the precious stuffed animal that has lost it's eye and stuffing and has the ear hanging on by a thread. If that's what being "insatiable" means...I'm up for that label. And I'm definitely up for continuing to see more and more "firsts".
But for now, I'm really enjoying the "first" I'm currently in, sitting here at the beach with my toes in foreign sand, with myriads of dialects going on around me and even in the being of another "first", I feel at oddly "at home".
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
The first few days...
A new life certainly started for the 'old' girl (who I would like to think isn't so 'old' yet) and I quite like it. Things have started out well here, with little to no hassle (other than my lost passport). The flight was very smooth and I have to say that if any of you come to visit me while I'm living here, you really must fly Emirates Airlines. The straight flight from LA was a life-saver and the attendants, service and quality of the plane were really un-paralleled in my experience.
So far, my accommodations for the next month are in a serviced hotel apartment. It's equivalent to a 3 star hotel (to be generous) and costs about $8,000 USD per month. Crazy. When I arrived, I was actually a bit skeptical to what company would put me up in such a place, but then I soon realized that this really wasn't a "cheap" place to stay, regardless of how it seemed. The staff, however, have really proven to be amazing and make me feel welcome each day when I come home and leave for work. So, that has helped to quell any uneasiness related to the quality of the room, etc.
Upon arriving, my kitchen had been stocked with bread, butter, crackers, cereal, grapes, Pringles……and milk and Oreos. There's just something that felt good about coming to work for a company that would stock my room with milk and Oreos.
I slept very well the first night, despite the construction and traffic noises going on outside my hotel window. I woke up at 5am to the eerie sounds of the city wide wake up call that I had read about, but completely forgotten until it had penetrated it's way into my dream where I found myself walking through a mosque. Eventually, I came out of the dream, looked around to find that I was definitely not walking and certainly not in a mosque, although I couldn't really make out where exactly I was. All I knew was that there were some odd sounds surrounding me and I was in a dark room that I couldn't discern. I was definitely not in San Diego. That I knew for sure.
The second call, which is actually the Morning Call to Prayer, happened 30 minutes later, just as I was falling back asleep. This time, not only were there Arabic sounds coming through a PA system, but I could also hear people outside my window responding to the Call to Prayer in Arabic. It was beautiful to me, even in it's being somewhat eerie. The Call sounded dark in a way, very surreal, and then the response being even more surreal. I knew right then and there that I would never sleep past 5:30 am here. So, I made the decision that the beauty of this would be my own morning Call to Prayer. For my ass. Yep. This would be my "wake up and go work your ass out" Call to Prayer. So far, I've yet to sleep past 5:30 am, but I'm not yet in a place with fitness facilities, so instead of "working out" at 5 am, I lay in bed and watch re-runs of According to Jim, which is apparently a very popular show here in Dubai. Not everything can be amazing, I suppose.
The following day after I arrived, my boss had scheduled to have lunch with me at 1:00 pm. This is the same boss that I had some questions about prior to arriving due to the fact that I had yet to have received confirmation of my flight until one week prior to leaving. Naturally, this had left me feeling very uneasy as I packed, sold and gave my life away…all without a confirmed ticket to the place I was moving my life to. So, I was somewhat "skeptical" about this man, to be honest. I had put a lot of faith in him and was anxious to see if that had been a mistake or not.
Thirty minutes prior to 1:00 (our meeting time), he texted me to say that he was going to be 30 minutes late. My skepticism went into full force at this moment. I didn't even bother responding to the text. I simply waited downstairs for him, fully expecting for a 50+ year old, short, sinister type of guy to show up, at which point I was planning to pack up my little 350 lbs of luggage and haul ass back to the US.
Instead, a tall man in his late thirties showed up, beaming smile, sincerely apologetic in saying that his 3 year old wasn't feeling well and that he had to help his wife get some things together before leaving. I love being wrong; especially when being "right" means going with cynicism and distrust.
We went to lunch and I knew right away that my initial instincts about him had been correct. He was a good man. He just had an issue with time. That's funny…I don't know anyone else like that!
I was surprised to look around the little restaurant where we ate to find that women were dressed in bikini bathing suits with cover ups, short skirts, flip flops, tans, halter tops, shoulders bare, etc. I felt like I could have easily been in San Diego, LA or San Francisco. And the food was incredible….and cheap! On average, I've found that eating out here is 20% or so less comparitavely than eating out in San Diego, so that came as a pleasant surprise.
My current mode of transport is via taxi, which is sometimes very nice and others (like yesterday) a total drag. I had waited maybe 15 minutes for a taxi, which doesn't sound like a long time, but when you're on a busy street corner in the heat of Dubai, with dust and dirt everywhere…it's a very long 15 minutes, so I was happy to see a very dirty taxi pull over to pick me up and take me across town to the Mall of Emirates (Dubai's first famous mall—it was just this weekend superceded in size by Dubai's newest world famous mall). I should first mention that I get vertigo almost every time that I'm sitting in the backseat of a car. I had previously reminded myself to get in the front seat of the taxi, but that day, for some reason I got into the back seat. Very bad idea. Let's just say that I spent the first 20 minutes at the mall with my head down on a table and an ice cold rag on my neck. Front seat taxi riding is the only way to go from here on out!
The following day was my first day of work, and I really couldn't wait to get started. After living, breathing, talking, walking, eating, sleeping...revolving everything in my life for the past couple of months around this job, I was anxious (in a good way) to see what lay ahead for me in the office. I woke up very early that morning…even prior to the first morning call. I showered and was ready to leave for the office at 6:30 am. I didn't have to be there until 8:30, so I went to the grocery store, bought a Dubai phone, had a leisurely breakfast, read about Barack in the Arabic news and walked into work 10 minutes early. I'm hoping this is an example of my organization of time in the months to come. Wouldn't that be nice.
My colleagues couldn't be more gracious. The receptionist is this cute, petite Malaysian woman named Mabel that calls me "Ms. Tiffany". It makes me feel like I'm in a spa or something, which is certainly not a bad feeling to have when walking into the office everyday. The staff consists currently of 4 CAD technicians from Pakistan and India, two lighting designers from France (one from Marseilles, one from Leon), one designer from Germany, one from Malaysia (who came here from LA), one from China (also coming from LA), one from Brazil (the model, although I have to say that he must look better in print…I didn't see "model" when I looked at him) and Ziad, the Principal from Lebanon. So…our office is certainly 'diverse'. Next month we have 6 new designers arriving from all over the world, which is very exciting.
I share an office with Ziad, the principal. I have a table that is maybe 3' x 3' with room for the monitor, a table, 1/4 of my arm and the keyboard. And I'm completely happy here. We're remodeling the office right now, so it's very cramped, there's a LOT of construction noise, the AC has been off for 3 days while they are re-working the mechanical units and I sit contently for my 10 hour day thinking how lucky I am to have found this opportunity.
What little I've seen of the City, in terms of 'touring' has been amazing. My camera, however, is packed somewhere in one of the boxes that I haven't wanted to open up and dig through yet, so I don't have any pictures to share as of yet. What I know of the future pictures that I will surely take is that they won't do the city justice. I already know that. It's enormous. Even with a small population of only 1.5 million people, the city spans a distance of approximately 30 miles or more. This is not like urban sprawl in a city like LA or San Diego, where there is a concentrated "downtown" area with suburbs surrounding, etc. The skyscrapers and towers of Dubai span this distance. It's incredible. It's quite an interesting city plan. Sheik Zayed Road is the main road of Dubai, similar to the "strip" in Vegas, only it's 10 times that (at least) in size.
I have to say that I'm really happy here so far. I feel "at home" in a way that's odd to me for having been here so few days. It's not like the way I feel "at home" in San Diego…it's just a comfort in being where I am and feeling like it's perhaps not as "foreign" and "far away" as it seems. I will certainly make the most of my time here, but already look forward to being home in my real home city again.
More to certainly come…
So far, my accommodations for the next month are in a serviced hotel apartment. It's equivalent to a 3 star hotel (to be generous) and costs about $8,000 USD per month. Crazy. When I arrived, I was actually a bit skeptical to what company would put me up in such a place, but then I soon realized that this really wasn't a "cheap" place to stay, regardless of how it seemed. The staff, however, have really proven to be amazing and make me feel welcome each day when I come home and leave for work. So, that has helped to quell any uneasiness related to the quality of the room, etc.
Upon arriving, my kitchen had been stocked with bread, butter, crackers, cereal, grapes, Pringles……and milk and Oreos. There's just something that felt good about coming to work for a company that would stock my room with milk and Oreos.
I slept very well the first night, despite the construction and traffic noises going on outside my hotel window. I woke up at 5am to the eerie sounds of the city wide wake up call that I had read about, but completely forgotten until it had penetrated it's way into my dream where I found myself walking through a mosque. Eventually, I came out of the dream, looked around to find that I was definitely not walking and certainly not in a mosque, although I couldn't really make out where exactly I was. All I knew was that there were some odd sounds surrounding me and I was in a dark room that I couldn't discern. I was definitely not in San Diego. That I knew for sure.
The second call, which is actually the Morning Call to Prayer, happened 30 minutes later, just as I was falling back asleep. This time, not only were there Arabic sounds coming through a PA system, but I could also hear people outside my window responding to the Call to Prayer in Arabic. It was beautiful to me, even in it's being somewhat eerie. The Call sounded dark in a way, very surreal, and then the response being even more surreal. I knew right then and there that I would never sleep past 5:30 am here. So, I made the decision that the beauty of this would be my own morning Call to Prayer. For my ass. Yep. This would be my "wake up and go work your ass out" Call to Prayer. So far, I've yet to sleep past 5:30 am, but I'm not yet in a place with fitness facilities, so instead of "working out" at 5 am, I lay in bed and watch re-runs of According to Jim, which is apparently a very popular show here in Dubai. Not everything can be amazing, I suppose.
The following day after I arrived, my boss had scheduled to have lunch with me at 1:00 pm. This is the same boss that I had some questions about prior to arriving due to the fact that I had yet to have received confirmation of my flight until one week prior to leaving. Naturally, this had left me feeling very uneasy as I packed, sold and gave my life away…all without a confirmed ticket to the place I was moving my life to. So, I was somewhat "skeptical" about this man, to be honest. I had put a lot of faith in him and was anxious to see if that had been a mistake or not.
Thirty minutes prior to 1:00 (our meeting time), he texted me to say that he was going to be 30 minutes late. My skepticism went into full force at this moment. I didn't even bother responding to the text. I simply waited downstairs for him, fully expecting for a 50+ year old, short, sinister type of guy to show up, at which point I was planning to pack up my little 350 lbs of luggage and haul ass back to the US.
Instead, a tall man in his late thirties showed up, beaming smile, sincerely apologetic in saying that his 3 year old wasn't feeling well and that he had to help his wife get some things together before leaving. I love being wrong; especially when being "right" means going with cynicism and distrust.
We went to lunch and I knew right away that my initial instincts about him had been correct. He was a good man. He just had an issue with time. That's funny…I don't know anyone else like that!
I was surprised to look around the little restaurant where we ate to find that women were dressed in bikini bathing suits with cover ups, short skirts, flip flops, tans, halter tops, shoulders bare, etc. I felt like I could have easily been in San Diego, LA or San Francisco. And the food was incredible….and cheap! On average, I've found that eating out here is 20% or so less comparitavely than eating out in San Diego, so that came as a pleasant surprise.
My current mode of transport is via taxi, which is sometimes very nice and others (like yesterday) a total drag. I had waited maybe 15 minutes for a taxi, which doesn't sound like a long time, but when you're on a busy street corner in the heat of Dubai, with dust and dirt everywhere…it's a very long 15 minutes, so I was happy to see a very dirty taxi pull over to pick me up and take me across town to the Mall of Emirates (Dubai's first famous mall—it was just this weekend superceded in size by Dubai's newest world famous mall). I should first mention that I get vertigo almost every time that I'm sitting in the backseat of a car. I had previously reminded myself to get in the front seat of the taxi, but that day, for some reason I got into the back seat. Very bad idea. Let's just say that I spent the first 20 minutes at the mall with my head down on a table and an ice cold rag on my neck. Front seat taxi riding is the only way to go from here on out!
The following day was my first day of work, and I really couldn't wait to get started. After living, breathing, talking, walking, eating, sleeping...revolving everything in my life for the past couple of months around this job, I was anxious (in a good way) to see what lay ahead for me in the office. I woke up very early that morning…even prior to the first morning call. I showered and was ready to leave for the office at 6:30 am. I didn't have to be there until 8:30, so I went to the grocery store, bought a Dubai phone, had a leisurely breakfast, read about Barack in the Arabic news and walked into work 10 minutes early. I'm hoping this is an example of my organization of time in the months to come. Wouldn't that be nice.
My colleagues couldn't be more gracious. The receptionist is this cute, petite Malaysian woman named Mabel that calls me "Ms. Tiffany". It makes me feel like I'm in a spa or something, which is certainly not a bad feeling to have when walking into the office everyday. The staff consists currently of 4 CAD technicians from Pakistan and India, two lighting designers from France (one from Marseilles, one from Leon), one designer from Germany, one from Malaysia (who came here from LA), one from China (also coming from LA), one from Brazil (the model, although I have to say that he must look better in print…I didn't see "model" when I looked at him) and Ziad, the Principal from Lebanon. So…our office is certainly 'diverse'. Next month we have 6 new designers arriving from all over the world, which is very exciting.
I share an office with Ziad, the principal. I have a table that is maybe 3' x 3' with room for the monitor, a table, 1/4 of my arm and the keyboard. And I'm completely happy here. We're remodeling the office right now, so it's very cramped, there's a LOT of construction noise, the AC has been off for 3 days while they are re-working the mechanical units and I sit contently for my 10 hour day thinking how lucky I am to have found this opportunity.
What little I've seen of the City, in terms of 'touring' has been amazing. My camera, however, is packed somewhere in one of the boxes that I haven't wanted to open up and dig through yet, so I don't have any pictures to share as of yet. What I know of the future pictures that I will surely take is that they won't do the city justice. I already know that. It's enormous. Even with a small population of only 1.5 million people, the city spans a distance of approximately 30 miles or more. This is not like urban sprawl in a city like LA or San Diego, where there is a concentrated "downtown" area with suburbs surrounding, etc. The skyscrapers and towers of Dubai span this distance. It's incredible. It's quite an interesting city plan. Sheik Zayed Road is the main road of Dubai, similar to the "strip" in Vegas, only it's 10 times that (at least) in size.
I have to say that I'm really happy here so far. I feel "at home" in a way that's odd to me for having been here so few days. It's not like the way I feel "at home" in San Diego…it's just a comfort in being where I am and feeling like it's perhaps not as "foreign" and "far away" as it seems. I will certainly make the most of my time here, but already look forward to being home in my real home city again.
More to certainly come…
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