A Norman Foster tour of Abu Dhabi: part 2

If you’re looking for a different experience in Abu Dhabi this summer, then you might enjoy a visit to Masdar City. Foster & Partners began construction on it in 2007 with the intention that it become the first city in the world with a zero-carbon footprint (though perhaps carbon-neutral is a more accurate term), and one that might serve as a sort of giant lab for the research and development of sustainable technologies for urban applications (“Masdar” is Arabic for “source”). And what better (and more ironic) place than Abu Dhabi to host such an endeavor!

In all seriousness, Abu Dhabi should be commended for supporting this project, because Sheikh Khalifa and the rest of the al Nahyans know as well as anyone that one day the oil will run dry (I’ve heard estimates of about a century though I have no idea how accurate that may be.). Of course, only time will tell how committed Abu Dhabi is to applying lessons learned from Masdar City to its own infrastructure.

Getting to the site isn’t terribly involved. You simply drive as if you’re heading to Abu Dhabi’s airport, and a couple of kilometers before you reach it, you’ll see signs for Masdar City. It’s not difficult, but you might want to consult Google maps before going.

When my sister and I went back in March, the guard at the front entrance told us that we needed an appointment in order to tour the facility, much to our chagrin. But then he proceeded to say that, if we so desired, we could just head to the onsite café to catch a quick glimpse. We thanked him and drove a short distance in the direction he pointed (which led into a parking garage), left the car behind, and walked in the only logical direction we could discern, eventually passing through some automatic sliding doors into what looked to be the year 2050.

In front of us were arranged a row of smallish white pods, each in its own docking station. Fighting flashbacks of Mork “hatching” from his egg-shaped spaceship, we walked a bit closer to one of the docks. As we approached, the automatic doors to the nearest pod quietly slid open. Not sure whether we were trespassing, we were momentarily frozen. A guard was casually looking in our direction and so not wanting to appear as if we didn’t belong, we stepped into the pod and sat down, the doors automatically closing behind us.

An LCD touch screen display beckoned us to press a green “play” arrow, which we discovered sends the pod off towards a pre-programmed destination. Just to be clear, this mode of transportation is unlike the automated trams you might take between terminals in an airport. Instead, these pods have wheels and drive independently of each other or of any sort track, giving you the eerie feeling that your vehicle has been hijacked by an unseen force (which it has, I suppose). Foster intended that Masdar City be car-free and pedestrian-friendly, and so consequently included these driverless electric cars to ferry people to various destinations on a circuit that runs throughout the complex. And of course, this also helps decrease the city’s carbon footprint.

During the relaxing, though somewhat unnerving, two-minute “drive” towards our unknown destination, we ascertained that the large area in which the pods moved was built beneath the city itself. This also fed into another design component that illustrates the way in which Foster combines modern technologies with traditional construction techniques: replicating a centuries-old practice, Masdar City is built atop a nearly 23-foot high base in order to capitalize on the greater wind velocity existing above ground level. As a result, the city is naturally cooled and thus requires less electricity to maintain comfortable temperatures.

Once we “docked,” and our pod’s doors opened, we exited, climbed a swirling staircase, walked through the nearest set of doors, and finally found ourselves in the city proper. As we looked around at the shade creating narrow pathways bordered by four-story buildings, I couldn’t help but think of the Souk at The Central Market, which incorporates a similar design. Additionally, the buildings, many of which are residential in nature, are covered in undulating panels inscribed with the familiar lattice work and mushrabiya patterns. I was later to learn that the panels are made of ethylene-tetrafluoroethylene, an extremely strong translucent plastic.

After walking down one of the narrow pathways, we came to what appeared to be a town square, filled with palm trees, fountains, and another nod by Foster to a traditional and sustainable method of cooling: a barjeel, or wind tower, which captures the strong winds above the city and uses their natural force to drive them downward into the city streets.

While Foster tends to rely on traditional methods to keep the city’s temperatures down, he looks to non-traditional ones when it comes to power generation. The city relies predominantly on solar energy, which is evidenced by the photovoltaic panels covering the rooftops of just about every building. And apparently, there is also a 54-acre field of giant solar panels outside of the city itself.

Once we completed our short walking tour of the city (it is a rather small area at this stage), we walked back to our pod in a slight state of wonder at what we had just seen. In the car on the way home (this time actually doing the driving), I couldn’t help but feel as if I’d been on a short holiday. With its creative synthesis of the age-old indigenous and contemporary non-indigenous, Masdar City’s vision of culturally and materially sustainable living is so unlike anything we experience in Abu Dhabi (perhaps with the exception of the Central Market’s Souk). Hopefully, this experiment will serve as an inspiration for Emiratis as they continue to forge their identity in this rapidly changing country.

A Norman Foster tour of Abu Dhabi: part 1

Living in Abu Dhabi has brought the unexpected benefit of witnessing the city’s nascent rise as a cultural center of the region, with perhaps the strongest innovations being in the area of architecture. “Surely sir, you jest!” might be the incredulous reply of those of us who are accustomed to seeing ubiquitous, god-awful amalgams of cement and glass around Abu Dhabi, testaments to the worst dehumanizing tendencies of modern Western architecture.

On our way to work or play, we drive past block after block of lifeless rows of buildings which look as if they were produced from the same mold, manufactured like so many widgets on an assembly line. Much of this type of construction was likely encouraged by an initial impulse of the UAE government back in the 1970s and 80s to hastily create an image of “sophistication” and “modernity” so as to be taken seriously on the global stage on which they were just beginning to find their footing. As a consequence, many structures were built without much thought for longevity, as they now stand in various states of decay.

Things began to change in the 90s with a realization that if the rapid pace of development continued, the Emirati cultural heritage would be in danger of being utterly lost. Consequently, an interest emerged in “vernacular architecture” which was basically an attempt to preserve indigenous architectural styles through the construction (or reconstruction) of historic buildings using past materials and methods, while also incorporating modern technologies like track lighting and air conditioning. Some examples of this can be found in Sharjah’s Old Quarter and in Dubai’s Bastakiya district.

While these attempts at preserving the past are both commendable and necessary, it seems to me that Emiratis in general are far more interested in looking toward the future. This is plainly evident in a number of architectural projects under development by Foster + Partners, led by one of the architectural trend setters of the world, Sir Norman Foster himself.

When my little sister, Ann, visited us in March, we set out to see two of Foster’s most recent projects, The Souk at Central Market, near the intersection of Airport Road and the Corniche, and Masdar City, out by the airport. I am by no means a trained architectural critic and so my thoughts on these structures are obviously only those of an interested layman. I suppose my main objective in even writing on these topics is to raise awareness about their existence and thus hopefully encourage others to visit them and form their own opinions.

Okay, on to the Central Market! Basically, this is a modern interpretation of the traditional souk, and it is a welcomed change from the seemingly endless proliferation of malls in Abu Dhabi. Ann and I went there one weekday afternoon shortly before its official opening, so most of the structure had been completed.

My first thought was, “Wow, this is super cool...but what an awful location!” As you can see from the photos, it is surrounded by some of those monstrosities alluded to earlier in the post, a number of which are extremely dilapidated at that! More importantly, no one side of it is exposed to any major public thoroughfare. As a result, its visibility is greatly reduced. I’m sure an argument can be made (and perhaps is made) that this is both an example of the way in which souks seamlessly fit into the communities of which they were a part as well as an attempt at urban renewal. If so, then the best of luck!

The exterior and interior façades are composed of a lattice work design mixed with the occasional mashrabiya that are certainly traditional in concept. This, coupled with the use of synthetic wood-like materials, give the building a warmth that is quite inviting. Once inside, one immediately notices the narrow passageway surrounded by high walls, a technique historically employed to provide shade in outdoor settings, yet we find it being deployed in an indoor one here. It seems then the objective here was to create the ethos of a traditional outdoor souk. For the most part, I think Foster succeeds.

Perhaps my favorite aspect of the building is the exquisite natural light which permeates every corner of the souk, also a direct consequence of the structure and design. I don’t think my photos do it justice so you’ll just have to go and see for yourself!

If we had driven there, I might instead be singing the praises of its parking. Yes, that’s right; finally a building in Abu Dhabi has been constructed with parking as more than an afterthought! While the souk itself has three levels of shops and restaurants, I was told that there would be five (count them five) levels of underground parking! The website claims that this is enough to accommodate 1300 cars. Bravo, Sir Foster, bravo.

In addition to ample underground parking, a multi-tiered roof creates a social space where one can grab a bite to eat, enjoy some sheesha, or just be outdoors when the weather complies. The experience there is mixed, however. While it’s well designed and pleasantly landscaped with greenery, the only view is of surrounding buildings, a few of which have paint-chipped facades and balconies crowded with clothes hung out to dry. Of course, the landscaping also serves a functional purpose in providing a sort of natural air-conditioning that minimizes the roof’s (and thus the building’s) temperature. This eye towards “green building” and sustainability is characteristic of Foster's.

To date though, Foster’s most concentrated attempt to merge architecture with sustainability perhaps has been Masdar City. After spending some time exploring the Souk at Central Market, Ann and I decided to make the drive out there to see for ourselves why Masdar City has received so much publicity.

Cafe Arabia: bridging East and West

Last night we attended a musical event at a new coffee shop in Abu Dhabi called Cafe Arabia. Actually, it has been open at least six months already but has only now appeared on our radar, likely due to it being ensconced in a villa along 15th Street. It's likely one of those places that will thrive on word of mouth alone, and fortunately we have nothing but praise for the establishment.

The two-story cafe feels much like an Arabian home, warmly decorated, and full of light and life. Colorful artwork and stylish handmade wares are displayed for sale throughout, and the walls are studded with portraits of important regional personalities, providing instant conversation starters. Ample seating in spacious quarters, including plush sofas and family-style dining tables, is configured to accommodate a quiet chat between old friends just as well a lively discussion among new ones. The scene is cozy yet stimulating, especially when accompanied by a slice of spiced cake (ask for "my mom's cake") and mug of sweet Chai Bil Hail.

Cafe Arabia is the brainchild of proprietor Aida Mansour, who has intentionally created an environment conducive to intercultural exploration by way of the arts and, of course, through food and drink. Menu items are inspired by Middle Eastern and European family recipes, and the cafe plays host to numerous community events, such as poetry readings, lectures, and music recitals, encouraging patrons to linger in conversation over mezze and mint lemonade. 

Which brings me back to last night, when British guitarist, Jason Carter, and Emirati oud performer, Faisal Al Saari, allowed their musical traditions to intertwine, playing pieces representing both East and West in perfect harmony, and riffing off each other to demonstrate their individual talents, all before a captivated audience of about 50 gathered around on chairs and floor cushions (aka "poofs") in the cafe's upper room. The evening was also meant to publicize a project headed by Carter, called Jisr al Wadi (literally "bridge over the river," or more loosely "bridging the gap"), which is an attempt to build community between disparate cultures through music, a language which requires no translation. 

Cafe Arabia is currently an anomaly in Abu Dhabi, but will hopefully inspire similar ventures. From the number enthusiastically in attendance last night, most of whom only first heard about the event that morning when it was announced at Saint Andrews, it is obvious that the culture-cafe concept fills a void.

Located at Villa #224/1 between 2nd and 24th - Map thanks to American Women's Network

Beirut or bust! (pt. I)

Beirut has been at the top of our list of cities to visit while living in the Middle East, especially for Sam, as it has just about everything a person interested in history, religion, architecture, urbanism, food and pop culture could ever want. We were all set to go last November, with flights and hotel booked, but because of a sudden spike in political instability at that time we switched at the last minute to Istanbul; not a bad trade, but one that left us all the more determined to see Beirut.

Despite all the turmoil in surrounding areas, Beirut has been calm lately, so this past weekend for Sam's birthday, we finally touched down on Lebanese soil. It was a quick, four-day trip, but we managed to tour American University of Beirut (AUB) and the surrounding district of Hamra, stroll the waterfront a couple of times, visit the major landmarks of the downtown area, and wander aimlessly through the narrow, Parisian-style streets of Gemmayzeh, popping into cafes, restaurants and pubs at every opportunity.

We also made it outside the city to the mountain region of Jeita, visiting the much-acclaimed Grotto (caverns), in the running to become one of the new seven wonders of the world. And we ventured even further north to the coastal town of Byblos (known to Arabs as Jbail), an ancient city dating back as early as 7000 BC, which has been inhabited and influenced by pretty much every major empire (Phoenicians, Greeks, Romans, Ottomans, etc, etc). Once a major port of the Mediterranean Sea, it is now a sleepy fishing village by day and trendy jet-setter destination by night, not to mention an archaeologist's dream.

Our photos are inadequate (many thanks to our temporary cheapo replacement camera), but hopefully will give you a glimpse of the raw beauty we found. Beirut is war-torn and beleaguered, but is a place determined to rebuild. Amidst rubble and shell-shocked reminders of the Lebanese Civil War are numerous development projects, including designer shopping centers, car dealerships and condominiums. 

And this will seem stereotypical, but literally, day or night, in cafes and parking lots, we spotted groups of locals spontaneously dancing to traditional ditties that seemed to be pumped into the atmosphere wherever we went. So many were eager to speak with us about their food and culture, their political views, or simply to practice their English. Despite a history marked by terror and tragedy, the Lebanese are full of life and looking for ways of expressing it.

AUB's campus - Spanish-mission style, built on rolling hills filled with lush cedars and flowering trees, all overlooking the Mediterranean, simply stunning!--

 Entire neighborhoods being renovated.--

Roman ruins in the middle of downtown.--

In Gemmayzeh, quaint streets lined with colorful old buildings,-- 

punctuated by bombed-out homes and peeling facades.--

A 12th-century Crusader castle, in Byblos,--

with its views of the village and ancient ruins, not to mention the Mediterranean.--

Looking back toward Beirut,--

where we and the fishermen enjoyed the Corniche by day--

and by night.--

Not a bad way to spend a birthday!--

Or is it...?

Between "the help" and a hard place

I had an epiphany this weekend that, short of being transported back in time, I doubt I could have understood without having lived in the UAE for a while.

It happened while watching the British television series, Downton Abbey, which portrays early twentieth-century life for a noble family and their servants on a sprawling country estate. In the second episode, a distant cousin, Matthew Crawley, who grew up as a middle-class doctor's son, is invited to live at the estate because it appears he will be the next heir to the family fortune.

Upon arrival, Matthew is overwhelmed by the slew of servants waiting to greet him. And then he is assigned a personal valet, a man several years older than himself, to wait on him hand and foot. The young heir-apparent proceeds to spend the first several days mildly annoyed that this man is always hovering, trying to help him put on his coat, pick out his clothes, and pour his tea. He repeatedly brushes the valet aside, saying "No need, I can handle it," and laments to his mother that he does not wish to be changed by his new-found station in life.

Finally, after Matthew tells the valet he doesn't need help with his cuff links, the following exchange takes place (paraphrased from memory)–

Matthew: "Surely you have better things to do?"

Valet: "This is my job, sir."

Matthew: "Well it seems a very silly occupation for a grown man."

Ouch.

In the same episode, Matthew tells the master of the estate, Lord Crawley, that he has no need for a valet, and Lord Crawley wisely replies, "Would you deny a man his livelihood?"

Double ouch.

Now, I have a hard time allowing people do things for me that I can easily do for myself, such as bagging my groceries, or finding my size of jeans on the rack in a clothing store, and I feel even more strongly disinclined if I'm not expected to pay for the service. I doubt I'd ever say it to a person's face, but I would probably feel similarly to Matthew Crawley if there was a servant in my room trying to help me put on my earrings in the morning. I would assume it a waste of her time and talents.

Living in Abu Dhabi, I have been faced with comparable scenarios on numerous occasions. Essentially, this is a caste-based society where certain nationalities are paid pittances to serve and dote on other certain nationalities, and tipping is not required nor expected. It is a place where the laws and customs of the land have not left much room for social mobility. At times, it feels a bit like England in 1912.

For example, there is a team of grown men at my office, all of South Asian descent, who are employed as custodians, for all intents and purposes. They clean the bathrooms, empty the waste baskets, and refill the copier paper, all respectable jobs that need doing. However, I have more than once heard them referred to as "boys" by my colleagues, who seem to think nothing of calling them in to fetch their tea or take their inter-office mail down the hall to the drop-box. As an American, it recalls an entire history of injustice that we've worked hard to overcome, and leaves me feeling queasy.

Just last week I was leaving work carrying my laptop, purse, and a large box; awkward, but manageable. But at the front door one of the aforementioned custodians offered to take the box and carry it the short distance to my car. I thanked him, but I would not let him take it. He insisted, even reaching for the box, but I insisted more firmly. My response was instinctive, and reflected a desire to demonstrate that I view him as someone of worth, who shouldn't have to bother with such trivial tasks on my behalf. But perhaps, like the Crawley heir, I was communicating quite the opposite.

So how does a person who is not in a position of power keep from perpetuating a system of prejudice, without "denying a man his livelihood"?

I don't know yet.

Responding to the death of an enemy

Two of my friends posted quotes on their Facebook pages in response to the news of Osama bin Laden's demise. A high school friend quoted Mark Twain:

‎"I've never wished a man dead, but I have read some obituaries with great pleasure."

I responded with a thumbs up.

A few hours later, a friend from grad school quoted Martin Luther King, Jr.:

"I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."

Again, I clicked the "Like" button.

These two contradictory statements precisely summarize my own conflicting emotions. When I was a child I had a pen pal who was a prisoner on death row. Many years later, after many denied appeals, he was finally executed. During this time I thought long and hard about my own beliefs on the topic, and ultimately decided that I could not condone the death penalty. It's complicated, I know, but ultimately my decision came down to the possibility of human error in judgment, and the capacity of every human to be reformed, not to mention the sanctity of life. People should be held responsible for their crimes, yes. They should be restrained from committing further crimes, yes. But I felt strongly that the path toward healing comes by way of reconciliation, not reciprocity.

Sam will be the first to point out to me all of the distinctions between the execution of a criminal tried in a court of peers and the killing of an enemy combatant. So don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that the killing of bin Laden is equivalent to administering the death penalty; it's not. And though I don't agree with the death penalty as a policy in the U.S., I'm also not saying that there is never a time to take a human life. There are too many variables to make such a blanket statement. But if I'm to be consistent with my own convictions about how I should respond when wronged, should I not instinctively feel remorse about bin Laden's death? But instead, my first reaction was more akin to Twain's sentiments.

Reflecting further, I realize that this is my first time to be on the side of the victim of a severe crime, finally seeing the perpetrator punished. Like all Americans of a certain age, I will never forget the images of 9/11, the rage and fear and grief they made me feel. Though we weren't all there in person, we were all assaulted that day. So while I understand, and initially joined in, the collective sigh of relief and vague sense of pleasure that he is gone from the earth, I am saddened by this response (and frankly a bit ashamed of some barbaric displays of elation I'm witnessing from others in the media). I still believe in the idea of love driving out hate that was so eloquently expressed by King; my goal is to be able to feel this way too, and behave accordingly.

A case for corruption?

When American politicians or foreign policy pundits analyze the activities of Muslim-majority countries, one point mentioned repeatedly is the pervasive corruption among the ruling elite. One oft cited example: Afghan president Hamid Karzai’s penchant for awarding top government positions to his friends and extended family. For many, this behavior in a Third World country is most likely not a surprise, yet it is not restricted to impoverished and quasi failed states. Here in the UAE, with a per capita GDP among the highest in the world, Shannon and I have encountered "corruption" in a few interesting ways.

During our first weeks in Abu Dhabi back in 2009, we had the great pleasure of navigating the corridors of bureaucracy in order to get our residence visas and work permits, driver’s licenses, and liquor license (yes you’re supposed to have one in order to purchase alcohol). On more than one occasion, our visa officer, assigned by Shannon’s company to act as our liaison in these transactions, walked us to the front of a long line in whatever government office we happened to be in and spoke animatedly in Arabic with the official behind the counter. Suddenly, our paperwork would be stamped as approved, and we would be on our way.

Seeing our bemusement and slight embarrassment for cutting in line, our liaison explained with a smile that he had “wasta.” It’s an Arabic term, and one of Shannon’s colleagues explained it as a sort of social bank account where deposits are made in the form of family status and influence, and withdrawals in the form of favors and deference. Those who don’t have the right family name can earn wasta by showing loyalty or doing favors for those who do. So, for example, a person with AED 50,000 worth of speeding tickets that has suddenly been reduced to AED 500, or whose job application gets moved to the top of the stack, has wasta.

As you might imagine, wasta plays a prominent role in the selection of personnel in the government ministries as well. After having some conversations with some expat friends who had lived here for a while, I learned that many positions in the various state ministries here are often assigned according to an individual’s standing in the tribal hierarchy (in Abu Dhabi’s case, the Bani Yas tribe). Hearing this offended my American sensibilities, which consider the use of public office for personal ends, or preferential treatment based upon one’s name, to be anathema when compared with a system of rules and merit. It seemed like, well, corruption.

At least that was how I felt until I read an article by Lawrence Rosen, in the Spring 2010 issue of The American Interest, that helped to shed a different light on the issue for me. Entitled, “Understanding Corruption” the article explores the differing cultural definitions of corruption held in some parts of the Muslim-majority world, as opposed to those typically held in America (and the West in general). Interestingly, though perhaps not surprisingly, people in this part of the world have a different conception of corruption than the one more commonly held in the West.

Rosen writes:

Corruption is the failure to share any largess you have received with those with whom you have formed ties of dependence. Theirs is a world in which the defining feature of a man is that he has formed a web of indebtedness, a network of obligations that prove his capacity to maneuver in a world of relentless uncertainty. It is a world in which the separation of impersonal institutions from personal attachments is very scarce. Failure to service such attachments is thus regarded as not only stupid but corrupt. 

So, whereas Americans might conceive corruption as a lack of deference to individual qualifications, societies similar to the UAE would conceive of corruption as a lack of deference to communal relationships. This is not to say that Americans don’t appreciate family or that Emiratis don’t laud personal productivity, because they both do. However, their hierarchies of value differ. To illustrate, think about the standard greeting among Americans: "How are you?" Or better, "What's up?" In this exchange, the initiator often doesn't expect, or even care, to receive a real answer. Contrast this with the standard greeting among Arabs: "Salaam Alaykum" (translated "peace be upon you"). By invoking peace upon the other person, the initiator expects peace to be invoked on his behalf (in the form of "Wa Alaykum Asalaam", or "And upon you be peace"). If the person doesn't respond in kind, it is a direct affront.

I now find it easier to understand this mindset, but I still have reservations. Rosen points out that while this reciprocal back-scratching model seems to function in smaller communities, where everyone knows each other and all exist in relations of mutual indebtedness, it is not as easily applied in large, urban, and now globalized environments, where familiar life long relationships are replaced with impersonal ones more transactional in nature. What’s the use of bribing a clerk if he doesn’t know you and thus will likely never need help from you?

The danger, then, is for this to evolve into a system that does not serve to promote social bonds, where favors are expected for those with wasta but are no longer mutually beneficial for giver as well as receiver. The extreme logical conclusion is that the marginalized members of society, those who have become powerless to operate effectively within the structured order, might decide collectively that they want to change the now-corrupt system. And of course, this has been one of the primary motivations for the protests in Tunisia, Egypt, Jordan, and Libya.

How the other half goes to the movies

Every year, prior to the Academy Awards, Sam and I attempt to see all of the movies that are nominated for Best Picture that year, and then we compete with each other on Oscar night to see who correctly predicts the winners in the most categories (it's very official; we use ballots and everything). We've done this as long as I can remember, and I believe Sam has won every year - thanks to his upbringing and wicked smarts, he's darn good at it!

This tradition has been significantly more challenging in the UAE, as there is usually a lag time of a month or two before films make it over here, and then the good ones seem to stay only a week. And let me just say that doubling the amount of nominees from 5 to 10 has not only diluted the weight of the honor, but has made our annual attempt much more expensive! We also can't actually watch the Oscars live here since we don't have satellite; besides, they air at 5 am our time. But we press on, and are actually 9 for 10 this year, with Black Swan being the only exception (it probably won't ever release here).

Two weekends ago we noticed that The King's Speech was finally showing, so we went to Marina Mall Cinema at the scheduled time only to be told there was a problem with the film and it wouldn't show after all. So we drove across town to the Khalidiyah Mall Cinema, to find out it was only playing in "Platinum Class" for a whopping 100 dirhams ($28) per person! We asked if the film would be available anytime soon at the regular price of 30 dirhams and were informed that this was the last day it would be in theaters at all. After a private consultation, Sam and I agreed we had come too far to turn back and coughed up the extra dough. 

So, what does 100 dirhams get you at the movies? Well, not much. We were directed to a separate entrance to sit in a private lobby that looked, well, like a smaller version of the main lobby. I visited the "platinum class" bathroom to see what extra amenities I might find, but apart from a more stylish sink basin, it was the same as the regular class bathroom (and out of paper too). Our movie was shown in a smallish room with a smallish screen, with just two distinct differences from a regular-priced movie: 

1. Rather than wait in line at a concessions counter, theater employees come around to your seats to take snack orders. There are no special offerings; same candy, same prices as always, but in Platinum Class you get to listen to everyone around you give their orders during the previews, then wait until 20 minutes into the movie to get your M&Ms, all the while being distracted by the waiters attempting to discreetly distribute popcorn in the dark (not an easy feat).
2. The seats! Everyone gets their own personal Barcalounger (aka Lazy Boy), soft as a baby's bottom and fully reclinable. We took off our shoes (everyone was doing it) and settled in for the duration, deciding the ticket was worth every last dirham.

Egyptian solidarity: the Quran and the cross

Along with the rest of the world, Shannon and I have been watching the exciting, and sometimes tragic, events unfolding in Egypt as of late, feeling especially interested given our brief tour of Egypt last year and due to the large number of Egyptians expats residing here in the UAE. There are many things I could say to comment on the situation. But for now I'll highlight one phenomenon that I've found particularly moving, and that is the interfaith solidarity between the Muslims and Coptic Christians who are protesting against Mubarak. Historically, and especially in the few months preceding the revolution, there have been tensions between the two groups, but despite their differences they have been able to come together to forge a better future for Egyptians.

Muslim and Christian cleric together in Tahrir Square (Anonymous Source) 

On January 28^th, the first day of truly massive protests, the Coptic Christians formed perimeters around a number of mosques in order to protect those inside who were engaged in their Friday noon prayers. And later in the week, when thousands of protesters had gathered in Tahrir Square, many Muslims paid back the favor and guarded the Coptic Christian priests as they performed mass. Truly inspiring! Let’s hope this behavior continues in the post-Mubarak Egypt and serves as a model for interfaith dialogue and collective action for others around the world.

Christians form protective perimeter around Muslims as they pray in Tahrir Square (Anonymous Source)

You won't find this on Groupon

I recently took this photo from the passenger seat while Sam drove behind a city bus (thus the poor quality as it was taken through glass, completely zoomed in, while moving). It's an advertisement for coupons in various increments that people can buy to contribute to a less fortunate Muslim family's observance of Eid al-Adha (which was in November, but I only now saw the ad for the first time).

Left to right, the coupons read "Eid Clothing", "Adha (Sacrifice)", and "Easing Haj"

Eid al-Adha, which means Festival of Sacrifice, is the period following the Haj, or pilgrimage to Mecca, when Muslims remember Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son, Ishmael, to God, and the graciousness of God in providing an animal to sacrifice instead. Sound familiar? The Torah, and thus the Christian Old Testament, has a very similar account with one major difference – the name of the son (Isaac rather than Ishmael).

In the Eid al-Adha tradition, Muslims divide up the sacrificed meat into three equal parts, one for the family to keep, one to give to friends, and the third to give to the poor. It's a noble concept, and before you get all huffy about the death of innocent animals, I'd just like to point out that all of us non-vegetarians regularly sacrifice them to our stomachs, with much less significance attached.

So, the idea of using a filthy city bus to raise money for people to sacrifice animals to Allah is somewhat disturbing to me. Combine that with the use of coupons, and it seems downright offensive. Not that I blame the marketing company for following an instinct to use all the modern methods at its disposal, but it seems like such an unholy way to fulfill a holy tradition. It calls to mind images of a concessions vendor at a baseball game, weaving through the crowd, yelling "Popcorn, peanuts, sacrificial rams. Get 'em while they're hot!"

Sam has just rightly pointed out to me that similar crudeness likely occurs during efforts of the Christian faith to raise money for its charities (in fact, our own church once organized a casino night as a fundraising event to refurbish the church grounds; which may seem like a contradiction in interests to some), so I'd like to add that I'm not limiting my critique to the Muslim faith, just to those who promote the sacred with coupons.

Now that's what I call a holiday

I graduated from a high school in Texas that was very rich in tradition, a large part of that tradition centering on, you guessed it, football (American, that is). During football season, rituals surrounding each game (Practices, pep-rallies, pre-game dinners, prayers, post-game dinners) were followed religiously by everyone involved. And even if we lost a game, nothing gave us greater pride than singing the school song beneath those lights on the field.

Several years after my graduation, a new high school, called Reagan, was formed in our district, a bit further north in town. Many faculty members, coaches and students were annexed into the new school, some likely without consent, and I have to wonder what kind of school spirit was present in those early years. The school board must have sat around and chosen a mascot, the colors, and a song. And I guess whatever happened the first year probably became tradition by the second year. In order to survive against its rivals on the football field or other arena, the school must have been forced to fabricate an identity for its students as quickly as possible.

I think of the UAE sometimes as that new, shiny high school, suddenly coming into existence and having to compete like it had been around forever, and needing a national identity that would unite its citizens beyond cultural or tribal ties that previously bound them. By necessity, like the board at Reagan High, the founders of the UAE too had to choose a flag, a national anthem, a bird, and other symbols that would one day would elicit pride from its people. The day on which they began this process was December 2, 1971, UAE National Day, the date of the region’s independence from the British Empire and the beginning of the formation of the seven emirates into one nation.

Last year we were in Beijing on UAE National Day and so while we witnessed the build-up in the days before, namely the decorating of cars and buildings in flags and images of the sheikhs (as shown here), we missed the day itself.

We’d heard that it is quite a scene in Abu Dhabi, especially along the water’s edge (the Corniche), so this year we made it our intention to witness it. Yesterday, we made our way from our apartment to the Corniche on foot, camera in tow, to record our findings on the ground.

Now, imagine the Fourth of July, Halloween, Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, Christmas, New Year's Eve in Times Square, and let's say, the streets of Boston on the night the Red Sox won the World Series, all rolled into one night on a small island in the middle of the Arabian Gulf, and there you have UAE National Day. Okay, that might be slightly exaggerated, but there were certainly elements of each of these celebrations present throughout the evening. And it was pandemonium, pure and simple.

We finally understood the reason for the decorated cars, as the highway along the Corniche had been transformed into a parade route, each car becoming a float of sorts. The cars were not only decorated but their engines suped up. Combined with the horns and noisemakers they were all carrying, the result was very, very loud.

Rather than smile and wave at the crowd lining the streets, the parade participants were armed with endless amounts of silly string, spray foam, and confetti, which they used to raid each other's cars as they rode from one end of the Corniche to the other. 

The young Emiratis, many decked out in crazy wigs, hats and masks, rode atop many of the cars so they could jump off at a moment's notice to take part in this celebratory warfare.

While thousands of expatriate laborers, who finally had a day off, looked on in amusement, or perhaps bemusement.

As the afternoon turned into evening, exquisite light displays on buildings and along the corridors began to show up against the dark sky.

And the event took on a carnival-like feel, with rides and musicians, large families eating picnics on the grass, kids chasing each other in the sand, and older kids setting off firecrackers. We missed it, but apparently there was a fireworks display later on. We have to hand it to the UAE; maybe they haven't been around all that long, but they know how to throw a party. And they seem to have achieved that all-important "school spirit," as national pride was tangible in the air.

Death of a monarch; life in a monarchy

Yesterday heading out to my favorite lunch spot, I noticed this --

It's hard not to notice when one of the tallest flagpoles in the world has its flag at half-mast. And when I returned to work I quickly learned the reason was that Sheikh Saqr al-Qasimi had died (he was 90 so it seems of natural causes). He was the ruler of Ras al Khaimah, one of the seven emirates, which we recently drove through for the first time on our way to the Musandam Peninsula. The UAE is now in a seven-day mourning period.

I began reading a bit about Sheikh Saqr and found his life to be pretty inspiring. He was one of the longest-reigning monarchs in the world and saw the UAE through its entire transformation from barren nomadic territories to bustling metropolises.

Reading about his legacy I was struck by the use of words such as “bloodless coup”, “dynasty”, and “line of succession.” These are concepts that don’t affect my daily life in any noticeable way, so it’s somewhat jarring to think about them describing not some far off place once upon a time, but the here and now. It suddenly hit home that I live in a monarchy.

What's more, apparently there has been a bit of royal family drama surrounding the Sheik Saqr’s succession. I won't go into the details here, but it's the kind of stuff you read about in history books or fairy tales (before the happy ending), and include words like "depose" and "exile." With all that is circulating online, and the UAE government's disinclination for divulging its dirty laundry, it's difficult to know the hard facts. Whatever the case, Saqr's fourth son and Crown Prince, Sheikh Saud, has been appointed as the new ruler of Ras-al-Khaimah. Next week the flags will be raised and life in this monarchy will go on.

Arabian nights at the movies

I love movies. Many of my most fond and vivid childhood memories relate to them in some way. Examples: 1) the electrifying thrill when my dad came home from work with an undisclosed VHS tape in hand and put it into our brand new VCR…Return of the Jedi…the sonic explosion of John Williams’ score almost put me into cardiac arrest; 2) realizing even at the tender age of twelve that Nick and Nora Charles (of Thin Man fame) were just about the coolest couple ever to grace the movie screen; and 3) watching the Oscars every year with my family as we enjoyed grilled hotdogs, heavily buttered popcorn, and movie candy (Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups for me).

Well, just as fine dining is a scarce commodity here in Abu Dhabi (see Shannon’s merciless entry here), so are quality films. Movie theaters are ubiquitous to be sure, but typical offerings are Hollywood and Bollywood blockbusters rather than the more cinematically adventurous and thought-provoking films I have come to appreciate in adulthood. Don’t get me wrong, there is a time and place for movies meant primarily to entertain or whisk you away from your troubles, but I believe there is also a time and place for movies which challenge you emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually.

So I am thrilled to say that we are currently in the middle of the Abu Dhabi International Film Festival! Alhamdulillah (Arabic for “thanks be to God”)! This week literally hundreds of independent films from all over the world are being shown in a number of different venues, including the seven-star hotel of hotels, the Emirates Palace, where the red carpet opening ceremonies were held (Julianne Moore, Adrien Brody, and Clive Owen were in attendance!).

Just before the opening credits at the Marina Mall Theaters

Two nights ago, I attended the screening of a number of short films made by Emirati and Qatari students which provided some fascinating insights into the culture here in the Gulf. One film, Second Wife, explored the love so many Emirati men have for their cars, even to the point that some fall into significant debt. Shannon wrote about this fascinating phenomenon in a previous blog entry. Personally, I think this near obsession with the fast and the furious stems from the Bedouin code which highly values courage (hamasa) and manliness (muruwa).

Another Emirati film explored a further reason many Emirati men steep themselves in debt: the dowries that they pay to their bride’s family. The Dowry showed that even though the late Sheikh Zayed (the UAE’s first president) established a fund for dowries to avoid this very thing, “bride wars” and the impossibly high expectations for extravagant weddings which have resulted are creating some social stresses as newlywed couples find themselves in debt from the get-go.

I was impressed with the way in which a few of the films fearlessly tackled some real hot-button issues here in the Gulf. Am Arab looked at the degree to which students in the UAE are learning English at the expense of Arabic, and to such an extent that most graduate from university here with a better knowledge of formal English than formal Arabic. I know, it sounds crazy, but it’s true! In the English classes that I teach I have high-performing students who are afraid that they’ll fail their Arabic courses. They have no problem speaking in their own dialect of Arabic, but they struggle with reading and writing in classical Quranic Arabic. A debate has been going on here for a while between those who say that the students need to be well versed in English in order to compete in the global marketplace and those who believe more emphasis on Arabic is required to preserve cultural identity, especially in a country where the Emiratis constitute just 20 percent of the population.

I was particularly interested in one of the Qatari documentaries, Lady of the Rosary, which examined Qataris’ perceptions of a Catholic Church on the outskirts of Doha. My interest was piqued because of the recent Ground Zero mosque controversy in New York which grabbed so many headlines a few months ago. Of course, a Catholic Church on the Arabian Peninsula, home to the centers of Islam, Mecca and Medina, is bound to encounter some criticism, but I was surprised by the number of those who believed that Christians in Doha have every right to worship as they desire. For many, their “Golden Rule” like logic was simple: countries with majority-Christian populations provide places for us to worship as Muslims so then we should provide places for them to worship according to their own faith. Of course there were those who opposed the church’s placement in Doha, but they were in the definite minority of those interviewed.

I realize that everything presented in the documentary was anecdotal and not based on scientific polling, but it was still refreshing to hear these voices. And I can say that here in the UAE, I have felt free to worship as a Christian. In fact, Sheikh Mohammed, the Crown Prince of Abu Dhabi, has pledged a very generous donation to help pay for our church compound’s renovations!

Overall, I must say that I was impressed with the documentaries. Many of them were pleasing to the eye, ear, and mind. So far, so good. This evening, Shannon and I will be seeing Miral, a multigenerational saga directed by Julian Schnabel (director of The Diving Bell and the Butterfly) about four Arab women living in Jerusalem from the late 1940s to present. Perhaps I’ll have a word or two to say about that, but until then, the majlis is closed.

Lunch-break language barrier

Today I ate lunch at one of my new favorite spots – a tiny strip of manmade land, no wider than a two lane road that juts out from the main island of Abu Dhabi. I can park my car right along the water and get an unobstructed view of a small bay and the Gulf beyond. It’s still too hot to eat outside so I had to stay in my car with the ac going, but it was worth it for the change of scenery (plus I could listen to a podcast of This American Life while I ate).

The view from my car—

You’ll agree it’s a big improvement from where I spend the rest of my work day and often find myself eating lunch (there’s a whole other story behind that, and it’s not because I have too much work to do) —

Notice the “privacy panes” lining the 360 degrees of glass walls surrounding my desk. Do those stripes remind you of anything?

But I digress.

After I finished my sandwich I decided I could brave the midday sun for a few minutes and snap some better pictures of my surroundings. So I got out of the car and took these—

That's Marina Mall in the distance, our home away from home when we first moved here and were furnishing our apartment.

I grew tired of the mall, but I never get tired of that turquoise water.

Just as I snapped this last shot I heard the voice of a young man call to me from behind, “Hey!”

I ignored it at first, assuming it wasn’t meant for me; but, there it was again, “Hey!” 

I turned around to find a fancy white SUV, driven by an Emirati male, about 19 or so, attended by two of his buddies. He waved me over to the car.

I don’t usually go up to cars full of men when I’m by myself, but this was a very public place in broad daylight. I could tell their intent was friendly, so I walked a bit closer.

“You take picture,” the young driver said in broken English.

Trying to interpret his meaning, several scenarios quickly played in my mind: a) He could be commenting on the fact that I was indeed taking pictures (too obvious for words), b) He could be asking if he could take my picture (not likely given what I know of Emirati men), or c) He could be asking that I take a picture of him with his friends (except he wasn't holding out a camera to me).  

As the wheels in my head were turning, he kept repeating “You take picture,” with a goofy grin on his face.  Finally, I got it – “Oh,” I said, “you want me to take your picture and send it to you?”

A flash of confusion crossed his face, but he nodded slightly and repeated his phrase again, this time gesturing towards my camera.

I was also confused. What an odd request. I mean, now I would have to write down his email address and remember to send it to him, and then he’d have my email address and that would be awkward and probably inappropriate. As if to confirm my analysis, though, he said emphatically “You won’t forget.” And I thought, how presumptuous of him to ask for this favor and then demand that I follow through.

But it seemed he was determined so I figured I'd take his picture, and then try to discuss the logistics. I raised my camera to three smiling faces and said, “Cheese.”

Notice the Ray-bans and the Calvin Klein t-shirt. 

The driver asked if he could see the photo, flashed a huge smile of approval at what he saw on the camera viewfinder, handed it back to me, and just as I was about to get down to the business of obtaining his contact info, he drove off!

All at once it hit me what had just happened. He had noticed me taking pictures of the water, assumed I was a tourist, and thought he’d give me the best gift of all, a snapshot of a real live group of Emiratis in traditional dress. When he said “you won’t forget,” I thought he was telling me not to forget to email him the picture, but actually he was saying, “I will allow you to take my picture so you won’t forget your experience in Abu Dhabi.”  

Again, I thought how presumptuous he was, but kind of sweet in his innocent assumption that I would want this. And I do. So I guess he was right.