Great Success!

A little inspiration from Borat for the post title, as I have the key for my apartment in hand and I got my Dubai driver license--all in the same day!!

Turns out, my landlord is really nice (an older woman named Hind who is a first time owner/renter) but she was basically convinced by this psychotic "real estate agent", who can barely speak or understand anything beyond basic English from Azerbaijan (basically former U.S.S.R. in the middle of the tundra--how did he end up here, right?), to let him market the property. Hind said she pitied him, as he sounded and looked so desperate for the 5% commission, and figured it would be more or less harmless--not exactly.

That would have been fine, except for the obvious language barrier, in addition to the fact that he works for one of the many real estate "agencies" that have popped up in Dubai to help sell the innumerable number of properties that are available. Problem is, these agencies are barely legit. And most of the "agents", like the winner that I was dealing with, have never been trained in real estate practice or law and have never closed a sale.

So, to make a long story short, I'm glad I didn't have a nervous breakdown and I'm ecstatic that I got the keys. The relocation consultant I had been working with, who had been provided by my company, turned out to be my guardian angel, and made sure that everything went well and that neither the landlord nor I was getting screwed, since the superstar from the former U.S.S.R. literally made me want to punch a brick wall--repeatedly.

I will have pictures of the new spot tomorrow, but really had to post a picture of a poster that was on display at the government office where I got my driver license issued. It was a very small office on the upper floor of a "hypermarket", aka a Walmart-esque place that has a large grocery story in addition to lots of other little stores that offer whatever you need: eyeglasses, clothes, electronics, etc.

I gave these guys copies all my official documents (visas and passports and certifications, oh my) and got handed my license. For the record, the USA is one of only a few countries where you can simply show your license from your home country and immediately get a Dubai license--they have just put into effect new laws that make it VERY, VERY difficult for most foreign nationalities to get a license here. Basically, they are combating huge amounts of traffic, and huge amounts of murderous driving. Literally. There is an accident in Dubai every 5 seconds or something. They have the highest auto-accident death rate per capita in the entire world--I will be honest, I see about 50 "almost" accidents a day, so the number of actual accidents must be astronomical.


SO, in addition to revising the laws so that obtaining a license is more difficult, they actively posted some propaganda to aid in their campaign for safer driving:


Yes, according to Islamic law, or Sharia, speeding is a sin. Now, I know you're all thinking that I better be careful, because I can be a bit of a speedy gonzalez, but you should SEE the cars racing down the main highway here at over 100 mph, easily:


Although, with sweet-ass cars like this one literally everywhere, I can't really blame them. I will try to get more pictures of all the hot cars I see everyday--although, a curious phenomenon here is that license plates are sometimes much more coveted than the car itself. I don't know if any of you heard about this, but recently , a custom license plate was auctioned off in Abu Dhabi for around $14 million.

It's all about the number here--you pay more if you want a "better" license plate number (which means as close to the number 1 as possible), phone number (easy to remember, or as many of the same number as possible, i.e. 555-5555), P.O. box number (since Dubai does not have a mail delivery system, you can only receive mail at a P.O. box and go to pick it up--no mailboxes, no home delivery, nothing), etc.

It really is weird that they pay so much money for something that has absolutely no material value or serious purpose in their lives. And, apparently, the guys who have the money to spend $14 million on the license plate get the car, be it a Rolls Royce Phantom, Bentley, or Ferrari, FOR FREE, because just having the license plate attached to the car is enough of a marketing campaign to justify gifting the car away.

And that's enough "things that make you go hmmmm/WTF?" from Dubai for today.

Really? Really?

It's been a few days since my last chit chat--and it is truly amazing what can happen in just a few short days. It took a lot of effort for me to keep my composure in a few instances over the long weekend. Cultural differences are just too hilarious.

Like, I go down to the hotel store. Which, for the record, is the size of closet. And there is a very skinny, kinda short, Christian Siriano (the latest winner of Project Runway) look-alike --crazy hair, skinny jeans and all (plus a unibrow). I needed shampoo. That was it. Given the incredibly small size of the store, it wasn't hard to find. So how the hell did I spend 30 minutes in that cubicle?

Yea, he started talking. It all began with asking me where I'm from, the U.S. or England (my eyes gave me away apparently)? Am I here for business? On vacation? When did I arrive? How long am I staying? Sidenote: this interrogation is standard here. There are so many people from all over the world that it's kind of a necessity to get the vital stats before continuing with the conversation (my waitress the other night gave me the same rundown, while I was eating). Suffice it to say that I'm not extremely happy with this arrangement, because I come from a place where looking someone in the eye on the subway is considered intrusive.

Meanwhile, he's from Iran, his name is Omid (which means "hope" in Persian) and we talked about everything from religion to family to cultural attitudes. Mind you, I did this more out of curiosity about Iran and his particular journey to Dubai than him, though this apparently was not his thought process, because as I finally was able to say "How much do I owe you for this?", he almost immediately replied: "So how do I contact and talk to you again? Friends, more than friends--your choice."

I'm sorry, what? Really? Really? Did you just ask me in one sentence whether I wanted to be "friends" or "more than friends"? What is this, practice for when you're trying to weed out the prostitutes at the mall? I then spent another 10 minutes letting him know that it was kind of weird that he asked me that, and if that was the way he asked girls in Iran or in Dubai if they wanted to be "friends" or "more than friends". The answer is no, by the way. Figures.

So, it was harmless--an eye opening conversation with a kind soul who was excited to talk to a New Yorker. Enough said. Only problem is, the store is right next to the gym, so now I have to slink inside so that a verbal onslaught from Omid is avoided. Ugh. That wouldn't be a problem except I'm going to be in this hotel for at least another 2 weeks.

After that episode, not that much else happened. I went to "brunch" at the hotel on Saturday-- not a piece of toast or a plate of eggs in sight. Lame. They didn't get the memo about what a real, delicious brunch is (I miss my Mom's cooking!). I went to the Mall of the Emirates soon after, the biggest mall here--the one with the ski slope in it, for all of you who have seen the pictures. The sight of snow made me giddy. I didn't go inside (it's freezing in there, but the air conditioning here definitely runs a close second) but seeing snow reminded me of home and how it will be cold and most likely snowing (or not: global warming) when I return to the States in November.

Funny things at the mall: groups of women in their black outfits (it makes them look ghostly--like spirits), men in their dishdashas (those are the traditional white dresses they wear) walking next to tourists in their khaki uniform, cameras, and fanny packs, and teenagers in their Forever 21 sparkly-tween attire. That's what Dubai really is--a huge melting pot of tons of cultures, ethnicities, languages, customs, etc. The mall itself is HUGE. They have EVERYTHING. Below are a couple of pictures from the outing.

For the record: Things are not cheaper here. My movie ticket was the equivalent of $10. My Starbucks tall frapp: $5. Two boxes of granola bars, 12 apples, a shower loofah, and a bag of mixed nuts at the store as big as 2 Walmarts: $25.

No, I'm not joking.


Geek is the same in every language, apparently:



Multilingual Mochas:



They looove their Sheikhs, as is evidenced by massive billboards on the side of the highway (more of these to come--they're EVERYWHERE):


The soon-to-be tallest building in the world, Burj Dubai:

Clearance granted

So I made it. I took an overnight flight from London and sat next to a really pleasant British girl, didn't really sleep, but got all of my luggage.

The visa and passport control lines are a different story. My first glimpse into a different way of doing things in this country:

Scenario 1: I come to these 4 counters set up for visas--any kind of entrance visa whether it's for work, visiting, etc. They are set up as follows: Europeans and Americans, Africans and Arabs, Pakistanis and Asians. That hierarchy is very indicative of the social classes that exist here, first of all. Second of all, there are only 2 men behind the counter, looking very tired and worse for wear. Third of all, do the math--2 visa guys x 4 counters = not enough to deal with all the lines. One of those counters unmanned happens to be the Europeans and Americans counter. We start to queue; we wait, oh, 7 minutes. A man in front of me goes up to the other counter, and asks one of the men (who has his back turned) if we can get someone to help us--he is IGNORED. Flat out denied--no response. So he leaves in a huff. One minute later, and the Europeans and Americans are being taken care of--even though people in other lines were there first. And have been waiting (like the 50 or so South Asian men waiting to get their visas to start working on all the high rises here. They have to wait by the visa counter whether their visa is found in 2 hours or 2 days--at the whim of the desk counter guys and their schedules. Uh huh).

That's not even the best story from the airport.

Scenario 2: So then I get my employment visa (a piece of paper), and I get into the line for passport control--which is quite well set up. There must be 50 counters in total, with maybe 15 passport checkers ready to check all the flights that arrived around the same time. So I get in a line. Within 5 minutes, the guy who was checking my line has disappeared--vanished. I think, ok, time for shift change. 5 minutes. 10 minutes. 15 minutes. No one says a WORD. My New Yorker attitude is starting to simmer. I am getting angry that we are not moving, that no one has taken the guy's spot, and that none of the other men "patrolling" are noticing and asking someone to get their ass over there to fill the desk. Throw me a bone.

A few times, I considered saying something...I decided against it. I didn't want to start off on the wrong foot (or in a customs office). So then our line and 2 others start sharing the remaining passport checkers--because that is SO efficient. Anyway, I get through, I get my luggage, I leave.

On the drive to the hotel, I see lots of interesting things, like enormous high rise buildings half finished, KFC written in Arabic, the 2nd biggest mall in the world-- you know, the usual. I tried to snap some photos, but the car was going to fast. I do however, have a couple of interesting photos below. Taken years apart, this can give you an idea about the insane amount of growth and development here. I will post personally snapped photos in a couple of days.

I am slightly crabby at the moment since I flicked the "Do not Disturb" switch so that I could sleep in today--it's a long weekend since today is the Prophet Muhammed's birthday--peace be upon him (you have to write that phrase after you say his name, every single time, or else you could be arrested--I'm not joking). But then the phone blared in the middle of an intense dream I was having, and the woman on the other end asked me to open the door for room service, since I had ordered a bucket of ice--oh really, I ordered that? In the middle of my REM cycle? Great, thanks for informing me, that's why I had the DO NOT DISTURB sign on, genius.

To get your awareness up, weekends here are Friday/Saturday, not Saturday/Sunday. So Sunday will now be my Monday--ugh. I will never get used to that. Sunday was by far one of my favorite days. Weeeelcome to Dubai.

Sheik Zayed Road (THE main road) Dubai 1990:


SZR Dubai 2003:


SZR Dubai (at night) 2006: