Christmas in Islam

The Christmas in Islam Blog Has Come to a Close

2010-05-09T11:40:00.001-07:00

Dearest followers:

I am ending the Christmas in Islam blog, but would be very happy if you would follow me on my new blog endeavor at desolateroad.wordpress.com. I hope to see you there!

Shaun

The Senator & The Story Of How I Became One

2009-12-23T12:55:00.000-08:00

As I've mentioned before, local government, if one can call it that, grips the Delta region like a vice. This is literally and figuratively so. In my opinion, community leaders are absolute scum. Like an Asian carp, their tails leave a wake of destruction - bottom feeders that excel in manipulation, mismanagement and criminality.

When the port workers began to affectionately call me chairman, I was quick to demand that they not compare me to their local leaders. "My chairmon! Chairmooo!" they would shout. "No," I said, "I don't respond to 'chairman.' We don't have that in the States."

Surprisingly, one chap happened to know that U.S. city leaders were called mayor. However, I quickly dispelled any thoughts of that either. "My power extends much further than that. You can call me Senator," I said.

So, that is how I came to be known as Senator. Now, everyone yells, "My Senator!" when I approach. In fact, I've even received a Christmas card addressed to "Senator Shaun Miller," which I feel is most appropriate.

Sprinkled With Immersion

2009-12-23T08:43:00.000-08:00

"Nice shirt." I said passing my roommate's door. We were both getting ready for a Christmas party at the Wellington Hotel, a "5-star" accommodation up the road from our Nigerian home Prodeco Estates. He was wearing a cheap orange and burgundy Southeast Asian garment purposely made to look like African apparel.

"I've got another one that you can wear."

"No thanks. I've got a shirt."

"Hey man, you're the one always complaining that you want to experience the culture. Quit bitching, go buy a shirt and dress like them"

"Okay.," I laughed, "let me just run over to Thailand and grab one. I'll be right back." The tag actually says MADE IN THAILAND!

He did not understand the inherent problem of dressing like a Nigerian in Thai clothes, but I can appreciate his attempt. Hell, I did buy a shirt a few months ago, intended to be a gift for someone, but I've yet to give it away. Partially because I now feel like a schmuck for paying way too much for it and partially because I haven't pictured anyone I'd like to see as a schmuck for wearing it. It's not exactly the sort of thing you would wear back in the States...anywhere.

Returning from the party proved to be a spectacular adventure. After Nigerian food, dancing and a live band complete with it's very own dancer, we were caught in an immense traffic jam. Actually, we went around and through an immense traffic jam. It's apparently a liability to leave us in traffic for two long, especially in one of the seedier areas in town, so our mobile police escorts spent most of our ride home on foot directing vehicles to stay put at the threat of discharging AK-47's. Thanks to awful planning - a crane blocked an entire direction of traffic for several hours to no apparent reason at 3PM - I was afforded the opportunity to buy carrots from the bus window, take pictures (unfortunately with someone else's camera) of station wagons loaded with too many plantains, ride for several miles on the wrong side of a divided highway and practice my Pidgeon with passengers in crammed minibuses. It's been one of the best afternoons in Nigeria yet.

Somewhere Between Two Oceans

2009-12-22T11:39:00.000-08:00

Lo! Picture uploading is once again ready to cooperate!

Sometimes I don't have anyone to share in my marvelous wit. Thankfully, I have cyberspace to tell me just how hilarious I really am. A few weeks ago, the everyday drudge of coming to work every day (that's every single day of the week every week) was becoming unbearable, so I had to give myself something to look forward to. In this case, I was hoping to overhear others as they passed the main bulletin board grumbling, "Who's the idiot that put this up?" Instead, I was given a bounty of brilliant responses ranging from, "What is it about this map that doesn't look right?" to a completely dumbfounded stare that certainly ended with the geographically challenged individual bursting a blood vessel or two in his brain. It has surely been too much to comprehend.

Pidgeon 101

2009-12-20T06:19:00.000-08:00

In life, I’ve met many, many people who claim to know “quite a bit” about foreign languages, of which, in fact, they know virtually nothing. I often find that those who very quickly assert their vast knowledge of a second language have merely learned a few simple greetings along with some insults and curse words. But in my book this doesn’t count. I’ve met more than my fair share of expats that allege in conversation, “I picked up quite a bit of Arabic in the Middle East. A LOT of it.” Sorry pal, but learning “sukran” (thank you) does not mean you “picked up” a lot of Arabic. Also, I’m not impressed with the fact you can tell me to “Fuck off!” in four languages either (Inshallah they’ll get over themselves). I lived in the Middle East for nine months and I learned two words. The reason: no one wants to speak Arabic, especially to a non-Arabic speaker.

Regardless, in the spirit of us all becoming “proficient” speakers of a second language, it’s time for you all to become “conversational” in Pidgeon English, for when after reading my blog you have the steadfast desire to hop the next flight to Lagos. I apologize to all of you that already know 5 or 6 words in a dozen separate languages, because you are well on your way to becoming celebrated linguistic anthropologists if you are not already.

GREETINGS
“How fah now?” – “How are you?”
(The “H” is semi-silent, depending upon the speaker and “fah” is actually the pronunciation for “far.”

“How you de?” – “How are you doing?” Response: “I de” or “I de fine.”

But if you are a wannabe Rastafarian, it’s best to say, “Area!” “Hey Ruud boy!” or “Yea mon!”

The function of “de” is to form verbs in the present participle. So:

“Whetin’ you de do?” is “What are you doing?”
“Whetin’ you de talk now” is “What are you saying?”
“Whetin’ you de chop?” is “What are you eating?”

In response:

“I de work.” – “I am working.”
“I de chop cheeken.” – “I am eating chicken.”

To get right down to it, if you are unsure of how to say something, your best bet is to say the phrase in English, place “de” before the static verb root, add “’em now” at the end, and you’re well on your way to speaking Pidgeon. For example, “Pick that up,” “You pick ‘em now,” or “Carry ‘em go now.” This works particularly well for commands.

Of course, I wouldn’t end without sharing an insult or two. So far, the insults I’ve learned have been relatively mild, for instance, “Why you de do like small picken?” which translates to “Why are you acting like a child?” My favorite, though relatively harmless phrase, is “You no reesh,” which liberally means that someone is not capable of such a thing. It can be used like, “whatever,” “yeah right,” “you wish,” etc.

This is just a taste, but if you have read this entire post, and you are one of the people I have described above, then CONGRATULATIONS!, you are now fluent in Pidgeon. It's not easy. But, if you don’ redd, jus’ be cool. Yea mon!

Bad Juju

2009-12-19T11:14:00.000-08:00

“Hi Martin. I know u want to be a butterfly but u lie to me. I stay at home for weeks to tell u I am honest but u try to fool me and u will pay for it. I am Nigeria girl. My spirit is angry with u. U will live Nigeria is not a boost but is a belt because Nigeria money is not good for you too."

About a week after arriving in Nigeria, I received this text message on my phone. The message led me to two conclusions, 1) A guy named Martin once had the mobile phone that was now issued to me, and 2) Martin was screwed.

Juju is a very real notion in Nigeria and that is what this "Nigeria girl" was summoning upon Martin. Whether you know it as juju, voodoo, witchcraft or magic, the craft is taken quite seriously and all Nigerians with which I’ve discussed the topic have an unwavering belief in its mysterious power.

Just the other day, I quite happily happened upon my crew discussing the charms that various friends of theirs had commissioned for the holiday season. As ever, I was glad to play the skeptic and point out their naivety. There was an instant and furious retort. I was the one so naïve they claimed. In short order, I was regaled with stories of not only bullet & machete-stopping charms and invisibility charms, but also HIV-inducing curses and magic dust that turned unfortunate individuals into zombies much like those from The Serpent & the Rainbow.

It was incredible. For them, these charms and curses are a part of life, a big part. More or less, it’s juju that keeps the creeks of Delta State teeming with militants. Most of the militants, according to the boys, have downed a concoction that protects them from bullets. This charm keeps the militants from harm, at least until they sleep with a woman. (Those damn women have ruined it for men again – first the garden and now this!) Despite my protests – that the soldiers shooting at the militants were simply horrible shots – they claimed to have also been witness to various displays of men bravely standing in front of discharged weapons to come away unscathed. Well, I pleaded, those shooting the guns were clearly shooting blanks, but they would accept none of this. I was promised that, sooner or later, I would witness the power of juju before leaving Nigeria.

Needless to say, it’s not a surprise that magic grips most of these people stronger than reason. Faith grips most in the West stronger than reason. Finally I told them to bring me a machete and a chicken that was protected by a machete-stopping charm. When I later shared the story with my co-workers said, “I don’t know, those charms may work - have you ever tried to catch a chicken?”

A Belated Anniversary: Happy Xmas

2009-12-03T12:00:00.000-08:00

Well, as of 01 December it has officially been one year of semi-abroad life. After averaging 363 1/2 days of the year within U.S. borders during the first 23 years of my life, I have graduated, I believe, to expat status having spent roughly 45 days in country and over 300 in something like eight others (and at least 200 hours in neutral air space). Even though this anniversary was not marked, it was met with celebration and tidings of the Christmas season, or Xmas as my Nigerian brethren know it. "Mr. Shaun, you travel soon for Xmas. What will you be bringing me? You just bring me one cap."

Regardless of what you may have heard, Xmas began 01 December. No, you cannot say otherwise, it has begun and is well underway. The subject of Xmas dominates daily work conversation. In particular, speculation on what "Boss will bring us" consumes their thoughts throughout the day. "You know boss, I was thinking..."

In that spirit, I've decided that I do not want to disappoint. The first time around, I grew tired of their constant requests for, jeans and cameras and glasses and gloves. But this time around, I've grown tired of "getting tired" of their requests. It's not so much to bring back a few t-shirts or a slick pair of slacks from Goodwill. Why shouldn't I do these things? Returning empty-handed does not stop their requests, so perhaps I'll spread a little Xmas cheer.

Customer Service

2009-11-30T10:20:00.000-08:00

Lately, some people have called me a complainer. As I see it, it's not that I am so much a complainer, but rather I have certain expectations and when those expectations aren't met I become disappointed. I don't think my expectations are unfair but perhaps have increased in recent times. Still, in keeping with my supposed complain-ating ways I'm not going to disappoint.

Customer service in Nigeria is horrendous. This is particularly true at the Prodeco Estate where I live. You can EXPECT several things. Any greeting you receive, if you are so lucky as to receive one, will not be with a "Hello" or "What would you like?" or any words at all for the matter, but with a frown and eyes that stare as if absolutely annoyed that you would even consider ordering a meal or a drink at a restaurant of all places. To that end, I much prefer my server to slowly saunter up, feet dragging, bored out of her wits, only to stare at her tablet, pen in hand never lifting her eyes from the paper. Of course, either of these scenarios is only played out when a server, after several minutes of watching you from across the room, decides it's time to get on with the inconvenience of taking your order.

Now, certainly, I don't EXPECT the type of service one normally receives in the States, but it's unreal just how poor the service really is here. It truly disappoints me. Truly. As I think we all know, a little personality goes a long way in the service industry. Unfortunately, most of the girls here have the wrong personality; the sort that sends customers out the door. All I'm asking for is a smile or, if not that, maybe just a grunt.

Marcupial Babies of Africa

2009-11-25T12:36:00.000-08:00

Just to let everyone know, I can't post pictures anymore. My "high speed 3G" internet is much more akin to the internette than modern technology.

My favorite thing about Africa is babies. Not because they are babies and that I like babies, which I do to an extent, but it's more along the lines of how mothers carry babies in Africa. Most often, when you see a baby in public, you see her/him riding upon it's mother's back, secured by colorful cloth of some sort.

I love this. I never fails to make me smile when I see a baby strapped safely in it's African car seat, as I've come to call them. It's fortunately one of the seemingly few practices that Africa refuses to mimic of Western society.

You can expect one of either two "riding styles" when happening upon a mother burdened with child; either way your a winner. I can't decide which is better or more cute. Imagine this: an infant, a cute infant, strapped tightly to her mother's back, bouncing in her mother's stride, head decoratively shaved, arms flailing, wobbling to the beat of her mother's step, absolutely content in the closeness of her birth-giver, head turning here and there amazed at the world, emotionless yet happy. I've never seen a baby cry on her mother's back. Or: asleep, cute, chubby little face smashed against the small of her mother's back, oblivious to the hardships of riding helmet-less upon dangerous Nigerian roads (though this does not make me smile), cradled gently though firmly in a cotton cocoon of cloth and mother's warmth. Still, I've never seen a baby cry upon her mother's back.

It's one of my very few absolute joys in a place of quite regular sadness. The cute and chubby little bastards.

Climate Change

2009-11-18T11:08:00.000-08:00

Within 48 hours, the Delta has transformed from a deep green, rain-soaked, puddle-ridden wetland to a hazy, dry, sun-blocking dust bowl. The Harmattan wind has begun to blow bringing dust from the Sahara on it's way to the Gulf of Guinea. A seasonal trade wind, the Harmattan blows from November until March causing a bit of a dry spell for the normally drenched area.

Somehow the winds are supposed to cool the lands, but it's unclear to me just how that's possible. The Sahara is hot. Even if it receives some snow every couple of decades, every single day must be sweltering. How does it follow that this trade wind originating from the bowels of the world's greatest desert actually cools anything? It's questions like these that make me weep with joy for Wikipedia...even if not 100% dependable. Alas, Wikipedia let me down and I was forced to learn (from perhaps an even less credible source) elsewhere that the Harmattan actually pushes the "hot summer days" away. But...

Nigeria isn't that hot, though every single local inhabitant will tell you otherwise. Well, at least the Delta isn't that hot. I think Houston is worse. Abu Dhabi is certainly worse. (Okay, so I've become a bit biased on what should appropriately be considered hot.) And another thing, I remember with phathom sweats a couple of awfully painful nights spent atop a shade structure in Senegal - Harmattan blowing, body sweating, thirsting for water that would not be turned back on until morning, begging for just a miniature battery-operated fan, dreaming of bathing in a tub filled with Africa Orange - that was the hottest I have ever been in my life.

What's more, the Harmattan is supposed to bring with it irritability and bad tempers. Really. Well, I guess work is going to get even better. I can already hear my crew telling me about the bad spirits swept up by the winds that have come to cause them harm.

Goonie Beach!

2009-11-12T10:22:00.000-08:00

Over my wonderous vacation last month, I was given the opportunity for one of life's most spiritual journeys. Upon reaching the great Pacific Northwest by train, and unbeknown to me until shortly after arrival, I would be afforded the chance of this unforgettable pilgrimage, one that would transcend time and space, causing the reemergence of my youthful wonder and melding it with the contemplative nature of my present self, a discovery that would cast away all doubts of magic and enchantment and lead me straight to Goonie Beach!

Perhaps I was weary from the arduous journey, but I could plainly hear the crashing waves call, "HEY YOU GUYS!!!" As the great expansive blue danced the truffle shuffle, spilling upon the beach, I crept with intention through the sand, wondering how the beach had changed since One-eyed Willie's day. Just off the beach, rising like a magnificent black mountain lay what can only be called Goonie Rock, it's majesty humbling passerby and marking the land for passing ships. From it frigate birds leaped and upon it they landed, making house upon it's cracks and crags.

With sorrow, I left as the sun set, it's few fading rays beaming bright upon Goonie Beach. But still, good show you Goonies.

The Bleeps, The Sweeps & The Creeps

2009-11-10T11:52:00.000-08:00

Growing up in the Midwest, life was easy. There was always hot pockets in the freezer, plenty of Tide for my mom to clean my dirty undies & NOTHING creepy to inject some wild bush disease into my body. Short of the recently discovered mosquito peddling West Nile or the sly deer tick pushing Lyme disease, I could roam the gullies of Illinois carefree. The poor children (and adults) of Nigeria, however, have no such luck.

First of all, as we all know, mosquitoes up that antie on their North American cousins by carrying robust quantities of malaria. But it gets worse. The black mamba is not only a card-carrying member of "the world's most venomous snakes" club, but it also apparently tricked some poor bastard into naming it "black" when in fact it's green. The "black" comes from the color of it's mouth. (Seriously, the people of Africa have enough problems. We don't need to make it worse by causing them another moment of hesitation. "Is that a black...STRIKE!) When it comes to snakes, I will always root for Rikki-Tikki Tavi.

They've got spiders. They've got ants. They've got massive tree roaches. I'm talking huge. They've got flies that bite and leave eggs under the skin. After several days, the red and raised skin is nothing more than protection for hatched larva. There is even a disgusting sort of worm that, well, let me put it this way: I was told that a man once went to the doctor for worms. As I heard, "He went **** on ***** and even ****** them without a ******. When he peed it hurt. When he went to the doctor she pulled a worm out of his *****. They come from the ***** *****. I'll leave it to you to fill in the blanks. Frankly, it's too disgusting to share more vividly.

2009-11-09T11:54:00.000-08:00

Upon my return to Warri, I was (and still am) bombarded with questions regarding the gifts I had brought for everyone from The States. Not wanting to disappoint (and because I had in fact brought nothing for anyone), I hijacked the response of a fellow I met in Lagos on my first night in country in August, "I've brought you a hard time." Suffice it to say, this was not the response any Nigerian was looking for. "Come on boss," they would say, "I come to your office later to receive." Of course, I suggested that they not waste their time as they would be yet again sorely disappointed.

The requests for gifts continue you come, but are slowly receding back to the normal Boss I am hungry, you buy us biscuits and Boss, my tooth hurts, give me some of your chewing gum (like that's what the dentist ordered). I'm much more accustomed to denying these requests.

Though this may seem like words of annoyance, I'm usually the first to defend their behavior to anyone. I often catch myself telling others it's a cultural thing; that they request the same of each other. However, I'm not really sure if that is the case. Reflecting on this, I'm drawn to the conclusion that this reaction is caused by my own naivety. It's an easy and rather quaint response, the sort of answer that evokes an "Oh. Well isn't that interesting," in the way we would look at an exotic exhibit in some spotless, marble-encrusted museum. Unfortunately, this sort of response never really gets any closer to actually understanding what causes the behavior. The answer is convenient both for the subject and the object. The subject is saved from appearing ethnocentric and the object saves its (in this case, their) integrity. It's a convenience of social discourse. It's just something we do...

So, I'm determined to become certain whether this is actually a "cultural thing" or if they are merely attempting to take advantage of my potential goodwill.

Grappling

2009-10-29T21:05:00.000-07:00

It figures, I get a reliable internet connection in Nigeria and then I don't flip any new posts. I'd like to say that several ideas for posts have been baking in this peanut butter cup-crammed cranium of mine, but it's just not the case. Rather, I've been fiddling with an infected ear and concentrating on my deep un-desire to return to the Motherland. (Perhaps it's just delicate ears, but enduring endless hours of stock Ipod earphone trauma reliably causes extreme auricular discomfort, repeated canal-probing of the index finger and eventual infection.)

Maintaining a regularly updated blog is hard. Especially for someone obsessed with nothing and fascinated by everything, keeping usual appointments requires a feeling of determination that for me generally only lasts a week or so. As you have all come to expect, I'll probably post tomorrow and perhaps the next day, then two days later, then a week later, then sit around, come back and rationalize my tardiness...like I'm doing here.

Plainly, I'm not looking forward to returning to Nigeria. I have no freedom, no leisure time, nothing really to look forward to. Paychecks me very little when you are unhappy and they mean even less when you're ecstatic. I'm somewhere between discontented and depressed. It's probably closer to the former as I believe it's uncommon for the totally despondent to as open and forthright about their feelings.

I'm returning to Nigeria in four days. Let's make the best of it!

Some Port Art Work

2009-10-06T13:03:00.000-07:00

A wall painting inside a shed at the port. I'm sure I've disappointed everyone with the lack of pictures thus far, but dread not, after seven weeks I'm finally connected to a reliable internet source.

Hoping For Peace

2009-10-04T11:23:00.000-07:00

To those not privy, a sixty-day government ceasefire and offer of unqualified amnesty toward Delta militants ends at the stroke of midnight this day. As the grace period was coming to an end and several prominent militant leaders had still not accepted the amnesty, there was fear that tomorrow the country would awake to yet another nightmare; a renewed stage of militant sabotage and government retribution. However, to delight and disappointment, the remaining principals that were yet to accept the amnesty as of just a few days ago have now accepted the government offer, bringing what appears to be at least an extension to the current peace.

“There is peace now,” said Isaac, one of our security officers, “now all American and British companies need to come to Nigeria.” There was extraordinary excitement in Warri because Government Tompolo finally accepted the amnesty last night in the capital. Hailing from Warri, he is a well-known government dissenter and rebel leader. Because of the news, the noontime streets were crammed with agitated traffic, everyone eager to watch his public disarmament. Young men stuffed themselves into speeding minivans, their upper halves obtruding from the windows and open side-sliding doors. Waving banners and whooping as we passed, they were supporters of Tompolo, surely dismayed by the surprising turn.

Expectations are too great of the amnesty. “Reformed” militants will expect money, education and jobs. The government will be expected to deliver on these promises, and to deliver immediately. It is my hope that they can deliver, but the government has a tremendous problem providing these things to the general population on a regular basis. What makes it possible to afford these measures now?

To me, the amnesty sends a contradictory and unfair message to the people of Nigeria. In one sense, the amnesty is beneficial. Potentially, it could end violence in the Delta region and provide many with formerly unavailable opportunities. However in some cases, the government will provide these opportunities to undeserving criminals (not to imply that the Nigerian government is totally free of criminality, many of its statesmen publicly admit to graft’s grip upon the various levels of government). It’s hard not to feel like the government is simply ignoring the struggling but law-abiding citizens because those citizens aren’t insurrecting against the state. Perhaps it is a worse case scenario but, if the lawful become alienated by the government’s action, what, then, keeps the lawful from turning to militancy?

I’m hoping for the best.

Independence Day

2009-10-02T12:13:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the 49th anniversary of Nigeria's independence from Britain. Despite some scattered local excitement, the day had a rather somber tone culminating with words of frustration and disappointment from President Yar'adua. As expected, most of my expat acquaintances snidely commented on "just how far" Nigeria has come since independence.

Despite the unfair comments regarding Nigeria's current condition, they still contain some truth. Post-colonial Africa is in distress. If Africa were still under full European control, perhaps the continent would have much-improved infrastructure, more competitive economies and a higher standard of living. That's a possibility. However, I doubt the likelihood of that making Africa in general and Nigeria in particular "better off." Surely the continuation of colonialism would have still kept unreachable the benefits of economic progress from the majority of Africans. But even in one of the world's fastest-growing developing economies, Nigeria, the majority are still cut off from the benefits of economic growth.

So, what is there really to celebrate when, over the course of nearly fifty years, the country has faced constant turmoil in the form of military coups, civil war and corruption? There are some things to celebrate: the continuing growth of the middle class and a decade of democratic even if-flawed processes, the longest such streak since the country's birth. That is positive progress but Nigeria still needs more. Nigeria, and Africa as a whole, needs a generation of people like the generation that championed for independence forty and fifty years ago. They need a generation of people who are willing to fight for democratic processes through democratic processes. It needs the corrupt and indignant middle generations to realize their failures and step aside, allowing new voices to be heard rather than silenced.

The News

2009-09-30T13:21:00.001-07:00

To read about what's really going on in Nigeria, or at least from the expats' points of view, check out Oyibos World. It's an informative website and has not disappointed so far (but I've only been reading a few days). As of now, you can read articles ranging from Six Flags' intention to build a theme park in Calabar, to what MEND, Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta, thinks about China ("we see them as locusts who will ravage any farmland in minutes." Jeez guys, take it eezzy.), to how to pick out fresh fish. Of course the "fish" Oyibos is referring to is like the Flounder from Animal House; it means a newbie.

From what I've read so far, the website is quite useful. Articles are to the point, brief and without extreme bias. All in all, it's solid journalism.

Speaking of Oyibos, I've been wondering since arrival what the locals called white people. I'm used to Nigerians addressing me as "Mr. Shaun" or "Boss" and nothing more (except when I'm addressed as "Master," which makes me uncomfortable and deserves a post of its own). Sure enough, I realized today why the expat run website is called Oyibos World. Oyibo means "white person," or "foreigner." While walking down the port terminal, a young fellow in a speeding truck reached his head out the window and yelled, "OYIBO!" Finally. I was beginning to think this wasn't Africa, the land of dependable ridicule. How long must someone be in another country without being singled out? In Nigeria, it's taken exactly six weeks. In Senegal it took only six hours. I well remember walking down a dirty Dakar street, searching for food, swarmed by young Senegalese child shouting, "Tubak! Tubak!" You can always count on unwanted attention there.

Over Exposure Gave Me River Blindness

2009-09-29T12:56:00.000-07:00

Today was a frustrating day. Nearly every day is frustrating. If there is one thing you can count on every day, it is excuses. (Normally, I would say there are two things you can count on, but the electricity did not go out today.) The topic "making excuses" is a regular subject discussed with my crew, and as most recently their excuses have become utter nonsense, the topic has been especially concentrated upon this past week. That being so, one of my crew members felt it necessary to prove with convincing absoluteness that he was not fabricating any detail of his story. Mid-morning, I was approached by a helper claiming to be in need of medical assistance. "Boss, I need to go to the doctor."

"What's the matter?" I inquired, expecting the usual response of, "I'm not feeling fine," and nothing more.

"I'm not feeling fine." As he said this, he reached toward his lower abdomen. His overalls already unzipped to his waist, I expected him to rub his stomach and wince to express some flu-like, malarial symptoms, which do quite happen to be a regular occurrence.

"What's the matter?" I asked again and, looking down, I soon realized that, grabbing it's elastic waistband, he was pulling down his boxers to show me his penis. I caught enough of his member to identify it's phallic shape, but then quickly turned my head away, gesturing as if disgusted. "Boss, we are both men..."

I'm not sure why I turned away so suddenly and uneasily. I'm not afraid of another man's penis and I'm not homophobic. Besides, I'm used to men "whipping it out" to relieve themselves by the roadside and beside boxes. Perhaps I felt threatened by his manhood. Maybe I was disturbed to think I would see some hideous growth or fluid oozing from it's tip. Whatever caused my reaction, I ushered him off to the doctor and, once he was out of site, began to laugh to myself. I couldn't blame him for his honesty.

Later in the day he returned. "Boss, I have a boil. I will return tomorrow to have it cut off."

"I think you see too many women."

Grinning and pointing to his privates he said, "Yes, many women cross this." Rather unfortunately I believe it's true. As he has already admitted to having four children with four different women, I worry another may be on the way.

Updating

2009-09-28T12:03:00.000-07:00

I'm falling behind. I haven't posted in ages and I ought to be changing my blog's name from
"Christmas in Islam" to "Ramadan in Christianity...sort of." It's difficult to keep up when free moments are sparse and filled with either exercise or alcohol. Sadly, there isn't much else to do. As such, a job search is possibly drawing Nye.

I've always considered finding a job rather easy; I've always been fortunate even in my laziness. But, for others, it's not so easy. Unemployment in Warri is astronomical. It's rumored that it reaches 85%, which is unfathomable to most. I'm not sure I trust this number and have not done the research to confirm, but it makes for interesting discussion. Still, unemployment is a serious issue in the Delta region. It's distressing that a country of such immense environmental riches is so economically dysfunctional.

Nigerians share my dismay. Many do not understand what happens with their potential wealth and, frankly, neither do I. Much goes without explanation. The blame game is excruciatingly complex. Depending on who's pointing the finger, blame is placed on warloads, corporations, elected officials, communities, labor, committees, pirates, law, expatriates, terrorists, chiefs and so on. Everyone deserves some of the blame. What binds us to the blame is corruption. It shrouds us all regardless of an individual's knowing or unknowing involvement. Unknowing involvement is still tacit consent.

These African skies...

2009-09-13T18:38:00.000-07:00

Twilight is magnificent in Africa. The skies command the respect of its viewers. Dusk, grinning the delightful sailor’s red nearly every night, is an active time. Birds taking wing increase as the sun falls. Hordes of birds, like I have never seen, extend their wings away from the setting sun toward their habitations. Evenly spaced in their massive flocks the birds squawk, locating their kin for a happy slumber among the thick forest.

During monsoon season, the clouds are weighted with the moisture of coming torrential rains. Here in Nigeria, the clouds droop so low that those in the distance appear as faraway mountain peaks. The dense local forests give the soft billowy peaks the appearance of being based on solid ground, and the opaque clouds, so thick with rain, further the manifestation of a rolling mountain range.
Yet, the tallest structure in and within sight of Warri is a slender industrial tower flare – a thin steel structure representative of the thin veil of prosperity with which the oil industry wraps the region’s true poverty. Like the great eye, it ever illuminates the sky, watching over the delta and ready to crush dissent. At night, the low-lying heavy clouds reflect its flame much like they reflect the sun’s rays, causing the visual sensation of inaudible fireworks unendingly exploding in the sky. It bitters an otherwise pristine skyline, one devoid of reflective windows and glare, clear of cranes and concrete.

Alleviation... The World Is Your Toilet

2009-09-05T19:16:00.000-07:00

Now and then, excuse me, very often I’m reminded of old childhood habits. Whether I’m walking through the yards, riding the coaster bus to and from work or strolling around the compound, I’m frequently treated to regular demonstrations of male public urination. Mind you, Warri is somewhat modern, in the sense that it has indoor plumbing. Regardless of whether squat toilets are more common than working flushers, it seems the average male prefers the highway median or the sidewalk or the nearest parking block to the privacy of the nearest WC. (Hey, the world is your…toilet.)

Everyone here moves about clothed, or at least covered, so full-frontal displays are not the norm (except for the two men, often completely nude, living under a bridge), but I’m generally lucky enough to catch the important “parts,” if you know what I mean. It’s not uncommon to look out the bus window and see a man standing on the far side of the grassy medium taking a whiz. It is as if he positions himself only to prevent those on his side of the street from catching a peek, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s standing in the middle of a divided highway. Bumping along, witnessing uninhibited public pissing, I listen to my co-workers’ conjectures concerning like which barn yard animal the typical exhibitionist is most endowed. However, as many may have experienced, this particular style of waste liberation is cross cultural. My mother would be more than happy to speak of a certain little boy who, habitually relieving himself outside, kept out of sight from his own house only to exhibit arcing golden streams for all neighbors to see.

Let the river run

2009-09-05T08:02:00.000-07:00

Standing at the copy machine, I often find myself in a daze, entranced by the river and its constant traffic. Because of the past week’s continuous rain, the river is on the rise, now only a few feet from the jetty’s rim, gradually consuming the muddy banks – mornings see the tide devouring even more of the river’s edge. The water is densely packed with run-off sediment, and lost oil from inefficient outboards and container ships gives the already brown and muddy water a greasy sheen. Oil pools splotch the river, and here and there, these miniature oily planets float along, emitting greens, blues, yellows and reds layered in rings reminiscent of Saturn’s gaseous belts.

The river is highly navigable, so wide and deep, in fact, that today I witnessed a massive four-crane heavy lift vessel maneuver a 180-degree turn without striking ground - an unusual sight to observe. Slicing through this watery universe, dilapidated, sputtering tugs tow barges and sometimes barge-less log trains nearly a quarter of a mile long. Upon the lashed logs, crewmen set up makeshift tents to shield themselves from the elements as they are vulnerable to the irregular patterns of rainfall and sunshine. As they walk among the platforms of horizontal logs, the crews divert obstacles and would be pirates.

As there are no bridges in the vicinity, possibly on the entire river, ferries are in high demand. Craft of various shapes and sizes transport people, animals and goods, moving athwart up and down river. The most common vessel is shaped like a Chinese junket; wide-bottomed to accommodate several passengers, yet tapered to maneuver through the congested traffic and feeder creeks. Often, the ferries are canopied, and those that are plank-roofed carry livestock, usually goats, and bags of grain. The low horsepower outboards gurgle and spit, wheezing behind the overloaded and leaking wooden ships, often times dying mid-trip burned through its oil.

There is a creek directly across the channel from our port facilities. While strolling along the quayside, I often imagine a heavily armed speedboat contingent teeming with AK-47-wielding militia men suddenly bursting from the rivulet intending to siege the port. If there were ever an assemblage point, that would be it. The route would be swift and direct. Fortunately for us, the naval base immediately adjacent would not only anticipation such an action but surely crush any attempt.

A girl named Destinee

2009-09-01T09:25:00.000-07:00

I think the hair metal band Cinderella said it best, “You don’t know what you got, ‘til it’s gone.” Heartache on the cocaine-drenched Sunset strip of 80’s LA, when love was a bleached-blonde, bangs-styling, fishnet and mesh tank-top-wearing groupie stage-named Destinee.

Nine months in the UAE, a relatively repetitive and vacant landscape, causes one to miss even the Illinois countryside. Near Abu Dhabi, the sand wasn’t exactly stunning to view. It often had a worn out, grayish look, withered by the elements, as if its beauty had been eroded by salt and wind and its nutrients gobbled up by the empty shrubs that barely ruptured the surface. Chilly December mornings were made even colder by the sight of depressed and discolored dunes. Deeper inland the sands did retain their individuality, beaming with bright oranges and oxidized reds sparkling in the sun, but the green hues of Midwestern cornstalks and soybeans have surprising and familiar warmth.

During the flight to Nigeria, I observed the patchwork French countryside and dreamt of future fantastical bike rides past vineyards and villas, envisioning the unhurried man’s Tour de France. My motivation to fitness has lacked as of late, but the fantasy stimulated my mind enough for it to begin churning thoughts of also riding across the States and around Australia; I haven’t had those urges in some time. Geographical diversity accentuates my creativity by sparking imagination. It’s satisfying to drive between lush fields, over a silted river, through a dense wood, and around a swollen lake within minutes of each other. Travel is my Destinee and I’m addicted to her.

My first mosquito bites

2009-08-30T06:22:00.000-07:00

Malaria runs rampant in the swampy southwestern delta region of Nigeria, and it is common even for those who take preventative antibiotics to acquire the parasite and endure a few days of explosive bodily movements or worse. Until yesterday, disregarding the critter that got my ankle the first night in bed, I had roamed the port free from insect bites. In fact, I had yet to see mosquitoes on the wing until that morning.

I must admit, these mosquitoes are rather frightening. Though not of significant size, they are sturdy and appear to lack the flimsy, awkward limbs of their North American cousins. Even after a bashing that leaves a scrapped extremity, their stubbornness portrays the attitude, “Oh yeah buddy? Why don’t you try that again?!” Banded black and white, these parasite-carrying vampires are of the sort that could be part of radio-transmitted guided-missile-like insect squadrons unleashed upon the world by comic book villains to spread pestilence, wreak havoc and cause hysteria.

Alas, the moment finally arrived that, while chatting in the yard, a stealthy squad of pests attacked, leaving behind several raised, cherry lumps on my arms…bastards…

Fast forward to today, I’m showing no symptoms of malaria. No, I’m not a hypochondriac, but it’s disturbing to think that something as innocent as a mosquito bite could eventually lead to an unhappy death. Unless there are obscene amounts, mosquitoes and their nasty little bites are something I generally put up with, but will soon find myself quite actively fending off the tiny buggers.

Soaking Wet, Absorbing Information

2009-08-27T10:21:00.000-07:00

Perhaps I’ve enjoyed the rain too much, because now I’ve got a cold. Stupidly, I have often been standing in the yards unprotected from the rain and so now I’m suffering. Still, for me the rain is sort of a blessing. Sometimes it downpours so violently that if outside, there is little more one can do than find shelter – whether in a shipping container or under an umbrella – and wait out the shower. I’m learning to utilize these soggy opportunities to learn about real life in Nigeria.

My romantic fascination with Africa began only a few years ago. From the time this fascination began, I’ve wanted to experience an extended duration somewhere on the continent (much longer than what seemed like such a short three weeks in Senegal last May), so I’m glad to be here even if under conditions that are not even close to remotely optimal. However, in the situation I’ve found myself it may actually be easier for me to get close to the local population than for some traveler passing through So when it downpours I generally use this time to probe my crew with all sorts of questions. At the moment, I’m mostly interested in the current sensitivity of delta area security. And, due that most of my crew members are of the younger generation, I’m interested in learning their ideas for resolving the conflicts, in their various forms, between the government, local tribes and militant groups.

Nigerian cultural groups have a very defined and complex set of family and community relationships, which from an outsider’s point of view make life very complicated. One can quickly see this simply by observing a group of men working together. For instance, within the group that I generally supervise, there is pedigreed royalty, shady community leaders, degreed youngsters, experienced industry workers and the browbeaten. Though it’s easy to imagine a pecking order upon this basis, the cultural hierarchy is assaulted when the community heads are placed under the direction of experienced foremen of inconsequential birth. To another point, the already delicate situation can become further unhinged when the sum of men represent several communities, some of which may already have existing disagreements. Navigating throughout the day is an interesting task, so it is through questioning that I can begin to understand, however slightly, the intricacies of these relationships. Of course, the more I learn, the better off I will be.

Adaptation.

2009-08-24T00:42:00.000-07:00

This entry promises to be much less angry. I’m on my fifth day in Nigeria. After settling in, I still don’t have a solid impression of Warri, Nigeria (the town in which I’m working). To date, I’ve only seen Warri from the road at its perimeter between the airport and the port. The road, though paved, is in disrepair, strewn with potholes and seams which act as inverted speed bumps. Traffic is untamed as signals and signs are absent, and pedestrians take very seriously their privilege to the right-of-way. Reminiscent of Abu Dhabi, car horns blare constantly, very often for no reason.

The area is quite poor, as I would expect. There are very few, if any, dwellings and buildings taller than two stories. Budding capitalists set up shop beneath overpasses to sell fruit and other goods to the crowds that gather for shelter from sun and rain. The sky bursts with a refreshing downpour everyday, accompanied by several lighter rains and drizzles. I’ve been so deprived of the showers I like so well that I smile every time it rains.

Even though we are security convoyed to and from the port twice every day, I don’t believe it is absolutely necessary. The Niger Delta region of Nigeria is surely in turmoil as local communities are often in both military and political battle with each other, the government & industry. I will not discount the delicacy of this sensitive situation, but I’d certainly like the opportunity to have more freedom. So far, I feel quite safe. I believe that proper diligence – the sort of diligence one practices when traveling in any unfamiliar place – is adequate in safely moving within the city. I would not, however, go traveling about the river system or outer limits without either security or someone knowledgeable of the area. But this matters little as I’m not afforded the option.

My senses have been so overwhelmed that it’s been rather difficult to focus on one experience or subject about which to write. Fortunately, at the moment that is, the internet in my apartment is not functioning as it should, so I’ve had time to digest and contemplate this place. I’m beginning to realize that even though I’m not as free as I would like to be, there is so much activity in the delta that subject matter will not be difficult to find.

At the moment, it’s raining so hard that I can’t hear what my co-worker sitting five feet away from me is saying. What bliss.

Sweet Confusion

2009-08-18T15:20:00.000-07:00

“Such a night. Such a night. Sweet confusion. Under the moonlight.” I’m a prisoner. I can’t leave my hotel. “Lagos, particularly this part of the city, is very safe. The offices are only half a mile from the hotel, so I walk to work several times a week.”

“Can I get out of the hotel and walk around?”

“No, you’ll get fired. Don’t leave the hotel. You’ll get kidnapped if you do.”

The previous quotes aren’t a continuous exchange. The first quote came from the Lagos security consultant, an expat from I’m not quite sure where, but he spent a significant part of his last few years in a warzone (Baghdad). Later, I asked some fellow employees if we were allowed to leave the hotel and the latter was there response. Pathetic. Tomorrow, I plan to ask the security consultant, do you leave the hotel to go out on the town? I imagine he will answer with affirmation, “Of course, mate. I live here.”

I spent my first few hours in Lagos at the hotel bar, as I could not leave the premises without first understanding the punishment for leaving, drinking with some of my new associates. The malt beers of Africa all go down easy though they are heavy on the alcohol content. I had more than my fill, but was inclined to continue, showing my “spirit” – that I could hang with the boys. Tenders with the names Kingsley, Prince & Stevie served us Star beers, the name Indonesia’s famous craft had taken, only in the archipelago’s language. “I just called to say I love you. Stevie, did you play this song for me?” He didn’t get it, but I couldn’t blame him. The Nigerians I have met thus far are welcoming and jolly. Even when, excuse my language, some dickhead expatriates tried their best a belittling their drink-making skills, the locals merely smiled and continued with the usual casual and completely competent service.

Don’t use your debit card. Don’t use your credit card. Don’t leave the hotel. Don’t open your windows, the mosquitos will get in. DON’T GIVE ME UNDEPENDABLE, FALSE INFORMATION. I’m so anxious to get out and explore the city, but that dream won’t come to fruition on this trip. Perhaps in eight weeks I’ll get my wish. At the moment, I’m excited to venture further into the country, to Delta State.

A VERY Brief History of Peoria: Part I

2009-08-14T15:55:00.000-07:00

I quite recently came to the realization that I know very little about the extensive history of Peoria, Illinois and its surrounding area. To be honest, I was disappointed with myself and decided I would learn at least a bit about it's rather fascinating history. I suspect many others are in a similar position as well, so I've decided to share with everyone some of my findings.

As you can imagine, Native Americans have lived in the area near the banks of the Illinois river for thousands of years. Kickapoos, Potawatomies, Illini, Peoria & many other tribal groups called this area home and lived relatively free until the British gained control of the territory in 1763. However, the first European presence was in the mid-17th century and Fort Creve Coeur was by the French in the winter of 1680. Despite the fort being the first European settlement in the area, it appears to have been rather insignificant and played little role in Peoria's future and subsequent history.

Following the fort's destruction only a few years after its construction, Peoria did not appear as a recognizable village until around 1730 and it stayed relatively unsettled for several more years. Following a 131-year period of mainly French control, Peoria was eventually settled by American frontiersmen & women moving west in accordance with Manifest Destiny. Peoria acquired formidable groups of people of German, Lebanese & Syrian descent; developing into a rather cosmopolitan town. Still, significant growth in Peoria did not begin until the middle-19th century.

Peoria's history appears to be very similar to that of the rest of the Midwest United States. Though the above content is not terribly descriptive, it's easy (and perhaps interesting) to see that the history of Peoria moves in step with a typical U.S. history. However, Peoria has yet a truly fascinating chapter of history, it seems, very few know.

Reflecting on Home

2009-08-08T06:39:00.000-07:00

My hometown is post-industrial. I've been in denial about this unfortunate fact. Since my undergraduate years were spent in a town severely suffering from a Midwest-inflicting terminal disinheritance of industry, I anesthetized myself by ignorantly discounting the same symptoms inflicting this area. However at these ports , when the river swells from heavy spring rains, neither bank is truly threatened. On one side, the waters swallow little more than derelict brick warehouses - relics of the Roaring Twenties - and on the other, empty concrete expanses and dilapidated homes - side-effects of the post-War manufacturing boom. Peoria is but one of the several regularly unnoticed economic victims of bust and globalization.

Flanked by Windstar mini-vans and rusted Silverados, the reminders of corporate mismanagement, my morning run was, strangely enough, typical. I passed yard sales in liquor store parking lots and a sign asking, "Make offer: Pianto for sale," cut-off t-shirts and leg tattoos, dinette set hair and tourquiose Tauruses. I see everything much differently than I had ever before. The Midwest is awaiting a revival which is perhaps certain never to come.

Despite all this, the Midwest is still a place of porch sittin' and well-meaning if cautious hand waving. But it's hot in the poor places tonight.

People, Books, Music...

2009-08-07T16:22:00.000-07:00

I'm back in the States after a five-month hiatus. There are three reasons why I'm excited to be back: I get to see my family and friends, I get to gather a new selection of music for life in Nigeria, and I get to begin reading my new books. At the moment, I'm writing this post at my mom's house, listening to Lil' Wayne (thanks Tony), and will shortly after continue reading The Practical Nomad or The Happy Isles of Oceania.

I plan to spend a significant amount of my time during this vacation researching for my next vacation in October. I'm having trouble pinning down the seemingly endless options. I'm currently considering a train and hiking trek through Senegal & Mali or skiing in Switzerland. Unfortunately, it has become apparent to me that coming from Nigeria I'll be nowhere near prepared for either trip equipment-wise. So, it seems I may need to re-evaluate and explore my options. Perhaps I should be attending Oktoberfest in Germany...it only seems prudent.

More Dust

2009-08-02T08:03:00.001-07:00

"Waking in the cold dawn it all turned to ash instantly. Like certain frescoes entombed for centuries suddenly exposed to the day."

The Arabian sands have imparted upon most of the UAE a further unrelenting haze of dust. For five days now, visibility has been dramatically reduced calling to mind the post-apocolyptic druriness of "The Road." Facing the calmed but still gritty air each morning, I'm fooled to thinking the haze is lifting, but by the time I reach the yard the winds have increased and begun lifting yet more sand into the sky. Throughout the nights, the early-erupting winds cease, sprinkling spec after endless spec of sand upon vehicles and men like volcanic ash, followed by the gulf's moisture which cures the sand creating a hardened molten shell impossible to brush clear with a few sweeps.

Peoples constantly battle with the ever advancing sand. Each day, workers spend countless hours clearing streets and walkways, only to clear them again shortly after - a dusty winter ever to last and never to end - the fine blizzards eroding it all to yet more dust...

It's incredible when you think about it: this dust is possibly the progress of 10,000 years before - like certain frescoes, the rise from and disintergration to dust.

Expresso Love

2009-08-01T09:13:00.000-07:00

It's now two days until I leave the UAE, likely never to return. The urge to come back does not exist within me either, even more faint is the desire to return to the Arabian Peninsula at all. My time in the UAE has been an incredible experience, but it's a strange feeling to visit somewhere and have no desire to return. To be honest, it doesn't sit well with me as the UAE does have several redeeming qualities. Unfortunately, those qualities are not of any great significance or interest to me to arrange specific travel for them.

I had thought my most intense "hang-up" with the UAE had been Islam, plain and simple. There were so many ideas and practices within Islam that I could not comprehend, did not understand and did not want to understand. Despite the opportunity to view Muslims with more intimacy than in the U.S., I did not capitalize in as fruitful a manner as I potentially could have. Truth be told, I may have completely blown that opportunity. My qualms were perhaps based on misunderstandings or thin philosophical differences, but in general, I can characterize my distrust in its tenants because, I believed, Islam merely promoted old-world ways and suppressed cultural, economic and social progress. It took a recent and very brief conversation with a friend to make me realize this isn't a proper characterization of Islam, rather this a bane of religion in general - perhaps a proper charactization of some religions. The conversation brought me to the realization that I have removed myself so far from religion in recent years, that I truly don't have an understanding of the modern American Christian, let alone even begin to have a proper understanding of the average Arabian Muslim. (I think I understand this much about religion at least, it is constantly splintering. What I mean is it evolves like everything else, which makes it much too difficult to talk about in the general terms I have just done.)

So, two days from departure, though I am excited to return home, I am a bit disappointed that I began to "go through the motions," of the typical expat life. Perhaps I took no real chances. Perhaps I opted for comfort and familiarity. I've been wondering whether I have let myself down by being typical rather than going forth to embrace unfamiliarity.

Like Any Other Day

2009-07-19T07:56:00.000-07:00

Today is a rather dreadful day in the desert. It’s hot, yes, but the Harmattam-like haze is more irritating than the heat. The dust particulate in the air is incredibly high, as if a brown fog has swathed the land in grit. Even a few short minutes outside makes one’s hair become sand-soiled and filthy. Constant perspiration only compliments the sand, creating sheen dark grime on the skin.

The sun, faded by the blowing dust, sits small and motionless, incapable even of projecting the usual hallucination-inducing heat lines on the dunes. Yet, somehow its heat still penetrates the desert shroud, affording us no respite from the earth’s grand boiler room that is the Arabian Peninsula. The humid air drenches workers, myself included, after mere minutes, while hot air driven by hot breezes acting as a desiccate offers the only reprieve. But outside, one is always uncomfortably wet; swimming through the dust in steel-toe boots and coveralls, slowly and unknowingly drowning, inhaling moisture and desert powder; soggy canvas pulling tight and wet to the skin. Through it all, the workers still come in strong number everyday, for wages, as some say, no “civilized” man would entertain. Still they endure, a few sons as well and their families too.

The Blogging Blahs...

2009-07-13T09:52:00.000-07:00

I haven't had the desire to blog about anything in the past week. There are two reasons for this: 1) I've been exerting my creative energy in other endeavors recently, and 2) this town (and my life) have not offered me anything I feel worthwhile sharing.

Despite these two facts, life has been pleasant. I've been playing and listening to lots of music, which I hadn't done in quite some time. (Just a suggestion, if you haven't listened to all six of Dire Straits' studio recordings, you are severely missing out on some incredible rock 'n' roll. Laugh, but I'm not in the least kidding.) I've also been writing this and that, trying my hand at some fiction short stories that have bounced around in my head for maybe a year or more.

Perhaps most importantly, I've also been making rough plans for my next trip. I've certainly been bitten by more than some itsy travel bug, it's more like a travel rhinocerous has impaled me on his tusk and carried me off elsewhere. Speaking of which, I'll be heading to Nigeria within a month (after a short stint in the States, dates TBD). I imagine I'll have plenty to write about when I reach the motherland.

The Caf

2009-07-05T07:13:00.000-07:00

Cafeteria food gets me excited. Okay, all food gets me excited, but cafeteria food gets me really excited. Remember high school? As soon as the lunch bell rang, I would sprint from class to the cafeteria. I like that all of my choices are displayed in front of me and that, judging by those in line in front of me, I can get an idea of portion size. To be honest, when I choose a meal, potential food portion is the factor that holds the most weight; portion size is really the clincher in my food-choice decision making process (the curse of 11 years of wrestling and a borderline self-inflicted eating disorder).

Cafeteria's are also food on the cheap. Still remember high school? I used to spend $3.50 on a double lunch - double chicken nuggets, double mashed potatoes, double milk, double delicious - and you surely can't beat that price at many places in the States. (Sidenote for my friends in Houston that do actually enjoy the flesh: you need to go to Zydeco Louisiana Diner on Pease downtown. Not a bad cafeteria. Do it.)

The cafeterias in Abu Dhabi excite as well, but most of them carry only Indian dishes. They are still quite nice and cheap (Chappati Bog two buildings over offers all you can eat vegetarian food for 11AED, which is just over $3), but meal variety can be scant and if not hit at the right times, the food isn't exactly "hot and fresh." However, as my mother can now attest to, the best Lebanese cafeteria in Mussafah Industrial City is hot and delicious. For 18 dirhams, you get piping hot bread, lentil soup, the standard pickled veg tray, rice and the entree of your choosing (normally meat and veggies/pasta/stew something-or-other). There is also an excellent Indian/Pakistani fusion cafeteria just down the road too.

But...the best cafeteria food I have ever eaten in my life (to date) was in Kuala Lumpur.

I didn't have the fish heads, but now I'm regretting it. I believe they were about a buck each, and it would have been worth the experience. Unfortunately, despite my rather adventurous appetite, the delicious expectations of my favorite foods often trump my desire to try something new. But, to my defense, fish is still fish, right? I mean, does the head taste any different than the body? I can't imagine it does, so instead I opted for curry-drenched barbequed crab and squid.

It seemed everything was basted in at least some curry in Kuala Lumpur. It surprised me that there were so many second and third generation people of Indian descent, which probably explains that. In fact, most of the food in the cafeterias there had an enormous selection of Indian delights. Nevertheless, I love seafood, so couldn't pass up that I could have this feast above for just over $6. I certainly had more than I needed to eat, but as I was unsure when my next opportunity at culinary cafeteria bliss would be, I opted for some familiar friends.

Truth be told, the rice was my favorite part. I noticed that a couple of the people ahead of me in the caf queue were asking for a sampling of each meat "sauce," so when the attendant asked what my sauce of choice would be, I pointed my finger down and, spinning my finger like a whirlwind, I signaled that I wanted the works. It was the right choice.

Zayed Grand Mosque

2009-07-03T03:17:00.001-07:00

I don't really have much to add about the Zayed Grand Mosque. It was a beautiful mosque, but I'm still awaiting some personal religious re-awakening in the likes of Jake and Elwood.

I just heard a senator from the Phillipines say that typhoons have visited the country for decades now. Decades? Try millions of years. Perhaps a bit off topic, but something I felt like sharing.

Believe it or not, that's Donna Jean (my mom). I believe it was just before his religious transformation; the day she gave herself to Allah.

Back to Bali

2009-07-01T08:15:00.000-07:00

I didn't get to share all the stories I would have liked about Bali yet, so I have to return to the subject. So, without further ado, Monte and I were looking for scooters one afternoon when a man sitting on the side of the narrow highway asked what he could do for us. We took him up on his offer and said we needed motorbikes. He introduced himself and had us follow him down the road. He signaled at every passing motorbike and with every one that stopped, he negotiated with the driver in Balinese. After several unsuccessful attempts, he led us to a storefront that advertised motorbike rentals, found the owner, portrayed our needs to him and soon vanished. Shortly after, we had our bikes and were on the road. A bit down the line, we passed the gentleman that helped us along and he waved and smiled from the shoulder as we passed.

Despite being on the receiving end of such a nice deed, the world is a strange place to me. As I stood in a queue awaiting my turn to ride the cable car to the top of Gintang Highlands, maneuvering through a minefield of body odor, from my left and right pungent shrapnel permeating through my nasal hairs, I kept having that same thought. The world is a strange place.

For someone who is rather tolerant, open to others and accepting of cultural norms not of my own, there are some practices that absolutely and complete boggle my mind. The young man that forgoes cutting his finger nails, as they lengthen allowing them to yellow and become brittle. Watching them shatter as he runs them across the chalkboard would be worth the horrific screeches. Or the young man that has never shaven, allowing his never-to-fully-develop facial hairs grow unimpeded; each individual hair given its own seperate square plot. The hairs curl and frazzle, creating distinguishable, dirty sprouts. How I want to pluck them. How do the needs and desires of earth's people reach such a universal state, yet the practises of attaining our ends become so unrecognizable and distant from each other's that these actions earn a complete lack of understanding? My reaction is violent and visceral, like the epistemologist's to my master's thesis. I don't deserve to act in such a manner, but I'll take up this position: it is up to him to convince me he is right. Until then, I'll continue my anti-anti-ethnocentrism.

The World's...

2009-06-29T13:47:00.000-07:00

For me, the past few days have been just lovely. For the first time, I've been able to see the UAE from a tourist's perspective. It's the first time I have spent time in this country and had more than one day off; terribly exciting. Between here, Dubai and Al Ain, there is one characteristic that the emirates seem to enjoy sharing - there is a common thirst to have the largest, the biggest, the greatest of something. So, I'm pleased to bring to you the list of THE WORLD'S...that I have seen or read about in the past week:

1) Ski Dubai - The world's largest indoor ski slope. Yep, I've skiied it.
2) Dubai Mall - The world's largest mall. Yep, I bought a Harley Davidson t-shirt for my step-brother in it.
3) Burj Dubai - The world's tallest building. Yep, I've seen it.
4) The Burj al Arab - The world's most expensive hotel (to stay). Yep, I've stayed in it.
5) The Palm Jebel Ali - The world's largest man-made island. Yep, I've seen it.
6) The Dubai Marina - (Soon to be) the world's largest marina. Just read about it.
7) Abu Dhabi - The world's richest city. Yep, I'm living in it.
8) Emirates Palace - The world's most expensive hotel (to build, but not sure if that still stands). Yep, I've seen it.
9) Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque - The world's third largest mosque. Yep, I've been in it. This also includes the world's largest carpet (Yep, I've sat on it) and the world's largest chandelier (Yep, I've seen it and sat right underneath comtemplating just how strong the cable was that held it in place).
10) Big Red - The world's tallest sand dune. Just read about it.
11) The most hose in one country (unofficial record tabulated by Donna Miller) - It's just postulation, but my mom thinks the UAE uses more plastic hose than any other country in the world. It's probably true.
12) Shaun Miller - The world's best blogger! I'm him! (This last record cannot be verified as thetan level readings are to this day still unverified. [I hope somebody gets this joke...])

The Freedom To Be Chosen For...

2009-06-28T13:29:00.000-07:00

I normally don't comment much on local culture or on the Islamic faith, but I'm compelled to share a story of Arab inconsistency and my reaction to it. Today, I visited the Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque with my mother and Junella (an awesome family friend and to be it seems regular adventure companion!). We took the guided tour; guided by a local Emirati. (The mosque was beautiful and will deserve its own post soon enough). Toward the end of the tour, someone asked why Muslim/Arab women wear black. "It is not for religious reasons," he said but rather a "cultural" practice. According to him, women are not forced to wear black, but rather wear it because it protects them from the sun. He then went into a short story involving his sister and her disgust for wearing the black garb because it is hot. His reply to his sister, "Don't be upset. Be happy, because I have to wear this white robe and it shows how fat I am. You get to wear black, which is slimming." Of course, he received a laugh from his audience, but shortly after a man questioned his position.

The man had mentioned that he saw working women in the desert wearing black and that it did not look at all comfortable or cool. "It protects them," said the guide. "The only way I can explain it is you have to try it." The man asked why he (the guide) did not wear black and he replied, "Because it is hot!"

There is clearly a misstep in logic at this point. Women wear black because it protects them from the sun. Men wear white and other light colors because it protects them from the sun and is cool. Women are not forced to wear black, but when passing every women's Arabic fabric store, the only color available in women's wear is black. Where are their choices? Why would women "choose" to have only the choice of black? Our guide was adamant that westerners not believe everything they saw in the media. Well, my friend, I will not believe everything I hear during a mosque tour.

Arak

2009-06-24T01:02:00.000-07:00

Bali is a beautiful island. Once venturing from the Denpasar area, you quickly find yourself maneuvering through narrow and winding mountain roads. The hills and mountains are green and scattered, often wrapped in low sopping clouds. From the valleys, the flooded rice paddies plodded their way up the hillsides as farmers steered ox-driven plows and hand-hoed their fields. Despite the truly rustic buildings, the people seemed not poor or downtrodden but merely worn from overuse, sunbeaten and weathered from a sturdy agrarian life. Even so, the people are just lovely and we could all regale on the stories of Balinese hospitality.

We dove in the shadow of Bali's greatest volcano, resting between dives at the hotel restaurant on the bay by guzzling Bintang's and snacking on fresh fried peanuts. Though the persistent t-shirt sales boys were ever pushing their garments, they weren't terribly bothersome and most of our time passed hassle free. "Later," they would say, referring to when we would perhaps buy souvenir shirts. After the day's dives and subsequent lazing, we always dined at the restaurant, which offered traditional Indonesian food and, quite literally, some of the best burgers I have ever tasted - they could legitimately compete for top honors of my personal palate.

On our last night in Tulamben, while sitting at the table chatting with our guide about diving and drunk driving, he offered us some Arak, a local liquor made from coconut. Of course, I couldn't turn him down. He asked the hotel staff if it was available and we continued our conversation. Some time later I asked if we were still to drink some arak. He affirmed but said an employee had to run out and buy some. Meanwhile, he told us that we should be careful if getting arak in Denpasar, because some tourists had just died from drinking arak from unmarked bottles. It had been cut with methanol. Shortly thereafter, the waitress brought us the arak contained in a Dannone Aqua water bottle. We joked at Mitra's earlier warning of drinking arak from an unmarked container, but he said the drink was safe in this part of Bali. He was drinking it as well, so I was not in the least bit concerned. Mixed with fresh orange juice, the liquor was quite nice. Like vodka, but not quite so harsh; surprising for homemade moonshine.

There were a few locals sitting at the next table and they were excited to see us drink the arak. Be careful, they warned, but I think the Balinese hold little tolerance for booze. Our bottle disappeared in 20 minutes and it was certainly alcohol, but didn't pack the whallop of its American cousin. My grandmother could vouche for that. In the end, we were treated to the bottle.

Can't Leave Rap Alone, the Streets Need Me...

2009-06-23T01:42:00.000-07:00

The same goes for the blogging world, so I'm getting back in the game. I've been back in the UAE from lovely SE Asia for a few days and I've come to this conclusion: The Middle East is not for me.

Fortunately, while in Kuala Lumpur, I did discover my true calling: A life of adventure, getting back to my (non)-Native American roots and exploring the great big world:

We decided to stop in Kuala Lumpur for a few days on the way back from Bali simply because we could. We had to connect through there anyway, so why not stop for a couple of days. It was such a pleasant surprise to find out that Kuala Lumpur is an absolute jewel. It's worth stopping in Kuala Lumpur just for the markets. And, as luck would have it, this particular jewelry shop at the old Central Market had an incredible collection of Native American artifacts (the employee was kind enough to humor me for these photos). While I explored the markets, it gave my trusty steed a chance to relax from pace and perils of traveling:

So, saddle up all you buckaroos and I'll offer some tall travel tales and catch you up to speed over the next few posts. Yeehaw!

Pre Bali Punch List

2009-06-04T01:56:00.000-07:00

1) After directed by a friend, it was only yesterday that I realized the irony of TGI Fridays in the Muslim world - "In here, it's always Friday." Friday is the holy day. It's like saying, "In here, it's always the Sabbath!" Praise Christ! I'll have the grape juice and crackers brother!

b) I'm leaving for Bali tonight.

Appendix 1) Update from my previous post: Sidgwick is no longer the "charming lad" I had once known. It appears my latter account of him was absolutely spot on. He's reverted to life on the streets. You are about to witness the strength of street knowledge...

Sidgwick: The Return

2009-05-30T21:14:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my birthday. It was rather uneventful and pleasant as most days, but this morning I received such a wonderous gift from kitty heaven. This morning news reached my ears of the sighting and hopeful return of Sidgwick the Cat. The poor fellow had been missing for over six months now but appears to be more than merely surviving. Still handsome as ever, the folks who found the charming lad took this picture of him:

Apparently the old boy has been living in an abandoned house...what a roughneck. Talk about a real-life "Homeward Bound," moment. I like to imagine Sidgwick betting against all odds to find his way back to the promise land (Driscoll Street) braving the treacherous traffic of Bissonett and tricking the gnome who guards the 59-Bridge of Knowledge into allowing him to cross. Sidgwick: A Cat's...Tail???

That is just a fantasy. The real story goes as such:

Sidgwick. Born on the streets of Houston, abandoned by his father and separated from his single mother at a young age, he was rescued by the kind heart of a cat-loving lady and passed to...Wade Allen. However, Sidgwick, with his roughhewn lifestyle and streetwise ways, could never grow accustomed to the comfort of a stable home. He yearned for more; for the squatter's life; a life of half-eaten kibbles and worn out queens in heat. Could Wade bring Sidgwick back from the brink? Would he want to come back?

The Billowing Sail

2009-05-29T06:29:00.001-07:00

The Burj al Arab is the world's only 7-star hotel (as the owner describes the property). Every room is at least a one bedroom suite that comes with a personal butler, automated environment control system, a spiral staircase, a jacuzzi, and floor-to-ceiling windows with view of the gulf. The smallest room in the hotel is 1,800 square feet. I won't rub it in, but I just stayed in this place on Thursday night. It's been almost twenty-four hours since checkout and I've still got a First Class hangover. I believe our room, a two bedroom suite, was larger than the house in which I grew up.

The only word I can really use to describe the experience: incredible. I'll admit it. I fell for it. But it's easy to do; to fall for all the fanfair and sensationalism. Take the description from "The World's Most Expensive Cocktail: 27.321":

This extraordinary creation is the world's most expensive and exclusive adaption of the renowned "old fashioned cocktail". Made with 55 year old Macallan Single Malt Scotch Whisky from the the limited lalique decanter "natural colour". This precious whisky is stirred with "dried fruit bitters," produced exclusively for Burj al Arab.

"27.321" was prepared with ice cubes, made of water from the Macallan Distillery and stirred with a piece of wood from the original Macallan sherry casks.

The cocktail was served in a baccarat 18 karat gold glass. The glass in its tailored leather box and a personal numbered certificate was issued for the limited drink to every of the ten buyers.

Only ten people were served the drink named after it's price tag. "27.321" sold for 27,321 AED, or roughly $7,439.51 USD a glass. You can still order the 55 year old Macallan's for about half the price (minus the stick...) and the bitters can be tasted for about $55.

The view from the pool. Excuse me. Let me correct myself. This is what the Burj looks like from the top...

Looking up from the mezzanine.

Staying at the Burj is like being on a different planet. Everything about that lifestyle is so foreign: butler's drawing the jacuzzi, cold towels in the lobby, coat tails. At the end of the night, I had realized I wasn't cut out for this lifestyle. I did, however, find that I was good at cutting other things - like rugs on the dance floor (and we all know that from my previous posts!).

Look at me. I left my heart on that dance floor.

Jebel Hafeet

2009-05-25T11:09:00.000-07:00

Over the usually short weekend, Friday, I went to Al Ain, the largest inland oasis in the UAE. (The edge of Al Ain is in the picture below.) Al Ain is much more charming than Abu Dhabi. There are no large buildings, traffic is virtually non-existent, and there is actually CULTURE to be found. (I've of course over-generalized immensely. Abu Dhabi has culture and I'm sure Al Ain has traffic during the week, but I don't believe I've really experienced either before.) I didn't spend much time in Al Ain, but we did get a chance to visit one of the tallest mountains, and I believe tallest named mountain in the UAE, Jebel Hafeet. The mountains stands alone in the middle of the desert rather unassuming as you approach and even as you climb, but at the top the peak seems quite high up.

This picture wasn't at the peak, but it is a good example of the sharp corners of the road. The road to the top of this 3,400 foot peak is over seven miles. It's incredibly steep and much sharper than any road I've ever been on (well, maybe not quite as sharp as Mt. Storm, WV...) I'm not sure if it's true, but I've been told the road cost one billion dirhams (about $300 million USD). On the far side from Al Ain you can see the desolate expanse that is the Sultanate of Oman. We didn't cross the border, but there is a town close...somewhere out there. This picture makes me think the desert must be a shitty place to live...It's so barren and harsh. If I were a Bedouin, wait, I'm not even going to imagine that...

Yet, back on the Al Ain side there is a lush park at the foot of Jebel Hafeet. The mountain has many springs running from it (hence Al Ain the oasis city). The park is nice, but I wouldn't get in any of the springs or swimming pools. Throughout the park, we would pass a group of men standing in a spring rinsing out there mouths and washing. (I swear I have never seen so many people rinse out their mouths before!) Then, about 50 feet down spring there would be another group, and so on, and so on. My idea of a refreshing dip is not in the backwash of 30 dirty mouthes and grimey pairs of feet.

For Delivery or Take Away?

2009-05-24T01:59:00.000-07:00

Yes, I'd like my laundry delivered while still warm please...My friend Monte took this picture on his way home from work the other day. The guy has a washing machine strapped to the back of his bike.
This is just a taste of the hilarious situations witnessed here. About a week ago, my boss and I saw two guys sitting on top of igloo water coolers riding in the bucket of a front-end loader. Unfortunately, neither of us had a camera at our disposal.

Necky Neck

2009-05-23T01:57:00.000-07:00

I would have never thought I would be so happy to do my own laundry. I'm nearly to the point of doing my own laundry in the bathroom sink, because the delightful chaps that regularly do my laundry do not provide the care and tenderness I expect out of my launderer when hanger-izating my shirts (I had to do it...a little treat to those following along. If you don't get it, I'm disappointed). In Tony D's words, they make my shirts all "necky neck." That's where the neck of the shirt becomes stretched out and it gives the wearer (myself) an even more disheveled look than he (I) has normally. I'm getting tired of it. So tired, in fact, that I prolong taking my clothes to the laundry as long as I can. I figure the fewer washes each article is forced to endure, the better the condition each piece will stay. I've even asked the fellows to simply fold my shirts, but they never do. I'd like to complain, but the guys are so lovable it's hard to be too upset. Besides, it's just a shirt.

Me

2009-05-17T10:54:00.000-07:00

Aloha! Well, I thought I would just spit out a sort of update of my life this time. Most of my posts have been about some subject or another and rarely about me specifically. So, I'm going to try to make this one about me...because I'm a selfish person anyway.

But first, The Heat lost in the championship series last Thursday. It was a heartbreaking defeat. After winning the first game in extra innings (yours truly was an all star, throwing out two runners at the plate from left field and one at third), we were clobbered the second game and gave up a late lead in the third game to finish second in the league. Unfortunately, in the second game, I made a Edmondsesque attempt on a ball and landed square on the shoulder I injured last week (swinging a bat), so now I'm not sure what is going on except it's now basically impossible to throw a ball, swinging the bat hurts like a mf and every time I lift my arm above my head it pops and is painful. I think I need a doctor.

The doc will just have to wait for my return from Bali. I'll be soaking up the sun in June on the Indonesian coast and diving in its diverse waters. The trip is to be extraordinarily delicious. After a week on the beach, I'm then heading to Kuala Lumpur for a few days. I'll be leaving Islamic bliss for even greater Islamic bliss. Yallah!

The last few weeks, some of my co-workers have been a bit hysterical as this job is closing down and, due to the current global economic situation, there are not many overseas opportunities available. To top it off, our client is trying to make a very significant budget cut. Those three factors mean people are freaking out. My demobilization date has gone from 30Sep to 3oAug to 30Jul in a matter of days. Lucky for me, I'll still probably be here until September or later (pending this next piece of info).

Today I was asked to submit my resume for a position in Nigeria. I complied. That could change everything for me. If accepted, I could be shipping out of here by July and heading to Dark Continent for an indeterminate length of time.

Water Rationalization

2009-05-12T12:01:00.001-07:00

Management has begun a "conserve energy" campaign in my building, so miniature posters have been plastered all over the building, even in tenants' apartments. This one is right inside my door:

There are two problems with this poster. 1) Even if I leave for five minutes, I turn off every single light in my apartment. However, at least half the days I return from work after the maid has cleaned, which is three days a week, I find at least one and often several lights left on, not to mention my A/C blasting and once I swear someone listened to my iPod. So, first problem, get your own house in order. Train the crew to turn off lights, not flick them to the waste energy position. 2) What the hell is "rationalization for power consumption"?! I had to rationalize just to figure out how to rationalize for power consumption, and then I actually had to rationalize power consumption. This just wasn't going to work. Alas, it took me about a week to realize, or at least postulate, that the non-trivial pursuit genus editionist that developed this poster thought s/he was meaning "rationing," and, as we all know, us native English speakers love to -ization words and activities. At least, this is the explanization at which I concludizationed.

Go Heat!

2009-05-09T21:52:00.000-07:00

Our softball team, The Abu Dhabi Heat, won our first playoff series yesterday and have advanced to the championship series this Thursday. This is the team after the game. As you can see, and I'm sure you're not surprised, I'm the sweaty one. Thanks to my over-active sweat glands, my shirt is twice as dark as anyone else...even the fat guy's! I don't want to toot my own horn or anything, but beep, beep. (Gross I know.)

It's alot of fun playing with these guys. Even though I'm tired of driving to Dubai every Saturday, I'll miss playing with them. These guys work outside in the heat six or seven days a week for way too little and still come to play every weekend because they love it. Some of them are really good too. We've got the best SS/3rd combination in the league and a couple of guys stroke consistent gappers like it's nothing.

Just Stupid

2009-05-08T06:49:00.000-07:00

Sometimes people here do utterly senseless things (like me taking this picture while driving); take, for instance, the demolition of this building. There is virtually nothing between the entire street side of this and the street, save for a thin blue barrier. There are no lanes blocked off, and cars and people pass immediately below where the building stands.

Safety is simply not an issue for many people over here. It wouldn't take much for some rebar to break through the weakened concrete, sending a massive chunk of sweet release careening to the street. I doubt that anyone on this construction sight has thought of this or even cares. It's like this all over town and the emirates. On the way to Dubai a couple of weeks ago, there were several guys climbing around on a hundred feet up on a billboard without harnesses.

Bacon Back

2009-04-29T10:07:00.000-07:00

It seems fitting that, at a time when the world is fatter than ever, people are contracting swine flu. We are pigs. This confirms it.

By the way, anybody throwing out bacon can send it to me. I'll eat it.

The Shwarma Club Card

2009-04-27T12:15:00.000-07:00

I eat too many shwarmas. I have a few shwarmas for dinner maybe twice a week. They are fast, cheap and delicious; the quintessential Middle Eastern street food. Just walk up to the cash register, get your receipt, head to the window and watch the guy prep and wrap your arabic bread eveloped goodies. I don't get tired of them.

I usually go with the chicken even though the lamb are more authentic and equally delicious. I have three usual haunts that I typically frequent and then another place that I only get to every so often. Not suprisingly, each restaurant has their own take on the shwarma; Automatic offers the traditional meat/fries/room tempurature mayonnaise shwarma, Mubashir tops theirs with lettuce and tomato, and (damnit if I'm not blanking on the name...I guess I need to make a visit) does up the spicy shwarma. However, best of all, my less-frequented but favorite shwarmas come from Lebanese Flower. Their shwarma meat is covered with the butteriest and most delectatious greasiness of all. I'm usually pretty excited on my way over.

This constant "shwarm"-ing got me thinking that one of these restaurants should issue a shwarma club card, like Subway...buy ten shwarmas get one free. Whichever establishment first to offer it would have my loyalty. Maybe I should pitch the idea on my next shwarma outing.

Ring of Gyges

2009-04-26T07:58:00.000-07:00

I had to sit at my computer screen for several minutes thinking about how to describe the unbelievable story posted in the link below. All I can say is check it out, read the story and watch the video. You must watch it, but I warn you it is disturbing.

http://www.abcnews.go.com/Blotter/Story?id=7402099

This is some real Ring of Gyges shit. This story is a perfect example of "untouchable" status causing a person to become absolutely morally bankrupt; a person who mercilessly tortures someone suspected of cheating him out of $5,000 in grain. Unfortunately, the most pathetic and saddening part of this entire sham is the statement from the UAE government, as it said, "all rules, policies and procedures were followed correctly by the Police Department." With that statement, morality and justice as a basic social construct have evaporated faster than water in the desert. What a crock.

Damn Doorknobs

2009-04-19T12:31:00.000-07:00

As most of you know, I’m kind of a derelict. It’s mostly my mom’s fault. Anyway, because of my condition, I usually lock myself out of my room at least once every two weeks. When the Filipino receptionists see me get off the elevator at the mezzanine level, they now normally grab the spare key without my asking. It’s generally the only reason I need to stop on that floor. “Hi sir. Key again?” (At my worse, I once stopped at reception to get my spare key after getting groceries. I rode up to the 9th floor, unlocked my apartment, dropped off the groceries, and went back to reception to return the spare key. Upon returning to my apartment, I realized I had once again left the key in my apartment. That was kind of embarrassing; especially for a nervous guy. I considered for a second trying to find some way to break in, but deemed it impossible for someone as superbly moronic as I was at that moment.)

It’s not all my fault though. For whatever reason, many doorknobs in this country do not even rotate. The knob is relatively useless, save for grabbing hold up. I can open my apartment door without even touching the knob. I think I should call “SHENANIGANS!” on my doorknob, because if I leave my room without the key, then I’m screwed because I can’t get back in without it. SHENANIGANS!

Red Bull Air Race

2009-04-17T10:21:00.000-07:00

Finally, I've had one of the better weekends here in a while. Dubai was quite fun last night; I got to eat pork and dance for what seemed like hours. Even better, I was hungover this morning. We came back to Abu Dhabi and went to the Red Bull Air Race on the corniche.

There were thousands of people camped out on the beach watching today's qualifying for the race tomorrow. As I think I've mentioned, the public beach in Abu Dhabi is segregated. There is a family and ladies's beach and a men's beach. Of course, we were three guys (trying to pass a cousins...family right?) so we were denied access to the f&l side. Ridiculous. Fortunately for us, even though security kept us from entering the f&l beach, the ticket man gave us f&l beach tickets. Normally there is a barrier up between the beaches, but it was partially removed today, so we just showed our tickets and entered the f&l side from the men's beach. Suckers!

The qualifying was interesting to watch. Basically, all the planes complete an obstacle course of air-inflated gates. Each plane makes two passes through the course. I got some cool video, unfortunately my connection here doesn't allow me to upload videos to my blog. Finally, to top off the weekend, I gave in to my Midwestern American urges and had a cheeseburger and milkshake a Fudruckers. I know. I've never eaten there in the States. Why would I eat there here???

The Juice

2009-04-15T10:07:00.000-07:00

I haven't had much interesting happen lately, I'm tired, and have nothing really to say. Since I've been back, I've had one day off and my second will be Friday. Tomorrow night I'm going to Dubai. Party time once again.

I joined a gym a couple of months ago (perhaps I've mentioned this before?). Anyway, it's called Rock Gym and it's run by Egyptian and Morrocan (I think) giants of men. These guys are huge; juicing huge. That's been confirmed. When I go in there, they mostly leave me alone, but they somewhat-personally "train" many of the other people who are members. Though some of the members there are quite large, most of them are scrawny Indian and Middle Eastern guys. It's interesting to watch some of these guys do exercises because so many of them are completely uncoordinated, not to mention completely unaware of how to do the exercise in the first place. The difference between American and Indian/Middle Eastern athleticism is porportionate to the difference between our economies. (There's definately some big Iranian guys. Two words: Iron Sheikh. But I don't think I've ever seen a ripped Indian guy. To my knowledge, The Hammering Hindu had not yet made the bill at Wrestlemania.)

GODZILLA!!!

2009-04-07T11:07:00.001-07:00

P...p...p...PIRATE GHOSTS!!!

2009-04-05T10:36:00.001-07:00

AARRGGGGHHH!!! Our second ship is currently docked at our yard. Nearly the size of a football field, the Fairstar Fjord is one of the largest cargo ships in the world. I had a nice little tour of the ship yesterday. (It looks about the same as the ship below, but it's much bigger.) Touring the ship was quite a lot of fun. The Danish crew was very accomodating to our questions and took us everywhere from the engine room, to the captain's bridge, to the sailors's accomodations. Surprisingly, life at sea is quite comfortable.

It was most interesting to see the ship's pirate-proofing. Every regulary unused walkway and stairwell was covered in razorwire. The anchors were also covered in razorwire, why, I'm not quite sure. The captain was very receptive to our questions about piracy. As it was his first voyage as a captain, he was a bit concerned about the journey. Fortunately for him, the ship was not travelling terribly close to Somalia, though the boat had just sailed through the Suez Canal, across the Red Sea and around the Arabian Peninsula to get here. Apparently, a ship was hijacked not far from them on the way.

I was surprised to hear just how serious a problem piracy on the high seas continues to be around the world. I had heard of piracy in the South China Sea - around Indonesia and Malaysia - but it is much more widespread than is indicated by the media; it happens in many more places than just Somalia. I don't think I've mentioned this before, but one of our general cargo ships was hijacked for about a week in Nigeria in late summer. We've now gotten gunboat escorts. (I'll post pictures when I get there! [Don't worry mom, this has not yet been confirmed]) There is also a strong presence of pirates off the coast of South Africa and the waters from Padang to Port Moresby are teaming with them as well.

I'd like to spend time on a ship like this one day. Life at sea seems exciting. Ship rotations for the crew on the Fjord are 3 months on/3 months off. Not a bad rotation. Unfortunately, a life a sea is more than likely only a boyhood fantasy. For whatever reason, resident philosophers are not in high demand on sea vessels. Still, maybe I could pass as a fresh Cambridge graduate aspiring as resident naturalist...

London

2009-03-28T09:32:00.000-07:00

I've always found European English accents very attractive. What it is, I'm not exactly certain. It could simply be the auditory pleasure it gives me; it just sounds pleasurable to my ears. In England in particular, it's the proper pronounciation that I find especially pleasing. Yet, while in the company of those who speak proper English, it forces me to realize how utterly wretched the American English accent sounds. (Seriously, it's like we're speaking Espiranto or some language twins teach each other.) I'm usually not one of those U.S. hating, enjoys-the-smell-of-his-own-farts liberal, but, come on, it seems to me American English is in a state of atrophy.

Still, perhaps there are those who would argue that colloquisms and slang are driven by the mechanism of the evolution of language, and that American English has merely evolved into the role of language best fit to be spoken; a separate but equal branch of the language tree. (Perhaps somebody would argue that?) Duely noted. My opinion is that American English is the derivative of a lifestyle much too fast-paced, steeped in laziness and ignorance. (I'll just make claims and stipulate and you can just deal with it.) Annunciation is vanishing. The average speaker is like an obese person; they devour words while barely moving their lips. And between you and me, the suffix -er looks like a cheap escort. At least with -or you get your money's worth. (Conversation with myself: "Okay Shaun, just look at the flowers of St. James Park. Feel the calm rush over you. From where did all this teenage angst arise?" "I don't know." "Well why don't you get a journal and rant in there, because no one here cares.")

The unpopular side of Parliament. Big Ben may be more of a landmark, but I liked this side better. No one was in the park.

Scuffing around city back streets is the best part of cityslicking. That's what I love about Abu Dhabi. London seems no different. Without a map, I would still be looking for my way out of the neighborhoods surrounding Hyde Park.

A Late Shout Out to Good Ole' St. Pat

2009-03-28T09:15:00.000-07:00

Never would I have thought that I would spend a St. Patrick's Day in London, the almost land of St. P., but I did. I didn't do any car bombs, but I did drink a Guinness. I didn't drink any green beer, but I had some red wine. I ate a rather disappointing fried fish, but devoured the most delicious beef pie the world has ever known.

Alas, thanks to the Miller Clan (you Dobyns, Monroes, and Coatneys are officially and to be sure reluctantly members. Everybody's Irish on St. Paddy's!), I did not go without a carbomb. (Surprisingly, this picture wasn't taken during a casting call for Nosferatu. Jim surely would have gotten the part!)

Back In The Dunes

2009-03-27T09:36:00.000-07:00

On my second day back in the UAE I went for another round of dune bashing. This time we went closer to Dubai where the sands, and the desert in general, are much prettier than the sand in Abu Dhabi. Fable has it that each Emirate has its own distinguishable type of sand. I hadn't really noticed the difference until I was out last week.

The wind leaves beautiful patterns in the sand. This picture reminds me of a Windows screen saver; like a picture of some place that I would never see. Well, now I've seen it. (Eat that Bill Gates!)

The landscape is quite incredible out here as well. These mountains simply rise from nothing.

Decent Bread...Dead Guys

2009-03-23T01:27:00.000-07:00

My mom always asks me, "What should I send you?" I always respond, "Nothing. I can get everything I could ever need over here." Well, I've been wrong. There is at least one thing one simply cannot get. For one thing, it is impossible to find a decent loaf of brown sandwich bread. The average loaf has a rock hard crust, another inch of sturdy bread mantle and a semi-soft silver dollar-sized core (Damn, I've waxed alliterationally there!). I speculate that local earth science teachers use the typical loaf of store bought bread as a visual aid when teaching geology.

Dramatically changing subjects, on my way back to Abu Dhabi one of my flights connected in Bahrain. When arriving on larger planes, passengers must exit the plane on the tarmac and board a bus that then transports them to the terminal. Upon arrival and second off the bus, I walked up a short flight of stairs and began down the hallway where I immediately saw a group of people standing in a semi-circle around a rather long, husky man laying on the floor, feet facing the next-to-last terminal gate. He had just died minutes before. I hadn't prepared well enough for the temperature change from London to the Middle East, so, as you can imagine, I was even less prepared for meeting an expired human being. As the man had dropped dead in the hallway, everyone on my arriving flight was forced to squeeze through a gap about one third the size of the width between him and the wall. As I passed, an uniformed man calmly muttered, "Get a stretcher." and I observed that the fallen man was not breathing and his skin had become bluish-white.

I wonder...who will stamp his passport?

First Load Out

2009-03-22T01:29:00.000-07:00

I'm back in Allah's country! I was fortunate enough to be on leave during our first module load out, alhamdillah, so I missed the extended work hours and added stress. More than likely I was either comfortably sleeping or drinking excessive amounts beer while my fellow companymen were sweating their asses off in canvas coveralls under a sun that I'm certain to soon be calling the blindingly brilliant napalm death of Allah! The temperature is already reaching over 100F each day! Here's a few pictures from the load out.

Still The Future Of The Chi

2009-03-09T13:50:00.000-07:00

Chicago makes Houston seem like the seat of the least populated county in Wyoming. Okay, an overstatement (big time), but Chicago is a true city in every sense: it has public transportation, an enormous downtown area, city loyalty (contrary to Texan loyalty and those who spout, "We were our own country" and other sometimes incoherent sputterings about a war for independence and Davey Crockett, Chicagoans can actually give you substantive reasons for their love of Chicago...not to mention they don't need a tattoo to prove it to you), a rich history, championship sports teams, diverse as well as strict cultural neighborhoods, and homelessness. (However, what makes Chicago truly special is undoubtedly, unequivocally the Electric Blues.)

Something most of us could not stop noticing was the current economic situation's effect on the city and, more reflectively, of the country itself. The recession/depression is at the forefront of everyone's mind and every business's marketing scheme. The 7-Eleven stores were offering the "economic stimulus meal deal," a hot dog, drink and chips for $2.99. Being in the UAE, I feel so far removed from any real economic dangers. I'm aware of our current economic conditions, but the daily sound bites don't really cause me to make any changes in my lifestyle. I don't need to to get by, and I don't see that happening in the near future either.

The relection of Michigan Ave. in "The Bean" at Millenium Park. Yeah, "The Bean," I don't get it. Still, "The Bean" is a pretty cool piece of...art???

We've even got the "economic stimulus cocktail menu." Apparently a $3.50 Bud Light draft inside the loop is unheard of!

Wadetop Computers

2009-03-03T13:56:00.000-08:00

I'm currently slithering my way up the nation's midsection. After spending a pleasant weekend in Houston, I'm now in Austin enjoying some time with the old H-town roomie. Say "Hi" Wade!

Unfortunately, ever since "the accident," Wade's torso has taken on the form of a laptop computer. Poor Wade.

It's strange to be back in the homeland knowing that I don't have a home. Sure, friends have been kind enough to have me stay in their apartments in Houston and Austin, and, of course, I'll always have a home at my mom's, but it's not quite the same anymore. I've become the very definition of a vagabond and, I must say, it's exciting.

What I Do

2009-02-23T06:29:00.000-08:00

Lately, there have been a few requests from my loyal readers to offer some insight into my daily routine; what I do. Well, here's the skinny...

Every day I wake up at 5:45, get ready, and drive 45 minutes to Gulf Piping Company in Mussafah Industrial City. Mussafah is an interesting amalgamation of rubble & development, poverty & riches. It lays just over the bridge from the island on which Abu Dhabi is seated; an ever-growing industrial wasteland that each day encroaches upon and consumes another portion of the once open desert.

I work in a maze of interconnected modular trailers. Set on blocks to prevent flooding during freak flash rainstorms, the floors sink and shift under the weight of employees walking every which way. Furniture and windows shake, wall are thin, and the bathroom is a bit musty. Upon arrival, I almost always make myself a cup of Yellow Label Lipton tea. I could have our tea boy make it, but I will never get accustomed to such a thing; even if it is his job, I'd prefer to at least act as if colonialism is in our past.

We build process modules for a "gas to liquid" refinery. Basically, without getting into too much boring technical detail, these modules will eventually make up a significant portion of a refinery that processes natural gas into liquid fuels. In this particular case, the refinery is converting the gas into diesel fuel. (For those interested, we are using the Fischer-Tropsch process to produce the liquid hydrocarbon chains. To me, it's surprisingly interesting how all this stuff works. The processes for manufacturing what we normally take for granted can be incredibly complex.)

Fittingly enough, my project is named after the Portugese word for "slaves." It's certainly to an extent a reflection of the industry. More appropriately, the intention to be called as such is due to the project's geographical location. The Portugese named the river, on the mouth of which sits the project site, the Escravos because it was a major slave trade establishment. When completed, the modules will be shipped to Nigeria in groups of three or four in several shipments over the course of several months. As you can see, the modules are quite large; some are 6 stories high.

Anyway, it's my responsibility to ensure the material needed to build the modules is available. In short, I'm involved with the entire procurement process of all materials - pipe, instruments, and vessels. I guess this post has become more of an introduction and overview into the project than one describing what I actually do. Fortunately for us, we've got plently of time to get into that later.

Mr. Suave

2009-02-21T00:24:00.000-08:00

As some of you may know, I am terribly stubborn when it comes to a haircut. I generally refuse to use a new barber/hairdresser/stylist...whatever they wish to be called. So, you can imagine, it was awfully difficult for me to suck it up and get my hair cut in Abu Dhabi. I had planned to wait until returning to Houston, but I just couldn't wait any longer (sorry Sarah!). To my surprise, there is at least one awesome barber/stylist in Abu Dhabi (why to your surprise?! Because Muslim countries don't have good barbers, or rather, Muslims cannot become top-notch hairstylists?! Come on Shaun, don't be such a stylist bigot). As you can see, the guy knew how to cut hair and, fortunately for him, I know how to wear a good haircut. Thanks to him, you can find me in da club...

Unfortunately, Mr. Suave was not the one giving me my sweet new do. I think it was his cousin, Ferris, but I called him Mr. Debonair.

Men LOVE "the spike" here; what we call a faux-hawk. When I entered the shop, a guy stood on each side of me, ran their hands through my hair and said, "You want the spike?"

"Uh..."

"Hold on. Just a minute."

Shortly after, another man came up, ran his hands through my hair and told me, "You want the spike."

"I just want it cut...shorter."

After the cut, Ferris began styling my hair. "Shit. He's giving me the spike. I'm going to look like a DB." As it turns out, it's not that bad (perhaps this is merely an indication of how far I've fallen. I don't know?). Actually, more than that, I like it.

Next time, I'm asking for "The Avalon" or "The Al Ghaida Scorpion." Watch where you step. You just might get stung. "TTSSSSS!"

Fin

Baliwood

2009-02-16T09:37:00.000-08:00

I’ve got a tentative movie date planned with an Indian coworker to see a Baliwood film at the cinema around the corner from my apartment. I walk by the cinema several times a week, but have never been. My friend, Mayur, says he has seen a few movies there, so I will go with him one day.

Every time I walk by the cinema, I always get a good look at the posters. One observation: men in Baliwood films almost ALWAYS have a mustache. And it’s not just leading men with the power-stache, it’s ALL men. It’s enough that Baliwood films are known for their epic nature: extended play time, extravagant costumes, huge singing and dancing numbers, and a small army of dancing extras; I can imagine becoming exhausted after merely watching a film. But when a healthy dose of machismo is added by way of the whiskers, the viewer receives a mighty multi-mustache barrage to the eyes.

See what I mean?! Check out the next one.

Now, some of you may ask, “But Shaun, there’s a man WITHOUT a mustache in that last photo. Doesn’t that debunk your claim?” Well, if you want to get technical, yes. However, I ask you, take another look. Look at that poor naked chap. Though I’ve never seen him besides in that poster, I get the sense – a very strong sense – that he was very recently mustached. He looks like that guy we all know who always has full facial hair and suddenly shaves it all from his face. Don’t we often think, “Wow! You look so much different!” Doesn’t he look like “that guy”? And his expression cries out, “What has happened to my moustache?! AAAAHHHHH!!!” I wouldn’t be surprised if he is mustached during part of the film, but then shaves it to go undercover or to escape a death warrant. That, my friends, is mustachioed enough for me.

Burj Dubai

2009-02-15T02:51:00.000-08:00

Burj Dubai is now the tallest structure in the world. It has just recently (January 17, 2009) topped out at 818 meters. Apparently, to get from the lobby to the highest viewing deck requires riding seven different elevators. It’s over 100 meters higher than the world’s second tallest structure (you have to say structure because apparently there is a debate about whether some structures are considered buildings or towers...man, what a controversy…).

I play softball in Dubai every Saturday, and it’s the right field back drop. (I drop Burj Bombs at the plate all day long.) When driving into Dubai from the south, it really doesn’t look taller than any of the other buildings; however, when just a few miles away, it absolutely soars over the other buildings. The upper levels are still under construction, but you can see from the picture that the architecture is really quite spectacular. It’s an incredibly thin arrangement of slightly offset stair stepped sides. It’s almost unbelievable how tall the Burj is considering its rather slender frame.

In the end, don’t be bamboozled. Unless oil prices return to “normal” levels, it will not be long until the Burj becomes merely a façade; the face of Dubai’s former prominence as world leader of tourist-alluring sensationalism. Dubai's financing is drying up, same as any place.

The Road Much Too Traveled

2009-02-11T00:55:00.001-08:00

I’ve finally started driving! I received both my driver’s license and car, a black Honda Accord, on Monday. I can remember when I started driving at 16 in The States; it was a bit unnerving for me. I was most afraid of merging onto the interstate. “Someone will most definitely smash into me,” I had thought, or, “I’ll drift too far over and cause a serious accident.” Now once again, almost 9 years later, I was nervous to get behind the wheel of a car. Incredible.

That feeling has almost immediately vanished. I’m trying to drive safe, but it is easy to get sucked into the bad habits of every other driver on the road – speeding, not signaling, drifting. Each day on the road is like a Formula 1 event; drivers constantly challenge each other for position on the road. It is expected during each trip that, whether it’s a passenger van, a delivery truck, a Ferrari or a taxi cab, another driver will literally try to take your lane and position. It’s best to take after the Chief of Police of Malibu and become “real reactionary.” Your wits, a quick high beam trigger finger, and a callus horn-blowing palm are the required tools of the Middle Eastern road. As soon as you’re able to notice even the slightest challenge, it’s best to enter gunslinger mode with your brights, snapping off round after round of luminescent justice. “My name is Shaun. But you can call me the bringer of Bedouin adjudication.”

Dune Bashing: Part III

2009-02-07T00:48:00.000-08:00

Like with everything else, I was a natural. Is anyone surprised by this?

She wanted it, but I didn't give it to her.

Finally, the dune bashing trilogy is over. It's been awhile since I produced as substantive post. Perhaps it is time.

Dune Bashing: Part II

2009-02-02T09:37:00.000-08:00

Just 30 years ago a trip from Al Ain, the major oasis town of the UAE, to Abu Dhabi took 5 1/2 weeks by camel. Today that same trip takes a car under 3 hours. These animals are incredible. I'm determined to find someone to take me on a cross country camel trek.

The desert seems boundless. I could not imagine walking any significant distance through one. The dunes are many and steep. There is no direct route anywhere.

She really didn't know what she was in for...

She really didn't.

Dune Bashing: Part I

2009-02-01T07:54:00.000-08:00

Keeping up a blog is hard work. Here are some pictures from dune bashing last week. Needless to say, it was awesome!

I'll be honest, I screamed a few times. When the land cruiser is sliding sideways down a steep dune, it's a bit frightening at first. Every time I thought we were definitely going to flip.

Of course, it was raining on my first day in the desert. No sun, no sunset, just sand in your eyes and the crack of your ass. The guy in the picture is letting air out of the tires. That is how the cars retain traction and keep from flipping and stalling in the sand. Tires are deflated to 12 psi, increasing the surface area touching the sand. These guys may not know how to drive on the roads, but they know how to cruise the dunes.

As you can see, the wind was blowing. If the desert sucks in the heat, it sucks in the wind and rain too. I thought I would never see again. I could barely open my eyes by the time we reached the desert camp where camel rides, sand surfing, a barbeque and belly dancing awaited. The camp water wasn't much help either. It was salty.

Rod Blagoyevich

2009-01-29T16:16:00.001-08:00

"Hey Satan! Paid my dues. Playin' in a rockin band!"

Alhamdulillah! I love when impeachment processes work!

First Responders

2009-01-23T10:27:00.000-08:00

As I think I've mentioned before, the road in the UAE is not the safest place to be. People drive like maniacs. When inclement weather is thrown into the mix, it only adds an extra variable of volitility to an already dangerous equation. However, what is especially interesting when its foggy in the morning or when the rare rainstorm passes through the area is how driver's choose to deal with the situation.

Many drivers' first response to rain or fog is to immediately switch on the car's emergency blinkers. If it begins to downpour, "click-click, click-click." If a fog rolls in, "click-click, click-click." You may think that those flashing their blinkers are attempting to be responsible. That may be true. Unfortunately, it is a poor decision. In the end, flashing blinkers, especially in fog, only causes more accidents. I've tried to pay attention, and it seems more accidents happen on the foggy days than on the clear days, which would make absolute sense considering the lack of visibility and insanity of some. But it can also be attributed to poor decision making. The flashing lights can indicate several things - a stopped car, a slowed car, an emergency vehicle, a warning light on the side of the road - and that creates problems. It isn't so much of a problem for the cars immediately following a blinking car, but it does for those following those cars. Blinkers often cause a chain reaction of needlessly and suddenly slowing cars which often times ends with an accident. I've been witness to more accidents in my six weeks in country than in several years at a time in the U.S. It has become such a problem here that the government has even decreed it illegal for drivers to use their flashers in a situation other than an emergency. It's really quite incredible.

The rain and fog also causes fogged car windows. Most of us probably think very little about this, just turn on the defrost or open some windows. Cab drivers and locals alike are reluctant to do either. Just tonight, for example, it was pouring down rain and my cab driver, who spoke little English, pointed at the windshield and said, "Problem." I said, "Yes. Turn on the defrost." He had no idea what I was referring to, so I took control and turned the console knobs. Quickly the windows cleared and the driver looked at me like I was a genius. However, it's not surprising he had no idea what to do; I can't imagine he gets any training in car management. Even my desert tour driver used a kleenex to repeatedly wipe clear the fogged windows.

A Foggy Day in San Fransisco Town

2009-01-19T03:43:00.000-08:00

In the winter, the Emirates has some incredibly fast moving Gulf-effect fog. This was New Year's Eve over about an 8-minute period. It was fascinating, to say the least, and the cab ride home was a bit scary. The lights in the distance of the first picture are on the Corniche virtually across the street from this tower.

12:31 am

12:33 am

12:37 am

12:39 am

So That's Where The Girls Go When They Retire From Motley Crue Videos

2009-01-11T09:14:00.000-08:00

Abu Dhabi television is a pubescent boy’s pixilated paradise! Short of going through all 700 plus channels for a proper count, I will make a conservative guess and claim that there are at least 30 channels dedicated solely to, shall I say, “male entertainment.” Normally I wouldn’t give this much of a thought (who am I kidding, yes I would), but I find it absolutely intriguing first because this is what I had considered to be the most conservative area on the planet. Somehow it has become acceptable, or at least tolerated to sell sex. (Just wait until I start blogging about the real ladies of the night!) At any time day or night you can find several channels offering nude stills, recorded solo scenes (mostly a dancing topless girl), or live phone “chatting.” About half the time these women are topless, perhaps…er…”petting” themselves or other women, very seldom taking it any further. But besides all this mess, there is something that I find even more fascinating about the live channels in particular.

Let me first disclaim that I am not unabashedly voyeuristic and I am not perverted and/or depraved. Sex is something in which everyone will eventually participate, unless your ugly (kidding…ugly people get laid all the time. [Don’t worry, we’re all beautiful on the inside {unless you’re a pervert and you’re becoming aroused reading this post…sicko}]) so let’s just be grown ups about this entire thing.

Now, I won’t pretend that I have quickly and disinterestedly surfed past these channels without “sneaking a peek.” I’ve spent more than a minute or two observing several channels’ content. What is it about these live channels that are so fascinating, Shaun? I’m glad you asked curious and loyal reader. What is so fascinating is the absolute uninterested attitude of the typical women providing this sultry service. From what I gather, these women have complete control over the camera; they choose if and when to provide a close-up or broader picture. (They’ve got a freaking remote!) Also, my vast observations indicate that the men receiving the service on the other line are watching the particular channel with the woman that he/(she?) has just called, as is anyone else who so chooses. Here is where it gets incredible. Often times the call girl will put the phone down for several seconds, get up or adjust her position, and then return to the phone saying, in their broken European English “Hello? Baby? Hello? Hello baby. What do you want baby?” It gets even better. I witnessed one woman shoot a close up so that only her face was out of frame. She then proceeded to eat a snack. It was completely obvious. She continually brought her hand up to her mouth and you could here the crunching of her Lorenz’s paprika flavored potato straws, or whatever she had, over the bad American music playing in the background. Excellent snack by the way.

You see? We got through this by being adults. (Boobs!) We don’t have to be uncomfortable or weird or immature every time we see a nipple. (Boobies!) We can talk about sex and sexuality maturely and responsibly. (BOOOOOBBBIIIEEESSS!!!)

It's A Bummer Man

2009-01-10T09:03:00.000-08:00

My 21st birthday was a sigh of relief more than anything else. Never again would I have to ask someone of age to play alcohol distributor. As I'm constantly anxious of being a bother for people to whom I am not particularly close or familiar, it was always somewhat of a trial for me to ask someone to buy me booze. At 21, finally no more...well, apparently not.

I was shut down at the liquor store two days ago. After work Thursday, three of us non-card carrying "minors" cruised down to the local Musaffah liquor depot for some beers. Practicing their own brand of racial profiling, we were let right in while anyone with mocha skin or darker was stopped at the door to present their liquor license. (Remember it's illegal for Muslims to drink alcohol here.) "No problem," I thought, "they remember us from the other day." We perused the aisles and made our selection - a case of Tiger Lager from Thailand. "Do you have your license?" asked one of the employees. "I forgot it at home this morning and I just got off work." "Okay," he said, "I remember you." No problem. After our short exchange he turned to the manager who's head hinged back and forth like a door with rusty springs. Shit. Maybe I should have given him the "working for the city. Thinking about holding on to it cuz, like, it's money in my pocket" line. "I've got it," I pleaded, "I just left the house this morning without it. Are you sure you can't help me out? I understand. Next time I won't leave the house without it." I must have looked like an ass.

Down go the beers.

Out we go.

Two minutes later I'm in the car on the phone asking for a licensed co-worker to pick up something for me. "You're going to the compound tonight, right? If you stop to get beer, can you get me something too?" Lucky for him it wasn't college and I wasn't requesting three 30-packs of Busch Light.

Your [Toilet] or a Hole in the Ground

2009-01-08T23:14:00.000-08:00

I’m not sure what it is about the developing world and toilet seats…they never seem to match up. Now, I’m not particularly worldly as of yet, but every place (well, all but Canada) I’ve visited outside of the U.S. (all two of them) have had more than one toilet seat that was much too small for the toilet. I’m talking specifically about the synthetic buffer between cold porcelain and hot ass; the safety zone.

I’m not ashamed to admit that toilets can really “creep” me out sometimes. I’ve even seen the “Penn & Teller’s Bullshit” episode in which they lay toilet nastiness myths to rest. Still, the idea of human waste, which is relatively harmless to the skin, festering for a prolonged period of time on and around a toilet is disgusting. So, when the toilet seat reaches to only half the width of the porcelain rim and the back of my thighs are forced to encounter that rim, I get really, really uncomfortable. What’s worse is that these toilets usually have built in defense mechanisms preventing any strategic seating maneuvers, i.e. the improperly bolted toilet that rises as you move from sit to hover.

Unfortunately, BOTH toilets at work suffer from insufficient seat syndrome. WHY?! If we can spend six BILLION dollars on a project, couldn’t we invest $10 for the comfort and peace of mind of the employees? I’ve got more important things to worry about when I’m in the office, I don’t need this added bit of anxiety when I head to the other “office.” When it comes to cold, possibly disgusting porcelain touching my bare skin, I prefer the alternative…

I'm still not a great shot.

At least that way I could get back to thinking about what’s important; like if there are other people named Shaun Miller that spell there name like I do. I wonder if this guy ever thinks about me when he’s on the toilet? (He’s got his Master’s in Philosophy too! Crazy.)

From the Mourning

2009-01-03T08:53:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was a mui triste day in the UAE. The ruler of Umm Al Quwain, one of the smaller emirates, Shaikh Rashid bin Ahmed Al Mulla died in London on Friday. Thirty days of mourning were declared upon news of his death and all government offices throughout the UAE were closed for three days. Government offices in Umm Al Quwain are closed for an entire week.

It's quite interesting to be present when an event like this occurs. As perhaps some of you may already know, it's normal practice for Muslim countries to simply shut down at the loss of a leader or the occurence of some catastrophic event. For instance, if you can believe this, the shaikh of Dubai announced early on New Year's Eve morning that all celebrations for the new year would be cancelled to promote solidarity with the people of Gaza under attack by Israel. (A shock, but something I thought was actually kind of cool. At least he supports his fellow Muslims and keeps it real.) Cancelled! The fireworks were cancelled, and it was suggested that people not honk car horns or celebrate in the streets (much like they did during National Day). On the way to work Wednesday morning, Radio 2, a popular ex-pat station, was even advising people to call restaurants, hotels, and clubs to check if the parties were still scheduled to take place. Fortunately, the shaikh eventually retracted his request and allowed celebrations to take place.

Returning to Shaikh Rashid's death, all Emirati radio stations have changed their playlists to mostly classical music. I scratch my head trying to make the connection, especially when some of the tunes I heard today included the instrumental version of "The Titanic" soundtrack and a solo piano instrumental piece of Eric Clapton's "Wonderful Tonight." The television station Dubai One for the past 36 hours has continually aired an Imam (like a muslim priest) lyrically reciting the koran. But all and all, aside from these few examples, there isn't a terribly somber mood around the country.

A Secularist’s Muslim Christmas Carol in the Key of Miami Vice: In Three Acts

2008-12-29T01:02:00.000-08:00

Certainly, regardless of the events, you can bet Christmas alone in a Muslim country is one to be remembered. Now that my yuletide bender is over and I’ve had a few days to recover, I can recount some of the holiday highlights in Dickens’ form.

Act I: Last Christmas I Gave You My Karaoke-Singing Filipino

After a morning of work at the yard, we had a party for everyone at the company compound. It promised to be an afternoon of food and the usual shallow party conversation. Of course, I was excited purely for the fried turkeys. Little did I know that we would all be entertained by the soothing sounds of [some Filipino guy]…he had honey in his voice that night. Decked in cool shades, tech vest, and the heart of a true crooner, [some Filipino guy] belted out standard after standard to the pre-recorded, minimally-tracked karaoke synth music. His presence dominated the pool deck for easily an hour. In true Springsteen style, a relentless performer determined to give his audience everything, he continued even after his legs could no longer sustain him. With the support of a white plastic pool chair, he soulfully purred Wham’s, “Last Christmas I Gave You My Heart.” But this Christmas he had given us so much more. He had given us his soul.

Act II: Synthesi(s/zer)

In true “I’m better than you and too cool for karaoke because I’m American” fashion, people complained about the numerous encores. So, in response to their pleas, I thought it my duty to get everyone clapping in support of [some Filipino guy]. Surprisingly, everyone fell for it. Eventually, everyone got their wish and karaoke gave way to the second act.

Gustavo this morning told me that his earliest memory is of sitting at the piano. Apparently, he also has very fond memories of Jan Hammer. (Look it up). Preparing to werk his kraft for all, he positioned himself behind his keyboard. His fingers’ dance over the acrylic keys made flesh the steamy nights of crime and cocaine use, and with the accompaniment of the sharp beats of the keyboard’s internal drum machine, one was amid the seedy streets the Magic City. However, Gustavo’s own brand of synth-pop brought with it the true South American element missing from Hammer’s theme.

Act III: Pleased to Meet You Sonny Crockett…Where’s Tubbs?

I thought my day visiting the retropolis of past decades had ended, but my 24th Christmas would culminate at a house party with the representatives of the United Nations of chic fashionistas. The Canadian deputy ambassador to the UAE was dropping house beats while enough ex-pats to fill out the Security Council gabbed about everything uninteresting. “Shaun, you’re going to love these people. They appreciate good looking people and nice things just like us.” Really? I aim for solid first impressions (sometimes), but is that how I “present” myself in Puma’s, Levi’s, a pearl snap, and uncombed hair? After all this time, it’s been everyone else’s fashion sense that has been slanted. (Mother, never again will I force a comb through my perfectly uncontrollable locks!)

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. "What?! You like my sport coat? Thanks!" Thump. Thump. Thump. "The cheese? It's goat with fresh herbs." Thump. Thump. "Well my stylist suggested a moisterizer with eucalyptus and wild honey from Oman." Hey Sonny, where's Tubbs?

The Corniche

2008-12-23T23:11:00.000-08:00

The Corniche is the sea wall that stretches for about 10 kilometers on the gulf side of the island - a perfect place for a stroll. It's too bad the pictures don't capture the beautiful emerald color of the water.

The Palace Hotel is in the background.

One of my new bros chillin' on the sea wall. Don't worry Sidgwick. He's not taking your place. (What do you mean brought it bowling? I'm not buying it a !#$%^&* beer. It's not taking your !#$%^&* turn.)

Red Asphalt

2008-12-22T10:17:00.000-08:00

In my first 24 years of life, I had never witnessed someone hit by a car. Three weeks in Abu Dhabi, and I've hit, excuse me, witnessed my first. About through a roundabout on the way home from work, we saw a truck stopped just past the exit. "Something has fallen off the truck," we thought, as there were some items scattered in the road. Two sandals. "Hm. That's odd," I thought. A wheelbarrow. "Okay, that's a bit more like it." A man. "Holy shit."

The driver of the truck, mobile phone to his ear, was standing directly over an old man. The old man was slowly turning back and forth on the pavement, I imagine writhing in pain. What's more, the assailant has much too uneasy of a calm about the situation, like he had been in this position before. It would not be of too much surprise if he had; individuals here lose the battle against various metal machines everyday. A co-worker was severely injured by a car a few short weeks before I arrived.

I have no idea what speed the car was traveling when it struck the poor fellow, but to put it in perspective, his sandals were about 15-20 feet behind the truck and he was about 10-15 feet in front of the truck. I imagine he lost his sandals immediately upon impact.

To be on the roads here is at times a bit frightening.

The Man Behind the Emirates or Chairman Mao I Presume?

2008-12-19T06:18:00.001-08:00

A new variation on my favorite joke: Have you heard about the new sheik movie that’s coming out this summer? It’s rated ARRGH!

Sheikh Zayeh the First, the first President of the UAE and Sheikh of Abu Dhabi, was the guiding force in uniting the seven emirates under one government. He was well respected not only by his people, but also by the expatriates calling the UAE home. He was a conservationist, known as "the man who turned the desert green." He promoted religious tolerance and advocated diplomatic dialogue with Iran.

My tribute:

It is at this point that I humbly request the forgiveness of His Excellency the Sheik as I do not mean any disrespect. I hope I don't go to jail for this...thankfully the Sheikh created a place of tolerance and freedom (within reason) of media and expression.

Where Bad Cover Bands Go To Die

2008-12-18T13:43:00.000-08:00

The Middle East LOVES bad American music. By bad American music, I’m referring to what many, many people in the U.S. regularly listen to and enjoy. I’m talking about “Now 38” (or whatever issue that damn buy-on-TV disc is at) or current top-40 garbage. These people inhale that crap like they inhale their KFC – regularly and in copious amounts. Without daring to discuss the radio, I’ll keep this sharply on bar bands. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen and enjoyed my fair share of Hair Banger’s Ball and Too White Crew, but mostly on a novelty basis. After a few doses of both, I have kicked my habit and even lost a great interest in the original music itself. (Shun me O dyed-in-the-wool, for one day thee shall hasten away too!)

There’s the two Pilipino girls, rhythm guitar-playing guy, and karaoke machine at Mardi Gras; the guitarist, keyboardist, and drum machine/karaoke machine at Tavern Pub; the “super”-group at Rock Bottom; the not-quite-so-Jazz “ensemble” at Jazz Bar; the god awful alt-rock trio at Heroes, etc., etc. What do they all have in common? Besides an affinity for Shakira tunes (IIIYYY!!!) and the song “Simply the Best,” they are all better than average musicians. Uncanny.

It’s not that I haven’t been entertained, I have. It gets people dancing and having fun. It gets me dancing and having fun. And I understand what plenty of bands have to do to get people to their shows – and ultimately to make money. They have to play songs the majority wants to hear. I’m not bitter. It’s just that when a 60 year-old women who is repeatedly touching my leg and kissing my hand begins to cry as she tells me that one day she will receive a call that her husband has died at his computer screen and she must come to identify the body, I at least want to hear some F@#$%^& Foghat!

The Mosques Glow Green

2008-12-14T19:48:00.000-08:00

Yesterday’s blog was selfish and overdramatic. Since I’ve been recently spending my nights walking the streets of Abu Dhabi for hours, it has given me plenty of time to think – about whether or not it was the right decision to put that entire Mott the Hoople CD on my 4GB iPod – so to make up for it I made some pictures. And, for those interested, I hit the Indian food jackpot tonight too!

Some pretty funny signs. (Let's all point at non-native English speakers and laugh children.)

17 minutes? Word on the street is 16 Minute And 45 Second Photocopy is running them out of business...

Simply classic.

My Apology

2008-12-13T10:09:00.000-08:00

I am not a very good tourist. Those hoping that by reading this blog you'll get plenty of glamorous photos and a visual taste of Abu Dhabi will more than likely be severely disappointed. Allow me to apologize for that now. Of the several sites and situations I am exposed to everyday more than a few qualify as photo-worthy, but I usually waiver and fail to "capture the magic." For perhaps not completely strange reasons, I feel awkward and uncomfortable snapping shots of in the middle of crowds, and in Abu Dhabi there is always a crowd. I also believe that I have no business capturing stills of strangers going about their daily business. It makes it an even more difficult procedure when it is strictly forbidden to photograph Muslim women without consent. (I'd prefer not to go to jail.) Alas, I do not want to disappoint, so I'm going to do two things. First, I'm going to ask for input on how I should go about becoming a freer (photographing) spirit. Any ideas? Second, I'll offer a bit more description in my posts to appeal to those fellow dreamers and wayfarers.

To begin, I believe I may be falling Tears For Fears style over this city. (I applaud those who know just how someone might fall Tears For Fears style. The first person to comment with exactly how one falls TFF style will get a free gift. I'm not joking about this; not only will you be eternally memorialized in the annals of Christmas in Islam's comments section, but you will also get something cool. I promise.) Between the main streets hide endless blocks of boutique-sized stop-n-shops filled with all the necessities. It is entirely possible to need never walk into a chain of any sort and still get everything one would need. Within a two minute walk of my apartment I can reach any number of grocers, launderers, tailors, furniture, rug & curtain stores, cobble shops, refreshment stands, restaurants, fruit & vegetable stands, electronic stores, souvenior shops, semi-department stores, and a mosque. What's more, each one is nearly indistinguishable from its many counterparts. Most have a green and yellow backlit plastic signs identifying their wares. When walking down any particular street, it would be easy to think you were walking in cirlces. (The sign man must be making a killing!)

Walking the in-between streets can be tricky at times. In this place, you must always watch your back; not for pickpockets, but for taxis and private cars. Driving is done with reckless abandon regardless of pedestrians or other obstacles. Besides having a majority of the shops, the inner streets are also an endless maze of a parking lot. Cars are practically painted on both sides and, like the dividing line, down the middle of the street. Between the parked cars, there is room for one more to drive. (I think it's rather ingenious and economical.) But the energy of these inner streets is invigorating. Perhaps this is what makes me a poor tourist; I'd rather assimilate and interact with the people who live here than catch all the spots with the other out-of-towners. And it's much more interesting to look back and reflect on what I thought about the situation when I was there rather than to simply remember what it looked like.

Lucy for DVDs: A Life Misunderestimate

2008-12-12T11:50:00.000-08:00

Lucy is Philippino. Lucy sells DVDs. Her card proclaims, "Lucy for DVDs." It also provides her number. Lucy sells them out of a suitcase on wheels. The DVDs cost $2.71 U.S.

While perusing Lucy's selection, I could help but laugh at the subtitles and synopses of some of the films. Like the subtext for the movie W. (which has just hit theatres) "A Life Misunderestimate." If that wasn't enough, the synopsis brought it full circle:

The film is the main focus of U.S. President George W. Bush's political career and life changing experience. Including his father, George HW Bush and the relationship between the White House as he carried out the struggle, as well as how to find his own love and trust. Film from a young age talking about young Bush, he has demonstrated in Texas and crazy nonsense cowboy life. He was at Yale University in gambling, alcohol, even as a result of drunken driving was arrested by the police. At the same time, film also spend a great deal of ink, later described Bush's decision to send troops to Iraq that the most critical time. From a director in an attempt to be more internal point of view, to look at George Bush the controversial politician.

Regardless of your political views, that is just funny. (I tell ya' huwhat, that right ther' is funny.) There is really no need for me to point out anything further.

It's the little things in life that give us joy. I'll be the overweight, middle-aged, mustached guy sitting front row for the cover band wearing a DEVO shirt and drinking my pint, screaming, "Shot through the heart! And you're too late!" The little things...

Steppin' Out

2008-12-11T08:35:00.001-08:00

I'm about to brave the Abu Dhabi nightlife for the first time by myself this evening. I'm nervous...thanks Houston friends. (Yes, that is a bit of shot, but I still love you guys for helping me reach my socially anxious potential. I'll be thinking of you and lonestar while I'm sitting in the corner by myself.) I'm usually not one to go out and drink by myself. I'm perfectly capable of doing that at home. Unfortunately, I do not have a resident visa yet, which means I cannot legally by alcohol at the few liquor stores that exist. Here's the procedure for getting a license:

In order to buy alcohol from a liquor shop, you will need a special licence that looks similar to a passport, and which will allow you to spend a maximum amount on alcohol every month. This amount is calculated according to your monthly salary.
You may only apply for the licence once your Residence Visa has been granted, and provided you are a non-Muslim. This has to be done through Police HQ, and the company will assist you with the procedure.
Alcohol may only be purchased in the United Arab Emirates by people earning Dhs4000 a month or more. Housewives may not buy alcohol. However, wives of permit holders with a monthly quota of Dhs750 or more may purchase liquor on their husband’s permit. An authorisation form has to be completed and taken to Police HQ. Most liquor stores have these forms.
Alcohol is expensive as it is all imported, and is also subject to a 30% tax. Alcohol is served in hotels, most of which have an informal pub serving light meals as well as their more upmarket restaurants.
You are permitted to bring in 2 litres of alcohol through Duty Free when arriving in Dubai, and if you do drink alcohol, it would be a good idea to bring in 2 litres of spirits or wine as you will be unable to buy alcohol for about three months.

Poor housewives. But it is not surprising considering the UAE's position on human rights. Today the UAE announced it will utilize "recommendations" from the UN's human rights declaration to create it's own human rights declaration. It will not adopt them all because of social, cultural, and religious contradictions.

Remember kids, sex isn't everthing, and neither is the band Boston.

If Don't Like UAE, You Can GIT OUT!

2008-12-09T02:19:00.000-08:00

December 2nd was the first day of the UAE's celebration of unification. It's their 37th anniversary. It may surprise many of you, but true UAE Arab's bleed red, white, and green more than their patriotic American counterparts bleed red, white, and blue. Though I wasn't able to get any pictures (perhaps it was the stocking-capped Hamas look-alikes with plastic machine guns and smoke bombs banging on the taxi windows that put the fear of Allah in me, and no, I am not in the least bit kidding about this!), most true UAE'rs decorated their cars with the countries colors and founding fathers. (Check out the link to see a few pictures from last year's celebration and you'll see what I mean.) During my first night in Abu Dhabi there was complete pandimonium in the streets: cars and air honks honking, firecrackers cracking, fake terrorists jihading.

All of the major buildings around town are decorated as well. These are just a few pictures of what every nearly every building looks like right now.

And fireworks! Abu Dhabi is the administrative capital of the various emirates and the city just set the world record with 45 consecutive minutes of fireworks. How do you like that America?!

And last of all, the posters. These things are EVERYWHERE! Where are our pictures with the likes of Thomas Jefferson and Herbie Hancock? And let's not forget, Martha Washington; she was a hip, hip lady.

Hotels v. Hotel Apartments (2008)

2008-12-06T02:53:00.000-08:00

Statement of the issues: Check out the new digs! I know, not very interesting for most of you, but this is more of the "Don't worry mom. They're taking care of me post."

Statement of the facts: So, don't worry mom. They are taking care of me.

Arguments:

Typical of my room, untidy. Don't let the king size been fool you. It is like sleeping on bricks.

THERE'S A WASHING MACHINE IN THE KITCHEN! A WASHING MACHINE! IN THE KITCHEN! (I had to do something to make this picture more exciting.)

No roaches. Alhamdillah!

If you look REAL close, you can see the toilet hose. That's for cleaning up business left unfinished after flushing.

Conclusion: Hotel apartment is the fancy name (that's a technical legal term) for a hotel with more space.

Flying in Style

2008-12-05T17:28:00.000-08:00

It’s 5 am. I can’t sleep and have been up since 3:15 am. The time adjustment is more difficult than I anticipated. I can’t even remember how many days I’ve been here. With nothing else to do at the moment, I thought I would share with all of you what it is like to be a big deal on Emirates Airlines.

Pre-flight:
1 glass apple juice
1 hot towel
1 pair of in-flight socks
1 pair of eye shades
1 pair of noise cancellation headphones
1 leather bathroom tote – contents: deodorant, shaving cream & razor, toothbrush & toothpaste, Kleenex, Bulgari cologne, aftershave & lotion

Dinner:
3 glasses Chateau de Tracy white wine
Canapés – shrimp toast, cream cheese cucumber role, cream cheese stuffed prosciutto toast
Appetizer – Lobster confit w/ cucumber salad
Main Course – Rack of lamb w/ egg noodles & asparagus
Dessert – Fried banana spring roll w/ chocolate sauce & a wedge of brie
1 glass of port wine
3 glasses of Heineken
1 glass of Johnnie Walker scotch

Breakfast:Mushroom omelet w/ turkey sausage & hashbrowns, muffin, yogurt, fruit

Making (a) change

2008-12-04T13:10:00.000-08:00

It has taken me three days to figure out the currency in Abu Dhabi. Don’t judge, you wouldn’t be able to figure it out either. Well, if you are not too proud or unashamed of your day-tripping insecurities (much unlike me), you would simply ask someone what the hell is going on and figure it out much faster than I, say, after your first transaction. In any case, I much prefer to pretend like I know what’s going on and then scratch my head later away from the gazing eyes of the locals. (I think I’ve just admitted to a male stereotype.)

While getting change during my first trip to the grocery store, I was a bit confused when I was due 4.60 dirhams change and only received five coins (four of the same and one different from the rest). I thought, “Okay, these four must be worth one dirham and the other…” I didn’t really worry about it as the remaining 60 dirhams is only 16 cents or so U.S. and I did receive something back. The next day my mind was completely blown when I was due back 1.95 dirhams and I received two of what I had originally thought was a one dirham piece. To the internet! Alas, after some quick research, it turns out ‘fils’ are the equivalent to ‘cents,’ and I had received a 50 fils piece during my first visit to the store. At this point in time, the 25 fils piece is the smallest piece, so change is rounded up or down to the nearest amount. After three days I’m down 5 fils. What can I say? Living in Abu Dhabi’s a gamble.

Fine Cuisine

2008-12-04T00:26:00.000-08:00

There's nothing like coming to a foreign land and tasting the exotic foods it has to offer...like Pizza Hut and Popeye's Chicken. Yep, exotic. That has been my lunch the first two days in the office. Hopefully tomorrow will be McDonald's! Fortunately I'm in a very lively part of town that has lots of restaurants (other than these fine Western establishments) and some really great local grocers.

2008-12-03T05:18:00.000-08:00

The internet in my hotel is unreliable. Sucks.

It’s nearly impossible for me to come up with a starting place for this thing. I’ll spare the plane details, but I will have to publish a list of the GOODIES complimentary on the flight. But, let’s start with a toast!

Cheers! Enjoying my Johnnie Walker and an episode of Family Guy. Derrick, I took this picture just for you.

The plane landed in Dubai at 6:30 PM (that’s 8:30 AM Houston time), and, me being a big deal, I got through the airport rather quickly. My car left immediately for Abu Dhabi. I can’t believe how painless it was to get into this country. I had only to stop at the visa desk. Two kids that had to be younger than me checked my passport, and one of them said, “This isn’t you,” with a giant grin. Then he asked, “Who are you staying with in Abu Dhabi? You’re girlfriend must be waiting for you at the hotel,” again with a big grin.

My driver was an expatriate from India. His name was Sanbu and he has been in Dubai for four years. We talked quite a bit about India. Like a great many of the expatriates here, in particular those from South Asia, he has come here to make money. When I asked how often he went back to India, he said he went back once every two years for a two month vacation. He became quiet for several minutes after that. I got the impression that he deeply missed home, but that home can offer little opportunity for him. But the man could drive. He had no problem cruising at 140 (km that is, 40 over the speed limit) When he encountered a slower driver ahead he simply flashed the high beams and honked the horn prompting the slower car to pull over to the right.

The streets of Abu Dhabi were packed when we pulled into town. The U.A.E. turned 37 today, and everyone is out celebrating. Residents decorate their cars and drive through the streets blowing air horns and blaring music. People are literally hanging out of their cars everywhere. Some are even sitting on the tops of SUVs with nothing keeping them secured. It took us over an hour to get the last mile of the trip. Starving, I sat in the back seat of the car staring at a restaurant with a sign saying simply “chicken.” When we finally made it to the hotel, I stepped over to the grocery across the street to gather supplies for a spectacular three course meal: peanut butter sandwich, beef ramen, some Nutty Bites, and a Barbican peach malt beverage.

No, it’s not alcoholic. At the time I naively thought it had alcohol content. I’m not really sure why considering I was fairly clear on the fact that alcohol is only sold and served in hotel bars.

All in all, the journey was very smooth and easy. My apartment is comfortable. I have 700 channels of television. (Seriously, aren’t 18 channels for Al Jazeera alone enough?) Everyone has been friendly and speaks English well.