Camping with Abdul Hameed Alawadhi & Friends

Relaxing in the majlis

Here in the Middle East, camping in the desert isn’t just the occasional recreational weekend activity. It’s a way of life that dates back thousands of years. When I first arrived in Abu Dhabi, Mark told me that our group would be invited to camp with the Emiratis. I immediately started looking forward to it, still keeping in mind that most things here are “inshallah,” meaning “if it is God’s will” or in other words, “if it happens.” Finally Mark came home one day and said, “The camping trip is next weekend.” I was excited but a little bummed that since Deb was still in St. Louis, we would only be five.

Questions: Where? How many days? What do we bring? Will any Emirati women be there? The camp would be out in the desert, past Dubai in the Emirate of Ras Al Khaimah. We would leave Friday and come home Saturday. All we needed to bring were bedding, our personal items, and any special beverages that we might want to drink. It’s Abdul’s camp; Abdul works with Dana. Yes, other women were supposedly coming. Based on our experiences so far, I was skeptical. Men and women here seem to share family time and shopping, but they have a lot of separate interests. As it turned out, I was right. While Lucy and I were welcome and included in everything, and really did have the time of our lives, it’s clear that it’s basically a guys’ world out there.

Abdul and Mark

At 10:00 on Friday morning we piled our comforters, pillows, cameras, and a few miscellaneous bottles and cans into two vehicles and took off. About two hours later we pulled off of Emirates Highway at exit 122, parked, and called Abdul. Mark had told me that Abdul had dark reddish hair and freckles, which is a little unusual for an Arab. Soon an SUV arrived, driven by a guy who matched the description. Yet Tom, Mark, and Dana didn’t recognize him at first. At work, Abdul is always in national dress, and they had never seen him in his t-shirt, ball cap, and khakis.
 






 

If only signs like this were more effective

Abdul designed and built the camp
using his experience in the military

There wasn’t room for all of us and all our stuff, so Tom, Lucy and I got into the SUV and Mark and Dana stayed behind. As we took off and headed out into the desert, Abdul told us that he camps every weekend during the winter months; in summer it’s too hot. We passed other camps along the way. At the beginning of the season, they go out and choose a site, which is then provisionally approved by an oversight agency. After the camp is set up, it’s checked to be sure that no prohibited or permanent structures are constructed. This is Abdul’s second year in this spot, and he said that he is planning to leave some of the infrastructure in place over the summer, so that he can use the same location next year as well.

A few minutes later, after a bumpy ride on a winding, up-and-down path, Abdul made a U-turn. Are we lost? No, this is the runway. Runway! Abdul gunned the engine and we went straight up, slipping and sliding right and left in the sand, until we crested the dune and came roaring into the center of camp.

We could watch TV

We attempted to unload our belongings, but Abdul insisted that we relax instead, and ushered us into a large tent. Not just any tent, this was a plush majlis tent with a beautiful carpet on the floor and colorful cushion seats complete with pillows and bolsters lining two sides. On the third side was a large flat screen TV; the screened front entry provided us with a view of the campfire area, where a dozen chairs were set up.

 

Dana and Mark arrived in style

Suddenly we heard a roar, and an ATV spun into camp with Dana, followed by Mark in another. Meanwhile, our bags had been unloaded and set inside our sleeping tent by Salim, Abdul’s Bangladeshi servant and camp custodian. He is one of so many people from less fortunate and much more dangerous countries, who come here to work.



I think I speak for both Lucy and me when I say it’s hard for us to get used to having so much done for us. There is always someone to serve us: doormen and gate guards to open doors and gates and provide directions, pool guards and exercise room attendants to open doors and hand us towels, grocery store baggers who bring our purchases to our vehicle, maintenance workers and maids available to do everything. They call the men “sir” and us “madam” or “mom.”

Salim was there whenever we needed him

Abdul told us that he shares Salim with his uncle, who owns a farm. Salim works for Abdul during the winter, providing service on the weekend and staying in camp during the week. In summer he moves back to Abdul’s uncle’s farm and works there. Salim’s was busy the entire time we were there, fetching and carrying, picking up after us, preparing food, washing dishes, and doing anything else Abdul needed or we wanted. Including lighting the shisha pipes. But now I’m getting ahead of the story.

Hassam was a great conversationalist

Several guys came into the tent and we were introduced to Abdul’s brother Mohammed, and his cousins Saeed and Khalid, and Hassam, a friend, who all shook our hands. Hassam immediately impressed us with his outgoing personality. In no time, we were drinking cold beverages and Hassam was showing Lucy and me photos of his little son and three beautiful daughters on his iPhone. He was so proud of them all, but it was clear that his son, the youngest of four, was his pride and joy. “First, I have one daughter, then two daughters. I am half a man. Then, three daughters, I am still half a man. Then I have a son, I am a man!” They were gorgeous children, but my favorite pictures were the ones in which the daughters were dressed in their traditional Emirati Eid finery.

Salim sorts rocket, aka arugula, for salad

“Want me to show you the camp?” Abdul offered. There were five large tents. In addition to the majlis, there were two sleeping tents equipped with cots, a kitchen tent which had a sink with running water, and a storage tent filled with, among other things, shisha pipes.

I can live with this

The toilet, shower, and sink setup was really impressive. Water tanks with pumps, hot water heater, showers – we could take a hot shower! – and yes, a real porcelain flush toilet – dual flush, no less – in nice zippered nylon enclosures. And there were two outdoor sinks with hot and cold running water. One was for washing hands, and the other for washing dishes. We could barely hear the generator running behind the next dune, and the electrical wires were all buried in the sand.







Everything was built by Abdul, using his experience in the army. The camp was situated so that we could see downhill to the south from the front of camp. “We’ll climb up there later,” Abdul said, indicating the steep slope behind camp, “for the sunset.”

This was a challenging hill to climb but once at the top, we had a great view of Ras Al Khaimah and the Gulf

I had mentioned wanting to dune bash, and before long Lucy and I were each buckling into an ATV. Lucy’s was driven by Khalid, who we found out later was the expert driver of the group, and I was riding with Abdul’s brother Mohammed. Hang on, and keep your arms inside! Off we went.

whooohooo

They obviously had a plan, as we headed for the steepest, highest slope in the distance. Lucy and I were both whooping and laughing as we went screaming up, over and around on the red sand, which was riddled with tracks. When we reached the bottom of the slope, we stopped. Then, taking turns, we tried to make it to the top. It wasn’t easy! Mohammed couldn’t make it, and we always had to back down. We took an alternate route to the top, and watched Khalid try again and again until, finally, they made it! Then it was more up, over, and around the dunes. I don’t know how those things keep from tipping over. I even started to feel a little woozy.

So, where were you guys?

Eventually, we got separated. Where were they? As we drove around, I realized how far we had gone. There were two kites flying over our camp, and they were just little specks. Without them, I would have had no idea where we were. Finally we headed back, and after what seemed like a long time, Khalid and Lucy arrived. Later, we found out what happened: they got stuck! They could see us driving around looking for them, but we couldn’t spot them. They were too far away.





 

Kingfish going into the coals

It was now mid-afternoon, and more friends and relatives arrived. Abdul and others had been in the kitchen tent preparing food for some time, while Salim lit coals in a barbecue and a pit. Out of the kitchen came two giant fish-shaped foil packages. They were kingfish, placed in the coals in the fire pit. They wouldn’t take long; only about ten minutes. Smaller fish, also wrapped in foil, were placed in the coals in the barbecue.
 

Can we help you?
No, no, it's ok. You are the guests.

Meanwhile, back in the majlis tent, a large piece of plastic had been unrolled onto the floor and set with plates, bowls of salad, Arab bread, and boxes of tissues, which everyone uses as napkins here. Although Arabs generally eat with their right hand, we usually have the option of using utensils, and today there were spoons. In studying up about etiquette before we came to the Middle East, I read that you never use your left hand to eat – it’s considered an unclean hand – and also that you should never cross your legs to show the bottom of your feet, which is considered an insult. So far, both of these have been complete non-issues. Everyone we have met and socialized with has made us feel relaxed, and they sit with their feet crossed just like we do. As far as the left handedness goes, I talked with an Emirati woman at the post office who I noticed writing with her left hand. How is that for you, I asked? She said she uses her left hand if she has a utensil like a fork, but her right hand if not. So I do the same.
 

By the time we sat down to eat it was late afternoon – I hadn’t worn a watch on purpose – and what a feast! Huge platters of fish and a large pot of rice were brought in. Our hosts kept piling the food onto our plates, until we couldn’t eat another bite. It was a good thing that I went dune bashing before this meal. As we ate, we talked about cities in the US. Almost every educated Emirati that we have met has gone to school in the US; a few others went to English schools. Relatives often go to the same school, and we heard lots of stories about long road trips to visit relatives and friends. Hassam went to school in Denver, and he and his wife honeymooned in California, driving down the coast to Los Angeles. But what is Hassam’s favorite US city? Las Vegas!

There was a lot of food left over, and as we watched Abdul’s cousin scoop up rice and fish and wrap it in foil he said, “This does not go to waste. We give it to the camel herders.” He gestured toward the other side behind the dune, where I had seen camels near a small camp. We have often wondered how much food goes to waste when we are served one of these plentiful meals.

The Arab people are incredibly hospitable to guests, and they are generous to those less fortunate, as well. What they have, they happily give or share. In a book I just finished, I read that Muslims are taught to share what you have, even if it is only water; it will not make you poorer.
 
After lunch, we spent a quiet hour or two lounging in the majlis and digesting our food before heading uphill. Tom and Dana took a turn dune bashing, and then we all settled onto a carpet that had been spread on the crest of the dune, overlooking the camp on one side, and the tree-filled wadis on the other, with a view of the city of Ras al Khaimah and the Arabian Gulf beyond. Salim brought a bowl of clean tea glasses and sweetened tea, which Abdul served. We watched the sun approach the horizon.

 


What would you be feeling at this point? After lunch, while we were lounging in the majlis, Lucy and I were sharing the same thought. We’ll look back one day and say, “Wasn’t that unbelievable? Did we really get to do that?” And now here we were, sitting on a magic carpet on top of a dune watching the Arabian sunset, and we looked at each other, nodded, and said “Yup.”
 

Just then, Salim chugged uphill again and handed us a plastic bag. More food? I looked inside and realized that it was . . . ice cream bars! In the desert! We each ate one.

 
Meanwhile down below, the campfire was lit, and one by one the chairs were occupied. I have to tell you, if you don’t know by now, that I was totally in my element. I love the desert as much as I love the water, and I’ve been on many, many desert camping trips. I camped out for weeks by myself in 1976 when I moved from Michigan to California, and some of that was in the deserts and plains of Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, Montana, and Idaho. When I went to College of Marin in 1987-88, I went on the legendary Don Foss geology field trips to eastern Nevada, and that’s when I fell in love with that state, long before I met Mark sailing and one day he asked me, out of the blue, if I liked Nevada. At Sonoma State University in 1990-91 I earned money cooking for geology department field trips in California’s Death Valley and the Mojave Desert. And of course, I went on field trips with the University of Nevada, Reno Geography department. I felt right at home out there in the desert.


As it grew dark, more people arrived. We were introduced, but of course it was hard to get all the names. Among them were Ali #1 and Ali #2, another Mohammed, Saeed and his son Gaith, whom you met in previous blogs, a guy whose name sounded like “Boomer One,” and someone who was called Godfather. “Why is he called Godfather?” I asked. “He is Godfather because when he comes, he always brings food. You will never be hungry when Godfather is here.” And that is when we all realized with an internal groan that, yes, there was another meal coming.

Not before the shisha, though. Shisha is tobacco, usually fruit flavored, smoked in a water pipe. Shisha pipes are works of art, made with blown glass and elaborately decorated. Soon Dana was smoking, and Lucy and I tried some as well. The last time I smoked a cigarette was in 1981, but I had wanted to try out this cultural phenomenon which is enjoying resurgence not just here in the Middle East, but elsewhere. There are cafes everywhere here, and there is one that I know of in Carson City, Nevada.


The flavor of the evening was grape, which I had read is the best although Tom says he likes apple too. Not one to do things halfway, I asked for my own pipe, which was brought out to me. Salim carefully selected a coal from the fire, broke it into smaller pieces, laid it on the tray at the top of the pipe, and then positioned the dish of shisha above it. You have to inhale deeply, drawing air all the way down the pipe, through the water in the reservoir at the bottom, and up through the long tube. The smoke goes through the water cooling it and, some say, filtering it. I don’t know, and I don’t assume that smoking through a water pipe is any less harmful than smoking any other way. I’ve heard that smoking shisha, which takes an hour to complete, is full of nicotine and carcinogens. I certainly won’t make it a habit but I have to admit it was a kick, and a great photo op.

One of my favorite characters of the evening, aside from Hassam, was Ali #1. Dressed in a jogging suit and head scarf, he was everywhere, helping with the food preparation, maintaining the fire, greeting late arrivals. When Godfather arrived, they did what our guys call the “nose kiss.” Here, they don’t hug or back slap as we do. Greetings range from no touching or a handshake to an air kiss on the right cheek, then the left cheek, and sometimes, if the relationship has progressed enough, the right cheek again. I have been practicing the cheek air kissing. The nose kiss, however, is between men who are on very familiar terms. They touch nose to nose, and apparently it’s best to approach slowly, while making a smooching sound with their lips. When I saw (and heard) it on the camping trip I understood how it could be a surprise for Western men like Mark, Tom, and Dana, but it’s just another custom here in the Middle East.

Abdul was our host, but Hassam and Ali #1 were just as friendly, relaxed and attentive to our needs, and we learned that the three of them are childhood friends. Now it all made sense, and it made me reflect on how much the same people are when they are together like this. The friendship and camaraderie felt so familiar; everyone was just hanging out and talking with us.

Every so often, the conversation would turn into an animated all-Arabic discussion, none of which we could understand. I have a little Arabic language book, and I’ve learned a few words, most of which we don’t need to use in the westernized cities of Abu Dhabi and Dubai, where people speak enough English for us to get by. But I heard Boomer saying “La-la-la!” and I said “I know what that means! No! No! No!” And so they told us what they were talking about, and we got into an interesting discussion. It turned out that Boomer speaks seven languages! We discussed a wide range of topics, including how to determine how much one should pay for a pashmina shawl. Bargaining is expected here, but I haven’t quite gotten the hang of it yet. I either feel like I paid too much or like I should have paid more but I twisted the sellers arm and he is losing money.
 

Saeed and Ghaith

Abdul told us that usually Friday nights are quiet, but this night was a big event because we were there, and everyone wanted to come and meet us. Everyone sure seemed to be having a great time, but Lucy and I both noticed that we were the only women there. We felt completely comfortable, but we could see that this was not a place where these men bring their wives. I asked Abdul if his kids come to camp and he said yes – but only the boys, not the girls. The camp was really one giant outdoor “man cave.”


 

Intense card game

Around 11:30 PM, dinner was served. We sat in the majlis and feasted on kabob, which is seasoned minced lamb cooked on skewers, salad, and roti provided by Godfather. Roti is a thin, flat tortilla like bread. Believe it or not, by that time we were hungry. But we had learned to not let your plate get empty or someone would fill it up again. After dinner, we sat by the fire awhile longer while a boisterous game of cards got going in the majlis. One of the players’ card playing strategy came under scrutiny, and guys were jumping to their feet, talking loudly and gesticulating. What’s going on? “Oh, it’s just the card game,” Abdul said. From then on the player in question was nicknamed “Mr. Selfish.”

Lucy was nodding in her chair, and at about 1:00 AM we all decided to hit the rack. There were only single cots, and so Dana, since Deb is still in St. Louis, was the only one who got to sleep in a bed. Mark and I and Tom and Lucy crashed on the carpet.



The next morning there were people crashed in the majlis, and Mark peeked in and said it looked like a frat house. I went out for a walk to take some photos, and found myself walking with Boomer. We are both into photography, and as we snapped photos he told me about how the weather pattern has changed. It used to rain over the desert in winter, sprouting seeds and turning the dunes green. This year, the seeds are dormant, waiting for the rain. When will it come? Maybe not this year; it’s already late.

 
 
I commented on the amount of trash, which is scattered everywhere, mostly plastic bags and bottles. It’s incredible. Yes, he said. We have people from 180 different countries here. They don’t care. I saw a camel the day before with a plastic bag in its mouth. If swallowed, it can be fatal; half of camel deaths are caused by plastic bags. What the entire UAE needs is a successful anti-litter campaign like “Keep America Beautiful” in the US, initiated by Lady Bird Johnson in the 1960’s. I still remember being a child and wanting never to be called a “litterbug.” Abu Dhabi began its own campaign a year ago.


We were served scrambled eggs with peppers for breakfast, with roti. I wrapped up my eggs to make a breakfast burrito, which Abdul seemed to think was innovative. Lucy and I took a spin in one of the ATVs, with me driving, and then we sat in the majlis talking with Abdul before he drove us to our cars. What about your wife, Lucy and I asked? We thought she might be here. He told us how she spends her time with her children, family and friends while he is gone.


Maybe next time we’ll let you guys camp, we said, and Lucy and I will join Abdul’s wife, who is from Morocco. “She will show you a good time,” Abdul assured us. “Have you ever had a Moroccan bath? It takes one hour.” We talked a lot about the UAE and its past, present, and future, and as always, we learned.

But this story has gotten long enough, so I will end it here, with us heading back to our cars. It was another epic adventure coming to an end, and once again we were overwhelmed by the Emirati hospitality and graciousness of Abdul and his family and friends.

“Now THAT’S a field trip,” commented Paul Starrs, Geography professor at University of Nevada, Reno and field trip expert, when I posted camping pictures on Facebook. I agree, Dr. Starrs!


Thanks again to Abdul, and thanks for reading!
 

Sailing: Feels Like Home

Is that the Transamerica building
in the background?

Mark and I signed up on race committee for the first day of the UAE National Sailing Championships. This is a dinghy regatta, with Open Catamaran, Laser, and Optimist divisions. As it turned out, it was a day very similar to summer in San Francisco.

From what we have seen, the sailing conditions here are pretty mild. We hadn’t been sailing since we received our shipment in early January, which contained our sailing gear. As we were getting ready to leave the apartment, Mark said “I don’t think I’ll bring my foul weather pants . . .”

“I am,” I said. Hello? We both knew that the weather forecast was for cooling temperatures and gusty winds. Even though the days still seem warm to us, with some wind on the water it could get cold. Plus, we really didn’t know what we were in for in terms of assignments.

Fortunately, he changed his mind and brought them along. When we arrived that the club at 0900 the wind was whipping the flags, and it remained a steady 15 – 20 knots the entire day.

There was steady breeze and chop.

I was on the mark boat, which also served as finish boat, with Jenny, a race committee regular, Denney, who is from the Caribbean island of Antigua, and Ned, who has a very interesting job as the pilot of a private jet. That’s all I can say about that, or he would have to kill me. Mark was assigned to one of the rescue boats with Pilly, a young blonde woman who works for the club, and wears pink shorts and pink sunglasses.

As we bashed upwind into the waves to set the marks, I wondered if I might get seasick while we were at anchor for the day. It’s taken me a lifetime to learn how to manage myself so that I maintain my equilibrium to avoid nausea, because once I start to feel like barfing it’s all over, and I don’t recover until I hit the dirt. Plus, as Jenny had reminded me, the  boat doesn’t have a “loo.”

We set the longest course for the catamarans, and the shortest course for the Optimist aged 10 or under class. As I looked around at the conditions, windy with steep chop, I thought of Richmond Yacht Club’s junior sailors. And I have to say, these kids here in the UAE are tough. It was a four race day and they rigged up and sailed over a mile to the start line, wearing shorts and life vests, guaranteed to be permanently wet and probably, sooner or later, capsize.

Sailors of all ages participated.

The rescue boats had a busy day. In addition to the usual capsizes among the fleet, a catamaran broke his tiller on the first race, and another one lost his rudder on the second, which sent him drifting backwards through the start line as another fleet was in pre-start maneuvers. A third catamaran, who had three bullets (first place) broke his jib halyard during the third race and had to retire. Out of a total fleet of about 30 boats, ten retired after the first race and another five after the second. I didn’t blame them! It was gnarly out there, and I was surprised that none of the little kids gave up before the first race even started.

I didn't blame anyone who had enough and went in.

As it got later, I noticed that they were starting the third Laser and Optimist races before the last boats had finished. The finish line where we were was just behind the start line and I wondered if any late finishers would be tenacious enough to turn right around and cross the start line again. An Optimist crossed, and we called to the little skipper: “Hello! Your fleet has started the next race!” And we pointed to the starting line.

I'm not starting another bloody race!

He stood up, looked at us, and said in a proper British accent: “I have been sailing for four hours. I‘m wet, I’m cold, and I’m hungry. I want to go in!” Which he did, but not before he sailed over to us so that Jenny gave him a sugar-packed energy drink. “You have to bring lots of sweeties,” she said.


The racing wound down but the breeze and the chop never did. Mark and Pilly came by to say hi. How are you doing? I was happy to report that, although I had worried a little about seasickness, it hadn’t happened. The short chop didn’t bother me. These days, I don’t get sick unless I am in big rollers in the ocean. On this day, the Arabian Sea off of Dubai reminded me a lot of San Francisco Bay.

Near the end of the day, a Bristol Channel Cutter sailed toward us, looking good. The skipper and crew knew Jenny and Ned, and they hailed us and waved. I snapped a few photos as they sailed past, and then I noticed their hailing port: Half Moon Bay, CA.

Feels like home.

Thanks for reading.
Coming soon: Abu Dhabi for Bird Lovers, and some fabulous foods.

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The Giants of Golf: Rock, Rory and Tiger

Lucy and I rubbed elbows with
the Giants of Golf

My goal for the Abu Dhabi Golf Championship was to learn the names of a couple of golfers other than Tiger Woods. Now I know Rory McIlroy and Robert Rock.
 
There were a couple of sports that made me cry in frustration as a child, and golf was one of them. The other was bowling. I’ve gotten over them and moved on, and have been bowling and playing miniature golf a few times in the past three or four decades. I’ve watched a few golf championships on TV, but mostly by accident.
 
Thus I’ve never understood the allure of going to watch a golf tournament. If it’s a good day for golf it’s sunny with no wind, which means it’s hot, there is no place to sit, nobody seems to have a drink in their hand, and they have to be quiet and still. Then a guy hits a ball and it disappears, either into the sky or into a hole. Or worse, the ball goes the wrong way and everyone cringes.
 
Now, after spending two days at the Abu Dhabi HSBC Golf Championship watching Tiger Woods and other “Giants of Golf,” I get it. Sort of.

Lucy made sure she would get in free.

The Abu Dhabi Golf Club is a beautiful venue. The clubhouse is in the shape of a falcon, wings spread, overlooking the gold course. The entrance is through the . . . other end.

Abu Dhabi has been part of the PGA European Golf Tour since 2006. Tiger Woods was reportedly paid about $2.5 million to appear; the purse for the tournament was $2.7 million. http://espn.go.com/golf/story/_/id/7496256/money-played-role-start-tiger-woods-2012-season

Tiger appeared relaxed.

At first when I heard that Tiger was receiving an appearance fee, I thought he was the only paid player. Now I’m not so sure, because I read that the US PGA Tour is the only one that doesn’t allow fees to be paid. I suspect that maybe this event attracted six of the top ten and eleven of the top 25 golfers in the world because maybe some others were paid as well. If that’s true, so what? After all, every expat I have met in the UAE is here to make money. Nobody is moving here to retire, or for the climate.
 
Day One: Saturday
 
The great thing about events here in Abu Dhabi is that most are in the buildup phase, which means that they are easy to get into and inexpensive. For the Abu Dhabi Golf Championship you could get two people in for free if you had an HSBC bank card, and on Saturday it was HSBC’s “Wear Red Day;” if you wore something red you got in free.
 
The day we went, Mark had some business to take care of at home and wanted to meet us there later, and Deb was back in St. Louis visiting family. So I met Lucy and Tom at Dana’s, and the four of us took a taxi to the Abu Dhabi Golf Club.
 
Like many foreign places, taxis are an adventure here. Don’t use too many words, and it’s better if you can speak in acronyms. “We want to go to the Abu Dhabi Golf Club,” Dana told the driver. He looked perplexed, and for good reason. There are at least two golf courses that I, a non-golfer, know of here with that name. And by the way, there are about six Abu Dhabi Marinas. Golf, golf, we said. Golf tournament? PGA? Oh, yes, PGA, ok! I am sure he was secretly wondering why we were going there instead of to the cricket match.
 
We entered through the media entrance, and while Tom and Dana disappeared to look for the beverage concessions, Lucy and I got our bearings. I was hoping to learn who some of the other golfers were besides Tiger. I brought my big Nikon D80 camera with the telephoto zoom lens, and was about to start taking some practice shots when a woman in a red shirt and hat came over and said “No cameras.”
 
What?
 
She held up a red sign: “No Photos.”
 
Oh, man! I brought this heavy camera for nothing? “If this was in the U.S.,” she informed us, “your cameras would have been confiscated at the door. Your purses would be checked. They would take your cell phones too.” Most people probably know this, especially our golfer friends Dave and Jackie who volunteer at Pebble Beach. But remember that here, rules change quickly, as we have found out before.
 

The scoreboards were updated by young people on ladders.

 Tom and Dana soon showed up with one beer each, and being gentlemen, they turned them over to Lucy and me. By the time Mark arrived with the binoculars, we were starting to enjoy ourselves. After buying more beers and running into our neighbors, Chris and Meegan, we had figured out who the leaders were, so we headed to the 8^th hole where we caught up with Tiger. By this time, Lucy and I had noticed that everyone else who had cameras was snapping away until that red sign went up.

Rory was right behind this screen.

After Tiger played through, Mark and I were getting hungry and thirsty so we went back to the Championship Village, which caused us to be separated from Tom, Lucy and Dana for pretty much the rest of the day.

At the end of the day we were at the 18^th green, watching Tiger Woods and Rory McIlroy battle it out. Rory had an incredible 18^th hole, where he landed his ball on a rocky outcrop behind some shrubs next to a pond. He hit it out, but it landed behind the big scoreboard, off to the side and directly behind where we were standing! There was a big TV screen, and Rory was taking his shot from just behind it. He had just the slimmest line of sight, he took his shot and WOW! His ball flies past us and lands on the green just a few feet from the hole, alongside Tiger’s. Rory turned two potential disasters into great shots.

There was no shortage of cameras.

Ok, I’m no sportswriter, but I hope you get the picture. Rory ended up winning the round and, as we were looking for Tom, Lucy, and Dana, I was thinking, “Boy, did they miss out.”
 
Soon we spotted them coming toward us, and Lucy ran up to me, her face beaming underneath her hat. “We had the BEST time!” she said, handing me a glass of red wine. “We were on the VIP viewing platform, with a panoramic view of the 14^th, 17^th, and 18^th holes. And they had beer, wine, and sandwiches, all for free! Where were you?”
 

I think Rory impressed even Tiger.

Oh, man! How did they get in there? “We showed our HSBC cards and they let us in.” I took a sip of wine, and suddenly it came to me: Lucy and I were coming back the next day. Sunday was the last day of the championship and unfortunately the boys would be working, but we would just have to manage without them.
 
 
 
 

First things first!

Day Two: Sunday

Lucy met me at our apartment and we hailed a taxi in front of our compound. “Abu Dhabi Golf Course,” I tested the driver. He knitted his eyebrows. “PGA.” Yes, yes!

The driver pulled into the road, and as soon as we entered the highway he took out his cell phone and made a call. Sitting in front, I had already noticed that his seat was way too far forward for his very long legs, and he was pumping on the gas pedal so much that the taxi was slowing down and lurching forward. This guy was excited, and he grew more excited during his phone conversation, until he was shouting, then really screaming, into the phone. I turned around and peeked at Lucy, huddling in the back seat and rolling her eyes.

To our relief, he put down the phone, and I said “Where are you from?” “PAKISTAN! Cricket! You know, CRICKET?” Cricket fever was running very high here, especially among the Pakistani taxi drivers.

Three VIPs.

When we arrived, we headed straight up to the VIP viewing area. Lucy was right, what a great spot. It was high up, and I had a great view with the binoculars. This time they didn’t have any sandwiches, but they had beer, wine, water and soft drinks. No complaints here. We had arranged to meet up with Terry, and although she didn’t have a card when she arrived, she got in too. Let’s just say she had “friends in high places.”

Somehow we managed
to  stay out of trouble.

This town is starting to seem pretty small. We ran into more people we knew, including two women from AWN and someone who we’ve seen walking his dogs in Tom and Lucy’s compound. He was a volunteer, and as a joke, I asked him for his “Quiet Please” sign. He handed it over! I’m thinking I’ll give it to Tom for his birthday later this month.

We watched players come through, and as time went on it got more and more difficult to keep the VIPs quiet. Plus cell phones were ringing, and the cameras kept on clicking. There were several incidents where a player conveyed his displeasure, but fortunately we were never involved

When can I get a shot like this again?

There’s an advantage to watching sports on TV; you get the close-up views of the best shots. We didn’t see any of the amazing shots. On both days, we saw many cringe-worthy moments where the ball almost went in. Almost. And even though they were updating the scoreboards and there were some TV screens around, when something exciting happened, we usually didn’t know about it till later; in some cases much later.

How did people catch the action before Internet? http://www.usatoday.com/sports/golf/euro/story/2012-01-29/robert-rock-wins-in-abu-dhabi-tiger-woods-falters/52867010/1

I was surprised that people didn’t use binoculars. I brought my birding binoculars and my favorite thing was watching the faces of the players as they lined up their shots. For me, the thrill was to see Tiger Woods golf, and take photos. I must admit that he is a striking figure to watch, walking on the golf course. So focused, yet he seemed really relaxed. Maybe that had something to do with that hefty fee he was paid.

At least for now, I’m not ready to give up sailing for golf. I might be persuaded to watch another tournament, but something tells me that after the Abu Dhabi Golf Championship, I just might be a little spoiled; perhaps even ruined.

I mean, will Tiger be there?

Abu Dhabi Golf Championship VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

		Terry's Photos VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

		Lucy's Photos VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

Who Are Those Guys?

Window Washing the Capital Gate
 Worlds Most Leaning Building

It’s easy to forget how enormous some of the buildings here are when you see them every day. They still always do catch my eye, though – which is a hazard while driving! The other day I had to take a detour on my way to meet up with Lucy when I saw these guys working on the Capital Gate building.

It was a windy day, which is evidenced by the clouds, and you can hear the wind in the video. When I first saw them, they were all in a horizontal row, swaying in the breeze. By the time I had exited the highway and circled back, one guy was on his way down. Had he had enough, or just run out of water?

I am not fond of heights. Looking up at the Burj Khalifa, with my feet planted firmly on the ground gives me the willies, and I know I’m not the only one. So who are these guys, and where are they from? Do they travel from city to city? How often does a building’s windows get cleaned? With all the glass towers going up here in the dusty Middle East, this has to be a rapidly growing sector of the service industry.

I hope to get answers to some of these questions. Meanwhile, I’m posting photos and video, to share this amazing sight and also to test out a new program that I’m hoping will save time and result in a more professional blog. More fun for readers, less time for me.

A note on video: I need to have more patience and a steadier hand. I’m using my Sony DSC-HX9V which shoots HD video and is the handiest little thing to carry in my bag wherever I go. If you love photography and are looking for a camera, you could own only this camera and be happy. But I zoom too much and turn it off too quickly. And I need to learn how to edit.

Thanks for reading!

Window Washers VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL