Grandest adventure yet!

Due date: 3 July 2008.


Baby facing you: able to see eyes, nose, mouth


Close up


NOT TWINS: first picture is of arms, second legs


Measuring length, at 12 weeks= 1 1/2 inches

Camel race videos (by popular demand)

Up close and personal :)

Mid-race

Last race- human jockeys

National Day Weekend in Liwa Oasis

Liwa Oasis: Getting There Is Half the Fun
By
Randall D. Ball

We had a long weekend thanks to a holiday; it was National Day (2 December) in the United Arab Emirates. Thus, Friday morning, the beginning of our weekend, found Christine and me once again at the bus station, this time heading for the Liwa Oasis. We boarded a crowded mini bus (a van), and my knees became closely acquainted with my chest for the next two hours.
I unfolded myself at the very green town of Madinat Zayed, where we had to change buses. After kindly offering to take us all the way to Liwa for a “special price” (about twice as much as a cab ride), the mini bus driver told us that the next regularly-scheduled bus would leave for Liwa in about three hours. We opted to wait for the bus in Madinat Zayed rather than let the driver give us a personal escort to the oasis. After a deliciously-spiced beef-and-vegetable pastry at a Bangladeshi restaurant, Christine and I settled under a tree to read in the cool shade and appreciate the unnaturally-green, heavily-irrigated town.
An hour later, we were in our own personal mini bus being escorted to Liwa. Tired of waiting, we had bargained the guy down to half his original offer. As the van hurled us toward the oasis, we saw a group of oryx grazing on the side of the vacant four-lane highway and a few lone camels on the tops of the sand dunes in the desert beyond.
Liwa is not a town; it’s a region. The Liwa Oasis is a series of communities, separated with long stretches of the romantic desert, the desert of film and many pictorials, the desert of dreams. Liwa is far prettier, much more scenic, than the desert around the city of Abu Dhabi and along the Emirates’ coast. The coastline’s desert is comprised mainly of salt flats mixed in with low-lying white sands. Liwa, on the other hand, has the picturesque reddish-orange sand dunes, the subject of many photographic books of Arabia. It is at once romantic, inspiring, beautiful, and quite solitary.
We were dropped off at the Liwa Resthouse, one of only two options (unless you count camping, but we don’t have such equipment—yet) in the entire oasis. The other option is the Liwa Hotel, a huge four-star resort built to fool people into thinking they’re somewhere else. It’s silly; why travel out to the middle of nowhere to be surrounded by people and civilization? The resthouse is run by the government—and looks it. It is a simple concrete structure, with little adornment and little to love. It’s a state hospital without the scrub suits and the little florist’s shop. It’s the DMV without lines. The beauty is outside. However, the resthouse is clean with private bathrooms and hot showers and satellite television for those quite evenings. It has a restaurant with a rather extensive menu, mainly containing items that are not available, and is a third of the cost of the Liwa Hotel. (We are teachers and thus on a limited budget, remember!).
The next day, we arranged to have a cab take us to the Moreeb Dune, the tallest dune in Liwa at three-hundred meters. Adventurous sorts in four-wheel drives race up the side of the dune. The entire area is popular for such dune-bashing, but it’s still so isolated and so big that you could easily find solitude on a grand scale.
Leaving the resthouse, we quickly discovered that the hotel’s backyard was in fact the red-tinged desert. The oasis ended with the resthouse. We were at the edge of the famed Empty Quarter and ready to explore it. Saudi Arabia was a mere fifteen kilometers away. Every turn in the road gave us another picture-worthy scene. Much of what we saw looked more like a Martian landscape. The feeling was nearly surreal, this excursion into the Red Planet. Moreeb Dune stood tall in front of us, reaching toward the sky, and we struggled to find a way to capture its magnificence on film. The scale itself is not easily perceived.
When we returned to the resthouse, Christine and I had lunch—only after being told “no” to numerous dishes on the menu. The multi-page photocopied menu should be re-written as follows:

*chicken-and-vegetable soup with French fries
*vegetable-and-chicken soup with French fries
*chicken sandwich with French fries
*Greek salad (without feta cheese or olives); French fries extra
*More French fries
*Hummus with French fries
*Mixed Grill (chicken and lamb) with potato (potato choices: French fries or, well, French fries)
*Dessert: French fries

I’m sure if they had a food processor, the resthouse would offer a French-fry smoothie. Later that day, Christine placed a special order: a grilled-cheese sandwich, but she insisted that she didn’t want fries. The server looked surprised.
“No French fries?” he asked in a tone suggesting that my wife had asked for tartar sauce with her ice cream (not that the resthouse actually had either item).
“No,” Christine pleaded.
“No fries,” he muttered. He shook his head in disbelief.
Christine also had to instruct the server on the grilled-cheese sandwich.
“Chicken?” he asked.
“No, just cheese. A cheese sandwich. Just some cheese and some bread…but toasted.”
“Okay. Cheese…bread.”
“And you can warm it up?” she asked in order to clarify the order for him.
“What?”
“I want it warmed up, toasted,” Christine explained.
“No problem.”
The sandwich arrived, cold—but without fries. Thank goodness we didn’t ask the cook to boil water.
We spent the afternoon in an expansive park next to the resthouse. It was nice to sit under the trees, on real grass, as birds darted from palm to palm. The only sounds were the cheerful chirping of birds and the occasional ATV in the distance. It was relaxing in the oasis, enjoying the fresh, clean air and the warm sun, spending an afternoon reading and pondering what to eat for dinner—besides French fries, of course. (We also learned that the “grilled fish” only came fried. Care to guess what accompanied this fried fish?).
Our journey home the following day was uneventful. We made our connections easily, which was a relief after the effort getting to Liwa. The operator of the resthouse offered to drive us, gratis, to the Liwa taxi stand, and we had a nice conversation with him. He immediately found us a shared taxi for the trip to Madinat Zayed, saving us much time and money, and our connection at Madinat Zayed was equally fast. It was a little after noon when we were home in Abu Dhabi. We were hungry and willing to eat almost anything, anything, that is, but more French fries.


Tal Morib (Moreeb Dune)-no way to show scale, but as tall as the Eiffel Tower!


Dali-esque sand dunes


Bits of green and brown plants


That tiny black dot on the horizon...is a camel!


Camel hoofprints along road


Randy and shadow

Camel Races

Camels on the way home after a hard day at the track

Randy atop a dune with camel farm in background

the last race, with human jockeys

midrace- don't they look like greyhounds in motion?

coming around one of the bends

pre-race grooming

3 faces and a hump

the race, camels and cars alike, is in progress

remote jockey getting ready to whip the camel

foaming at the mouth

The Camel Race by Randall D. Ball

Just outside the city of Abu Dhabi, on the mainland of the United Arab Emirates, there’s a desert racetrack. Another couple invited my wife and me there one Friday morning for camel racing. We were the only westerners there, and Christine and Barbara were the only women present. There was no one in the stands. Everyone gathers into their four-wheel drives and follows the track (dirt roads run parallel to either side of the track), rooting for their favorite camel. It was wild. We probably saw five hundred camels that day. They used to use child jockeys from Afghanistan, Pakistan, Indian, and other places, which was sad because when these children, ages five to seven or so, grew too large, they were abandoned. These days the “jockeys” are motorized, robotic little creations strapped to the backs of the camels to apply the whips to the camels’ hindquarters. These camels are all dromedaries (one hump). The Bactrian camels (two humps) are found elsewhere in Asia.
After a dangerous start in which the men who led the camels to the starting gate have to run out of their way, the race was on! The five-kilometer oval track takes the camels and the four-wheel drives only a few minutes to circumnavigate, at approximately thirty-five kilometers an hour (later, the same journey with three, four, or five camels tied together with a real jockey would be twenty kilometers an hour). A camera man, mounted on the top of a truck, followed the lead camel, tracking the race from start to face. The other enthusiasts, in their trucks, would honk at the camels, and I could see a few people operating remote controls from the trucks following the camels. One guy was so into the race that he was whipping his own truck with a stick as he yelled at his camel. Others just honked at their camels to increase their speed. We saw one camel collapse into the barricade and fall; he was lifted out of the racetrack with a machine especially designed for that purpose. Another camel broke through the barrier and just kept going. He galloped across the desert sand, and a group of boys, grinning and obviously excited to undertake the task, chased after the escapee. The strangest thing we saw was the passing of the cake. During the race, while trucks jockeyed for position on the camel racetrack, one man held out a cardboard box with a cake and handed it to a man in another truck. Somehow, they managed to make the exchange without spillage.
After the races, we checked out some of the camels. One group of camels, obviously from one owner, were decked out in beautiful purple fabric and looked pretty regal. Each camel or camel group had its own dress—and each was very colorful. From a spot atop a beautiful sand dune, with our feet entrenched in its warmth, we watched the various herds as they were directed home; it was quite a sight.

Part II: From Rags to Riches, BZ (BZ= Before Zayed), by Christine

Prior to oil and Zayed, the Bedouin tribes living on the southern coast of the Arabian Gulf continued on much as they had in the preceding hundreds and thousands of years. Life was extraordinarily harsh: little food or water, no medicine or education. Subsistence living was carried on at its most basic level. Women were in charge of cooking, cleaning, children, camels and goats. Walking many kilometers a day to collect firewood for cooking and to collect the brackish water were also female duties. Men protected their families and maintained tribal relations. Along the coast, men fished in the winter and went pearl-diving in the summers. Clothing was minimal; shoes were unknown. Bartering and a nomadic lifestyle were required to find the things that made life possible. This began to change only in the 1950s and 60s.
The British had slight interest in what they would later term “The Trucial States” for transport and trading purposes. Dubai became an important port and the incredibly harsh pearling industry off the coast of Abu Dhabi created seasonal trade with India and other nearby countries. Generations of sheikhs signed numerous treaties with the British (thus the Trucial States), the most important being the Treaty of Protectorate that was enforced from 1892 until 1971. This role allowed the British absolute power over whom the peoples of the states could interact with while providing occasional, biased peace-keeping services.
The British influence ranged from mercenary to benign at best. In 1819, after the Qawasim tribe tried to conduct some of its own business dealings, the British fleet raided and destroyed every ship in the Ras Al Khaimah port, thus neatly sealing the demise of the Qawasim and setting up the Bani Yas as the dominate tribe in the region. (The current royal family, the Al Nahyans, descend from the Bani Yas tribe.) Throughout the entire “relationship,” no hospital, school or mosque was ever built. The highlight of British involvement came in the protection of Al Ain from Saudi takeover.
Before and after the world wars, oil exploration extended into the area. Bahrain, Saudi Arabia and Kuwait signed deals with the American, British and French oil companies as part of the region’s first key concessions. The sheikhs of the Trucial States were limited by the treaty to have discussions with the British only. Sheikh Shakhbut, the ruler at that time, was in the terminal phase of the Sheikh-British relationship cycle: optimism, doubt and ultimately complete distrust.
Unfortunately, Shakhbut’s wariness was extreme. His decisions held back modernization, and continued a harsh existence for everyone, even after oil money started flowing into the coffers. For several years in the early 60s, he enforced a ban of any construction. He only permitted electrification of the palace after being urged repeatedly by his own family, and then did not expand electrical use in Abu Dhabi until he had time to ensure that it worked safely in his own compound. No new business venture was allowed without his personal approval. And he was always suspicious of anything in writing, as it had been used against him before. Thus in a time of rapid regional growth, the Trucial States stayed, for the most part, in their medieval existence. The populations’ frustration was reaching new limits as contact with the outer world, via battery-powered radio and with workers coming in for the oil industry, increasingly proved that their lives could be so very different.
Trucial States BZ (into the 1960s):
no electricity
little “piped” water
palm-frond huts (called barasti)
donkeys and camels were still primary means of transport
no post office
no hospital (the pieces for one had been sitting in boxes along the beach for years)
a 3-classroom, barely-functioning school
desalinization systems that lacked the proper equipment, pipes to reach the ocean or both
an airport that used the sabkah (salt flats) as a runway- and required camels for to pullout stuck planes on occasion
telegraphs for oil companies only

Al, Fahim. Rags to Riches: A Story of Abu Dhabi. Published by The London Centre of
Arab Studies Ltd. 1995, London, England. Reprinted in 1996, 1998, 2001.

A Day in Al-Ain (Photographs by Christine, Travelogue by Randy)

Christine in the middle of the oasis


Randy by the date palms


The clock roundabout


The coffee pot roundabout


The entry into the oasis


Falaj, or irrigation tunnels


One of the many date palms


After a hearty breakfast Christine and I made our way to Abu Dhabi’s main bus station. The five-minute cab ride cost 5 dirhams ($1.35); the two-hour bus trip to Al-Ain cost ten dirhams (go figure). Years ago, this overland trek took five days by camel. Our journey took us from our bustling, skyscraper-indented island capital through the coastal plains and salt flats, gradually yielding to rolling sand dunes of brown and red. It’s no wonder that people—locals and tourons, er, tourists, alike—enjoy the desert around Al-Ain. Dune bashing, the not-so-eco-friendly act of crashing four-wheel drive vehicles up and over the dunes, is a popular pasttime for the thrill-seeker. Rollercoaster enthusiasts would love it, so I’m ready to do that soon.
The low-rise city of Al-Ain is home to numerous over-the-top roundabouts; their decorations are extreme: the huge, fake rock mountain, the gigantic coffee pot, the mammoth clock—all of these and more can be found in the middle of roundabouts throughout the city. In fact, it’s an effective navigational tool: Go past the coffee pot roundabout and turn right at the gazelle roundabout. If you pass the Arabian horse one, you’ve gone too far.
Al-Ain enjoys the distinction of being the birthplace of His Highness Sheikh Zayed bin Sultan Al Nahyan, the late founder and president of the United Arab Emirates and ruler of Abu Dhabi, the largest of the seven emirates that constitute this relatively-new country in eastern Arabia. After the discovery of oil in Abu Dhabi (the emirate, not the city), Sheikh Zayed poured money into the city of his birthplace, establishing a museum here (the first in the U.A.E.) and ensuring that, like Abu Dhabi city, there was some green in the town, in the form of parks, trees, and grass. An ancient oasis already, Al-Ain became even more of a gem in the sand, and a welcome respite for coastal city-dwellers seeking relief from the heat. Al-Ain is located along a wadi, a natural and mainly underground stream that nourishes the land. Centuries ago, people constructed irrigation tunnels, called falaj, to put the wadi to their own use. Today, descendants of these irrigation tunnels still transport water to the numerous date palms in the oasis.
After a lunch of delicious mutton and chicken curry at a small Indian café, we walked to this oasis. A sign in English welcomed us: NO ENTRY. EXCEPT FOR OWNERS AND TOURISTS. The idea, I believe, was to keep out local traffic, which could damage the fragile eco-system created in the harsh desert. Underneath the date palms, the oasis was definitely cooler—and quieter. We enjoyed the cooling breeze, the shade, the dearth of vehicles and that incessant honking. Occasionally, we would see the water flowing through the tunnels, although most tunnels were dry. A system of primitive dams had been constructed to control where the water flowed. We saw many birds, including this rather large bird with a beautiful blue streak on his wings.
The meandering paths led us, by chance, to a different exit, right next to the Al-Ain Royal Palace Museum, which we did not know existed. We were aware of the East Fort and its neighboring Al-Ain National Museum, near another entrance to the oasis, but this palace was a nice surprise. Built by Zayed after the oil boom as a home when in Al-Ain, the Royal Palace is now open to visitors. It offers a fascinating glimpse into the life of a royal, with many separate buildings, numerous courtyards, and various rooms for entertaining, sipping coffee, discussing matters important and/or trivial, and sleeping when the day is done. Cool and comfortable, nestled against the thick date-palm oasis, the palace has some charming gardens and ponds. I could certainly live there comfortably.
From the palace, Christine and I walked back through the oasis. One wrong turn later, we were at the East Fort, the actual birthsite of Sheikh Zayed, and the Al-Ain National Museum next door. The museum contains much information on the Emirates and Oman, from Stone-Age remnants to Bedouin life and culture. The museum includes photographs of Al-Ain and Abu Dhabi then and now, exhibits of clothing and silver and weaponry and pottery, and an interesting introduction to the Hili tombs, a Stone-Age archaeological site with many unanswered questions. As we left the museum, we heard music in the form of drum-beating and singing. Some local men had gathered to sing outside the East Fort, and we watched as they sang to the drumbeats and swayed and marched in time.
From the museum, we took a quick cab ride to the Omani border. Al-Ain becomes Buraimi in Oman, and guide books talked of easy entrance to Buraimi. Customs and immigration, the travel books said, were fifty kilometers down the road, so the physical border was very informal, even non-existent! The border official at the well-guarded gate, however, told us otherwise.
“No street for you,” he informed me. “Only for Gulf State nationals.”
“Residents?” I asked, hopefully.
He smiled the smile of a border guard who is about to say no. “No, just nationals.”
He then told me about acquiring a visa elsewhere and returning to a different border point to gain access. Otherwise, he told me, Oman was off limits. No wonder people prefer to fly into Oman rather than deal with land border crossings. Our flight into Muscat a month earlier was much easier.
We had wanted to stay at a hotel on the Buraimi side, where things were cheaper. The only hotels in Al-Ain are high-priced, five-star “palaces” which are fine if you intend to spend time at their resorts, but all we wanted was a place to lay our road-weary heads. Buraimi was also home to another fort of interest as well as a camel market, but it was getting late and we did not want to spend half the night trying to break through the iron curtain that comprised this “informal” border crossing. Another cab ride took us to the cheapest hotel in Al-Ain, where the cheapest rooms were about $100 a night. Those rooms were sold out, however, and all the hotel manager could offer us was a two-room suite. Resisting the urge to ask if there was a stable where we could stay, I told him no thanks. His smile was oddly reminiscent of the border guard’s smile; perhaps they were related. The manager seemed most pleased as he implied that I should have made a reservation. I would have been most pleased to give him a wedgie with his tie, while he was still wearing it.
Yet another cab ride took us to the bus station, which of course is right next door to the East Fort and the Al-Ain National Museum. We had not visited the zoo, the livestock souq, half of the crazy roundabouts, or anything in Buraimi, but we were heading home anyway. The bus driver took our dirhams and directed us, to my dismay, to the front seat, the unofficial women’s section of the bus. I assume he wanted to ensure that Christine was not sitting next to any strange men (besides me, of course). With our overnight weekend trip shortened to a long day trip, we headed back along the tree-lined highway to Abu Dhabi, tired but satisfied overall, thinking of our own bed and a good night’s slumber at home, content with the thought of sleeping late the next morning, and of course already planning our next trip.

Part I: Natural History Group's "UAE Families" Presentation (by Christine)

Unfortunately, we arrived late. On the screen was projected a list of common Emirati surnames and the speaker was telling the origins, relative size and strength of each tribe. Next was another family tree showing Zayed’s nine wives and their progeny. The font was too small to see my own student’s name (Hamdan, a grandson). The British national and long-time advisor to the royal family could not say Zayed’s name without adding “God Bless him” or “God rest his soul” with a softened inflection to his voice. I had often heard such deference from others when talking about this larger-than-life man.

The speaker shared with us his eyewitness story of how the country grew from a group of medieval, nomadic tribes that lived in baristas (date palm-frond huts) to its current federalized, twenty-first century grandeur within a single generation. He recalled the sense of family Zayed fostered in the young nation and how he treated everyone, national or foreigner, as a member of that family. He shared his perspective on the place of women in society: not that they are repressed by the abaya and shayla (black robe and head scarf) or their relative isolation but stressed instead that they are highly valued, listened to, and protected. He explained the stabilizing effects of nepotism but pointed out that meritocracy was on the rise.

I left wanting more.

Oman pictures

More pictures of Oman are now available online at Kodak Gallery. If you are interested in receiving an invite to view them, please email me personally (cmobonjongo@hotmail.com) and I will add you to the list :)

Introduction: The UAE Series (by Christine)

First of all, I must admit that I was already a little obsessed with Sheikh Zayed bin Sultan al Nahyan, the late revered father of the nation. His image is still everywhere (including a few choice spots in our house), and he is THE cultural icon of the country. But after the Natural History group’s presenter of last week, the subsequent book I have picked up, From Rags to Riches: A story of Abu Dhabi by Mohammed Al-Fahim, and other conversations with nationals, I am now on a hunt to learn more about this man and his country. Over the next few weeks, I plan to share my findings with all of you! I can already tell it's going to be a fascinating story. Part I coming soon…

Our Eid Break in Oman

Mutrah souk
Wadi Tiwi
Wadi Tiwi
Goats at Al Ayjah
Wadi Shab

As Sifah Beach
Jabrin Castle
Camels following Toyota (mom attached, baby learning to follow)
Girls decorated with Henna for Eid
Randy at Bibi Mariam's tomb

FRIDAY: We flew into Muscat late Friday night on a direct British Airways flight from Abu Dhabi. We ordered "chicken lollipops" and fish and chips from room service and called it a night.

SATURDAY: The famed souq in Mutrah was closed for Eid. The shops were closed, and most people were at home spending time with family. We encountered a few kids tossing firecrackers, and some little girls all adorned in colorful traditional dress. We met up with Leanne and Rob, two other teachers from our school who had rented a Hummer (we would later be thankful for the 4-wheel drive--on the sandy beach). We drove out to As Sifah and relaxed on the beach, explored the waters of the Indian Ocean, and encountered all sorts of fish, crabs, and snails, including several snail gatherings in the wash zone who had congregated to feast on a dead crab or two.

SUNDAY: A tour guide took Christine and me on a trip into "Castle Country": Nizwa, Bahla, and Jabrin. Oman is rocky and mountainous, with a few date palms to break up the monotony of the desert. At one point, out of the blue our tour guide announced, "I like sand." Good thing. The forts/castles provided excellent views of the surrounding area as well as a glimpse into the history, culture, and lifestyle of an ancient civilization. I particularly liked the methods of preventing intruders from reaching the forts: At Nizwa, for example, an army had to breach seven heavy doors while having scalding hot date honey poured on top of them!

MONDAY: We were reunited with Leanne and Rob, who had spent their finial night in a tent on the beach (they used our hotel shower) before they headed back to Abu Dhabi. The souqs in Mutrah were open, and we were shopping. The souqs offered khanjars (curved silver Omani daggers), traditional hats and clothing, frankincense with many added aromas, silver and gold trinkets, souvenirs of all sorts, and busloads of tourists. Christine even ran into one of her students there (who was also staying at our hotel). She took the opportunity to harass the boy in front of his parents, one of those "teacher perks."

TUESDAY: Christine and I rented our own 4-wheel drive (this time a Toyota Land Cruiser) so that we could drive 150 km southeast along the coast to Sur. The paved road out of Muscat was reduced from four lanes to two, and then it became an unmarked gravel "road" that took some effort to find. A new, four-lane, paved highway is being constructed, and at times we could drive on part of that. Other times, we were flying down hills, into gullies and dry river beds with deep drops and steep inclines, over the rough rocks and loose sand, then bouncing back onto the highway. We had headaches by the time we reached Sur--but it was fun. We stopped at Wadi Tiwi along the way, an oasis of sorts between two rocky mountains that dip into the ocean. Palm trees, blue lagoons, and huge rocks characterize the wadi. The road into the wadi narrows as you climb further into it, adding another sense of adventure. The contrast of the blue water and the green palms is incredible against the rocky desert scenery. Our journey ended in Sur, at least for a few hours. Then we drove further south, to Ras al Jinz, an isolated beach where we saw green turtles. A mother turtle was laying egg after egg in the sand, and we saw baby turtles heading back to the sea as well. It was a memorable evening but a late night for us. By the time we reached Sur again, we were ready for bed.

WEDNESDAY: We explored the coastal town of Sur: the fisheries' harbor, the Corniche, the Dhow Shipyard (which had recently burned). At the Dhow Shipyard, a boat man offered us a boat tour around Sur, where we saw many fascinating schools of fish, including several that leapt together out of the water upon being startled by us. Along the coast, we also saw a puffer fish on land (it was dead) and a goat in the water (also dead). Live animals included herons poking around the cliffs, mules wandering on the side of the road, and goats eating trash. We also visited the neighboring town of Al Ayjah, known for its eleborate doors on many of the simple, white-washed homes there. After lunch at the only restaurant in Al Ayjah, we followed the locals' example and took a siesta before returning to the streets for a little shopping and finally dinner.

THURSDAY: Taking the coastal road again, we returned to Muscat, stopping at the tomb of Bibi Maryam and at Wadi Shab, another scenic wadi, for a two-hour hike alternating between shady palms and water and wide-open rocks and sand, leading up into the mountains. Our day concluded in Muscat, with a brief walk on the beach before returning the Toyota to the airport and waiting...and waiting...and waiting, tired but satisfied, for the midnight flight back home to Abu Dhabi.

Danat Resort in Jebel Dhanna, UAE

Sheesha pipes out on the beach


An outdoor room to smoke those pipes


Randy and Christine at the resort's front door:
"Let us in! We need a holiday!"


A view from our window of the resort


Another view of that beautiful Gulf water


A humorous view


Standing outside the resort, saying goodbye

COMMENTS PLEASE!

WRITERS’ NOTE TO READERS: Are you there? Blogging feels very one-sided if you, our esteemed readers, don’t make comments to our posts. What do you think? Have any questions? What else would you like to see/read on our blog? What if I add pictures of Randy doing stupid things? Would that help?! See the poll below to let your vote be heard!!

Ramadan

Ramadan began this month and will conclude in mid-October. During Ramadan, Muslims fast from sunrise until sunset. No food, no drink, no smoking. There are six calls to prayer rather than five. Businesses have different hours, often closed during the afternoon (many people sleep) and then open late into the night. Even Mcdonalds and Starbucks are closed until 6:30 at night. The post office is open from 9:00 PM until 11:00 PM (yes, at night; that's not a typo).

School hours are also shortened. Classes begin at 8:30 AM, and the school day ends at 1:10 PM. Normally, classes run from 8:00 AM until 2:40 PM. Therefore, my classes, which usually are 48 minutes long (a far cry from the 90-minute block scheduling I had back in the States), are now 33 minutes long. Christine's middle-school classes have been shortened from two hours to ninety minutes. I have five classes, in five different classrooms, usually on opposite sides of the building (moving from the girls' side to the boys' side and back); it's tiring enough doing that every 48 minutes. Doing this every half hour is especially hectic. I hardly have time to get settled and get the students working on something before it's time to pack up and leave for another class.

We are enjoying the shortened schedule, however. It's nice to be home by 2:00 in the afternoon. Of course, many businesses are closed (so that trip to the bank or the post office will just have to wait); I can't even go somewhere for a cup of coffee until the sun sets.

This also means that if I want to go to the beach or walk along the Corniche, I am really not supposed to drink water. This is not very easy for someone who really likes his water.

It's interesting, though. The streets come alive at night, and some restaurants sell additional items out in the street that you can grab and take home. Christine and I are trying to get an invitation to a Muslim student's home for "iftar," the breaking of the fast in the evening. Ramadan is scheduled to end on or about October 12, the start of Eid--which will be a reason for Muslims and non-Muslims alike to celebrate (we get a week off from school; Christine and I are planning to go to Oman).

Our neighborhood

View outside our apartment building


One of our neighborhood grocers, located directly across the street from us


The mosque behind our apartment


Celebrating the late Sheikh Zayed


A view of the Arabian Gulf from the Corniche