Lorries, Labaneh & Lushing It Up On Holy Friday

Today I'm creating a blogwich of delicious, totally unrelated topics. Blog appetit! 

(Hopefully Noolee reads this post: that pun was a special gift for her!)

Let's begin with a delightful layer of lorry. A "lorry," I'm sure most of you know, is a weird UK word for "truck." Wikipedia, the preferred primary source of all serious researchers, reports that:

Lorry is a term from the UK and the Republic of Ireland, but is only used for the medium and heavy type [of truck]. A van, a pickup or a jeep would never be regarded as a lorry.

C and I were discussing lorries recently, and I discovered a great new way to tease the poor man, who, given his occupation, likes to be accurate about vehicular thingers. 

I simply suggest that vehicles which clearly aren't lorries, are. For instance, when I need to know where he parked our Pathfinder, I ask him where he put the lorry. Or if we're driving and an SUV cuts us off, I say, "Stupid lorry!" Then he earnestly explains my fundamental lorry-identification error, and I giggle. (I guess the jig is up since he'll read this, but I'll come up with something else soon enough. Such are the endearing little ways that I nurture marital bliss.)

In truth, I knew all about lorries long before I came here, since I'm pretty sure that's what the 101 Dalmatians used to evade the clutches of Cruella de Vil in her psychomobile. (As a sprog I paid a lot of attention to Cruella and modes of transport proven effective in escaping her because she scared the bejeezus out of me. Just ask my dad, who had to help me move my bed into my bedroom doorway so that I could keep watch for Cruella coming down the hallway to "get" me.)

For some reason, hearing people from the UK or NZ/Oz talk about lorries makes me laugh. It's much too goofy/friendly of a term to use when, as frequently occurs here in Dubai, you're describing a vehicle driven by a maniac that nearly T-boned you even though you were both theoretically travelling in the same direction. I can only imagine the line of questioning at a Dubai lorry driver interview...

HR: "Do you have a driver's license?"

Prospective Maniac: "My cousin has a...liquor...license."

HR: "Brilliant. Do you shoulder check?"

PM: "Of course. You never get a second chance to make a first impression."

HR: And how does one make an effective lane change?"

PM: "What's a lane?"

HR: "When can you start?"

Lorries have no mirrors, or if they do have mirrors, their drivers studiously avert their eyes. (In fact, the drivers manage to ignore their surroundings so completely one wonders if some of them are retired NHL referees. Was that you, Kerry Fraser?)

As for brakes, ha! To stop a lorry, simply aim for some squishy bit of desert, my friend, or the cushiony side panel of a passing Nissan Tiida!

The lorries of Dubai careen down Sheikh Zayed Road, trying out all the lanes while alternating speeds of 140km/hour (while tailing you) and 10km/hour (once they've cut you off.) They often have rickety bits of paneling hanging off them, and always carry something like a ladder or big boxes of sharp construction utensils in the back, ready to bounce out and puncture your windshield should traffic suddenly pile up.

But calling these vehicles "lorries" makes me think of Paddington Bear and Devonshire Cream and sheep and other soft, English things, which distracts from the fact that they are rickety Soviety-era buggies driven at Mad Max speeds by utter lunatics. So it's "truck" for me, all the way. Except when I see a Jeep Cherokee or a Hummer and C is with me. Then it's lorry!

The next bit of blog is truly delish. Labaneh is technically yogurt cheese, but that's a poor way to describe the velvety perfection of the cream-dreamiest spread that ever applied itself directly to my birthin' hips. It comes in a variety of flavours but the garlic is so G-D good that's all we ever get. I put it on toast, pitas, scrambled eggs, mashed potatoes and meat. And everything else. I also eat it right out of the tub with a spoon. And on nights that C is away, I have been known to follow a few spoonfuls of labaneh with a few spoonfuls of Nutella and a mug of wine and call'er a night. Which leads me, Inksters, to the tempting bookend of the blogwich...

My lushalicious Friday plans! After a week of industrious effort on the job search front, I'm rewarding myself tomorrow with an indulgent afternoon at a new acquaintance's house. She's leaving Dubai soon, and several of us are to come over and help "pack" her leftover bottles. 

Fridays are the day when expats traditionally get tanked at all-day brunch and booze-fests in Dubai while the dutiful head off for double shots o' mosque, so I'm well within my stereotype for this outing...and if I'm not mistaken, there's some garlic labaneh waiting in the fridge for me when I get home!

On The New Pooch & Dubaisms

Greetings AmeezInk Faithful!

Sorry for the hiatus in communications...to be honest, I had a blip of homesickness for a few weeks there, and whenever I sat down at the computer, I'd find myself on cbc.com or something, reading Canadian pre-election coverage. (And let's face it - you have to be pretty hard up to seek out the latest dish on Harper and Dion.)

Happily, I seem to be emerging from my slump, thanks in no small part to one small dog. Our adopted pound puppy is the sweetest canine ever to lift a leg and has been with us for nearly a week now. He was called "Red" at the shelter but we wanted to give him a personalized handle. I suggested "Chili," as in red chili-pepper, and C appended his shelter name with a hyphen, so our pooch is now known by the slightly hillbilly name of Chili-Red. (And yes, we're aware of the chili-dog pun, and we embrace it!).

He's a Saluki (desert dog) mix with eyes as big as plates and a mellow, eager-to-please personality. He tested his boundaries on Day Two with a brief foray onto the couch, and Mommy literally scared the pee out of him with a forceful "OFF!", but other than that and a couple of mild shoe-gumming incidents, he's been sweet as pie. He's also proven to be a champion napper, and as AmeezInk fans may be aware, naps are an occasional occurrence in our household...

I was very proud the other day when he made a friend outside during morning business. She's a saucy MinPin called Lucy and they seem to have hit it off after a thorough head-to-tail sniff-over. Chili may even have a date for Dubai Dog Club on Saturday night down at the old camel tracks (yes, really, I couldn't make that up)...I'll keep everyone posted on how their relationship progresses.

In other news, I've been collecting a few words and expressions from Dubaidom to give you another taste of our daily life here...

1. "Do you have two dirhams?"

You'll hear this request almost every time you pay for something. They don't like handing out change in Dubai, not least because they rarely have any coins to give you. Also, one dirham is basically 27 cents Canadian, so 25 fils (dirham-cents) is, well, not a whole lotta beans. Regardless, I'm used to getting change, I guess, even if it is an inconvenient four pennies or a handful of loons and toons. 

Here, change is a no-go. You're always being asked to hand over one or two dirham coins so that the salesperson can give you a paper bill back. This begs the question as to how you're supposed to get those coins in the first place, but this is clearly not the concern of the hapless person on the other side of the counter who will stare at you in dismay if you admit that you don't have any coinage with you.

Sometimes they will solve the problem by asking a nearby security guard or fellow cashier for change. Sometimes they will call someone on the phone. Sometimes there will be a stalemate, wherein you and the cashier will stare at each other, woefully unable to complete the transaction, the offending package of pitas sitting guiltily between you.

Whatever happens, I suppose the bright side is that you don't end up carrying around a change purse with enough heft to chock an Airbus. (Whoo, check out the aviation references on Amy!)

2. "Timings"

Timing are, in theory, when stores open and close. You don't call and ask when stores open or close; you call and ask for timings. Then you ignore them. They are merely rough estimates generated to please phone callers.

3. "Yes, it will work"/"Try next week"/"Try in two hours"/"Come in three days"/"Go to Jebel Ali"

When these terms apply to getting a PIN for telephone banking, they all translate as "You are profoundly screwed and will never have a working PIN. Thanks for banking with HSBC."

Hubby has been trying for seven weeks - I sh*t you not - to get a PIN. They don't, by the way, just let you choose your own PIN via phone or at a branch. You must use one of three methods to get a piece of paper with an arbitrarily-generated PIN on it, then wait 24 hours, then call the telephone banking centre. (You cannot verify your identify with anything other than your PIN, naturally. Not even were you to courier a vial of your "Biological" would they believe you were who you claimed to be, I suspect.)

Method 1: Wait at home for several days straight for a courier that never arrives.

Method 2: Visit a branch during its obscure "timings" to get a PIN, which won't work when you get home.

Method 3: Wait in vain for a PIN to be mailed to you.

After applying the above numerous times for several weeks, happily, a new strategy has emerged that seems to be working:

Method 4: Anytime you think about banking, PINS or anything remotely financial in nature, open a bottle of wine. Repeat as necessary.

4. "Mamsir"

Mamsir is what we are called when we shop in Dubai. Most often the term is used by the faultlessly-polite Filipina salespeople. They practically turn it into a song: "Helloooooomaaammmmsirrrrr!"

If there's more than one salesperson around, we are treated to a harmonious, choir-like effect, a lilting chorus of "Hellooooooomaaaammmsiiirrrrrr's" that accompany us as we walk through the store. 

Initially, it was a bit nerve-wracking as you were never sure when a salesperson would leap out from behind a chaise lounge with a Tigger-like bounce and sing "HELLOOOOOOMAAAMMSIRRRR!" at you. But we've gotten used to it, and really, how bad can it be to have a soundtrack for your furniture-buying expedition? Not bad at all.