Trimming the Date Palm Trees

Trimming the Date Palm Trees

Petunias are a winter flower in Abu Dhabi.
About a month ago, they began to wilt and fade as the days grew warmer. Now they've been pulled up by armies of workers, who spend long days tending the lawns, shrubs and flowers that Abu Dhabi is famous for. Today I saw brilliant red and pink and yellow zinnias, on strong, three-foot stems, drying up and giving in to the heat of oncoming summer. Hibiscus and oleander are having a field day.

The workers are also trimming the date palm trees around the city. This is a good thing: the palm fronds have grown so long that they whip the windshield of my car when I drive in the left lane.

As the days grow hotter - it was 105 degrees yesterday - we are more and more inside the house. It is the reverse of winter in New Hampshire, which would gradually confine us to the indoors on the short, frigid, snowy days from December through March.

As the heat comes on and school winds to a close, people are beginning to pack their bags for a summer spent elsewhere. Many families we know leave the day school ends; basically anyone who has the wherewithall leaves Abu Dhabi for at least part of the summer. It is simply too hot to do much here during July and August. Even the beautiful, aquarmarine Arabian Gulf feels like a bathtub.


Two exceptions are my friends from Lebanon, who are unsure what they'll do because of recent violence in their home country.

"If there are no bombs for a week I'll buy the tickets," one friend said. Last summer she enrolled her nine-year-old son in a wonderful camp in Lebanon. But then she and her husband and son had to be evacuated when war broke out with Israel.

"I can take it, I am so used to it, but it really bothers (my son) Danny," she said.

Emirates Palace, Abu Dhabi

Recently M and I were invited by a couple next door, our dear friends, to a concert by the opera singer Jose Carreras at the magnificent Emirates Palace Hotel. (It was the culmination of the fourth annual Abu Dhabi Classical Musical Festival.)

A swank affair, it was black tie, invitation only. As the mother of six children, I am always looking for an opportunity to escape the kitchen and my apron.

I pulled out a long skirt and the highest heels I own. Unlike New Hampshire, people dress up in this town. Really dress up. This was going to be fun.

When we arrived at the Emirates Palace (built in 2005 for $3 billion, with 12,000 workers), we were disappointed to see a very long line ahead of us. My neighbor muttered something about this being "unacceptable," and headed for the manager.

"I am (his name) and I am here," he announced rather boldly. "What are you going to do about it?"

Evidently this is the way you get results in Abu Dhabi.

Seconds later we were shown in and we found great seats. Slowly the auditorium filled. When a sheikh from Abu Dhabi's ruling family walked in, everyone stood up. There were also members of a European royal family and several ambassadors present. The concert started about 40 minutes late - typical, I understand, in the UAE - and it was magnificent.

Afterwards the elegant crowd moved en masse towards the esplanade behind the Palace. Palace employees attempted to collect tickets for the VVIP reception, but they were completely ignored. People simply put their noses in the air and proceeded to the cocktail party.

Long tables in white linen hosted beautiful hors d'oeurves. Waiters walked around with trays of soda, beer and wine, the latter being in scarce supply and scooped up immediately. Soon 20 or 30 tuxedoed men hovered over the kitchen entrance, hoping to catch the next few glasses of wine.

The exterior of the Emirates Palace is like a marvelous, jewel-encrusted box. Purple, pink, yellow, and white flood lights highlighted the Palace's palm trees, fountains, marble temple and marble columns around the esplanade. A mild breeze wafted through the air. At least five different languages could be heard. People in national (Emirati) dress and others in western formal attire mingled. It was superb.

(The photo here is of me beside a giant gold coffee part, the symbol of hospitality in the UAE.)

Quick Change for a Flat Tire

The other day while driving near Port Zayed in Abu Dhabi, I heard that awful wub, wub, wub that can only mean one thing: the left rear tire was as flat as a pita bread.

What to do? I called M at his office. He said he'd come help.

"Bring a spare tire," I told him, because within minutes a nearby security guard and three Port workers in jumpsuits were dismantling my fairly-new Toyota minivan, trying to find the spare tire to replace the flat one.

"For this car you need a map," one of the workers, from Egypt, said in frustration.

He and the others were unscrewing every bolt, lifting every piece of plastic - even the permanent ones - and peeling back every inch of carpeting they could, to find the spare. They located a jack about as thick as a pencil. The manual let us down - the spare wasn't in the stated location. But they jacked up the car, undeterred.

"It's okay. My husband is coming," I said, getting a little nervous. The car seemed to be shaking even as a man had his head under it. They carried on, as if I hadn't said a word.

I put in another call to M. He had a spare but was stuck in traffic. It was about 100 degrees.

Eight-year-old Hugh, who'd just come from a birthday party, sensed this was going to be a long session. He found shade under a date palm tree a few feet away. More passersby stopped to consult (in Arabic) et voila! the spare was found under the middle of the car!

The car survived its strip search just fine by my eyes.

I pulled out all the cash I had - these men had worked incredibly hard - and gave it to them with gratitude, and Hugh and I were off.

Culture Shock Cure: Flowers

When we arrived in Abu Dhabi last July we stayed in a beautiful hotel for 43 days. (Construction on the compound we'd be living in was behind schedule - not unusual here.)

At first I thought I'd died and gone to heaven, the hotel was so luxurious. It had a tranquil, Asian decor with high ceilings and tile floors. But then, of course, we have six children, and some of them are so active or talkative I think they ought to count twice.

Soon hotel living began to wear on me. Usually, the children and I weren't able to get outside until around 4 p.m., due to the strong sun, incredible heat and humidity. Also, Abu Dhabi isn't pedestrian-friendly. People don't walk down the streets here the way they do Madison Avenue, in New York, for example. If they want to stroll they go to the brand-spanking-new malls. They serve as sort of indoor parks.

I was surprised by how off-kilter I felt walking through the Abu Dhabi Mall; it seemed I was the only woman not covered from head to toe in black. At home in New Hampshire my style of dress would be considered conservative; in Abu Dhabi I felt my figure was completely on display. My enthusiasm for our new Middle East adventure was waning. I wasn't able to get a break from the kids on the long days when Michael was working, and we were initially without a car. My spirits dampened.

I did make friends with the hotel concierge, as I was always checking with him as to whether we were disturbing other guests.

"No complaints so far, Mrs. Gunnison," the unflappable Mr. Shibou would reply.

No complaints, that is, until we nearly set the hotel on fire. And broke the air conditioning system..(M and I are good friends with Shibou in spite of it.)

Finally, the day before school began, we moved into our villa. We were all thrilled. We could spread out, find our own corners to get away from each other, maybe make some new friends in the compound. My smile returned. M was relieved.

Then I announced we needed flowers.

M and I headed to the Iranian Souk for plants. The Emirati in the photo here was utterly charming. I declined his offer for coffee or tea and left M to chat with him in his air-conditioned office while I perused the great plant selection.

I picked out large pots of bougainvillea and whatnot quickly. But how to get them home? I didn't want to wait for a delivery...things move slowly in Abu Dhabi. What if they didn't come soon? I needed those flowers to sustain my fragile cheerfulness. I needed them that day.

"Let me see your car," the man said.

M fetched our Toyota minivan. The Emirati took one look at it and sighed, as if to say we had no problem here.

"In this car you can fit two camels," he said.

We bought lots of large plants that day.

Wearing Hijab

You come to it in degrees.
It is between you and God.
It was hard for me to cover my hair.
But when I know the reasons why, it is okay.
It is what is right for me.

This is what two Muslim friends told me today, over lunch in Abu Dhabi. Neither woman wore hijab (the head-scarf) when she was growing up - one in Lebanon, the other in Egypt. Their parents were not very strict, as in some Muslim families where girls approaching puberty must begin to wear the headscarf.

It was well after the women were married that they decided to take this step. (I'll call my Lebanese friend Nura and my Egyptian friend Alia.)

"Wearing hijab, I'm not as pretty," Nura says, her big brown eyes earnest. Her striped pink headscarf matches her pink tunic, white pants and white shoes. It is wrapped carefully around her head two or three times and secured by a discreet pin. Not a strand of hair shows, due to an inner white cloth that snugly covers her hairline.

"It is hard for me - I like my hair, I like to wear earrings," she says in her gentle voice. "But the hair is very attractive to men." As a Muslim woman, Nura believes it would be wrong to make herself overly attractive to men other than her husband. It is in the Quran that women should cover their hair.

Nura and Alia said that even after they decided to wear the head scarf, it took time to actually go through with it.

"I used to practice wearing hijab at home. Then I'd go to the door and I couldn't open it," Alia says. She is a striking woman, tall and slim with black eyes and fine features. She, too, has taken great care to match her head scarf with her outfit. "One day I opened the door and told my husband and daughter to just push me out so I couldn't go back in."

Both Nura and Alia seem genuinely happy. They exude peacefulness, that they made an informed choice that is in accordance with God's wishes. We laugh easily about family life, cooking, and the hazardous driving in Abu Dhabi. We discuss the commonalities of Catholicism, my religion, and Islam, theirs.

(At home they only cover their hair if a male visitor - a man they could marry - is present.) Nura and Alia both say they wear a little makeup, though their faith says they shouldn't.

Alia says she would not force her teenage daughter to wear the headscarf.

"It must come from your heart. If a girl or a woman covers her hair and she doesn't want to, it is very obvious."

Seeing People, Not Nations

"Now this is where you should've had the camera," my husband said when he picked me up at the Abu Dhabi Ladies Club the other night. It was 10 p.m., the end of an international bazaar/fundraiser for special-needs children in the area. I'd been volunteering at the United States table.

I looked around the large room with its multi-level, white marble floors, high ceiling and glass-lined, curving stairs. It was a colorful a scene: there were numerous flags draped over the upstairs railing and ladies on the ground floor in bright cottons from South Africa, black abayas from the U.A.E., and brilliant silk saris from India, to name a few.

At the countries' individual tables, the diversity continued. Azerbaijanis displayed rugs of rich reds and browns, Italians offered expensive, hand-made lace shawls and modern art, and Jordanians presented skin-care products from the Dead Sea, among others.

At the U.S. table, myself and two other Americans were selling t-shirts, pens, mugs and the like with the U.S. Embassy logo on them. (Local Emirati children who stopped by were most interested in our few Mickey Mouse trinkets.) Beside us were ladies from Eritrea. We were in business attire; they wore floor-length, gauze-cotton dresses and head coverings and some wore elaborate jewelry.

With my husband's comment about the camera, I realized I've gotten so used to the variety of cultures in Abu Dhabi that I've begun to not notice it. I've made friends with many of the women present. I've stopped seeing the countries and started only seeing the people.

Near closing time, an Emirati (in national dress) stopped by our table, introduced himself, and asked how long each of us had been in the U.A.E. He welcomed us to his country. He'd gone to college in Washington state and loved his time in the U. S. He wished us well. I hope I'm as friendly to visitors when I return to live in New Hampshire.

It was a nice evening.