Hats off to Hatta

One Thursday a few weeks back, and keep in mind that Thursday marks the end of the work week here, we set out for Hatta, rocky jewell of the Sharjah Emirate. OK, no one calls it that, but we enjoyed a night under the stars and spent the next day exploring the Hatta pools. The pools are quite interesting, although there's definitely a problem with graffiti and trash in parts. Dear aspiring UAE graffiti artists, please keep your day jobs. You make West Oakland scribblers look like Rembrandt, and they don't need the encouragement.

They'll let anyone write here.

Here's my article in Freehold Weekly, which I would never have been able to pull off without my excellent sources. Many thanks to Eric, Barton, and Hans if they're reading. Note that the pictures are slightly off, I didn't select them ultimately, and I believe that's actually Stinson Beach on the second spread, probably circa 1982. If pressed, I will admit to an inordinate amount of alumni pride in Stinson Beach Montessori, and it's beloved squash team, the Fighting Manatees. In contrast, MA and UCSC can go pound sand for all I care. Just kidding Mom, Dad, Grandpa, and anybody else who helped pai fur mai ejucashon.

Rolls Royce Blues

I was the most casually dressed person at a recent Rolls Royce press conference, although I did have the foresight to wear close toed shoes. The event heralded my first trip to Abu Dhabi, and like my one subsequent trip, it was spent entirely at a hotel, and related to cars. Rolls Royce not only had better food, but we were allowed to wander about and that made the day a lot more interesting. You can see the car above, it's their sportier model. The executives on hand from the manufacturer were all German, which made for a very global experience, i.e. British automotive heritage, German ownership, UAE bling. I had an enjoyable conversation with their Marketing guy (different fellow pictured in the car), we had both independently arrived at the conclusion that the Middle East should build huge solar farms all over the desert, and replace the oil pipelines with undersea electrical lines instead. I'll be sure to mention it at my next meeting with the Shaikh. You can't actually test drive one of these cars, they sell out so fast here that every car at the event was already sold, and further, was expected by the new owner with zero miles on the odometer. As such, they drive the cars around on trucks, allowing journalists to ogle them at staged venues. On the bus ride home, which featured a hulking charter bus with a mere three passengers, we flew past jobsite after jobsite where blue jump-suited laborers toiled in the blazing heat. Upon arriving in Dubai I cabbed back to our place, nodding and smiling empathetically as my driver, Pakistani like so many of the workers I'd seen from the bus's elevated vantage point, raged over the death of innocent Pakistanis killed by US forces in the war on terror, all this because he'd asked me where I was from. He was, on a positive note, pleased to hear that I'd be voting for Obama.

Fake Dream with Real Mental Pictures

I dreamt I was a model maker from the subcontinent, shaping tiny heads and torsos with my nimble fingers while some junior developer's assistant incessantly checked his watch from the doorway of my workroom. I looked down into the assembly of cardboard, clay, and glue on my desk and in so doing became one of the figures in the model. Walking across the black granite tiles of some corporate cafeteria, the thin population of figures pay no attention as I glide by in slow motion. I reach the reception desk, and when confronted with the strange scene in front of me I can't remember what I came for, "can you direct me to the elevator?" I hear myself ask. Instead, I find I'm seated at a time share presentation, the host keeps reminding me that I must sit still in order to receive my complimentary lobster. I don't like the sound of this so I head back through the lobby where a man with his back to me converses with another man whose face I can't see. Finally, I think I've found the elevator, but when my eyes finally start to focus properly I'm just standing in the corner of a hallway that doesn't lead anywhere. Later on, I will meet my wife for drinks on our poolside terrace.

All Terrain Celebration

The other day we rose before dawn and piled into our friend Francis's car with the goal of greeting a certain persons birthday morning from atop one of the UAE's several crumbling mountain tops. After a bit of road diversion craziness, endemic to the world's largest construction site, we settled for renting ATVs instead. This impromptu switch from a quiet pre-dawn hike to the bone rattling chain saw buzz of a quad bike (UK term) is a decent metaphor for life in Dubai. I wish I had pictures from our ride, but I managed to drain the camera battery trying to get a G rated shot of the rental site's priapic monkey.  This was the first time we'd ever been completely surrounded by dunes, amid a landscape free of roads and buildings, it was spectacular but I'm afraid you'll have to visit if you want to see it. 

Presently, I'm writing an article for Freehold Weekly, the UAE's premier wrestling journal. Actually it's a Real Estate magazine, if you have any astute observations about the bay area market, send me a quote before the 12th.

On the beach

Vanessa and I went camping just south of Fujairah, on the Gulf of Oman. Signage in the UAE leaves something to be desired so we ended up pitching our tent in the dark. I kept waking up all night thinking someone was about to drive over us in their SUV, as the beach was gouged with tire tracks everywhere, that'd be tyre at Wheels magazine. Speaking of Wheels, they're sending me to Abu Dhabi next week for a Rolls Royce, er, roll out. When you grow up with a sleeping bag for a bed spread this is unexpected (just kiddin' Ma).

Consider the fact that we found our campsite in the dark and you'll understand why there are no pictures of where we actually spent the night. Vanessa snoozed unperturbed by the parade of cars, distant hindi hop (my own term), and the religiously fervent volume of 4am call to prayer blasted out of Mosques up and down the coastline. I'm quite accustomed to this sound now, it's just a different level of intrusion when you're sleeping outdoors. We had lunch in a fishing village called Khor Kalba, the food was good and affordable (brawns biriyani [sic] and fatoush salad), and the staff were kind enough to let me siesta amongst their riot of pillows and persian rugs. We drove home through the Arabian rockies, known locally as the Hajar (meaning rock) Mountains. Vanessa led us on a slight detour to an archeological site, neither Dr. Jones or his improbable alien buddies made an appearance (hi to Rob if he's reading) and I've come to call it the road to nowhere.