Running Pains

Running here for a woman is quite difficult. I live in a conservative little neighborhood on the outskirts of town. Everyone (well, almost everyone) is very friendly, but that does not go to say, however, that they understand my bizarre western tendencies. The ladies in the village do go for strolls together in the evening, and one even wears a pair of sneakers while she walks briskly. She's clearly exercising, and that's odd enough. My strange outfit of loose pants and a tight long-sleeved wicking top is weirdly masculine. Why would I wear pants??

I don't run by myself much, and if I do it's through the sandy paths behind our building, but it is hard to run on because of all the rocks and pits. The road is better, but the stares from the women are really overwhelming. I feel like a freak. I am here. Sometimes I feel a self-righteous joy building in me as I run that I am broadening their horizons. That the next time they see a woman running, they won't be quite so disapproving. That said, it's still very uncomfortable, and I don't like feeling culturally pompous.

When I do run it's usually with my husband. Although the companionship makes it easier to handle to women glaring and the children racing at your heels, it adds another difficulty of its own. Why am I doing this manly activity?...with a man?...dressed like him?...It's almost as if our running partnership is some sort of high-speed athletic sex. Their astonishment is a brick wall that I haven't succeeded in breaking through yet. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I do hope that some day my constant and freakish presence will open their eyes a little to the ways of life outside their village. I work every day to accept and enjoy our differences and their quirks. Shouldn't they too?

Bearing the onus of culture adaptation is perhaps the most challenging psychological aspect of living in a very forgein place. It's all on you, or so it seems.

Giggles and Faux-Fur

Strong men waving swords on Arabia steads. Dignified and quiet fathers. Violent and irrational avengers. All of these are stereotypes of Arab men. Not well-know, however, is the oddly kitschy and sentimental stereotype that thrives in closer circles here in the Middle East. Although no stereotypes can be applied to everyone, in this case, there is at least a smidgen more than a grain of truth, at least in the Gulf.

At first it is startling, the electronic baby's giggle coming from the pocket of the man standing next to you. Then he picks up his cell phone and starts a normal conversation. The longer you stay in the Gulf (in my experience), the more common-place this becomes. If not a baby giggling, it's a squeaky version of the 'Happy Birthday' song or 'Mary Had a Little Lamb'.

Although I have never been, I am told that in Cairo, taxi drivers cruising in 1980s Fiats have wired their cars' to play a beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep rendition of "It's a Small World After All" whenever the brakes are pressed. It starts over too every time they are pressed again. Of course the car's atmosphere is completed with teddy bears and "I love you" stuffed pillows lining the back window. In Oman as well, men's cars are often decorated with bright yellow faux-fur seat and dashboard coverings. Don't forget the pink heart decal hanging from the rear-view mirror too.

Odd indeed, but where does this trend come from? Why is this bizarrely effeminate and overly sentimental behavior so common in normal (I think), straight (again, I think) men? I don't have an answer to that question yet, and I'm not sure I want to delve too much deeper...

The Emerald City: Part 3

Dolled up and wearing my very Gulf-hip skinny jeans, some fancy heels and long-sleeved party top, I was pumped and ready to hit the famed Dubai night life with my gorgeous husband. Or was I?

Before leaving the hotel, we spent quite a while pouring over review after review in the handy TimeOut Dubai magazine. Would we even be able to get into all these sexily exclusive clubs on the top floor of beachfront hotels? All of a sudden I felt like I didn’t belong. I can rock South Bend, Indiana with my eyes shut and fit into Chicago’s classy nightlife no problem, but could I hack Dubai’s competitive and elitist party scene? Perhaps I just felt intimidated—maybe I could pass unnoticed. But for even a seasoned big-city clubber, Dubai can be a bit of a shock. The drink prices listed were astronomical and nearly every review said that if you weren’t a Brangelina lookalike and sporting the right labels—forget about getting in. Maybe the movie-star standards are flexible and a drink or two would suffice, but since when did having a night out become a designer-label, richest-date competition?

Don’t get me wrong, I love to get decked out and drop a bit of change now and then going out. Feeling like a million dollars and looking amazing has its place, but if you can’t find a friendly, fun bar to wile away an evening with your favorite people and get a buzz without going bankrupt—and without it being a favorite prostitute hangout—then there is something lacking in a city’s nightlife.

This being said, as we were scouring the TimeOut Dubai for a classy joint that didn’t require us to have the paycheck of consultants or actuaries, we happened across a review for a one-of-a-kind spot in the city. Without seeing this article, we might have had to live in the city for months, maybe years, before finding this gem of a place. Tucked away in the Crown Plaza, with a lot less show and publicity than the supposedly hotter joints, we found the Belgian Beer Café. It was a haven of excellent beer, excellent service, and most importantly, excellent company. The clientele were clearly regulars and the sound of engaged conversation roared over the chill background music. For more on this place, see my new blog, Expat Eating.

www.expateating.blogspot.com

Despite my new favorite bar, and perhaps a few others, Dubai’s nightlife is a place to show-off, spend a lot, and hopefully “get seen”. This begs the question: how trivial or insecure is most of Dubai’s expat population? How did being seen rise above having a good time? This question could be analyzed by sociologists and therapists alike, but to me the answer is evident. People adapt to their environment, or they leave. Dubai was brought up on money, thrives on money, and will likely die when it runs out. A place where glitz and consumerism dominate over culture and intellectual deepening only knows how to offer what it has been given. Dubai’s extravagance demands to be noticed, as do its peoples’.

The Emerald City: Part 2

My feet hurt. I was wearing my new high-quality hiking shoes in preparation for a day of racing around a new city, but this was just wear and tear from the mall. The massive Mall of the Emirates, perhaps one of the largest malls in the world, had taken its toll, financially as well as physically. Best know for its indoor ski-slope, you can get lost wandering for hours on end. I laughed to myself as I thought of my grandmother who sometimes goes to her local mall during the winter months to get her exercise. She could sure get in shape here.

Everyone who enjoys shopping and isn’t too concerned with shedding a bit of the silver lining would love this place. It’s all-consuming and luxurious, not to mention a great place to people watch. Like an international airport, you have fully masked Saudis on one side, Lebanese hotties in tight jeans on the other; an Indian-Pilipino couple on your right, a young German mother with twins on your left. It attracts everyone. But can a mall be too big? Will consumerism be the foundation of this city and also its demise?

The Mall of the Emirates is only one of many unmercilessly expansive and lavish shopping centers in Dubai, and all of them are busy and successful. Today, the industry is booming. People flock there, spend money they don’t have, then come back to do it again. It seduces you with its extravagance, which is indeed impressive to see. But how long can one city maintain this level of consumerist frenzy? Will people keep coming, or will Dubai’s overpowering and otherworldly development become too much to handle? In light of the economic recession spreading across the developed world, Dubai’s carefree and rapid-fire luxury expansion might out-do itself. Granted, the majority of the expats living in the United Arab Emirates (which is only about 20% Emirati), have money to burn, but these days even the rich are being touched by falling stock rates and job loss. Dubai isn’t a city that knows how to tighten the belt. When the oil runs low, and the budgets get smaller, what will happen to the Emerald City? Dubai does what it does well, but it can only do so if the spenders keep spending. It will be interesting to see in the coming years what happens to this city. Will it remain a safe haven of luxury and decadence despite the hurting economy, or will we witness the crowning jewel of the Gulf turn into a 162 story high ghost town?

While it’s still booming, the city is certainly worth a trip. It may only have a few years to go, so put on your walking shoes and indulge in some of the consumerist extravagance that only Dubai can offer. You might drop a few pounds along with your money.

a note from the office

Before posting my part 2 Dubai entry, I feel compelled to write a bit about what's going on at my workplace right how. I am sitting in my office at the college. For the second day in a row, there are no students. Yesterday was the first day of the second semester, but everyone's still at home. Despite similar happenings last semester, it still shocks my western sensibilities to experience such a laissez-faire attitude to education. This is supposedly one of the top colleges in Oman, and no doubt, there are some stellar students here. But how can a country hope to really bolster its international reputation and encourage the success of its young generation if there are no consequences for delinquent behavior? The students decide when school is in session and when it’s not. The students decide the dates of their final exams, and often their final grade itself. The power is in the hands of those being educated. This seems like an progressive, avant-garde approach to education, but it only works if the students are motivated en masse to succeed and move forward. The fact that the majority of the women here will graduate and promptly get married and start families, and the majority of the men will follow in their father's footsteps, means that their years at college are something of a blip on their life tracks. I do not mean to generalize. Many students here use this opportunity to their best advantage and go far. Many study late into the night, and accept a bad grade as a result of their failings, not as a typo to be changed with a bribe. This being said, there are a lot of things that definitely need to change around here before top-tier education is offered at local Omani colleges.

The Emerald City: Part 1

This past weekend my husband and I packed our backpacks and headed to Dubai. It was an overwhelming experience that demands a lot of commentary. So as not to overwhelm you, I’m splitting up my thoughts on this fantastical city into parts. Here’s part one:

So you think you saved up enough money. You think you’re ready for the traffic. You think you’ve already been impressed by the pictures. But Dubai kicks you in the teeth, to say nothing of the knock your wallet will take.

At first I was hesitant to go. I didn’t want to spend a lot of money. I didn’t want to deal with the stress of a big city, having turned into something of a home-girl here in our rustic mountain town in Oman. But I figured you just can’t live a four hour drive from Dubai and not go. So off we went bright and early, ready with two cameras and plenty of cash on hand. The border crossing was a trial enough, necessitating a back and forth run between the Omani and Emirati sides to get car insurance, a visa stamp, or whatever the other side failed to tell us we needed last time. But eventually we passed out of the Omani mountains and into the rich, rust-tinted Emirati sands. The constant desert landscape leaves you unprepared for the drastic view in the distance. The horizon gets hazy. And then, pushing above the clouds and the pollution, we can see the Emerald City. Dubai’s whole skyline is bizarre and remarkably creative, however, the crowning feature is the 162 story Burj Dubai. I remember several years ago I saw a digitally created image of the final product (construction began in 2003 and still isn’t completed), but I didn’t take much notice. It looked fake and impossible. Cool architecture, no doubt, but only possible on a computer program. At least that’s what I thought at the time.

http://www.motherjones.com/commentary/columns/2005/07/dubai_01_598x533.jpg
(a picture similar to the one I scoffed at 3 years ago)

Today, almost finished, its utter grandeur slaps you in the face. The Burj Dubai is mythic (and it really does look like that photo-shopped picture).

http://www.burjdubaiskyscraper.com/2009/01/burj1201.jpg
(nearing completion)

Its fairytale proportions take you into a land of fantasy and magnificence that can’t be matched. This tower, the tallest in the world, represents Dubai. It glitters, seduces, terrifies, and looks down on you. You don’t take on Dubai, it takes you.

If you are a normal person with moderate urges for consumerism and with even the slightest desire for glamour, Dubai will make you spend more than you brought. It devours your cash like no other place I’ve been, and gives you in return anything you want to buy (and can’t get anywhere else in the region), showers you with luxury and overwhelms your best efforts at modest living. That is to say, take a weekend trip to Dubai and exercise what you thought was some serious window-shopping and bar-hopping restraint; and you will look at your receipts on the drive home and wince painfully at the damage done by a mere night and two days. Nevertheless, it was definitely and experience to have. And perhaps have again, once my bank account and country sensibilities have returned to normal.

An Expat’s Christmas in Oman: Some Lessons for Travelers

I woke up, stretched, and looked out the window, half expecting to see a gorgeous winter wonderland. Instead, I got the same old desert and blinding sun. But it was still Christmas, and it didn’t matter that I had sand instead of snow. There had been no celebrations to go to. No parties, no stockings, no children opening presents, no snow. It wasn’t even cold out. But it was a time that I knew and understood. It was a time focus on me and not on my surroundings. Despite the distinctly untraditional scenery, my first expat Christmas turned out to be one of the most Christmas-y of them all.

As an expat in a very different country from your own, you learn to adapt and make the most of what you can get. You learn to appreciate the little things that make you feel more at home, because that’s all you are going to get. I’ve never considered myself a sentimental woman, but this holiday season I might have merited the name. Things that I never really cared about before, I suddenly craved here in my sandy wonderland. I was unusually excited about baking cookies and I listened again and again to the same dozen sappy Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra songs. I desperately wanted to feel that Christmas feeling. Christmas food, music, decorations, greetings, and gifts—all those things did help create a warm holiday atmosphere. But that isn’t what made this Christmas in Oman so meaningful.

For the past four months, I have been struggling to create a balance between culture immersion and personal sanity. Living in a rural town in the mountains of Oman, it has been difficult to maintain a “safe place” to be able to recollect and relax in, free from constant social challenges and cultural clashes. People don’t celebrate Christmas here. In Muscat, the capital, it’s a different story, but here, you’re lucky to find some tinsel in the birthday aisle at the store.

Living in a culture that is so different from your own, it’s sometimes a challenge to find a focus and identity. People are constantly talking about things you don’t understand and celebrating things you don’t celebrate. Perhaps it sounds egotistical, but it’s nice to have an occasion that you celebrate that they don’t. While I hate to use the “you-they” rhetoric that causes so many problems in the world, I believe that it is healthy and necessary to maintain an understanding of real differences between yourself and people from other cultures. This doesn’t need to be something that causes hatred, but rather something that gives you a lens through which to see the new culture. This is not a view through rose-colored glasses, but rather a clear and realistic look at another world that is as flawed as any other.

Christmas for expats in Oman, as in other countries, is an opportunity to solidify your identity. It’s something special for us, and not for them, which helps us avoid getting lost in the whirlwind of constant social and cultural pressure. Living for months and maybe years in a profoundly different society, especially when you are making a daily effort to learn about it and understanding it, can wear away at your foundation. There’s a deep difference between understanding and even loving a new culture, and trying to make it yours. It’s not yours and never can be. Something that naïve travelers don’t always understand is the importance of retaining a strong sense of personal cultural identity when engulfing yourself in a new place. When you loose yourself, your background and your traditions, you loose your vision, your purpose and your stability. Traveling to an extremely different place isn’t just enriching and refreshing; it’s also exhausting and discombobulating. You have to have somewhere to come back to—mentally and physically.

Christmas is a beautiful time no matter where you are, but I gained a deeper appreciation than ever before for this religious and cultural holiday being an American in a conservative Muslim mountain town. As always, but even more so here, it was a chance to center and to focus on myself and those I love, rather than getting caught up in the daily bustle of juggling challenging cultural differences.