Camels are Brilliant

So, I'm back to England and - after a diversion to Vienna and a frantic scramble to Somerset -back to normality.

I won't lie to you, it's an absolute treat to be somewhere where things, on the whole, make sense. Somewhere where people are treated equally and where their earnings are broadly commensurate with the work they put in. Somewhere where religion isn't so intrusive (and it is an intrusive religion and not just for heretics like me that don't really want to deviate from their debauched British lifestyle. Getting up before dawn, washing your feet five times a day, not eating during daylight for a month, having to journey to one of the least hospitable places in the world, that's proper hardcore dedication. Not like these namby-pamby, maybe-go-to-church-on-a-Sunday religious types that we have here). Somewhere where suggesting getting a taxi to something 100m away is treated as the joke it should be. Somewhere where you can see even a tiny point to the administrative paperwork that you have to do. Somewhere with sausages that aren't made out of turkey, competitively-priced beer and day-time temperatures that aren't on oven dials. Somewhere with a soul.

That's not to say I didn't enjoy any of it. Deserts are incredible to look at. I saw my first mirage and my first sand storm. Hanging out in plush hotels and eating two buffets a day isn't entirely unpleasant. Muscat was ace, the Grand Mosque was massive and shiny and there were even bits of Dubai that I didn't hate. I don't think I've ever had such consistently good food as I did in the Sunlight Restaurant in Abu Dhabi (two blocks behind the Crowne Plaza on Hamden Street - ask for The Special - massive thumbs up).

And obviously there's camels. Gorgeous, sexy, beautiful camels; wandering round the place with a look of amused befuddlement that summed everything up far more eloquently than I ever could.

______

Rachel and Nick - Congratulations

The Weight in Grease of a Large Polar Bear

I'm in Dubai International Airport. It's about as unpleasant as it's possible to make a public space. It's full of piped noise, opulent bobbins (remote controlled Ferrari, yes please) and idiots dragging tiny suitcases around (If I owned an airport I'd definitely be a fascist about this - if you can't carry it, it's not hand luggage - check it in). And it's all slightly too close together to accommodate it all, especially the trailing cases. Everywhere there's people knocking things over and treading on each others' suitcases like some kind of vaudeville hell.

________

I'd like to dedicate the title of this entry to Don Gorske, who has recently eaten his 25,000th Big Mac. The eating feat alone is fairly impressive but the fact that he kept count makes him a stone cold hero.

Deserted

Isn't it odd when you go somewhere and realise that you'll almost certainly never be there again? The only time I've really noticed it before was on Easter Island, where I tried to cram everything into a couple of days as I just couldn't see a reason why i would go back.

But this hasn't been a four day smash and grab, I've spent longer in Madinat Zayed than I have any place outside of England. Surely there'd be some reason to come back, right?

Right?

Where's my Ferrero Rocher?

I met the British Ambassador today. Everything I know about ambassadors comes from Lethal Weapon 2. Namely that you can do anything you want, then shout "Diplomatic Immunity" and it's okay. Part of me was expecting a chain-drinking dilettante in a bacon suit accompanied by a harem of strippers.

Needless to say, that part of me was thoroughly disappointed.

Hmmmmm, bacon suit.

Is this Jam Hot?

Before I came out here everyone told me that the weather was going to be ridiculous - that I'd melt into a small puddle of pasty-freckled-gingerness in precisely no time.

I'm two months in now and it is hot, there's no denying it, 47 degrees is hot by anyone's standards (not strictly true, if your standards are in Fahrenheit then 47 degrees is pretty cold and if your standards are Kelvin then you're dead. As a rambling aside; why do we even say "degrees"? How does that add to our understanding? Saying 47 Celsius gives you useful information: saying 47 degrees tells you that it's an acute angle, which is not useful at all when you're talking about the weather - there's not even a degree symbol on the keyboard, which is odd because I'd've definitely used it more than "|". Why is that? And what does "|" even mean? If anyone can enlighten me on any of those points I would be grateful, thanks - right, back to what I was saying before, in case you've forgotten I was saying that 47C was hot) but it's not prohibitively hot. It's not oven-baked, skin-shrivelling, human-sultana, never-leave-the-shade, aircon-to-14-or-crumble-like-the-guy-from-Last-Crusade hot.

So in your face sun, if that is your real name - I reckon I can do another ten degrees. Bring it on, you big, gassy chump.

__________

Here's a curiosity for you; Blogger now tells me my web-traffic, not just for this blog but other previous blogs. Now there seems to have been a big rush on the old traveller cliche site in the last week or so. This would be weird enough seeing as I've not updated it in eighteen months, but most of the traffic seems to be coming from The Number One Weight Loss Site - why would this be? Answers on a postcard marked "Reading what you ate is good for anorexics".

Arabian Nights

Turns out living in a hotel starts to irk you at about the six week mark.

"Oh how yawn?" You're already thinking, "Poor him, in his boutique room with desert view. Poor him with his two buffets a day and his infinity pool -

I bet he's gonna whinge about something poncey that he hadn't even heard of three months ago, like 'evening service'. He's gonna moan that they draw his curtains whilst there's still two hours of sunlight, or balance a glass precariously on the corner of the table between the bed and the lightswitch, or that they always tuck his duvet under his mattress or that housekeeping call at 8am on the weekend. What a loser. He's changed since he's been out there."

But you're wrong, I'm not going to mention any of that. So there.

Although if anyone does know why they insist or replacing the plug in the bath so that by the end of my shower I'm standing in ankle deep water I'd be pleased to find out. The plug's currently hidden... shhhh.

_______________

Currently listening to Angel Haze - Altered Ego Mixtape

A thousand mutilated flipflops

The main reason I went to the Snoop Dogg show was curiosity as to how a potty-mouthed gangsta with a penchant for controlled substances and scantily-clad ladies would mix with a culture that frowns upon potty-mouthed-ness, scantilly-clad-ness and controlled substances. I assumed that they'd just chat about their shared love of bling. But no, Mr Dogg was whole-heartedly embraced, to the extent that when he asked "Where the sexy ladies at?" the three girls in front of me nearly screamed their hijabs off. I'm sure there's something a little scaffyhaffy about that.

Not much else to report, I've had a weekend in Abu Dhabi and managed to find myself an art gallery - some actual culture, who would have thought? The exhibition (Hassan Sharif, if you care) was modern art at its most artless, it seemed to showcase the deterioration of a formally competent artist into obsessive-compulsive insanity, as he started sticking more and more things together. Utterly pointless, although a pile of a thousand mutilated flipflops is quite a sight.

Downward Spizzle

Expats, now there's a funny thing. It turns out that most people come out to the UAE for the money rather than because they think it would be a bit odd. Weirdos.

But the skaffyhaffy is that they start missing home, so they do things that remind them of home - like drinking (a beer is £6 or more) - or doing things just to pass the time - like going to see stadium hip-hop just because it's on (£50). So unless they sweat discipline, chances are they're going to break even.

Moral to the story is, do things because they're weird.

Just What We Need

I've spent the last couple of days waiting for my bank card to be delivered so I've not been able to get up to capers, hence have nothing interesting to say about my own life.

Apparently there was some kind of shindig back in Blighty yesterday and I figured that what the World needed was someone else to talk about it. Especially someone who was several thousand miles away and didn't watch it.

Being perpetually cynical I'd been wondering why people were so excited about it (it's the wedding of two people you're never going to meet) or the minor details (how many people can actually recognise who designed a dress? I saw it, it looked like a dress to me). Equally I couldn't really see why people were getting so angry about it (it's someone else's big day, stop whining about class politics and taxpayers' money). I could only really understand people's lethargic indifference.

But then I saw an interview with Boris Johnson who said he'd got them a tandem, shortly followed by the PM saying he'd got them some photos of Anglesey. This set me thinking, they had something like 1,000 wedding guests most of whom probably don't know them that well. They must have got some terrible gifts. I find it difficult enough buying people that I know well something that they'd genuinely like - Wills and Kate's bedsit must be absolutely heaving with unopened pasta makers.

And imagine all that feigned politeness. So many absolutely genuine "You shouldn't have"s. As in "Thanks Sultan of Brunei, A gold-plated orang utan, just what we needed. But you shouldn't have, we'd've been happy with Amazon vouchers." or "Thanks Nan, a ridiculous title which means my wife isn't going to be a Princess. You really shouldn't have."

___________

Lately I have mostly been drinking things shaped like grenades. Add your own punchline.

___________

Dan and Rachel - No. 2. Congratulations.

[REMOVED]

Eight nights, eight beds, only two of which were in the same town. Shatterooed. And I'm supposed to be all refreshed following my revitalisation weekend.

But what a weekend. I had loads of [REMOVED]. Soon as I was off the train I had [REMOVED] in my mouth. So much [REMOVED]. At least two [REMOVED] everyday and normally far, far more [REMOVED]. [REMOVED]tastic. Short of riding round in a [REMOVED] [REMOVED] draped with [REMOVED] [REMOVED] pulled by [REMOVED] [REMOVED] [REMOVED] and [REMOVED] with [REMOVED][REMOVED] and [REMOVED] [REMOVED] scantily-clad [REMOVED] [REMOVED], I'd say it's the most [REMOVED] you could get in a weekend.

On a slightly tangential note, the thing that seemed to fascinate people the most this weekend is that the local version of the Simpsons Movie removes all references to [REMOVED]. As in no Spider[REMOVED]. As in the plot and most of jokes didn't make very much sense.

NOTE: THIS POST CONTRAVENES LOCAL DECENCY LAWS. SOME WORDS HAVE BEEN REMOVED BEFORE POSTING.

If I met me now, I wouldn't talk to me

I'm in a Segafredo in Abu Dhabi International, about to get a flight with "The Best Airline in the World for the Second Year Running." I'm wearing a suit. I'm carrying a computer and two mobile phones.

It's two weeks since I last consumed alcohol.

Last time I did something like this I was wearing shorts and the nearest thing I had to electronics was the chip in my passport.

Who have I become? Next thing you know I'll be reading Clive Cussler and taking photos of shopping malls.

A Day in Dune

Digging a car out of a sand dune on a remote road in the middle of the desert as the night sets in. Box ticked.

Now you may think that a series of rash decisions led to that

predicament but you'd be wrong. A couple of us had tried to go and see the World's Biggest Sand Dune TM - the only thing around here vaguely resembling a tourist attraction. Turns out it was further away than we thought. It also turns out that the sand that had blown across the road was far, far deeper than we thought.

Stuck fast, we were. Still it didn't take us more than half an hour to get the car out. Some camels watched us. they didn't offer to help, the bobble-backed bounders.

Up The Creek

I'm back in Dubai - I'm nothing if not a hypocrite.

So how did this happen, I don't hear you ask. After being so sneeringly dismissive of the city last time I was here just about everyone I spoke to said 'but you didn't go to the Creek, of course it was just shopping malls and taxis if you didn't got to the Creek.' So, never being one to form an uninformed opinion on something (cough) I'm now in a hotel by The Creek and I've got to say, get over yourselves - it's just a river. We've got loads of them in England - two in Chelmsford alone. What's the big deal?

But that's missing the point somewhat. Old Dubai, proper Dubai, is centred here. There's some semblance of history. It dates to a time before shopping malls, when the only taxis were wooden and floaty. You can walk here. Things aren't ludicrously expensive. There's culture

. It is great, rarely has my opinion on a place changed so much. Sorry Dubai for writing such a snarky blog entry before, you're alright with me.

Just in case you're worried that I've been kidnapped and am writing this at gunpoint...

I went to the Dubai museum last night (really good, btw) and it was full of idiots taking photos of the exhibits. Normally this turns me into a ball of frothing rage but it was so full of snapping cameras I felt like I was missing something. If you're in, say, the British museum you might see a few people taking a photo of the Rosetta stone and you think 'that's going to make an unbelievably dull picture but, fair enough it is pretty famous'. Here everyone was taking their photo next to every exhibit. People were literally running between artefacts, getting a photo next to it and then running to the next one. I can only think that there was a competition to see how many museum exhibits you can stand next to in 24 hours because I can't fathom who would possibly want the photos that I saw being taken. "Look, this is me next to a sign saying Dubai in the 30s and 40s. And this is me pointing at a sign saying Dubai in the 50s. And this one, you're never going to guess, this is me pointing at a sign saying Dubai in the 60s. I tell you, I stood next to loads of signs. Bloody love signs me." Really? REALLY?

And breathe.

Operation Desert Storm

Thunder. Lightning. Trees uprooted. Sand everywhere. Heaps and heaps of rain. Well un-desert.

On another note, for the last couple of weeks I've been griping that hotel freebies tend to be a little bit biased against the balder man. Shower cap? Shampoo? Conditioner? What even is 'body lotion'? Why don't they give away useful stuff like shaving foam, toothpaste and deodorant?

And then I realised I was being naive.

Hotel freebies aren't really freebies. They just put them there to show you that they are giving away free stuff, when they're not as 90% of the people using the hotels are men who, like me, don't use shower caps and don't really know what bodylotion is.

The bounders.

Now that I've got The Man's cheeky number I'm doing my utmost to use all the freebies i can: I've filed my nails; I've sewn extra buttons on my shirts; and I'm doing my best to find a use for body lotion - this much I can tell you for sure - It makes rubbish sunblock and horrible toothpaste.

Oh Man

You know you're back to weird travelling when you get fried egg sandwiches for breakfast. I've got nothing against fried egg sandwiches, you just don't get them in places that are "normal".

So Muscat. Not very weird, but just weird enough. A nice bit of variety after the you-know-just-what-you're-gonna-gets of the last few weekends. Hotel of dubious cleanliness? Check. Bartering for taxis? Check. Lemon and chili juice? Check. All good things to keep you on your toes as you walk round a city.

And what a city? Mountains down one side; empty beaches down the other. The centre in a series of rocky alcoves, more like a fishing village than a Capital City. Two thumbs up.

Camel Racing

Who doesn't love camel racing? - I don't mean man vs camel (that would be ridiculous) - I mean camel on camel action. I've seen a little bit on telly and it looks great. I quite like robots, I really camels. Robots on camels. Genius.

Anyway, the hotel's right by one of the big camel race tracks. Whenever we try and leave we have to wait for a line of them to cross the road. How much more desert can you get?

_____

I think I've discovered the dividing line between backpacking and doing things business class. It's the bidet hose. In shorts and flipflops it rules all; in a suit it feels a bit wrong.

Taxis and Shopping Malls

Dubai's always been a place that's held absolutely no appeal for me, I've always assumed that it would just be full of shopping malls and taxis. But hey, it's probably the second best city I've been to*.

I like the fact that it's designed not just for cars (which is understandable given the temperature for four months of the year) but to actively inconvenience and endanger people attempting to walk. For example, you can't walk from the Dubai Mall metro station to the Dubai Mall without walking in the road - there's no pedestrian entrance so you have to walk down the car park ramp - which shows commitment to the cause. I like that there's no notices at any metro station to tell you that not all the lines shown on the map are working.

I like that in the Dubai mall there's a plaque celebrating the world's biggest piece of perspex.

I like that the buy-on-the-door tickets for the Burj Khalifa are reassuringly expensive. I don't know about you, but I don't feel that I've been up a tower unless I've paid £80 to do it.

Most of all, I like that the hotel I'm staying in pipes slightly too loud piano versions of MOR songs into the corridor - who doesn't love waking up to Chris De Burgh?

*Beginning with D, this year.

Tea Butlers

The social system here is a bit weird. Even aside from the fact that Emirati ladies have to conceal themselves under curtains (FYI: there's a female beauty centre in Madinat Zayed). Emiratis only make up about 20% of the population, a fair chunk of the remaining 80% is foreign professionals but for anything that actually needs to be done, proper work, there's an ex-pat underclass of Sri Lankan, Filipino and Indian house elves.

They drive the taxis, sell your food, clean you room, pump your petrol all the time wearing degrading uniforms. If you're in a meeting there's a bell you ring and a Sri Lankan guy in a waistcoat earning sub-minimum wage comes along and pours a coffee for you. Well done society, well done.

Is it My Imagination...

I'm in Al Ain. You've probably not heard of it. It's the 4th biggest city in the UAE, it's by an oasis and it seems like a proper city, by which I mean you can walk from one side of the city centre to the other within an hour.

It's a bit older and a bit more charming than Abu Dhabi, there's forts and museums and history and stuff. And an oasis. Did I mention that already - more palm trees than you can shake a stick at, and believe you me I've shaken sticks at a lot of palm trees in my time.

Staying in a five-star hotel. Not sure I like it, there's no plug for the kettle, in a sensible place. Have as many different restaurants as you like but frankly you shouldn't be allowed to call yourself a five-star hotel if you have to crawl under a table to make a coffee. Look at me getting all judgemental over hotels. A part of me has died.

Infinity Pools?

I didn't know what an infinity pool was. Now I do and it's one of the coolest things I've ever seen.

Last week I thought the hotel I was in was pretty plush - good food, good pool, spacious room - but everyone else there was moaning that it was a bit rubbish. Now I see why.

I've just eaten stir-fried quail.

In other news, I've managed to break the £170 note that the cash machine gave me. What use is a £170 note? I guess they're useful in Dubai but here in the middle-of-nowhere lunch costs just under 60p. I'd be apologetic using a note that's a tenth of the value.

Where the people like the Flintstones...

I'm in Abu Dhabi. It's possibly the most faceless city I've ever been to. It seems that there's absolutely nothing to do here, except go on living a business-class lifestyle. Doing lengths of the rooftop swimming pool.

Had my first illicit alcohol consumption, managed to find an Irish bar for St Patrick's day. It was in a hotel. The whole walking-through-foyers-of-posh-looking-hotels-to-get-to-bars thing could take a bit of getting used to. Saying that, the amount of time I'm going to be spending in hotels over the next while I've got to hope I'll start feeling not-out-of-place in them.

In Abu Dhabi's defence one thing that it has done very well is the mosque you see when you're first on the island. It looks the bee's knees, I tell you. Fairly much like the Taj Mahal with gold plated minarets. It's brand-spanking new as well, I didn't realise people still did the whole ostentatious-displays-of-wealth-for-religious purposes-thing but evidently they do, and they do it pretty well at that.

Just Deserts

I'm in Madinat Zayad. Or technically I'm in a hotel in the desert, on the edge of an oasis about 30 miles from Madinat Zayed. Saying that I'm in a town in no way does justice to how remote this seems.

So this whole UAE thing all came about a bit sudden-like. One week ago I had absolutely no idea I'd be coming and now it looks like I'll be here, or here abouts, for the next three months.

The hotel I'm in has a resorty type feel to it, all sunbeds round swimming pools and buffet meals. Feels a bit like I'm on a package holiday only with less booze.