Kalamazoo to Dubai

I thought I might share an update, and base it around the way Dubai is experienced through the five senses. Oftentimes it is heavy, an overwhelming assault, but there are subtleties that are appreciated as well, and make it a pleasure to live here. I will try to evoke what I can.

Smell: My nose is not the most sensitive, which is both a blessing and a curse. However, Dubai is the land of strong smells. Because water was traditionally scarce, the Bedouin didn’t use it for washing, but instead used heavy fragrances and incense to cover up the BO. Although water is available now (and the Gulf uses more than anywhere else) the culture still emphasizes strong fragrances in everything from perfume, to detergents, and yes, even the toilet paper. I’m trying to think of a way to describe the smell of “Oud” which is a scent that is popular in both fragrances and incense and in some of the malls here is piped into some of the shops. 1) Immerse yourself in a cloud of patchouli for an hour. 2) Take two bottles of “McGraw” cologne. Dump one over yourself. Drink the other. 3) Wrestle a skunk. This gives an idea of the potency of the stuff. Flowers are everywhere. Their smells are a wonderful respite from some of the less savory aspects of a car culture with fungible emission laws. Also, like I’ve said before the sewage trucks are ubiquitous and “grey water” is used to water the flowers, so sometimes that smell can emit from the flowerbeds too. The sheer variety of ethnicities means food prep in our apartment building can be a total crapshoot. One of our neighbors swears that some days the people on their floor do nothing but cut up and cook garlic. We have in our building Indians, Arabs, Westerners, Turks, Phillipinos, Koreans, Russians, and some Africans I have yet to acquaint myself with. These are just the people I know in an 8 story building. With AC we get to sample a little bit of everything through the air vents.

Touch: You miss the feel of western building materials, specifically wood. Our apartment is marble, stone, cement, brick and some kind of plexiglass window. In our creaky old house I could track the movements of everyone, even the cat. Here Maeve can be anywhere and I have no idea where she is or how she got there. We can all pretend we’re ninjas. The sidewalks nearby are brick, and hell on my feet when I run. The roads are asphalt but with the unpredictability of drivers its a risk to run on them, although plenty of people do. Sand, sand everywhere. Fine stuff, laden with sea shells of all variety of textures. Maeve and Heidi have amassed quite a collection. For people from the Great Lakes it seems a bounty to hold white, spikey shells in your hands alongside amazing vermillion conches and shells that are as big as the palm of your hand to carry the little ones away to your car.

Taste: I was going to make a post called “What We’re Eating” but maybe at a later date. Dates…so many varieties here. In the US, you have the giant and expensive Medjool (which is wonderful) and the utility Deglet Noir (moist, tasty, the jack of all trades in the date world). In the supermarket you have at least seven or eight varieties that are available, and then there are some others that are set aside for uses in high end confections. This will merit a seperate post someday when I have done more extensive date tasting. The palms are just starting to sprout, so give me a few months. I have been indulging my interest in middle eastern cuisine here as best I can. The Lebanese are truly the Italians of the Arab world. Their food is amazing, omnipresent, and in many ways has pushed out the “traditional” food of the gulf, which was very limited to meat, milk, dates, and fish. However, we get food from interesting sources. A lot of produce comes from Iran like pistachios, watermelon, cucumbers, almonds. Egypt sends a lot of rice, but also fruits as well. I have been experimenting with Sumac, a reddish spice with a slightly tart flavor. I cooked something called a “Musakhan” (tart chicken in the cookbook) which involved a lot of sumac and chicken broth. The broth was also poured over pita bread to soak it and make it into a quickie dumpling that is then eaten with rice and pine nuts. Cinnamon is also a new favorite spice of mine and using it with couscous to make North African “Tagines” (soups or stews) has inspired me, even though without pork our only consensus meat here is chicken. Boring old chicken. Not a lot of turkey for consumption beyond cold cuts, I have my fish allergy, and the missus is not big on lamb or beef. Pork is available but the cuts aren’t the same and it’s much more expensive than in the US. Hummos is widely available and we consume a lot of it. Most cheeses from europe are available and the feta here is very strong, but in a good way. Since alcohol is forbidden to Muslims they tend to drink a lot of coffee, tea, and juice. I don’t drink coffee, so Heidi will have to expound on that one later, but the tea thus far has been good, but nothing has surprised me. They like mint. A lot. So do I. Especially mixed with lemonade, and we have even started doing this ourselves. Mango is popular, and pineapple. They use a green apple to make juice as well here, and its flavor is more tart that what we’re used to, but Heidi and I both like it. Thumbs down from Maeve though. Incidentally, when booze is harder to get and more expensive you realize how much you like cooking with it.

Hearing: With a country full of people from everywhere else you get a variety of languages and music. We’ve been listening to an Indian radio station here and I tell you truly: You must find a way to listen to Indian hip hop. The pop music is a trip too, and I appreciate it more because its not just some lame world music mash up by Bowie or William Orbit but the actual stuff that some portion of the subcontinent listens to. Its not ironic or cynical, which is refreshing. But the DJ’s confuse the heck out of us because they may say a sentence in English, then switch to Hindi or Urdu or something mid stream and it just becomes gibberish until a stolen word or phrase crops up from the English language again. Like mgighe ighe e gheehilglg who let the dogs out ahoehgeh goehg HA HA HA eoghie igehge that’s right you go girl eowhgoehg g. A culture of a billion people is happening and I’m missing it. Arabs love rap music, and they have the giant suvs to go along with it. It can be in any language. Sometimes they bump what sounds like traditional Arab music too. Usually men sing in Arab cultures, and its really plaintive-sounding. Not really base heavy enough to bump from your Land Cruiser, but hey it’s your country dude.

Sight: I will beat the diversity drum some more. Indian clothing with tiny reflective pieces of glass on the saris, Arab women completely covered in black abayas but with intricate embroidery all over the sleeves and hems. The purse is one of the few things a woman can show when she is covered up, so the more garish and expensive the better. Would you buy a purse covered in gemstones? I’ve always heard “women dress for other women” and I would have to say in the intricate game of purse oneupmanship it seems to bear fruit. Step away from the people and move to the skyline, with the Burj Khalifa visible from everywhere in Dubai. Look out over the water and see the islands that are being built out there. The water is azure and clear as a bell (mostly) although plenty of stuff floats on it. The sand dunes have a patching of green which I am not sure will survive the summer but as you head out towards the eastern part of the country to the Arabian Sea you encounter copper colored hills made of loose bits of rock. Little scrubby trees cling to their sides and the camels you saw in the desert become little groups of goats, staring with their dead eyes through you. Small towers dot these hills, lookouts for pirates or raiders from only fifty or sixty years ago. Birds have color combinations I am unfamiliar with, and funny crests on their heads. Short little wings, weird waddles, blue feet. I should get some pictures. When the sun goes down, nighttime in Arabia is really the best time. The stars and moon shine brightly, all the artificial lights blink, burn, and blast in arrays both artful and garish. This is when life happens here. Little Maeve must sleep, and join all the other uniformed kids for school, so we will promise ourselves another time, another time and close our eyes.