Good Morning Dubai!

The view from our terrace at 7 am. Beautiful, non?

When I first arrived in Dubai I gleefully blogged about my daily routine. I was so giddy to be here, waking up to blue sky and sunshine every day. Many people told me that this novelty would wear off, that I would take it for granted. 

I'd just like to set this record straight: after six years in the UAE, this joy has not abated. If anything, I'm even more grateful and thankful for my life here than I was back then.

So how has my routine changed? 

Well, some things are different: In the morning there's a beautiful peachy-headed baby to snuggle before getting dressed. There's a garden and a terrace to sit on with the morning coffee. There's palm trees wafting and birds singing and butterflies fluttering by (a by-product of the garden). There's a smiley, friendly little Indian man at our front gate sweeping the street with a palm tree leaf (I just love this).

And some things are the same: the wall of warmth and sunshine that envelops me as I walk out onto the street. The taxi that I hail, the numerous 'Hello's' to the army of people cleaning, polishing and generally making sure that our lives run like clockwork. 

It's always a beautiful start to the day and I am eternally grateful to the Universe for these blessings. 

We have about 3 weeks before the mercury climbs to 40 degrees at 8 am - remind me of this positivity then, yes?!

Getting to Know You, Getting to Know All About You…..

This Taxi Driver is Holding My life Story. Probably.

Dubai taxi drivers are an institution. I’ve blogged about them manytimes before – taxis here are cheap and prolific and most of us use them as we would have used a bus in the UK. Although I’m happy to say I can’t remember using a UK bus since my University days. I shudder at the memory.

Taxi drivers have a bit of a bad reputation for driving like maniacs and being generally unhelpful when it comes to knowing where your destination is (whoops!) but in the main, I’ve always had good experiences. 

They can be quiet, surly, or even downright rude. But approximately once a month, you will get the chattiest taxi driver alive. One that probes and analyses you like a Pakistani or Indian Jeremy Paxman.

Real questions I was asked this week, on ONE short journey:

1. How long you live in Dubai?
2. You like Dubai?
3. Why you come to Dubai?
4. How long you are going to stay in Dubai?
5. Where you from?
6. Whereabouts in the UK?
7. What job do you do?
8. Is that a good job?
9. Does it pay good money? (Derisive snort from me)
10. Where you live in Dubai?
11. You like it?
12. Is it nice place?
13. Is it expensive?
14. Does your company pay your rent? (Derisive snort from me)
15. Are your parents still alive?
16. Where do they live?
17. Are they still working?
18. What does your father do as job?
19. What does your mother do as job?
20. Do you have any brothers or sisters?
21. Do you send money home and support them?
22. Have they been to Dubai?
23. Do they like Dubai?
24. How old are you?
25. Are you married?
26. Do you have any children?

I’ve had similar questions before – numbers 25 and 26 are usually the first ones that get launched into the back seat like hand grenades. But I can’t remember ever covering such a range of topics in such quick succession. To be fair, as a taxi driver, I’m sure it’s a good way to pass the time, especially if you’re a bit nosy.

I don’t mind telling you that it was quite exhausting, with him quick-firing these at me from the front seat. At the end of the journey I almost fell out of the cab onto the pavement, handing over my birth certificate and inside leg measurement, as I left, just to make sure he knew EVERY little detail of my life.

Dubai Taxi Drivers: Love them or hate them, they’re always entertaining.

Why I Love Ramadan: Taxi Drivers

I've waxed lyrical on many occasions about my love for Ramadan.  This is my fourth, and at 7 days in, I've already accumulated a plethora of wonderful and touching experiences.  So I thought I'd chronicle them, as they happen.  My first 'Ramadan Tale' is about taxi drivers.

These guys have it tough during Ramadan.  If they're fasting, they have to cope with hunger and thirst throughout their 12 hour shift.  If they're not, they have to cope with increasingly erratic driving from those who are fasting, as the day progresses.  If you need a taxi at 6.30, which I often do, as I'm socialising at Iftars, it can be hard to get a taxi and when you do, you could be interrupting a hungry driver who is just about to break his fast. 

A friend was leaving work last week, and just as she opened the taxi door to get in, the call to prayer rang out.  The driver offered to continue, but A insisted that they waited for him to break his fast and eat and drink something.  As of course, you would hope anyone would.

The lovely taxi driver was so overcome with emotion at this act that after he'd finished eating and dropped her home, he began to rifle through his bag of snacks.  Despite A's protestations, he refused to let her exit the taxi until he had given her a slice of melon to take with her, as a thank-you for her patience.

Yesterday I jumped in  cab to head to the home of a lovely Egyptian friend of mine.  It was 6.35, and just 30 minutes to Iftar.  I was obviously extremely apologetic and hoped I hadn't interrupted the driver's Iftar.  He wouldn't hear a word of it and went on to explain that he was fasting for God, and God would not mind if he was late.  Never mind the fact the poor man hasn't eaten for 12 hours.  We then had a lovely chat about his favourite mosques, and which were the best to head to for 'free' iftars (the Government provides free juice, water, milk and snacks during Ramadan.)

Both stories warmed my heart. Taxi drivers are literally the backbone of the city.  They work extremely hard for little pay and little thanks.  They're a constant source of stories and interesting tales.  If you don't chat to them during your journey, I really suggest that you do.  Especially during Ramadan...

The Hairdryer Treatment

There's no more walking to work at the moment - it suddenly became scorchio, what felt like overnight. When I emerge from my apartment each morning it's a definite case of 'clamp sunglasses to head and steel yourself for searing heat in the face.' Thankfully, taxis have cottoned onto the fact that a lot of people in my complex need rides to work in the morning, so each mornign there's a dutiful line of them waiting for people. And the sum it costs me to get to work? 2 quid. Love it.

A Day in the Life of...

Well dear readers, you are probably wondering how I am getting on day to day in the crazy world of work. I thought I would try to summarise this in a tried and tested PR format: A Day in the Life of…Please note that some incidents have been amalgamated into one day for dramatic effect. I don’t want you getting bored!

7.30 – 8. am. Wake up, snuggly and warm underneath my duvet. Yes, DUVET. The air con is a little fierce at times so a duvet is completely necessary. To paint the picture more for you, I am also wearing winter pyjamas at this point too. Sometimes, not always, cashmere bed socks.

Open the curtains. As yet the excitement of looking out over Dubai hasn’t yet faded. As we’re on the 27th floor, it’s a pretty good view. It’s actually been really hazy since I arrived, but the last few days have been much clearer, today I could see the Burj Al Arab in the distance (see photo!), and also the ‘World Islands’. Amazing.

Get ready for work – won’t bore you with these details but it does involve getting dressed quite quickly. (Fierce air con). If you’re interested, the business dress code is much the same as the UK. I wear the same clothes as I did in Manchester. Smarter if anything. That said as I’m working in an ad agency the dress code can be very casual on the creative side. Someone has just walked past me in a one-shoulder lycra top, another with wrap-around aviators (inside).

As I get ready I keep one eye on the view from window to see if any taxis are approaching the apartment. When I see one in the distance, I scamper off downstairs. Being so high up means I have time to apply lipstick in the lift on the way down.

8.30 – 8.35 am. Exit building. Take deep intake of breath as hit by wall of heat and sunshine. Clamp sunglasses firmly onto face. Hail cab from outside building. Depending on the traffic this can take anything from 1-5 minutes. After 5 minutes you really feel the heat and I’m already starting to flag.

Enter cab. Explain to taxi driver where I need to go. 95% of the time they a) cannot understand me b) have no idea where I mean. Through the time honoured Brits Abroad tradition of waving hands, smiling and talking loudly, we manage to navigate.

8.40 am. Arrive at work. Yes it is really that close to the apartment. Run inside through the heat, saying hello to the army of Indian men who are outside the building. I’m not sure exactly what they all do. Some are valet parking, some directing the traffic, some seem to be there just to greet us. There is a plethora of people throughout the building, cleaning, tidying, delivering mail and making drinks – generally looking after us. We’re very lucky! I have yet to enter the toilet without finding someone cleaning, polishing, and folding the toilet roll into a point.

My office is very space age/James Bond. I’ve been in a lot of advertising and creative agencies over the years and this is definitely the coolest. To enter reception you have to walk through a steel tunnel! Lots of primary colors, pop art, a basketball court (no, really) a brainstorming area with grass (no, really) and of course, table football and a pool table.

Then follows the usual working day, taking briefs, coming up with strategy, ideas, writing, speaking to the media. I won’t bore you with it all!

11.30 am It normally takes me until mid-morning to become extremely cold. The air con is fierce here too (see a pattern emerging), so I spend much of the day sitting on my hands trying to warm them up. sometiems my nose runs!

1.00 pm Nip downstairs to café for lunch. The office complex is amazing, think Canary Warf meets Salford Quays. Lots of gardens, fountains, bridges and walkways, and places to eat and drink. At this point I normally go outside and stand in the searing heat for 5 minutes to try to warm up. My colleagues laugh at me!

Continue working. Marvel at the cacophony of different languages that I hear outside my office door. It’s a real cultural melting pot here, colleagues are from a diverse range of countries including: Egypt, Canada, India, Germany, Israel and Lebanon. Oh, and Bournemouth and Manchester too!

6.30 pm. Head outside, either try to hail a taxi, or cadge a lift home. Despite the heat at this point I can usually stand outside for half an hour at least with no problem at all. The air con gets into your bones!

Get home and discuss day with fellow flat mates. We’re sharing with a fab New Yorker and a Scot, I’d like to think the set up is more ‘This Life’ than Big Brother. Either eat out or have dinner on the balcony, with Sheikh Zayed road below. The traffic does not stop until at least 10 pm. How does anyone ever get home?

Fall into bed dreaming of sunshine and camels. No, I really did dream about camels one night!