Back to the Mall

Dinner time soon, and Sarah went looking for Penny and Sheldon.

To get there, we ventured deeper into the mall than before. It is recommended not to go further than a single turn away from sight of the door you came on, without the use of breadcrumbs.

Luckily, I had this morning downloaded the mall app, which guides you to any shop in the mall. More importantly, it can get you back to your door. Digital breadcrumbs.

On the way to our destination, I doodled a cool display. I usually prefer the creative shop displays to what they’re actually selling, but that’s just me.

Anyway, I saw this:

Cool, huh?

It belongs to a cafe.

Does it look s-Illy?

No?

Philistines!

Anyway, right opposite the restaurant is this.

You can even see a glimpse of from our table

So first course was fried mac and cheese balls. That Mac fella must have been a big guy!!

While we’re on the Asian Prayer, saw this at breakfast this morning.

Tempurag Eggs

No, I hadn’t heard of them either.

But I digress…

Burger and chicken salad sandwich 

Sarah says cheesecake is compulsory here.

Next door is an enormous diabetic coma centre

And people are doing silly things. No not Illy things. Silly. 

For those simple souls who have missed all the breadcrumbs, one last clue.

On the way back out, I saw one of those Botox taxis again

It’s all about who?

They say Trump likes to see his name everywhere.

Best he doesn’t come to Dubai for some ideas, then.

There’s this guy called EMAAR. Or maybe it’s a company. Anyway, they are developers who built a lot of the buildings here. A lot. 

But instead of being satisfied with being a footnote to the skyline, with all of their buildings adorned with the names of multinational hotels, banks or malls, these guys kept the naming rights for themselves.

I have no idea which company is in what building. All I can see is the name of the landlord. Great skyline, but.

What the fuck is wrong with these people?

Is it just me?

Did my mother not teach me buffet etiquette?

Has that etiquette changed over the years?

Ah… No!!

Over the last few months, we have seen a lot of buffets. Too many, probably.

The prevailing behavior at all of them has been starvation. Clearly these people have been imprisoned and fed only on stale bread and their own urine for weeks. They run to the buffet as though the 4th person will miss out, and then they pile everything on the same plate, so that the 4th person really will miss out.

So bacon, eggs, pancakes, watermelon, corn flakes, toast, curry, cheese, salad and baked beans all stacked precariously on one plate. I’m half expecting some fuck wit to pour coffee and juice onto the plate, too.

Whatever happened to the first rule of buffet? No, not that one. The one that says you can go back…

My second rule is that there’s no hurry. Wait for the fuck wit frenzy to end, and you don’t have to spend 30 minutes standing in a conga line. You can see everything, and explore at leasure, in whatever order suits you.

Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a European thing. I saw it here in Dubai last night, and I’ve seen it at Christmas Dinner in Christchurch. Roast lamb and trifle do not fit well together. Fuck wits!!

People just need to take a breath. 

And take a small plate.

Then go back for another one.

It’s not hard.

Dune bashing…not

Sarah wanted to do one of those desert safaris, without quite knowing what that means. All she knew was that most included what they call dune bashing. 

She was adamant that she would not enjoy that. Risk averse. She eventually found a package that excluded dune bashing. Seriously!! That’s what they call it.

So we wait in the foyer of our hotel to be picked up, and the guy turns up in a landcruiser. I almost need a ladder to get in. Young Emirate guy. Becomes quite chatty over the trip.

We stop and pick up 2 girls from another hotel. One Colombian, one Turkish. The Colombian girl was wearing some skimpy type of top, which was clearly prone to malfunction. I saw one boob fall out as they walked to the car. Sarah said it made another appearance as she got into the back seat. I had moved to the front to accommodate 3 ladies across the back. Seriously, some of these girls have no idea of the culture they’re walking into. We were surprised to see a middle-aged couple in the mall this morning holding hands. On previous trips, there are signs everywhere warning of unpleasant consequences for PDAs. Seriously!! God only knows what would happen to a young lady that lets a nipple escape in front of the wrong person. And he’s keeping that information to himself.

Anyway…

After a while, we stopped at some kind of staging area, where people could elect to go driving on Polaris off-roaders and quad bikes. There are also camels and horses for a selection of activities.

We sat in a lounge area while the 2 girls went to play for a while.

There was a somewhat biblical sky there for a moment.

There were a few guys wandering around with falcons, letting you hold them and take a photo. I guarantee there will be a charge for the privilege.

I don’t know what the excursions cost here, but we bought 2 cans and 2 ice creams, and it cost 120 AED. You do the math!!

After that, we hit the road again, but only for a couple of minutes. We pulled in to what I can only call a pit stop.

The car was swarmed by attendants who were letting the tyres down. Apparently cars travel better on sand with half flat tyres. Probably spreads the load better.

The driver checked that everyone was buckled in, and did not suffer back issues or motion sickness. We said no we chose not to do this part. No problem, just wait here then.

So we got out and took a seat. Fascinating.

Not only do they let the tyres down before the dunes, there’s a pretty good service after as well.

They have air hoses to pump the tyres back up, and attachments for blowing the compressed air. They open the car, direct the passengers into their shop, and then use the air to blow the sand out of the car rugs, and anywhere else. They then open the bonnet, and blow the sand out here too. Then they remove the air filter and give that a jolly good hosing.

I tell you what, if F1 racing ever came to Dubai, the pit crews are ready.

Our driver told me that their company don’t get charged for this service. They expect the guests to buy food or souvenirs in their shops, as their income. Truly a symbiotic relationship. Unfortunately, we got burned at the last stop, and weren’t going to get hit again. We sat there for an hour, while the girls got spun around in the sand, and spent nothing.

I don’t know why, but they would take turns carrying a coconut around to offer it to customers. Lukewarm fresh coconut water, anyone?

Then we hit the road again, heading to ‘camp’.

We had bought the package from a different provider than the girls, so we were at a different camp. There are quite a few, only a few minutes apart.

The driver took us inside, and handed us over to their version of a maître d, after we paid him. The whole package cost 150AED each. In cash. Compared to an ice cream and a Fanta, a pretty good deal.

To be honest, I didn’t really know what to expect. Maybe we’d be in a Bedouin tent, cross-legged on cushions, expected to smoke a hookah and chow down on goat eyeballs. Luckily, the reality exceeded my horrifying expectations.

The meal was a buffet, and not bad, except for the prevailing etiquette. See the next post.

Also a range of performances.

Once the show is over, there’s one last opportunity for a camel ride

Until one of them decides that he has an itchy chin

For those who want to get out of town for something different, our ‘senior citizen’ selection is great. For those with adrenaline to burn, there are many opportunities on the way. Highly recommended.

A quick visit to Dubai Mall

I found a very busy but fun window 

A quiet day in one of many atriums.

There are even Mall taxis waiting for work.

But there will be enough vapid, spoilt princesses trying to relieve the weight on daddy’s platinum card to keep everybody happy.

Ah, I love the smell of Botox in the morning.

Water, water everywhere…

Dubai is a place that appreciates the value of water. Sarah, not so much.

She will blast away in a luxurious shower, soap up the walls like a crime scene. Washing her face in a basin looks like an albatross has been in a birdbath.

This is old news. Today was different, and it wasn’t her fault. I need to say that up front.

The shower floors here are what Bunnings would call low profile. A slight lip to the bathroom floor. Don’t want a trip hazard for our guests. Then as a safety precaution, another lip into the bedroom. Surprisingly, this bathroom also has a drain in the floor, near the door.

Having said all that…

By the time Sarah had figured out the controls of the shower, she was in half an inch of water. Remember the styley low profile shower lip? About half an inch.

Shortly there is water on the bathroom floor. Not the stupid splash zone we got used to in Europe. This was suddenly an infinity pool!!

Towels on the floor wouldn’t cut it. It was trickling towards the drain. Crisis averted. Perhaps not.

The drain was overwhelmed, and the stop bank under the door wasn’t enough. Soon it was on the tiled floor outside the bathroom, heading towards the door.

By this time, I had rung reception, and asked for a pile of towels, with some urgency.

So that took the pressure off. Sarah finished her abbreviated shower, and I jumped in for a quick lap, while big towels attempted to channel King Canute.

We’re now at breakfast, hoping that the drain unblockers will wade in and do their thing, while we’re out.

This was our first morning, so if there are yards of black hair populating the drainage system, it wasn’t Sarah’s fault.

She is traumatized.

Nothing to see here, folks

Just moved to a hotel at CDG airport, for a more civilized start in the morning. Heading to Dubai for a few days on our jet lag free return to our time zone.

So nothing left but to give a quick rundown on the motley crew we travelled with.

Starting with the tour leader, she was moderately well organised. Nobody could be as chaotic as the lady from Northern Spain. As a complete Segway, the tour leader in Northern Spain is the cousin of the actress who plays the hot Spanish wife on ‘Modern Family’ on tv.

Anyway, the latest tour guide is a French lady with a posh English private school accent.

We had the obligatory spectrum team mate. This guy is from Australia. If you are aware of Tintin, you will know about the bumbling twin detectives, Thompson and Thomson. In France, they are called DuPond and DuPont. This guy has a bottlebrush moustache and two hearing aids he keeps misplacing. Our guy reminds me of them. I have called him DuPont. We’re in France, after all.

There are a few other Australians, couples and singles.

Then there are the Canadians. I think just a couple and one single guy. The couple are an odd lot. The husband is an absolute short-arse, and most people thought he had short man syndrome. He looks a little like Ernie Douglas from “My Three Sons”. That’s showing my age. He can’t stand still, I think just trying to fill as much space as possible.

There was an Indian mother and daughter from Mumbai. Nice ladies.

I think most of the rest were Amrikans, and the demographic is my age and older, and my fitness level or lower. Some days it’s like a mobile retirement village. The only thing missing was the smell of cabbage and urine.

There was a couple of guys who are great fun. Gay, but the good kind. The kind when you can spend the whole trip wondering if they are or not. More importantly, the kind where it doesn’t matter, and you don’t care.

Let’s be honest. Whether I have one particular proclivity over another doesn’t make me more or less of an asshole, and doesn’t make me better or worse at my job. It should be completely irrelevant.

Not the kind of gay where their sexuality is their entire identity, and their personality bathes in it.  That type are a complete pain in the arse. (Pun not necessarily intended). They are constantly searching for validation, so everyone around them is terrified that they are not affirming them as effusively as is required.

But these guys are great. One is quiet, and wields a long lens, the other is the life of the party. He and I tease each other mercilessly. Probably in their 50s or early 60s.

So that’s it.

We’ll talk again, dear readers, from Dubai, and again from Singapore 

Liberace would love this

Had a look around the Latin Quarter.

Remember The Muppet Show?

There was an episode with a skit where Quasimodo was singing “The bells are ringing, for me and gargoyle “.

Classic!!

By the way…

This was Notre Dame soon after the fire.

This was today.

The artwork in the foreground is interesting too.

Then it was off to Versailles Palace.

It should be called the palace of ceilings, just because…