Middle East Paradise

I love Dubai. I really, really do. It's beautiful by all big-city standards, not just by comparison to Baku. We recently returned from a long weekend in my Middle East paradise. It just wasn't long enough. Sigh. 75 degree weather, clear skies, laying by the pool, gazing at the tallest building in the world.


Tallest building in the world: Burj Khalifa


Our hotel pool area with the Burj Khalifa sphire above the roof line.

We did some damage at several of the amazing Dubai malls. But, that was to be expected. My favorite part about the malls is the crazy, eclectic mix of people. Indians and Pakistanis dressed traditionally, Russian women wearing way too little clothing, British and American men with white tennis shoes and jean shorts, and the whole mix of the Arab world in variations of one-piece dresses and head coverings.

I am impressed with the completely covered women who seem to act like all the other moms I've ever seen in action - not enough hands, too much going on, children pulling in every direction - and it all appears more complicated by the limited field of vision, long hem and billowing sleeves, but they somehow manage.










Other noteworthy things are the separate stalls in all public bathrooms for feet washing or "ablution," which one would use before going to the little mosques (think of a prayer room) in the malls. I also like spotting the directional signage for Mecca, which can be found on the ceiling in each hotel room.



As we take full advantage of Dubai, we inevitably sit with a cup of coffee at Starbucks. My topic of conversation is the lingering questions about Middle Eastern female empowerment (or lack thereof). I contemplate the burquas and the veils and wonder: Is she thankful that she didn't have to pick out an outfit for today? Does she hate all that her wardrobe implies? Does she think that I'm a heathen for wearing jeans? Until I find someone to answer my questions first-hand, I will have to be satisfied with online reading and Hollywood's version of the truth.

Black Gold

As Azerbaijan is one of the most abundant oil fields in the entire world, it is only appropriate that the locals in Baku would love black gold....well, black and gold.

The locals all wear black, all black, all the time. It's hard for me to properly describe this, because saying that every item that a person can wear - hat, scarf, boots, shirt, pants, belt, coat - is black - doesn't quite provide the whole picture. Everyone, kids, teenagers, adults, elderly, wears black from head to toe and so consider how odd that looks when people are waiting at a bus stop or walking through a park or eating at a restaurant. The only exception seems to be babies, as their coats are generally brighter colors (thank goodness). When I see a teenage girl dressed in a bright blue coat with matching stiletto boots, I know immediately that she must be the black sheep of her family (insert chuckle at stupid pun).

My educated guess is that black is so popular because it does not show sweat or dirt as easily as other colors. I suppose when doing laundry requires hand-washing your own clothes in iffy water, you might want to make it as easy as possible on yourself. So, I'm not criticizing the choice or color, I'm just stating the plain facts: Johnny Cash would have loved it here.

And then there's the gold part of this story. Apparently, it's only been in the past few years that gold teeth have fallen out of fashion in Baku. I do not have a guess, educated or otherwise, as to why this was ever in fashion, but the sheer number of people with gold teeth here would make any pimp jealous.

Boxing

My boxing lessons have been going well. Thank you for asking. I really enjoy the hour sweat session. (It's really warm in my gym, around 80 degrees. Like all Russians, the Azeris are terrified of being cold. Who could blame them really?). I punch, jump rope and push-up myself silly. Farhad keeps yelling at me in Russian and I'm slightly concerned that he thinks I am aiming to actually get in the ring with somebody. I have no intentions of ever hitting another person, so Farhad can just keep shouting.

Last week, a couple of maintenance workers came in to repair the hanging boxing bag. Farhad and I just ignored them and kept at it. One minute of focus mitt drills, one minute of rest (interval training, it's great for calorie burning). I then noticed that the repair men were only working during our "down" time. The other minute, they were staring and avidly watching us. I'm no physical specimen, so I think they were just flabbergasted that a woman could: a). box b). sweat so much c). be a willing participant

And then, right in the middle of today's work-out, 2 men stopped at the glass door to the aerobics studio. One guy finally opened the door and said something in Russian or Azeri to Farhad, to which Farhad nodded in agreement. Trying to catch my breath, I wasn't really paying much attention until one of the guys said, "Boxer Woman!" Then, Farhad instructed me to start up again. The men were in awe. Or maybe shock? I'm not sure, but after a round, they started clapping for us and were smiling and nodding in approval. I felt like such an ogre - sweaty, red faced, a foot taller than Farhad and wearing Kyle's boxing gloves that are way too big for me. So, what did I do in this awkward situation? I curtsied.

For anyone who is keeping track - while living in Azerbaijan, I have: been mocked for having big feet; gawked at for walking 2 dogs; made a fool while dancing at an Azeri wedding; and now, applauded for being a Boxer Woman.

Half Way

It seems that all of the ex-pats that I run into have 1 of 2 attitudes toward Baku: either the glass is half full or half empty. It would be easiest to side with the latter, as the city is a mash of shanties, 6-story apartment buildings in the midst of disrepair and a plethora of taller buildings that are just shells because all work stopped on them when the world-wide recession hit.

It takes no effort to look at the numerous half-finished buildings and see only ruins, but a guy in construction told us that as the economy recovers, work will once again pick up, which would not only make the place look better, but would help the high unemployment rate. As Baku is the largest and most metropolitan city in Azerbaijan, the residents deserve something better than half-way done. They pushed out the Soviets just over 20 years ago and now they just have to keep pushing forward.

So, I'm trying to adopt the more difficult train of thought, that the glass is half full. It takes a bit of fortitude to see Baku as a city on the verge of something grand. It would be a shame and a disservice to see Baku end up a city of half hopes and half promises.


This is just an example....there are too many of these "shell" buildings to count

A Day at the Beach

Not quite a day at the beach. More like a morning at the place that resembled a beach. But, the sun was shining, the car horns were a distant sound and the dogs were able to play off leash. It's just a stretch of sand, less than 1 mile long, apparently popular with beer drinkers, as evidenced by the glass bottles strewn everywhere.

The "beach" is only a 20 minute drive from our apartment and not too far from Kyle's office. When you stand on the shoreline and look out to the horizon, you see a gigantic oil platform. Not quite the awe-inspiring view you usually get at the beach. I was more awe-struck, in a "holy-cow-that-is-so-close-to-the-shore-and-that-couldn't-possibly-be-good-for-the-environment" sort of way.

The rumor among ex-pats is that the water near the beach tested 500 times over the allowable limit for pollution. I'm not sure if that's correct or not, but at any rate, whenever the dogs got close enough to get their toenails wet, I yelled hysterically. No sense in having a paw melt off.

Here's a few shots of our beach.

Bodily Functions

I usually walk the dogs early in the morning. It's still pretty chilly outside, around 40 degrees or so. And if the wind is blowing, it always feels much colder. Inevitably, this causes my nose to run. I usually carry a kleenex for such situations, but if I find myself without one, I just keep sniffling and trudging through the hectic streets of Baku. Apparently, that's not what everyone else does because I've seen way too many people blowing snot rockets around here. I asked Kyle about this disgusting phenomenon - the men dressed smartly in dark wool coats, with page boy-type hats, scarves, dress shoes and slacks, hurriedly walking to work and when their nasal cavities fill up, forcefully letting it all out - and he had no idea what I was talking about.

Maybe it was just me. Maybe I kept being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe I was being overly critical of these people. Maybe that's city living. Because where I'm from, you only do a snotter in certain situations, like running outside, while doing manual labor or in otherwise dire situations. So, I chalked up my observations to naivety until I was recently skimming through this book, "Dirty Russian" - one of those silly reads that tells you how to say curse words and order vodka in Russian - when I noticed a short paragraph on the "farmer's blow" and how it is prevalent throughout Russia and the former USSR. I had been validated!

And while I'm on the topic of gross bodily functions (are there any other type?), I should tell you that "Baku Belly" is a very real thing. It strikes without warning and no one is immune. It's tough to decipher exactly how one repeatedly gets this stomach ailment, but the best guesses are from fruits and vegetables washed in tap water or just the general lack of sanitary conditions in restaurants. It really does no good to declare things like, "I'll never eat there again!" because it's just as likely to happen at the nicest place in town as it is from the street vendor.

So, there you have it.