A Syrian Wedding to remember...(part 2 of 2)

If you've only just tuned in please tune in (Tokyo) to the previous entry 'One night in Damascus' before reading this one...

And so very early on Saturday morning, I got a taxi from my hotel in Damascus to the city of Homs. The city I was supposed to be in. My "Customer Relations" friend who now insisted he was my "Syrian Brother" had arranged with the cab driver to take me through the city centre to take some photos and see a bit of Damascus by daylight. It was all arranged, so the cab driver stopped every so often, explained in Arabic and motioned for me to take some photos. It was one of those moments again that reminded me that by speaking slower and louder to someone who speaks no English doesn't get the message across. I just took photos and thought I would wikipedia them later. I however made sure that I got myself a picture of a street sign showing the direction to Beirut. Its not everyday you follow a street sign that says 20kms to Beirut.

So the trip to Homs was quite an interesting one - with speeds 140km/hour, winds that nearly blew us off the road, clouds that met the plains on one side and snow capped mountains on the other. It was so picturesque - it was a really so beautiful, though I was holding on for dear life. My driver continued to speak to me in Arabic and also did his country proud by lane straddling for the entire 2 hour journey. Every so often he would explain something to me in Arabic and all I kept picking up was 'Homs'. I dont know much Arabic which is simply woeful for living here for nearly a year. All I really know how to say is 'thank you', 'how's it going?', 'peace be upon you', 'one' and of course the food talk that knows no boundaries like 'hommous', 'tabbouleh', 'kibbeh', 'fatayer' and 'shish kebab'. Even if I really had to be stuck in Syria for Christmas, I would never go hungry.

So we finally arrived in Homs, and my cab driver took me directly to Hotel Safir - the hotel I was supposed to be in. When we crossed the border he looked at me and said 'Hoooms!" and I looked at him, and in the same way he said "Homs" about a metre to the back of his throat, I shrugged my shoulders and said "hoooommuuuus?"- and my little cab man laughed and laughed. I was so impressed with myself that I was still funny even when we had no idea what the other was saying. Little did I know that this cab ride was like a warm up for the next 24 hours.

Just quickly- a few pictures I love- a cadilac in downtown Homs- awesome picture- taken especially for my "arts and crafts friend and foe"- and this Daihatsu- they all painted on the brands on their trucks- why Daihatsu then?

So I arrived at the hotel I was supposed to have checked in 12 hours before and my Belarussian friend's fiance (who shall thenceforth be known as 'the Belarussian's husband') called me on my phone- my Belarussian friend had transferred some credit to my phone, however only just enough to receive his call. I called him back from the hotel phone and he now gave a new cab driver directions to their house in Arabic. I was starving and so tired. Into the other cab I got, and drove for a solid 60 seconds to the apartment they were staying in- it was quite literally behind the hotel. He stopped the car and motioned for me to get out. In my limited Arabic (albeit growing) I kept asking-"What flat number?"- I dont know how I did it but he put his finger up motioning the number 1. "Wahed?" I said. "Nahm" he said- ok I think I'm on the right track. So as I got out of the cab a man was entering the apartment block I was supposed to enter. I yelled "eeeexcuuuse me! Wahed?" with all different types of intonation like we used to do in drama class- don't you know "there are a 101 ways you can say 'hello'"? See how all my past life experiences in drama and as an ESL teacher have all been building blocks for me to tackle the obstacles of regional Syria? So the man showed me where "wahed" was. I could hear someone coming down the stairs and then I saw the platinum blonde hair I was hoping to see. Oh my god! I finally made it! How- I'm not sure- but I made it.

So we went upstairs, and I was greeted so warmly by her mum and dad with Belarussian greetings and hugs. In true European style, my bag was taken from me, someone telling me to take my jacket off and an offer of some warm socks and slippers. We sat down with a cup of coffee and I explained to my friend the adventures of the night before. She translated. Yes, there certainly were quite a few funny stories and it was all part of the fun to guess when the punch line was coming in her Belarussian translation. I think she made my stories sound so much funnier in Belarussian, possibly because she is one of the funniest people I know. (Its ok, all you others, you haven't moved down a rank or anything, the circle is just growing). Living in Dubai you meet so many people who's mother tongue isn't English and like I keep saying, if they are that funny in English I can only imagine how funny they are in their real language.

So the Belarussian bride went off to have her pre ceremony bath and relax time. That meant I was in a room again with 4 people who couldn't speak a word of English, her mother, father, sister and brother in-law from Azerbiajan (I know, I had to Wikipedia it too later on- but the giant of course knew all about it and even knew how to spell it. Just an FYI, it has a population of 4 million- I am obsessed with populations-puts it all into perspective). They were so sweet and really wanted to make conversation and kept flipping through the channels on the TV in hope of finding an English one. It was raining outside, so none of the stations were picking up. Hang on, there's an Italian channel-I could understand that one- so in no time I found myself trying to translate the nativity scene musical to the 3 x Belarussians and 1 x Azerbiajani. Song, dance, pantomime- I got there in the end.

The Belarussian bride reemerged and the 4 of us ladies made our way to the hairdressers at about 11am. The Belarussian's bridesmaid could speak Arabic and so came to the salon, briefed 'hair and make-up' and then left with the Belarussian bride to go to the groom's home where the bride traditionally prepares herself for the grand unveiling.

It was a little bit dangerous leaving us there with no common language, however after asking everyone in french "parlez-vous Francais?", in no time we found ourselves a francophone and communication break-down between Australia and Syria was a thing of the past. However the real challenge, and the one that will remain for the rest of the trip, is how the bloody hell am I going to now translate that into Belarussian? I was really happy now that at least, via basic French, I could now communicate that I didn't want my hair to be quite as teased and enormous like the lady that just went before me. Just a blow dry for me thank you very much- with a bit of curl. So they started with my hair, did a standard blow dry, and then motioned for me to wait... Half an hour, then a new lady came and blow dried it again and set my curls with huge brushes... Wait again- another half an hour. So I took this down time as an opportunity to use my ESL teaching skills to make small conversation with the Belarussians. You know me- how could I go so long without talking? I motioned to a bride in a magazine and was trying to communicate to the Belarussian mum that her daughter looks beautiful in her dress. I had seen it the week before in Dubai when she went to collect it. I can't even speak the language and I made the Belarussian mother cry. Nice one Madame T of Arabia. But at least she understood me.

Back to my hair- as far as was concerned it was done. As far as they were concerned it was only in phase 2 of 5. Finally Mrs Doubtfire's brother (oh I am so happy I worked out who he looked like!) came over to examine my hair and gave me the "when did you last have a haircut?" and "your hair could really do with a treatment" spiel in Arabic. And so, the last phase of many was now the GHD to curl my hair- again. Like a natural reflex, he then reached for the sponge to tuck under my hair to give it that large hair lift- "no no no no!" I said. They couldn't understand why I didn't want my hairs to defy gravity and talked amongst themselves (rhubarb, rhubarb). It was the longest hairdresser appointment I've ever had. 4 hours- the Belarussians and I didn't have to speak the same language to know we were both as peeved and anxious as the other to get to the groom's place where the Belarussian bride was getting made up.

So we finally packed into a small car and made our way back to the apartment to get ready. Terence of Arabia now also carries the title of Belarussian Stylist Extraordinaire. I guided the Belarussian mother and the sister through their ensemble choices and by the end they graduated from my school of style with the mother of the bride sporting my top and handbag and overall style by the House of Terence d'Arabie.

So now 5 of us plus a driver pile into a car just a little larger than my "Syrian Brother's" from the night before. Here I am taking photos of everything left right and centre, and I had remembered my Belarussian friend had said my photographic obsession reminded her of her mother's. In no time, Mrs B (B for Belarus) was getting everything on the left of the car, and me everything on the right and were communicating and laughing saying 'paparazzi' - Lady Ga Ga made that word international. I loved this dolphin fountain in the inland town of Homs. It made me think that maybe we could start up a 'sister city dolphin fountain foundation' so the dolphin fountain of Homs in Syria could be coupled with the teracotta dolphin that spits water into a pond that happens to sit out the front of my home in Australia. Thought my mum would love this one.

So we arrived at the house, where the bride and all the ladies were downstairs and the men upstairs. We walked through a door way of tuille and roses and entered a room full of white and red roses. We were so late and hoping we hadn't missed any of the preparation, but of course they had spent 2 hours doing make up on one eye lid and Mrs Doubfire's brother was only in phase 2 of 15 of the bridal hair masterpiece-phew we didn't miss a thing. Needless to say the bride was just a little bit stressed out and had a room full of eyes staring at her and people speaking Arabic that she couldn't understand all around her- would have driven me crazy too. The make up of one eyelid complete and she looked amazing, so needless to say she was the most beautiful bride ever. Made me stop and reflect about who might be next on that matrimonial chopping block.

I sat and wrote in my little book, which also doubles as my makeshift 2009 diary, to make sure I documented everything that was going on. I didn't want to forget a thing, but the reality is that I do as I have had 'involuntary lady of leisure' brain for far too long. One of the groom's sister in-laws beckoned us to come with her to eat something. I was still starving and hadn't eaten anything, and what better way to break my involuntary fast than with the freshest fatayer- (ground meat on thin pancakes)- amazing- the food of the gods.

I helped my friend get changed into her gown, now the final stage of transformation was finally complete. She looked like a princess- no joke- absolutely stunning. She succeeded again in making all the other bride to be's in the room feel grossly inadequate, and gross in proportions...

I requested a photo with her because I feared she would get lost in the sea of guests. The ladies were waiting impatiently. She opened the door and entered the sitting room. After a few gasps, the high pitched 'lelelele's started. She kissed everyone hello and then took to the "photography" area which was brightly lit with hollywood type lights- just like the ones I had seen the night before, when we drove the wrong way down the one way street. There were tears all round, but thank goodness the makeup lady, who had insisted that I need more eye make up after doing my own, had used the waterproof good stuff.

The photographer gave the bride directions in Arabic and the funniest part was her commentary on his directions in English. One of my favourites was when the man pulled over an arrangement of roses on a side table and motioned for her to lean over and place the tips of her fingers in it like she was looking into the roses with a look of love. My friend was like "What? like I've lost something and now I'm searching for it in the roses?". Hilarious. Of course, this was all a little bit different for her too, she is from Belarus not Syria.

All the guests entered- and took turns having photos with the beautiful bride. A lady crooned some verses of what sounded like an Arabic prayer or a song which was met by cries of "lelelele". It continued- who was the leader of the pack? In fact it was a little old lady who made me with my towering height of 4 feet and 11 inches look like a giant. She has a voice like a megaphone. She hid amongst the crowds.

So it was now time to make our way to the church. It felt like hundreds were waiting to see her out on the street and people stood on their balconies to watch the procession. Cars honked continuously, Arabic music blared, hazard lights on, a film crew with video cameras on proper booms, kids running by the cars and the squeals of "lelelele" in full force. I also swear I could hear the Jingle Bells Macarena medley from the night before. Like a convoy, we all followed the wedding car with our hazard lights on. Our driver negotiated the tight laneways and cobbled paths while maintaining a constant heavy hand on the horn and fag in the other.

We arrived at the church which was one of the most beautiful churches I have ever seen. My mum would have died. I found out afterwards that it was one of the oldest churches in Syria, but when I followed up the claims in the old wikipedia I couldn't find anything matching these claims. The Syrian Christians predominantly follow the Greek orthodox traditions. I had been in these churches when I was growing up and I had seen the ancient Greek and Latin script before, but never Arabic- but I guess that's where it all began. Got me thinking about a few things.

They placed their crowns, walked around the alter a few times and after a few prayers and songs, the were now man and wife. And a dashing man and beautiful wife they were. After the ceremony they went outside and made a line- (kind of like Italians do at the lutto) and everyone congratulates the whole family and the bride and groom. One thing they dont have in the Italian "ligna" is a table with chocolates at the end- and so as it would seem, the Italians have a lot to learn from the Syrians. I took a little handful, stood back and watched the line from afar- and watch my friend who kissed and thanked all 250 or so guests, of whom she knew about 8, and 4 of those were her family, and me. I was documenting it all. Little book and camera at the ready. Mrs Belarus was a little jealous of my paparazzi skills, I know it

So we then made our way to the reception hall and that was just amazing. The centre piece on the stage- that thing that wraps around on the stage was made from 1300 red roses and chanedelier crystals. It was all very beautiful, but it was the rainbow of colourful foods that got me. I sat next to a lovely Lebanese man who grew up in Belgium, spend 6 years in Dubai then Canada and has now only returned to Lebanon for the first time to live to start a vinyard with his dad. He invited the giant and I to visit, and that we may very well do. Hold tight for that blog entry! We both sat there looking around at all the tables seeing if anyone had put spoon to hommous... another difference with Italian weddings... it would have been finished within 5 minutes. It sincerely put our "antipasto" to shame.

After an hour or so, the bride and groom entered. They did their bridal dance and then the whole party hit the dance floor- the smoke machines kicked in. I was pulled left right and centre and encouraged to embrace the Arabic wedding- and that I certainly did! Hands in the air, "lelelele" and even when the Arabic crowd cleared the dance floor when the Belarussian music came on, there I was kicking on- mouthing the lyrics of course. Alcohol flowed like water, in fact someone was there to fill your glass before you even finished. Might explain my state the next morning.

The bride and groom were in their element and before we all knew it 2am rolled around and the party was over. I ended up staying with Mr and Mr Belarus in a spare bed in their room. I got under the covers, closed my eyes and the world was still spinning. It was 3:30am. The cab was coming to pick me up to go back to Damascus at 5:45am. I set the alarm for 5:30am. Like my very own alarm clock herself, Mrs Belarus jumped up and woke me up at 5:30am saying "teresa! teresa..." and lots of Belarussian. I peeled back the covers and to both of our suprise I was still in my dress from the wedding and fascinator as well. I quickly packed my bag in the dark and made my way to the lounge room. In a very cute hospitable sort of way, Mrs Belarus was waiting for me to show me out, however she had fallen asleep in the armchair, head back and a few little snores. I gently woke her up to say goodbye and she sprung up startled and started to look for the light at the front door so I could see. It's ok! I have my mobile! She was still insistant. She continued to look. There it is! She pushed what she thought was the light but instead was one of those loud door chimes. She was so cute she looked so shocked and covered her mouth like a 5 year old girl. We hugged and I tried to walk down the stairs without falling. There, my chariot awaited to take me back to where I had come from only 24 hours before. This time, I slept the whole way.

I got to the airport and checked in and only then did I realise I still had my make up on, I hadn't brushed my hair and that I stunk of alcohol. Not a great thing to do in the Middle East. I tried so hard to stand up straight and look as sober as possible on the passport control line. I didn't want them to have an excuse to keep me in Syria for Christmas. Wasn't feeling so great. Needed food. Mission accomplished- got through, found seat and found food. What an adventure- an amazing city, an amazing wedding and one of the most random adventures to date on Terence of Arabia's magic carpet ride around the middle east.

However, stay tuned...

One night in Damascus

By the end of this entry, I haven't even arrived to the wedding yet! Ah what an adventure! (Part 1 of 2- Syria)

My Belarussian friend across the hall came over a few weeks back to hand deliver her wedding invitation in Syria. I told her that in my lady of leisure days when the world was my oyster, I would have locked that baby in as soon as the invitation hit my hand however considering I had only started a new job 3 weeks prior, I thought it was a bit rich to ask for time off. The giant, who was still in Saudi trying to remember what it was like to sleep and socialise, encouraged me to go and be with my friend as he knew a lot of her friends from Belarus couldn't make it and that it is important to go for my friend. It was like as if I got sign-off from my boss, to ask for time off from my real boss. My new boss said "no worries" - an awesome man- so I booked a flight so that I could be back in the office by 2pm on Sunday. Details to follow.

There's nothing quite like a bounced credit card I feel. Why is it that in one's hour of need, or when you least expect it, it always seems to happen or your card doesn't read in the machine? On Thursday afternoon when I finally decided to book my Syrian adventure, rude screens of death bearing the news that my credit card was invalid, threw a bit of an obstacle in my Thursday afternoon. I was of course in a rush to get home to prove to my lady of leisure friends that although I was a working woman now I could still 'happy hour'- and I say that like that is a verb all on its own. How was I going to pay for this and get home in time? And moreover, where the hell is an Emirates office? Did I have to go all the way to the airport? And then I remembered one time on our Dubai adventures, my new lady of leisure friend, who has requested a new name and shall be thenceforth known as "my arts and craft friend and foe", had pointed out an Emirates office in Jumeirah. So, like a speeding bullet (in some stretches of the road where there were no cameras- 130kms/hour), I made it to the Emirates office and before no time I had a hot ticket to Damascus between these unmanicured fingers. So much to do.

So I got home, produced some pre-baked canapes which I prepared the night before, toasted to the festive season and worked out in my head how I was going to get a new dress before 11am the next morning. The wonderful thing about Dubai is that shopping centres are open till midnight most nights- I know my 'friend of the hymn' would be beside herself that there are more retail outlets to chose from than the shop in the foyer of North Ryde RSL which is the only one open after 6pm in Sydney, other than the airport of course (why have we never gone?). So, as I had just topped up my Burberry champagne glass(that I bought from the outlet mall for a bargain when UT and Mam/sir Kiki Kawini were here), I went through the motions in my head of when and how I'd get my cab and how I was going to attack The Mall of The Emirates (or 'comb the desert' for those Spaceball fans) for a dress suitable for a Syrian wedding. Of course, as it usually happens, I spent a few hours shopping, bought only from shops that would give a refund and came home to try on all my possible combinations. Of course, I just ended up wearing one I had already. I was hoping black would be ok, with a bit of red- I don't know- but was told by my Belarussian friend that even a bikini would do, just hurry up and get there!

I texted my Belarussian friend, who was already in Syria, and confirmed that it was Damascus airport I was flying into (of course after I had bought the ticket) and what hotel I should stay at. She said, and I wish I had my phone handy to type exactly what she wrote, but it was a little something like "Damascus airport, Hotel Safir" -simple, straight forward, beautiful. A little bit of googling and in no time, I was booked for 2 nights. My friend had told me that it takes a little while to get to the hotel so best to order a hotel car. So I rang the hotel and after a half an hour of ESL english (again thank goodness for my 'teacher teacher' days), we confirmed a car to pick me up at 3:30pm from Damascus airport and by the end of the conversation my name was now 'Gially'. That's fine, I can roll with that, just send a car. About 10 minutes later I got a call from the 'Customer Services and Public Relations Manager' of the hotel who spoke English very well to confirm my car pick up time. By this time my name was 'Julie'. That I can roll with as well.

Of course in my truly worldly style, I didn't know much about Syria, only that it has a few mentions in the bible, that its cold at this time of year and that you don't need any shots before going. I didn't even check the Australian Government website to check whether they recommend travel there or not (I know, a PB for me). I decided I didn't need to know more. The giant, my very own wikipedia extraordinaire, was very uncontactable and I hadn't spoken to him in ages so the regular bullet points on topical issues and world geography he usually provides me was non-existent. I was flying blind. Apparently he was busy or something working on a deal in Saudi Arabia or something-lets spare a moment for the poor man.

So at Dubai airport, I changed enough money into Syrian Pounds for my cab from Damascus airport to the hotel and a little more. When I arrived at Damascus airport I stood in the Passport Control line for ages and looked over to my right where there were throngs of people queuing under a sign that said 'Foreign Exchange'. I smiled smugly to myself, very impressed that I was organised for once and had changed money in Dubai-that was until I got to the top of the queue and was sent over to this exact line to pay for my Visa. Not so smug now- but honestly, a sign saying 'Visa' would have been more helpful.

"Where are you from?" said a scary serious looking man. "I'm Australian"- thinking 'I'm not American, I'm not British- I'm not going to have any problems'. "Do you have an invitation to Syria" to which I responded "Oh no, yes I do have a wedding invitation, but I left it at home". It wasn't that type of invitation he was enquiring after, but it was at this point I thought to myself, that having the actual wedding invitation might have helped in so many different ways. "Your visa is $100 or 3000 Syrian Pounds" he said. "Really?" I said shocked. All I had was 2000 Syrian pounds and some dirhams. Luckily we made it work- a few thousand Syrian pounds here, a few hundred dirhams there- and I was starting to think now that I shouldn't have bought those French Manicure pens from the Emirates Duty Free magazine- but I can never resit a bit of inflight shopping. We made it all happen- and again my face must have said it all. I can make the soft side of any scary looking official come out and now he his tone changed and eyes drooped and looked worried that I was upset. I was ok, but now I had no money for my cab. That's ok I'll work something out at the hotel.

So I now went back onto the passport control line. The man checked my passport in the computer then moved away from his desk and towards an office and all I could hear was 'Australie' being thrown around with some Arabic words in between. Nervous flatulence kicked in. Not executed, just the turn of the stomach (I feel like I know you all now, so I can give you this level of detail). I never like when they take your passport- it always feels like I'm on 'Border Security' or in a movie and I'm Jason Bourne or something. Then my paranoia makes me scan my brain to think of anything wrong I have ever done- like the time I wrote on our family friends' car when I was 7 in biro saying "TG was here" or when I was 8 and I thought that if it wasn't on the shelf it was free so I went up to the Casamento's newsagency and cleared out what ever was under the shelf. The man came back and none of the above was listed on my public record- phew- and all I had to do was translate 'Marketing Manager' with a bit of song, dance and pantomime, and I was on my way. A few scanning stations, a few more stamps and I came out in the open. Mums hugging returned sons and daughters, business men making their way through the crowds, cheers and a few "lelelele"s and then a sign that said "Jill"- somehow I think that might be me.

So I got in the cab and we made our way through the busy downtown streets with vendors selling corn and chestnuts on the footpath and pictures of the President on every wall, window and traffic post. It didn't take too long at all to get to the hotel- I knew my Belarussian had exaggerated a bit. I texted her to let her know I had arrived and was greeted by the hotel's "Customer Service and Public Relations Manager" who I had spoken to the night before. By now, my name was 'Juliette'. I corrected them and told them it was 'Therese' and they all looked at each other in amazement and tried to work out how on earth they got Gially, Jill, Julie and Juliette from Therese.

I paid for 2 nights up front and was shown to my room by the lovely "Customer Service and Public Relations Manager". I settled in, ate some Syrian sweets that awaited me in my room and then started to get some text messages from my Belarussian friend saying "where are you?" and "I'm in the foyer" followed by, "what city are you in?". It was then I realised I wasn't in Kansas, Toto. There were 2 Safir hotels in Syria- one in Damascus and one in Homs. I relied on the Belarussian's text and so booked Damascus-after all she said Damascus airport. Meanwhile I am also having a panic attack over something trivial that my creative mind fabricated- which I'll leave for the dinner parties (got to keep some fresh material). I now had no more credit on my phone so my Belarussian friend couldn't call me as my phone was on roaming. So, in my hour of need, I try calling the giant from the hotel phone but alas his phone was switched off. I call his hotel, but because it was in Saudi they wouldn't put me through because I was a lady. I should have done my dad's "G'day sweetheart" voice- that would have worked for sure. Of course! I thought- I can email the giant, but "the computer with internet will be back tomorrow"- said the "Customer Service and Public Relations Manager". Knowing full well the hotel had every right to not refund my accommodation and also considering I had just used the facilities, I went down stairs to explain my predicament to the "Customer Service and Public Relations Manager" hoping he would be lenient. The man said he could only cancel one night and would have to cancel the credit card transaction and I could pay again. I decided we should do that and I would get some cash out as I had to get out more now for the cab to the correct city- Homs. But of course hotels in Syria, by law, only accept US dollars, and all of the ATMs only dispense Syrian Pounds- I don't know, can someone run me through that?

Look, I'm not going to lie to you, I was in a bit of a state- not as bad as that time in Fiji, but perplexed, anxious and a little bit peeved- again my face must have said it all. The "Customer Service and Public Relations Manager" told me to take a seat and we would work something out. As he was explaining the options, my mind was a million miles away and I was imagining myself having to stay in Syria for Christmas- I know, a bit melodramatic, but that's how my brain rolls and I told you you all now have a little 'in' to this crazy crazy mind. So the man suggested that I don't travel at night because it is a long and dangerous road, that we don't cancel the second night and that all of the expenses I incur will balance out- including both cabs, food and phone calls. Great- so by this time I start to relax and in true peak and trough, high and low style, I was back on my way up and before long I was giving the "Customer Service and Public Relations Manager" love advice on his relationship with a woman from Stockholm who won't answer his calls. He calls 5 times a day and she doesn't pick up or return his calls. I told him it was time to move on that its just not meant to be. I also convinced him not to sell his car so he could get a visa to go and see her because the bottom line is sister- "she's not that into you".

So here we are, my worries have gone, with the fleeting revisit of my crazy paranoid thoughts, and so I said to my new friend that I will return to my room and continue to watch Syrian 'So you think you can dance', but he pleaded that I stay and keep him company. Every cheesy compliment he threw at me, I retorted with a my "husband" this and my "husband" that. He knew, he got the picture, but he was just being cheeky (flirt translates into so many languages) and had never met anyone from Australia before. Before long I knew all about his family- he has 9 brothers and one sister, all one year apart and all from the same mother. That's some serious breeding. He then told me, I now have a brother in Syria and that if I need anything- he would help me and pleaded that I do not worry anymore. Again I thanked him and mentioned my husband.


True to his Customer Service role, he suggested that since my friends aren't coming and I was in the wrong city (thanks for reminding me of my blunder) that he take me out to see Damascus. Imagining the front pages of the Sydney Morning Herald and MSN "Australian booked the wrong hotel in the wrong city for her Belarussian friend's wedding and is now missing in the mountains of Syria"- I said no. As he was just a little offended, I explained to him that when I was 15 I got bashed and mugged with my friend in the showbag pavillion at The Royal Easter Show and so said I now don't trust anyone. He suggested that he ask some of the girls on the front desk to come as well and in no time, I signed the deal, put some warm clothes on and was ready for the adventure. So before long we were a party of 4 that were ready to take on the nightlife of Damascus. We waited for a few shifts to click over and I was being pulled from one office to another as they all wanted to play with their new Australian friend. They all practiced their English and tried to still work out how they got Giallo, Julie, Jill and Juliette from Therese. They thought it was so funny that we wrote with out pencil at a near right angle and from left to right- I found it even more fascinating that they thought that was weird. This was all happening while one of my new friends played Christmas carols for me on her mobile.


So we were off. The "Customer Service and Public Realtions Manager" came spinning around the corner in a old car that was about one metre long and half a metre wide that had English stickers on the back that I dont think he had ever had translated. The levers in the car were now stuck together with sticky tape and elastic bands, the stereo had 2 gages- loud and louder, there were no seatbelts, he used a hankerchief wipe down the inside of the windscreen, but however he had electric windows. The wiping down of the windscreen soon became my job so that he wasn't doing so while he changed gears and had his head out the window so he could see the road. We buzzed around town, squeezed between the two lanes of traffic to get a head start at the lights, used the left indicator to turn right and straddled every lane in sight. Meanwhile we bopped away to the Arabic music blaring on the radio and the two ladies in the back sporadically let out a high pitched "lelelele!"s which I joined in with- I really wanted to harmonise. Our driver wanted to show me as much as he could and even went so far as going the wrong way down a one way street where a wedding was on so I could get some pictures. There was a huge limo, hollywood set type lights, video crew with cameras on proper booms and men in traditional dress on horses. It was either the "lelele"s or the loud music blaring from our matchbox car that aggravated the horses and the guests so we decided we should make a quick exit. It was like the crowd was throwing tomatoes at us for a weak performance- but I understand they were angry- we went the wrong way down a one way street, upset the horses and blocked the bridal party. Even the screams of "she's Australian" didn't work. It was just a shame my "Customer Service and Public Relations Manager" friend and driver didn't have power steering, so it took about a solid 10 point turn to execute a swift exit. I st there hoping the horses wouldn't come closer, captured the moment in my mind and took comfort in the fact that I had arranged travellers insurance before coming.

We then stopped off to get some sweets and I went photo crazy, until a military man told me to delete my photos because it was forbidden. I obliged - scary man.

So we got to the top of the hill and looked down over the most amazing view of Damascus. It was at this time that I thought "what a blessing in disguise"- I would never have seen all this, laughed so much, made new Syrian friends and experienced Damascus like a local had I not have stuffed up the hotel.

We got out of the car- it was freezing and the rain stopped for just a moment so we could gobble down the Syrian sweets we bought. When I was in Abu Dhabi last year, the giant was at his interview and so I decided to tackle the buffet myself- what else was I going to do? From the dessert section, I had a sweet dish which was amazing- incredible- it was like sweetness with mozarella and just so amazing. Since then I have been trying to find it in the buffets of Dubai, so you can imagine the joy I felt when they peeled back the top of the container of sweets. A spoon for each and tuck in. Amazing.

So it was cold, I was tired and my friends had to work the next morning, so we decided to head back. Stopped in our tracks by a puddle as deep as the car, we did a 10 point turn on a one way street on a hill - My new customer service friend looked at me and said "no worry please- I am Michael Schumacker". It more so worried me that he thought we was Michael Schumacher as he was taking on the downhill slopes, stradling the wet 2 lane roads like a racing car driver- meanwhile I wiped down the inside of the windscreen.

Look I don't know if this story captures my adventure for you all- but all that happened in 10 hours. It was one of the funniest times of my life and met the nicest, warmest and most hospitable people ever. I had never thought in my entire life I would ever go to Syria, and am so glad that I did. My life is a little bit like that at the moment which is pretty amazing. Like my new friends kept saying "I am so happy my God brought you to us"- I was so happy I cocked up the accomodation. It was meant to be.

I had an amazing time and as this entry finishes I hadn't even seen Damascus by day light, nor had I even made it to the wedding! get ready for the next entry.

Skinny Latte and a few different signs

Today the cute little coffee man at my work saw me arrive and sign in. I couldn't see him, but somehow he saw me. By the time I got to my desk he was only 2 steps behind with a mug of my drink of choice. He also bought me a water- room temperature, just how I like it. Amazing. I have now come to realise how much time I used to waste at work making coffee... and mainly because that was 'the Russian's' favourite gossip nook back in the day and to make a quick instant coffee would end up taking 30 minutes. I'm sure that little room next to the kitchen was where she transmitted info back to her home land via homing pigeon. A running joke.

However, our very own Carrefour Express opened yesterday next to our building and we now have a place to get real coffee. My marketing friend and I went downstairs to test out this coffee and to find us some early morning food stuffs. I wasn't quite sure what to get, so I got myself some low fat digestives, meanwhile my friend came back with a sausage roll for breakfast and a spring roll for lunch. Now there's woman who knows how its done. So we headed back to work and carried on with the day's tasks. About 10 minutes later the coffee man came back to collect people's empties, and the look on his face when he saw my full cup of coffee was enough to make me think twice about getting another coffee from Carrefour. I think he was so worried that he'd made it wrong and that I didn't like it. I assured him he had not and thanked him for it and we both carried on with our duties. He then brought me a green tea because he knows I like to drink green tea after my coffee. I don't even think the giant knows this much about how I like my tea and coffee. Such a sweet man.

On the topic of coffee, most people would know that when I am angry, when I am sad, when my world is turned upside down, there's only one thing that brings me back and that's a Caramel Skinny Latte from Gloria Jeans. My old boss used to see me in a state and grant me early dismissal to get my fix. I don't know what it is, but it has always made the world seem a better place- that and of course champagne and a canape to boot. I've heard of other things- chocolate milk, nalishniki, mint slice, scorched almonds, top deck but for me its the CSL that makes the world go round. So, the joy I felt when I saw Gloria for the first time in the middle east, was a warm and fuzzy one. I now feel as though I can stay here for a little while longer. I have now introduced so many to the world of the skinny caramel latte and am trying to build demand so they open one closer to my home.

All this talk of coffee makes me remember the coffee man from BB's at Sydney Uni and how he would yell out "Skinny latte to goooooooo" and it would get louder and louder and angrier and angrier, and we would stand in the queue behind the crowd and pretend not to hear him until we nearly get him at breaking point. Those were the days.

From the adventures of my blog, those who don't know me in the flesh now know a few thinks that make my ticker tick. A skinny caramel latte from Gloria Jeans (don't even suggest Starbucks), bubbles or bubblez-vous, a canape, a discount shop, grocery shopping, novelty plastic food and shop signs. So ladies and gentlemen I have for you a few more signs - I find these things fascinating, not only as a marketer but as they are truly so different to what you're used to. So these photos I have taken while driving, shopping, covertly, overtly- most importantly, they were taken for a reason- for you.

To the left are the toilet signs for the gents and the ladies bathroom in the Address Hotel. I think they're very cool. I saw it a while ago, and so was very happy when I went back to the hotel and this time I had my camera. Oooh- an idea for a blog- toilet signs of the world. Oooh.

Sometimes people, just need to be reminded that there are certain areas for spitting and there are certain areas where it is just inappropriate.







This one I love. Look at how much precision and accuracy went into the design of the shisha on the "no smoking" sign.

Also, did Count Dracula get some work in Dubai now? All the way from Petra? Is this a sign that the financial crisis is not over?

Rain in the desert

Two days ago I woke up, pulled up my blinds up and was greeted by something a little bewildering. Clouds. And by cloud I don't mean a few scattered ones. By clouds I mean dark ominous clouds. This was the day I had been waiting for since I got here. A cold, rainy day so I could snuggle up under the doona and watch DVDs and drink tea and dunk Scotch Finger biscuits. But off to work I must go. Where was I? London?

So I set off for work, in the wet weather. Sheikh Zayed Road, which is usually like race track with Ferarris hitting top speed and people crossing 6 lanes without an indicator, was moving at a snail's pace. Drivers don't quite know what to do with themselves when these water droplets fall from the sky. Everyone was driving at about 6okm/hr and put their hazard lights on just to let everyone know they were driving slowly and carefully. Hazard lights in this part of the world are so used and abused they barely mean a thing. If the person in front of you brakes suddenly they reach for their hazard lights before they break- reflexes like a cheetah... or what ever has the fast ones. This all made me remember the time when the giant and I were here in January we drove from Abu Dhabi to Dubai. This was our reconaissance trip and it was raining. In the one hour or so drive we saw 4 car accidents. One 4WD about 30 metres in front of us spun out of control across all 6 lanes- thank goodness we hung back. Or cab driver put his hazard lights on.

As there isn't a real drainage system here-the roads were covered in water with puddles 10 metres in diameter. And shall the puddles remain for 3 days. However, that I don't blame them for that. Would you build all that infrastructure if it rains only 7 days a year? What makes it worse is that the roads are covered in sand which make it extra slippery. What makes it even worse are people like me who had to take photos of it all while they are driving. Well I had to document that I had to be cautious of the 'water ponds'. Hilarious. Its like as if they don't even know the correct term. As 'Tallulah with an H' said, it was as if we should sail across these ponds in boats, with the boys in striped jackets punting away and the ladies reading poetry and twirling parasols ... Me? I was looking for the swans. A flamingo would have done the trick.

So all in all, apart from a few drivers who don't check mirrors anyway, most people were well behaved. By well behaved I mean they weren't driving at 130kms/hr. Most companies are trying to enforce drivers to drive "safily"and some are just trying positive reinforcement to make us think they are.

At midday, my marketing friend and I wanted to order something in for lunch. We were starving, like going to eat our heads starving, and we just couldn't be bothered to leave the office. 'Brilliant!' We thought- we'll order something in! So we tried a few places but no-one was delivering because of the rain. 'Come on!' we said not realising quite how heavy the rain was outside. 'They see a drop of rain and they shut down'-we thought- 'hopeless!'. So we decided to go to Spinney's to get us some lunchtime goodies. Something sweet for me, something savory for her. Just as I was complimenting her on her cute little leather ballerina shoes, we took one step outside into a "pond" the size of Waragamba dam. Drenched from the knee down we looked at each other to back it up. Then my stomach started talking. I was starving and there were really only a few metres to the car, so we decided to punch on. Of course as the way things go, it started to rain even harder, thunder, lightening and then an even bigger puddle at our feet. Pants wet to the knees, shoes destroyed, hair starting to look like I was sporting some serious Soul Glo from Coming to America, but focus was on imitation cheetos and a toblerone.

When we arrived back at the office, our coffee man saw us and quickly followed behind with some warm drinks. Wet and now freezing, shivering in fact. The giant called. He too was freezing... in Saudi Arabia. 8 degrees at night he told me. I'd heard the stories, but never believed it. I wasn't ready for it. I never thought I would be switching the air conditioning off and the heater on in the Middle East...

Yesterday when the weather was clearing up, the carwash near my house was doing a roaring trade. By roaring trade, I mean there was a solid 15-20 minute wait, when its usually an in and out deal. As our car was now looking a shade of brown from its usual silver, and also because I think the number of water bottles in my car just hit 15, it was time to have a full clean out. So they checked my tyres, washed and waxed, chamoised and polished- in fact I had never seen our Shitsubishi Galant in such fine shape. I proudly drove away, past the Bugati parked next to me, and then I saw another 10 metre wide "pond" that I had to go through. No other exit. The Shitsubishi's state of cleanliness is now relected again in its very own name....

A desert princess requests followship...

Look I'm not going to lie to you all, but I'm starting to get a little emotional when I log on to my blog and I see no movement at my station. What I seek are followers, just so I know there's someone on the other end of the world lending an ear and an eyeball to the tales of this poor desert princess. Just remember, he's making a list, he's checking it twice, he's gonna find out who's naughty and nice... He might just put coal or cleaning products to help you complete your chores in your Christmas socking as he did one year at our house. Don't make the fat man angry...

Ding dong merrily on high....

So as I think I had mentioned before, my new lady of leisure friend and I have been shopping for christmas decorations since the beginning of November. We spent numerous shopping trips around Dubai finding new bits and pieces to create our Christmas caves of wonder. I began singing "ding dong merrily on high" on November 1 and haven't stopped since-the giant is loving it. From IKEA, to The Daiso to Lu Lu Hypermarket to ACE Hardware, we had the Christmas decoration market covered. I have found my arts and crafts soul mate. I love that we split up in a shop and come back with an array of raw materials such as a clothes hanger, a stick of glue and some spray paint and tell each other of the creative masterpieces we plan to make of it. Each time the other is amazed, blown away because we both rate out arts and craft skills quite highly. But one must be careful not to give away too many trade secrets. One must always keep a few ones close to one's chest. One time in IKEA when I came back with a trolley of raw materials she asked "what are you doing with that?"... "never you mind", said I. And the game was on, and still is on. So the plan was, on the 1st of Decemeber, to create our respective Christmas cave of wonders, have an Idol type judging panel and an ultimate winner (this bit wasn't planned, but we should have done), but I had to go and get a job and ruin all the fun.

However on the 1st of December, the giant and I did put up our tree and decorations to boot. I now have 2 advent calendars- my Marks and Spencer Christmas tree one to the left of my front door and my High School Musical one to the right. On Christmas day the last door opens over Zac Efron's heart.

I made the mistake of not only showing my new lady of lesiure friend my wreath (pictured above- and on an angle again-the giant will love that) which I crafted with these very own midget hands complete with battery operated IKEA fairy lights and matching flowers on the tree and wreath, I also showed my Belarussian neighbour. A rookie error to frivolously show off my craft and before I could patent or copyright any of my intellectual property, my original material hit the black markets of Dubai, and "copy" wreaths were everywhere on level 8. I did however make a red version of my own for my American friend on my floor (photos to follow) as you will soon learn, she's into the real deal. Respect. Although I must admit I do get a little sense of evil joy when I walk past my Belarussian friend's door (pictured to the right)and see her wreath half falling off. (Just joking my Belarussian friend, you need to get a 3M extra hold hook!). Sge is now aware of my competitive streak and that I take my craft very seriously!


Last week for Thanksgiving, I turned my IKEA trolley full of raw materials into a genuine masterpiece. In response to my cocky email entitled "stick that in your pipe and smoke it" containing pictures of my table setting masterpiece, I got an email from my new lady of leisure friend putting me in my place with 5 words-"nobody likes a show off". She's right, I must learn to be more humble. So just before leaving the house to attend her Christmas canape soiree last night, I printed out a picture of my decorated tree to give to my friend so that when I saw her tree I had photographic evidence to show that my tree was still in the game. I was so very proud of my tree. That was until I arrived at my new lady of leisure friend's house for the long awaited Christmas canape soiree..


But before we actually arrive at her place, a minute needs to be taken to quickly document the drama that took place on the way to the forum. We arrived at my friend's building, walked confidently past security, who are notoriously difficult, and straight to the lift. What level was it again? 9, 11, 12, 15? Then I remebered it couldn't be much more than 8 because fire engine ladders can only reach 8 levels which is why they used to live on my floor, level 8. The giant, bless him, was holding a bag full of everything, and wasn't aware that we were about to go on a ride up and down this 32 floor building. I know that when I come out of the lift her place in the right hand corner- but we soon learnt that its in the right hand corner when you get in the lift on the left side of the building, not the right. So I got out at every station looking for signs of the counterfeit wreath (pictured above), no joy. With no luck, we then returned to the foyer, however the security had no list of tenants, nor a phone. Guess who had no battery in their phone either, but guess who also had their charger and a converter in their Mary Poppins bag? So I searched behind paintings and couches in the foyer until I found a socket and plugged that baby in. But of course there was no reception. So I left the giant seated in the foyer and thought I'd give it one last shot in the lift. This time I got in the lift I usually get and the penny dropped why I couldn't find her place.

So we finally arrived to a Christmas wonderland, the smells of fine culinary delights and an offer of some mulled wine. The giant and I happily accepted, and there shall the giant remain for many cups more until the pork came out. Then I saw the tree. The beautiful tree that put by 100 Dirham ($30) Karama ("cheap cheap" "You want Gucci? You want Prada? Bling Bling?" area of Dubai) tree to shame. That can't be real- get out. As Australians we'd never seen a real christmas tree like it. A real tree that looked like a fake tree- its something we'd only seen in movies, and still we thought 'that's Hollywood'. The ones that we had were like the runts of the litter, the skinny torpedo like trees that looked more like a squashed Tuscan pine or deformed overgrown weeds than a Christmas tree (so glad I finally found this picture to the left as I was trying to capture the image for the Brits all night). The giant and I were baffled. The giant of couse examined it and questioned its species and origins throwing empty horticultural questions in the air that were met by blank stares and "got it from Satwa" (the Indian fabric and tailoring area- apparently they're branching out-nice). Come on all ye Australians- ever seen anything like it?



Another mulled wine perhaps? Yes please. So as we know, I do fancy any type of food in canape form. In fact, I do like to refer to myself as the canape queen. However, I think I misjudged the capabilities of my new found 'lady of leisure friend' who can also now be officially referred to as a "Jumeirah Jane", "North Shore Mum" (only for your mini food making and craft abilities), "Prue and/or Trude" and "BD" also known as the "hemmer" for those few in Aus who are catching my drift. She put my mini feta and bacon pies to shame. She even had a run sheet including baking times and order of service for her canapes. I relinquish the title- you deserve it.

This morning, I went back to my friend's house to drop over a Four N Twenty pie which I had promised her Kiwi friend last night. We sat down over some left white chocolate strawberries and white chocolate and cranberry busicuits and a cup of Nespresso Arpeggio to discuss, classify and grade her canapes. Firstly the dips and appetisers- the mini quail eggs with salt in a zig-zag cut half egg shell- brilliant (or should I say "brill-i-ant") The crab dip rated number one on the Terence of Arabia charts with the blue cheese following swiftly after (ate it by accident for those of you keeping track of my cheese intolerances). The freshly baked turkey breast with cranberry sauce and stuffing spread (don't know if it was, but it tasted like it) on fresh baguette was a clear leader, followed swiftly by the halloumi bake. The turkey curry served in mini condiment dishes (sourced from the Spice souk- points for effort and more points for going to the left of Sheikh Zayed road) rated a solid 9.5 out of 10, but what blew the giant and I away were the pork sausages wrapped in streaky bacon. There's something about not being able to readily have something that makes it so appealing. I have never eaten this much pork in all my life. In fact, according to my allergy prick test, I am allergic to it, not like cat allergic, but allergic. Upon entering his mouth, the giant went to find the hostess to pay his compliments and respects. Not only did he eat more than his fair share, was he was also now wearing the pork sausage on his left breast. 5 stars, 10 out of 10. And then there were the sausage rolls. I saw them, I knew them, seen them in Spinney's before- but no they weren't. Those babies were freshly made. Run me through who makes a freshly made sausage roll? Socks- blown off. It didn't stop there. Rocky road (solid 10 out of 10), meringue and berry shot glasses and mini puddings that were incredibly impressive. And to top it all off, a goodbye present, a bomboniere of sorts- handmade ginger bread cookies. Well done.

So, as nothing in my bag was charged up, I plugged my phone and camera to document and start "blogging". That means, taking photos of things to remind me what to write about the next day. This photo in particular was to remind me of the day when my Belarussian friend rang me and asked me to urgently come to her place. Worried and a little bit frazzled, I quickly ran out the door, took two big strides and stood on her front door mat. She opened the door, led me to her living room and in a worried tone said "there's something missing isn't there?" as she pointed to her Christmas tree. I understood. Sometimes these thing are emergencies and especially because her fiance was due home soon. See without even saying a word she also had the Christmas cave idea. I brought her over to my house and showed off a bit with all my decorations. She saw my little reindeer form Lu Lu that I have covered in Ikea lights, fell in love and suggested a trip to Lu Lu immediately. I was keen, as I only bought the small one and had every intention of getting its bigger brother. Perfect. So we got to Lu Lu, she found her little reindeer and went to the light section to get some lights- "What are you doing" said my competitive streak. "No, you can't and you're no allowed to put him out your front door either". I take my crafting so seriously and after my wreath had been exploited I wanted to hold on tight to this creative concept. A little taken back by my tone, she suggested that hers will keep mine company and she will put a plate of food and water out for them both at night. I was instantly sold on the idea and agreed to her plans. In the end there were no more large ones at Lu Lu, so I will be baby sitting these two (pictured above) while my friend is in the UK. I will be sure to make a calendar with pictures of them in front of the Burj Dubai as her cleaner once did when she babysat her cats. Cute.

Another photo to jog the memory was this one. That is a bauble in her hair, yes. This crazy young lass (in a good way) brought along a lovely friend from Trinidad. She was a really sweet wee lass with short strawberry blonde hair and freckles - kind of reminded me of Strawberry Shortcake. We had a great long chat about this, that and the other. This is one of the things I love about being in Dubai. You meet people from all over the world and it just opens your eyes to so many things. I have never met anyone from Trinidad before in my life and had truly no idea where it was. I only worked out, when I was trying to place her accent, that it must be in the Carribean. This was also confirmed when she pronounced the Carribean as "de Carr-a-bee-yun". If you closed your eyes I swear you could have been talking to Sebastian the crab from the Little Mermaid (see everything in my life has a Disney reference). When I was first speaking to her I had to excuse myself politely as I couldn't quite keep it together, took a moment to gather myself in the kitchen and continued a fine conversation into the night.

So overall a brill-i-ant night full of brill-i-ant food, brill-i-ant arts and crafts, brill-i-ant decorations and lots of fun. Afterall, even though we're in the desert, 'tis still the season to be jolly. Great- now I've got that one in my head.