Sand & Stilettos: A Girls' Guide to Life, Work & Play in the United Arab Emirates

By Georgina Chaplain

This is a somewhat 'tongue-in-cheek' interpretation of the rookie expat' experience of a late-forty something, single, white- western female who, in the summer of 2007, embarked on a journey exploring the minds and mirages of the Middle East. Soaked in sunshine in its many guises along the way, here is a collection of journal entries, anecdotes, snippets of sound advice and observations of a land; its people, its cultures, traditions, and beyond. It is an honest look at all things U.A.E. from the perspective of the uninitiated for the uninitiated. So, whether you are trying to plan your great escape or considering a long over due gap year, nows the time to pack a flight bag - and dont forget your stilettos.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Apr 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456772284

Georgina Chaplain

Scarcely into her third career in thirty years and on the wrong side of forty-five-years old, she decided it was about time that she took some time out for herself. And so after much scrutinizing of her life as it was, her bank account and the international vacancy pages of The Times Educational Supplement, she eventually sold the car (it had a blown head-gasket anyway); signed the job contract; wrote her last will and testament, stocked up her daughter's grocery cupboards and took off for the Middle East.

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© 2011. Georgina Chaplain. All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 02/25/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4567-7227-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-7229-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-7228-4 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Dedication

For Jenny

Listen to those who love you,

Be guided by the whispers in your heart

And life will surely be fulfilled

by your sun, your moon, your stars.

Acknowledgements

I would like to say thank you to everyone I have met along the way, both at home and in all the fascinating places I’ve had the pleasure of travelling to. You have enriched my life more than you will ever know.

I would also like to thank my editor, Janet, for her help in taking my collection of journal entries, emails and text messages and crafting them into this book – a unique story of journeys both geographical and of the heart.

One goes not so much to see, but to tell afterwards.

John Steinbeck

Contents

Chapter 1. Father of the Gazelle

Chapter 2. Getting Settled in the Emirates

Chapter 3. And now, Dubai

Chapter 4. Incomparable Nightlife

Chapter 5. The Prime of Youth

Chapter 6. New Year’s at Sho Cho’s

Chapter 7. Desert Happenings

Chapter 8. Shopping and Dining Solo in Dubai

Chapter 9. A Day at Dubai Races

Chapter 10. Road-trip, ‘Thelma and Louise’ style

Chapter 11. Not Your Usual Day at the Beach

Chapter 12. An Amazing First Year

Chapter 13. Peeling Back the Layers

Chapter 14. Sand Storms and Musings

Chapter 15. Afternoon Tea at the Burj al Arab

Chapter 16. Top of the Tent

Chapter 17. The Good Life in Ras al Khaimah

Chapter 18. Romantic Holiday in Bahrain

Chapter 19. Only a Teacher Can Relate!

Chapter 20. Reflections

Chapter 21. Postscript

Chapter 1

Father of the Gazelle

There is much to see in the world for us all if we only have the eyes to see it, and the heart to love it and the hand to gather it to ourselves.

Lucy Maud Montgomery (1874-1942)

The doors opened and closed independent of human action save that of the pressure of my daughter’s weight on the footpads. As I watched the doors open and close, they seemed to mimic my thoughts – Go or stay…go or stay? This question had looped through my mind relentlessly, especially as the days crept closer to my departure. What was I doing leaving her behind, for the first time in our lives, to be parted by thousands of miles and long haul flights? Open and close. Go or stay.

Sensing my last-minute indecision, my daughter said firmly, ‘If you don’t go, then you are not the mum I thought you were.’ After what felt like an eternity, she stepped backwards toward the car park. The automatic doors remained open, then, after one faltering step towards me, the door was closing again. Finally, after one more very long and tearful hug, my daughter stepped backwards once again, this time turning around to face the car park. She walked away from the airport with a purposeful stride, turning only briefly for one last wave.

And like that, she was gone, and so was the life I had always known.

As I sat waiting to board the plane – a plane that would take me to Abu Dhabi in the United Arab Emirates, I had yet another chance to contemplate what I was doing and how I had made such a life-changing decision. Soon I would be teaching English in an international school there, but I had more reasons for making such a radical change than just wanting to be an English teacher. I needed a complete change of lifestyle as well as a much-needed dose of sunshine in my life and in my bank account. I yearned to experience the sheer diversity of the people I would meet in Abu Dhabi and the surrounding areas, and to immerse myself in their language, culture and traditions. On top of this, the UAE is one of the fastest developing parts of the world today, and I wanted to experience the exhilaration of witnessing such explosive growth firsthand.

Getting through security is never much fun, but this trip taught me to be mindful of the fact that airlines are not interested in how long you will be away from home as an explanation for why you’ve packed so much stuff. So, in answer to being advised to pay an enormous sum of money for excess baggage – two hundred and eighty pounds sterling to be precise – one needs to find something infinitely more persuasive to say when the attendant suggests that perhaps you can leave something behind. In hindsight – as is usual with these situations – I realized that I need not have packed a year’s supply of Tampax, and I could have done without loading up on Factor 50 sun-block, shampoo and hitherto seemingly ‘cannot live without’ items including beach towels and bed linen.

I eventually boarded my flight to Amsterdam after having only ten minutes to get from one end of the departure lounge to the other, thanks to an elderly middle eastern lady who spoke not a word of English, but who, with a determined mind and a fixed smile, royally held up the security staff by refusing to take advantage of the ‘ladies only’ cubicle in which she could remove her ample swaths of black attire in private so that the female security staff could do their job.

As long haul flights go, the journey was relatively uneventful. Once we had touched down, I had precisely twenty minutes to get through the transit lounges and onto my next plane, the five-hour flight that would take me to Abu Dhabi.

Abu Dhabi, Father of the Gazelle I mused, wondering what sort of memories I would collect in this sun-drenched land. Like the gazelle, I wanted to be free and unfettered as I explored this exciting domain that would be so new to me but was simply home to so many others.

As the captain prepared to land the plane, a group of young Arabian girls also prepared themselves for landing. Upon boarding this plane at Bahrain, they had immediately removed their black abayas and scarves, re-adjusted crystal set collars and cuffs, resettled the straps on their designer sandals, and checked their flawless manicures before flashing beautiful smiles into their hand-mirrors and setting about retouching their already immaculate make up. Eyes the colour of deep charcoal, skin in shades of caramel, faultless pearl-white teeth; infectious giggling issuing from one perfectly set mouth to the other whilst helping each one in turn fix her jet black hair before settling down for the short hop into Abu Dhabi. On getting off the plane, shrouded in swaths of black and with gossamer veiling covering their faces entirely, the girls could not be told one from the other.

I’m jolted out of my reverie by the sound of an incoming text message from my daughter:

Can’t believe ur in another country xxxx

Once in the airport, the first task is to pick up your temporary visa and have the authorities – an impatient click of a finger is your cue to take your turn – take a laser image of your eyes. Then it is on through passport control, but I have to say, this was the most efficient clearance through an airport I have ever experienced. A customary ‘Asalaam aleikum’ (Peace be with you) and ‘Welcome to Abu Dhabi’ is followed by a cursory glance of the pages in the passport and a cursory glance at its owner before a rubber stamp thunders down on one of said pages and it is onward through the arrival lounges.

Up until this point, ambient temperatures had not struck any particular chord in me. Upon walking outside into the dark night air, however, the extreme humidity was noticeable in an instant: oppressive and cloying, it feels like an invisible damp cloak is wrapping itself around you.

Its physical presence was evident in the opaque beads that gathered along the top of my upper lip as I navigated through the airport to retrieve my luggage. Even though it was around 11:00 pm, the place was heaving with activity: people everywhere talking in a multitude of languages and countless dialects; drivers calling out their taxi services; car horns honking indignantly and with repeated insistence; airbrakes wheezing under duress; exhausted mini buses halting suddenly, impatiently, bedecked with sun-striped curtains swinging at their dusty windows; luggage trolley wheels rattling over the kerb stones – all contributed to the din and general sense of bedlam.

I was becoming increasingly aware of the warm sweat streaming down my back, reminding me that my carefully considered travelling attire was absolutely the wrong choice, when I was met by a representative from the school, who shook my hand vigorously as he told me his name while at the same time divesting me of my passport before herding me towards a group of young people from Ireland, the group I instantly recognised as being on my flight from Amsterdam.

What followed was a combination of quietly observed comments about the temperature supported with a few well placed expletives, the offer of a cigarette and a cheery round of introductions in the broadest possible manner, although, not with too small a degree of irony for me. I had just left a school full of young teachers from Ireland, and here I was, on the other side of the world with a new set of colleagues, some of whom were below half my age, and all from Ireland. The fact that I was clearly the odd one out in this very large and boisterous crowd unsettled me for a moment as did the rather swift removal of my passport from my handbag. I was told I would get it back once my visa had been processed, but there was no indication whatsoever as to how long I would be without such a precious document.

Being over two decades older than the others, not Irish or a smoker, I was soon isolated whilst waiting to be allocated a bus on which I then sat and pondered this initial torment – together with the fact that one of my suitcases had been left on the tarmac in Amsterdam! However, not given to dwelling too long on the negative aspect of things and too tired to work out how things might turn out, I later fell into bed in what appeared to be my new home. Not totally enamoured with the place (‘basic’ would be an understatement), but it was a start.

The next few days were given over to the usual rounds of introductions and all the preliminaries that one must endure when taking on a new position: induction packs; becoming familiar with new rules and regulations; form filling; tours and training sessions. This was interspersed throughout with the quiet closing of neighbouring apartment doors followed by the rowdy chastising of the young inquisitive children who had been hurriedly gathered in from the landing.

We were each granted one free telephone call home in order that our families would know that we had arrived safe and sound. To hear my daughter’s voice would have been suicide, so I weighed up the odds and called my mum instead. Evenings out were governed by the Irish contingency – safety in numbers, I guess, and in general, they congregated wherever blue, smoke filled down-town bars were showing the latest rugby and football games on huge screens. (If this sounds like something you might enjoy, get yourself down to P.J’s!)

It was during this time that I was moved out of my initial shared accommodation and into a studio flat within the school campus. The studio was situated on the corner of a long corridor that spanned the width of the school underneath. On being handed my new key, I was feeling quite excited. Wow! A studio flat, but in short, the accommodation left a lot to be desired. It looked as though the place had been built about thirty years ago. The breezeblocks had not been plastered where the aluminium window frames had been set, so there was not a brush of paintwork either.

The bathroom was in a dire state and in much need of a face-lift. A scarred and battered metal bathtub up against a wall covered in cracked and veined, off-white tiles was a sorry sight indeed, serving only to reinforce the dated and unkempt look of the place. Around the corner was a room I later discovered was meant to be for garbage and general dumping of unwanted furniture. Thankfully, the bins were emptied daily by smiley, nodding janitors, who managed to keep a reign on audacious multi-legged creatures of the more indigenous kind.

On the point of tears and fighting back the urge to hastily repack a flight bag and head for home, I consoled myself with the prospect that this bare box of an apartment might have a pleasing view. I looked out of the huge, dirty windowpanes that spanned the width of a three-seat sofa, which made up the distance between the garbage room and the bedstead. I could only emit a long, heavy sigh. Of course not. The view was that of the schoolyard and tennis courts, absent of students today; grey and quiet, the outlook further hindered somewhat by an unruly and equally unkempt tree that was home to a very lively hornets’ nest. Perfect, I thought; that just about sums it up.

The fact that I was no longer in possession of my passport meant that the notion of leaving was a non-starter. So, working on the old adage that no evil can last forever or indeed for very long, I considered the realisation that a cup of tea was more than over due. How hard could that be? Almost half an hour later, on a decidedly slow, bottled gas powered hob, there was a brew in a tiny, tin kettle that doubled as a teapot. The resulting brew was not the best I had ever tasted, but given the circumstances, it proved capable of providing a moment of respite and refreshment.

Furthermore, within the hour (and as futile a job as this one could be), I had set about cleaning the whole place from top to bottom. Soon, the studio smelled like a giant glass of lemon squash in a pine forest and by and by, the addition of home comforts such as fluffy towels, a bone china mug for my morning tea and scented candles – things often look better in subdued lighting – Studio number 28 became affectionately known as Rat Palace. However, by far the best thing that changed my whole notion of the situation I was in was the timely arrival of a woman from Donegal ten days later.

Coming out of Rat Palace one morning, the sight of a new colleague caught my attention. She seemed to be in some kind of desperate hurry, red in the face and clearly exasperated. Blonde hair-do, cut-off cargo pants. She had not expected to meet anyone on rounding the corner at break-neck speed, so, with equal pace, her query as to whether I was from Ireland tripped over the word hello and a quick introduction. A simple enough question but I could only answer with a smile and in the negative. From that moment on, Louise and I were joined at her artificial hip. The look of utter relief on her face spoke volumes, and I’m sure it matched the look on my own. In that instant we both realised that we were no longer on our own. Here we were, two western white females, one a divorcee and the other estranged for well over any normal number of years; one in the latter half of her forties, the other barely out them and with, as it turned out, a multitude of things in common. We compared parallels in our lives – who we’d left behind to fend for themselves, our hopes and dreams and her beloved three legged dog. With a razor-sharp wit to match her as yet undiscovered wicked sense of adventure, Louise and I were soon making plans to get out and about in Abu Dhabi.

Chapter 2

Getting Settled in the Emirates

A quick search on the Internet reveals a massive amount of information about in the United Arab Emirates – where to go, where to stay, and what to do for fun and recreation, particularly in Abu Dhabi – as well as what the Emirate has to offer the tourist and expatriate alike. Whilst the purpose of this book is not to repeat what has already been written about the United Arab Emirates, I hope to share experiences with those of you who are perhaps thinking it is time for a late gap year, have an empty nest, or are considering taking a sabbatical from work, or maybe you simply need time out from your normal run-of-the-mill life. It is my view that there is no safer place in the world to do just that, and if it is a change for the better in terms of lifestyle that you’re seeking, then frankly, as the most affluent emirate in the United Arab Emirates (UAE), there is no other place in the world that can compare.

Before venturing anywhere that is new to you, especially if you are moving to another country to live and work (and for intended exploration), it is worth having a good look at as much information about the place as you can find. Take on board what other travellers have to say; talk to people who have spent time in the area that you have chosen to travel to. The UAE has so much to offer for every kind of traveller, whether they are setting out on a journey of personal self-discovery intending to stay for a given length of time, or merely going on an extended holiday.

Whilst still at home, social networking sites can provide a reliable platform for meeting new people in your destination country in preparation for when you arrive, and I would certainly recommend giving them a go. Do not be afraid to exchange contact details such as email addresses (bearing in mind personal safety); this is all the