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Life needs frosting
If we could understand Arabic, actually Arabic at speed, we could tell you what was said between the bus driver and a passenger yesterday. A young, dark, woman in a nicely cut suit tried to get the driver to open the back doors so she could get on just as the bus was about to pull away from the stop. The driver let her in the front and what followed was a blistering tirade of what could only have been an expression of displeasure. Body language is universal. Half of the passengers then seemed to join in, everyone with an opinion to share, either side. Once we got moving, the tirade would reignite like sporadic machine gun fire, the driver spending more time glaring at the woman than watching the road. That is, until we got to one place where he simply stopped the bus and told us all that was that, He was off to the Mosque to pray. We picked all this up mostly by an occasional word, hand sign and watching the other passengers. He would be back when ready, maybe 5 minutes, maybe 10, maybe 15, maybe more. Sensing his mood, ready may have been quite some time. And then he was gone, bus keys with him.
Although Abu Dhabi is an island with what it describes as 400km of pristine coastline and beautiful beaches, there are limited places for the public to swim. The resorts have flogged all the best beaches, with the general public confined to a few areas which costs 10 dirham each to get in. Then there are the signs which list all the offences which could get you taken before the authorities; littering, drinking, fires, loud music and "nudit" among them. By contrast to Germany, where people get their full kit off to swim and sunbathe the minute the snow melts, Muslim countries observe strict standards of modesty, even changing for the beach is not done in front of others, each person using a private cubicle. Such are the contradictions of life, however, that hordes of young Muslim men come down to the beach to oogle the swim-suited Western bodies. For them, Marty has donned his best Speedos.
Friday is a day off, when men congregate at the Mosques, in the streets and in parks by the thousands with their families, and it is lovely to see the men playing so affectionately with their young children. In response to the calls to prayer, men throng to the nearest Mosque, coming from all direction and then congregating in groups afterwards, milling around the old shopping areas and just generally enjoying the company of others. It is very social and quite unlike New Zealand.
Going home by bus on Friday evening was as eventful as the morning, but because of the number of people traveling rather than any incident. Noisy groups of men impatient for buses to arrive hail taxis and it appears a sort of auction goes on. Those who offer the highest fare get the ride, even if it means a group who has just successfully negotiated gets kicked out when another group offers more. More action than musical chairs. The buses, when they arrive, are packed and we mean packed. The ladies priority section has 12 seats, with at least two people squashed on each, others squashed in the aisles like proverbial sardines. The men’s section is worse and there are all sorts of colourful conversations going on, not a word of which we can understand.
Earlier, we discovered at the Abu Dhabi Mall an original Cinnabon outlet, Kaelene’s favourite. Their specialty a sticky, hot cinnamon roll with sweet, syrupy and sickly frosting, enough to make a camel hyperactive. Ours came topped with Pecan.
Cinnabon’s curious motto, life needs frosting, made us think of our morning bus driver. He could have done with a double.