United Arab Emirates

We’re not in Kansas any more Toto. First picture is from the roof of the villa, second is the turn off to the camel race track.

Wind storms have been blowing hard the past few days. Everything in the villa is coated in a fine layer of sand. My hair feels thick with grit. Did I mention that it’s also hot, and the villa is located 30 minutes outside of Abu Dhabi, in a relatively new development that looks like a wasteland on the ass end of the moon? As some local wag put it, “Wall to wall f**k all” as far as the eye can see.

Not many of the villas in this area are occupied yet. The view from the roof is very strange. Rows upon rows of similar looking sand coloured villas. No street signs, no colour, no signs of any kind. No movement, no life. Rare to see a car, let alone anyone walking about. As I said, wall to wall f**k all. There is however a camel ranch on a nearby hillside that we drive by. You can see them silhouetted against the sky at night. Exotic until you get up close and smell them.

Had a bit of an adventure the other night, and learned that when you punch any key on your cell phone to illuminate the screen, it makes a handy little flashlight.

The friend who has the villa had left for leave overseas, so a buddy and I were bunked out sound asleep (the cognac helped). About 2:30 am my cell rings. It’s the friend calling from London to say he’s had a call from the property manager, who in turn had been called by the tenant in the apartment (separate, onside) to say the power was out and there was water pouring out of the kitchen, which was locked. That got my attention. At the same time, I could hear somebody pounding on the door downstairs. Ran down, pulling on my shorts, all the while talking to the friend in the UK on the cell. Rang off to step outside with the tenant. Stepped into a torrent of water streaming across the stone patio. Water was gushing out from under the kitchen door, and I could hear a raging torrent inside. Back into the villa to rouse the buddy (who thought I was nuts), found the keys, back to the kitchen.

The kitchen has a door ledge, which meant I stepped into a couple of inches of water. Never occurred to me that it might be electrified. It wasn’t. The cord on the floor had already shorted and tripped the breaker. The tenant didn’t have a torch, so there I was groping under the sink using my cell as a light. Every few seconds I’d have to hit another key to get the illumination back. Turns out the hot water line had blown it’s connection under the sink. Incredible pressure. Water everywhere.

We found the fuse box, got the lights back on, and fortunately found there is a drain in the floor of the kitchen, and were able to open it after some work. The kitchen floor is stone, so no damage. Swept the water into the drain, tidied up a bit, then decided a cold beer was in order. The property manager (a Brit) showed up soon after and joined us for a beer under the stars on the patio. What else are you going to do at 3:00 am when you’re wide awake?

As one sign of building standards, our front door handle to the villa is a pair of vice grips right now. The latch is of such poor quality that it broke of the other day. Now, we have the vice grips locked on to the nub of the remaining handle until Peter returns and get a local guy to come out and replace it.

In honour of St. Patrick’s Day, we’re going to skip the fake Irish pub at the Hilton Hotel and go to the Rotana Beach Hotel for German food. Don’t want to hang out with a bunch of people assuming fake Irish accents and drinking green beer.

Cheers,

Mark