Wednesday 30 September 2009

One tiny word

I just noticed a post on one of the more popular expat forums asking for advice on what to bring to Abu Dhabi - in one word.  It's early yet, but things like satnavs, passport photos, and patience have already been mentioned.  Let me add another one that trumps them all:

CASH.

Cash can buy you any of the material goods you might have forgotten to pack (including satnavs and passport photos -- do people really not understand that there are photo shops EVERYWHERE in this city?  Jeez.)  It enables you to hop in taxis eight times a day for the first week or two and tip generously without blinking.  It will pay for a month (or two or more) of car rental so you no longer have to stand in the sun during rush hour waiting for a taxi.  Cash will cover your prescription medication in the event your doctor jots down the wrong diagnosis code and then leaves on holiday.  That expensive Etisalat USB modem that will allow you to remain connected to the world while you're sitting in a month-long queue waiting to have broadband installed at your villa will no longer seem so expensive with a pocket full of cash.  It can create a beautiful garden where there once once a sandpit and turn an empty villa into a furnished home.  Cash is an expeditor and a doorkey.

Cash is King.

Saturday 26 September 2009

Piercing the veil

Let's face it, these veils are a physical and psychological barrier to social interaction.  I suppose that's the whole point.  But apart from my subconscious (sort of) desire to re-enact Yoko Ono's Cut Piece (I won't even get into why this sort of so-called art is one of the most vile things I've ever seen), I do actually try to break through that wall of black material.  At least when I think the time is right.

And it was right today.

There I was, happily (??) checking out at the Lulu's when a veiled woman and her two sons appeared behind me.  One of the sons picked up the "Next Customer" wedge-shaped thing (yes, they have those here too) and started putting his mum's groceries right behind mine -- without the wedge-shaped thing in between!  Mum was clearly dismayed by this and began (I suppose) explaining to son number one that the whole point of the wedge-shaped thing was to separate one's groceries from those of the next (or previous) person.  The time was ripe...

I looked at the young fella and said "mighty clever of you, trying to get me to pay for your groceries."  Mum laughed heartily, translated for her boys, and all involved enjoyed the joke (except for the sullen Flip at the checkout counter -- oh SORRY -- Filipina).

And thus the veil was pierced.

Saturday 19 September 2009

Getting a car (and driving it)

About the fifth time in as many weeks (admittedly not that often) that I had to stand out in the sun and sweat while watching taxis whoosh by, I decided it was time to re-think the transportation situation.  So I badgered asked my husband to re-think it for me.

This was probably the single easiest thing we've done so far -- renting a vehicle.  We rang Fast Rent a Car on Tuesday evening (www.fastuae.com) and were told we needed to email a copy of my driving licenses (foreign and Abu Dhabi) and passport visa page.  Well, except for the minor annoyance of trying to scan these things via a bum USB port, the admin work was taken care of early Wednesday morning and we immediately received a call from Fast telling us that we'd have the car delivered by that afternoon.  A recitation of my (newly acquired) UAE credit card number sealed the deal and by 1530 we had wheels.

Now for the scary part.  I was going to actually drive the thing to work the following morning.

I suppose I did experience a moment or two of sheer terror the previous night, but that quickly passed (well, sort of).  And at 0745 on Thursday morning I was off, and giddy with delight at the fact that for the third time in three years I was back on the right side of the road.  Seven minutes later I pulled into the gates at work, parked five meters from the door of my building, and said goodbye to waiting for taxis.

For all my fears, driving in Abu Dhabi ended up being a hell of a lot easier than driving three hours at night in the rain in Hungary, navigating labyrinthine London streets, riding a (non-automatic) scooter in Mexico, trying to keep up with the 60 MPH speed limit on English country roads that maybe are wide enough to accommodate a bicycle, or making the 2 AM run from Florence to Rome to catch an early morning flight.

And I still have all my fingers and toes.

Friday 11 September 2009

Getting a driving license

This was not nearly as challenging as I imagined it would be.

For starters, the Abu Dhabi Government Portal has a page devoted to the exchange of foreign driving licenses (you'll need to have a valid license from one of the listed countries in order to exchange -- everyone else needs to take either a theory test, a practical test, or both).  They've also got (get this) a phone number that actually has a person at the other end.  A good thing, since while the government portal site mentions something about blood type, that data isn't actually required.

Once I had my residence visa in my passport, I asked my company for a non-objection letter (NOL), which was cranked out in a matter of days.  Then off to one of the myriad typing/translation shops to get my driving license translated into Arabic.  Or so I thought.  It turned out that the HR department was happy to collect my license and hand it over to a fellow who has a cozy relationship with one of the typing/translating places in Abu Dhabi, so I didn't have to lift a finger.  And as an added bonus, I paid 45 Dhs instead of the usual 70 Dhs.  Whoohoo!  Now I can go to Starbucks and get myself a frappalappadingdong with the savings.  Or not.

Armed with my passport and a copy, NOL, original license, Arabic translation of my license, three passport photos from my stock of two dozen, and 220 Dhs, I headed down to the Driver and Vehicle Licensing office on Muroor Road at about 0915.  Arrived at 0924 and made my way directly to the Information desk, where the sullen receptionist looked over my paperwork and issued me with a number.  Then I waited for about 30 minutes until my number was called, and went into the eye test room.  That took about 55 seconds (hint:  if you wear glasses, BRING THEM).  Turns out I needed my glasses to read the 2 millimeter-sized letters on the board 10 feet away.

After paying 20 Dhs for the eye test and being issued a receipt and some form saying "Fit - glasses," I returned to reception where I was issued a new number. Of course I planned on another 30-minute wait, but - miracle of miracles - my number was already flashing at one of the counters!  Another sullen gal took a look at my paperwork, snapped a picture of me (sans glasses, I might add), demanded 200 Dhs, and shoved me off to the adjacent counter where I handed in all of my papers to the police officers in charge of issuing the actual license.  They asked me to sit down and wait.  Oh boy - another 30 minutes, I thought.

But no.

Within about two minutes, my name was called and I was handed a shiny new Abu Dhabi driving license (with, by the way, no mention of a restriction regarding eyesight).  So what if it doesn't actually have my surname on it?  I was back home by 1030.

Now I just need something to drive.

Wednesday 9 September 2009

Ramadan Kareem

It's difficult to resist the urge to add "Abdul Jabar" after this, but I manage.

We're about two-thirds of the way through the month of Ramadan now and I have some observations.

First of all, as much as I was dreading arriving in the UAE a few days before the onset of Ramadan, I have to say it's really having very little effect on my life.  The only nuisance is trying to hail a taxi in the early afternoon when it seems as if the entire population is on the road.  Places like Starbucks and Costa Coffee are closed until after Iftar (the evening prayer when the day-long fast is broken), but I don't really care because I don't go to places like Starbucks and  Costa Coffee.  Shops are open from about 0900 to 1300 and then again from 1900 to midnight. So I do my errands in the morning.  I can't eat or drink in public during daylight hours, but I'm not really one of those people who walks the streets of a city chewing on a snack (which is why I'm thin).  I drink my water and coffee at home.  People are nice, and generally kind, and respond with enormous smiles when I greet them with "Ramadan Kareem" or "Ramadan Mubarak."  So really, I don't feel affected at all.

But I do.

You see, I'm not a religious person (sorry mum).  I'm just not.  I began questioning religion in the third grade when I asked my first grade teacher (a nun) why the bible told the story of creation while scientists talked about something called a Big Bang Theory.  I stopped being religious in the sixth grade when I asked myself the question "How do we know there is a god?"  In my mind, I was lucky:  I had a choice.  In Islam, however, there really isn't a choice.  Apostasy is punishable by death.  Go ahead, Google "apostasy Islam."  I'll wait.

Since the world we live in is such that children inherit the religions of their parents, we end up with what Richard Dawkins suggests can't really exist:  "Muslim" children, "Christian" children, "Jewish" children.  In all cases, I view this as an injustice, but in the case of the Muslim child, I find it to be one of the greatest evils inflicted on human beings, because of the apostasy penalties.

How does this relate to Ramadan, you ask?  Well, I'll tell you.

Throughout this month, there are articles about Ramadan in every periodical you can find.  Explanations of what Ramadan is about (spiritual reflection, separation of the physical from the spiritual, etc.) abound.  One of the more interesting blurbs I've come across is from Time Out's "Ultimate Guide to Ramadan."  It says:

What is the aim of fasting?
There are many people who are starving in the world, so when you fast you feel what they feel all day long.

This is very difficult to swallow (no pun intended), given that on the facing page there is an advertisement by the Beach Rotana Hotel for "lavish Iftar buffets" at a cost of AED 135 per person (not including 10% service charge and 6% tourism fee).  If you think that's expensive, the Shangri-La hotel has an AED 170 (plus extra fees) Iftar offer.  Given that the average gold and white taxi driver makes about AED 13 for an hour's worth of driving me around town, I don't really think he can afford this type of fast-breaking experience.  And it is utterly outside the reach of the average labourer in, say, the construction field.

Which brings me to another point.  It's these labourers I'm worried about.  They're poor.  Really, really, really poor.  They live in labour camps - god knows how many to a room.  They work in the blistering sun and heat all day long.  Their families are thousands of miles away.

And they HAVE to fast, as all other Muslims do.

What sort of philosophy exists that it makes even the remotest sense to force these poor blokes to starve and dehydrate themselves for 14 hours a day so that they can feel what someone who has even less than they do feels while the wealthy fasters go home and sleep in their air-conditioned villas, enjoy Iftar "feasts," head out to the spas that are open half the night, and take advantage of all the special sales at furniture stores?

Here's another fun example, also from Time Out's "Ultimate Guide."

Dermika salon in Al Muhairy Centre says the following in its one-page advertisement:

Ramadan is a time of religious importance when one can take pleasure in the magnificent experience of sacrifice.  There is no need to sacrifice beauty, however.  We invite you to our Dermika One Stop Beauty Shop.....With our special Ramadan rates and offers you have all the reasons to visit the Dermika One Stop Beauty Shop to look and feel your best every day
I have to stop here because I just don't know what else to say.

Saturday 5 September 2009

Internet on the go

And even if you aren't on the go, it's pretty much the only way to obtain internet access RIGHT now.

You see, we've been sitting in a virtual queue over at the Etisalat headquarters for nearly three weeks now, with nary a word as to when we might expect broadband installation at home.  The nice surprise was that we were able to piggyback off of one of our neighbours (yes, people really do have unprotected wireless networks...still).  That lasted about a week.

Then nothing.

So being the can-do people that we are, we sprinted over to the Etisalat kiosk at Madinat Zayed Shopping Centre a few evenings ago and picked up a USB 2.0 high speed modem, model number MF633.  Don't bother looking for it on the Etisalat site, because it doesn't appear to be there.

The device, which I like to call "the dingleberry," is - wonder of wonders - compatible with both Windows and Mac, and comes with its own little somewhat-intuitive-but-not-really software.  I think it costs about 499 Dhs, but I'm not sure because we can't find the receipt in the sea of confusion that has become our lives over the past few days.

You're probably wondering if there are other costs involved.  Well, of course there are.  Like the SIM card (known as "Wasel" in EtisalatSpeak -- kinda funny when you consider we're in the land of non-drinkers).  Wasel probably means something like maybeit'llworkandmaybeitwon'tbutweguaranteeyou'llhaveanimpossibletimefiguringitout.  But I digress.

The SIM card itself costs about 175 Dhs, and then you have to load it up with money.  Hint:  load it with 460 Dhs and be sure to dial the 125 number from it (you'll have to put it in another mobile phone for this to work) and subscribe to the monthly plan of 10 gig.  If you don't do this, you'll be on the default pay-as-you-go plan, which effectively means your internet access will cost you one million dollars per byte.

The broadband service packages are (sort of) described here.

I have to say that after 72 hours of kvetching and worrying, the dingleberry works pretty well (rather in the same way that a gimp turtle does well in the 500-metre dash).  I've run some speed tests (see www.speedtest.net) and -- are you sitting down? --

I get download speeds of 1.88 Mbps (that's megabits per second).

Holy slow as molasses in January, Batman!  Well, the fact is that 1.88 is a lot better than the .88 I was getting yesterday.

The biggest coup of the day, however, was figuring out how to get internet access to both of our laptops simultaneously.  Here's what I did (ok, I'm going to omit the part about my running an applescript without really knowing what I was doing and thereby screwing up my plist files so that nothing network or internet-related worked):

1.  Trashed my network-related plist files and rebooted (this rebuilt the system files).

2.  Got out the Apple Airport Extreme wireless router that I brought along in my carry-on baggage.

3.  Set up internet sharing on my laptop, using a password-protected local address for other computers using Airport.

4.  Turned on Airport on my husband's laptop and selected my local host.

5.  Entered the password.

I'd like to say this was pure genius, but it's much more accurate to say it was the result of brute force.


Friday 4 September 2009

And now for a short commercial break...

I'd much rather be posting valuable information on shopping, grocery stores, my new dining room set, a console table that fits where it should and now has a precious antique clock sitting on it, curtains, wireless 3g modems and my genius at setting up a protected network so that the two of us can use it at the same time (all by myself!).  But I've been busy doing other things.

Oh, I just wish I could tell you, but I'd be fired in an instant.  You see, some of the people that I have to deal with on a daily basis seem to have their heads pretty far up their patooties.  Not all, but some.  The past 72 hours have been a constant uphill battle to make things happen the way I want them to.

It's working.  But it's been tough.  Sleepless nights, vast consumption of wine, transition into Pit Bull Mode, 36-page documents (that I created in one morning) of records and reports, meetings, video conferences, threats (made by me), desperate phone calls to publishers, sweat, blood, toil, and probably a few plague-like things (ok, no frogs).

The bottom line is that I have, single-handedly, effected a change in two and a half weeks.  It probably took a couple of years off my lifespan, but hey, I figure if I die tomorrow I can say:

I effing DID IT.