Of course, I’m not the only bored lonely expat here, and there are several websites entirely dedicated to “making new friends in Dubai”. Problem is, the categories on these websites are roughly as follows:
#1 The Mums. Mostly organize coffee mornings, book/clothes/assorted baby items swaps and discuss which school you need to get your spawn into and where to find the best gynecologist. I’m not the target audience.
#2 The Singles. Both men and women (though mostly men) who write cheerful forum posts about how they “just want to find some fun people to hang out with”; but really they want sex and they want it right now. Party a lot and go to brunch a lot. I’m not the target audience.
#3 The Craft People. Often overlaps with #1. (Married) women who do scrap booking, sewing, knitting or some other form of boredom alleviation, I mean art. While I enjoy my random creative sprees a lot, I have no interest in sharing them with others and I certainly do not wish to go on “craft supply shopping trips”.
#4 The Elitists. “Sophisticated wine tasting trip with like minded people” or “Art gallery visit with fellow art connoisseurs” anyone? Not me, I’m not the… well you get it now.

I suppose I’m too quick to judge, but I have yet to come across a single “meet up group” that piques my interest even in the slightest. Maybe I need to cheer up and get out, maybe it’s just that husband is away for work and I’ve been living on tacos for three days, or maybe I just need to get a job. Anyone hiring?

Not because I am inspired by the local ladies and now always leave the house wearing an abaya. I don’t. I have only worn an abaya once, when visiting the Grand Mosque in Abu Dhabi, and I found it unflattering, restrictive and altogether too damn hot.
No, my new found prudishness is caused by the absolute opposite. The expat women I encounter every day; in the mall, on the street, in the metro station, who wear outfits that are so grossly inappropriate to wear in public, let alone in public in an Islamic country, that it sets my mind reeling every time I spot one of them. I mean, holy flipping monkeys on crack, ladies, I really don’t want to see your asscrack, your boobs hanging out or the fine detail of your lady-bits up close and personal. In a club, fine. On the beach, fine. I’m all for freedom of expression and all that jazz, but come on. There are limits.

Yesterday I passed a blonde girl wearing jeans hot pants and what I can only describe as a “Daisy Duke” top. You know, woodcutter’s shirt but tied between the boobs to display both midriff and cleavage to their fullest potential. The lady in question had overdone the cleavage a tiny bit, so her bra was also in full view for everyone. Wonderful.

Barely half an hour later we spotted a girl wearing only half a shirt, the back was made of see-through lace so we could all admire the black lace and twisted label tag of her bra. Of course, she had paired this fashion statement with the obligatory hot pants.

The day before that, a lady in front of us in the queue at Carrefour had clearly forgotten to put on her pants that morning. Either that or she really did think that wearing a “dress” that is so short it shows at least two inches of ass is perfectly fine. In public. In a MUSLIM COUNTRY.

I’ve never seen as many women dress as provocatively as here in Dubai. I wonder if most of these women dress the same way at home, when the weather is warm enough? I’d certainly never go out in public in Amsterdam in those kinds of outfits, and that’s Amsterdam, of all places…

I’m not saying Arabs are dishonest. They’re not. At least, not in general. They’re just… delicate. They don’t like hearing things they don’t agree with, and they most certainly don’t like hearing any form of bad news. An interesting anecdote is one my husband told me, about how Arabs might inform one another of the death of a relative. At the start of the conversation, the bearer of bad news will say that “something happened to So-and-So.” When asked what exactly, the messenger will confirm So-and-So is indeed in hospital.
“Oh no! Is (s)he okay?!”
“Unfortunately, no, it is quite serious.”
“Will they get better?!”
“It is really very bad.”
“Don’t you know more?!”
And so on, until finally the sad news is confirmed. I mean, come on! Out with it already! Nobody likes being the bearer of grim tidings but that doesn’t mean you can lead people on. Not that Dutch people would just go “oh hey, by the by, So-and-So has kicked the bucket” or anything, but at least you wouldn’t have to fish for the truth for ages. A clean cut is always preferable as far as I’m concerned.

It’s not just Arabs, either. Even the British, who are our neighbors, have issues with being upfront about things. For instance, I recently found myself in the company of three British colleagues, waiting for an activity scheduled to start at 7.30. When eight o’clock rolls around and we’re still waiting, I get up to see what on earth is keeping the instructors. Apparently all three of my colleagues were quite shocked at this, they would have just sat there and waited indefinitely…

Boy#1, when asked to tuck in the left side of his shirt: “But Miss, everyone has a dark side!”

Boy#2, on evolution: “First there were the dinosaurs. Then the first human, then Thomas Edison and then us.”

Boy#3: “What would happen if I just run away from school and never come back?” Me: “You’ll never have an education and be dumb your whole life.” Him: “Okay!”

Girl#1: “What is your star sign Miss?” Me: “Virgo” Her: “Ohh, me too! No wonder I like you so much, I always like other virgins!” (aww…)

Boy#4, after losing a fraction game: “If we’re playing this again next time I’m going to hide in the toilet!”

Boy#5: “I have about a million cousins so I always have to go to birthday parties. It is very annoying.”

Boy#6, after misbehaving for an hour: “Miss! I get green right?!” (he has a behaviour chart which needs to be coloured green, yellow or red after every lesson) Me: “No, you’ve been very rude this lesson so I’m giving you yellow.” Him: “But why?!” Me:”…because you were being rude.” Him: “But WHY?!”

The same Boy#6, when told to write a sorry letter: “Why do I have to write this?” Me: “Because you kicked Other Boy in the face.” Him: “So?” Me: “Kicking people in the face is very rude, bad behaviour not to mention dangerous. You have to apologize.” Him: “But it wasn’t very hard.”

If there is one thing Arab women know, it is how to look your absolute best in every situation. A Beiruti girl will never leave the house in slacks unless they’re designer slacks, a Lebanese woman would rather die than be seen in public with her hair looking less than perfect and Emirati ladies are entirely willing to sacrifice the ability to walk comfortably for being seen in a pair of absolute killer heels. Because Oh. My. Goodness, the shoes here are glorious.

I have worked in shoe shops for several years back home, and that experience allows me to confidently say that Dutch women in general do not care very much for glamour and style when it comes to shoes. First and foremost, shoes have to be comfortable. Brands famous for their comfy shoes like Camper, Geox, Loints and the dreaded and oh-so hideous Crocs are in high demand by Dutch ladies, who apparently have no issues with wearing pink plastic abominations with holes in them in public.

Needless to say, I am not like that.

I love heels. I love high heels. I love spiky leather boots with buttons on the sides. I love sexy girlie wedges with bows on the toes. When it comes to shoes, I am the ultimate fashion victim and I am not ashamed at all that I would gladly torture my feet in order to wear those fabulous stiletto’s on a day out. In this, Emirati women and I are in agreement. Maybe it is because they have fewer options when it comes to making fashion statements, considering they generally wear the abaya, but goodness me do the local girls rock some spectacular shoes. I don’t have to drool and helplessly wonder in what secret cave of wonders they got them, either, because every single shoe shop in this country is full of them. Glorious, glamourous, precious, stunning shoes. I have always been a critical shopper, but in this place I swear I could find ten pairs of shoes I absolutely WANT every single time I enter a mall. Good thing I just got a job.

(He who in Amsterdam used to say ‘Jerusalem‘ Abu Dhabi
and was driven to Jerusalem Abu Dhabi then
He’ll say in a musing voice: ‘Amsterdam, Amsterdam’)

I’m dealing with a small bout of homesickness at the moment.

I’d kill for a cup of tea with my mother, a “broodje kroket” or a ride on my bike in the rain. Sigh.

ps. Yes, I am aware that it is ironic that Mr. de Haan was a Jew and I’m living in a country that doesn’t even let Jews in and all that, but sometimes words are just beautiful without any context.

My latest episode of “what the f***, what is this, what purpose does it serve, why do people want it, I don’t UNDERSTAA-HAAAND!” came to pass when I was unsuspectingly leafing through the weekly deals flyer of our local Co-op. Because you know, maybe they have a two-for-one deal on chocolate biscuits. One of this week’s bargains was a set of weird polyester bedcovers with matching pillows in different sizes. Not sheets or blankets, that you SLEEP UNDER because it is a BED after all which is for SLEEPING. No, these were DAYTIME BED DECORATIONS. Including those really stupid cylinder-shaped pillows that make no sense at all. Huh? Husband caught me making really weird expressions and, when confronted with the offending photo of bed… stuff, explained that it’s an “Arab woman” thing. There are quite a lot of “Arab woman” things, but this one is my favorite so far.

Me: “What the hell is this?”
Husband: “It’s a bed set. You put it on the bed during the day.”
Me: “Why?”
Husband: “Uhh, because it looks pretty I guess.”
Me: “Where do they put all that when they actually go and sleep in the bed? Do they have a second bed with normal sheets in a secret room that they sleep in?”
Husband: “No, they usually put it in a chest at the foot of the bed or something.”
Me: “But WHY?!”
Husband: “You are cute.”
Me: “It looks like a wedding cake! Why do people want to make their bed look like a wedding cake?!”
Husband: “I love you.”
Me: “I don’t understand!”
(husband turns back to playing Space Marine)
Me: “Aaaah!”

You know that movie “Along Came Polly” with Jennifer Aniston? I don’t like Jennifer Aniston, but I still watched this movie at some point. Probably on a plane, because for some reason the only two types of movie you can choose from on planes are action flicks with Vin Diesel or romantic comedies with Jennifer Aniston, and I like Vin Diesel even LESS.
Either way, there is a scene in this movie where Ben Stiller throws a hissyfit at his wife or girlfriend (who is played by that redhead from Will and Grace) because she has a ton of decorative pillows on the bed. It was sort of funny, in the way that these kind of movies make you go “ha ha, that is so funny” when watching it in company, just to be polite, but if you’re watching it alone you won’t so much as twitch.
But that’s a movie. I never thought that people would have decorative pillows on their bed in real life. I mean, really? Decorative pillows? On the bed? Who are you, Martha freaking Stewart? People actually have time to decorate their bed? I’d rather decorate it with my lazy ass sleeping in it until noon, thanks very much.

We went on a fishing trip, which was technically for husband’s work but certainly did not feel like it. A friendly guide took us much further out on the Gulf than I had expected, the city was barely visible at some point, and we spent a leisurely couple of hours trawling around the waters waiting for unfortunate fish to meet their doom at our hooks.
Not that I participated actively in the fish slaughter mind you, I’m not really a fan of killing things for sport. I was perfectly happy to laze on the deck and trail my feet in the water, and in hindsight I should have taken more pictures. Now this one below is the only nice one I took…

It reminded me of another photo I took quite recently, which looks so similar but was taken in a completely different place…

It seems I have a thing for water these days. Maybe I’ve always had it, actually.
Now all that’s missing is the mention of Beirut; lo and behold, I was just thinking about it the other day when I spotted a building being demolished next to husband’s work. Funny how destroyed buildings trigger memories of Beirut, while there’s a “Lebanon Flower” restaurant (including cedar icon in logo somewhere) on practically every street corner. Maybe something to do with authenticity…?

If summer wasn’t enough reason to be making delicious salads, husband has decided he is now on a low carb diet. No more pasta, rice or potatoes for us. The loss of my much-loved bi-weekly meal of Chicken Pesto Pasta weighs heavily on my heart, but I digress.

Salads are great. There’s no need for cooking (well, mostly) anything, it never takes more than fifteen minutes to whip up a salad and there is a lot of chopping involved. I like chopping (see my Tabbouleh post). I wish my chopping skills were as impressive as those of the Master Chef contestants, but even without lightning-fast knife moves at my disposal it’s still pretty fun.

Yesterday I made an old favorite: lemony courgette salad. It really is the most simple thing ever, but so delicious. Plus, it goes well with anything; from steak to pasta.

Slice a bunch of courgettes lengthwise in thin strips; I use a potato peeler for this which works great on the small courgettes we get here in the Middle East. On the big European ones I suspect a mandoline slicer will work better, but my kitchen equipment is decidedly basic and I don’t own one of those. Toss the strips in a bowl with some chopped herbs, I like using mint for this since I always seem to have leftover fresh mint. Must be the Lebanese influences in this house… Anyway, you could also use parsley or tarragon.
Make a vinaigrette with the juice of one lemon, about the same amount olive oil, a teaspoon or so of honey and some salt and pepper. Mix well, then pour over the salad. Now you can refrigerate it (covered) until you need it, if you want. I like putting it in the fridge for an hour or so at this stage, as the courgettes will soak up the honey lemony flavor. Yum.

Just before serving, throw some toasted pine nuts and/or grated Parmesan cheese on top. Entirely optional, but very tasty! Omnomnom.

I am a pretty decent looking example of the female gender, if I do say so myself, and I receive my fair share of male attention. Not that most men who make it their business to leer at women actually require said woman to be hot, or anything, as long as it’s got boobs of some kind it’s worth leering at. All sorts of interesting growls, howls, whistles and “hm-HMMMs” are produced when confronted with an acceptable sample of woman, and it all honestly does not bother me very much.

These men, however, don’t do any of that. They are much worse. They make me feel uncomfortable. They are POLITE. They will start with a big smile, and then they usually ask where the lady is from? They will inquire after your opinion of the UAE, your career and how your day has been so far. It is EXCRUCIATING. Not because I am a social retard, but because they really don’t actually want to know about my career. When I get leered or whistled at, or get a “you so beautiful” randomly flung my way, I can simply ignore it entirely and be on my merry way. But I can’t just ignore someone who is being POLITE, can I? I haven’t been brought up that way! When someone walks over and says hello, you can’t just keep walking. Even if you know exactly what it is they want, even if they are technically not being polite as they would never act the same way towards a woman wearing abaya for example, I would still feel like a bad person if I’d pretend there was no one there.

What I do in stead, generally, is wave the wedding ring in their face after the initial “hello”. It’s big and sparkly, probably just for this reason, and should get the message across. “THIS SPOT IS OCCUPIED.” More often than not, though, it doesn’t seem to have much effect. “Oh a husband, how nice, now can I have your business card?” I suspect the reason behind that is that, in their eyes, my husband can’t possibly be a very good one if he lets me walk the streets by myself wearing something that just MIGHT reveal my ankles, so clearly I am in dire need of a man who would never let me suffer such an indignity. Unfortunately for them, I don’t have a business card.