Dear Desert Diary

Dearest Desert Diary,



I just wanted to quickly write to you to say that I haven't forgotten about you, in fact, I think of you often. There's something about standing in my kitchen over the stove, spatula in one hand, glass of wine in the other and a bit of Roxette that always inspires me to write to you. Many times since 14 March, I have been "getting dressed for success", cooking in my kitchen that has a range hood for decoration with a glass of rottwein (red wine for the non-german speakers amongst us) and I think of the times when we were joint at the hip and how its about time I show you the love again. Well, don't get too excited, the giant is due home just now and I am waiting for his text to start frying the bacon. Yes, its bacon and eggs tonight. How my nonnas would be cursing above - one saying "ooooooooh!" and the other "ber, jo, kat, te!" (that ones for the family), but however they would still be happy that I sit here waiting for the go ahead from my husband like a good wife to prepare the meal. Look, what I say is at the end of the day Sir Atkins says its ok, then so do I- what sir Atkins may not know is that I might have also found the secret stash of pringles I hid- what he don't know don't hurt him. The beat goes on... "Eye of the Tiger"- the urge to turn it up, but then I know that I have Emirati neighbours who have just broken their fast for Ramadan and music is actually forbidden. After preparing my eggs (gourmet of course- with onion, tomato, mushroom and chives) I took the rubbish out- I could hear out the front of my villa Roxette, on her joyride down my Abu Dhesian street. Gated compound or not, time to turn that baby down.

Although I had intended to just write something quickly, what I think I'll do is take my jewellery that jingles off and start to give you an update on things this side of the equator. If I'm honest, as I look at the pile of jingly jewellery, there's not a lot- something I should discuss with the giant tonight over some bacon and eggs. So, following on from my previous entry- you'd think things would be in order by now in our villa wouldn't you? Well, we now have water which I always find a bonus, however I'm surprised we do, because I swear the whole of Abu Dhabi's water supply was in our backyard about a month ago. Since the pipe burst in our backyard, there have been articles in the paper regarding the scarcity of water in this fine emirate. Moreover, after having the air conditioning in our bedroom break down 5 times over the past week (ideal in these temperate times of 35 degrees at night), we now have arctic temperatures on level 2. I told the maintenance man my mum would be here soon and I think he feared the worst knowing the mother ship is soon on its way (via the Holy land of course!). He also fixed the subtle sewage smell that wafts through the house, wakes you up at night and renders the guest bedroom toilet unusable. A good man all in all.

Enough complaining though- come on. Just got a text from the giant, no longer hungry, redwine- too much.

Lots of love, miss you and promise I'll write soon.

Me

Maintenance

You can imagine how unimpressed I was when just as I was mid-omelette I received a call from the cleaning company to say that the cleaners had now arrived at our villa. In these parts of the world, they are either 4 hours early, 4 hours late or don't come at all, so it truly was to be expected. So after a bit of a fiery exchange (mainly because I was peeved I had to cut my breakfast short), the giant and I got in our hire car and headed to our place. There was a huge truck parked across our driveway and a 7 piece band, with cleaning instruments in hand, ready to play 'Operation Clean-up' in b minor. I've heard of an intensive clean with 2 maids at once, but 7? That's 35 man hours. Oh well, at least it will be a thorough clean and as the previous tenants were cat owners and to avoid the attack of the cat eye that a few of you have seen before, all feline hairs must be exterminated.

One of my skills that has really come in handy living in this part of the world are my ESL skills. I watch the giant trying to communicate with his huge vocabulary and long words and enjoy coming in to save the day with my preciseness and outstanding communicative language skills. For example, why say "the objective is to make them identical" when "make same" and a hand gesture will suffice? Mr Giant is learning, very patiently, but learning and asks for an assessment of his ESL skills after each encounter. We were talking just yesterday about how easy it is to get angry and frustrated at people because they don't understand you, especially when you are now talking to the 10th person who still doesn't know what you're talking about, but if I could speak as much Arabic as they could English, I'd be pretty impressed with myself. Reminds one to be patient...

So we’ve been waiting for maintenance to come to our villa all day. They were supposed to come yesterday at 2pm, and when I called at 2:15pm, the man in his limited English said “10 minutes... 4 o’clock”. Well what will it be partner? So I repeated and tried to get confirmation whether it was going to be “10 minutes” or “4 o’clock” to which he responded “ok -15 minutes”. What more can I say, ok that will do. True to his word, in 15 minutes he called and said “good afternoon” and wouldn’t continue until I also said “good afternoon” and then said “I am outside”. Outside of where I soon learnt, neither he nor I knew. The funny thing is that his boss owns this place, and as I understood it he was the maintenece guy for it, and yet even he had no idea how to get here. To cut a long story short, he went to a few more complexes somewhere else in Abu Dhabi and kept ringing and saying "hello I outside". In the end he didn’t end up getting anywhere closer to where we were until 4pm. I kept chasing him on the phone and when you call his number, instead of a “ring ring” he has an Arabic love song which I now know off by heart. Eventually we had to drive to a close by landmark where we both met and led the way for him back to our place. When we met him, I thought he’d be in a utility truck with all his tools of trade, but instead he was in a family SUV... with his entire family. He later told me he was in a hurry because they were on the way to a picnic. I thought he was bringing a ladder and putty filler to fix things, instead, he came with a picnic rug and quickly came in to check it all out. He said he woul send maintenance tomorrow- I still don’t quite know how this little man fits in to the equation although he is very sweet. So today he said maintenance would be there at 9am. We were there at 8:30am for the cleaners (as I have explained above) so I gave him a little extra time and rang at about 10 and he said “ok I come in 10 minutes”. He turned up and looked around at the men and he looked at me and said “no maintenance?” to which I responded “no maintenance”. Seeming a little peeved, he left and I didn’t hear from him until I rang later in the afternoon. We exchanged “good afternoon”s, and he said that maintenance would be there at 7pm. It’s now 8:30pm, I’m in bed at the Shangri La and still no sign. Rang and sang along to the love song a few times, but alas no response. Oh well tomorrow is another day.

I now remember all this from moving into Dubai only a year ago. Its all coming back to me now.

I am not an athlete, nor have I ever purported to be one...

Today we went shopping for some tennis racquets. Sporting equipment I hear you say? What else can I say, but first comes love, then comes marriage then comes matching sporting equipment. We have now moved into a compound that has tennis and squash courts, so to be precise, we not only took some of Sir Dunlop's finest tennis racquets to the counter, but also some of his finest squash racquets as well. We were supposed to be staying at the Shangri La for only 2 nights or so, but because of a few minor issues such as no water, aircon or beds in our villa, we have unfortunately had to extend our stay in this five star hotel until it our villa is liveable. I am ropeable as you could imagine.

I feared for the worst when we reached the tennis courts this morning. I know the giant well and that he is quite a competitive soul when it comes to sport. I have seen it many a time but our clay pigeon shooting adventure in Dubai was only so fresh in my memory. Let's just say, the giant strives for perfection- quite literally in everything that he does. Don't get me wrong, I do have a very fine eye for detail as well and do respect and appreciate perfection (which is what makes us quite an excellent pair), but Mr Giant takes it to a new level. It took him a whole day to format the fonts and spacing on our wedding church booklet- Although he was also supposed to achieve six other things that day, it did look lovely in the end, so thank you fair giant.

So, when is it quite the right time to break the news to this competitive sportsman that I have now married that sport and I don't go together quite harmoniously as say, peas and pods, eggs and bacon and champagne and I? Was now a good time to let him know that it was more sport for me to come up with new excuses every week to get out of swimming or PE when I was at school than actually doing it?

And so, here we were. Midday. The white desert sun right above us. Lets just say that cocktails by the pool at the Shangri La were a little more enticing than the offer of running around at midday chasing a tennis ball on a day like today. The giant and I had never played tennis together before, in fact we hadn't done much competitive sport together to be perfectly honest- well except clay pigeon shooting as I mentioned before, which I am actually quite good at. I put it down to all those years playing Duck Hunt with the gun on Nintendo. I must say here, that he was very impressed with shooting skills and didn't see it coming. I did say that he may be just as impressed with my tennis skills, but look, its been a while between drinks lets be fair, so neither one of us were holding our breath, although seceretly I was hoping the Serena, Venus or Lleyton within would shine through.

So there we were- in matching his and hers gym clothes- a set for a giant, a set for a midget. Knowing how he is and his sportsman expectations, I gently explained to him, still in the car with the AC on (that's how I roll in the desert), that I was not a target and that we need not pretend to be professionals and see if we can hit the ball at 200kms an hour and that it would be more fun for both of us and better exercise if we play gently and hit to each other. Well that fell upon deaf ears didn't it! A gentle volley lasted for about 2 balls and he then found it even more fun to see me run from one side to the other side as I responded to the spin on his serves. Reminder 1. I am not an athlete and have never purported to be.

The heat was killing me, my mouth was sticky, and hey I'm not going to lie to you I haven't done much exercise in about a month, so I retreated to the club house for some water and some fresh AC. Found the squash court, set the AC to as low as it would go and returned to the giant that was pegging balls into the net. Just as I thought I would find him. I persuaded him to come inside to the squash court, and my goodness that sport is dangerous on the other end of the giant's mighty arm. I just couldn't stop laughing as he got more peeved at me for not being focused. I understand- we're just at different levels. If this was netball, he'd be in the the A's and I'd be in the D's or even E's if numbers allowed, where I belong. Eventually we both were on the same wavelength and agreed to a friendly.

Enough blogging for now. I am now enjoying the fruits of the vine at the Shang and taking in the most amazing suset and view over the grand mosque. Truly truly breath taking, although a little scary when black hawks fly over. Promise I haven't forgotten to write about all those things that I mentioned before, like my wedding, I promise!

PS. before I go, I miss you all very much. A month was way too long to be back - I get too emotional- but at the same time I'm sorry if I didn't really get to see you or spend time with you! Got way too used to being home, but might also be finding it hard again here because its like starting all over again. However at least I have brilliant friends only an hour away (the distance keeps getting shorter and shorter). At the end of the day however, it makes me love and miss you all more and realise where home will always be. Looking forward to hosting you all for Thursday night drinks at mine when we get back. As for my Dubai friends, its still on if you're willing to make the trek. We have beds and canapes here with your names on them!

I love a sunburnt country...and an attention to detail...

There are only 2 people in the world that I know that would be bored on their honeymoon (especially with a view like that). One is my female friend who I affectionately call George Costanza, for it is she that finds a hair in every single meal, she that is accident prone (and once landed us disabled parking entitlements) and she who has actually slept under her desk at work. Then the other, another species, that is now known to many as the artist formerly known as TG, yet forever known as Terence Armani and now as Terence of Arabia. But look, let me set a few things straight before you all put me on the honour roll for Spoilt Brat Tour 2010- The main reason I am bored is that it is raining beyond all belief and there's not much to do on an island... that is surrounded by water... and where most of its activites are outdoors or in the water. Just to set the record straight, I am aware that all islands are surrounded by water. The giant, bless him, has been dealing with my tantrums in my 6 star suite in such fine form, however in his cunning ways (though I'm sure he would correct me and say strategic ways) suggested to run me a bath. Look I'm the last person that would want to go around giving people images of me being naked, but I wouldn't mention it of it didn't need to be. It's one of those baths with refelctive glass and floor to ceiling views of Hamilton Island- so who would say no to such an out of character, yet romantic and thoughtful suggestion? He made me a nice drink as I set my ipod to play in the bathroom. Oh what a nice man. However, after I'd finished listening to Brittany's Circus album, I emerged refreshed, revitalised (as the aromatic bath salts said I would) to a husband sprawled across the couch in that well know sport spectating pose. The cricket was on. And now here he is glued to the TV with a bloody mary in one hand and olives in another. So instead of instigating our first domestic argument on our honeymoon, I have instead sought refuge on the most amazing patio in the world. A view to die for to my right, a kookaburra cooing and the smell of gum trees. Oh the sights, the sounds and the smells of Australia that I miss. So here I am taking a reflective moment and instead of starting world war three (or should I nearly say 4?), I have found an electrical plug outside in my resourceful ways (dont tell the giant but my mini laptop's battery isn't very good- as he warned me- damn he's right again) and am now sitting on my day bed and thinking of you all and how I have neglected you all so.

So it might be more of a visual blog this one, but I thought I would quicky describe where I am right now (as above). So as most of you know, the giant and I were trying to make this wedding dream a reality from Dubai and came home 2 weeks prior to piece a few things together- and oh my god, a mental 2 weeks it has been! I averaged 4 hours sleep a night- no joke, and only had yum cha once- do you know how hard that is knowing it is at your doorstep?

So after the day of days, which I wish I could have event co-ordinated myself, because I am such a perfectionist, the giant and I headed for Hamilton Island. Now do I need to say that the giant and I tucked a few bacon and egg mcmuffins away at Sydney domestic terminal before we took off? Was that necessary to add? And need I mention that every breakfast we have ordered since includes a side of swine? Might explain why things are feeling a little tighter... So we made our way to Hamilton Island's Qualia. I'd never heard of it, and the giant sorted it all out, so I wasn't quite sure what I was in for. FYI some of the other Qualia guests that we happened to share air with were Kate Cebrano, Shania Twain and get ready for it. Zac Effron. I was dying to find out which pavillion he was in...just so I could tell him I am the only person in the world with a queen sized high school musical doona cover (I got made especially for me and shipped from the US as a thank you gift for all of my high school musical-ness) Need I remind you all again? I am so cool amongst those in the age bracket 11-15.

And so here starts the picture journal. I must admit, I have turned into a bit of a luxury snob since living in Dubai. And for those of you judging me right now, it's because you haven't come to visit us yet (shame on you). Dubai is such an incredible place where your everyday life includes the the expected standards of the rich and the famous. So I hate to say it, when Mr Giant suggested a 'moon down under, I was less than impressed because I thought that there's no way Australia could impress me now that I am accustomed to the excesses and luxurious hum drum of everyday life in the middle east. Well, I stand corrected. Qualia is the most amazing place I have been to. I have been to the 7 star Burj al Arab, and it has nothing on this devine santuary. Simply amazing and I am so happy to have spent this time in Australia. What I love most is an attention to detail- something that Qualia has down pat. From beach towels designed by Collette Dinnigan, drying your hair with Joh Bailey, sipping water by your bed from Riedel glasses, meals created by Tetsuya and then waking up to George Jensen- who politley tells you the time while at the same time is ready to salt and pepper your meal... is my idea of brilliant. Let me say, not one thing has been left unturned (and quite literally as everything has intriegued me and I have checked where they got everthing- all done very discretely of course)

Check out our sweet, sweet ride. I mostly enjoyed that ours was one of the top end carts onthe island. The giant was also impressed with the wood panel finishings...

Look at that bathroom would you? and the rest. Beautiful finishings, if I say so myself. I love an oudoor shower.

His and hers cocktails by the pool... lets not lie, they both ended up being hers...
How about that for your lap pool on your verandah?

And so I caught a fish... a coral trout to be exact

...and then they cooked it for us. Amazing!
Thanks to my George Costanza friend and fiance, we also enjoyed an amazing dinner by the beach. A seafood platter to absolutely die for although the giant got a bit upset that he could barely fit in the crab...but still he did find some room... He kept saying in such a heartfelt way how cruel it is to kill crabs because they really have no meat and kept repeating the mantra "one must resect the crab" as he cracked it open with crab equipment to get every bit of flesh. Ah the aminal lover.

One must respect the crab...

Speaking of the animal lover...

Of course as we sit down to a beautiful romantic meal, we get a little visitor. Cute, but nice to look at once, then keep an eye on every so often to make sure he will not pounce. I turn my head and off he goes...Mr Giant that is. He spent a solid 15 minutes taking photos, talking to it in 'possum' and just bonding with it in general.


and a cockatoo? We pulled over in the rain to get some snaps...



And a dolpin...perhaps another sister city mum???

An Update

So I am aware there are a few other things that I should be updating you on like...

• Sydney Hens
• How to organise a wedding in 2 weeks
• A wedding

Considering it is storming on our honeymoon, I have taken this opportunity to update you all oin the 'moon thusfar... see next entry...

Hold Tight

So many things to write about- so I bought me one of thems little laptop things so I can crank this baby out on the plane! So just a quick list of bullet points that I will be covering off

• One night in Abu Dhabi
• The Giant's birthday
• A trip to London (and the spotting of Brooke Shields)
• My Dubai hens
• Personal training
• Australia Day Ball
• Wrapping up life in Dubai

so many things to fill you in on- with pictures and everything...I've got a 14 hour flight coming up and a mini laptop that has a 4 hour battery (yes Mr Giant the other model was propbably the better choice- the one that had an 8 hour battery- but I only found that one after I bought this one. At least Emirates have electricity jacks on every seat. Hold tight peoples, the next one is going to be a long one...

Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego?

Just quickly, I am in London and I now remember the sensation of freezing my cans off. I will write some more when I get back to Dubai, but thought you would appreciate an update of my whereabouts.

I am staying with my friend who is writing her PHD on bats, who loves a musical and who harmonises on cue. We first bonded way back when (when the giant and I lived in Ole Blighty) over our affinity for Calamity Jane and when I ran her through the effects of a latte and a bit of cheese (not necessarily together) on my digestive tract. We were at one of those lawyer functions where we both had to play the good wife and it was somewhat refreshing to find another "half" that was just as mental as me. And so, needless to say, those "lawyer functions" then became something that my "Calamity Jane loving bat friend" and I came to love dearly- put that next one on the tab, thank you very much. Does everyone here know all about the movements at my station? Its a sign that I like you and want to bring you closer...its a compliment.

Anyway, I am staying at my Calamity Jane loving Bat friends house and its nice to bring back the old times with some bubbles and a nibbly tid bit. However one thing is distressing me. My Calamity Jane loving bat friend has also turned into one of those strange "running" folk. Why is it that everyone near and dear to me is getting fit around me while I blow up like a blimp? Can everyone just take it easy considering I'm the one who has to wear a white dress (in less than 5 weeks-strike a light!) which does not forgive. Will have to do something about that when I get back to Dubai. I just bid my Calamity Jane loving bat friend adieu on her run and as I feel the cold air coming from under the window sill and can see the London rain out the window- I am thinking to myself- that's commitment. But it also might be a mental disorder. I'll talk to her about that over bacon and eggs that I have been looking forward to since it was suggested.

We are going to see Wicked today and I am so excited. Its been a while since I have seen a musical and who else better to do it than with my friend who we first bonded over Calamity Jane.

Have been trying to at least put one picture to accompany this blog- but I am writing to you live on a Mac- and je ne Mac pas. I cant for the life of me work out how to save a picture! Where is the right mouse button? Will write more in a mo mo when I get back to the "dubious-eye" or the "dubious-aye" to make reference and pay respect to Ali G, as I am in his home town.

So excited about being home in 20 days! The countdown is on.

Festive Cheer

So I told you a few entries back about how my Belarussian friend took "inspiration"- (really just a nice way of saying- copied) from my reindeer that I had outside my door? Well one night before Christmas I came home to this Mexican stand off. As my Belarussian friend had said, she was just providing mine with a friend- more like a lady reindeer with flashing benefits.

My American friend who lives on my floor has a beautiful little girl who is known to many as "Salmon and avocado" for it has been her meal of choice since she could eat- (she is now 2). She is an incredibly smart child- her father is British and her mother from LA, so she has a very cute hybrid accent. One night when I was reading her a bedtime story, she interrupted me saying "Aaaauuunty! Puff the magic dragon lived by the sea, and frolicked in the Autumn mist in a land called Hanalee". I was gobsmacked- were they the words!?! There you go, I learnt them from an 18 month old!

Anyway, I digress! Back to the reindeer- so Salmon and Avocado would ask her mum to take her to visit the reindeer every day. Every evening, she would ask her mum for food to feed the reindeer. She rolled her eyes at her mum for even suggesting that the reindeer would be able to eat a full apple and requested that she make fruit salad for them instead. She would run down the corridor, pat them and reassure the flashing reindeer whispering into her ear that it will all be ok and that she will find her mummy.

Tallulah with an H had a Christmas party in December too- What I am into is festivities when I can roll home and have the option to use my own facilities if required. Tallulah, as opposed to others, roasted her very own turkey herself- basting it every 20 minutes with coca cola as the recipe instructed. She filled the corridors with scents of home cooked delights and as always they competed with the smell of garlic coming from my Belarussian friend's apartment. They needed some extra seating so before I knew it our outdoor setting was sliding down the hall.


And so Christmas quickly came. Santa Claus sent his presents via Fedex which arrived earlier in the week so the giant and I would have gifts under the tree. The box was littered with typical my mum stocking fillers such as religious paraphenalia and books on wisdom and love. We had christmas eve at our Australian friends- that would be "the fine cheese slicer" and "my jetlagged F1 partner in crime". The giant and I got there at about 8pm and by about 9:30pm I was ready to go home. I was just exhausted after my Syrian adventure and a busy week at work. I declined the vodka red bull, twice and then on the third offer I thought I'd give it a whirl- hold the sparkling date juice. Then the mini burgers came out and it was all over. No points for guessing who was the last one standing and needed to be kicked out the door at 3:30am? Yep, Terence of Arabia.

So Christmas was a wonderful day. Instead of waking up and jumping on the bed like every other Christmas morning, the giant and I were somewhat hung over. All that lay waiting for us were the wrapped goodies from home under the tree and the turkey... from the same hotel as last time. So opened our presents and got a little bit sad, but was happy the giant remembered to buy me scorched almonds. 1pm quickly rolled around and we made our way to the hotel to pick up lunch, but this time, to cope with the masses, we were directed to the conference centre. Take a number, take a seat- and a coffee perhaps? A festive gesture that didnt go unnoticed by the giant. We waited for about 20 minutes until lo and behold our number was called. A little like a bistro lady on a microphone at a local RSL club "number 54 to the bistro please, number 54- your fish and chips are getting cold, number 54". Out came our turkey on a trolley and it was transported direct to our car. The definition of not even lifting a finger. Ah I love Dubai.

So we spent the day with my American friend, her british husband, Salmon and Avocado and a lingere designer (who you will learn more about in entries to come). The highlight- other than the amazing company and the turkey cooked to perfection was the fact that we could roll down the hallway. Again. A very merry chritsmas indeed.

And so new years eve swiftly came and I put out the bah humbug vibe early so people wouldn't put too much pressure on. I don't like NYE- never have. I hate the pressure to have an "awesome" night, to stay out really late and not be able to get a taxi home. So the "fine cheese slicer" and my "jetlagged F1 partner in crime" came over for some champagne and a meal prepared by my new chef (also known as the giant) who in his time off from work has taken to the kitchen and other domestic duties. Brilliant. After, a few suspicious looking shots the giant made,my arm was twisted and we were in a cab in no time. The only reason why I agreed was because it was quite literally at the bottom of the Palm and in walking distance to home if we couldn't get a cab. So in the end it was a great night- good company, a few festive hats, fireworks, seats (brilliant) no queues and close to home... although we did have to walk home. The giant carried my shoes and my handbag a I tried to look a sober as possible on the streets of Dubai. For those of you I didn't text before I had no more credit on my phone "Meeei Clima and app nu yea!"

Hail in the desert...

I interrupt this Chritsmas and New Years entry to bring you the images below. Hail? In the desert? Now, I've seen it all.

Moments later...

...and there it is- hail. Now I've seen it all

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...