Our First Trip Around the Sun

Well, it's officially been a year. As it goes with living abroad and in life generally, some days feel like they'll never end, and some days just fly by. But when we look back on the past year, we reminisce about the adventure it's been and smile at the thought of our second year as desert dwellers in this crazy little city.

On the occasion of our one year anniversary here in the Middle East, two photos of our living room, taken exactly one year apart.

2012: Sad. Like a cheap, soulless extended stay motel. Do you feel as sorry as I do for the people who live here?

Fast forward to 2013: Still not ideal. But thanks to Ikea, an excess of Christmas lights and ditching the world's ugliest living room set, it feels a little more like home each day.

And our living room isn't the only thing that's changed. In other news from the home front, we took the plunge and bought boxed wine. We are officially drinkers of wine out of a box, something that isn't acceptable unless you live in a college dormitory or are a card carrying member of AARP. How did this happen to us, you ask? That's a story for a different post.

Dubai? Really?

Friends and coworkers who I've spoken to in the past week or so know that I'm going through a what I affectionately call a "Wow, Dubai really sucks!" phase. To be fair, this is the first of these I have experienced in close to a year, which I've been told is actually quite impressive by other expats.

I can think of a few causes for this relatively sudden change of heart about our sandy concrete jungle.

First, we went to Europe for about six days a few weeks back. Have you guys been to Prague? It has to be one of my most favorite places in the world. The cultural experience and diversity here are unmatched, but in my opinion, nothing here comes close to the beauty of Europe. The air was cold and crisp and perfect. When we got too cold or our feet hurt from walking, we found an invariably charming little pub and enjoyed a ridiculously cheap (and really good!) beer. In addition to the amazing beer, Czech cuisine is almost entirely pork and potato based, so my husband was obviously perfectly content.

Here we are are after a hike to the beautiful Prague Castle:

We also took a road trip through the Czech countryside and spent an extra day in Vienna, another perfectly endearing city. Here's Rob in front of the new Ritz-Carlton there:

The entire trip was incredible, but like kryptonite for my seamless Dubai experience.

It is also our first fall here in the Middle East. But alas, my favorite season just isn't the same here in the desert (it's 97 degrees today!) No pumpkin lattes at Starbucks, no cozy scarves and sweaters, no leaves falling. Fall is all but unrecognizable here except for the smell of Trader Joe's pumpkin coffee wafting through the air of our apartment (thank you again to my friend Jackie for surprising me with reminders of fall from home!!)

Finally, our washing machine is broken again. Again! It's been on the same cycle for the last 14 hours and it pains me to think of the state of the clothes inside. Yet another broken, inefficient, nonsensical thing that is difficult to accept on tough days, even though we know they are part of daily life here.

The best advice I've been given for times like this from other similarly minded expats is to begin planning. Something, anything. Thanksgiving is right around the corner, then Christmas, then our second (already!) wedding anniversary, so at least I'm not at a loss for things to plan.

Here's to brighter days, cooler temps and functioning appliances!

We're Mobile!

I'm sorry it's been so long, but I can't tell you how quickly time flies here! We've already been home from the States for a month, and our next mini vacation will be in about three weeks (exotic destination TBD.) Ah, public holidays in the UAE. I don't understand them, but man do I appreciate them.

Anyway, I have plenty to tell you, but think my most compelling news is that we got a car! It's a 2006 Ford Focus, ironically my first American car, and it's red. Well, it was probably red in 2006 before seven years of desert sun and dust took their toll. Needless to say, it's a real beauty.

Aside from dishing out the money, our main hesitation was rooted in the fact that we've observed maniac drivers from afar for the better part of a year.

And it's terrifying. It's the chaos of people from more than 200 different countries, each with their own interpretation of laws and opinions about what constitues proper driving etiquette. I've never been a timid driver, but if you don't regularly invent your own lane of traffic or lay on your horn at least eight times on your commute to work, you'll be eaten alive.

So with whiter-than-usual knuckles, I've speedily toughened up during my three short weeks on the road (interrupted by the times the car has been in the shop. Three so far.)

For citizens of the US and many other western countries, getting legal permission to drive these precarious roads is simple. Just a letter from your employer, a hundred dollars and more paperwork than could possibly be necessary. For many other people, it's an extremely rigorous and expensive process, with driving lessons, a questionable and extremely subjective analysis of whether you've passed a driving test, and even more lessons if you don't.

The whole system is a bit suspect, but we're grateful for the comforts that so often accompany an American passport.

Here I am in front of our new car:

No, not really. This is a ridiculous Rolls Royce, the likes of which we see multiple times on a daily basis in this city.

Here is OUR sweet ride:

We always oblige tourists who want their photo taken with it.

It's not a Rolls Royce. It's not beautiful and it has plenty of imperfections. But no more metro, no more buses and no more sweating off half my body weight on the walk to work. At the end of the day, I couldn't love our little car more.

A Glimpse Into the Life of an Expat When Ramadan Falls in July

If you had asked me only about a month ago, I would have told you I really love our life in Dubai. That I was pleasantly surprised by how quickly we acclimated, by how much we're learning and how grateful I am that we took the leap into this experience.

If you ask me about Dubai now? Well, let's just say that my words wouldn't resemble those. And they probably wouldn't be nice.

It's so damn hot here. I feel like we live in a city-sized steam room. In my 32 years, I didn't know there was a place on the planet where the heat of the sand and the temperature of the ocean actually make it too hot to go to the beach. Quite the departure from my days in Northern California.

And it's Ramadan, which means no eating or drinking (or even chewing gum) in public until the sun sets. So what do we do on a day off when temperatures reach 120 degrees with no water? There's the mall, the movies....aaaand I've named everything there is to do when Ramadan falls in the summertime. No lunch out, no going for coffee, no drinks in the bar (they open at 8pm if at all), no going for walks or to the beach or doing anything but spending money in one of many cavernous buildings full of overpriced stores we can't afford.

And while I fully appreciate the invaluable cultural experience of living in a Muslim country that so stringently observes Ramadan, I've had enough and I want to go home now.

But alas, we leave it all behind us (at least for a couple of weeks) in exactly one week from today, when we'll be at the airport, waiting to board our hideous but much anticipated flight to Detroit. I'm just one sleeping pill, a book or two and five movies away from home!

I'm excited to sit outside and drink my morning coffee. I'm excited to sit outside and drink my evening wine. I'm excited to drink wine in public. I'm excited to drink good wine. I'm excited for greenery and fresh air and chirping birds. I'm excited to see two friends get married and I'm excited to see my dog Zoe, who I miss more than I could possibly articulate in a blog post. But most of all, I'm excited to see my family: my mom and dad and my parents-in-law, our siblings and our and sweet nephews who have gotten way too big during our time away.

Just for fun, and perhaps because it illustrates his heat induced delirium, here's a photo of my husband in a monkey hat, resembling a character in a certain beloved Disney film set in Arabia.

A (Free) Weekend Away

Soooooo, the excuses I have for not posting exist on multiple levels, not the least of which that my Google settings are in Arabic and it took me forever to figure out how to create a new post.

Anyway, I have so much to tell you about! We're continuing to explore, learning more and more about this eclectic little corner of the world with each day. Ramadan officially started four days ago, and most certainly warrants its own post, so I'll leave it for another day. Suffice it to say, it's been quite the learning experience to live in a Muslim country during the holy month. It's beautiful and frustrating and impressive and mystifying.

When the weekend comes, we want and deserve to have a great time, but continually discover there is very little to do here during the hot summer months unless you enjoy spending countless hours in shopping malls (they're everywhere and they're FREEZING!) or movie theaters (Bollywood, anyone?) But this weekend, we went on a staycation right here in Dubai. For work, I was tasked with visiting a competitor hotel for the weekend, forced to experience their restaurants, bars, in room dining, room accommodations and spa. A tough request, I know, but I'm wholly committed to my job and never one to shy away from a challenge. My husband is equally as supportive, and happily came along for my arduous "work day." We went to a really grand, very successful five star hotel not far from mine.

This was our lovely room:

My unequivocal favorite part of this hotel was the spacious balcony. As you might know, summers in Dubai are..... miserable. I tried to think of a kinder word, but quickly conceded. It's miserable. For instance, it's 102 degrees with 50 percent humidity as I write this at 6pm. For a Northern California gal who loves the outdoors but hasn't been outside for longer than 10 minutes in more than a month, this balcony was a dream come true, somehow staying cool long enough to enjoy a glass bottle of rose wine alfresco.

We went to the spa for a soak and steam, then tried out the bar before dinner, where we ordered real cocktails instead of wine or beer as usual! We're very sophisticated and grown up. Rob calls this one "00 Andy: Shaken not Stirred." Also, let the record show that I'm finally wearing the ridiculously expensive, "something blue" shoes I wore at my wedding.

After navigating the 15 page menu, half of which we didn't understand, we enjoyed a really authentic Japanese dinner on the hotel's 17th floor, with the kind of Asian service I had never seen before moving to Dubai. I dropped my chopsticks and I had no fewer than three people run towards me to provide new ones.

In the morning, we had a really beautiful breakfast, and I went for my obligatory massage. I'm no expert on spa treatments, but what's not to love about a 60-minute rub down? It was a perfect ending to a nice little surprise getaway. Here we are with an experimental take on the "selfie" as the young people call it. Doesn't really work, but I admire Rob's resourcefulness.

Wild Wadi

The best thing about waiting weeks between blog posts is that I have a lot to write about.

The worst thing about waiting weeks between blog posts is getting an earful from friends and family. (Thanks guys for keeping me on track.)

The weirdest thing about going to a water park in the Middle East is running around in a bikini, in the very country where I was afraid of showing my knees not so many moons ago.

I've never met a water park I liked. Actually, I really hate them. The water tastes funny and the ground is always slimy and people who shouldn't be running around in spandex are freely running around in spandex (myself included.)

But when a client gave me tickets to Wild Wadi Water Park here in Dubai and I saw triple digits on the thermometer (read: iPhone) a few weeks ago, slimy water be damned, we were going to the water park.

And though I hesitate to admit it, this water park is pretty amazing. Here it is:



My favorite part of the day was climbing up to a slide we hadn't thoroughly investigated but that had a clever name (the Jumeirah Sceirah) and even though we saw a countless number of people backing out, continued up because we're Bruces and we're not scared of water slides.

We soon discovered that mostly unsuspecting guests are placed in a scientific-looking clear cylinder where they're made to cross their arms and legs, but only after being forced to remove all jewelry and hold it as if that reduces the chances of it ending up in a drain somewhere.

Looking closely at the picture again, I'm not entirely convinced it wasn't one of those cryogenic freezing capsules in a past life.
Anyway, it counts down, "three, two, one" as if you're on an Apollo mission and the floor beneath falls out and you're shot through said tube. "This would never fly in the states," I thought to myself for what must be the ten thousandth time since we moved here.

Here we are in our only photo of the day. See how authentic? Anyone who says Dubai's not the real Middle East doesn't know what they're talking about :)

The Employee Cafeteria: A Journey

Whew, it's been a long time! Sorry about that. I'm not sure if I've mentioned it yet, but work hours here are substantially longer than at home. The amount of free time I had at home to cook a meal resembling dinner, exercise, clean my house, take care of general overall hygeine...let's just say that I sure do miss it.

Anyway, this week was Cultural Week at work, where a different country's food was represented in the employee dining room each day. I love Cultural Week. It's amazing for so many reasons. First and most simply, it significantly reduces the nagging feeling of dread one feels going to the employee cafeteria every day. Second, I still can't get over how many different countries are represented in my hotel. It's like 65! It amazes me each and every day and I'm convinced there's nowhere like it in the world. Third and most important, the employees from each country actually cook the food, decorate the cafeteria and provide the entertainment, working through the night to represent their country the best they possibly can. It's incredible. (The answer to your question is no. No, there is no American day. Hot dogs, burgers and apple pie with baseball playing on the TV does not a cultural day make. And as for entertainment, the Filipinos were proudly blasting the Black Eyed Peas and Lady Gaga, so that's now off limits.)

The fun continues next week (and consequently, so does the battle of fitting into my clothes as Cultural Week slowly rears it ugly head on my thighs.) I'm not qualified to vote--only eight senior managers get to vote--but if I had a say, here it is:

1st place: Kenya (Legit. A Zulu warrior serving me goat is a clear winner in my book.)
2nd place: Indonesia (I felt like our tiny, boring cafeteria was transported to the tropics.)
3rd place: India (I've said it before and I'll say it again. Indian food is the best. Except for mutton. Gross.)
4th place: Egypt (Docked for the huge chunks of beef liver but redeemed slightly by the belly dancer and colorful costumes.)
5th place: The Philippines (I was wondering why I had never had Filipino food in the states. I think I figured it out.)

I didn't have my phone with me at lunch (my enthusiasm to stuff my face with ethnic food obviously clouded my memory) but here's a small example from India day to show the work that goes into it.

It's as if you've been transported to Mumbai, am I right?

In other related news, my list of places I want to visit while we live here has grown, though I've exhibited will power and reigned it in to about 22 countries.

Bad Hair Day

Today I finally bit the bullet got my hair done here in Dubai.

While there are salons (or "saloons" as they call them here) on every corner, it's actually quite expensive to go to (what I've read is) a reputable place. But with temperatures relentlessly climbing, I knew I had to do something with the frizzy, brassy mop I've been sporting. Three months of unemployment and the associated perk of sitting at the pool every day was great for my tan but apparently took its toll on my hair. Also, my roots are slowly getting gray but as I'm still coming to grips with that fact, I don't want to say anymore about it.

Anyway, evidently "the Rachel" from Friends circa 1995 has finally made its way out east. My hair is also very dark, but I was told I'll only have to wait four weeks until it looks "fab." Still, I talked the stylist out of ombre coloring, which she said would be great because I "already have the roots" and that it will only be on trend for "three more months so I'd better do it now." Good sales pitch, I told her, but seeing as I'm old enough to have some gray hair, I'd prefer something that will be in style for a little longer than 90 days, thank you.

So thankfully, my hair doesn't look like this:

But it does look a little bit like this:


Then she recommended I come back every 6-8 weeks, but unless I want half my monthly salary supporting this woman and her family, I'll have to negotiate my hair needs.

In other news, Rob and I were thrilled to wake up this morning to find out that everyone is now safe from those lunatics in Boston. It's so tough to hear these things from far away, worrying about the people I love there. But I always knew it was a fabulous city with fabulous people, and this tragedy just confirms that.

"Soaked in Sepia Tones"

Last weekend, we experienced our very first sand storm, a phenomenon of nature about which I wish I was still blissfully ignorant. Much like my first experience with ice storms in Missouri, I learned very quickly that they are not just the things of legend. They exist and they'll ruin your day. In related news, my suspicions are confirmed that California is pretty much the best place in the whole world.

Never did I see anything like this on even one brochure or website about Dubai before we moved here. Speaking of marketing, "soaked in sepia tones" was taken from a story about the storm on Emirates 24/7. Sounds so romantic, right?

Anyway, it already looked pretty nasty out in the morning, so Rob and I took a trip to the Mall of the Emirates, a massive shopping mall not too far from us (and home to the infamous indoor ski hill!) I'm not typically a mall girl, and I can think of many, many things I'd rather do with my precious weekend, but malls are air conditioned and sand-free and where people spend their time for the better part of the hotter months.

Here's a shot from our front row seat in the metro (which incidentally is the very best place to sit if you have to take public transportation.) It was 97 degrees when this photo was taken.


We left the mall with lighter pocketbooks, but with a pair of cute shoes (mine) and a new orange dress (also mine.) See? There's always a silver lining, even during freakish weather. When we'd spent enough money (read: Rob telling me not to buy anything else), the wind was really blowing hard so we found a bar to duck into for a cold beer and some soccer.

We made our way home via metro and bus on a pretty grueling trip, from which I think I still have sand in my eyes and teeth. Then we did the one thing we do best: we ate spicy Indian food until our mouths were on fire. Every time the restaurant door opened, menus, napkins, small children--pretty much anything that wasn't glued down, would go flying around because of the wind.

We got home just in time to watch the rain, thunder, and lightning from our apartment, which continued into the next day. I guess it goes without saying that by the time I arrived to work the next morning after my commute, I was looking like an extra on the Thriller video shoot.

May we never see another one of these again, but if if we do, may there be sales at the shopping center.

What Am I Doing Here? and Other Questions I Ask Myself Daily

Have you ever had one of those moments in your life when you're like, "How the hell did I get here?"

I had one of those moments last week at work (moving to another country will increase these moments exponentially, by the way.)

Here's what happened:
My hotel, like many Ritz-Carlton hotels, is extremely popular for weddings. But here in the UAE, men and women separate for their wedding celebrations. At a "ladies' wedding," only women only can work. No men are allowed in the room, including male chefs, banquet servers, or anyone else who is paid to be sure these things run smoothly. It makes for an interesting scene when banquet managers can't actually be on the floor to manage, and tiny Filipino women carry trays of food that weigh as much as they do.

Thursday's wedding was for 850 guests, so all ladies in the hotel, including those of us on the sales team with no veritable banquet experience, were asked to help.

In typical Dubai fashion, there was no actual instruction until about 30 minutes before the event. We thought we would be showing guests the way to the restrooms or safe in the coat check room with 850 black abayas, but were shocked to discover that we had sections, and tables, and trays full of Champagne glasses (filled with mocktails, always mocktails.)

I had to steal a stranger's pants from the dry cleaning rack 20 minutes beforehand because the pants they tried to give me were no less than 10 sizes too big and were so short that they would have stayed dry in a flood. In those pants, I looked like Billy the Hobo Clown. But in the stranger's pants, I reluctantly put on the requisite vest and neck tie. They ran out of cufflinks so they had to sew my cuffs together.

If I've painted the picture correctly, by now you know I was looking H-O-T hot. Here's my friend Karen in the amazing outfit. (Her smiling face indicates that it was still very early.)


Even more of a problem than us looking more like men than ladies was that we don't know a damn thing about working a Ritz-Carlton banquet. But no matter. It was showtime and they threw us to the wolves. The wolves in this scenario were ridiculously attractive Emarati women in five inch heels, designer gowns, and enough diamonds to blind you if you stare directly at them.

It was about halfway through the night, after my first spill but before the Bollywood-through-the-ages entertainment, that I asked myself, "what the hell am I doing here?

But even though I don't know what the hell I was doing there, I'm kind of glad I was, even as the time passed into my 17th hour of work that day.

Memories of Music Past

Tonight we were sitting on the couch watching American Idol. Yeah, we do that here. It airs one day late and we can't vote, but we (well me, but Rob by association and force) are still big fans.

For fellow fans, here are some answers to your pressing questions: Loving Keith Urban (what's not to love, am I right ladies?), irritated by Nicky Minaj, can take or leave Mariah Carey, love love will always love Ryan Seacrest. And I miss JLo.

Anyway, tonight's special guest was Bon Jovi (which doubled my American Idol pleasure if that's even possible) and I got to telling Rob about how I owned the Bon Jovi "Always" single cassette when I was 14. I would play it on my Walkman more times than was probably healthy for both me and the Walkman on which it played.

This reminded Rob of his days spent with DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince at about the same age. And this is what it looked like:

He's pretty sick with a nasty head cold, but isn't too sick to hold the iPhone on his shoulder like a boom box from the early 90s (not pictured, unfortunately.)

And so our night went. A DJ Jazzy Jeff song (usually about trivial teenage angst), interrupted by one of my Bon Jovi songs (usually about lost love and heartbreak), interrupted by American Idol back from commercial, and on and on like so.

I know. We're indubitably the least cool couple in Dubai, but all in all, not a bad Friday night.

Buses, Trains, and Shoe Leather: The Story of My Work Commute

My husband is already tired of what he calls incessant complaining about my commute.
I know it's only been a week, but I'm obviously very spoiled and feel as if I've earned the right to complain. Now you too can experience the enchantment of Dubai public transportation!

7:10 a.m. Walk across the street and onto the sidewalk to wait for the bus.

7:13 a.m. Stand nicely on sidewalk, even as people begin to invade your space.

7:15 a.m. Use dirty looks and/or shoulders to protect your postage stamp-sized space on sidewalk.

7:20 or 7:25 or 7:30 a.m. Bus arrives. Do anything in your power to get on the bus. Relent only for the elderly, the pregnant, and possibly women with very young children. Being nice won't get you to work on time.

7:30 a.m. Look straight ahead. Remember to breath through mouth. Looking for something to hold onto is unnecessary as the sheer number of people on the bus will keep you in place.

7:32 a.m. Official-looking man from the government pulls bus over. Checks to make sure everyone on the bus has paid.

7:42 a.m. Run off the bus to the metro station. Run faster than the person next to you.

7:43 a.m. Stand as close as humanly possible to metro doors so that when they open, you have a snowball's chance in hell of getting a seat for the ride. Feel free to use shoulders again when people push ahead of you.

7:45 a.m. 35-minute metro ride in the ladies' car. Always the ladies' car. Ladies smell better and don't stare as much. And thank the good lord for iPhones and NPR.

8:20 a.m. Run off metro. Pay half day's wages for a coffee at Starbucks.

8:25 a.m. Run like hell to get to your office by 8:30. Try to keep coffee in your cup. Don't trip over high heels. Be sure to look perfectly presentable upon arrival.

7:15 p.m. Repeat in reverse.

Marketing Around the Globe

In honor of starting my job this Wednesday (yay for a shockingly quick visa process!), I thought I would share this little nugget of marketing genius I found on the Dubai Groupon site.


In case you can't make it out, it summons spirit of relaxation you can experience when you drink the tea that comes with their herbal Moroccan bath.

"Like watching the sun rise or seeing a baby climb down from a tree on its own, drinkin tea can help you relax."

Yep. For my money, nothing says relaxation like watching your infant climb down the trunk of a towering conifer (or a palm if you're in Dubai) without your guidance.

Day at the Beach

I don't want to brag, but I've gotten pretty good at sitting in the sun. Whether it's relaxing at the beach or our pool, I've never felt more at ease with wasting the day away by the water. A lady of leisure I don't want to become, but I've done a respectable job of playing the role for the past couple months.

Rob recently had two well-deserved days off. He's been working stupid long hours--16+ hour days--so I put aside my usual, obnoxious "we're going on an adventure!" rhetoric so that he could rest.

No better time than mid-February in Dubai to spend a day at the beach! The weather is perfect--80s during the day and breezy by the water so you don't feel like you need to submerge yourself in water or else your skin will burn off. We have less than two months until going outside feels like walking into a kiln, so we're capitalizing now.

We chose a public beach right next to Rob's hotel, with views of the Palm Jumeirah and the tall buildings surrounding the Dubai Marina. We especially enjoy this beach because of the entertainment provided by the 100+ people each day who jump out of airplanes right above us.

But while I consider myself something of an expert in the art of sun bathing, Rob's complexion and the fact that he can't sit still during his waking hours make him less so. Here he is keeping busy by looking for sea shells.

And here we are in our nerdy matching sunglasses, never more obvious than in a close-up self-portrait!

A Place To Go Every Day

For those of you who don't already know, I am officially employed! I'll be doing marketing and communications at The Ritz-Carlton, Dubai International Financial Centre (see how I spelled 'centre?' I'm learning already!) Finally a paycheck to support the pesky shopping habit I've developed in unemployment.

So what am I doing blogging in the middle of the day? As I've reiterated about a hundred times since I started this blog, everything here move at a glacial pace and as such, I'm still waiting on my visa. I'm daring to consider myself in the homestretch of my brain melting days as I hold my head a little higher when I watch terrible sitcom reruns and bad Jay Leno jokes. Right now it's a Seinfeld episode I've seen no fewer than eight times in my life.

The Ritz-Carlton requires every new employee to go through a two-day orientation. This is officially my third Ritz-Carlton orientation, so I was the model pupil (and inadvertent teacher's pet.) I was the only native English speaker in the classroom, so I worked harder than usual to keep the conversation going. I don't often toot my own horn, but I'd say I could have taught the whole damn thing. Toot toot.

Anyway, here's my hotel:

Pretty palatial, huh? It's right in the heart of the city's financial district and couldn't be more different from my previous Ritz-Carlton, which is a beach and golf resort. So I have a lot to learn, but I can't wait to dig in.

Even more of a challenge will be getting myself to work everyday. The commute requires a bus ride reminiscent of a sardine can, a 30-minute metro ride, and a 10-minute walk. This will be all but unsustainable as the mercury rises (and rises and rises) on the thermometer, so we'll be buying a car. Imagine the blog posts when I begin driving on these notoriously perilous roads. Stay tuned!

A Dubai-Mex Dinner

As if they could read my mind, some of my best girlfriends sent us a care package with all of the fixings for a Mexican meal at home. Anyone who has been abroad knows that if you can find Mexican food, it's always overpriced and never good. I tried to make fajitas a couple of weeks ago but I bought cheese-flavored taco seasoning on accident. I didn't know that even existed and I'm sad that it does. Needless to say, this couldn't have come at a better time for us after that disappointment.

I'm especially looking forward to this as it will be my first time in months that I've made a meal that doesn't include either taragon, coconut milk, or garam masala. Gracias ladies for what I know will be a fabulous Mexican feast, Dubai style.

I don't know why I never cease to be amazed by the lack of organization and infrastructure here. The package was addressed to us at Rob's work (since we don't actually have our own address) and ended up at the al Karama post office: a bus ride, 40-minute metro ride, and a 10 block walk from our apartment, followed by a painful 45-minute wait at the actual post office. A nice day out if you don't count the part where we had to explain the purpose of taco seasoning to the unpleasant and dubious man behind the counter.

But it's worth it because we're still apprehensive to try the few Mexican restaurants in town, including Cactus Jack's, Maria Bonita's or Goodfellas, the final of which markets itself as "American, British, Indian AND Mexican." Cuisine from literally all around the world within four walls could never be good unless it's in the food court by our house (again, astonishingly delicious. Don't judge.)

So We Went to Oman for the Day, Part II

Because our day in Oman was so long (aided in no way by the heat or the fact that I consider it a sign of defeat by hailing a taxi instead of walking to our destination,) we decided to head to the Al Bustan Palace, a Ritz-Carlton hotel in Muscat. Here's Rob reluctantly posing for my obligatory Ritz-Carlton shot on the way out.

You'll seldom find us in a city with a Ritz-Carlton that we don't visit because 1) we're just that classy and more accurately 2) we both work for the company and like to see the other hotels in its portfolio.

Justification for spending time at this hotel was easy because it's actually a former government building where the sultan would receive his visitors. See? It's practically a museum. (The beach bar is not so historic, but that's where the cold beer was.) The lobby of this place is incredible, reminiscent of a church with its enormously high ceilings, angelic music and incense burning.

The fun for us stopped temporarily once we left the lobby because riff-raff non-guests are not allowed outside at the beach/pool area. As you know from previous posts, we are not so easily defeated, so we simply had to wait discreetly for an unknowing guest to let us out.

But feeling like a creep for a few minutes was totally worth it. The place is absolute paradise. We walked around the pool and on the beach, then Rob made friends with the bar manager so we could get off our feet and have a cold drink. And there we stayed for the better part of two hours.

We can't wait to go back as guests so we don't have to drag our tired, hesitant selves into an overpriced taxi and end the fairy tale. And when we do, I'd like to have dinner here. Amazing, right?

So We Went to Oman for the Day, Part I

If I had to pick, I'd say the most fabulous thing about living in the UAE is having the ability to visit the exotic countries around it, if even just for 12 hours.

The reason for this trip was to extend my tourist visa. I still don't have a visa thanks to a few mishaps with our marriage paperwork (too uninteresting to elaborate, but I have advice for you if you're married and thinking of a move to the Middle East!) A tourist visa is good for 30 days (we pulled some strings to double that) and leaving the country bought me another 30. Expats hop a quick flight to Oman or Kuwait or Bahrain, get stamped, then turn right around and come back. These "visa runs" are a regular occurrence here, but for anyone that knows me, flying to a new country and staying for 45 minutes is just not an option.

We left our apartment at 6:00 a.m. to catch the 50-minute flight to Muscat, the capital city of Oman (with full meal service. Seriously, it was like the 1960s. Those flight attendants were runnin') For the record, this is the last time I take a trip without an good old fashioned guide book, either on my Kindle or of the dead tree variety. We had no Internet access and very little idea of where we were going and what we wanted to see. I'm appreciative that Omanis live up to their reputation of being some of the kindest people in the world. Those we met seemed grateful that we were there and happy to help us find our way, and it occurred to me that this might have been my first time in a country that is not accustomed to American tourists.

The day was genuinely one of the best I've had since we moved here. Muscat is a true taste of Arabia, quite unlike Dubai, with no sky high buildings, metro lines, or shamelessly expensive cars in sight. A few observations:

1. The taxis have no meters. It is entirely up to the driver to throw out a price. This is unfortunate for two white people completely unfamiliar with both the geography of the city and the currency. We were unquestionably ripped off (many thanks to our server that evening for sarcastically pointing this out.)

2. Muscat is home to the most fabulous souk I've seen so far. The entire place smells of frankincense and scented oils, and while the guys still hawk pashminas and cheesy trinkets, there is also a fabulous selection of spices, gorgeous perfume bottles, and antiques. Antiques! It was the souk experience I had always imagined. Here I am with our fabulous new old antique copper pot (focus on the pot and not the hot, hungry, dehydrated girl in the photo.)

The man at the shop even offered us a cup of Omani coffee before we left. I knew embarrassingly little about Oman when I got there, except that you should never refuse when an Omani offers you coffee or tea.

3. The landscape is absolutely stunning. The water is crystal clear and the mountains surrounding it, all dotted with forts and lookouts, are spectacular.

4. The Sultan, Oman's ruler, looks like the Sultan in Aladdin.

So Arabian, right? He's been ruling now for 40+ years and has a yacht the size of Wyoming (anchored in the harbor for visitors to see.)

Here we are in front of one of his many palaces. I think it looks like it belongs in the Jetsons if the Jetsons lived in the outer space version of the Arabian Peninsula.

We can't wait to go back and spend some more time in and around Muscat, preferably with our own car so we don't have to haggle our cab fare. Next I'll write about the time we spent at The Ritz-Carlton Al Bustan Palace. Because a hotel that fabulous merits its own post on any blog of mine.

Big Box Store Shopping, Dubai Style

Let me start this post by declaring that it should be illegal to shop at IKEA if you can't prove that you have a car or similarly reliable mode of transport.

If this were so, Rob and I would have been forbidden from lugging several heavy, awkward boxes from the bus to the metro to another bus to home last week. We even inexplicably ended up lost at the airport at one point.

I've provided a handy map of Dubai to give you an idea of the proximity (or lack thereof) of IKEA to where we live:

In case you're wondering, IKEA here is exactly like IKEA at home except there are even more people, which translates into even more kids running unrestrained through the store. I didn't think it was even possible. And those little arrows on the ground? Nobody cares and nobody follows them. I felt like a salmon swimming up river for most of the trip.

Naturally, like anyone complaining about IKEA, I know that even in Dubai, it's the place to go for cheap things that will look great in our apartment for the years we're here.

Love to hate the Swedish and their crafty and stylish, yet affordable housewares.

The upside is that we found a Belgian bar with fantastic beer and even better live music, right on Dubai creek. It was good fuel for the remainder of the seemingly endless journey home.

Here's a photo of one of our purchases in the living room. Carrying this one was obviously Rob's job :)

I'll be putting up photos of the entire apartment soon!

Things that would never fly at home...

I like to think that we're acclimating nicely--maybe even faster than average. But there are things that happen on a daily basis here in Dubai that I still can't accept; things that my upbringing in the states has taught me are amiss. I'm well aware that many things in America are frowned upon here (pork, short skirts with Uggs, and the 2nd amendment, just to name a few) but I'll share some of my observations anyway:

1. Burping/spitting
There is seriously little or no effort to hide bodily functions here. This is true for burping on the crowded metro or hawking massive loogies precious inches from another person's feet as they stroll down the street (I've almost been hit more times than I can count. It's gross.)

2. Cell phone etiquette
I understand this is an area where we're faltering at home, but it's brought to a new level here. I saw a butcher talking on his phone while butchering meat for a customer. Our bus driver to Hatta--the man operating an 11 ton vehicle full of passengers--enjoyed a conversation that must have lasted at least 30 minutes. The other night, our Pakistani taxi driver called his wife in Mexico when he found out I speak Spanish. This was disturbing on two levels: 1) My taxi driver was dialing his wife halfway across the world when he should have been navigating roads that by my account are some of the world's most dangerous, and 2) I had to speak with his wife in Spanish, which was weird because I don't know her and also because I never thought I'd use my Spanish here, especially in the back of a taxi.

3. Littering
I know this isn't unique to Dubai, but I'll never get used to people just throwing their trash on the ground. Water bottles, cigarette boxes, candy wrappers, whatever. This place has the ingredients for a litter bug-free country: plenty of trash cans and a populace that walks a lot. In my experience they just prefer walking away from trash cans. The city stays shockingly clean, however, because of how many people are hired to clean up after the many litter bugs.

4. "Massages"
We find these little cards under our door a few times each week and started saving them because they make us laugh. They're discreet little ads for massages that almost always feature a sexy Asian lady and offer "door to door service." I, like you, am becoming increasingly suspect and while I'm not certain of my suspicions, I'll probably get angry if Rob ever orders one.

I put my favorite on top. "The best way for relaxing and enjoyment in the town" has "perfectional girls" and "collage girls" available!

Anniversary trip to the Mountains

Phew, one year already! Time, it flies. To celebrate, we thought it would be great to leave the city for a getaway. After all, what better way to commemorate being in a country we never thought we'd live in than going to a place we never knew existed?

We chose Hatta, a smaller-than-we-anticipated town an hour from Dubai (or for people like us, two hours on the public bus.) We got to cross the border into Oman even though Hatta is technically in the emirate of Dubai. Surrounded by mountains and without one building exceeding three stories, the place couldn't be more different from the Dubai we know.

We visited Heritage Village, a restored "historical park" that portrays life in the old days (featuring scary mannequins) and from there we climbed to towers that were once used to watch for invaders. This history nerd was disappointed (as much as Rob was relieved) that not one of the informational videos worked. Colonial Williamsburg it definitely was not.

We stayed at the Hatta Fort Hotel, the best (and only) gig in town.

We were really impressed with the service, from the restaurants to the front desk to the kind man who told us he'd pick us up from Heritage Village after one hour because that's all the time you need there (thank you sir!!) There's really nowhere to eat in Hatta (except Popeye's Chicken. What remote Arab village is complete without an American fried chicken joint?,) so we bit the bullet for what we were sure would be a hotel meal average in quality but crazy in price. We ordered Chicken Tikka Masala and Fish Biryani (when in Rome!) and it was one of the best meals we've had since we've been here. There was even a tuxedo-wearing maitre d' who made table side Caesar salads and a singer whose repertoire including everything from Tony Bennet to Maroon 5. Unfortunately, she didn't know our wedding song...I asked when I followed her to saw her in the restroom.

Aside from the gale force winds that were pretty much constant from the time we got there until the time we left, the trip was perfect. And what's a little sand in the mouth and eyes when you're with the one you love?

Day at the Souks

Souk is the the term for marketplace here in the Middle East. Thanks to Hollywood, my idea of a souk was that of a wide open, romantic space with a wood roof, filled with stalls and beautiful, exotic, and affordable goods for sale. Something like this, maybe:

The souks of the movies do exist (this one is in a hotel by the beach,) but it's not the real deal. We prefer the souks that simply look like run-down stores, offering everything from textiles to gold to shoes. The movies don’t touch on the guys getting in your face every 15 seconds offering “handbags, watches, pashminas, ma’am, sir,” putting their hands all over you (if you’re a man) and ushering you into their questionable stores, almost always down a darkish alley.

Not exactly the romantic ‘Carrie Bradshaw shopping in Abu Dhabi in Sex and the City 2’ experience I had anticipated, but still the best place to get cool Arabian-looking goods (most likely made in India.) The souk we went to is in Bur Dubai, the city’s oldest neighborhood and one that feels the most like Arabia of anywhere in this modern, over-the-top place.

As part of my unceasing effort to decorate our empty apartment, I’ve had my eye on these handmade Moroccan lamps pretty much since we touched ground here in Dubai. Now, if there is one rule at the souks, it’s that it is expected that you bargain with the vendors. Unfortunately, I just might happen to be the worst bargainer on the planet, so we had our work cut out for us. In the end, we scored a fabulous lamp through our hard-nosed, relentless bargaining skills (read: Rob bargaining and me standing in the corner pretending to pick out a Burj al Arab paperweight.)

And then we found this, and it was too awesome not to document. Short months ago I would have laughed condescendingly at a couple of Americans taking pictures in front of a tiny, cheap, out-of-place Statue of Liberty. Maybe homesickness does funny things to a person, but let the record show that we had to wait in a relatively long line to get this photo. Lady Liberty was by far the most popular fake landmark there.

PS. I've heard complaints from some of you who can't post comments, and I think I've fixed the issue, but let me know if not. Thank you for reading!

Happy news

I came home from the gym to three men I didn't know in our apartment (this is all too common here) but this time they weren't installing ugly curtains or drilling needless holes in the ceiling.

They were installing cable! Cable people!

Now, I'm not usually a huge television person. But the thought of watching something besides free pilots downloaded from iTunes is too exciting not to share.

When I ceremoniously flipped on the TV for the first time, the Kardashians were on! I've never felt more at home in our new home! I took a shower, and when I got out, I actually peaked my head around the corner to be sure that the TV was still working. It wasn't of course, but it came back on soon enough. And now I've been watching a solid HOUR of television! Three and a Half Men (not so good--obviously my standards have dwindled), The Daily Show, and now The Colbert Report.

Life is good.

As I have spent the whole day feeling jealous about the Downton Abbey Season 3 premiere at home, timing couldn't be more perfect.

The Things I Wear....

A lot of people have asked me about what is appropriate for women to wear here, so I thought I'd address that today.

I continue to be surprised by how westernized this country is. There are women who dress traditionally--in abayas and hijabs--but they are most definitely the minority. This sign is not uncommon, especially at the malls:

And the rules are enforced. We saw a woman who was asked to change her clothes on New Year's Eve. She was wearing a long, white lace dress that would have been offensive in Cancun during spring break, to say nothing of the Middle East.

For me, dress depends largely on the neighborhood I'm in. In the Marina, where Rob works, I could walk around in a loin cloth and people wouldn't look twice. In our neighborhood, people would stare if I went out in a moo moo and a snow jacket.

On my first day in Dubai, I was fully covered. That lasted all of about three hours. Now, I follow a general rule. I keep either my legs or my shoulders covered, but rarely both. I made this up and it is based on no precedent but it seems to work for me just fine. For example, if I'm wearing a dress or skirt above my knees, I'll wear a sweater or jean jacket. If I'm wearing jeans, anything goes (within reason--no sports bras or belly tops, and you all know how l love going out in those.) If I feel like I'm not covered enough, I'll find a scantily clad woman (there's always one in the crowd!) and follow her around.

At the pool or the beach, anything goes. I have yet to see the famous "burkini" but Rob saw one, so we know they're more than just legend:

At least she doesn't have to worry about tan lines!

I anticipate that as temperatures climb well past 100 degrees in a couple of months, I'll abandon my rule and pull the loin cloths from the back of my closet.