The Crack in the Sky

I've finally figured out what Dubai's ultimate aspirational landmark signifies-- it's the giant crack in the sky that marks the end times. The sky isn't falling though, not yet anyway. It just has a lighning bolt shaped rift in its fabric, a rift not unlike the one that has threatened to swallow your local economy. Seen from the edge of town, the Burj Dubai appears almost complete through the gauzy haze of Dubai's soiled air, however it's very much still under construction. 

We managed to recover our camera in time for a recent over night in Al Ain, however this picture of the skyline at dusk is about all that we came home with. We did very much enjoy some time away from our increasingly cramped  apartment, which now includes one of those pink yoga ball things as a sort of ottoman. I like to sit on the coach with my legs stretched out, balanced precariously on the yoga ball, which happens to be across the room in the kitchen. As a result, I've gotten really good at fixing snacks with my feet, which is one of the perks of being six two-ish. The downside is bumping your head a lot. In fact, I was born with a normal size head, but it has since become so calloused through abuse that, as you can see in most pictures, it is now roughly twice the width of a yoga ball. I'm seriously thinking of becoming an anchorman, or possibly making a run for congress.

My giant cranium did fit nicely in the shiny Audi Q5 that my new best german friends (BGFs) saw fit to lend me for review. While I admit a sense of relief upon reclaiming possession of our noticeably smaller Subaru, the Audi was exceedingly comfortable, offered more features than I had time or patience to enjoy, and would have been more than sporty enough to get several speeding tickets, had I not religiously used the cruise control to rein in its turbo charged 4 cylinder engine. 

Rumors have been circulating that revenue strapped Dubai has been issuing an unusual number of dodgy tickets lately, and Ness did in fact get a parking ticket in the exact spot where she's been parking since she started her job last summer. Anyway, it was nice to have use of the Audi for our trip, and if you absolutely have to own an flashy luxury SUV, this one at least isn't hideously ugly like the American offerings. But really, the car that Dubai makes me want to own is a VW micro bus. An old, weather beaten one, with a "Too slow? Too bad." bumper sticker-- we could use the affordable housing.

Dragon Boating

On a recent hazy Friday morning we had our first taste of dragon boat racing, rowing on behalf of a mostly rookie team organized by our friend Francis. Dragon boating is a fairly enjoyable form of rowing that, perhaps like other team rowing events, requires that team members row precisely in time with each other. If you lose the rhythm each person's effort will start to counteract that of their cohorts, making for the sort of team building metaphor that might give a motivational speaker the strength to get out of bed in the morning, but probably not. I can't say that our timing was excellent, but the crew of good ol' number three never quite came in dead last and that's good enough for me. 

In the topmost picture you can see the hull of an immense wooden boat being constructed on the opposite shore. Sadly, I don't have any pictures of these beauties, but from the water they were quite impressive. And really, that was the best part of the race for me; being out on the water at an hour when I'm typically contemplating the inside of my eyelids.

Dubai has become a favorite target in the UK press of late, causing enough of a stir that the Sheikh held a Q&A with local journalists over the weekend, something he reportedly hasn't done since 2001. I haven't read the Q&A yet, but one perhaps telling criticism is that international journalists were apparently not invited to participate. Among the headlines in yesterday's news cycle, were the Sheikh's pronouncement that the worst of the credit crunch is over, and a report by Colliers International that residential real estate prices in Dubai have dropped by 40%. While it's very difficult to know what will happen in the next few months, one definite possibility is that you may be seeing us a bit sooner than expected.

One of the main reasons we came to Dubai was for the travel opportunities, and later this month we will be traveling to China for Nessa's job. Dubai is an excellent hub for visiting much of the world, and quite often does an excellent job of making you wish you were somewhere else. We hope to take advantage of being here by taking a few more trips before our time in the middle east comes to a close. Here's hoping China is just one of a few interesting destinations on our horizon.

One more reason to become a shut-in

Our camera is on loan to some friends with a new baby, so here's a picture I took one day at the mall near our house. Judging by the wreaths, this must have been sometime around December, when the siren song of Christmas was wailing out of the shops here. Normally, wailing is left to the Muezzin, who's call to prayer excites the ether several times a day. Dubai is, if anything, a place of many contradictions. For instance, aside from certain designated free zones, which are typically several km outside the city itself, all businesses here are established in partnership with an Emarati local. If, for instance, I were to open my dream business; The Haiku Hut, purveyor of mercifully brief poetry, I would have to find a local business partner. Fine right? No reason that local businesses shouldn't benefit local people. Actually, local business is a bit of a stretch when you're talking about Ikea, or The Dubai Hilton, as all companies, large and small must play by this rule. It gets interesting in the case of hotels, as they have long been the locus of exception, which is to say, the places where people go to drink.

Recently, I met a coworker of Vanessa's for the first time, on one of her office's weekly after hours offsite meetings which, subject to UK rules, involve more than a few pints. Alcohol is currently a distant third to coffee and claritin, in my party regimen, and I had one unpronounceable beer before the two of us felt the call of the pillow. This coworker, who's name wouldn't mean anything to you anyway, thoroughly enjoyed himself until grabbing a cab home in the wee hours. He then spent the next fourteen or so hours sleeping off the night's excess, and then cabbed back to his car at the hotel where we'd been encamped. Somewhere between the hotel and his apartment he got into a minor scrape with a stationary object and, wanting to avoid the incredible hassle of an undocumented ding in his car, he called the police right then and there to settle the matter. This turned out to be a huge mistake, as the first thing the police did was give him a breathalyzer, which he failed. Now, failing a breathalyzer test is bad anywhere, but it's especially bad here and, conversely, much easier to do as the legal blood alcohol level in Dubai is zero. Additionally, he was charged with drinking without a license, as all Dubai residents are required to obtain a license to purchase alcohol. 

As I recall from my last visit to online traffic school, the legal limit in the US is .08 BAC. So, as the DMV hand book goes, you need to wait at least an hour per drink (and one Pint is two cups and therefore two drinks by this reckoning) before you get behind the wheel, although this varies considerably by body weight etc. Now, that rule of thumb is designed to keep your BAC below .08. After hearing about this person's arrest, I started to wonder how long it would take for the average person to metabolize, excrete, and evaporate one beer completely out of their system, to the point where they'd be in compliance with the zero tolerance laws. Morning after DUIs are apparently quite common all over the world, and it would seem to be a pretty serious peril in the UAE, where it's illegal to drive with any alcohol in your system.

Yesterday we had news that our acquaintance was out of jail. He'd been in a holding cell, one that is currently operating at about five times capacity, for nine days. The holding cell, unlike your typical drunk tank, was one huge general population cell filled with hundreds of criminals of all ilk, including the really bad kind of ilk: murderous ilk. He's now facing deportation, which I suppose could mean the loss of his job, and a hefty fine. His employer had retained an attorney the first day that he was incarcerated, and for whatever reason, it took around nine days for him to be released.

Dubai has long maintained a tension between conservative islamic values and a growing expatriate culture that makes very little concession to local tradition. This tacitly accepting coexistence has been challenged lately, not just by dwindling economic prospects, ostentatious wealth is the one thing 90% of Dubai residents agree on-- they really like it, but also by a tightening of rules governing public behavior. Because new laws in Dubai are announced via press release, and this particular release was only sent to one paper, it appears that no one really knows what the hell is going on. We heard recently that undercover cops, sometimes referred to colloquially as  pigs in a blanket, have been questioning and arresting pub crawlers on foot for lacking the proper alcohol license. The bars here will card you if you look under age, but they never check you alcohol license, as it's really only needed at the actual liquor store. Liquor stores are so low profile, and obliquely named here, that it took me months to notice that there's one on either side of our grocery store. I think one of them is called Marine Mercantile, or something like that, and all the windows are painted out-- no Cap'n Cork in Dubai.

It bothers me that local business interests profit significantly from the sale of alcohol, while at the same time local laws create a jackpot (in the Cormac McCarthy sense) in which consuming alcohol can very easily draw a sober driver or a drunk pedestrian into serious legal and financial trouble. I understand that in each case, theoretical or otherwise, the person in question broke the law, what galls me though, is that they did so in an effort to behave responsibly, and fell victim to laws that are not enforced equally, or consistently with international measures of sobriety. I take exception to a great many driving behaviors that place other people's lives in jeopardy, of which driving drunk is the undeniable apex. I would add that, if you sell liquor out of one side of your mouth, and then throw your customers in jail, with the assumption of guilt rather than innocence, for what is at least sometimes responsible behavior, leaving them in confinement for seemingly random lengths of time; well, then you may resemble Vonnegut's famous asterisk. 

Warmer, dustier, and less affluent

The weather is warming up here, and is still very pleasant, although rising temperatures have helped lower visibility significantly, giving the town a closed in, almost claustrophobic feeling. This winter the sky had returned with its wide blue canopy, only to contract slowly in lockstep with the Dubai economy. Air conditioners are whirring and cooling again with greater regularity, raising Dubai's always impressive noise floor by several decibels. While news agencies have reported a great exodus of expatriate workers, many of whom have reportedly abandoned there sizable UAE debts,  I can't say that is has effected my own routine as the major thoroughfares, grocery stores, and movie theaters that I frequent seem equally over impacted. Vanessa's commute has been improved by diminished traffic, so the lack of change I can observe on foot, as I make my  daily circuit of wealthy Jumeriah 3, is obviously limited. I do get the sense that the already impatient, aggressive style of driving that characterizes Dubai's highways has worsened, as if the general population's tolerance for one another has been inflamed by the harsh economic climate.

I have been thinking a lot about economic bubbles lately, and my own experience with them. Until recently, I had never thought about things in these terms, but I am now confident that I am a harbinger of economic doom. The first bubble that popped in my presence was known as the dot com boom (DCB). The DCB's feverish, speculation driven gains eroded quickly when I arrived in then start-up crazed Seattle in late 1999. Just after the new year I began working on high profile IPOs as a lowly proofreader. At the time, my small contribution to the dreary futures of companies like homegrocer.com, drugstore.com, and dateafelon.com seemed insignificant, as each company successively went public just as NASDAQ began to implode. Further evidence leads me to believe that this was no mere coincidence.

I stayed in that business for a while before moving on to commercial printing, an arcane practice that involved adhering ink to a material called paper. Paper, a typically white, fabric like sheet with relatively poor tensile strength, was once manufactured all over the US, and was made out of finely sliced trees and noxious chemicals. Shortly after my arrival at that company, which was called Odd Graphics, people stopped reading books and magazines and the word paper fell out of popular usage as printing was quickly eclipsed by a new technology called youtube.

When I moved to Dubai, I discovered that paper still existed in the third world, and that they in fact had a thriving print media market that was willing to employ just about anyone who, like myself, could hum a few bars of a Strunk and White tune. Shortly after my arrival, the world economy promptly cratered, causing a chain reaction that would ultimately detonate Dubai's economic  bubble, splattering its ectoplasmic remains across the desert. The harbinger of economic doom had finally come to town. Now, one single question remains on the hooded brow of the one they sometimes call Slim Reaper-- where to next?

Tulum

We've been back from Mexico for over a week now, but neither of us is back on Dubai time yet. I blame this on our unconscious will not to have returned at all-- we'd rather still be in Mexico, and as a result our bodies are refusing to cooperate. We've been counteracting this problem with a box, yes a box, of red wine that was left over from a baby shower. I don't quite understand drinking at a baby shower, as the guest of honor is well under 21, but maybe that's why I've never been invited to one, I'm a stick in the mud. Our hefty box of "Rain Dance Red," which really isn't bad at all, helps a tad when combined with generic tylenol PM, although this has proven to be a perilous combination. There's been quite a bit of trial and error as we've tried to re-set our internal clocks, and this weekend we initially found ourselves rather wired by these over the counter pills (may cause sleep disturbances) until we ultimately crashed out until almost 3pm the next day.

I don't think I can describe how excellent our trip was, because at the moment, rather than sustaining us, it just makes us more home sick. Still, getting away from Dubai has improved my conception of just what a grand adventure this has been, and continues to be. As reported in the news, these are financially uncertain times in the Gulf, although saying so in print might be illegal in certain countries. One thing that I know first hand, is that enduring lay-offs is hard on the remaining staff, as they're often short handed and saddled with a form of survivor's guilt as the unnatural selection practiced by managers can be terribly confusing. Typically, social outcasts and non-performing office pariahs will flesh out the first wave-- but from there it gets murky. Sometimes, they prey on the old, whose 3% annual salary increases have added up quite handsomely over their 90 odd years of faithful service. So yes, let's get rid of these people, if they had any salt they'd have climbed the ladder long ago, probably by landing a better gig at a competing outfit. Then there's the contrarian, while his or her voice of dissent may have been sharp and atonal at times, he or she likely made a few good points as well, which made someone look bad. Gone. And so on and so forth. If it were up to me, I'd get rid of the gas bags who inevitably drag meetings that should have lasted 15 minutes into the one hour plus territory. These are the people who will debate the merits of inane details, like whether to use a zero or a one as a placeholder in a database, until actual pressing matters, lunch for instance, ultimately close the meeting with  the ridiculous debate still looming. These narcissistic vocalists are seldom laid off, because unlike the contrarian, they're always coming up with solutions. The problem, in my opinion, is that the solutions are usually inane and create more unnecessary work for support staff, serving mainly as a platform for their braying and bickering. These are the people who make you want to get laid off.

I should be quick to add, these are my experiences, not my wife's. She happens to work with a pretty incredible group of people at the moment, and as I understand it, their meetings are quite brief. And yet, given the slowdown, this is a stressful time and I'm sure it's been difficult to watch people cleaning out their desks. For me, I can't say that my freelance assignments have slowed yet, but I have noticed that ad pages are way down, and that's hardly a good sign. I'm not in a position to be let go per se, but the work certainly could dry up. I imagine, that as hiring is frozen at nearly every UAE publisher, the need for freelancers will remain relatively static as long as the titles remain active. I guess we'll see what happens.

Slumberjack

Our landlord and neighbor, Nabil, has become something more than a friend to us, taking on a role that I can only describe as Crazy Adoptive Uncle from Arabia. He is a guide of sorts, offering the type of insider information that only locals hold, such as the fact that there's both a corner store and laundry service randomly situated within the interior of our little suburban beach community. Although these convenient outposts are only a few blocks from our door, I probably wouldn't have ever noticed them, as a combination of speed bumps and oddly disconnected streets might have kept me off that block indefinitely. 

Nabil is also a conspiracy theorist of sorts, tilting his head down and looking at us appraisingly as he asks "you know the real story though, right?" What follows is often a mixture of healthy political skepticism, outright paranoia, and the occasional cultural roadblock that must be ignored. We are guests here after all, and I'm not about to start an argument. He has a lot to say that I agree with, for instance, we've both come to the conclusion that Hollywood's depiction of Islam is ham-handed and narrow. Naturally action films need bad guys, and so the world's small population of Jihadists have become the Commies of today's cinema.

Recently, Nabil announced that operating a chainsaw was his new hobby, and as his next door neighbor, I can attest that he's taken to this emerging sport with impressive zeal. Over the last several months the weather in Dubai has been nearly perfect, and in appreciation of this fact Nabil and family have moved operations into their large courtyard. We joined them there for Sangria, late one night a few months back, and I was impressed by the crackling fire and the large cache of wood stacked up along the side of the house. At some point, Vanessa asked him where he got the wood from, and he replied: "Oh you know, around the neighborhood." That night, Nabil's standard uniform, a white dishsadasha, bore the rosy smudges of an evening spent around a punchbowl full of wine and fruit. More recently, his clothes been marked by dust and bark .

We'd already heard the chainsaw several times by the afternoon when Nabil announced his new hobby, and he has very considerately offered to sheath his mighty saw if the noise ever becomes a nuisance: "One missed call from you and I will know; too much noise." And while the roar of a power tool, firing up around 11pm on a weeknight, might be annoying in another context, we can't help but turning to each other and laughing when we hear his late night lumberjack's song. Lying there in bed, it's easy to imagine him next door, his smile bright and menacing as he cuts into some tree trunk he's liberated from a construction site.

After repeatedly promising to let him know if the noise ever became a problem, an unexpected series of gifts began to appear in the front yard. Ever since we moved in we'd been talking about planting a tree to replace one that had died and been torn out. We even made it so far as to buy a tree at a nursery, only to return it and generate an, as of  yet, unused credit at a store that will probably go out of business soon. So we were surprised to wake up one morning to find that a tree had been planted in the sandy spot where we'd burned our prayer sticks on New Years Eve.

It wasn't until the second, and then third new plant appeared in the yard that I began to suspect that the mighty chainsaw had been wielded in our favor. We had regularly shared in the noise of the saw, now we would share in its bounty. At the same time, the apartment next door is vacant, and I regularly hear Nabil conducting open houses, his sales pitch goes: "where else in Dubai can you have private garden with apartment? I will tell you; nowhere." So I also suspect that the garden value proposition is being ratcheted up as rents continue to decline all over the city. It may also be a conciliatory gesture to those of us locked in at the old, higher rates-- especially those of us with (hopefully one time) mold problems.

We learned a few months ago that the four identical houses being built across the street from as, as pictured above, aren't the polygamist compound we'd imagined, but four cookie cutter rental properties. Vanessa had set upon the polygamy theory because, while multiple wives are acceptable amongst the wealthy here, the Koran apparently indicates that each wife should have an equally plush Villa and Teutonic SUV. Our dream of having quasi Mormon neighbors was dashed when it was revealed by another neighbor that the property belongs to a group of disgruntled half brothers, themselves the product of polygamy, who have erected the four identical villas at the suggestion of the Chief of Police. The Chief, who lives nearby, apparently wanders the streets at night, mediating complicated family disputes. Nabil should be careful, lest the pedestrian lawman stumble across one of his late night poaching sprees, which by the way, must be pretty damn loud. And so, the progress of these houses has served as a visual marker of our time here, each one changing a little each day, as our understanding of Dubai continues to evolve.

Return to Oman

This past weekend we drove over to Dibba, part of the Omani annex that lies, disconnected from contiguous Oman, at the northwestern tip of the UAE. Dibba is a sleepy fishing village with a few resorts, just over the border from Fujairah. We had followed our friends Jane and Andy from Dubai, trusting their many years of experience as Safari guides in the African bush would help lead us to our destination. In fact, this particular UAE/Oman border crossing is more relaxed than the main Oman border, and I was able to present Vanessa's passport while she slept heavily in the passenger seat. Still, the ever watchful UAE border police did wonder aloud about her prone position, and I assured them that she was only napping. 

We set up camp at the end of a long beach, as far as possible from the moronic escapades of several full size SUVs, one monster truck, and two quad bikes-- one of which appeared to be hobbled by some mechanical ailment that perhaps inspired the removal of the muffler from the second, otherwise working, vehicle. The overcompensating quad's throaty roar seemed to shake the canyon behind us as the rider dumped the clutch, thrusting his front wheels into the air and tearing across the beach. The bike's flatulence reminded me of one morning last year, when I started up my small Toyota pickup to find that thieves had stolen my catalytic converter in the night, disabling the exhaust system in the bargain and earning me a lot of unwanted attention as I drove through a throng of critical mass riders later that morning.

Eventually, the automotive revelers were replaced by a paramilitary dance group, whose chanting, drumming and inexplicable psychedelic organ playing continued into the wee hours. We did our best to ignore them, cooking over an open flame, and enjoying the fresh air and multiplying stars from our graffitied corner of the beach.

The next day we drove back accross the border and breakfasted at Le Meridien, also home to the dive center that would take us Snorkeling/Diving that afternoon. As it turns out, a red tide had suffocated the reef months earlier, cutting off its sunlight for weeks at a time, and the resultant destruction had severely impacted the ecosystem. There were a few sharks, clown fish, and eels on hand, but the amount of sea life was hugely decreased since Vanessa's visit there six months ago. Still, it felt wonderful to be out on the water, and the weather was absolutely perfect.

On the return trip we stopped at a road side market to buy two clay pots for our front porch, and met a few local characters in the bargain. We met a man in yellow sweater emblazoned with the number 23, who explained that he had been a sailor and truck driver all over the world. Upon hearing that we were from California, he listed off the numerous port cities that he'd visited before coming to the UAE and buying his own long haul rig. I tried to give my new good buddy a big ten four, but he shook his head, walking away in quiet disgust. We negotiated with the merchants, shaving a dirham or two off the price here and there, sampling fruits we'd never seen or heard of, and ultimately declining to try the salted sardines, which sat heaped in the late afternoon sun, flies festering from every nook and cranny. It was the perfect end to our brief escape from what has become a festering nook in its own right, as the unexpectedly wet winter has brought an outbreak of mold to our poorly ventilated apartment-- not to worry though, Sheriff Bleach has recently arrived on the scene, and all is well in Arabia.