I love food. I particularly love street food, and any local cuisine I can get my hands on. And in Dubai, I could literally get my hands on local food. (har, har...)
Hands down, the best dining experience I had on my solo, exploratory adventures was this amazing cafeteria close to the Spice Souk by the creek. I would have pictures, but I forgot my iPhone at the hotel. (remember in the previous blog about our flight home, I had other things to worry about...) All of my pictures were on that iPhone because I didn't want to look touristy, so in a couple months, when we go back to Dubai, I'll retrieve the phone and update this blog with pictures...
I was so tired of eating at the overpriced restaurants close to our hotel. Even the food court food at the mall were an average of $10-15. And, even though the food was good, it was usually a kebab and I pretty much had my fill of kebabs day and night. Plus, I think it's a good practice to eat where the locals eat anytime you're in a new place. It's something Anthony Bourdain does, and it got him a few hit tv shows and multiple book deals, so whats the worse that could happen?
This cafeteria was super local. I walked in and everyone stared. Notice, I did not say stopped. They continued eating (with their hands, mind you), but all eyes were on me. I've found that the best way to avoid an uncomfortable situation like this one, is to pretend it's not uncomfortable. It doesn't always work, but in this case it did because I was escorted upstairs and into a separate room for families and women.
(*side note: there are a lot of things that have separate spaces for women and children only and it's not to isolate or treat harshly. It's for the woman's comfort level. South Texas will understand, since there are certain places and people who think that leering is ok when a woman walks by and it's not fun for us. So, the women, who are taught extreme modesty by the teachings of Islam, can choose to be in a space reserved for them away from creepers. It's not that they aren't allowed in the other spaces, it's a matter of preference and they do have a choice in the matter.)
The server who helped me was great! He spoke a little English and fixed me up with the house specialty, which I still don't know what its called. Within minutes, I had a chilled soup of curd, cilantro, carrot shavings, finely chopped onion and chives. There were no actual curds in it, it was just the milk from it. Sounds so gross, I know, but when you've stepped inside from the 120 degree weather outside, it is the most delicious, refreshing thing. Ever. Also refreshing when your mouth is ON FIRE from the hot curry that you generously douse your plate in...
They kept it coming, dropping off a plate of rice, a small bowl of red curry, larger bowl of green curry (both with veggies) and two hunks of chicken. He also brought me a bottle of water, despite the pitcher of water already at the table. And even though I wanted to be local and authentic, I didn't complain.
The rice. Oh, delicious rice. It was flavored with all sorts of spices, but the only one I could really place were cloves. I can place these because it was very strange to feel like you're bighting down on a small piece of a tree branch while eating rice and that tree branch sliver be so packed with flavor. Throw in the curry and rip chunks of chicken straight off the bone and eat with your hand. Luckily, I had gone to the cultural presentation, so I knew how to eat with my hands. You should only use your right hand and on your right hand, your thumb, pointer and middle finger. Way harder than it sounds. My ring finger and pinky got a little messy at times, but for the most part I did good. That dollup of curry keeps it all together for the most part.
About halfway into my amazing meal, my server came back with half a plateful of rice and just scooped it on my plate. As I kept eating, I couldn't help but wonder who in the restaurant hadn't finished their meal, providing me with seconds, but I just keep eating through the disgusting thought.
As I was finishing up, my server returned with my check on a plate full of what looked like seeds and some colorful candies that reminded me of "nerds". Wanting to make sure I got the full experience, I asked it I eat it and he said that it was sweet and meant for eating. So, I dug in, grabbed a handful and tried it. So. Delicious. It was almost like a licorice flavor, so probably not for everyone, but it was a perfectly sweet but not sweet ending to my meal.
Total cost? 15 dirham ($5)
I went back another time and had the same experience, only now I knew to ask for tea. They serve a tea on the streets in that area that is absolutely delicious! Horrible for you, I'm sure, but delicious just the same. If I had to guess, I would say that it is regular black tea with loads of sweetened, condensed milk. Maybe because I ordered tea, maybe because I came back, or maybe because it wasn't sold out that day, I got another dish. Some type of cold salad. No idea what it was or what was in it. Fairly certain it was some type of stuffed grape leaves, but cannot confirm. I just eat what the locals give me. I also earned a spicy sauce. I think it was called pickled mangos or something. It was red pepper paster with pickled mangos. At least, that's my guess. It was a little salty for me, and I preferred the red curry for my spice, but I was still pretty proud to earn the right to use it.
Cheers to the local flavors and their hospitality. Totally worth the trip.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Love and Free Fallin'
I have a bad enough time in planes. In the last three months alone, I've seen my share of experiences, so I don't really feel like I'm in a good place to jump out of one anytime soon/ever.
So, when Hubs suggested we head out with some of his new friends to try a simulated skydiving experience from the comforts of a mall, I was all in. Who wouldn't want to go into a giant plastic container with fans blowing air on you with enough force to make you "fly"? Sounds better to me than actually jumping out of a plane and flying, and it placated Hubs desire to actually jump out of a plane and fly. For now.
We got in, paid the fee and suited up for our big adventure. I have to admit that I was getting a little newvous. I make it a habit to question any activity that repeatedly asks if you have heart problems or shoulder injuries. And I mean, repeatedly. We had to take a class and they asked us some more about any heart issues or injuries, and we all answered that we were fine. We answered a little less confidently, but answered nonetheless.
Once we learned the signs our instructor would be giving us to be in proper flying position, we went to the pod where we would take flight. First couple people went and I watched diligently so that I wouldn't make the same mistakes as they did. The last thing I needed was to get flustered because I couldn't get in the right position while levitating over some high powered fans. Nonetheless, when I did get into the pod, it only took five seconds for me to be a mess. Straighten your legs. Head up. Bend your knees. Head up. Relax. Arms out. Straighten your damn legs! (all of this was signed, so I had no way of knowing if the last piece of instruction was that forceful, but I would've said it had I been the instructor...)
And I slobbered all over myself. I knew this would happen. It happens every time I get on a fast roller coaster, too. Wind blowing in my face with my mouth wide open, screaming my fool head off means slobber everywhere. So gross. Poor Hubs wanted to give me a big hug after I survived my turn, but I was one big drooley mess. Honestly, next to my horrible luck with planes and fear of heights, drooling on myself while falling through the sky is another reason I've never wanted to skydive. Because if it does kill me, I would rather die fairly put together. Not with drool all over my face. And I would feel bad for the instructor, who may get some on him.
Hubs did fantastic! The tube barely fit him, but he made it happen. Proof, yet again, that I married a rockstar. And he didn't drool all over himself. My hero.
We had two turns each to fly, it was a great experience. We laughed the whole time. I'm sure that a lot of people did. Especially while we were walking around the mall in our windblown hair.
You hear the phrase "opposites attrack" often these days. That typically you have a wild one, and a cautious one and between the two they balance out. Not Hubs and I. We balance each other out with two different kinds of crazy and I love it.
Cheers to our different kinds of crazy and the flights that they take us on.
We got in, paid the fee and suited up for our big adventure. I have to admit that I was getting a little newvous. I make it a habit to question any activity that repeatedly asks if you have heart problems or shoulder injuries. And I mean, repeatedly. We had to take a class and they asked us some more about any heart issues or injuries, and we all answered that we were fine. We answered a little less confidently, but answered nonetheless. 
Once we learned the signs our instructor would be giving us to be in proper flying position, we went to the pod where we would take flight. First couple people went and I watched diligently so that I wouldn't make the same mistakes as they did. The last thing I needed was to get flustered because I couldn't get in the right position while levitating over some high powered fans. Nonetheless, when I did get into the pod, it only took five seconds for me to be a mess. Straighten your legs. Head up. Bend your knees. Head up. Relax. Arms out. Straighten your damn legs! (all of this was signed, so I had no way of knowing if the last piece of instruction was that forceful, but I would've said it had I been the instructor...) 
And I slobbered all over myself. I knew this would happen. It happens every time I get on a fast roller coaster, too. Wind blowing in my face with my mouth wide open, screaming my fool head off means slobber everywhere. So gross. Poor Hubs wanted to give me a big hug after I survived my turn, but I was one big drooley mess. Honestly, next to my horrible luck with planes and fear of heights, drooling on myself while falling through the sky is another reason I've never wanted to skydive. Because if it does kill me, I would rather die fairly put together. Not with drool all over my face. And I would feel bad for the instructor, who may get some on him. Hubs did fantastic! The tube barely fit him, but he made it happen. Proof, yet again, that I married a rockstar. And he didn't drool all over himself. My hero.
We had two turns each to fly, it was a great experience. We laughed the whole time. I'm sure that a lot of people did. Especially while we were walking around the mall in our windblown hair.
You hear the phrase "opposites attrack" often these days. That typically you have a wild one, and a cautious one and between the two they balance out. Not Hubs and I. We balance each other out with two different kinds of crazy and I love it.
Cheers to our different kinds of crazy and the flights that they take us on.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Love and Culture
While Hubs was in training, I was responsible for entertaining myself, which usually meant shopping, as you will read in a future blog dedicated to shopping in its entirity. But there were a couple days that I was able to attend a cultural presentation given Sheikh Mohammed Centre for Cultural Understanding. I cannot say enough good things about this organization. I participated in three activities, a cultural breakfast, lunch and tour of the Jumeirah Mosque.
I had the same presenter for the two meals and he was wonderful. I guess I was expecting something a little more formal and stringent to some type of rules and appropriate behavior, but he did an excellent job of creating a comfortable atmosphere and all but begged us to ask the questions, PC or not. He mostly focused on dress, food/hospitality and the treatment of women and his facts were based in large part on his own experience in the UAE with his own family and were told with a pleasant blend of honesty and humor which made us all a little more comfortable. 
The thing that really hit home throughout the presentations is how we have our ideas about Islam and Muslims that encompass an entire population and can be less than positive to say the least. Certainly, I understand that we have troops risking their lives in what extremist Muslim groups lable a jihad, and it turns my stomach to think of the how women are treated in parts of the world in the name of Islam, but we have to also remember that they are extremist groups. Kind of like how I wouldn't want to be lumped in the same group as women who wear too much mascara and cry on tv, only to be caught stealing money from the organization. Nor would I want anyone to assume that I dress in white robes and burn crosses at night in the name of "Protestant Christian values". To us, as Americans, the association seems ridiculous. We see a variety of groups and co-exist with the exception of an occasional riot or clinic burning. But unfortunately, our views of Islam and Muslim people immediately conjur thoughts of oppression, suicide bombings and women's oppression. 
If you really look at the Five Pilars of Islam, and Q'uran text, Islam is a very peaceful religion. It's turned into a small project of mine to really dig into it more and debunk the stereotypes that we have created and continue to feed. This may be a reoccurring subject in future blogs.
The theme of each presentation seemed to be that people are people. It's such a great thought that instead of being intimidated by the local dress and see it as a threat when women or men cover their head, we should instead see it as a way of creating equality. In worship, they stand shoulder to shoulder, all age, rank and status and just pray. You would never know by position in the mosque or by dress who was a prince and who was beggar on the street corner. It really is the way it should be, right? We live in an age of status and appearance. How refreshing to see it not be a priority.
As far as women's rights are concerned, I was very impressed. Women in the UAE drive, work and are allowed the same luxuries as men. (This is not the case in some Muslim countries, such as Saudi Arabia) And their clothing is steeped in tradition based on the writings in the Q'uran and needs based on climate. It really did make sense. And did you know that when getting married, the dowry is actually given from the husband to the wife? He actually pays his bride and is not allowed to touch it. The man is expected to provide, so whatever his wife makes is hers, he isn't supposed to touch it without her permission.
It was at this point that I asked a question about resources for women if there is domestic violence in the home. I mean, any group can say that they are peaceful and respectful towards women, but there are bad apples everywhere. Our presenter responded by saying that there are no shelters in the area. That the women will call their family, who will in turn protect her from her husband if he is hurting her. He said that he has actually gotten a call from his sister at 3am and made it to her house at 3:05am to tell her husband that he would seriously regret laying a finger on her. After the family is through with the batterer, he is then convicted in court. (Hubs is an adamant supporter of this way of doing things...)
Negative facts are everywhere, you don't need to look far if you want to argue these things. But why waste time? I only talk about this experience to say that we should be aware that the crime is not in the dress. It's not in the prayers. It's not in Ramadan. It's not a pilgrimage to Mecca. The crime should not be every follower of Islam's burden to bear. It is hearbreaking to see the mass chaos and killing at the hands of Islam extremist groups, but it's not the end of the story. The cultural center emphasizes "Open doors. Open minds" and I applaud them for that. Through their efforts, people are better able to understand the good.
At the end of the presentation, I asked our presenter what I could do. Here we had just eaten a delicious meal, been given in some cases a story completely different than the one we had been told previously, we can't just leave it at that. I wanted to know what the center really wanted to accomplish, what they needed. I started with, "Hi, my name is Sarah and I'm from America, but I live in Moscow and I'm here for my husband for two more weeks. What can I do?" He said, "Write." No joke! I didn't tell him I have a blog or I love to write, he said thats what they need. So this is me doing something. Something that they hope everyone who attends these presentations does. Pretty crazy how things work like that.
Cheers to people who spread the good. We could all learn a lesson.
Love and Flying
Never in my life have I had such bad luck with planes.
Who am I kidding. Airlines routinely lose my luggage, I've never been seated in an emergency exit (unless theres a small, tantrum-throwing child also seated behind me...) and I've barely made it on countless flights with one actually missed. I should have seen this coming. And forewarned Hubs before he committed to a life of stressful flight experiences.
We start at the beginning, the flight to Dubai. We were so excited to begin earning our badge of "World Travelers" we could hardly stand it. And when the cab company scheduled a pickup for three hours before our flight at 3pm on a Saturday, we accepted, thinking the Russians know best.
When will we learn our lesson?
As we're driving along, completely turned around, I can't help but look at my clock. Inconspicuously, of course. It's unfair to only occasionally be neurotic about being on time and project that on everyone. No one likes it when the person who doesn't panic is panicking.
I think our cab driver was panicking, too, because he was driving more crazy than normal cab drivers in Moscow. And he was taking all these side streets, at one point even cutting through a parking lot to get ahead of the crowd. I was not a fan, and absolutely certain that we would miss our flight. And I'm starting to get frustrated. But, looking at my sweet husband next to me, who was so calm, collected and surprisingly optimistic, I just kept it to loud sighs and private eye rolls to slow pedestrians.
And we were late. Half an hour after the plane took off, we arrive at the airport. Luckily, we were able to make it on the 1am flight. (I use the word, "lucky" very loosely in this situation...) We had to make it by Hub's training at 8am, so we knew it would be cutting it close, but at least now we had eight hours to get through customs and make sure we weren't late for this flight.
We did make it. Barely. Hubs and I checked into the hotel ten minutes after Hub's ride to the training left, so he hopped in the shower, got ready in record time and made it to day one. I was so proud of him. He didn't get any good sleep and now here I was, at the hotel, spoiled rotten with this big fluffy bed andzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....
But that is nothing in comparison to our flight home. Hubs has been dying for me to tell this story, because it's already funny to him. And while it is pretty funny, I must admit, the details may not be for any of you with a weak stomach.
I woke up feeling awful on the day we were set to fly home. Just. Awful. So awful that as soon as I got up, I immediately ran to the toilet and hurled. Yep, I did. I thought I would feel better, but I didn't. So I took a shower, got ready, puked again, brushed my teeth and walked out the door with Hubs. Who was sweet enough to be concerned rather than amused.
I sat in the waiting room. Rather, slumped in the waiting room, and requested a bag (sturdy please...) and a bottle of water. After getting both and settling our hotel charges, off we went in the taxi. We made it less than a mile before I lost it again. Which prompted our taxi driver, in his thick accent to tell us to not get any on the seat. Thanks, dude. I got this.
Made it to the airport, and by now we're running a little late. We really didn't want a repeat of part one, so on we pushed. Carry-on and rolly suitcase in one hand, puke bag in the other. Didn't make it fifty feet before...you guessed it. Right in the crosswalk on the way in. If I was capable in that moment of feeling anything but extreme nausea, I would've been embarressed.
Hubs waited in line at check-in as I sat/slumped, puke bag still in tow. Here it comes again... And poor Hubs looks over in time to see it. Also seeing it, an older British couple, whom Hubs overheard saying, "oh dear, I believe that women is throwing up! Somebody should help her..." I grab the water and start sipping, desperate for anything in my stomach now.
After a slight mix-up with the ticket, we make it. And Hubs, who is trying very hard to take care of my health and us making it home in time, looks me in the eye and says, "honey, I'm so sorry you feel bad. Just stick with me, we're running late and we need to hurry." Big girl pants on now. Got to suck it up. So I do. I'm keeping up, feeling pretty good, and then I wasn't. As I'm burying my face in my puke bag right before security, I'm still walking to keep up with Hubs and get a good spot in line. And that was the last I saw of that bag. Time to get to the terminal, and I'm pretty sure that it wouldn't make it through the x-ray scanner.
In the end we made it. And thank Baby Jesus we had an extra seat on our row, so I could lay down and sleep the entire five hour flight. By the end, Moscow in our sights, I was feeling much, much better. Bold enough to even say I was 100%...
And then I didn't feel better, thanks to some wicked turbulence. And did you know that the bags they give on flights aren't lined anymore? Luckily, I married an engineer, who had proactively lined it with a plastic bag that held an airline blanket.
We landed. Survived. And eventually had a good laugh about it. (Mostly Hubs had a good laugh...) I, on the other hand felt overwelmingly good about Hub's capacity to take care of another human being. Not that there was ever a doubt in my mind that he is gentle, caring and mostly compassionate, but he really took care of me in what I would consider one of my lower moments. Including those where he has to hold my puke bag so I can find my passport. That, ladies, is a man.
Now, he won't stop talking about the firsts that we tackled. "I've never seen someone puke so much!" and "I've never actually seen someone puke on a plane before!" are my favorites. He doesn't often request blog topics, so I had to indulge him in this one.
Cheers to the people who take care of us at our lowest. Better than any medicine.
Who am I kidding. Airlines routinely lose my luggage, I've never been seated in an emergency exit (unless theres a small, tantrum-throwing child also seated behind me...) and I've barely made it on countless flights with one actually missed. I should have seen this coming. And forewarned Hubs before he committed to a life of stressful flight experiences.
We start at the beginning, the flight to Dubai. We were so excited to begin earning our badge of "World Travelers" we could hardly stand it. And when the cab company scheduled a pickup for three hours before our flight at 3pm on a Saturday, we accepted, thinking the Russians know best.
When will we learn our lesson?
As we're driving along, completely turned around, I can't help but look at my clock. Inconspicuously, of course. It's unfair to only occasionally be neurotic about being on time and project that on everyone. No one likes it when the person who doesn't panic is panicking.
I think our cab driver was panicking, too, because he was driving more crazy than normal cab drivers in Moscow. And he was taking all these side streets, at one point even cutting through a parking lot to get ahead of the crowd. I was not a fan, and absolutely certain that we would miss our flight. And I'm starting to get frustrated. But, looking at my sweet husband next to me, who was so calm, collected and surprisingly optimistic, I just kept it to loud sighs and private eye rolls to slow pedestrians.
And we were late. Half an hour after the plane took off, we arrive at the airport. Luckily, we were able to make it on the 1am flight. (I use the word, "lucky" very loosely in this situation...) We had to make it by Hub's training at 8am, so we knew it would be cutting it close, but at least now we had eight hours to get through customs and make sure we weren't late for this flight.
We did make it. Barely. Hubs and I checked into the hotel ten minutes after Hub's ride to the training left, so he hopped in the shower, got ready in record time and made it to day one. I was so proud of him. He didn't get any good sleep and now here I was, at the hotel, spoiled rotten with this big fluffy bed andzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....
But that is nothing in comparison to our flight home. Hubs has been dying for me to tell this story, because it's already funny to him. And while it is pretty funny, I must admit, the details may not be for any of you with a weak stomach.
I woke up feeling awful on the day we were set to fly home. Just. Awful. So awful that as soon as I got up, I immediately ran to the toilet and hurled. Yep, I did. I thought I would feel better, but I didn't. So I took a shower, got ready, puked again, brushed my teeth and walked out the door with Hubs. Who was sweet enough to be concerned rather than amused.
I sat in the waiting room. Rather, slumped in the waiting room, and requested a bag (sturdy please...) and a bottle of water. After getting both and settling our hotel charges, off we went in the taxi. We made it less than a mile before I lost it again. Which prompted our taxi driver, in his thick accent to tell us to not get any on the seat. Thanks, dude. I got this.
Made it to the airport, and by now we're running a little late. We really didn't want a repeat of part one, so on we pushed. Carry-on and rolly suitcase in one hand, puke bag in the other. Didn't make it fifty feet before...you guessed it. Right in the crosswalk on the way in. If I was capable in that moment of feeling anything but extreme nausea, I would've been embarressed.
Hubs waited in line at check-in as I sat/slumped, puke bag still in tow. Here it comes again... And poor Hubs looks over in time to see it. Also seeing it, an older British couple, whom Hubs overheard saying, "oh dear, I believe that women is throwing up! Somebody should help her..." I grab the water and start sipping, desperate for anything in my stomach now.
After a slight mix-up with the ticket, we make it. And Hubs, who is trying very hard to take care of my health and us making it home in time, looks me in the eye and says, "honey, I'm so sorry you feel bad. Just stick with me, we're running late and we need to hurry." Big girl pants on now. Got to suck it up. So I do. I'm keeping up, feeling pretty good, and then I wasn't. As I'm burying my face in my puke bag right before security, I'm still walking to keep up with Hubs and get a good spot in line. And that was the last I saw of that bag. Time to get to the terminal, and I'm pretty sure that it wouldn't make it through the x-ray scanner.
In the end we made it. And thank Baby Jesus we had an extra seat on our row, so I could lay down and sleep the entire five hour flight. By the end, Moscow in our sights, I was feeling much, much better. Bold enough to even say I was 100%...
And then I didn't feel better, thanks to some wicked turbulence. And did you know that the bags they give on flights aren't lined anymore? Luckily, I married an engineer, who had proactively lined it with a plastic bag that held an airline blanket.
We landed. Survived. And eventually had a good laugh about it. (Mostly Hubs had a good laugh...) I, on the other hand felt overwelmingly good about Hub's capacity to take care of another human being. Not that there was ever a doubt in my mind that he is gentle, caring and mostly compassionate, but he really took care of me in what I would consider one of my lower moments. Including those where he has to hold my puke bag so I can find my passport. That, ladies, is a man.
Now, he won't stop talking about the firsts that we tackled. "I've never seen someone puke so much!" and "I've never actually seen someone puke on a plane before!" are my favorites. He doesn't often request blog topics, so I had to indulge him in this one.
Cheers to the people who take care of us at our lowest. Better than any medicine.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Love and Crabs
To pick up where we left off, Hubs and I have just arrived at a pretty shady-looking resort to hunt crabs with mini-tridents because we saw it advertised on the internets...
Now, I'm starting to wonder if this is a good idea at all. The front office was completely empty, with one small restaurant that looked closed and the whole place just looked dead. But we made it. And we would hunt those damn crabs if it killed us. The resort didn't offer up too much information on what we should do with the three hours we had to kill now, but we were certain that their had to be a better alternative than sitting in the empty waiting room with no magazines. So we asked if we could go outside and an uninterested front desk employee waved us off.
Outside was much better. We walked down a path to be greeted by a small tiki bar that, had somone not come by and opened, we would have raided anyways. We were tired, hot, a little anxious about how this story would end and we saw Coronas. Delicious Coronas. Two, please. Our bartender was from Malaysia, which is where lots of the staff are from and he was very helpful introducing us to the resort. We found out from him that the resort was owned by a Russian man and that 90% of the visitors at the moment were actually from Russia. Ya don't say... Just another reminder that we need to learn Russia. Because you never, never know when you'll need it.
Once we had our Coronas, complete with lemon garnish, we walked down to the resort's private beach, letting all those familiar sounds and smells of gulf water remind us of home and wash away our anxieties over the trip thus far. We ordered a fruit platter, another round of Coronas and enjoyed the salty water and napping residents unaware of their now bright-red coloring. Hubs and I laughed and talked about our own beach adventures, what we miss about our beach back home and what beaches we would see in the future. It was absolutely picturesque. The scenery and the time of life.
It started to get dark, so we hopped about our little boat with half a dozen Russian couples and surrounded by chatter we didn't understand (again), we were off to hunt crabs! We arrived at our spot once we couldn't see the resort anymore and it had gotten completely dark and hopped into the water with our min-trients and our spot lights. Not two seconds within getting into the water, I remembered that I am terrified of marine life and maybe this wasn't a great idea anymore. Gone are the daydreams about fresh crab and butter, they're replaced with horrifying visions of killer Arabian crabs that I can't see, but are very hungry for delicious toes.
Focus. I am the hunter, not the hunted.
So, you walk around in this shallow water with your spotlight in one hand, spear in the other and you keep a sharp eye out for anything moving. Then, you get right on top of it with your min-trident and STAB! When you pull out your catch, sometimes its wiggling around and can fall off, which is terrifying. Especially when you get to a particularly rich crab area and people are flinging very angry, panicked crabs all at once. I half expected a crab to go flying straight into my life jacket at any given moment. Other than that, I was relatively collected, considering the threat of angry crabs attacking my toes was very real. And I speared my fair shair of crabs, too. Our guide was a little Malaysian dude who spoke limited English, but it was better than his Russian, so he helped us out tremendously. That guy could spot crabs from miles away!
We filled our giant bucket with crabs and headed back to the resort where a feast of all different sorts of foods awaited. They literally threw our catch into a boiling pot and by the time we had turned in our life jackets and water shoes, we had a plateful of fresh, steaming crabs. Delish. It was tough, though, wanting to chatter endlessly about our hunt and wanting to devour as much food as possible. Although, I soon gave up on the crab. It wasn't like eating at Joe's Crab Shack, where things are sort of pre-cracked...
Hard to imagine that a day that started off so uncertain could end up being one of the best there ever was. We ended up just taking a cab ride home ($70) and, to be honest, we probably spent just as much through our roundabout way of reaching our destination as we would have had we just gotten the round trip cab fare in the first place. But that's no fun. And certainly not our style. I mean, had we done that, I would only have one blog entry to share. And now... we have two!
Like all of our adventures so far, Hubs made it even more fun. We've had this crazy romance that neither of us expected nor dreamed would be so perfect in its own rite. And in the spirit of honeymooning, I am getting to know my partner and soulmate more and more with the coolest of backdrops, crab hunting only being one story in the grand storyline. My cup runneth over.
Cheers to the hunt. Whether it be crabs, a Corona or life at its fullest.
Now, I'm starting to wonder if this is a good idea at all. The front office was completely empty, with one small restaurant that looked closed and the whole place just looked dead. But we made it. And we would hunt those damn crabs if it killed us. The resort didn't offer up too much information on what we should do with the three hours we had to kill now, but we were certain that their had to be a better alternative than sitting in the empty waiting room with no magazines. So we asked if we could go outside and an uninterested front desk employee waved us off.
Once we had our Coronas, complete with lemon garnish, we walked down to the resort's private beach, letting all those familiar sounds and smells of gulf water remind us of home and wash away our anxieties over the trip thus far. We ordered a fruit platter, another round of Coronas and enjoyed the salty water and napping residents unaware of their now bright-red coloring. Hubs and I laughed and talked about our own beach adventures, what we miss about our beach back home and what beaches we would see in the future. It was absolutely picturesque. The scenery and the time of life. 
It started to get dark, so we hopped about our little boat with half a dozen Russian couples and surrounded by chatter we didn't understand (again), we were off to hunt crabs! We arrived at our spot once we couldn't see the resort anymore and it had gotten completely dark and hopped into the water with our min-trients and our spot lights. Not two seconds within getting into the water, I remembered that I am terrified of marine life and maybe this wasn't a great idea anymore. Gone are the daydreams about fresh crab and butter, they're replaced with horrifying visions of killer Arabian crabs that I can't see, but are very hungry for delicious toes. Focus. I am the hunter, not the hunted.
So, you walk around in this shallow water with your spotlight in one hand, spear in the other and you keep a sharp eye out for anything moving. Then, you get right on top of it with your min-trident and STAB! When you pull out your catch, sometimes its wiggling around and can fall off, which is terrifying. Especially when you get to a particularly rich crab area and people are flinging very angry, panicked crabs all at once. I half expected a crab to go flying straight into my life jacket at any given moment. Other than that, I was relatively collected, considering the threat of angry crabs attacking my toes was very real. And I speared my fair shair of crabs, too. Our guide was a little Malaysian dude who spoke limited English, but it was better than his Russian, so he helped us out tremendously. That guy could spot crabs from miles away!
We filled our giant bucket with crabs and headed back to the resort where a feast of all different sorts of foods awaited. They literally threw our catch into a boiling pot and by the time we had turned in our life jackets and water shoes, we had a plateful of fresh, steaming crabs. Delish. It was tough, though, wanting to chatter endlessly about our hunt and wanting to devour as much food as possible. Although, I soon gave up on the crab. It wasn't like eating at Joe's Crab Shack, where things are sort of pre-cracked...
Like all of our adventures so far, Hubs made it even more fun. We've had this crazy romance that neither of us expected nor dreamed would be so perfect in its own rite. And in the spirit of honeymooning, I am getting to know my partner and soulmate more and more with the coolest of backdrops, crab hunting only being one story in the grand storyline. My cup runneth over.
Cheers to the hunt. Whether it be crabs, a Corona or life at its fullest.
Love and Getting There
On the day we were set to go crab hunting, we woke up early, super excited to get going and have this crazy adventure. It was like Christmas morning excited. So, I go online to get specific directions. Only to find that the resort where the crab hunting is taking place is a little over an hour north of Dubai. Huh? Sooo...not there's not a Metro stop to this place? Excuse me? $125 cab ride round trip? No, no, no. That can't be right.
(If you are asking yourself why I didn't notice where the resort was located when I booked the excursion, you don't know me very well, and I refuse to answer...)
So, I get to work finding a better route. There has to be a better, less expensive way. $125 is more than we're spending on both of our crab hunting experience. (and it includes dinner!) So, I talk to the resort and they mention a bus that goes through Umm al Qwain, where the resort is located. Cost? $3. Done. The only problem, she says, is that they don't go back to Dubai. It would only be a one-way. That didn't make sense to me, so I brushed it off as a language barrier misunderstanding. If I bus goes there, it has to come back right?
Wrong. I called the public transportation office and they confirmed that we would not be able to get a round-trip to our location. I spared her my thoughts on why this was inefficient and got the address to the bus station.
We left early, since now we had to depend on public transportation that didn't make round trips. We got to the station by cab ($25 fare), bought our ticket ($3) and waited for the bus. Only then did we realize that we didn't actually know what bus we were looking for. Back to the ticket station we went, where we were told that the next bus would bet here in half an hour. That's not so bad. So we wait and when our bus came up, we hopped on, ready for our adventure.
And as we sat in a back corner, I saw more people crammed into a tiny bus than I had ever seen before. And the bus was one of those that retirement homes use to transport residents on day trips. Only this one had no spare room for walkers and wheelchairs. They just put more seats in those spots. But, we were still blissfully excited about our destination, and nothing, not even these cramped conditions that were really starting to get stinky could bring us down. Off we go! On our way to paradise! We passed through desert, saw camels, more desert and an occasional building going up. Strange scenery, but it only heightened the anticipation for the oasis that awaited us. An oasis filled with crabs and good times.
With the cab driver who spoke no English and who did not know how to get to the resort. Had I known I would need to know the Arabic word for "Flamingo", I would've looked it up. I called the resort, and passed the phone on to the cab driver who had at least a five minute conversation with the reception desk which, I assumed meant he was getting detailed directions.
Two stops to ask random construction workers and pedestrians which way the resort is, we finally made it. (cab fare - $10) To the least extravagent-looking "resort" I had ever seen...
Cheers to making it to our destinations the exciting way.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Love and Directions
Ah, Dubai. You are beautiful, extravagant, luxurious, and everyone gives awful directions.
This I found out within the first couple days in town, and dealt with for the duration of our three weeks. The first time I tried to find the beach, which I could see from our hotel room, I asked the lady at the front desk. She politely said, "straight and straight and right." (Still trying to figure out the best way to describe her accent when saying this, because thats half the fun...) I go straight, and dead end into another hotel close by. So I ask the attendant outside, "where is the beach within walking distance?" To which he responds, "left and straight and straight and left." What?!?
So, I gave up. From then on, Hubs was in charge of asking for directions, because I'm not sure he completely believed me when I was complaining about the bad direction giving. And his attempts at getting good directions despite the fact that it is impossible was very entertaining. We really do know how to have a good time.
I don't blame them entirely. The city is constantly changing. The skyline is littered with skyscrapers, most of which are in various levels of completion. Roads change on a regular basis to make room for another iconic building to rival that last one. It's no wonder people are so horrible at giving directions. Who knows what road is still open? On top of that, I was given a statistic from a cultural presentation that about 80% of Dubai residents are from other countries, so I guess they're not too familiar with the place yet. But still. Something needs to happen, it is way to hot outside to get lost from lack of good direction givers.
The worst case of bad direction blues I had while in Dubai was my first trip to the Gold Souk. There's lots of Souks in Dubai, most of the famous ones in the same area north of town and directly on the creek. It's where all the local, inexpensive cafeterias are and it was, by far, my favorite area to be in. Our hotel was in the Marina, a man-made extension of the creek filled with high rise buildings, Starbucks, fancy restaurants and yachts like you wouldn't believe. A lovely area, but not the same character and storytelling that can be found in the Souk district.
I had to spend quite a bit of time figuring out how to get to the Metro station from our hotel and it was a good 500 meters. (about a quarter of a mile) Having finally figured out how to get there and unable to get a straight answer about how easy maneuvering the Metro is, I went in completely blind. Thankfully, Dubai is also filled with very helpful people, so not only did the ticket agent help me figure out which stops to make, but the security guard noticed my confused expression and directed me to the right pick-up location without any prompting! Blew my mind.
I did make it to the stop I assumed would drop me off right to the enterance of the Gold Souk. Boy was I wrong. Instead, I stepped out of the station to see the creek on one side and a whole lot of dirty-looking storefronts. Corpus folks, think Ayers street old stores selling pinatas and you'll see what I saw. Only most of the stores sold rugs. It was very strange. And I was completely shocked that things weren't going the way I imagined them to. I had looked up images on google, watched YouTube videos of people walking through the souk. I knew what it was supposed to look like and this was not it.
So I walked. Well, I sweat and moved my feet. That might be a better description. And I was getting nervous. I had no idea where I was and I knew I would get a lost look on my face if I didn't take action soon. I hate that look. So I turned down a street corner. Naturally. Cause I believe that when life gives you side streets, there's probably something really cool down it. Or something scary, but if I gripped my bag a certain way, it makes a great weapon.
I found the souk. I don't know if I should tell the story of how I found it, since my sometimes fearless nature already worries Hubs when he stops and thinks about it. Let's just say that I had done my research, so following someone selling knock-off Prada bags wasn't a bad idea. And it got me to the Souk. Unfortunately, it was in such a roundabout way that I had no idea how to get back to my Metro station.
It really was for the best I was lost the entire time I was shopping. It made me unafraid to explore some of the side alleys full of sweet shops. (I don't know if anyone has every described shops selling belly dancer clothes as sweet, but they were...) And I had some great conversations along the way. I had learned from a friend that you tell store owners that you live in Dubai and they will work with you a little more on haggling a good price. (usually more than half of the originally quoted price.) So, posing as a newly transplanted American from Texas to Dubai via Moscow, I was able to experience the epitomy of the city's hospitality.
But lets not get away from the fact that I was now hopelessly lost. And hungry. I thought for sure there would be food stands or something. Thats what every outdoor market should have, right? But no such luck. So I scowered the area for anything that said food and eventually found a gyro cafeteria that was absolutely delicious. I don't know if they would call it a gyro. But it looked like one, and for the sake of time, we'll leave it at that. It was served with pickled stuff. I don't usually use the word "stuff" in this blog, but, I had no idea what all everything was. But I tried everything and it was all definitely pickled. Not bad, either. Except, of course, the carrot. You can't pickle carrots enough for me to ever like them.
Now, with renewed strength, a full belly and a the largest bottle of water in all the land, I set off confident that I would find my way home.
A half hour later, I was back where I started. I asked for directions, but it never made sense. I was starting to feel hopeless. How would Hubs even find me? What would become of me? I could always sell all the scarves that I had bought and continue searching for home, which is how most of the sellers probably got their start, I'm convinced of that now.
And it was so hot. So, I stopped in the only commercial store I had seen all day, a Baskin Robbins. I sat down with my ice cream and decided to not even think about being lost. To relax and instead get lost in my "java chip". It worked. Because I walked outside, right and straight and right and there was a Metro station. Granted, it was not the one I had gotten off on earlier in the day, but I made it.
And I had a great day! I got lost, I saw more than I would have and that was enough to not ever want to go back. I definitely had my fill. Although, two weeks later, after countless more trips to different souks in the area, I turned a corner and found the Gold Souk. 150 meters from an even closer Metro stop.
Cheers to our lost travels and the people that get us there.
This I found out within the first couple days in town, and dealt with for the duration of our three weeks. The first time I tried to find the beach, which I could see from our hotel room, I asked the lady at the front desk. She politely said, "straight and straight and right." (Still trying to figure out the best way to describe her accent when saying this, because thats half the fun...) I go straight, and dead end into another hotel close by. So I ask the attendant outside, "where is the beach within walking distance?" To which he responds, "left and straight and straight and left." What?!?
So, I gave up. From then on, Hubs was in charge of asking for directions, because I'm not sure he completely believed me when I was complaining about the bad direction giving. And his attempts at getting good directions despite the fact that it is impossible was very entertaining. We really do know how to have a good time.
I don't blame them entirely. The city is constantly changing. The skyline is littered with skyscrapers, most of which are in various levels of completion. Roads change on a regular basis to make room for another iconic building to rival that last one. It's no wonder people are so horrible at giving directions. Who knows what road is still open? On top of that, I was given a statistic from a cultural presentation that about 80% of Dubai residents are from other countries, so I guess they're not too familiar with the place yet. But still. Something needs to happen, it is way to hot outside to get lost from lack of good direction givers.
The worst case of bad direction blues I had while in Dubai was my first trip to the Gold Souk. There's lots of Souks in Dubai, most of the famous ones in the same area north of town and directly on the creek. It's where all the local, inexpensive cafeterias are and it was, by far, my favorite area to be in. Our hotel was in the Marina, a man-made extension of the creek filled with high rise buildings, Starbucks, fancy restaurants and yachts like you wouldn't believe. A lovely area, but not the same character and storytelling that can be found in the Souk district.
I had to spend quite a bit of time figuring out how to get to the Metro station from our hotel and it was a good 500 meters. (about a quarter of a mile) Having finally figured out how to get there and unable to get a straight answer about how easy maneuvering the Metro is, I went in completely blind. Thankfully, Dubai is also filled with very helpful people, so not only did the ticket agent help me figure out which stops to make, but the security guard noticed my confused expression and directed me to the right pick-up location without any prompting! Blew my mind.
So I walked. Well, I sweat and moved my feet. That might be a better description. And I was getting nervous. I had no idea where I was and I knew I would get a lost look on my face if I didn't take action soon. I hate that look. So I turned down a street corner. Naturally. Cause I believe that when life gives you side streets, there's probably something really cool down it. Or something scary, but if I gripped my bag a certain way, it makes a great weapon.
It really was for the best I was lost the entire time I was shopping. It made me unafraid to explore some of the side alleys full of sweet shops. (I don't know if anyone has every described shops selling belly dancer clothes as sweet, but they were...) And I had some great conversations along the way. I had learned from a friend that you tell store owners that you live in Dubai and they will work with you a little more on haggling a good price. (usually more than half of the originally quoted price.) So, posing as a newly transplanted American from Texas to Dubai via Moscow, I was able to experience the epitomy of the city's hospitality.
But lets not get away from the fact that I was now hopelessly lost. And hungry. I thought for sure there would be food stands or something. Thats what every outdoor market should have, right? But no such luck. So I scowered the area for anything that said food and eventually found a gyro cafeteria that was absolutely delicious. I don't know if they would call it a gyro. But it looked like one, and for the sake of time, we'll leave it at that. It was served with pickled stuff. I don't usually use the word "stuff" in this blog, but, I had no idea what all everything was. But I tried everything and it was all definitely pickled. Not bad, either. Except, of course, the carrot. You can't pickle carrots enough for me to ever like them.
Now, with renewed strength, a full belly and a the largest bottle of water in all the land, I set off confident that I would find my way home.
A half hour later, I was back where I started. I asked for directions, but it never made sense. I was starting to feel hopeless. How would Hubs even find me? What would become of me? I could always sell all the scarves that I had bought and continue searching for home, which is how most of the sellers probably got their start, I'm convinced of that now.
And it was so hot. So, I stopped in the only commercial store I had seen all day, a Baskin Robbins. I sat down with my ice cream and decided to not even think about being lost. To relax and instead get lost in my "java chip". It worked. Because I walked outside, right and straight and right and there was a Metro station. Granted, it was not the one I had gotten off on earlier in the day, but I made it.
And I had a great day! I got lost, I saw more than I would have and that was enough to not ever want to go back. I definitely had my fill. Although, two weeks later, after countless more trips to different souks in the area, I turned a corner and found the Gold Souk. 150 meters from an even closer Metro stop.
Cheers to our lost travels and the people that get us there.
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