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