Al Ain- Day 3 Tuesday -Evening

Dubai -Day 3 -Al Ain

Today was pretty cool. Let’s see, first it started at 7 a.m. when I realized I was never going to get back to sleep no matter how tired I was. Basically, my back tightens up and I have to get up and walk it off; I sleep best sitting up propped against something believe it or not—though I often fall over.

ANYWAY, my father and I went to the lobby to see if we could get some coffee in the lobby. It was far too early for these guys.

U.A.E. rule number something: Nothing begins before 10 a.m. unless otherwise stated.

We did, however, find the banquet room open and ducked in there for a little continental breakfast. Here’s a shot list of what was available: Eggs (scrambled or hard boiled), sliced boiled potatoes, chicken wieners, baked beans, something that looked like chili, a cheese spread, hummus, 12 different types of bread, apple juice, orange juice, guava juice, coffee, donuts and Danishes. T’was a filling and tasty breakfast. It reminded me of high school when I nuked hot dogs for breakfast everyday. Who knew I would find my breakfast kindred spirits in Dubai!

We talked to the busboy who was from Bangladesh. His English was tough to understand, but he told us he was trying to save up enough money to move to the U.K. We bid him luck etc. My pop paid, which was a nice change for me, and we headed back up to the room.

Hoping to come back a little tanner than I left, I decided to put my plan into action by chilling out at the pool. I brought my book and the two of us went out there where we instantly began sweating profusely. It had to be in the high 90’s and 85% humidity, at least. I think after about 10 minutes I felt my skin starting to burn. My pop moved into the shade and I decided to jump into the pool without trunks! What a rebel! There were three mega hot Chinese girls that came out and joined us by the pool. That was a very nice treat.

Ok, skip an hour forward. I decided I needed to get some laundry started so we could have clean clothes and be ready to leave when our friend Khalifa showed up. Crap this shit is boring…. What’s worth writing about?

Dad’s suitcase got lost, and it is lost still. The airline pays 35£ a day until it eventually is discovered or declared lost. He needed to go buy some new clothes.

Meredith went to the Airport to fetch our friend Lynn who is joining us for the weddings and Jordon. She thought the flight arrived in Dubai at 7:30 a.m. Turns out it arrived at Heathrow in London at 7:30. Meredith was waiting at the Air Port and driving around in cabs for at least 4 hours. Not too fun for her, I’m sure, but she returned in high spirits anyway.

Khalifa showed up at noon and we checked out of the hotel and headed, once again, to the Mall of the Emirates…the place with skiing. That was fine, pops hadn’t seen it and he and Meredith needed some stuff.

We killed a few hours there and then left for Al Ain, which is where Khalifa’s family lives. I slept so the trip meant nothing to me. I awoke right as we were pulling into his family’s villa, chateau, compound…words basically escape me.

The building was huge and it sat on at least an acre of land. There was a one room building in front where their Pakistani driver lived and another building to the right of the house where the kitchen was and the two servant women stayed. All in all a minimum of seven family members lived in the house. I think only the married sisters no longer live there.

The lawn was sand and gravel. Basically there was no irrigation system and all the family’s water had to be ported in on a weekly or monthly basis. There were a couple of huge water tanks near the driver’s house. I had to remember that we were in the middle of the desert—not a desert like the Sahara, more like in Nevada.

The house was enormous, easily a million dollar home in the Chicago region. I think it only had two stories, but each floor was at least an additional 5 feet higher than what I’m used to. The walls were all brushed sandstone and the building had a very distinctive Arabic flair. It was designed to resemble a desert castle or fortress, I think. There were at least five cars parked in the front.

The vestibule to the house held three doors. The center door was for the family, the door on the right was for male guests and the door on the right was for female guests. We entered the right door and walked into a huge living room that was decorated with a carpet a few pictures and nine very cozy and fancy sofas.

On the rug was a basket filled with fruit. Most of it I recognized—bananas (moz), apples (ta-fall’h), tiny plums, oranges (Burr-du-gagh), and grapes—but there was one fruit that was super freaky looking. It sort of resembled a spiny sea anemone; it was yellowish with bright purple quills all over it. I think it was called and Indian Plum. Well, to eat it you peel the skin off and eat the fruit around the pit. It was pretty tasty.

Now, I must state that we eating this fourth meal about an hour after a huge lunch and it was really difficult to imagine stuffing more food in my gut, so when the next plate of food came out, I was really not very interested in eating it, though I am quite fond of trying new things. I can’t remember what this stuff was called for the life of me, but it looked like oatmeal or the gravy from ‘gravy and biscuits’. It was some mixture of goat meat, gravy, and flour. Apparently this stuff is huge, like macaroni and cheese or something, the thing is it’s like eating some kind of meat gravy that is uncooked dough at the same time. It’s not bad, but I was truly stuffed and could only choke down a few spoonfuls.

There was tea and Arabic coffee as well. As Khalifa stated a number of times, the Arabic coffee (co-hu-ah) was not sweetened. This didn’t really explain the unique flavor of this coffee, however. I’ve had Turkish coffee, and here, the coffee we drink is called Coffee Americana, and it’s espresso and water, but this was something altogether different. Meredith said the flavor was cardamom, beats me but it took a bit of getting used to. You sip it from tiny china mugs.

Khalifa’s mother (Oom) came out to greet us, which is generally not done. The reason she made an exception for us is because she was both extremely happy to have us visit her, and also because Khalifa’s family understands that westerners are used to different customs than Arabs.

Generally, the women stay in their own area, and I take it that this not out of some kind of subservience, but rather some sort of proprietary respect. Arab men will talk about their wives, but do not mention their names or introduce them to other men. It is considered rude to ask too much about another man’s wife.

This is had to explain, and seems really odd to westerners because our wives and sisters and mothers desire something different in our society. I wish I could describe it better, but I think it all lies in history: in Bedouin culture, protection of the women is highly valued, where I think in America, history put women in a different position, one where they had to be more active in the work and business of the family. All I can say is that I don’t get the feeling the women resent this, but almost prefer it. It makes life easier for them I think.

Anyway, Khalifa’s mother wanted to be with us and talk to us and, frankly, I was really flattered and honored, because I think it means a great deal to have us come thousands of kilometers to visit them and honor their son on his wedding day. It’s honestly, one of the most special things I think I’ve been able to participate in. Plus, the families of the Arabic guys who used to live in Evanston truly love my sister because she took care of their sons while they were so far away from their families. The mothers, sisters, and wives of these men truly love taking care of them and I think knowing they were so well looked after while in a foreign land is something that can’s ever be repaid. Basically, my sister rocked and they worship the ground she walks on.

After coffee and tea, we got into the spiffy new Infinity, owned by Khalifa’s future wife, and set out to see their camel (Jamel or busch) farm. After a few minutes drive across the desert we arrived at the camel farm.

Words will do this scene no justice. I’m not sure I was able to process it completely anyway. Thankfully, I got many pictures and videos. I’ll try to describe everything I can remember.

As the suburban neighborhood of new and under-construction villas and chateaus dwindled, the buildings first became older single-room houses, and finally corrugated metal lean-to shacks. Apparently Khalifa’s father’s first house was one of the smaller single room houses. His new house was given to him by the government. That’s right…given.

The shacks and their associated cobbled together fences and other structures belied no sense of organization or sanity. Things were simply erected wherever they were needed.

The buildings housed goats, camels, and foreign workers. Well, I’m not sure if the workers lived there or just worked there; both are plausible and probable. Indians, Pakistanis and others are literally dying to get into the U.A.E.

We drove over a few sand dunes and turned into a small area with a few beat up water trucks and metal lean-tos. Two men sat in the shade of a truck. These were Khalifa’s uncles and we greeted them and got a few pictures. Then I pet their old male Camel they had. Apparently he’s the father of most of the camels.

The camels are used for three things, as far as I can gather: milk, racing, and meat. Each camel can fetch around 50k Dirham, I think. They are valuable animals, and I believe this is how much of Khalifa’s father’s (Abu-Khalifa) fortune was made. Apparently, when he was born in the 50’s, the U.A.E. didn’t exist yet and everyone was a Bedouin. Bedouins are basically nomads who drive their flocks looking for oases and digging wells in the desert. In the 50 some years he’s been alive, the country was formed, the government prospered and all of these new houses are for them. More about this later.

Meredith went with Khalifa’s mother (Oom-Khalifa—parents always are called by the name of their oldest son) to look at the goats and meet his aunt. We men discussed things about the Bedouin lifestyle, camel racing, and other things. When the women returned we went over to see the new mothers and their calves. These camels are being bred for racing and if they are fast they can sell for over a million Dirham, maybe $360k.

Two workers were milking one of the mothers and they brought us a bowl of fresh milk. We all took a sip. Now, I’m not really one to drink milk in general, so I was a bit skeptical about drinking camel milk, which I was told would give me the shits for two days, but hey, I didn’t want to be rude. So I drank.

The milk was froth and soft. It was warm, having just come from the mom, and actually didn’t taste too bad. Having, never drunk cows milk that was this fresh, and I have an uncle with a dairy farm, I was surprised by the not unpleasantness of the milk. I don’t think I want to do it again, but it’s definitely one for the books—or blogs if you will.

I snapped a bunch of pics and vids, a bunch of camels and goats too, and then we left and headed back to Khalifa’s house. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned how much new construction is going on in the U.A.E., but the road we were on didn’t exist a year earlier, and the house has only been there for year and a half. It’s as if everything just erupted from the desert overnight. My father who had been here during Desert Storm said it was nothing like he remembered it.

We then headed to our hotel, where I am currently typing, freshened up a bit and went back to Khalifa’s house for dinner. We ate freshly butchered and roasted goat and rice, and honestly, it was great. Khalifa’s brother, one of his uncles and his father joined us.

One situation of note was a second helping of coffee, where Khalifa’s younger brother had to stand at attention while we drank our fill of coffee. This, of course, made my father and I uncomfortable, being American and not used to such service, but Khalifa said it is tradition and his brother would stand there for hours until we were finished. He told us to shake our cups from side to side when we were finished, so we drank and quickly shook our mugs at him so he could sit down.

Though everyone else I’ve met so far has spoken pretty good English, most of Khalifa’s family only knows Arabic. In fact, Khalifa’s father never learned to read or write, because when he was a child, schools didn’t exist and he was a nomad. The amount of change that is happening here is utterly staggering.

Khalifa’s uncle is really cool and he and I were practicing Arabic words. He taught me the names of some fruit, of the clothes they wear (Kandora is all I can remember now) and a few other things. Orange is pronounced something like Burr-do-gaghh, with a bit of a guttural thing at the end of the word. I had trouble with this one and finally got it when I matched it with a rough pronunciation or ‘Portugal’. Apple is Ta-fallah, which I remembered because it sounds like ‘to fall’ like the apple fell on Newton. Pretty clever, eh?

Anyway, we have a lunch appointment at his uncle’s house tomorrow, and I am just about exhausted of memories for today so I’m going to stop.

Ma’a Salaama!