R.J. May

I recently went to a couchsurfing.com event in Al Ain. For those of you who don’t know what couch surfing is… check it out, especially if you travel, like meeting new people, ect. It was hosted by a local Emirati at his camel, sheep, goat, turkey, and chicken farm. It was the 1st time I was able to experience real desert life, with real Bedouins.

It was one of the most rewarding times I’ve had since my arrival. The Bedouin people are very welcoming and hospitable. Rashid, the host, brought his falcon, indigenous dog, and traditional customs to share.

That evening, I played with camels and drank fresh camel’s milk. It sounds disgusting, but camel milk is awesome. Rashid played the Arabic guitar, shared the history of the UAE, had us hold his falcon, and cooked a traditional Bedouin meal of chicken, meat, olives, lebnah, and bread.

The next morning, we drank Turkish coffee and ate breakfast, we went dune basing in the desert, and watched Rashid’s falcon and dog hunt small game in wild.

I became a typical tourist the first day I arrived. Still hung-over from jetlag and in need of sleep, I decided to attend the local horse racing festivities with 3 other study abroads. It was a culture shock. Considering it was a horse racing venue, I “dressed up” in a polo and slacks. The other girls dressed up with skirts and what not… Big mistake on their part. The Nad Al Sheba Horse Racing Complex is no Churchill Downs (site of the Kentucky Derby for you non-horse people). The patrons of this party, dare I say, looked as if they had just emerged from a cave and were part of the Mujahedeen or had been worked for days in the desert and just escaped from their work camps. A thin layer of dust and a thick layer of musk covered most. This was for sure a man’s event. The only females within site were my fellow Americans.

From the beginning I had 3 strikes against me. I struck out as a westerner, I struck out in the way I dressed, and I struck out by having women with me. A circle of “locals” quickly formed around us. The radius remained rather large with us being at the epicenter. Anywhere from 10 to 20 feet of buffer zone normally existed. Cameras were quick to follow the eyes of the “locals.” They had no shame in gawking at or taking the picture of the women I was with. Eyes and lenses were always pointed at the skin of the women, even though little, if any, was shown. Words cannot express or describe the situation I felt, smelled, or saw. So… ill cease to discuss it because I cant do it justice.

My saving grace that night was when I was approached and asked by two men if they could “barrow” the ladies to get in the Terrace Bar. Apparently you had to be western or a couple to get it. So we used them to find this “Bar” and left them at the door. The Terrace was separated from the common folk area by security and a white picked fence. Inside the fence was a buffet, a bar, and a fashion show. It was high class, it was capitalism, it was money. At an arm’s length away over the fence was a 3^rd world feel of exploited workers, desperation, and despair.

On the approach to Dubai International Airport the sun had just poked its head out from above the horizon. For some reason it seemed brighter, hotter and clearer than I remembered. Slowly making our way down through the clouds you could begin to see the Persian Gulf dotted with oil tankers and oil platforms. As the plane turned to position itself for landing, my window was exposed to the UAE interior. It was sand, sand, and more sand for as far as the eye could see. The only exception was the enormously tall buildings of Dubai 20 kilometers away that created a magnificent skyline from afar.

I had finally arrived after 2 days of travel and it felt like it too. Many of the people in the airport had traditional garb and burqas covered the faces of women. The sweater and pants combo that didn’t keep me warm enough in London was causing me to sweat in Dubai. I had to change in the bathroom where I noticed all the stalls were equipped with sink hoses to provide a means to cleanse and prepare the body for prayer time.

Customs and Immigration was a joke a DXB. The abayah covered women who checked my passport almost seemed not to care. She asked me where I was going, for how long, where my visa was, my letter from a sponsor, and other questions. I could only provide an answer to where I was going and for how long. I had no documentation, no sponsor letter, no address of residence in the UAE, or no answers for any of the other questions she asked. But she stamped my passport anyway and sent me off.

While exiting out of the airport I was blindsided by desperate taxi drivers looking for a fare. I eventually settled on one and had a nice conversation with him on the ride to AUD. However, our relationship quickly turned sour. When I got out at AUD I glanced at the meter which read 68 DHS. I asked him how much and he told me 100 USD. He tried to screw me in more ways than one. Not only did he jack up the price but he also changed the currency. I gave him a second opportunity to correct his “error” but then he rattled off excuses about AUD being a “special” drop-off location. I gave him 70 DHS and demanded my 2 dirhams back in change….

AUD had a prison type feel to it. It’s completely enclosed by a 10 ft wall complete with spikes at the top, cameras on every corner, and outsourced guards from Pakistan, India, Ski Lanka, and other parts of the world at every entrance to any place. A campus wide curfew begins at midnight but only effects “common” areas. Inside the male quarters and courtyard (blocked off by its own wall and gates) we can mingle without restrictions. I assume it’s the same for the females but no one knows considering the penalty for entering their area is DEATH… just kidding. But it is expulsion from the university. To escape the persecution you simply have to exit the campus gates. The guards don’t care what you do as long as it’s not on campus.

I moved in and had my belongings searched, which is legal around these parts, for banned materials including beverages and movies… of the adult type. My roommate’s stuff was scattered everywhere so I did what anyone would do… moved his stuff to his side. He came in for about 5 minutes and disappeared for days. Then one day his stuff was gone and he moved out. I was later forced to move when two Nigerian princes moved in and wanted a room together. I relocated down the hall with a guy named Pedro. We get along well, he’s from Texas.

This was the first time I’ve ever left sovereign US territory besides going to Canada and California (everyone knows California is un-American [just kidding]). To say the least I had mixed emotions about the whole ordeal. Everything went relatively smooth at Dulles International Airport besides having to unpack and repack my luggage to meet weight requirements. I was 15 lbs over in my suitcase and 20 under in my sea bag. So in front of everyone and at the ticket counter I had to unpack underwear, socks, shirts, toiletries and other miscellaneous items from one bag and shove them in the other. So much for my meticulous packing skills. Then I had to go through security. My mom decided that she wanted to get pictures of the whole process. My family and I are about 10ft away from each other but separated by a rope. It was just far enough away so that we couldn’t talk without shouting and too close to pretend like I didn’t know them. Awkward. I get further away and she’s still snapping pics, having a fun time. Then I get to a point pass the x-ray machines that block my view. Turns out she was briefly detained, her camera was temporarily searched and seized, and the pictures of me going through security deleted. It was for national security, so I’m all for it. Looking back, it didn’t go that smooth at Dulles, but I got on the plane (with an upgrade) and to London. Smooth enough… I guess.

Turns out that everything on British Airways is free… even the booze (pics of that later). I had a goodtime on the plane. When in 1^st class, do as the 1^st class do.

I got to London and took a picture of the “UK BORDER” sign. That’s when I got temporarily detained and my camera searched. I explained to the cop that it was my 1^st time in the UK and I was excited to be in his country… blah, blah, blah. I had to erase the picture. The whole ordeal took 2 minutes tops. I got a transit visa, jumped on the Heathrow Express, got off at Paddington Station, ate some McDonalds (I know, I know… I disappoint myself too), and hopped on a Big Bus Tour. I sat on the top so I could have better views and pictures but had to sacrifice feeling in my face and hands. It was freezing. On top of the bus I meet a Mexican woman traveling back home from Helsinki after a rock concert. She was by herself, as was I, and we were traveling the same route around London. We ended up sticking with each other most of the day and taking pictures for each other in front of Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, and all the other tourist spots. It was a mutually beneficial relationship. Time passed pretty quickly and before I knew it I was running late for my flight to Dubai. I had to hurry to the Heathrow Express and was told to get off at the wrong terminal by the conductor/information guy. I was pissed. I had about 20 minutes to get from terminal 4 to terminal 5. I was out of British Pounds and taking the express or tube would take to long. I had to exchange money and take a taxi across the tarmac. I ended up getting through customs with 5 minutes to spare and to my gate on the last boarding call. What’s international travel without a little fun????

More about the city of Dubai later.

First and foremost I’d like to apologize for not writing sooner (as if anyone was waiting). Complications with the “technology people” and the overwhelming aspects of moving to a new city, country, and continent made it difficult to blog until now.
Secondly, I’ve never blogged. I don’t know how this works. I guess I type interesting stuff and let you guys read it. I might even have some words of wisdom at the end or a moral to my story. Here we go…