Flutab is an excellent remedy for colds and flu. It is available in all good pharmacies in Abu Dhabi. It was recommended to me by a close friend who, before joining the teaching profession, used to be a pharmacist. This is how I know it to be excellent.
It has been a very long time, beloved reader, since my last Blog. This is because the previous installment was the last time I did any traveling of any interest. Christmas was spent in the UK and, much more due to necessity than want, so was Spring Break. (International School jargon is getting the better of me after two years; I do of course mean Easter Holidays). Suffice to say business has been taken care of such that will enable me to undertake much more traveling over the next two years and, In sha’Allah, more exciting missives from far flung corners.
The reason I say the next two years is down to the system of recruitment in the world of international schools. You complete two year contracts which are then renewed mutually or not. Earlier this year, for example, I was called to a meeting and told I had a second contract. That simple. No cheese-smelling required of any sort. It is a convenient system that appeals warmly to my lifelong love of the non-permanent. Ongoing (but rapidly disappearing) Covid restrictions and the aforementioned business in the UK have made it another fruitless year travel-wise (Georgia aside) and so two more years seemed not only desirable but necessary.
And so I write on the final day of my second academic year in Abu Dhabi. This is always a reflective time for teachers, sometimes even more so than the end of the calendar year (my time in teaching has caused a sort of pedagogical body clock to develop) and so I am left pondering two whole years of A Teacher Abroad. Whilst year one yielded much to write about, year two heralded the end of the honeymoon. But in a good way. Oh, such a good way. Gone were many of the more stringent Covid Rules and in their place came more opportunities. I have done so much more, discovered so much more, met so many more people. Become so much more of the fabric. A more ‘normal’ year has made for a happy blogger but, unfortunately, with less to blog about.
Until it came to the end of this term….
‘Normal’ is a word that in no way can describe the end of my Summer Term. This is always a strange time anyway; classes moving on, children moving up a year, end of term functions and leaving dos. Goodbyes are inevitable and even more so in the transient world of expat life. The story takes place seven days before breaking up. The last reports were being proofread, lessons were giving way to the usual ‘off timetable’ activities and the light was very much at the end of the tunnel. The alarm rose me from the weary, ‘nearly there’ slumber only known by a teacher in the early weeks of July. I rose, went to boil the kettle for the gallon of coffee I and every other of my colleagues require on a daily basis before facing the music. As I made my way to the shower, something stirred deep down in the chest…
… a new cough.
Oh great. An end of term bug. Well, it’s not like I haven’t had one of those before. The travel mug was filled with strong, steaming, black caffeinated joy and off I trot. Lessons one and two passed. I was coughing and shattered, but I was a teacher at the end of the year. Nothing too out of the norm.
Lesson three. Year 7. I felt wrong. Like really wrong. I got through it, sent the necessary emails and dragged myself back to the apartment. Bed. Luckily in Abu Dhabi (which should read ‘typically for Abu Dhabi’) you can order a PCR test at your apartment. That is to say, you go on an app, pay and in a few hours a nurse physically turns up and tests you. (Clarification on this is for any UK audience who are always confused by the fact that lateral flow tests do not exist here, or are certainly not recognised). Afternoon turned into evening. ‘Wrong’ turned into fever.
My friend left a box of Flutab on my doorstep.
The next day the text arrived. The PCR result. After two and a half years of (somewhat cockily it now seems) presumed natural immunity, it had caught up with me. The Virus.
And so as everyone prepared themselves for the frivolities, farewells and flights, I prepared myself for drowsiness and duvet days. More importantly, I prepared myself for the chance that I may not get a negative test before the end of my 10 day isolation (which is only mandatory if you are unable to test negative twice before then) which would cause a delay in my travel. My preparations turned out not to be in vain.
To make up for my Blog absence there will be a Part 2 coming to you from the island of Crete, where I am holidaying on route to the UK. The Virus has shortened this from a week to a five day break, however the chance to report back will be grabbed with both hands.
For now, I must leave you as I have forgotten to pack the Flutab…
Georgia is a country located at the intersection of Eastern Europe and Western Asia. It is a part of the Caucasus region, bounded to the west by the Black Sea, to the north and east by Russia, to the south by Turkey and Armenia, and to the southeast by Azerbaijan. – Wikipedia
This is Amber wine, made exclusively in Georgia. It is made in clay barrels which are dug into the earth. It uses production methods unlike any in Europe. It is neither red nor white. It is Amber.
Forgive me, dear reader, for the extended summer vacation. You last found me in Reykjavik, recovering from a heavy evening with a stranded group of geologists (collective noun for geologists? Answers on a postcard, please…). Since then, a successful journey to London Heathrow ended in the long-awaited reconnecting with family and friends that was way overdue.
And then, the Fit to Fly PCR test and, days later, the inevitable drive to the airport. But wait. What was this? No post holiday malaise? No impending sense of dread? All I felt on that flight was a contentendness that I had achieved my summer goals. So did this mean that I was, in fact, ready to go back?! I was no longer an expat newbie, the novelty had worn off, the honeymoon was over. The flight landed, I got in the taxi outside Abu Dhabi International Airport, felt the blast of A/C after the stifling August air, and made a pleasing discovery.
I was glad to be back.
Well, apart from being electronically tagged at the airport and put under house arrest (quarantine) for 7 days. Everyone I explained this system to in the UK refused to believe it was happening (imagine the reaction if Boris introduced this to the Great British Public) so I include the necessary photographic evidence….
Since my return to Abu Dhabi something has definitely changed, both within your blogger and within the Emirate. Things are, very slowly, getting back to normal, both in school and in the city. But, the icing on the cake of good hope…travel is opening up.
I was detagged, the first half of term flew by, and half term was quickly upon us. A Teacher Abroad was conceived as a diary for my travels in school holidays, so it seemed like a good idea to get down to business. Like anyone trying to go anywhere in the ‘new normal’ I took to Google to peruse lists of where was possible. And then one day in school a colleague said “we’re looking into Georgia.” My somewhat surprised response was met with “no but you’d love it, the wine is meant to be incredible.”
A seed was sown, and it grew. Reykjavik had raised the interesting new travel category of ‘alternative travel destinations that have come about due to Covid restrictions’ and, after a quick Google, it became apparent that the wine rumour was true. Furthermore, Georgia was one of the most emerging tourist destinations of the last few years…
And so, after 3 distinctly average hours on Fly Dubai (the budget airline of Emirates) I found myself in Tbilisi, capital city of Georgia. It is described as ‘the gateway between Eastern Europe and Western Asia’ and was also part of the Soviet Union until 1991 when it regained its independence. This makes it somewhat of a cultural melting pot and this is immediately apparent in the architecture. Look one way and you see conventional European buildings, the other and there are signs of the Middle East. Round the corner and you will be staring at a sheet of post-soviet concrete. However the photos, taken on my first day exploring the city, show why tourism has boomed in the last 3 or 4 years.
Convivial as this was, the idiosyncrasies were also becoming apparent. My hotel, brilliantly located right in the bustling Old Town, was that most excitingly 21st Century of concepts: a boutique hotel. I am a fan of boutique hotels; they are independent, quirky, more personal, less faceless corporate chain. But in this particular case the definition of boutique seemed to mean living in someone’s house. It was certainly habitable, however in the bathroom, for reasons best known to them, the shower floor was pebbled…
So now (with slightly sore feet) to the wine. Surely the rumour must be somewhat exaggerated? Not one bit. Georgia is reported to be the oldest wine making nation in the world: there was archaeological evidence found recently to prove wine was being made in the region 8000 years ago. So why has no one heard of it? Because they still use traditional, organic methods which do not lend themselves to mass production. My Abu Dhabi friend Sam Bingham (Bingers) who was, by happy coincidence, in Tbilisi at the same time, invited me to a wine tasting session at a very high-end wine store in the city.
(Fake news. His sophisticated, bilingual, cultured girlfriend invited me. Bingers, on the other hand, has no interest in wine whatsoever and insisted on WhatsApping me throughout the tasting telling me he wished the wine expert would stop going on so we could get pissed).
Our sommelier informed us that large scale production would compromise the quality of the wine and so they (for the most part) choose not to export it. I would have to enjoy it whilst I was here and so a very happy afternoon was spent sampling…
Tasting done, an early night was needed as the following day, my last in Georgia, I had booked an all-day sightseeing and wine tour. The tour company had WhatsApped me with an itinerary: we were to leave Tbilisi at 9am, returning at 9pm. A traditional bakery for breakfast (freshly baked Georgian bread and the saltiest cheese on the planet), a nunnery, a hilltop village, a traditional Georgian lunch (with wine) and, after lunch, 2 winery tours. All for the princely sum of around £25. Our tour guide, George, was superbly well-informed and the whole day had to be about the best value I have ever had for money…
The next morning, weary from my grand day out, I had time to lie in and reflect on my weird and wonderful Half Term Minibreak before an afternoon flight back to the UAE. But not before a final walk around the Old Town in pursuit of coffee, during which I happened upon a final flourish of eccentricity…
The wine is Amber. The cheese is salty. Very salty. PCR tests are done in a caravan and the shower floor is pebbled. I am returning to a city that strives like no other for absolute perfection; for now, I will love this place for not doing so. For doing things in exactly their own way. Marilyn was right; it is way better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring. Georgia: you were not absolutely boring.
Iceland was destined to be unique. As one of the last countries in the world to have human settlers, and as a tiny island located north of almost everywhere, it’s not surprising that we have our own way of doing things.
– from the Icelandic information website arctic adventures
This is peppercorn mayonnaise. I know this because of Google Translate. I discovered it in the fridge in the apartment in which I am staying. This was a pleasing discovery as I am a fan of flavoured mayonnaises. When the idea of a peppercorn one enters your mind, however, your initial reaction is “well that’s just weird, I’m not sure about that.” But, dear readers, it works. It works a treat. The combination is, as it turns out, beautiful, and you are left thinking “this is amazing, why did no one else think of this?”
I write from the Icelandic capital of Reykjavik. It is my seventh day of ten, and for good reason. Another three days and I will be boarding a plane to Heathrow having spent ten days in a country on the UK green list. No quarantine needed, and I will have had a lovely holiday somewhere interesting. A cunning plan indeed, but the truth of the matter is the means didn’t concern me anywhere near as much as the end. Anywhere was going to be better than Heathrow Prison Hotel and so I would be content with wherever I ended up.
How lucky I was that I ended up here.
I am not going to go into detail about the geographical wonders of offer here, mainly as I am no geographer and do not understand them. Instead I will let pictures paint what I could never do in a thousand words. My day tour of the Golden Circle took in some of the most popular sights the country has to offer…..
The small waterfall (centre picture) is on the site of the oldest parliament in the world and also features in Game of Thrones (so I am told, that is one of very few series from which I have escaped addiction). The original geyser was called Geysir, it is one of those instances where something gets its name from the original name of the original thing. Like hoover, maybe? Possibly not the best example. Apparenty some viking or other hid all his gold in the large waterfall (behind me in the picture) so no one would find it. There was a path leading down to the base of it; beautiful views came at the expense of a refreshing misting. Hilarity ensued when, on the way back up from this viewpoint, a somewhat crass American walked up to me without a by-your-leave and demanded to know “is it wet?” Our tour guide stopped at a well known ice cream parlour on route back to Reykjavik, a well chosen detour if I do say so. However, mid-queue, we spotted my verbal assailant enjoying a tub of salted caramel with his party. I was dared to stride up to him and shout “was it wet?” but, upon shirking my task, we set a course for Reykjavik and a well deserved sleep.
(I say a well deserved sleep, however this is not entirely accurate due to the fact that it was the England Denmark semi final that evening. I will not recount what ensued in detail, suffice to say it involved an Irish pub, a group of stranded geologists and a Danish shot called Gammel Dansk).
The city of Reykjavik is equally as impressive as its surrounding area. Dominating the skyline is Hallgrimskirkja, the famous gothic revivial Lutheran church. Just as architecturally imposing is the glass-fronted Harpa, the modern concert hall that sits on the waterfront. A walk around Tjornin, the lake in the city centre, has become an almost daily ritual as it is very close to my apartment and is a very pleasant area for a stroll….
It is, simply, put, beautiful. I know several people who have visited previously (prep school geography residentials were quite the fashion a few years back) and it has lived up to everything I have been told. In fact it has exceeded. But what I have been told is what you see above. What I have been told is of the land of volcanoes, geysers, tectonic plates and moon-like topography.
What follows is equally impressive, but perhaps lesser known….
Iceland holds the number 1 position on the Global Peace Index. It has no military. It rates top or near the top of most quality of life metrics. It is frequently named one of the most LGBT friendly countries in the world. The rainbow Street pictured above used to be a temporary piece of street art for Reykjavik Pride Week. A few years ago the local community, including the mayor, got together and made it a permanent fixture designed to remind the people about respect, inclusivity and love.
Walking through the streets, the aforementioned qualities are palpable. I tried to find a comparable place I have been to and, honestly, the closest I could get was the Lanes and North Laine area of Brighton. This is purely down to the vibe you get that anyone and anything really is accepted. What transpires from such tolerance, naturally, is an atmosphere of creativity. Downtown Reykjavik has to be one of the quirkiest, least commercial city centres I have seen. And they love their nightlife. A bar dedicated to the Cohen brothers’ cult classic The Big Lewbowski (they serve 24 different types of White Russian) and a pub with a pig outside (in a dress) are two examples of many. I can certainly recommend the food in the latter: the 7 course ‘Icelandic Journey’ tasting menu included smoked puffin, smoked whale and a lamb rump steak that was worth it just on it’s own.
It seems I have inadvertently stumbled across a spiritual home. But we have, so far, only scratched the idiosyncratic surface. My outing yesterday was conclusive evidence that arctic adventures was spot-on: these people really do do things their own way…
The Icelandic Phallological Museum is the jewel in the crown of eccentricity. Upon purchasing your entry ticket the staff inform you that you are allowed (and encouraged) to take a drink from the bar into the exhibition with you. I’m not surprised.
So, in three days time, I will return to the UK and A Teacher Abroad will be one year old. With this will doubtless come time for reflection, and it seems to me that so much of this year has been about expectation. Either not knowing what to expect, or managing expectations, or finding that expectations were completely wrong. Or, in this happy case, having your expectations completely blown out of the park.
I had expected the stunning landscape, the geological wonders and the 25 degree difference in temperature. But I had not expected the atmosphere; the art, the music, the creativity, the freedom, the acceptance. In short, the mindset. It is the combination of the expected and the unexpected that make this a truly incredible place, one that I will never forget.
After all, everyone likes mayonnaise. It is very nice. We know what to expect from it. But who would ever expect anyone to put peppercorns in it? No one else would have thought of it.
The best laid schemes o’Mice an’ Men gang aft agley, An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, For promis’t joy!
– To a Mouse, Robert Burns
This photo shows a bunch of what is called, according to Carrefour, ‘leek herbs’. I mistakenly ordered them to go in a pie. We are at ‘that’ point in term: assessments are frantically being completed, deadlines loom and the light at the end of the report writing tunnel is not yet bright enough to lighten my morale. The weekend had been spent catching up on sleep and work; my chicken and leek pie recipe was summoned forth to give me the strength to head boldly into another week of mask-adorned hybrid classrooms.
Imagine my dismay, then, dear reader, when instead of some fresh leeks for the pot, this bunch of oddly smelling grass was left darkening my doorstep. A quick taste placed it somewhere between chives, tarragon and, well, grass, so I was staring down the barrel of a chicken and chicken pie for my Saturday feast. Some frozen peas were dug out of the back of the freezer.
(Any loyal readers will have read of the comedy potential provided by previous grocery deliveries from Carrefour: I declare this to be the new number 1. It sneaks in above samosa pastry that I didn’t even order).
The point of this tale of erroneous foliage is that there are many things going on in the world at the moment that I do not have a clue about. Which irritates me. As a known know-it-all, not knowing is a no-no. You know? Examples: I don’t know why Carrefour think I need samosa pastry. I don’t know how Liverpool managed to get 3rd place in a complete disaster of a season (mainly as I don’t have good enough access to sports channels). I don’t know when I will be able to make music in school again. I don’t know what in God’s name leek herbs are.
And I don’t know for sure how I’m getting back to the UK this summer.
The last blog ended with the sad news that the UAE is not on the UK green list. It is not even on the Amber list. The general consensus amongst friends and colleagues was to wait three weeks until the next update to see if this changes. The update was three days ago. It did not. One more update remains between now and the end of term and Amber Glory is looking less and less likely. A contingency would surely be to see if there is anywhere that will accept travellers from the UAE that is also on the UK green list….
This is a plane ticket to Reykjavik, for Iceland is on the UK green list. It is also accepting visitors from anywhere in the world who can present a certificate of vaccination which, faithful reader, as you know from previous missives, I am proud to possess. A 10 day holiday in this wonderfully unlikely destination will therefore permit me entry to the UK, my friends, family and the summer that I desperately need.
But the problem is, you just don’t know. This is the best plan a mouse or man could possibly lay at the moment, but the potential for it to gang agley is high. Very high. Stories abound at the moment of nightmares at border controls, immigrations and airlines. Rules change on a daily basis. It is not so much that goalposts are moved as they never even resembled goals in the first place. They are the leek herbs of sporting equipment, and my mind is as mixed up as my metaphors.
So before I rush out to shop for coats, scarves and hats (the one lightweight sweater I have here will nowhere near cut it) it seems timely to reflect. In what may be the last Abu Dhabi blog of my first year it is safe to say that things have not gone as planned. My best laid scheme did indeed promise joy. The joy of travel, seeing the world, documenting it here. But has the ganging agley of this promise left me with nought but fear and pain? Not a chance. There are far, far worse places to have spent a year of pandemic, and I am grateful for it.
It doesn’t, however, mean that I am not beyond excited to get on that plane in 3 weeks time and go from the sublime to the ridiculous. Or vice versa. From hot to cold. Desert to glacier. Dune to geyzer. Speedos to scarves. You step out of your door in a pandemic, and if you want to get home for the summer, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to. There’s no place, after all, like home.
“When the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window.” – Maria von Trapp, The Sound of Music (1965)
The previous installment of A Teacher Abroad opened with a statement. I love food. We will continue on a similar vain….
I love film. I mentioned this in an earlier blog covering cultural outlets, however I think I will ramp it up a notch today. Not only do I love film, I love cinemas. I put a little thought into why this might be and must conclude that a cinema, for me, serves the same purpose as a golf course and even a ski slope. It is pure, total, complete escapism. It is the ultimate in cathartic indulgence. Walking into that darkened chamber and letting the door close behind you is to metaphorically and literally shut yourself off from the world. You can enjoy whatever pleasures then await you; whatever you have going on beyond those doors can wait. You are free from distraction.
Well, I say you are free from distraction, however we all know this is very seldom the case. I could write an entire blog, nay book, on this issue. Instead I will paint for you now the picture of my perfect cinema (gird your loins…): no food is to be permitted whatsoever. If you want a meal go to a restaurant. Bottled drinks only: non-carbonated. Outside every screen will be a set of very tiny lockers. Your ticket gives you a code to the locker, your phone must go in it before entry to the screen as we have now arrived at a time and place where, apparently, leaving it in your pocket is no longer possible. An alternative might be some kind of magnetic force around the auditorium but my knowledge of physics falls way short at this moment. No latecomers will be allowed into the screening for any reason, no exceptions (during trailers is fine). Talking of any kind will result in immediate removal from the cinema. No exceptions.
In fact, absolute best-case scenario (and full existentialist disclosure): there is no one in the cinema apart from me….
This is Screen 6 in the Ciné Royal at the Khalidiyah Mall, Abu Dhabi. It is not one of the glossy multiplexes found in the larger malls. We shall be generous and describe it as shabby chic. It drew my attention, however, as it is one of the few places showing any of the Oscar-nominated films from this season. The aforementioned multiplexes seem to only show a depressing selection of Z-list blockbusters the likes of which would go straight to DVD elsewhere (are DVDs still a thing?). A couple of weeks ago, on the other hand, the Ciné Royal was showing Nomadland. So off I went to find this eccentric little venue. On arrival I stuck to the cinematic social norm of buying a ticket and wandering in about 5-10 minutes after the allotted start time. Get settled, see the latter trailers, get suitably irritated by people treating it as a social outing at which the film is at best a mild distraction. To my delight, I discovered I was the only person in the cinema. To my horror, l discovered that the film had already started!
It seems that trailers aren’t a thing at the Ciné Royal. Not content with not selling any tickets, it seems that advertising revenue doesn’t really float their profit boat either. I politely remarked to the man showing me to my seat that the film had already begun. See previous blogs for the nature of the customer service in the UAE, suffice to say this caused quite the fuss. Luckily, the plucky attendant was equipped with a walky-talky and was able to radio through to the…..wait for it……I can barely contain my excitement……projectionist! Calmly and without fuss, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, he asked for the film to be replayed from the start.
We are currently enjoying a 5 day holiday in celebration of Eid in the UAE. Looking for entertainment possibilities and harboring a desire to return to my newfound haven of quirkiness, I perused the listings for the Ciné Royal. To my delight there was a showing of Promising Young Woman at 2.30pm (matinées being by far my preferred visit time). Once I had found it on Google Maps so as to give directions to the driver, I called a taxi and made haste (there is no other speed option in a taxi. It seems to act as a cover for their lack of geographical knowledge). I made my way to the entrance and was greeted by about 6 attendants (I think they are pleased to have a customer as on neither of my visits have I seen any others). I asked for a ticket: confusion abounded. Many conversations were had gathered round the till/computer device that they have in cinemas. Eventually I was informed that the 2.30 showing had in fact been cancelled due to a fault in the cinema. A few more debates were held in hushed tones and, eventually, they showed me to Screen 6 and asked me to choose any seat I liked. They would then play A Promising Young Woman. Just for me. A private screening.
So not for the first time this year, we have learned that there are pleasures to be found in the most unexpected of circumstances. Where the Lord closes a door, after all, somewhere he opens a window. A Teacher Abroad: Year 1 has not gone to plan. For reasons beyond all of our control, it has not been the exotic travel blog it was conceived as. So we must keep looking for the positives, keep playing the hands we are dealt. Sat alone in Screen 6, in between wondering if the whole thing was a very elaborate kidnap plot, I started to ponder this a little more….
There has been (in my very humble opinion) a sea change in cinema over the last few years. Ever since the fabulously blundering moment back in 2017 when Moonlight won Best Picture. The big-budget studio dragon had been slain and, as is so seldom the case, the best man won. Fast forward two years to a foreign language Netflix production nominated for Best Picture. Roma was easily the film of the year; Alfonso Cuarón fully deserved his Best Director and all the accompanying accolades. The film ended up narrowly missing out to the bland, predictable, big-studio offering (Green Book) but it will go down as a seminal moment and you could feel the tides turning. They turned properly in 2020 when Roma, without a shadow of a doubt, paved the way for Parasite and it was at that moment that one could feel that things would never quite be the same again. So much so that my apartment wall is decorated with a visual reminder….
And then, the pandemic….
With a couple of exceptions (Tenet, Wonder Woman) the big studio blockbuster has disappeared. 40% capacity cinemas (when they are open) don’t cut it, as Bondgate has demonstrated. Where the Lord has closed the door on profit-spinning franchise movies, he has opened the window for powerful social commentaries from lower budget, higher-thinking filmmakers. Film night at the Manarat (see previous episode) a couple of months ago exposed me to the exquisite Minari and this, along with Nomadland, is proof that the movie industry is, right at this moment, a whole new beast. I’m not (entirely) naiive: Marvel and co. will return once cinema is back and operating at full capacity, but I would like to think that this particular opened window will continue to let light through.
Whatever circumstances have allowed these masterpieces to rise to prominence is of no consequence when you have the honour of seeing them. Both of them, in their way, challenge not only the conventions of American film but also the conventions of an entire social system. The American Dream has failed these protagonists and perhaps it is only now, 12 years after 2008, that we are questioning the entire notion. The Power of Positive Thinking taught an entire generation that you could achieve anything you wanted as long as you tried hard enough. Plenty of people tried hard and did not achieve what they wanted; we have the mental health statistics to prove it. The Power of Eye-Opening Realism is, hopefully, here to stay. It will do everyone so much more good.
Because the genuis of both these films is they are, ultimately, not sad. Within the hard-hitting social realism there is positivity, hope and love. The truth is, after all, rarely pure and never simple, and the brand of realism-steeped optimism found here comes from the stoic model of staring reality, however harsh, in the face and finding happiness through acceptance. The Lord will close doors, sometimes right in your face. Accepting it is the key, whilst maintaining belief that another window will soon open.
Sometimes, however, a window is opened before a door is closed. Then you’re completely buggered…
This is the Abu Dhabi Green list for travel, updated (as you can see from my screenshot) on 22nd April. To our delight, as you will notice, it includes the UK. All that was now needed was for the UK to reciprocate in their announcement on 7th May….
This is indeed one of the larger cowpats from the devil’s own satanic herd, and is currently strewn right on my front door. 7 weeks remain of my first year in Abu Dhabi, during which I have not left the UAE. The country is full of UK expats who have not seen their friends and families in over a year. All windows, doors, skylights, hatches and catflaps are, for the moment, locked and bolted.
I gather Portugal is nice for a 10 day break this time of year……
I am a foodie. Have been for as long as I can remember. Cooking it, eating it and going to places that serve it. Reading books about it, digesting it, getting indigestion from it. Not getting my dream figure because of it.
Restaurant trips seem to serve as milestones in my life; I enjoy them so much that I even have three dear friends in the UK with whom I have formed a dining club. Members of The Meat Board (it works on many levels) share my opinion that food and memories are closely connected: birthdays, engagements, new jobs, new shoes (I jest, however I did once go out for a meal to celebrate the purchase of a new pair of ski boots) can all seem to be linked in some way to a restaurant visit.
The problem is that the the convivial excursions of The Meat Board do tend to take place in high-end establishments and recounting hilarious anecdotes from these meetings causes people to think me a food snob. I would like to state for the record that I am nothing of the sort, and qualify my claim thus…
Above left is a picture of the last (and certainly most extravagant) venue The Board patronised, pre-pandemic, as a group: Marcus Waering at The Berkley Hotel, London. Above right is Schawarma Vibes, our pre-golf sustenance stop-off on a Wednesday evening. The former is rated amongst the top restaurants in the United Kingdom, the latter is rated amongst the top schawarmas in Abu Dhabi. My traditional English sensibilities cause me to dislike talk of money; suffice to say the typical bill at the former comes to approximately 60 times the bill at the latter.
I am equally happy eating in both.
It has been said in previous installments that striking a good life balance is important. The plush velvet of the Michelin star is unbeatable, but so are the pretzels and beer partaken in a good pub with good company. It is, in short, all good.
Amongst all this gluttonous goodness, my favourite culinary venues of all are the hidden gems. The idiosyncratic, backstreet joints that you stumble upon throughout life: that scruffy yet homely bistro you find on holiday in Europe that was, on that day, in that context, absolutely perfect. As you can imagine, Abu Dhabi is not rife with such establishments. Mainly because everything is new. And pristine. Oldy-worldy just isn’t a thing in a country that has just celebrated its 49th birthday.
There is, as ever, an exception to the rule…
Thanks must go once again to my good friends Sarah and Matt for introducing me to Abu Dhabi’s one tatty French Bistro. It was a Thursday evening in February. Another week of teaching music on iPad, from a safe distance, at the front of the classroom (or from the desk in my apartment, who can remember the chain of events that was the Spring Term? For that matter, who wants to?) had put me in great need of an evening out. Taxis were ordered, Google Maps was checked so as to inform the driver of how to get there (see blog 3) and off we headed to the centre of Abu Dhabi. Hamdan Street was the destination, and the unimposing facade of Le Beujolais French Restaurant. The Maitre d’, who I am told has been in post for over 20 years, was delighted to see us. We were seated. Check tablecloths and kitsch (at best) decoration came as a welcome contrast to the shiny perfection that is the Abu Dhabi norm. I followed team orders given by those who have frequented this place for years: French onion soup followed by steak frites and rounded off with the world’s biggest bowl of chocolate mousse. All of this was thoroughly washed down with not a small amount of the house red.
(Ordering anything else, wine-wise, is frowned upon. Literally. For the service is as authentic as the food. Example: Matt informed me that they do a Béarnaise with the steak, but you have to ask for it. My turn to order arrived; I tentatively asked in hushed tones if I might have the unadvertised condiment with my steak. This seemingly reasonable request was met with a disapproving set of eyebrows and a general contempt the delivery of which can only be executed by a waiter in a French Bistro. My steak subsequently arrived, duly accompanied with Béarnaise. It was to die for).
The decor was iffy at best. I was scorned for ordering a sauce. The pudding could have served a modest family. It was, simply put, perfect. Like all good romances I loved it for (and despite) its imperfections. I could have spent the entire weekend drinking that house red; I will be returning soon to attempt to prove it…
Half terms are not as plentiful here and we had a mere long weekend in February to recharge the pedagogical batteries. A very popular way to relax during time off is to have a Pool Day in a hotel. I had been recommended the Jumeirah Resort on Saadiyat Island near where I live so gave it a try. Often the deal you get is that a part of your entry fee can be claimed back as food vouchers, so I decided to treat myself to lunch at Mare Mare, the poolside Italian seafood restaurant, and was very glad I did. (Actually, I mistook it for the pool bar, serving modest lunches such as sandwiches with a crescent of crisps. The menu arrived and I quickly decided not to rectify my error). It was here that I discovered fregola, a Sardinian pasta that more resembles giant couscous. The Fregola Sarda ai Frutti di Mare was less a quick lunch at a pool day, more a dish that will linger in the memory for a long time to come.
Short as half term was, it led me from the culinary sublime to the ridiculous. Saturday night had been spent with a friend who is every bit as obsessed with musical theatre as I am and involved a piano and several bottles of rosé. The next day, just as I was creating a Dicky-shaped indent in the sofa in a haze of caffeine and Netflix, I was invited to join friends at the Sportsman’s Arms. This is a pub next to the rugby club. (No, I have not finally lost it and started to hallucinate England’s green and pleasant lands, these places are real). The post-wine/Sondheim malaise caused initial reluctance. But then a bombshell was dropped….
It was explained to me that this particular hostelry serves one of the best Sunday lunches in Abu Dhabi. The game had changed. This was surely to be just what the doctor ordered (or what I imagined he would order as a hangover cure). And so the scene was set and I can confirm that The Sportsman’s Arms, next to the Rugby Club, in Abu Dhabi, very much produced the goods…
The second half of term came and went in a Googly blur. Blurry eyed from Google, tired and worn-out, I needed a treat and a bit of ‘me time’. School was out and I needed not just refreshment but quality refreshment. It had been suggested to me that one of the best places to do this is at the St Regis Hotel, again just down the road from me. In there, the Manhatten Lounge yielded what very well may have been the best version I have ever tasted of my all-time favourite drink…
The Easter Holiday (Spring Break to we expats) had started Bloody well. A week later, mid-vacation, came the highlight, the pinnacle of this episode and one of my foodie best-bits so far. Brunch had not been had in a while and it was felt that one was due. I have been on a mission since my birthday installment. A simple mission; to find a better brunch than the Ritz Carlton (see birthday episode). Several reliable sources had instructed me to look no further than Nahaam: the Friday brunch at the Conrad, Etihad Towers. And so comes the end of our journey to all things gastronomic; from a wonderfully grotty French bistro via a sports pub and an oak-panelled gentleman’s bar to our final destination: a poolside brunch that was, simply put, exquisite.
Ritz Carlton: meet thy match. All the usual food stations were present (see previous brunch installments) but were all just a notch above anywhere else. In particular the seafood and the barbecue station; the beef short ribs made me wonder why I had bothered with any of the previous courses. Even better was the schedule we were presented upon arrival that detailed visits to our table by various trolleys offering brunch punctuations (brunctuations?) of delight: gins and tonic, risotto, espresso martinis and hydrogen ice cream were some of the visits I can recall. My recollection is somewhat sketchy which is in no small part due to the crowning glory of this brunch. The wine. The rosé served to me in immodest quantities on that balmy poolside afternoon was so good, in fact, that your diligent blogger became less than diligent and forgot to take any photos…
… the above comes to you courtesy of Google Images.
I write this just after returning to school for my final term of my first year of my Abuventure. After wondering whether to use more portmanteau in my blog I spent some time feeling happy that in the sea of change that has washed over me in the last year, food has remained a delicious anchor of consistency. I am still wallowing in the triumph of this brunchissimo, the latest gastronomic milestone on the Yellow Brunch Road, and planning how now to top this one. In the meantime, I am looking forward to golf tomorrow and my schawarma and fries.
Plush velvet sometimes, sometimes just pretzels and beer. I’m still here.
Forgive me reader for I have not blogged and it has been 3 months since my last blog.
In my defence, life has been predictably uneventful and my second term was a challenging one. Just days before returning in January we were faced with the announcement that schools would be returning to remote learning due to increased case numbers over the holiday. Term then unfolded in a strange myriad of learning styles: a month at home, two weeks in school, another ten days at home, then the rest of term in school. The constant change in routine and planning for both eventualities was difficult for adults, let alone the children. This, coupled with the inevitable post-Christmas slump that is the first half of the Spring Term, did not make for high spirits.
It is at times like these when the little things really matter. It is important to seek out the things that make you happy and take some time to indulge. Is is, as our glorious 21st Century society would have us remember, good for our wellbeing. (Definitely not our ‘wellness’, this blog is just not that on-trend. Sorry). Having devoured every word of this website with awed fascination, devoted and dear reader, you will have read my opening gambit:
“My name is Richard Coppack. Teacher of Music. Lover of culture. And golf.”
Now, my Abu Dhabi adventure has certainly not been short on golf. I have reported on many happy days playing courses around the area and there will be many more to come. What Abu Dhabi has given in golf, unfortunately, it hath taken away in the arts. A lot of this is down to Covid restrictions but there has still been a definite sense of cultural starvation.
I am lucky enough to live in the cultural centre of the city and the jewel in the crown of creativity, the Louvre Abu Dhabi, has remained open throughout. This remarkable museum is the result of a thirteen year collaboration with the Louvre in Paris and is worth a visit for the building alone. Award-winning French archtiect Jean Nouvel sought to create a floating museum city, built right on the waterfront. The enormous metal dome gives this impression as well as creating a ‘rain of light’ through the geometric structure.
The curation is equally interesting and is worthy of an entirely separate blog, however a quick mention must be made of the 20th century rooms at the end of the exhibition. Modern art is very much ‘my bag’ and several of my favourite artists were on display. Much time was spent lingering in this section, delighted by the small but perfectly formed collection. None delighted more, however, than the following by Wassily Kandinsky:
It is only recently I have discovered that Kandinsky had a sensory condition that caused him to ‘see’ colour as musical notes. The works are therefore a sort of visual representation of a piece of music. Whether this has anything to do with how drawn I am to them we will never know.
Two visits to the Louvre so far have been culturally fulfilling. There is, however, another gallery right opposite my apartment that has been of great interest since my arrival…
The Manarat is a museum showcasing contemporary Arabic art. It is a very exciting establishment for three reasons:
The wonderful originality and vibrancy of the 21st Century Arabic art on display.
The cafe bar which has served me well at the end of many a long week and has particularly good prices during happy hour. (The Lebanese lager comes highly recommended).
They run an independent cinema club in their auditorium.
Number 3 has excited me greatly since my arrival and my Googling during the 14 day quarantine of doom revealed it as, more or less, the only outlet for good quality independent cinema in the city. Two showings per week are advertised as, to my utter disbelief, completely free to attend! All you need do is RSVP to the email invitation to each film. Back in the autumn the cinema was still not running, however they were able to bring it back in February. And so off I went, to a little auditorium a stone’s throw from my flat, sat myself in a chair positioned 1.5 metres away from the chairs that surrounded it, and returned a few hours later a much happier blogger….
Since then I have returned to cinema night several times. It is hosted by an Emirati gentleman who is very knowledgeable and gives a little introduction to each film. The selection is particularly well chosen and as part of the Italian Film Season a few weeks ago I took myself off to see Federico Fellini’s I Vitelloni. This brilliant character study of small town provincial Italy shows us that there is beauty in even the most mundane situation. The last 12 months, since the dawn of the pandemic, has certainly been a mundane situation and it seems to me that the arts it something we need now more than ever. The cultural starvation has left me ravenous and, as opportunities start to open up bit by bit, I will be devouring them.
Indeed, as Fellini has told us, there is magic to be found even in pasta.
Which is a good job, as there follows a review of some of my culinary excursions this term…..
Disclaimer: this post is in no way about a teacher abroad. It is a complete one-off….
Confidence. NOUN. The feeling or belief that one can have faith in or rely on something.
People love stories. Not only other people’s. We tell ourselves stories. We make them up based on what we hear. We elaborate on rumours, let our imaginations get carried away, put two and two together to make five, and we do it every day.
The stories I will tell here are not made up.
Above is a picture of a cow. Also there is a boy, and a milkmaid. This is their story….
Smallpox was a very bad disease. Please note: was. 10,000 years ago it appeared in northern Africa. It caused fever, vomiting and rashes. It killed 30% of its victims within 2 weeks of infection. Slowly, it spread around the world, first through the Egyptians, then the Arab world during the crusades, then the Americas through the Spanish and Portuguese conquests. It has killed billions of people throughout history and it is estimated that it killed 300-500 million people in the 20th century alone.
Efforts were made to combat this awful disease from very early on. In 1022 a Buddhist nun worked out that putting a small amount of the disease into people caused them to fight it and become immune. This process, called variolation, was effective some of the time, but a small percentage would still die after exposure and the process was not completely safe.
Let’s fast-forward to 1762, to Sodbury, near Bristol, and the first of our dairy maids. A country doctor on a routine visit to a farm overheard the young girl declare that she will never catch smallpox, as she has already had cowpox. This historic statement was also witnessed by the doctor’s young apprentice: a 13 year old boy by the name of Edward Jenner. Having heard this statement, Jenner decided to devote his life to finding out if it was true.
Fast-forward again to 1796, and our second dairy maid. This one went by the name of Sarah Nells. She had fresh cowpox lesions caught from a cow, named Blossom. Jenner wondered whether he could use matter from these lesions to inoculate another person against smallpox. He decided that the only way to find out was to try. His guinea pig for this astonishingly risky experiment? An 8 year old boy called James Phipps, the son of his gardener. The lad was given the fresh cowpox matter, suffered a few days of fever, and then rerecovered. This was not the end of the process: the boy was then infected with smallpox, to determine whether or not the experiment had worked. Had it failed, the he could have died.
Nothing happened.
Jenner was triumphant. Lengthy vaccination campaigns followed throughout the 18th, 19th and 20th centuries and eventually, in 1979, the World Health Organisation certified the world-wide eradication of smallpox.
It was one of the greatest achievements of medical history and would never have happened had it not have been for Sarah Nells the milkmaid, James Phipps and, of course, Blossom. The Latin for cow is vacca, and so the story of vaccination comes to an end.
I retell this here, in my humble blog, because I think it to be one of the most miraculous discoveries of all time, and also because the human race is very, very quick to forget. This is their story…..
In the year 2000, 21 years after they declared the eradication of smallpox, the World Health Organisation declared measles to be eliminated from the United States. This amazing breakthrough in medical history was due to a successful vaccination campaign.
Not two years earlier, however, a little known UK doctor by the name of Andrew Wakefield published a study claiming a link between autism and the MMR vaccine. A Sunday Times investigation, led by the journalist Brian Deer, exposed the study to be completely false. Eventually, in 2010, the General Medical Council struck Wakefield off the UK medical register.
But it was too late. The story had already been told.
The seed was sown. A tiny seed of doubt that, no matter how unsubstantiated, could not be unplanted. The rumours spread, people belived them. Slowly but surely, measles returned. In 2016 the director of the National Institutes of Health wrote that parents refusing to vaccinate their children were leading to outbreaks of preventable diseases, including measles. The World Health Organisation reported that the rise in measles is directly caused by anti-vaccination movements. At first it was gradual but it gained momentum until, from January to August 2019, over two thousand cases of measles were reported in the US across 30 states. An official state of emergency was declared in the States of New York City and Washington.
The vast majority of reported cases had not received vaccination.
On its list of Ten Threats to Global Health in 2019, the World Health Organisation has listed ‘vaccine hesitancy’ as one of them.
Why am I writing this? Why am I not posting whimsical anecdotes about the slightly eccentric adventures of A Teacher Abroad? Have I become drunk on blogging power? That, dear reader, is for you to decide. Before you do, however, here is the final story….
As of December 8th, I am fully vaccinated against Covid-19. The Abu Dhabi authorities offered us teachers access to a vaccine as priority. I bit their hands off, perhaps slightly controversially as the vaccine was, at the time, still under phase 3 trial. However, they had been granted permission to release it for emergency use prior to the end of the trial. I had to sign paperwork declaring I understood this was the case.
I can report that I am still alive. Side effects? None. Only a tiny amount of the people I know took up the offer of the emergency release vaccine. I can understand this as the phase 3 trial had not officially ended. But I went for it straight away. Those who know me know that I am not shy when it comes to opinions. I do, however, try my best (and am still working on it) to refrain from forcing these on people or bandying them about in a public forum. On this occasion I am making an exception. I feel the need to air my laundry in public, to come out, to let the world know….
I am pro-vaccine.
I feel strongly enough about the topic as to have undertaken some research. I happened upon the excellent website http://vaccineconfidence.org which is home to The Vaccination Confidence Project. The director of the project, Professor Heidi Larson, has raised awareness through an excellent Ted Talk entitled Rumours, Trust and Vaccines. In it she argues that people’s lack of trust in the authorities has led to where we are now. She goes on to suggest that misinformation such as that of Dr Wakefield is only the symptom; the cause is a breakdown in relationships. People trust people. She concludes by saying “If people trust, they’ll put up with a little risk to avert a much bigger one.” Somewhere, along the way, this trust has been lost.
So confidence is the salient word, and the reason you can find the dictionary definition at the beginning of this post. The belief that one can have faith in or rely on something requires the individual to trust. To trust in the science. Science that has been proven (I’m not a scientist but I’m pretty sure that is the point of science).
Further proof of this loss of trust can be found in conversations I have had with peers over the last month. Suspicion has been prevalent. “Have you had any side effects?” Is the most frequent question. I didn’t have any, but even if I had they would have gone away. I would still be immune.
(At this point it is very important to point out that there are those with health issues that hugely increase the risk of taking the vaccine. For these people it is a completely different story.)
I know that there is still risk involved even if you have a clean bill of health. But it is small risk. Small risk to avert the big risk, namely that we don’t defeat Covid. A very wise man once said to me “you have to slightly think bigger picture” and the big picture for the eradication of Covid is vaccination.
There is no other option.
The other theme that comes up in conversations is that of hesitancy. This is where I become a bit less tolerant and the full set of opinionated teeth are bore. “I think I’ll wait and see.” Wait and see what, exactly? During the phase 3 trial this was understandable, but that came to an end in mid-Dedember. So what, then? See how it goes for other people? Who are these other people who should take the risk first? Are these people perhaps inferior and thus should serve as the Corona Crash Test Dummies? As we move swifly into 2021 and deeper into this age of flakey complacency we seem to find ourselves in, we would perhaps do well to remember that our grandparents did not have the option of saying “I think I’ll wait before I go to war, see what happens to other people first.”
But war is what we are faced with; war against a virus. And whilst you are twiddling your thumbs, the virus grows. Mutates. Spreads further. More restrictions will be implemented, more lockdowns announced and, of course, the authorities will get the blame. The mistrust will deepen, and the spiral will continue downwards.
So here is a novel suggestion for those of us for whom this is our first global crisis, a battle cry for the Millennials, the Snowflakes, the Age of Entitlement. Break the spiral. Stand on your own two feet. Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country. Basically, grow a pair (who knows, if you’re lucky that might even be a side-effect).
Let us, before I fall off my soap box, return to our mantra: people believe stories. People are suspicious and hesitant because they hear rumours which grow in their imaginations. But the good news is there is a flip side to the coin: people, are also inspired by stories. You can plant a seed of hope just as easily as a seed of doubt, through the power of a story. They seem to have a hold over people that is equally strong whether the message is positive or negative. As the greatest of all men said, “Careful the tale you tell, that is the spell.”
So…..
In 1796, an 8 year old boy was deliberately infected with a disease. There was no proven science to believe in. No phase 3 trial. No phase 1 or 2, for that matter. In fact, he could have died. He suffered side effects. He got better. His sacrifice changed history.
We are in a global disaster. There are vaccines which have now been proven to work using good, robust science. You are asked to make a small sacrifice with very little risk attached for a cause far greater than your own. Tell yourself the story about what an 8 year old boy was able to give to the world.
Finding out that we were not able to travel at Christmas was about as funny as getting an arrow through the neck, and then discovering there was a gas bill tied to it. Having been so lazy as to steal my opening line from Lord Blackadder I needed a plan as cunning as a fox who’s just been appointed Professor of Cunning at Oxford University.
The end of term parties came and went and the Google Classroom-free atmosphere was convivial. Having caught up on sleep, filled the apartment with biscuits and compiled ‘my list’ on Netflix, I was ready for the holidays. A Teacher Abroad was staying that way and he now needed a few modest activities to occupy some time in between ‘Biscflix’.
I thought that perhaps some pampering was in order to start with. Some time ago, my golfing buddy Matt had given me a spare complimentary day pass to the Saadiyat Beach Club. This is a very swanky joint indeed, for which a standard day pass is pricey. So off I went, book in bag, podcast on phone, ready for a day of sun, sea and sand. The club is beautiful and was particularly well decorated for the season. Having spent the last 37 Christmases in the UK, I was somewhat amused by the juxtaposition…..
Suitably rested and recuperated, I had heard that the shopping malls were worth a visit at this time of year. You must bear in mind that Christmas is culturally off the table in the UAE, school is a Yuletide-free zone and it was the first Advent that I can recall in which I hadn’t had anything to do with a carol. Hark! The Herald Angels were not singing. I was pining for a festive atmos, and help was at hand. There are certain places where it is deemed acceptable for ye gentlemen to rest merry, where they are tidings of both comfort and joy. I needed my fix and I got it….
Strolling around the mall put me in need of refreshment. Other famous coffee houses have already been exhibited within these posts, however I am particularly pleased with my latest discovery: Tim Horton’s. I’m told it is the Starbucks of Canada (an immediate win; anything to do with Canada is fine with me) and its delicious festive lattes and even more delicious doughnuts have impressed me on several occasions…-
There is of course another craving in my life for which I need my fix. In an (almost certain to fail) attempt at brevity and not boring the arse off anyone who has actually bothered to read this: my Half Term post reported getting to play golf at Abu Dhabi National Golf Club, home to the HSBC Championship European Tour event. This left me two other main courses to play in Abu Dhabi and I managed to get round both during this holiday: Saadiyat Beach GC has the advantage of being right next to where I live and has incredible sea views, however Yas Links GC is without doubt the jewel in the Abu Dhabi golfing crown. This was a true highlight of the holiday and of my time here so far…
After getting my golf fix (not possible, this was in fact just a day when I didn’t have any golf booked), I decided to see a bit more of the city. The Corniche has featured in previous posts and I thought a walk along the promenade would be a wholesome cultural activity, as well as helping to build up an appetite for more Biscflix. To be able to take photos like this three days before Christmas is as strange as it is stunning….
And so Christmas day arrived. Matt and his wife Sarah were kind enough to invite me to join them in their brunch plans. I was very grateful for this, but also somewhat surprised as Matt has spent a significant amount of time with me on various golf courses in Abu Dhabi and has therefore suffered endless hours of my golf chat. The fact that he hasn’t run away very fast, let alone invited me to Christmas Day, probably qualifies him for the New Year’s Honours List.
My first brunch-related post back in September was all about the Market Brunch at the Saadiyat Rotana and it was here that we returned for our festive feast. Let’s cut to the chase: it was superb. Firstly, our table was outside! Secondly, it was absolutely rammed: there must have been hundreds of yuletide diners, and yet the service was impeccable. Thirdly (and this is something I have not yet experienced at brunch) the atmosphere was incredible. They had built a stage in the middle of the outdoor seating area for a live singer, which turned the whole thing into more of a party than a meal. My co-diners, Abu Dhabi veterans that they are, informed me that this is much more like a standard brunch from the pre-Covid era……
(A further note on the quality of the service: there is a ritual of 4pm stockpiling at any brunch. Ordering a back-log of drinks at 3.55pm ensures a post-brunch extention which can carry on for another hour or even more. The serving staff were stockpiling our table without us even having to ask! I ordered a cocktail: two arrived. A glass of champagne arrived: I hadn’t ordered it. More drinks arrived for us to sample: they hadn’t been asked for. This is my kind of service: no wonder they were sold out.)
Every action does, unfortunately in this case, have an equal and opposite reaction, and so a marathon Biscflix was required for the ensuing next-day recovery period. The week between Christmas and New Year was typically lull-ish. I didn’t have plans for New Year but a last minute invitation found me back at the Saadiyat Beach Club for a gala dinner and party. Another poolside table, delicious buffet banquet, free flowing drinks and fireworks over the sea at midnight rounded the holiday off in style…
The next day required just as much Biscflix. Once the haze had lifted and I had emerged from under my blanket there was the inevitable New Year moment of reflection. Christmas: done, but this year 3500 miles from home, away from my family and my UK friends, in a (not so much now) new environment. I cannot, however, help but feel very fortunate. The weather is gorgeous. I have played a lot of golf. I have made wonderful new friends and have had some great times. It seems to me that the only thing that has suffered during this break is my credit card, and for that I have to be thankful.
Another big reason for personal celebration follows in the next episode, which is going to be rather a yang to the ying you are currently reading. Today’s installment has been a light hearted, whimsical review of my holiday; something slightly more earnest is to follow.
But it seems to me that a considered life is all about balance. Even A Teacher Abroad must have its moments of seriousness amid the quaint (or just odd) ramblings.
Just like school holidays must include some downtime amid the golf and parties….
“Time’s the king of men; he’s both their parent, and he is their grave, and gives them what he will, not what they crave.” – William Shakespeare
The last two hours have not been enjoyable. They were spent watching what has to be one of the worst films ever made. Worse still is the fact that I have spent much of the last two and a half decades advocating the man who made it, because he is the man who made Four Weddings and a Funeral and could therefore be forgiven anything.
Or so I thought…..
About Time was so painful that my mind started to drift. I started to think about, well, time….
A few days from now it will be December 10th, which means I will have been in the UAE for four months. First thought about time: it flies. Coincidentally, it is also the day we break up for Winter Break (UK audience: Christmas Holidays!). Ongoing COVID restrictions have scuppered all travel plans and therefore all potential blog material, so instead we will settle on some news from Abu Dhabi.
Yesterday was National Day in the UAE. This is to celebrate the anniversary of the unification of the seven Emirates in 1971, and is a big deal. So much so that we have enjoyed five days of public holiday. Apart from playing yet more golf and continuing my perpetual quest to complete Netflix I have enjoyed some rather convivial activities, the first of which was an evening drive down the Corniche (the main strip along the seafront, featured in episode 3) to see the National Day lights.
My second leisure activity was hotly anticipated. I was invited to a day out with ‘the lads’ at an Island Resort. I was quick to accept as I had learned of such an island, off the Abu Dhabi coast, that you can visit for the day and pamper yourself in a haven that is the last word in civilised luxury. I had read about this during my 14 day quarantine soon after arriving here, which was now a long time ago. Second thought about time: it is not your friend if it causes you to mix up island resorts.
There are, in fact, two islands to choose from: the aforementioned opulent paradise, and the one chosen by my companions which, as it turns out, is akin to visiting Ibiza for the day. This caused much hilarity amongst my new friends. Of course (through slightly gritted teeth) the company is the most important thing and a most enjoyable day was had at Al Maya Island.
So as Winter Break approaches and my first term comes to an end (and I have given this blog the title I have given it), it is probably a good time to reflect on my time, so far. Moving to a new country to start a new job in the middle of a pandemic has had it’s challenges. A mix of live (socially distant) and remote teaching has certainly had it’s challenges. Trying to integrate, acclimatise, make friends and become established in the circumstances has most certainly had it’s challenges.
I think the biggest challenge of all, however, has been the continuing travel restrictions. One of the main aims of this whole journey was to have journeys. School holidays promised a hastily packed bag, a cab to the airport and on to far off lands. Adventures would ensue frought with danger, hilarity and of course the resulting content for you, dear Teacher Abroad readers.
All, however, is not lost. There is light at the end of the Coronatunnel. I am soon to be permitted to travel. The reason for this will be explained in the next exciting episode. All you need know for now is that I will be an unrestricted man as of January 5th. But, as cruel fate would have it, Spring Term begins on January 3rd.
Third thought about time: he definitely ‘gives them what he will, not what they crave’
Three weeks of Winter Break without anywhere to go. The first in 38 years that I will not be spending Christmas with my family. I am left wondering if any more cow pats from the devil’s own satanic herd can strew the path of my life (and that using this reference balances out the earlier criticism). Fourth thought about time: it can sometimes be a little crap.
But wait. A very wise man used to say to me “you have to slightly think bigger picture.” We live in very strange, very challenging times. I have a good, well-paid job, a lovely apartment and my time here, so far, has been good. Abu Dhabi is good. My new home is good. The golf is very good. The people I have met and somehow managed to befriend are way beyond good.
A Teacher Abroad 