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

Blue Bites

I love blue food. Completely. I know that most of us are fond of blueberries but this attraction is mostly based on the taste and not on the specific hue that this berry exudes. To me they are irresistible BECAUSE they are blue. A deep, vibrant delicious blue...
Heck, you could take a bowl of my least favorite vegetable, Brussels Sprouts, dose them with a generous dollop of blue food coloring and I would be in there like a dirty shirt. I probably need therapy or something. To curb (or satiate?) my enthusiasm for All Foods That Are Blue my friends tend to be highly accommodating: One of my dear pals in Mexico kindly sprinted across busy roads to retrieve blue candy floss from the street vendor who was not within my reach; and others patiently separate the blue M&M's to make me cease jumping up and down with manic eagerness.
I don't know why I have this infinite craving for blue edibles. I tried to stop pondering the reason behind it but it is hard because there is not that much real natural blue food out there. Sure, blueberries are one of them but cobalt-colored Skittles hardly count. Right?

So I looked it up. According to a website about color & foods I am - in an evolutionary sense - destined to kick the bucket (...). Most cyaneous-colored delectables out there would make you keel over on the spot, thus conditioning humankind over thousands of years to AVOID blue food. Apparently even the sight of cerulean snacks suppress appetite.
Sigh.
It seems as if my best bet is to purchase some azure-colored sunglasses to keep my rose-colored view on my favorite food color from getting the Blues.

Bluesy Goodness

Diving Expedition

In the evening the traditional dhow headed out under the full moon in Omani waters for two days of diving and two nights of sleeping under the Middle Eastern sky. A wonderful crew of divers made it an excellent weekend and the unspoiled marine environment was a feast for the eyes.

In the next month we will be heading out for the last seasonal dhow diving trips to Oman. I am very much looking forward to it - Sailing and diving in remote seas makes my heart glow with contentment...

I love my job.

Dhow & Divers

Omani Sunrise

En Route

Musandam, Oman

The Reality of Television

I have never watched TV much, perhaps because I grew up without one during my formative years. When we lived in Gabon we used to wheel the TV and VCR (when video cassettes still ruled the world!) out of their hiding spot to watch old movies. Living in Holland as a teenager I did get glued to the screen, perhaps my highest peak of true TV addiction featuring MTV and Allie McBeal (I know, I know...)

But in the last twelve years I have not owned a single TV.
The main factors responsible for the absence of television in my life are probably the more isolated places I've lived and my parents - who aren't TV junkies.
I view this as a blessing in many ways and I am grateful. However, during certain social exchanges I of course can't say much when it comes to the latest happenings regarding TV programs. I normally make up for it by uttering appropriate noises during a rehash between acquaintances about the latest episode of e.g. Desperate Housewives whilst listening to the opinions flying back and forth about these famous strangers' latest behaviors and looks.

I believe that reality shows are a different beast all together. I understand their lure and the aspect of voyeurism but in general I do not have much care for the day-to-day lives of the rich and famous.
To be really honest with you, I find the reality, care and love of life and that of others around me much more significant and interesting.
Yet don't think that I am dissing TV altogether, heavens no.
I am a fervent fan of films, documentaries and several TV series but I want to be the one that chooses instead of letting TV channels decide what I can watch and when. Besides, DVDs and online viewing have less advertisement interruptions, and I get to hit the pause button whenever I want!

You might wonder why did I write this post about television?
Well, my new home in Khorfakkan is this beautiful, quiet and clean apartment with all the amenities, provided by the awesome company I work for. And guess what? A high tech flatscreen TV adorns the wall in my bedroom. With all the channels in the world!
The things is, I don't even know how to turn it on...

 

Khorfakkan the Town

Khor Fakkan can be translated into "Creek of Two Jaws" and is nestled right between Oman and Musandam in the United Arab Emirates.
I arrived in Khorfakkan in the beginning of April. It is a quiet, sleepy town and a favored weekend destination for the ones that wish to escape the hustle and bustle of large cities such as Dubai and Abu Dhabi.

No bars or clubs are to be found here and during working days it is peaceful, with hardly any traffic and the meticulously groomed public spaces deserted during scorching hot midday hours. In the weekend the Corniche fills up with those who venture out in the evenings for a stroll when temperatures drop and work ceases. The beach attracts pick-nicks, water activities and families.

I have the feeling that I will enjoy living and working here very much.

Diving here is incomparable to other seaside ports in the Emirates. The abundance of marine life, the visibility and temperature here are drastically different, and much more favorable. One of my first days of diving I was pleasantly surprised by certain aquatic encounters and a Black-tip shark's fin breaking the surface brought a smile to my face. My first Zebra Moray Eel gazed coyly at me from beneath a crevice, and a meter further a Tiger Snake Moray shied away as soon as he spotted my bubbles...

Khorfakkan Beach

Zebra Moray Eel

Stark Desert Mountains

Nightingale Sisters

Many a dark winter night these voices have filled my living room. I can close my eyes and get transported back to those precious evenings: Lounging around with a half smile on my face, a glass of wine in my hand and their soaring vocals soaking right into my soul. Candles lit, incense burning and Crackhead the cat sleeping in front of the fire. I miss moments such as these, where the night tends to mingle with the musical notes and envelops you in a sonic landscape that is both foreign yet so familiar.

When I moved to Canada I shared an apartment with two men for a while. Allan was Nepalese and Saeed came all the way from Pakistan. Saeed's presence introduced me to Bollywood films & soundtracks and classical Indian music, a gift I will forever be grateful for.
Whether he was translating a few of Asha's lyrics or giving me an update on the story line of a Bollywood flick that we were watching, he remained patient and kind, even teaching me how to sing along with some of Lata's more famous songs (I am tone deaf, by the way).

Lata Mandeshkar and Asha Bhosle are the nightingales of India and are revered worldwide. It seems silly to describe the magnitude of their talent and beauty. Please experience it for yourself and make up your own mind. Hopefully their voices will enrich the appreciation you have for music even more.
Asha Bhosle 
Lata Mangeshkar

The Legendary Sisters

En Route

Syngnathidae

Oh boy. These tiny fellows make me incredibly happy underwater. Their delicate bodies, their poor yet elegant swimming abilities and their uber-cute demeanor make my heart sing. C'mon, just look at their little snouts!

Pipefish are related to seahorses (minus the belly) and are completely and utterly adorable. Period.
Good thing about working in the Red Sea is that I get to see them almost on every dive!
There is a bunch of them that hang out on the crow's nest of the shipwreck the Cedar Pride and I make a point of going to see them when I take clients out there (Please don't ask me what my oh so not creative underwater signal for 'pipefish' is)
One day I took a Danish guest out diving and after the dive briefing and going on about my pipefish adoration we approached their little love nest. Imagine my dismay to find a big-ass Devil Scorpionfish. Right next to where one of these little guys was hovering.
Holding your breath underwater is not the best thing to do but I couldn't help it: Three Pipefish socializing not even 20 centimeters away from this dude that could vacuum them up faster than my mother's Dirt Devil. (I am embarrassed to say I was also kind of fascinated. Let's face it, you don't get to see a Scorpionfish having a snack on every dive...)

No harm was done in the end. I returned to the Cedar Pride a day later and all were still happily floating about. Phew.

Delicate beauty of a Pipefish

Elusive Ornate Ghost Pipefish