Where's Leo the Lobster? #2

Where's Leo the Lobster?

A classroom at Sheikh Zayed's Palace in Al Ain!  The Sheik was the first president of UAE and the royal children were taught by private tutors in this simple one-room school during the years 1937-1966

Where's Leo the Lobster? #1

After many technical challenges trying unsuccessfully to email and text my Leo the Lobster photos (read about it here), I've decided to put them on the blog so my children and both their classes can see.  I had originally intended to send 2 emails:  the first with a closeup of Leo (and opportunity for the children to take some guesses) and a second with his actual location.  But, the Leo photos are piling up without being sent, so time to troubleshoot.  I hope it's still fun for the kids!

Here we go....

Where's Leo the Lobster?

At Dubai International Airport!

the call to prayer

In Muslim countries, the call to prayer occurs 5 times per day.  You hear it played over loudspeakers at prescribed times of the day.  The five prayer calls and their time today (Sept 19) in Al Ain were:

1.  Fajr (between beginning of dawn and sunrise) - 4:48am
2.  Dhuhr (noon) - 12:11pm
3.  Asr (late afternoon) - 3:38pm
4.  Maghrib (evening) - 6:17pm
5.  Isha (night) - 7:49pm.

Since I haven't really been sleeping, I've heard the Fajr most mornings I've been here.  It is low and hauntingly beautiful.  In the early morning, you can hear crickets chirping over the sound of the call.  (I tried to record it from the balcony of my hotel but you can only hear the crickets!)  I've also heard the call played in the afternoon when we have been at the local government office of our client.  If you click here, you can hear a call recorded in Dubai and see what it sounds like.  The content of each prayer is prescribed for Muslims, who can pray any time from the call until it's time for the next prayer.

My new friend Imane was generous enough to allow me to watch her complete one of her prayers yesterday.  First, Muslims are required to wash the face (mouth, nose), hands, arms and feet.  Then, you stand at the edge of a small prayer rug facing in the direction of Mecca.  Next, you recite parts of the Koran as you stand, bend, prostrate (kneel and place forehead on floor), then return to standing.  Depending on the time of day, this sequence is repeated 3 or 4 times.  All major buildings are equipped with prayer rooms for the faithful to use.

It seems to me that pausing for several minutes throughout the day is a really nice way to be grateful and maintain a focus on what's really important.  I find hearing the call to prayer to be quite inspiring.  #ibmcsc uae

a taste of the exotic

Mangosteen

Imane grabbed my arm and waved her other hand to follow her.  "You must try deez, Melanie, you will love it."

She led me around the dessert buffet, past white china platters of small chocolate, mango, and multicolored confections to fresh fruit arranged by type in neat rows.  Bananas, oranges, red apples, green apples.  It wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I said I was considering dessert, glancing back at a black forest cake on a pedestal.

"Yes, this one," she said, pointing to a bowl with red spheres covered in green spikes.  "You must try zeez one."

Mangosteen cut up, showing white edible part and red shell


She paused, scanning the fruit.  "Ah yes, zere it eez.  Zeez one too," and she pointed to a smooth purplish-black sphere, capped with a stiff leaf and thick stem.  

"Ugh, Imane.  Are you kidding me?  That looks like a red sea urchin.  And this one... I don't know.  It looks like it might be rotting.  I don't know."

"You are a vegetarian, you weel love it.  Take it and eat," she responded.

Rambutan

The mangosteen has a red squishy shell that you cut through with a knife.  Inside are small white sections:  this is the part you eat.  It is sweet and juicy and complex  - the closest thing I can compare it to is a mango.  I think a rambutan looks like an eyeball after you peel off the spiky skin.  It is also white inside and you eat around a small seed.  It's not juicy or as flavorful as the mangosteen but it is sweet.  My teammates said it's like a lychee but I've only ever tasted the nasty ones we get in a can in the U.S., which I think are gross.  Apparently, canned lychee are no comparison to fresh ones.  Great fun to taste some new foods!  #ibmcsc uae

Rambutan, peeled (you eat the white part)

Rambutan with bite gone!  See the brown seed?

a most auspicious beginning

Imane got the call about an hour before our first meeting with our client, the local government of Al Ain.

"We need to go to the VIP entrance," she said, "I don't know where that is."

I clutched the door and looked at her, cocking my head to the side.  "VIP entrance?  We're going in a VIP entrance?  Seriously?  That's good, right?"

She jerked her widened eyes toward me.  "Of course.  This is very good."

Several minutes later we pulled up to a small guard station with a white gate.  The guard ventured out, nodded in the direction of the large entrance in front of us and the gate glided heavenward.  Imane gleefully parked and, with the rest of the team emptying from two taxis, the 12 of us walked toward the large glass doors.

Inside, sunlight streamed through high windows onto a gleaming marble floor.  To the left, a red striped tent with gold fringe and perimeter couches and pillows encouraged distinguished visitors to sit.  Men and women in traditional clothes strolled across balconies and through hallways in every direction.  We retreated into our tent to wait.

Eventually we would be ushered through the hallways lined with a rainbow of different marbles to a conference room where the meeting would be held.  We sat around a large U-shaped wooden table, stashing bags, straightening suits and anxiously chattering.  Three men in thawbs joined us with a brief greeting.  A woman in a layered black chiffon abaya floated into the room, only her black outlined eyes visible.  She spoke briefly with one of the men and floated out again, chiffon layers wafting behind her.  Two women in abaya floated into the room - intricate black beading sparkled from her sleeves.  When she crossed her legs, the hem of her abaya yielded royal blue suede platform heels.  Small crystals sprinkled all over the shoulders of the other woman's abaya twinkled like stars as she moved.   Finally, the meeting began with a round of introductions.

The wooden door opened quietly.  A man in a charcoal-colored pinstriped vest, matching cravat and charcoal pants hurried into the room with a small tray.  He sat a red and gold patterned demitasse cup in front of each of us and hurried out of the room.  I pressed the small cup to my mouth and tasted bitter coffee combined with orange and rose.  In a few moments, the waiter scurried in with a small silver tray and collected the cups.  A little while later, he returned with lidded plastic cups of water, then with small gold-rimmed glass mugs of sweet hot tea.  No sooner had I sipped the tea, then the Emiratis stood and announced that a coffee break had been prepared for us in the hallway.

We filed out of the room to find a table had appeared.  It was covered in lavender satin and topped with a light blue chiffon fabric.  On the table was an appetizing array of crustless tea sandwiches, pastries and other foods, precisely arranged with carrot flowers, nestled in beds of shredded lettuce on large silver trays.  A silver pot, silverware and china plates with a silver pattern anchored the corner of the table.  We were ushered to eat.

"Our intent is to feed you well while you are here," said our sponsor, smiling.

We returned to the meeting, then received a tour of the offices, including the location of various individuals who would be our collaborators and points of contact during the project.  We wound snakelike through the marbled halls, past carved wooden doors, to a carved wooden double door in a corner.  It was half closed.  I peeked inside, not seeing where the trail I was following had gone.  Four men in white thawbs turned from their conversation to glance at me. I stopped abruptly, then took a step backward toward the hallway.  They gestured that I should continue into the office.  I walked through a large office with an enormous multicolored flower bouquet and heavy wooden desk, across an emerald carpet, through another set of double doors.  Inside was a large room with blue couches positioned around its ivory walls adorned with fancy wood moulding.  Members of the team were sitting in a wave on the couches and I filed in systematically, taking my place in the far corner.  The two women in abayas, who I had been casually chatting with as we walked through the halls, sat on the couch beside me.  Then the three Emirati men sat on another couch.  Four pairs of eyes stared down from portraits of several sheiks.  I recognized one as the first President of the UAE and another as the current President, his son.

After several minutes, the doors opened and an older man in a thawb slowly shuffled in.  The Emiratis stood abruptly and the rest of the team stood in a wave.  The older man went to each of us, briefly clasped our hand in his soft one, then sat with the other men.  Everyone else sat down too.  Each couch's inhabitants chatted among themselves for several minutes.   Then, cued by the Emiratis, we abruptly jerked to standing as the elder slowly walked back toward the double doors.  We had just met the mayor of Al Ain.  #ibmcsc uae

street scenes in al ain

Main thoroughfare with shopping

Lots of construction everywhere

Mosque 

Racing into a traffic circle

first glimpse of al ain

Imane, our local facilitator, directed us toward the entrance of the hotel as she rapid-fired instructions for retrieving her car and obtaining taxis for the 10 minute ride to Al Ain Mall for lunch.  After a morning of meetings in a small conference room in the hotel that would be our workspace for the month, we were eager to get out.  We would eventually arrive at a lavish curtained cafe with low tables surrounded by couches and regular tables with mismatched wooden chairs.  Glass-doored refrigerators filled with pasteries, cakes, petit fours lined the rose wallpapered walls around gleaming glass cases filled with additional confections.  A riot of rose, lavender and mint-green lights filled the ceiling.  The overall effect was a Shabby Chic meets Lawrence of Arabia style made disconcerting by the Shakespeare & Co name on the sign.  At a back table, three abaya-clad women huddled around a young boy.  Two men in Western clothes sat at the opposite end of their table.  Another pair of men slouched on couches near the entrance, folds of white fabric spilling around them, talking over coffee and a small white plate of cookies.

We would learn that Imane is from Morocco, obtained her MBA in Washington DC and now lives in Dubai.  She spoke rapidly, her voice rising and falling with emphasis as her hands wound circles to emphasize her points.  She talked of trips to Morocco, Paris, London, Nepal; friends who worked for fine hotels and World Bank; her young marriage of 4 years; and her love of classical music and Vienna.  She emphasized that the real speed limit on the road between Dubai and Al Ain is 140, not the 120 posted on signs.  And yet, her smooth olive skin, brown curls down her back and chocolate eyes suggested she had scarcely had enough time to obtain her vast worldly experience.

When we eventually strolled back into the gleaming mall, it had become far more crowded than when we had arrived.  The bleached white fabrics of men and black shrouds of women drifted around our group in every direction, like ghosts swirling through an otherwise colorful retail scene.  Flat moving sidewalks glided their passengers diagonally across space toward the second and third floors.  Even among the all-black women's clothes, there was startling variety:  intricate flowered beading, lace, black sequins, fully covered faces, a small rectangle of eyes and skin or faces showing.  Occasionally, I would spy a shoe:  black stillettos, sneakers, plastic flip flops.  The team met back at a small indoor ice skating rink where Emirate children griped walkers to stay upright under the watchful eye of their parents.

We decided to visit the Palace of Sheikh Zayed, the first President of UAE and beloved ruler who united the Emirates into today's federation.  He was born in Al Ain and his former home is now a museum that opened in 2001.  As he wished, the Sheikh Zayed Palace is maintained as he lived in it during 1937 to 1966, as a reflection of the culture prior to the boom of oil wealth.  Today, prolific construction expands Al Ain across the sand, not into the sky, because the Sheikh decreed that no buildings could be taller than the palace.

The simple, austere concrete structure included a dispersed set of rooms, most without furniture, around a large central courtyard with a well and low desert flowers and succulents.

Courtyard from inside facing main gate

Palace tower from outside

Internal courtyard

In some rooms, large pillows were set around the perimeter of the room or a woven grass floor covering was adorned with carpets. Upstairs bedrooms for the Sheikh, Sheikha Fatima and children included only a small bed.  As the sun set over the palace, the sun gleamed cast shadows through wooden railings and the burnt orange painted concrete began to glow.  #ibmcsc uae

Coffee room

Receiving room for guests

Setting sun pattern through railing on upper banister