Sound Slut

I am a total Sound Slut.
And right now I just cannot be physically separated from all that is Sonic on the iPod that Momma Santa Claus gave me for Christmas. She knows her music junkie daughter well.

When my old MP3 Player was nicked in Jordan I spent roughly 6 months without adequate tunes and had to slowly start building up my music library from scratch.
Thankfully all my records are safely tucked away at home in my good friend's basement and I miss my collection of CDs and vinyl intensely, even started dreaming about them (once the basement flooded in my dreams and I felt bereft and soundless)
So I was very taken aback when this heavy gleaming iPod awaited me upon arrival in N-Ireland. I have never owned anything of the i-Persuasion and I am oddly technophobic at times. But then I loaded ALL of the music on it. We are talking a lotta tunes. As an eclectic sounds lover/music collector I had been fanatically gathering up all music that I love to compensate for my musical loss six months ago.
Holy crap.This iPod has Mucho storage capacity. There is almost room left for another track! And with my partially upcycled headphones on I am deftly sidestepping the mounds of dogshit on the Irish sidewalks in tune with one of Chopin's piano concerto compositions; neatly bouncing through the Grocer's isles to the beat of Orishas; grooving the grocery basket along with the voice of Linton Kwesi Johnson and falling asleep to soothing tracks by Mercan Dede. Just add a HUGE sigh of happiness here.

My mother got the iPod engraved for me and right under the part that has my full name printed it also reads:

                                           'Please don't steal me'

En Route

Part of what Flying Gurnards & Other Concoctions usually displays are the maps of routes taken since leaving home. The neat orderly geographical drawings always puts the roads traveled more in perspective. But a month after my brief emergency visit I have returned to Northern Ireland and it seemed more fitting to share the two images below than a pictured part of an atlas.
Two years ago I took that photo of the small village on the Irish Sea. It will be my home for now.
And below it a parting shot of one of my Arab buddies, who clambered into my suitcase whilst packing and gave me his solemnly sweet Cyclops stare. It hurts leaving the two dudes behind, more than I can describe. The worst is that it is not my choice, leaving them behind. They just couldn't come where I was going.

Although her major neck and face surgery in September was a success my Mother is in the race for the long haul: A grueling radio therapy period is on the horizon and will last until Christmas Eve day. It will affect her health deeply on many levels and I admire her brave perseverance greatly. So I have left the Middle East, diving and my two feline dudes and I am going to stand by her side. The boys are being well taken care of and won't have to learn how cold COLD weather can be whereas I threw out my last pair of flipflops and am learning what shoes feel like again (Hello, blisters)

Apart from the heart ache of leaving Khabil and Jamal I have plenty of reasons to be superbly grateful for life's happenings and this also entails the decision of moving to N-Ireland. I'll be able to hold my Mum close when things get ugly. I will also get to harass some family and friends who live around these parts. And I will get to experience the changing of the seasons again and play in the snow (I love snow!)

Always stay in tune for what life brings up to bat. Cause you should always take a crack at it, and never ever forget to smile while you're at it. You might hit a homerun and run around cheering like a maniac.

Scary Butterfly

One thing I have never done in my life is celebrate Halloween underwater. And this year I was getting real stoked about the idea, asking friends and diver customers about cool costume tips that would make big waves so to speak.
Now I didn't want anything that would compromise diver safety. Or be damaging to the marine environment. So that whittled away at the options available and unlike as a friend of mine suggested I was certainly not dressing up as a mermaid. I am not that cheesy, unless it comes to real cheese like brie or wacky Dame Edna-style sunglasses.
Of course I thought of my new sunglasses. I have a certain affinity for tacky ones and back home I have been seen wearing useless raver sunnies during local baseball games. It made catching the ball so much harder but boy the shades were so ugly it was funny and therefore totally worth it.
My friend Scuba Ninja Livvie was slightly envious of my new sunglasses, asking me to buy her a pair too because (and I quote) "...Aww but I want to have a butterfly to have sex with my face too."
Yep, the sunglasses are THAT Special. So I thought, what a great idea I could be a Butterfly Fish for Halloween! It would totally compromise standards of diving safely but it would look so awesome!

In the end I did not even get to dive on Halloween. Nor have I worn my Butterfly Shades much cause it is too bright in the Middle East. And soon after that there was no diving to be had for a long time. But what I do know is that whenever I will encounter Butterfly Fish in the future I will think of Livvie and my sunglasses with a cheeky smirk on my face.

Butterfly Fornication Shades

I wasn't kidding about playing baseball with blinders on

Top of Dubai

If you have read previous Flying Gurnards' posts you are probably aware that I got hopelessly lost in a Dubai mall and that it is not one of the my favorite places to visit. It is an elite city in the middle of a desert built around shopping. It is often referred to as the 'Do Buy' city by my employer and I think he is right on the money with that one. (Hey, let's build a bunch of islands in the shape of countries in the Arabian Gulf and sell them for millions. Somebody must be crazy enough to buy them!) Due to the intense coastal development and pollution the local marine environment is pretty much shell-shocked around those parts. I got really excited seeing a single tiny cuttlefish during one of the few dives I did around there. What a dismal place.
All in all, on my days off the last thing I wanna do is visit this superficial city but this time around on the drive into the Emirate I could hardly suppress my joy and impatience: My father was in town!

My father had decided that we were going to see Dubai in a different light, taking me to Burj Khalifa, the tallest building in the world. That evening, from high above, we saw the twinkling lights outlining Dubai. I have to admit, it was real pretty. And the elaborate Dancing Fountains (choreographed to epic music) below the Burj Khalifa put on quite the lit-up water show.

My father often shows me how to look at things from a different perspective. Not just in this fake city, showing me the glimmers of beauty that I was previously blind to.
He has an ability to remind me how life's experiences ought be seen, always cast in a positive light. My father has taught me that you learn from everything and everyone, and that this should be filled with joy and that it never ceases. So better soak it all up and enjoy the wild ride that life itself is.
He is a pretty cool dad. And the two days I got to spend within his calm and loving presence made me feel whole again after being so long and so far away from all who I love and cherish.

On top of Burj Khalifa

Glorious Gluttony

Lionfish are such glorious fish. They are beautiful with their intricate stripes and extravagant feathery fin rays. These frequent reef inhabitants seem to do nothing much except gently float about, making them an easy target for underwater photographers. Lionfish are by definition one of the most photogenic creatures and the only bad angle I have ever seen captured has been entirely the fault of the photographer.
Simply put, Lionfish are the ultimate posers. Until I went to Mexico I just filed them into the Pretty Fish Category.
I already knew that their fin rays were poisonous and this has always blended in nicely with my golden rule of not touching shit underwater. But I had no idea that these Pretty Fish were voracious fuckers; gluttonous pigs. And in Mexico there was a new rule I learned when it came down to the lovely Lionfish.

Kill them. Kill 'em all. And make ceviche if you have limes handy.

Here's a great article by Christie Wilcox that takes the reader more in depth about the global Lionfish invasion. And if you want a delicious ceviche recipe you can browse the World Lionfish Hunters webpage for culinary tips and killing techniques.

Photo derived from the web

En Route

Surgery

My aunt and I walked around aimlessly, not knowing what to do or what to say. There was a lot of silence, perhaps since we were both so deep in thought, focused on my mother's well-being. The surgery that day was thirteen hours long, roughly the same amount of time it took for my last-minute flight from the Middle East to arrive in Belfast. I had landed the night before my Mum was admitted to the hospital and my older cousin drove me to my mother's doorstep. I hadn't told her I would come.
Recovery was hard on my Mum. After major neck and face surgery she was stuck with a tracheotomy for a couple of days and trying to make light of a serious situation I had made her silly Q-cards she could use, both to divert her attention and to spare her from having to write down every simple request, question or answer for the medical staff in the hospital ward. I don't think she used them much, as the mounds of scribbled papers beside her bed were piling up. We joked with her, saying that we hadn't ever heard her say so little for so long.
After two weeks in the hospital she was finally allowed to come home and I stayed another twelve days in Northern Ireland to aid her in her recovery period.

En Route

Vrooooooooooom

I don't know how to drive a car. This is not some self-deprecating comment on my driving skills, it's just that I don't have a driver's license or driving experience to boast about and most folks react with complete disbelief when they find out. I don't blame them.

So not surprisingly one of my goals of this year is learning how to drive a car and although I've gotten away with being a car-less individual for most of my life it seems as I'm finally living in a place where that is just not an option. The UAE is all about automobiles. People have the fanciest, biggest and most expensive vehicles I have ever seen, often recklessly driving around at full speed. Sometimes the drivers don't even exit their cars when shopping: They honk loudly and wait for a Pakistani/Bangladeshi clerk to run out and take their order, whether it is for takeaway food or some other random item like a pair of slippers.  I know it is a hot climate and staying within the air-conditioned space of your gas guzzler is tempting, but really... (I call this lazy-ass rich person syndrome)
In Dubai there's a metro and buses but here in the lovely backwaters where I reside there's not a bus station in sight so I'm going to have to take the plunge and get in a four-wheeled machine for some lessons...Watch out camels, date trees and other inanimate obstacles. I'll try to swerve.

The ironic thing is that I am currently captaining the dive boat. It does seem somewhat backwards (knowing how to operate a boat before a car) but how I love flying across the waves, picking up divers and kicking them overboard into the blue. In the nicest way possible, of course.
And I have this feeling that it will take a long time before I'll learn how to read traffic signs and use indicators but my hope is that I will enjoy it just as much as I love being a boat wench.

Bummin' it

You know, sometimes life can suck a bit. As an average person with a whole lotta love in her life and horseshoes sticking out of her backside it is somewhat unusual to mention things such as these, especially on a public blog. But it is true.

If you have been reading any of the quirky posts you know what I am talking about. I'm a blessed individual living a great life. Seriously so.

It's not cause of my awesome super powers. I actually have...Nothing. That's about right. No iPhone, credit card, house, car or a driver's license. Nada. I don't even own a bed or a couch (although I have this fabulous retro hairdresser chair from the '70s complete with a hairdryer capsule thingy that still works when you plug 'er in. It lives with a pal for now)

I went to university; I worked in an art gallery; was a DJ with my own radio show for over a decade. And right now I have nothing. Not even a saving account. I live from paycheck to paycheck (I guess most dive instructors do - after all by keeping folks alive and kicking underwater minimum wage is the grand prize)
I don't really mind because life does not revolve around dollar bills although after spending 6 months in the UAE I do understand it is a big drive for folks around here.
Some people here buy cars with price tags that will make you blush but seem unable to tip the guy that fills their gas tank in the hot sun. They can spend enormous sums on gadgets and designer items but care not for an animal in desperate need of medical help on the side of the road. They just keep driving.

Like I said, I have horseshoes up my ass. I have something a little different, which is not money or a luxurious lifestyle. Instead I got this kick-ass community back home and amazing friends that fill me with joy and respect. But because of the grand love that I receive from them it has made life here in the Middle East seem strangely...Empty. The caring and kind conversations via internet and phone sure do put a spring in my step and keep me going but also remind me how far away I am from what I hold dear.

I have lived all over the world but this is the first place where I have found myself in such a disconnected society where the quality of life differs vastly from how I would rate and view it. It has been a great learning experience, and it makes me even more thankful for what I got.

And yes, this is a Pug using me as a pillow.

Island home siesta time

The Two Dudes

Back home a cat called Crackhead and I have been roommates for a solid ten years. We first met up when she was a disregarded kitten and needless to say we have hung out together ever since although to this day I am not sure who is the sidekick in the equation. She is a tiny and friendly-looking cat but that is just a charade. She has a habit of making grown pitbulls whimper softly in corners.
When I started my journey I couldn't take Crack with me and I sobbed my eyes out when I left her in the splendid care of sweet friends who love and spoil her rotten. These amazing folks are golden and Crackhead has wrapped them both around her miniature paw. Last year I went back home and got to spend ten blissful days with the little rug rat and her caretakers have told me that as soon as I come home I will get her back (I feel awful about this. They are absolutely smitten with her and it would be cruel to break their hearts. At the same time I am on my knees with weepy relief cause I want Crackhead at my side till the day she kicks the bucket).
Travelling between Mexico, Aruba, Jordan and the UAE I came across a lot of four-legged strays with high-rating cuteness factors and I resolutely kept myself from falling in love with them (although there were a few dogs that I really wanted to take home as a companion for Crackhead's terrorizing enjoyment)
Then something happened when I moved to Khorfakkan.

Enter two abandoned youngsters with vital body parts missing who were in desperate need of a home. These dudes were stuck at the vet's for months with no prospect of finding a home (Folks in the UAE are into physically intact, preferably purebred, pets). Little Cyclops kitten was a ginger Persian whose owner left him after finding out that his eye could not be saved. For a few months he was locked in his small cage and when I met him he was a fearless fluffball who ran into furniture a lot which is how he earned the name Khabil: Arabic for 'crazy'.
Jamal the Tripod was the one who originally caught my attention when I accompanied my colleague to the animal hospital for the first time. Awkwardly getting used to his three legs he was a withdrawn, sad-looking feline and after hearing his horrid story I made the decision right there on the spot: This dude deserved a second chance. It took months to win his trust and although Khabil is adored by everyone who meets him my heart beats big for Jamal: His sad eyes and sweet timid nature have surely swallowed my soul whole.

Scroll down for stereotypical cute cat pictures.  

Tripod Jamal

Cyclops Khabil

Crackhead the cat

En Masque

The first time I saw an elderly lady strolling around wearing a golden face mask I was immediately fascinated. I'd never seen one before and asked one of our Emirati divers what it was called, and what it was for.

The burqa (not to be confused with the burqa that women in Afghanistan wear) is this astonishing face adornment that comes in many styles and has a bit of a hazy origin - My local friend told me it was similar to jewelry, a beautification tool. After doing a little research online I came across a variety of opinions on its purpose. I don't often see women wearing the Emirati style burqa here in Khorfakkan and whenever I see it I am filled with wonder - Each one I've seen so far is different and all of them exude a certain beauty.
Here's a little article that goes more into depth when it comes down to these glittering masks that catch my eye.

 

Free Education

As it has been aptly put, education shouldn't be a debt sentence. But it sure is pricey out there with many students still hauling their financial ball and chain around for many years. I belong to one of the few fortunate ones that doesn't have this dark financial post-graduate cloud hanging over me but trust me, many of my pals were not as lucky as I was on that front. A lot of folks cannot even afford thinking about university, let alone attend one.

So here is the exciting bit. Want to get some free education by professors from top notch universities? If you have access to internet (which you have otherwise you wouldn't be reading this post in the first place) you can enroll in a plethora of FREE courses. Yep that's right. Coursera offers online courses that are simply amazing! And you can't really use the excuse of not having time for you get to learn whenever and however you want in this educational system. I know this sounds like a load of crock but if you don't believe me and/or if you want to get schooled some more visit the website

Confessions of a Dumpster Diver

I am a trash junkie. This love affair has been inspired by local recycling depots and the artistic souls in my vicinity who always seemed to give birth to marvelous creations constructed from materials that most people would consider to be rubbish. It certainly has rubbed off on me and ever since I look at discarded items as potential haute couture. In short, I surround myself with junk (to the great dismay of some friends when they help me move house)

Living in the Emirates means that there are no second-hand stores or recycling organizations. It is literally a throw-everything-away society that is so flush with cash that shopping sprees are not a once in a while whim but a standard way of living. Don't like your decor? Change it. And of course you need two cellular phones. And three cars.

You might think this is sad and wasteful. But there's an advantage to this.
I get to go dumpster diving. Deluxe style.
I have the feeling that - next to a few Bangladeshi and Pakistani Dumpster Comrades - I am the only expat participating in this habit. Then again are there any other expats in Khorfakkan? It's been four months since I moved here and the only expat folks I see are customers at the dive center and a handful of tourists. So as the blonde and blue-eyed freak I am certainly earning a trashy name in this town (lock up your garbage, folks!)

Don't worry, I am not going through heaps of rubbish bags in the hopes of finding a tasty morsel, in that sense I'm rather conventional and go to the market to buy food. I leave the food scraps to the herds of street cats that are ferocious enough to fend me off any day. My dumpster diving activities are focused on finding junk that can be functional as furniture.

I was in 7th heaven when my colleague and I went to Abu Dhabi's industrial area on compressor business. Cable spools, pallets and wooden crates almost made me swoon on the spot and one of the poor foremen dutifully complied when I enthusiastically pulled him into the hot sun to examine a Japanese old toolbox in a heap of discarded materials. I even did a little dance when he told me that I could have it and as soon as we go back there to pick up our sick compressor I will be the proud owner of a metal and wood piece of garbage. It's going to need some TLC before I turn it into my coffee table but I am already excited.

But here comes the best part. I was informed that Ramadan provides the MOTHERLOAD of dumpster gems. In the last week of fasting folks here tend to practice a bit of the 'out with the old and in with the new' tradition so I'm already chomping at the bit and practically pulling out a city map and planning a coordinated drive-by for every dumpster to be found. I have no shame (sorry, Mum)

As soon as my camera starts working again I will have to share some pictures of all the trash that I'll be knee deep in. It will be the best treasure hunt EVER.

Bling

Oh, the beauty of bling.
Especially when made by formidable kick-ass silversmiths.
Lindsay Godfrey-Stocking, Laura Hanford, Kate Wood and Nina Turczyn come to mind since these artists forge irresistible and unique adornments that will make a girl melt faster than strawberry sorbet on a hot summer's day. Entering any of their studios is especially dangerous, perhaps akin to letting a five-year old loose in a candy store. Except the sweet sugar rush conceived from purchasing their work is lasting, plus you don't whine or throw a tantrum afterwards (well, at least I don't)

I have left many of their shiny bijoux back home since diving with silver dangly bits isn't practical but a few have been on the road with me and some even come along when I splash into the Big Blue, including a custom-made toe ring by Laura Hanford. Every time I look down upon my bare grimy feet a bright band of silver and moonstone twinkles on my tootsie and makes me think of the talented and kind-hearted artist that forged this one-of-a-kind gem.
Lindsay Stocking-Godfrey is the Master of All Things Bling with the star as her trademark and her signature star ring that normally lives on my middle finger is sadly missed by said finger but no way was I going to take it around the world in fear of losing it.
Almost everyday I wear a pair of Kate Wood earrings and since leaving home an earring here and there has gone MIA so now they are worn miss-matched hipster style together and shine as brightly as ever; Turczyn's necklace gets tucked inside my rashie or wetsuit before I hop overboard and tastes salty afterwards.
I am lucky, really. So many brilliant artists around and next to being smitten with their exquisite work I have also had the privilege to get to know them, and one post could never contain enough praise for these skilled silversmiths.  

But don't take my word for it. Go check out the Beautiful Bling that these professional silversmiths have in store for you.

Lindsay Godfrey-Stocking: Mudge Jewelery School
Laura Hanford: Moon Shine Studio
Nina Turczyn: Paprika Design
Kate Wood: Kate Wood Art and Jewellery

 

Moonshine Studio - Artist Laura Hanford

Queen of the Blues

Dinah Washington died way before I arrived on this planet but she has been among my favorite singers for a long time. Her vocal pipes are the cat's pajamas, really. She was called the 'Queen of the Blues" which doesn't gel with me. First of all, what about Big Mama Thornton, Bessie Smith, Memphis Minnie and other amazing Blues singers? Are these women second in line princesses now? Also Dinah's voice was at ease and just as powerful in the jazz circuit and other diverse genres so it seems the title Queen of Blues is a tad confining. In my fantasy I would like to hear her sing an afternoon of gospel with Mahalia Jackson...Can you just imagine how heavenly divine those two teamed up would sound? I bet she would have blown the roofs of churches and/or the frocks off any godly man present.
It must have been breathtaking to witness her on stage singing her heart out.

Unfortunately Dinah died under unexpected circumstances at the young age of 39 years.
A year later in 1964 Aretha Franklin dedicated her album 'Unforgettable' to Dinah Washington, which is both a nod to Dinah's 1959 record single and more importantly to pay respect to Washington's unsurpassed talent and that her tragic passing was perceived as a great loss in the music world. 

What a powerhouse of a voice she had. There are a few of her songs that I simply cannot get enough of. 'Evil Gal Blues' comes to mind, 'A Slick Chick' and don't forget the saucy tracks she recorded with the dashing Brook Benton.
Did this woman ever sing a wrong note in her life? I sincerely doubt it. There's a great  BBC documentary about this fabulous vocalist. I watched it again the other night and fell in love with Dinah's voice even more.

Camel Racing

While I'm in Camel Country I've decided that one day I am going to the camel racing track.
It's a big deal here with whole TV channels dedicated to the sport and I've heard it is a festive and fun-filled occasion, perhaps akin to the horse races that the British Queen and all those people in fancy hats attend. Oh no wait, that's horse polo.
Of course I know nothing about camels except being here I run into them a lot. Once even on the sidewalks in Jordan where I neatly executed a full face plant into a camel's flank when I wasn't looking where I was going. Everybody thought it was very funny and a tourist took a picture.
I have not had the urge to ride one so far although I am sure one cannot live and work here without at least once mounting one of these humped beasts. But we'll see about that.

Then an Emirati kindly enlightened me about slave child jockeys. I was flabbergasted.
The UAE was the first to undertake steps to ban the illegal business of boys who were sold into slavery and put upon camels for racing. Kids as young as five years old from Pakistan, India and other poor countries used to be smuggled in and were prized as the finest riders due to their light weight and of course didn't cost much in upkeep for hey! If you want to keep your jockey slim don't feed him, right? And no, this was not during medieval times or something, the official ban happened just over a decade ago so I bet there are some sixteen-year old ex-jockeys around who can still vividly remember their past hey days (read: child ENSLAVEMENT) in the camel racing industry. Crazy shit.

Human rights activist and lawyer Ansar Burney has been a tireless advocate when it comes down to rescuing these pint-sized kids.You can view the Emmy award-winning documentary about his work here.

Nowadays children jockeys have been replaced by robots. Remote control operated ones and here is a juicy article about the scandals involving even those. Man.

I guess where money is involved there will be always something sinister going on. The multi-billion camel racing industry is just one of the many examples out there.

One Hundred

Did you know that it is tradition to do your 100th dive in the buff? No, I am not kidding and although I am no eager beaver underwater photographer I have (with permission, of course) snapped photographical evidence of this widespread phenomenon...Oh how I wish I could share it right now.
This is Flying Gurnards & Other Concoctions's 100th blog post and I promise you that I am properly dressed whilst typing this. It made me feel slightly weird to see that it has come to this (the number of posts, not the clothes) since the blog was jump-started to document the shenanigans since leaving town and to keep track of the privilege & pleasure to work and travel around the world.
Rereading a few posts made me realize that I am still a long way from where I belong and that not a day goes by without thinking about it.

The thing is, after getting hauled around the world whilst growing up the idea of sticking to the substratum and staying put should have been an alien task, something I would have never expected to be good at. But trust me. I am a Pro. Instead of the place where the Stork (stupid bird) dropped me off I found the one I belonged to.
To be honest I had no idea what the term 'home' really meant until I found it. I fell madly in love, swore off moving around the world for a blissful decade and grew roots stronger than stink weed.

Leaving home had nothing to do with trying to get away from it but more with trying to find a way to stay. As a non-Canadian person that is kind of complicated. Developing a career when you are not legally allowed to work is a monkey-wrench in itself. So off I went. Working as a diver means that there's always a job available in some tropical place. Plus I am good at travelling due to the parents (thanks Mom and Dad for raising me as your cross-cultural science experiment)

It's been quite the journey and I still have a leg or two to go before I am able to go home. I decided to look in the rear-view mirror and recently reread the 'About' section that I filled out several years ago to see how much has changed since I started this blog; to see if I needed to make some alterations or if I had steered off my course. This is what I wrote back then:

"I vividly remember the first time I saw a pair of flying gurnards. It was a mesmerizing sight, not only due to my infinite love of unknown oddities but also because of the sheer grace and allure they exuded. 
What would life be like without enigmatic experiences such as these?

Flying Gurnards & Other Concoctions contrives inspiration from both the mundane and the unusual and offers a quirky glimpse into adventurous times and enchanting encounters to be had on land and sea... I've dusted off my travelling shoes in hot pursuit of remedies to alleviate Twitchy Feet Syndrome and its overriding nomadic nature - confronting it with a dapper dash of spontaneity, love and delightfulness" 

Personal News Flash: No Flying Gurnards lately. Still like odd stuff. And sometimes I do stupid stuff and call it spontaneous. True story.
I also don't have travelling shoes. They broke before I left home (omen?) and since then it's been mostly bare feet and flipflops although I keep killing them and consequently am on my fourth pair.
I miss home. And everybody that makes it what it is. I feel fortunate doing what I do where I am. And I am still full o' love for life! 

Thanks for reading Flying Gurnards & Other Concoctions.

With tons of love, big hugs and sunny smiles

Photograph by Joelle Baird

Fasting

The month of fasting has begun in the Middle East. Consequently it is also one of the hottest times of the year and I am in a nation full of folks that are not even drinking a drop of water during day time hours. I admire their strict perseverance, after all I am known to even take my reg out underwater and sip salty liquid when I am thirsty and don't even get me started about the amount of water I drink above sea level. When people tell me that I am a 'waterbaby' I think to myself yeah but probably not in the way you think. Then again it is self-explanatory why I jug multiple liters a day due to my insane intake of salt. My salt shaker and I are inseparable. So when I die my body will probably be preserved and turn into one of those grisly salt mummies.

Although I am not participating in fasting there are still certain rules to respect which includes not drinking, eating or smoking in public. So during lunchtime I hang out in the compressor room which is a secluded space compared to the office with its full frontal fishbowl design. I have already made the dumb mistake of offering somebody coffee and he kindly said he was fasting. This was about 20 minutes after I had already inquired how Ramadan was going...I am such an idiot.

Just before Ramadan I asked when it started and was told that it depends on the crescent moon the night before fasting begins. I was also informed that all Middle Eastern nations follow Saudi's lunar calculations for the start of Ramadan except Oman who starts a day later. I don't know why my birth country has to be the odd egg in the basket and it brings up all kinds of questions such as what if you are e.g. a Iranian Muslim who lives in Oman? Which Ramadan pattern do you pick? (I'll have to ask somebody about that)
Swearing and offensive behavior is a big no no already in this country, even more so during Ramadan. But if you don't eat all day don't you get uber cranky? Man.

Cafeterias, restaurants and other venues are closed during the hot day times with the streets coming alive at night for Iftar (evening meal to break the fast). The place resembles a ghost town during the day and at work is is quiet since who in their right mind wants to go out during sweltering temperatures on a boat to dive? I have the feeling that we will be doing a lot more night diving this month.
No alcohol will be sold during this month in the UAE so in that regard I am 'fasting' too...I'm kidding. Since I live in the strictest Emirate around it is not like bottles of wine grow on trees anyways. Sigh.

Ramadan Kareem to all my Muslim pals. I admire your strength and I will do my very best to be conscientious. And please forgive me for my Blonde Moments during this Holy Month.

Chromodorid & Cedric

Cedric goes diving with Aadel Alzaabi 

Spellbound

You remember, right? That one evening where you sat around a campfire or kitchen table in the company of a talented storyteller that had you hanging on each and every word? ...When breaths were held and you could hear a needle drop because nobody would want to miss a single word; and the edges of all chairs were overly occupied.
Ivan E. Coyote has that mesmerizing effect on people. Even the most simple tale told by this story weaver becomes spell-binding, whether told in front of an audience or featured in one of Coyote's novels. Go on. Become enchanted as well and click on the picture below to access her website.

Adrift

A lot of my friends are driftwood aficionados. Not surprising at all because when you live on an island where its shores are filled with it you have loads of sticks to fiddle with. As my friend Dean (he used to be in the moving business) puts it, he has never come across a job where the clients don't have some piece of 'special' wood that needs to accompany them to their new home. Or several.
I have been guilty of this habit too. I've hauled chunks of wood with me from place to place and in the old farmhouse in the orchard I made driftwood shelves for my vintage tea tins and even created a wonky driftwood mirror. My building skills suck which is why I did not attempt to make that driftwood monster bed and an entire collection of outdoor furniture to go with it.
If you have similar lacking skills there's always this solution: Purchase the gorgeous and unique driftwood creations by your local community artists! Or even better ask if they will help you build the piece you have in mind and learn some handy skills along the way.

Prickly Goodness

Ask any swimmer, diver or snorkeler about these sea creatures and most likely they will tell you about a harrowing encounter, an unwarranted attack. They are described as sneaky bastards that swiftly stalk innocent ocean lovers and purposely inflict painful wounds with their sharp spines. Or so they say.

Personally (knocking on a date tree just in case) I have never had the prickling sensation myself but tons of divers have emerged from the ocean cursing these critters while examining their swollen finger, arm or punctured knee. Now I understand accidents happen and most likely it will happen to me at some point (still knocking on a date tree just in case) but on the other hand I never see folks coming up from down below lamenting about accidentally killing one of these fellows with the swipe of a fin. And that happens a LOT.

The Sea Urchin. So stealthy that perhaps we sometimes forget that these slow-moving herbivores and our lack of proper buoyancy or the urge to touch shit underwater don't mix real well. That said, accidents happen to the best of us and many a time you get down to business with tweezers extracting spines from swearing divers.
The things is, I adore sea urchins. The fuzzy ones, the sharp spiky ones, the ones that look like they are a ball of pencils, you name it. They are just so cool.

And sea urchins are great pals with coral colonies, munching away the nasty invasive algae that is in direct competition with the vibrant coral reefs home to the many marine inhabitants that we like to visit underwater. So they can be kind of like unsung superheroes when you look at it that way.
And without Superheroes things can get ugly. For instance in the 1980s the Diadema sea urchin species was wiped out by a widespread disease in the Caribbean and their coral homies took a harsh beating. The reef got a lot more sparse without these prickly dudes grazing the invasive green pastures.

But the knife cuts both ways and a plethora of sea urchins can decimate bountiful kelp forests. Otters are always handy to have around to do some sea urchin culling but guess what so can you if you live on the Pacific shores of North America with thinning kelpies and armies of delicious sea urchins! PUHA (Pacific Urchin Harvesters Association) has a few recipes to get you started...

By the way that ain't no juicy olive on top of that urchin, yo.
It is the anus sac.

Cheb i Sabbah

Sometimes an artist's work encompasses such rare and deep understanding of music that it makes you pause and wonder what goes through that individual's brain when knee deep in the creative process of sound conjuring.
DJ Cheb i Sabbah makes me do exactly that.
For over a decade his captivating music has delighted me and I love putting on one of his mighty fine albums and reveling in the intricate sonic layers emanating from the speakers. Cheb i Sabbah belongs to a rare breed of artists indeed and for the record I just want to get everybody addicted to his wondrous infusion of sounds.
Please visit his webpage and be prepared to fall in love with this amazing musician, DJ, producer and awesome human being. And go check out a live performance if you can: Your brain will be very happy with you.

Datelicious

Now I know nothing about dates. In fact, I hardly go on them (such a clever pun! I'll stop). So yeah, I have never been a date-lover but lately the bombardment is ON and after many dateless days I am now in the Land of Phoenix dactylifera a-plenty. Both in Jordan as well as here in the UAE I run into dates wherever I go: The trees heavy with fruit line the Corniche, gardens, the streets and the supermarkets have entire food isles dedicated to this ancient staple of the Middle East.
There are so many different dates for sale that I imagine annual date tastings where date connoisseurs are akin to wine snobs as in '..Oh, this variety has notes of honey and walnut with a tone of camel dung, etc etc". I mean, in many countries (except this one..) people make wine out of date trees (Hello, palmwine!) which would be completely up my alley but a date is a date to me and I have not developed any desire to distinguish one from the other.
That said, I have admired their growth over the last couple of months. Watching the fruits ripen, slowly changing colors and shape has been interesting and if my camera wasn't broken I would have spent endless time photographing their beauty.
I must be one of the few dateless folks here in the Middle East, one who happily hits up the giant delicious olive section in the grocery store instead. YUM.

Chopper Crash

A while ago I was called in for assisting on a HUET (Helicopter Underwater Escape Training) job in Abu Dhabi because due to strict gender segregation here in the UAE an all-female dive crew needed to be on site. After men disappeared from sight and all security cameras were shut off in the hall of the training pool the ladies changed from their black abayas into industrious blue overalls, complete with color-coded safety helmets and rubber footwear. The training session consisted out of several aspects, including how to deal with crash landings of helicopters in the ocean.
The most astounding thing was that over ninety percent of them didn't even know how to SWIM.
Imagine being buckled into a container that gets dunked into deep water, flipped upside down, and then wait in that position for 7 seconds before attempting escape? When before that the most water you have encountered in your life was probably in the bathtub?

These women BLEW me away. Sure they were scared and apprehensive, I would be too if I couldn't swim. But they did it and cheered on their classmates through all the drills, from getting into a life raft, helicopter sling lift and the dreaded helicopter submersion. RESPECT.

After the training (which they all aced by the way) one of the women tentatively asked if we gave any swimming classes, you know, the exclusive female ones. It warmed my heart.

Saline Solution

 

Sticks and Stones

I was crying my eyes out and my colleague at the time was uttering sounds of disbelief and shock whilst he kept passing me the box of tissues. Heads up: it's that kind of a film.

The title is self-explanatory so I don't think I am giving anything away when I warn you ahead of time about that sickening scene where a young woman is stoned to death by her community, her husband and even by children who are encouraged to pick up rocks and take aim. All based upon a true story.

I have not had the opportunity to read the book that preceded the film but after looking it up it is clear that you won't come across many paperback copies in Iran: It belongs to their banned literature list to this very day. Astonishing, I know.
Even more astonishing is this little news snippet regarding the same country's recent amendment of their 'stoning law'.

Lapidation is still practiced on a global scale. It is an ancient form of torture where a slow and extremely painful death is the end result, with not one sole executioner but an entire crowd bearing the responsibility, thus making it harder to point the finger at the culprit although human rights groups such as Amnesty International and the International Committee Against Stoning are doing their darnest best to save those that have been condemned to death by stoning.

The Stoning of Soraya M. is horrific. Brutal.
And it tells the story of the murder of a young woman and the courage of another revealing the unspeakable acts of her perpetrators.

 

Defiance without Regret

I love the variety of paths that self expression paves out for each and everyone of us. Yet the beauty that I value above all when it comes to art is the underlying force of creation that can take it to another level: Perhaps not always as popular or endearing enough but the displayed layers that I am so attracted to are deeply rooted and can have significant meanings that a pretty landscape painting simply will never capture.

I have been a fan of Ai Weiwei for a while, and I promise you won't be sorry either: Please check out his work or the documentary that highlights some of his art and actions.

Under the Sea

Cedric meets Patrick

Zebra Spots

The final dhow trip of the season turned out to be amazing, filled with sunshine, warm waters and dhowsome divers who on the first day ran into a school of Pygmy Devil Rays, playfully offering us a glimpse of why we love being underwater so much. Two dives later and about to start our ascent my buddy and I were approached by an unexpected visitor, circling us languidly with two or so Remoras attached to her freckle-covered sides before abandoning us and slowly cruising back into the shadows of the sea.
The way she moved was utterly elegant and captivating, her long tail lazily propelling her out of sight and I had to curb my desire to swim after her. Sheer magnificence...
After our safety stop the novice diver and I were floating about awaiting for the boat to pick us up and she said that that was the biggest fish she had ever seen.
A real big fish. When I told her it was a Leopard shark she almost burst with excitement, our faces mirror images with shared laughter and happiness.
Except that I was wrong. It was not a Leopard shark.

To appease my OCD Nerd tendencies (I also entered 'do Tuna fish sleep?' in the search engine. You're about to do it too now) I looked for more information on the beauty with the cute spots & elongated tail and after trolling the web I came up with two different shark species: Triakis semifasciata (Leopard shark) and Stegostoma fasciatum (Zebra shark). The first one hangs out somewhere along the Pacific coast of North America so it seemed a no-brainer: The curious shark we saw was definitely a Zebra shark. With leopard spots. Not zebra stripes. But both common names are used interchangeably for the Stegostoma fasciatum.
D'oh. My head hurts.
As most marine life enthusiasts know the aquatic life is not shy at all when it comes to drastically altering their looks (or their sex, for that matter) and Zebra sharks belong to this colorful and diverse underwater carnival parade. In their juvenile state they look like they belong on the great African savanna until they dive into the tickle trunk of awesome outfits to emerge as polka-dotted adults. Simply amazing.

That same day was topped off by lounging on giant pillows in front of a bonfire on the beach together, a full moon illuminating the inky sky. I slept well that night, on the deck with the stars glittering above and the bio-luminescence dimly outlining the boat's hull. With the reassuring knowledge that a leopard-spotted Zebra shark was on the prowl somewhere below.

Zebra Spots

Showing her true stripes as a babe

Childhood

I was born in Oman. My only memories of those formative years are composed out of a few primitive yet powerful feelings, smells and images that pop up in my mind when I am confronted with certain triggers.

My mother used to give me unleavened Arabic flat-bread to munch on - a memory that came flooding back when I was in Jordan and got handed khobs, the same type of bread. But when it comes down to raisins I screw up my face. Most likely I had quite the overdose during my first five years on this earth.
As always we were living nearby the sea, and when I close my eyes I can recall our boat, it was black and red and my parents tell me that the rougher the waves were the more soundly their pint-sized kidlet slept. Some things never change, even when you grow up.
I don't remember much about going to school (then again I have trouble remembering university too) but I still have that red cup that has 'Ras Al Hambra Kindergarten' printed on it in white letters (an excellent vessel for gin & tonics on a hot summer's day)

Three decades later and I have returned to work and live in the vicinity of my birthplace. As a dive instructor I regularly dive in Oman and it thrills me to bits to be able to go back and have the opportunity to see where I came from through fresh eyes.
Whilst I am here I am planning to travel to Oman, this time not below the ocean's surface but on land. Hopefully my mother or father will come with me, and show me around. A full circle, and it feels as if everything falls into place.

Headphones

For over ten years I have worked as a dj with my own radio show. One of our essential tools of the trade (next to heaps & heaps of music!) are headphones, and this is where I have committed major sinful acts in the past.

I have lost count on how many pairs have bitten the dust in the decade that they have served as transmitters for my selfish sonic pleasure. I have been a most cruel headphones mistress and was reminded of this when I went through all of my gear before I left home: I found so many headphones, broken and dusty in a steam trunk or two...All forlorn and forgotten. I am not sure why I kept them, all hidden away. Perhaps a psychologist could stick an appropriate behavioral label on this. Sigh.

The good news is that my current headphones have been with me for TWO whole years. It is nothing short of a miracle and although the ear lining is severely deteriorating, falling off and sticking to my skin resembling some horrid eczema related to a medieval black plague they are still going strong and supplying me with the tunes that keep me bouncy and happy as a clam.

In fact, I like them so much that once they die (I am being realistic here) the replacement will be exactly the same Panasonic Clone. Unfortunately now another essential part is MIA. My MP3 Player with all my music went missing from my locker at my previous job, just before I left.
The only thing I can say to the one who took it I already said once before but I would like to say again:
May my collection of music lift your spirit and brighten your soul. Although you know how much music means to me I am glad you only took the digital versions.

Back home is where the originals are at. With my pals, safe and sound. In the mean time I get to buy a new MP3 Player and introduce my awesome loyal headphones to it. It will be groovy and soulful, I promise you that.

My headphones - as if they were this new and shiny

Dhowsome Love

After my second weekend diving expedition to Oman I now have developed a serious secret crush. Unfortunately we'll only be united for one more weekend before the seasonal Omani sailing trips stop, for it will become too hot here under the Arabic sun to sleep on the open deck, let alone fill tanks in the midday heat. This means no more shared star-lit nights on the water together...

So yeah, I keep daydreaming. Most fantasies involve loads of private time consisting out of lazy lay-in mornings and intimate candle-lit nights... It is so bad that I just want to move in, permanently and I'm normally not much of a nesting bird. But she certainly is something else.
It has only been two weekends but I know that this could blossom into a life long love. She is my Dream Gal.

...I want to sail her safely into one of the beautiful bays surrounding Gabriola Island and introduce her to my friends. I want to sling my hammock from her mast and I want to show her what cold water really feels like.

I am hopelessly in love with a Dhow.
My love fantasy includes refurbishing her into a houseboat complete with woodstove and amenities. It would be the most grand Romance of all Times...

The Love Boat

No City Gal

I get lost in malls. I have no idea why I can't beat this re-occurring scenario but I become disoriented and slowly but surely lose my way, strolling around trying to understand how the hell I got in there and how to retrace my steps. I blame it on the mall of course: Everything seems the same with ads, lights blinking everywhere, canned music, echoing noises and the throngs of humans who - annoyingly so - look like they know exactly where they are.

It happened to me the last time I was in Cairo. It took me thirty minutes to extract myself from the maze of store levels and elevators to find the right exit that I was expected to be at an hour ago.
Today could have been a repeat. Our uber-cool boss told us that he wanted to treat us to a day in Dubai (on a workday) and told the two of us to get lost, have fun and explore. So together with my colleague I headed to Dubai, a fascinating modern city filled to the brim with luxury and heaps of more luxury topped off with even more deluxe folks. I swear the people that live here must eat gilded cornflakes for breakfast or something.

Whilst puttering around Ikea my colleague had the intelligence to keep tabs on my whereabouts with a cellphone so she would not lose me to a couch in one of showcase living rooms. She was the experienced field guide and from then on I held onto her for dear life: We were about to enter the infamous Dubai Mall.

Imagine a monstrous construction containing over 1200 stores, an enormous aquarium, cinemas and lord knows what else lurking in there.
I got lost. But not for very long for my kick-ass colleague took me to the aquarium where I almost kidnapped the cutest two baby eagle rays that kept playfully dipping their little heads out of the water and staring straight up into my eyes and I fell in love with them and I then saw my first Pineapple fish but no glow and I now also suffer from acute all-five-of-'em sensory overload after spending a day in a mall-scape that seems to go on forever and ever. Wow.

Seeing all the crazy buildings of Dubai made me marvel at the ingenious way that humans change a landscape irrevocably and become a breathing and living part of it.

It sure is nice to be back home again.
And not getting lost on my way to the little ladies' room.

Aquarium Dubai Mall

En Route

Alectis ciliaris

A juvenile African Pompano is such a tiny freak with its impossibly long dorsal filaments. I swear it almost looks like it was touched by the holy appendage of the Flying Spaghetti Monster or something. I don't know why but it makes me wonder about possible entanglement underwater for these little guys. Imagine swimming along pleasantly and getting your dorsal fin stuck in something? I have a cartoon-esque visual of it stored in my mind and it makes me giggle.

I have never come across a juvvie although colleagues of mine in Mexico have emerged from the water telling me all about having one of these wonderful weird encounters (And no, of course I am not envious...) 

Whilst in Musandam my student and I had got a pleasant surprise when we hit the water. First a Pygmy Devil Ray zoomed past us and then...A school of mature African Pompano fish came cruising by, leisurely on their way to the nearby cleaning stations to get a little spa treatment, I presume. Gosh, they are such cool fish! I have absolutely no particular reasoning (besides their awkward juvenile appearance) why I think they are so awesome. You be the judge and watch the video of one swimming...

Pygmy Devil Ray

Mom and Pops Pompano

Pompano Junior