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India: I for Idiot?

Posted by daveb on November 26th, 2008

I’m stood wearing my backpack staring into the mirror in the luxurious bathroom in my sister’s UAE apartment wondering, “am I ready to do this again?”. Later today, I will be leaving the UAE and flying to India. Alone. Claire left for the UK three days ago to help her soon-to-be-wed best friend, Naomi, choose a wedding dress. I recall that the The Rough Guide to the First-Time Around the World book indicates that travelling alone is a good way to build confidence and one can wander as one pleases, without having to reach a quorum with others first. I really enjoy travelling with Claire: in addition to all the great things we have together, we lead each other through the inevitable dilemmas in which we find ourselves. Alas, now it’s my turn to go it alone.

For a soft introduction to what is renowned as one of the most difficult countries to backpack, I’ll be starting my trip in Goa; a beachy stretch on the west coast, inhabited by both Little Britain package holidaymakers and dope-smoking hippies alike (although the two stay at different villages and never the twain shall meet). I’ll be looking to find somewhere in between, and mingle with the natives along the way.

In the final hour I must admit that I’m quite nervous about the trip. The guidebooks hardly sell Goa as destination: One page it’s advising to steer clear of the overdeveloped “Costa del” Calangute complete with trashy alcohol- and drug-fuelled nonsense and the next it’s warning not to talk to any hippies either, because they too will be smoking joints. Hopefully, I can find something that’s more my cup of masala tea.

It’ll only be a couple of weeks before Claire joins me in Rajasthan, far further north in the country. If I really enjoy Goa then I’ll stay as long as I can and fly the distance. If not, then perhaps I’ll make my way up and do a little bit of backpacking on my own.

Wish me luck!

Abu Dhabi: Excellent men cocks

Posted by daveb on November 25th, 2008

Almost every time I pay a hotel to handle my laundry, I inevitably get my bundle back minus a sock or two. To replenish supplies, I shopped around for the cheapest pack of socks that I could find. Little did I realise, until I got home, that I had actually bought “Excellent Men Cocks”. Here’s hoping that they fit my feet…

UAE: Reflections on the land of sandcastles

Posted by daveb on November 24th, 2008

(Warning: This is a long post. Feel free to skim.)

For me, this is a touch nut to crack. I can’t claim to have widely travelled the seven emirates; in fact I’ve not been to most of them, so feel free to read this with a generous pinch of ignoramous-flavoured salt. Save for Abu Dhabi and Dubai, the places that I did visit were basically a lot of sand with the occassional low-rise Arabic town, with the odd skyscraper jutting awkwardly into the skyline. I’ll focus more on Dubai and Abu Dhabi, that’s where I’ve spent the majority of my time — although, I certainly wouldn’t claim to be an expert in either; and that’s probably where my struggles begin.

I liken Dubai and, to a lesser extent, Abu Dhabi to American City v2.0. Except–importantly–without the freedoms brought by democracy and free market competition. For after all, the UAE and every emirate therein is essentially a dictatorship and it has become increasing apparent to me that the government controls almost everything. As a non-Emirati (the indiginous folk) it’s difficult to set up a stable and somewhat permanent life here: one’s residency permit is linked to one’s employer. An expat cannot freely purchase freehold property* and so must rent instead. This shouldn’t be too much of a problem, you think, save for the fact that the government carefully controls the supply of rental stock and so rents are kept artificially high. How high? Try 30,000Dhs (over £4,700) a month for a two bed apartment in a reasonable part of Dubai, at time of writing. You may think that I’m making this up. I’m not; I met a couple who just moved there and explained their bemusement. Consequently, “normal folk” have little option other than to flat-share with another expat who got here a few years ago and got their rent-capped.

As a further example of government control take Etisalat, the government’s own telecoms operator and communications monopoly. Another operator has been recently introduced to shake things up a bit. Competition is good, right? Except the new operator is owned by the government too. Thought you’d use Skype to circuvent the traditional networks? Denied; the software has been blocked and banned. (Techy note: In fairness to the government, this is quite an impressive feat as the Skype developers went to extreme lengths to scramble their technology.) Furthermore, several common Websites are blocked, and no Mum, more than just the ones showing “blue movies” that you tell me about from the Daily Mail…

Petrol is cheap as chips. Although, in Abu Dhabi for instance, the only petrol stations I’ve seen are branded “ADNOC”; another government-owned monopoly. Because the cost of motoring is so low, people drive the most enormous gas-guzzling cars (trucks?). It makes me wonder whether there’s any point in us young British taking our carbon reduction responsibilities so seriously. Worse, every office in the government owned sovereign investment fund skyscraper is left completely illuminated at night, even though nobody’s in the building. The government is rightly proud of their building, but surely there’s a more carbon-sensitive way to show it off at night?

For cities of this scale and thus anonymity, crime is really, really low. Unlike in Africa, where as an obvious tourist I felt uncomfortable walking around at night, I feel that I could safely walk anywhere in Abu Dhabi at any time, with my camera hanging around my neck, my guidebook in one hand, and shouting “I’m a lost tourist” into my mobile phone in the other.

I’ve met some really great people too: Emirati’s and expats alike (both Western and Southern Asian). People smile, wave and help where they can. There are a lot of people from India here. After all, they constructed these cities. India’s a big country and so I’m sure nobody there noticed the emmigration. What really startled us was the massive Filipino population here, apparently all working in the service sector. Claire wonders whether there’s anyone left in the Phillipines.

Shopping is an obsession. On the surface of it, without real money (read: a yacht), there’s very little else to do in town; especially for four months of the year when the heat and humidity is brutal. Clothes and jewellery are the most commonplace outlets in the malls. It reminds some hard-working City folk in London: “I work really hard and use my earnings to buy this flashy work suit as a reward. I’ve got my eyes on another one. I’ll buy that next month when I get my next paycheck…”

If you’re a expat worker, chances are that your take-home pay will be much better compared with the same job at home. That goes for professional office workers pulling between £2,500 – £8,000 per month and Indian labourers taking home £70 — and remember that’s tax-free. Companies are legally allowed to pay staff of different nationalities different salaries, even though they’re fulfilling the same role. Job adverts routinely suggest which nationalites they are looking to hire. It appears that the term “Equal Opportunities Employer” hasn’t been embraced just yet. The little white lie that nobody mentions until you’ve signed-up is that living well here does not come cheap. I gather that it used to, but those days are fading fast. You already know about the exhorbitant rents. How about a beer? With a few exceptions, you must go to a hotel. And they’re nearly all five star, with prices to match. (Time Out magazine rightly indicates that allowing Westerners to drink alcohol is not a right, but a gift from the state.)

You’ll know that I’m writing this piece from a jobless, moneyless backpacker’s point-of-view. As a holiday destination, and with disposible cash, it’s great. There are plenty of people that come over for a week and have a wail of a time, five-starring it all the way: dining out in luxury, shopping for fancy clothes and lazing around on the private beaches in little bikinis without the need to worry about covering your shoulders and knees (just don’t swim in the sea, ok?).

Don’t misunderstand me. I am a capitalist through and through** and, on the surface of things, the UAE appears to be evolving towards something approaching capitalism. If you want to live and work in the UAE, then go ahead — you’ll quite probably love it. If I’m being totally honest, I can’t say that I’ve ruled out the prospect myself. Just go in with your eyes open and be clear about why people here: to make fast money. I’ve not met any retired expats here, they surely couldn’t afford it. Neither have I met anyone who envisions themselves staying long-term: “I’m staying for two-to-three years [to bring in the money]”. Life is now so expensive here that I’m beginning to hear stories of people leaving Dubai in more debt than they came with. Don’t be surprised therefore, if after you’ve given all that you can give and taken all that you can take, you end-up being shown the door. For in the UAE, an expat will only ever be a king-maker, and never a king.

As you can see, I’m torn on this subject, but overall I have definitely enjoyed my month in the country. What I do know is this: fifty years ago, the UAE was all but desert and now they have the biggest sandcastles in the world. Whichever way you feel about the place, that’s impressive.

* I’m bound to get a bunch of flames correcting me on this: “It is possible to buy freehold property in certain [government-designated] areas of Dubai and Abu Dhabi” (if you can get your hands on it, in the case of the latter). I’d be really interested to read the small print here: freehold in Britain refers to the ownership of the land on which the property sits (albeit, The Queen ultimately owns all the land underneath that). Hence why leaseholders of property usually pay so-called “ground rent”. There are very few single-dwelling units (“houses”, to some) in these new cities and so the problem becomes “how do I own the freehold to the land on which my 18th floor apartment sits, when there are 17 other apartments directly below me [and four above]?”. I kid you not, I have seen a Dubai newspaper advert offering a freehold apartment on a 99-year lease. Naturally, the size of the wording “freehold” was several times larger than that which indicated the length of the lease, lost somewhere in the small print.

** It could be argued that true communism is probably a better system than capitalism, but it never has and never will exist in our world because there’s always a human at the top. We humans are greedy folk and if there’s a handful of people at the top keeping the wealth to themselves, then that ain’t true communism is it?

Backpacking the UAE: Not suitable for backpackers

Posted by daveb on November 21st, 2008

Even on a quite reasonable budget, it’s not possible. Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?

You want me to elaborate?

If you want to get outside the cities, you really need to hire a car. Buses do exist, but will only take you so far. After that you’re either on foot in the punishing heat or at the mercy of flagging down a taxi — which are few and far between. On a positive note, I’ve never been anywhere where petrol is cheaper. We paid about £23/day for the cheapest 2WD car we could find (the Internet brokers offer cheaper deals but weren’t able to come up with the goods after we booked). If you really want to explore the desert, you’ll need a 4×4 a GPS and a copy of the UAE Off-Road guide — we only had the latter, but couldn’t really use get too deep into it without having 4WD.

It’s not cheap, compared with other developing nations competing for your tourist buck. Accommodation in particular comes at a very high price. There are about four Youth Hostels in the UAE that we know of, else you’re left going the hotel route and almost all of these are four- or five-star.

In the short month that we’ve been here, we’ve not really been able to crack the culture either. From what little we saw–mainly Dubai and Abu Dhabi–it appears that much of the nomadic desert culture has been forgotten and the nation has instead embraced some of the questionable traits of the West: shopping malls, eight lane highways and gas-guzzling SUV’s.

A nice place to come for a week’s five-star holiday certainly, but next to impossible to backpack on a budget. We’re just so grateful to our hosts Annie in Dubai and my sister Sarah in Abu Dhabi, without whom we would not have been able to stay in this country for more than a day or two.

Abu Dhabi: Pulling teeth

Posted by daveb on November 20th, 2008

Eating has recently been quite a painful experience for me and anyone who knows me, knows how much I enjoy eating! Like any good travelling xenophobe, I checked myself into the local British Dental Surgery here in Abu Dhabi to get my mouth checked-out. Turns out that one of my wisdom teeth had developed a sizeable, decaying whole and needed to be removed. For half an hour, Mark the Dentist pushed, pulled and twisted his surgical pliars to yank this baby out. Eeeouw, gross!

Kudos to Mark for his expert work in which, whilst feeling unquestionably uncomfortable, I suffered no pain. I can’t stop pushing my tongue into the gaping whole left in my mouth.

Abu Dhabi: Lazing at LuLu Island

Posted by daveb on November 19th, 2008

We spent the day relaxing at LuLu Island, a man-made island just a hop, skip and a jump from the Corniche (coastal road) in Abu Dhabi. Whilst the ever-present property developers make up their minds with how much concrete and glass to throw onto the island, it’s been opened-up to the public to come and laze around on the beaches or the surprisingly pleasant man-made water hole in the middle. I don’t have much to write because, in truth, we didn’t do much other than float around on a lilo and read books!

LuLu Island is currently a fabulous retreat from the busy city. Here’s hoping that the property developers continue to squabble over their plans and it remains a peaceful sanctury for as long as possible.

Fujairah: Buying all the beds at the Youth Hostel

Posted by daveb on November 18th, 2008

We stayed at the YHA Youth Hostel in Fujairah last night. At 260Dhs (£40) a night it’s a darn site cheaper than any other hotel that we’ve come across in the UAE, but still a real rip-off compared with every other hostel at which I’ve stayed elsewhere on the globe — including a prime location just a footstep out of the Square Mile in London!

So after researching our other options in the area, which basically amounted to a four-star hotel for 800Dhs (£125), we went back to the hosteler to discuss our options. Last night, we both scratched our heads slightly at why we weren’t offered the individual dormitory bed prices — we slept on bunk beds in a dormitory to ourselves last night and we had put that down to the fact that there’s no one else around. So now we asked about paying for individual dorm places, at 65Dhs (£10) each but were met with a rather curious response: as a man, of course it would be fine for me to pay for only one bed. As a woman however, Squiffy would be expected to sleep in a different dormitory–fine, fine–and must pay for every bed in the room — scandalous!

With the knowledge that our proposed dive tomorrow morning had been cancelled, we packed our bags and began the long drive back home to Abu Dhabi, reflecting on our overall disappointing roadtrip. Thanks to my bleery-eyed sister for opening her door to us at 1am!

Fujairah: Diving without a wetsuit

Posted by daveb on November 17th, 2008

Full credit to the Indian embassy here; they processed our visa in just three days, instead of their usual seven and everything went without a hitch. No queuing either to drop-off or pick-up our passports. I’m impressed and just hope that the rest of India lives up to this standard; although I fear that it might not…

With renewed confidence, we jumped into our hire car and headed out into the desert again. This time towards Fujairah on the east coast of the country for exploration and a spot of scuba diving. Unfortunately I can’t give you a gallery today. For one, most of the pictures would be of the desert. The one other time I got the camera out invited a flurry of “no camera, no camera!” from the conservative locals.

The diving looked as though it would be great. For once the temperature of the water was warm enough for Squiffy not to worry about how many wetsuits she should wear. Thirty-two degrees celsuis, unbelievable! I dove wearing only shorts and a button-down shirt. Which made driving back to the hostel wearing a towel instead of a shirt, a bit awkward in such a conservative state…

Unfortunately though, Squiffy had a terrible dive. Whilst the temperature was right, everything else went wrong for her; ill fitting mask, inadequate weighting, and a frustrating inability to equalise, meant that I had to drag her along at only twelve metres, all the while she closed he eyes to prevent further salt water stings. It was a real shame for both of us. She sat-out the second dive, this time a wreck dive and I buddied-up with a nice couple that have recently moved to Dubai (hi Dave & Ela!). It was my first wreck dive and, whilst I’m not qualified to go into a wreck, just swimming around the outside was really very interesting.

Dubai: Atlantis Aquaventure waterpark

Posted by daveb on November 14th, 2008

Yesterday, a foot-long spanner was thrown into the works of our roadtrip: our passports are at the Indian embassy awaiting visa processing. The snag is, here in the UAE tourists must–by law–present their passports upon check-in to a hotel or hostel. Obviously this stopped the show for us yesterday, so we returned to the safe haven of my sister’s apartment to have a rethink. We’ve got this hire car for a week, but won’t have our passport for a few more days.

Naturally, when faced with such a difficult backpacker travel situation, we did the only thing that we could: we drove up to Dubai and paid nearly £100 on a day out at the new Atlantis hotel Aquaventure waterpark — wayhey! We feared big, marauding crowds. Not so, being the middle of the week the park was really quite quiet. In fact, only once did we have to queue for more than fifteen minutes to get on a ride. Our favourites included: the thirty metre near-vertical drop into the shark tank from the top of the ziggurat; the not-so-lazy river, with rapids and floating entrances to rides (why walk up stairs lugging your ‘tube’ with you, when you can remain in your tube and be whisked up on a travellator; and, our big favourite, the tube ride where you go up more than you go down (helped by some really powerful water-jets).

The only real downside is the cost. It’s not cheap. The entrance fee is 220Dhs (£35), the optional locker is a non-refundable 50Dhs (£8) and a sandwich, drink and crisps comes in at 49Dhs (a shade off £8). Our advice to fellow tourists wanting to go here? Definitely go on a weekday (the working week is Sunday to Thursday here, remember?). It’s amazing, if a little unfinished; there was nowhere except the floor of the changing rooms to put your stuff — no hooks, benches, etc. We were told that you cannot take food and drink into the park. While it might not be allowed, there were no bag checks and it would have been no trouble to enter the site with cheaper foodstuffs. We shared one locker between us and in fact only really needed a locker because I was carrying my cameras. If you only take towels, flip-flops and suncream, you’d likely be OK just leaving it on a sun bed for the duration — although obviously management do not take responsibility for personal items, etc.

A great day out, and probably the best thing we’ve done in Dubai.

Finally a note to the managers at Atlantis: Please, please, please release the whale shark that you “rescued” (read: captured). It’s really not on. We would not have visited you had we had known about this beforehand.

Al Ain: First day false start

Posted by daveb on November 13th, 2008

My family have now left Abu Dhabi (sniff, sniff) and so the Squifter and I hired a car for a week to tour around the United Arab Emirates to see a bit more of this land, outside of the high-rise lifestyle. Before we left the city, we dropped our passports in at the Indian embassy in order for them to process our visa applications as we’re toying with the idea of travelling a little bit of India next.

And so we set off into the country (read: desert) and drove for a couple of hours until we reached Al Ain, the hometown of the current ruler His Highness Sheikh Khalifa bin Zayed Al Nahyan. After a cheeky lunch–cheeky, because the restauranteur tried to overcharge us–we drove up to the top of the nearby mountain, Jebel Hafeet, to soak in the panoromic views… which weren’t all that great because, as we’re quickly learning, one desert looks much the same as any other.

Near the top of the mountain sits a four star hotel, with elevated views to boot. “Why not?”, we thought and set about successfully negotiating a double room down from 600Dhs (£95) to 330Dhs (£52) for the night. Still very expensive by backpacker standards, but nonetheless a great result. We decided to go for it.

“Your passports please?”, asked the clerk.
“Ah no, you see, our passports are with the Indian embassy in Abu Dhabi. They’re processing a visa application for us”, my repsonse.
“Ok, I’ll need your driving license then.”
And so we both produced our EU driving licenses.
“No, I need your UAE driving license.”
“But we’re not resident here. We’re tourists on holiday.”
“Then I must see your passport. It’s the law.”

A slightly circular conversation ensued, the result of which was that indeed we wouldn’t be able to check into this hotel without a passport. Nor, it seems, any hotel in the UAE. It’s the law. The clerk suggested that we go to the police to get a photocopy of our passport notorised by the police. So off we trotted to meet the local Arabic plod.

To cut a very, very long story short, we spent the rest of the evening sat drinking Arabic coffee with the Al Ain chiefs of police discussing our dilemma. Everyone at the station was really hospitable, but unfortunately rather impotent to the matter in hand and couldn’t quite bring themselves to notorise our copy (which luckily Squiffs had packed). Instead, and after an hour drinking coffee, we were escorted over the road to the town’s cheapest hotel and witnessed an amusing conversation between a Arab policeman and a Filipino receptionist in English, neither of which whose command was particularly strong. The hotel was full and so the receptionist called the owner to see if he had any other rooms in the city. He did; but only at 700Dhs (£110. No thanks!

This was never going to work. We don’t have enough money to tour this place and, even if we did, we don’t have passports or notorised copies and would likely face refusal in every town we visited. Or spend an hour a day explaining our situation to the local police only for them to escort us to a hotel which we can’t afford in any case. We decided to drive back to Abu Dhabi and await the return of our passports before going too much further.

Before we went, we thought that it’d be nice to see the souk (market) at Al Ain, so we asked our friendly policeman for directions. He promptly guided us into the nearest American-style indoor shopping mall and we frustratingly ended day one of our roadtrip eating junk food in the food court surrounded by expensive clothes and jewellery shops. Ironically, our reason for starting this roadtrip was to escape the consumerism and Westernisation of the two big cities (Dubai and Abu Dhabi). Here we were on day one, immersed in exactly the same environment that we were trying to escape!