It is my fourteenth day in the UAE and my final day of quarantine. To say it hasn’t been frustrating would be a lie. Arriving in a new place and not being able to explore it is certainly a test of patience. I intend to make up for this in the coming weeks and, as a result, have some slightly more interesting content to relay. That said, yesterday was an exception as I was permitted an outing…..

We were asked to take a taxi to the nearest Covid screening centre and take a test before starting work next week. The nearest place was just off the Corniche, the main stretch of road that runs alongside the promenade and the beach. This would make for a pleasant car ride and a spot of initial sightseeing, interrupted only by the briefest nasal discomfort.

So I made my way to the foyer, the taxi app informing me that my transport was nearing. I waited. Nothing. Eventually the phone rings, the taxi driver informs me he has arrived. I made the point that he hadn’t, which I thought was fair as there was no cab to be seen in either direction. This seemed to get lost in translation and a fairly fruitless conversation ensued. It turned out that the driver was at the newly opened Berklee College of Music, Abu Dhabi, which is across the road. Either his satnav had gone wrong or he had grossly overestimated my musical abilities.

In terms of misunderstandings this was more the overture than the coda. The driver failed to understand the term Covid test centre and no amount of Googling provided a location. Someone had posted a map with a drop pin on the WhatsApp group for new staff so I tried my best to direct my driver using this, in a city I have never been to, using a language he clearly had no grasp of. When we eventually arrived my fare was higher than it could have been, but on the up-side I had seen most of the city.

Like all good dramas, however, there was a final twist to this tale. I was about to get my first lesson in the insistence upon strict beurocracy over here. We had a code to submit, provided by my school, that would allow us to obtain a test. In my haste that morning I had found this code in an email and scribbled it down on a scruffy piece of notepaper. This did not pass muster with the man at the entrance. An official email was needed, I was told, and my taxi was directed out of the queue and into the adjacent car park. Disaster. Returning home testless was not an option as it would mean not being allowed to start work on Monday. A phone call to my kind colleague (and soon to be new Director of Music) got me a screenshot of the official email with the code and the school logo at the top. My esteemed chauffeur and I rejoined the queue for a second bite of the screening cherry. We got to the front: one flash of my phone and the document thereupon and we were through with no further fuss. The PPE-clad nurse administered the necessary brain scratching and we were heading homewards. Safe(ish) in the knowledge that the driver could find the place from where he had picked me up, I sat back and enjoyed the beautiful views of the sea on one side and the cityscape on the other.

Here endeth the first cultural lesson. In a city where cutting edge modernity is king, the smartphone is mightier than the notebook. It is true that the man who makes no mistakes makes nothing at all, but it is also true that the man who sits in his flat quarantining for two weeks makes nothing at all. Tomorrow I regain my freedom and I have no doubt whatsoever that I will make many more mistakes as I adapt to life here. For now, I will be grateful that I am allowed out to make them.