Old Abu Dhabi Documentary

Posted by Kanga.

Oil Discovery and Distribution of Wealth in Saudi Arabia and United Arab Emirates (1968)

This is a 52 minute film about Abu Dhabi in 1968, prior to the formation of the United Arab Emirates in 1972. It is a bit blunt about some things. It definitely shows the drastic changes that oil discovery and production caused. The best part is seeing so much footage of Sheikh Zayed in a variety of settings. It is a little melodramatic with some forebodings about the future, but it turned out that Sheikh Zayed was a very wise man.

Cultural Experiences – Both Planned and Unexpected

Posted by Kanga.

Our friends from Malta ventured out from Dubai to Fujairah for dinner with us last week. Our planned cultural experience was to go to the Ramadan Food Market to buy the components of our meal and bring it home to enjoy.

We brought home flat bread, fatoush (green salad), tamarind and some kind of berry juices, sausages in bread wraps, tabouleh (chopped parsley salad), hummos, kushari, samosas, pakora, chicken biriani, and probably more, but I can’t remember it all. It was a fun food adventure.

We supplied root beer, the only soda we had on hand. This was a new experience for our Maltese friends, who say that it smells exactly like a surgical spirit solution commonly used back home. [Our friend also confessed to having a pyromaniac phase around the age of eight when he sprayed this surgical spirit (mostly alcohol) on the ground and lit it for fun.] So, root beer, which is right up there with baseball and apple pie on the scale of American-ness is not very appealing to people in the Eastern hemisphere. This might explain why it is rare to find it in grocery stores. Now we’ll have to look for this surgical spirit to do a smell test and see for ourselves.

I had a similar experience when I first tasted Jagermeister (German herbal liqueur). I swear it tastes just like the cough syrup we had when I was little. Just tastes like medicine to me.

Our friends had brought us a treat from Malta – a pudding, which I tried the next morning. Before I tell you what it is like, I must explore the word “pudding.” In America, this word has just one definition. A pudding is a creamy, milk based dessert, like custard. (There are also bread and rice puddings, but again these are desserts.) In Europe and abroad, pudding can mean just about anything – sweet or savory. Christmas pudding is actually a cake. Blood pudding is actually a sausage. So, when someone says “pudding” we are not sure what to expect.

This pudding turned out to be what we would call a fruit cake. It is dense, dark, a bit chocolaty with tasty fruit bits in it.  I’ve tried it cold, warmed up, topped with a little ice cream, and warmed up with butter. Quite good.

Long Time No See

Posted by Kanga.

Those of you reading this post in America will understand what I mean by “long time no see” with regard to this simple soda can pull tab. These were considered a litter problem and outlawed a long time ago, decades in fact. American soda cans have to have openings designed to not detach.

After marveling at this blast from the past for a while, I pulled it off.

High quality workmanship. Nice.

Here’s another thing I haven’t seen in a while – “Made in USA”

We ate last night at a new restaurant in our neighborhood, Rara Avis. I recognized the plate as being Corelleware immediately because they are distinctive. I was surprised to find it at this small, inexpensive restaurant. This type of restaurant usually serves on cheap plastic (Melmac style) plates.

Neither a Conqueror Be

Posted by Kanga.

At work this week we had an all staff meeting that was actually very enjoyable and enlightening. Here’s how it went. Everyone sat at small tables, four people per table. Each group was given a pack of cards, a sheet of instructions, a blank sheet for score keeping and a pencil. The instructions described a simplified form of Hearts or Spades. We were to pair up across the table and were given a few minutes to practice and make sure we understood the rules of the game. We were not allowed to speak or write to each other during the game. We could make gestures, but no other form of communication. The instruction sheets were then collected from us (big hint here). Then, we played for real until the horn was sounded. The partners who had the winning score then got up and moved to the next table. We played again. As you might have guessed from the big hint earlier, the instructions varied from table to table. We played a total of three sets each time with the winners moving on to another table.

My partner and I didn’t win the first round (actually we tied, so we had to do a quick tie breaker) so we stayed at our table and welcomed new players. We launched right into the game and our newcomers were confused by who was winning each round. My partner and I enforced our set of rules and simply communicated by pointing to the winning card, whether is was a high card or trump. Our new players picked it up quickly, but we still beat them (home court advantage). This, however, meant that we had to move on the next table, where we met our original competitors. I was deeply into the symbolism of this, so I considered the new table to be a new country and my old competitors to be “expats” who had learned the rules of this new country and I expected them to teach it to me. Not so! We reverted to the original set of rules, never mind that we were at a different table.

After the final set, we discussed the experience. There were quite a few tables where the newcomers had acted like conquerors and insisted on their rules. There were some “host” players who were very confused and just surrendered to the newcomers. Others negotiated the rules and came up with a new way altogether.

I thought it was interesting that our reunion with our original competitors involved no assimilation to the new culture at all. We were like expats hanging out with other expats on a compound or base sticking with our home country rules.

I am pleased that I didn’t turn out to be a conqueror and that while in my home country I stuck to the rules and encouraged the newcomers to assimilate. I preserved my cultural heritage, so to speak.

Proper Use of the Fork

Posted by Kanga.

I have a vague childhood memory of someone calling Americans uncouth because of the way we use utensils. We tend to use one hand and a fork, primarily. Spoons are used only for liquids and knives only for spreading butter or cutting meat. In this person’s perception, the “continental style” of using a knife and fork simultaneously was much more civilized.

Now that I’ve had a chance to watch this continental style in action, I am amazed by the illogic of it. People hold their fork upside down and use the knife to push food onto the back of the fork. They put a great deal of effort into this process. The fork is a multitasking tool. It can spear food, scoop food, cut food and rake food. Yet, I don’t see any of these uses, only the pressing of food onto the back of it, the most inefficient use conceivable. There is more sense in using one’s fingers or chopsticks.

So much for the superiority of the continental style.

Kisses

Posted by Kanga.

For the most part, I endeavor to be culturally aware and adjustable. There is, however, one thing that I find uncomfortable – cheek kissing. You know, the kiss on the cheek, anywhere from one to three, given as a greeting or good bye.

In America, this is rarely seen or done. It’s mostly considered something that superficial people in certain social circles do. Here, it is fairly common place and considered appropriate.

My first encounter was particularly odd. A man I was meeting for the first time moved right in and made kissing sounds near my ear. I was caught completely off guard and laughed in his ear. That was the end of that. Actually, I think he’s Canadian, so he should have known better. Americans probably have the largest personal space radius of any culture. It is bad enough for someone I know to move in that close, but for a complete stranger. Yikes!

It is supposed to be an expression of affection, so it is rather awkward to say “please don’t do that.” There are also forceful personalities who take that sort of request as a challenge which changes it from affection to “getting one’s way.” Sometimes, one can get off the hook because you are across a table or not able to get close enough and the kisses are “air kisses” blown from a distance.

So, give me a wave or a firm handshake. Thanks!

Life is Beautiful

Posted by Kanga.

So, I was standing in line in the small neighborhood grocery behind a woman who was clearly high maintenance in her tight dress, high heels, raven black hair and eyebrows plucked to non-existence. First, there was a problem with the barcode on a couple of small juice bottles, so the clerk typed in the code manually. The woman immediately reached over and grabbed the second bottle before he could enter that one and tossed aside as no longer wanted. Then came the veggies…I have to explain here that the procedure with fresh veggies is that after you choose what you want you take them in plastic bags to a weighing station in the veggie section to have them weighed, sealed and labeled. –Well, she had three bags of veggies, only the first of which had a price label on it. When it became apparent that the second bag of veggies had no label, she grabbed it from the clerk, shoved it at the security guard who happened to be walking past the check stand and indicated that he should get it weighed and labeled. After he left, with veggie bag in hand to do just that, the third bag was discovered to be label-less also. She, herself, grabbed the bag from the clerk and off she went to the veggie section to get it weighed. The clerk then looked at me and said, “Life is beautiful. [pause] Life is still beautiful.” The woman then returned with only the third bag of veggies in hand , weighed and labeled, followed shortly by the security guard with the second bag, also weighed and labeled. Her transaction continued without further ado.

Today, I learned a little something about owls. Westerners consider owls to be symbolic of wisdom. “Wise ol’ owl or wise as an owl.” However, if a Pakistani calls you “a son of an owl” this is actually an insult that equates to “you idiot.” In the Middle East, owls are considered stupid, apparently because they look stupid. So, now I’m going to have to investigate other animals and insults.

Parking & car wash

Washing cars is big here. In our apartment building, we have a basement parking area and there is a man who washes our car regularly for 100 dirhams ($27.00) per month. This is probably high, but it’s convenient. At work, there are also grounds workers who wash cars for the staff to earn extra money. At shopping malls, there are often men equipped with buckets and rags in the parking lots waiting to wash your car while you shop. It is rare to see a dirty car here and when I see one I wonder how hasn’t it gotten washed somewhere along the line?

I explain all this to set up my story. We went to a restaurant that is Western style and a major Western expatriate hang out. The car wash guys that hang out around it have a unique way of getting your business. You have to pay for parking at a (solar powered) parking meter. It takes coins and special cards. It is 1 dirham for an hour and, for some unexplainable reason, 5 dirhams for 2 hours. The car wash guy sees you drive up and heads you off at the parking meter. He has a card and offers to use it to get your parking slip for you and then you pay him the 1 or 5 dirhams. He also hits you up for a car wash and since he was so nice to help you with the parking meter, you feel obligated to pay for an unneeded car wash. Apparently, his parking card gives him a little discount on the parking fee, so you pay him the full amount and he makes a little off of that as well as the car wash fee. It’s not a full blown scam where you get cheated…

HOWEVER…

This time the man who wanted to pay for our parking and wash our car was very persistent. Daddybird did not want to play his game, just wanted to pay for parking and go about our business. He told him “I’ve got it” which probably doesn’t translate in Globish. The man fussed for a while trying to pay for our parking. Then walked away. THEN came back and tried a second time pushing in to put his card in the parking meter slot even though Daddybird was putting coins in the slot. Daddybird found this so annoying he raised his voice and said “NO!” This, apparently was understandable and the little man went away disappointed.

Just a woman

For the most part, I find that people interact with me normally and accord me basic respect. However, I have had two amazing instances of being invisible. The first was at a fast food restaurant in a mall. We were both there. I stated very clearly to the clerk what my order was, but she did nothing. Didn’t punch it in or acknowledge me in any way. Daddybird told her what he wanted and she hopped right on it. He came to my rescue and repeated my order to her. I guess I’m not allowed to eat unless my man says it’s okay. Her attitude changed when it was me who pulled out money and paid for the meal. Suddenly, I came into focus.

Yesterday’s experience was at a bank. We were attempting to open an account with a different bank because we don’t like the poor service we get from our current bank. However, can’t say we care much for the service at this new one either. The customer service person we were dealing with was male. He was not interested in my information in the least. Don’t bother him with information about my salary or employment. Forget about putting my name on the account, too. They have a real hard time understanding the concept of joint account here. Friends of ours who tried to explain that they wanted a joint account actually had the bank employee say “But, sir, she could run away and take all your money!” Is it any wonder the divorce rate is high here?

We’ll have to keep looking. Maybe there’s an American or European based bank that can supply an actual joint account.

Not knowing our place

We went to a local chicken “fast food” restaurant. I put fast food in quotes because they don’t have food ready sitting under a heat lamp. If you order the 15 piece family meal, they actually have to cook 15 pieces of chicken for you while you wait, even though your order is “to go” and not “eat in.” This is not American fast food.

Anyway, we waited. When our order was about ready, the guy filling our drinks dropped a cardboard drink carrier on the floor. He was behind a counter and unable to reach it. Paul automatically walked over and picked it up. The guy waved and said “No, sir, no” and gave Paul one of the most scornful looks ever. How dare he pick that up! We were greatly amused. I told Paul “It’s because you just don’t know your place.” We live in a topsy turvy world. It was like the opposite of “who do you think you are?!” So, I’ve coined another word – downity. It’s the opposite of uppity. It applies to folks like us who were taught to pick up after ourselves, be kind to others and pitch in to help who are now trying to adjust to a world where someone is paid to pick up after us and we are not supposed to pick up after them.