The race that stops a nation and its expats worldwide

The was no way I was going to let the sand stand in the way of celebrating the one day in the year that every Australian looks forward to. However, when my alarm went off at 5:43am, I was beginning to think- does it really matter if I miss 'the race that stops the nation'? The race was on at 8am Dubai time so if I didn't even know it was on, I would have slept through it anyway. No one would know. I hit snooze. An extra 7 minutes. I was quite impressed with myself for even remembering that it was Melbourne Cup because I haven't had a diary in months. Like most of you know, it is this time every year that I go on the look out for a diary simply to keep track of all the social activity the festive season brings. Until I can find one, the print-out make shift calendar in the wallet will do... until I lose that. This all reminds me of when the giant and I were first courting and I convinced him that in my family we celebrate the 25th of November to celebrate a month before Christmas and we all buy each other gifts. I had him for so long until my cover was blown. It's a good one for all you out there embarking on a new relationship and would like to test the quality and calibre of your man. Let me know how it goes.

So the plan was to meet my new Australian friend who lives on my floor in the corridor at 6:00am. Thank god she's not a morning type (as we've now established) so it gave me a little extra time to apply the fake tan, put on my face and place the fascinator. Four minutes past the hour, and impressed with our efforts, we echoed down the corridor whispering and motioning "oh you look nice!", "no! you look nice", "no! you look nice". It was still dark outside. The security guard took a double take, looked at his watch and looked at us strangely. It was like something out of an 80's movie. Don't think that was what he was expecting at 6:04am. We quickly made our way out the front of our building and interrupted a cab driver taking a snooze. He was a little startled and kept looking strangely at the feathers on our head. I think he is still confused right now. He kept looking at us in the rear vision mirror and asking us what costumes we were wearing. This is Melbourne Cup wear young sir. Careful not to mention 'Australia' otherwise you will have to endure a whole taxi-ride talking about cricket.

So we arrived at the Dubai Polo and Equestrian Club, and were greeted by door beasts and photographers. I only say beasts because these ears nor eyes were made to stand hyper enthusiasm at that hour of the morning. I think we'd all agree it was all a little too early to pose for photos holding the 'cup' like we'd won. As the fine sports we are, we reluctantly obliged. Fingers and toes we end up in the social pages of Ahlan! magazine- will make a great follow-up blog entry. As we looked up we saw the tables set-up outside and a row of hostesses holding glasses of the bubbly stuff. I'd always been jealous of my mum all these years when she'd go to the Melbourne Cup ladies luncheons when we were at school and now I was living the dream. It was just how I had imagined it - sweeps, raffles, bubbly and food stuffs. As I had always imagined Prue and Trude were also there and I was dying for one of them to say "mini-goat's cheese pizza" or "frittata".

By now, the sun had risen so as far as I was concerned, it could have been midday. The hostess didn't even have to offer me a glass before I took it and felt like I was settling in for a day at the races at Randwick, although it was a little hotter here. Every time I turned my head there would be a little man at the ready, ready to top me up- and top me up he did. To the point where I can't put a number to how many glasses I tucked away. The fact that when I got home at 1:30pm I had a hangover headache until about 8pm and that if I had to, I'm sure I wouldn't have been able to operate heavy machinery the following morning, I think clearly indicates that double digits would be a good estimate.

My new Australian friend was in fine form. I told her that I will refer to her in my blog as 'my new Australian friend on my floor', she was fine with that however to make it easier she suggested that I refer to her as either Esmarelda or Tallulah- with an 'h'. And so, henceforth shall she be known as Tallulah with an 'h'. As Prue and Trude helped themselves to another skinny latte our little champagne man kept topping us up. It was at this point it all started to make sense why Tallulah with an 'h' was a little further ahead in the state of tipsy-ness than me. Compared to my glass she had had a flask. The ratio was 1.5:1 , yes, she is taller, but it all adds up.

The sun shining down on us, champagne in hand, polo training in the background, Kaysan blaring and then the moment arrived. The moment I hadn't quite prepared myself for- "I still call Australia Home" played loud and proud on the speakers. As you all know, there are only a few things that make me go silent, and this song is one of them. Trying hard to keep it together, and trying even harder not to think of the QANTAS ad and how my sister and I used to sit on the couch (with tea and Scotch Finger biscuits) and cry every time it would come on- that and the old OTC and Telstra ads. ("No-one is as far from anyone...anymore. OTC"? Anyone?) I quietly had my moment, updated my facebook status and was able to punch through it without a trace of an emotional outburst. Potential crisis averted.

We devoured our pork breakfast, or what was left of it, and had the sounds of Australia in the background. A bit of Kylie, a bit of "Eagle Rock" a bit of "oh my god- is that singer Australian?". Like any Melbourne Cup Luncheon, we had the 'best dressed' parade, the 'best hat comp', the sweeps draw, the 'ooh's, the 'aah's, the wailing and gnashing of teeth as the race rolled- a typical race day. However, I think most will agree that the day started at 11:00am when the kebab trolley came out. Being relatively new to Dubai, I never knew it existed- an added benefit of living in the Middle East. Since we got there at 6:30am, 11:00am was kind of like a 1am greasy kebab run. But greasy they were not. They were only small but an indelible experience- an offering fit for the Gods.

As I mentioned before, Tallulah with an 'h' was on fire. She'd been saying for a little while "I think its time to go", but when the music came on, the Salsa and Flaminco queen came to life. I was "out"- as in"time-out" as in time for bed- and potentially time to ride the porcelain bus. I could feel the daytime hangover coming on. I felt like I was 18 again and you had the friend that wanted to keep dancing but you promised your mum you would go home together, and if you had parents like mine, you had a midnight curfew. As Tallulah with an 'h' cut up the dance floor, I retreated inside to the air-conditioning and started to get comfortable on the couch. It was so the end of the night. Not too long after, Tallulah with an 'h' threw the towel in and it was time to go. A fun and awesome day. Looking forward to next year.

Not only did the race stop the nation and all its expats worldwide- it knocked me out for 2 days solid and put me in a state of delirium that led me to the decision of a 20 day detox. Now on day 8, not even half way. Spare a little thought for me as I get all that bubbly stuff out of my system.

Death by Detox

The day after Melbourne Cup I went on a detox program. This is the very reason why I haven't written yet. Body is getting rid of all the champagne from Melbourne cup and I barely have enough energy to type - brain not functioning. Stay tuned for a rehash of this weeks activities.

time to spare a thought for the giant

The poor giant. He has been working so hard these past few months and has been looking forward to one thing this year- and one thing only. The Abu Dhabi Formula One.

We had a break mid year after he finished this massive deal he was working on and had planned to go to the F1 somewhere in Europe. We tried and tried but still couldn't make that dream a reality, so he was looking forward to the Abu Dhabi one so very much. Only 2 days prior, he was told he had to go to Japan for work. Cool? Yes. Missing qualifying laps would be ok. The plan was to be back on Sunday morning to get the last day in, however, as usual, he found out on Thursday that he won't be back until Tuesday. The poor man was shattered. A broken giant. I was happy he saw the glass half full at the possibility of seeing the Wallabies v Kiwis in Tokyo. He was happy too, but the giant, with no help from the Japanese, couldn't make that dream a reality. He finally got a couple of hours off after working day and night and travelled an hour to the stadium to watch the game. It was the first time in a week he's seen any of Japan. An excited giant he was, and excited too because he had bought some Saudi colleagues with him that were also looking forward to seeing their first live football match. But then it all fell apart. Apparently there wasn't enough technology in all of Japan to make any of his credit or debit cards work, nor his colleagues'. They could hear the cheering in the stands but weren't allowed in. Again a shattered giant. What is for certain is that the F1 is going to be on in Abu Dhabi next year for sure, so we're buying tickets in January.

So, like the good woman I am, I went to the F1 to live the dream for my other half. I know the giant reads my blog, so I won't rub it in too much, but it was an awesome two days. It would have been so much better if he was there- just for general giant company, a history lesson on the F1, to answer any of my in-depth F1 questions, to clarify who won...It kind of happened too quickly to follow (but don't tell the giant) and finally as always to reach things up high and see what's coming from up there. On the last day, a friend of ours came in place of Brendan. An entertaining, yet jetlagged substitute he was, however, he couldn't reach things much higher than me, so wasn't that much use when I needed someone tall to take some photos over the crowds. Regardless, I was so very happy to have a partner in crime for the day.

A friend's friend drove a minibus up to Abu Dhabi which is only about 45 minutes from our part of town. We arrived as a loud and rowdy convoy of Australians and went on operation 'lock-down tent'. The beat on the street was that it was a completely 'dry' affair, but we managed to find the silver lining... or the white lined tent to be exact.

I had never been to the F1 before, and couldn't believe how loud the cars were. I alsways knew they were loud but I didn't realise it would be deafening. As I was sitting in my seat (Line J, position 103-Now you see it?) I took a look around the crowds and found it so bizarre that one talks to each other- ironically its a silent spectators sport. No cheering, no chit chat, no booing, no hissing, just silence. I was silent for a whole hour at least. A shame the giant missed it.

The venue was a little bit 'The Middle East does Homebush Stadium', except for the multi-million dollar cruisers that docked around the track and watched from their boats. It was a pretty impressive track I thought. You know, because I had so many others to compare it to. It was reasonably well organised, however the papers reported a few logistical nightmares from the pre-race concerts on Thursday when everyone couldn't find their cars. So on Friday they decided to create coloured area codes, except the bus drivers were even more confused than we all were. Our mini-bus of fun was parked in Purple 23, however we couldn't find the purple section bus and so got on the 'Lilac' one. They must mean purple. There are too many more conventional colours they could have chosen before they would use 'Lilac'. We were wrong. We found this sign after. Can someone tell me why you'd use 'lime' instead of 'green'? What about the international tourists that may only be armed with their year 7 English skills? What about red, pink? After an hour and a half or so, we finally made it to the concert area. We had some Aussies on board who were doing chin-up competitions on the bus. A bit of pre-concert entertainment.

Noce numero uno: Kings of Leon, Noce numero dos: Aerosmith. Awesome. I told my mum this morning that I went to the Aerosmith concert last night and she said "who?"(see entry 'Another call from mum' for some background on the character that is my mum) As many of you know, I am not one for live music, except of course if its a Billy Joel or a Dixie Chicks concert. However, I loved it. To be honest with you, I don't really enjoy feeling the grooves of songs I don't know the words (or can't do actions to) and moreover for a 4 foot 11 inched young lass, I don't want to do so at someone's armpit height.

On the first night Kings of Leon wasn't crowded at all. I just stood back from the small crowd anyway, with about a metre clear around me, and a vodka red bull in tow. That's your dance space, this is my dance space (RIP Patrick Swayze). Aerosmith was a little different. It was a lot more crowded as not only did it attract a young crowd, but all the old aged pensioners (OAP) were out. They didn't do any harm, but I did have chuckle at some of the OAP dance moves. I can't really talk- they had more rhythm than me, even with their rickety hips and joints. Had a great two days. Just wished the giant was there too.

a blog should be a 2 way street...

Right people, I think I have fixed my settings now so that you can make comments without registering. I understand this is supposed to be like a diary, but it would give me great joy from the turrets of my sand castle if you could leave a comment, some goodwill or a note of inspiration. Mum this is not an invitation to inspire me with ideas of things to do. One of my favourites so far is after I told mum I watched 'The Choir of Hard Knocks' which is about a musician who creates a choir group of the homeless and disadvantaged from the streets of Melbourne, that I too should start a choir in Dubai. More specifically, the Palm Ladies Choir. Hands up who is living through their youngest daughter? Mum, after Tai Chi in the Parish hall, maybe you could all start rehearsing for Christmas Carols? Dad would make a brilliant baritone, and I believe Jude still has her garbage bag outfit...

Throw me a bone. I don't know if people are reading or not.

Another call from mum...

Just got another call from my mum who had some more feedback on my blog. She's requested a simpler section without all the "modern lingo". When I asked her which bit she didn't understand, she said "well, I can't quite think of an exact example right now, but I didn't quite understand the bit about the chin and the goat" (Please see Entry: Dead Sea Walking). She told me my sister spent a while trying to explain it, but she still couldn't understand how his chn looked like a goat's udder...

Today is also the Feast Day of the Holy Souls... fyi.

A moment's silence please...

If we could please all bow our heads to mark a sad sad day in the Roman calandar. A day that I have been dreading since 1 November 2007. Today ladies and gentlemen I move down a status rank in the QANTAS and One World Frequent Flyer Program. A gift that was given to me (in exchange for giving my social life) by the little man with the black ears, a man you may affectionately know as Mickey, but to me I called him boss. It was the key to an exclusive world that I no longer have in my reach. The greetings of 'Moet or Veuve' for you Madam in the First Class Lounges of the world. A free upgrade for you Madam? A greeter who would find me in Economy when I would fly just to check I was ok (see they know there's something not so great about economy). The ability to organise the notoriously difficult to redeem frequent flyer points at a day's notice. Courtesy phone calls to tell you your plane was on time, but more than often not, they weren't. Butler service when you check-in so you dont have to carry your hand luggage. Gift vouchers when the plane was late and checking-in in the special people line. I used to check-in 3 hours early to avail myself of the French champagne and fine dining menu the first class lounge had to offer. I felt a sense of belonging. I felt part of the QANTAS family. Then last year, when I thought it was bad enough, I was down-graded to Gold and now had to mingle with the Business Class traveller types, where the lounge served 'Yellowglen', you had to make your coffee yourself and if you were lucky you got a meat pie or samosa. I was starting to feel a little less special, pushed to the side, a grade 2 citizen. But now who am I? I'm a no-one. I am one of the masses. You will find me at the airport wading through the backpacks to order my Gloria Jeans skinny Caramel Latte, huffing and puffing no doubt. QANTAS should really think about having counselling groups to help people through the transition. I feel dropped from the family.

Please all spare a thought for me today as come to terms with this grim reality.

A Roaming Feast...

So last night was my girlfriend's birthday. Not as in 'a girl who loves another girl' kind of girlfriend, nor is it a 'friend who is a girl' kind of girlfriend, I mean the kind of girlfriend who is a grown man who I call my girlfriend in hip street-wise sort of way. The giant is away in Japan, so it was great to spend the weekend's eve with friends and not with Gordon Ramsay again, although I do love him dearly. So what is a roaming dinner I hear you all ask? 'Twas quite literally that. The evening started at one friend's house for champagne and canapes, then to another for the main meal, then to another for dessert (thats the sweet stuff -not to be mistaken for the sandy stuff). And a hoot of a night it was. Scrumptuous canapes, delicious salmon, potatoes to feed an army, and an array of little desserts like you could never imagine. Allow me to see if I can remember the 'set'. At the very end of the table- dark chocolate coated banana ice cream squares made in the industrial gelato maker, home-made cherry ripe, double vodka and 7-up sorbet shots, whisky and toblerone mousse and then the piece de resistance that just blew my socks off, there's simply no other way to describe it- Layered Jager Bomb jelly squares. Ladies, he is single. I can put you in touch. Send your CVs.

An awesome night-didn't stop laughing from go to wo, but mostly at wo. Girlfrend you crack me up. Great food, great friends, 1 x lucky girl.