Father of Gazelles: Abu Dhabi

One of the official responsibilities of a Trailing Spouse is to accompany the Non-Trailing Spouse—otherwise known as the Working Spouse, ie, the one with the actual job—when they have to take a class as part of their professional development requirements. Ah, did I say “responsibilities?” Sarah suggests a better word might be “privileges.” Okay, I can live with that! So, when she decided to take a course in Abu Dhabi in April, I had no choice but to trail along, right?

Our trip got off to an unexpected start when the Etihad staff, as we were heading down the boarding ramp in Chennai toward the plane, called us to a halt and told us to wait. Uh oh, did our visas have some crazy issue? But no, “You have been upgraded to Business Class for this flight, if you dont mind.” Gosh, . . . well, yeah! Rest assured, this was one flight where we wished the travel time would have been longer than the scheduled four hours. (Travel tip: whenever you can fly either of the two UAE airlines, Etihad or Emirates, it is definitely worth it!)

We stayed at the Shangri-La Qaryat Al Beri Hotel on the Khor al Maqta Canal where we enjoyed an ever changing palette of hues painting the stunning white of the Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque rising mirage-like above the ubiquitous construction across the waters. Of course, everyone loves to pose at the infinity pool with the canal and the mosque for a background, right?

The day we arrived, we toured the Grand Mosque at dusk, the sun setting behind it, rimming the minarets and domes and muqarnas–honeycombed–vaults with a richness beyond gold, where Sarah, after dressing in accord with the guidelines for mosque etiquette and being waved on by one attendant, was told, after all, to don a cobalt blue abaya along with her hijab in order to continue inside; and where she offered to unselfie a shot for a group of women who, it turned out, were from India, and who gifted her a string of pearl beads along with their open smiles in connection and friendship. Travel Tip: if you can buy tickets online in advance for a major attraction, anywhere, by all means, do it! We bypassed looooong lines at the Grand Mosque, as well as at the Louvre, and wondered why everyone didn’t buy online.

The next day we toured the new Louvre Abu Dhabi with its artful journey from ancient through contemporary times, from carvings on stone to a sarcophagus and a mummy and golden treasures through modern works painted by the artist using his feet; from the unknown through the well known and famous, from the Gilbert Stuart Washington to the gigantic Napoleon where I indulged my love of photographing people interacting with the art works: two ladies from China posing in the same gesture and who giggled and thumbs-upped us for minutes after; and to the other photographer I caught in silhouette against a brilliant protest work composed of chandeliers; to the child wearing the same ears as those around the world; and to the many other tourers like the graceful, noble couple who both seemed at least six feet tall and who glowed with the most luxurious, regal shade of blackest skin.

We vicariously reveled in the white sand beach at our hotel against the waveless clear water where tanless women in strings and men in paunches and speedos turned themselves willfully in the 40C+ heat or sat quietly ten meters out with the coolness just over their laps, scanning the brilliant, glowing pages of a book, imagining perhaps dystopian times where the sun expands to swallow a sand-ridden planet.

Of course, in addition to seeking out those awe inspiring walks in places like the Grand Mosque and the Louvre, our trips always focus on our dining experiences as we look to make new culinary discoveries. We met a musician/teacher friend who lives in Dubai (truly it is a small world as we seem to meet folks we know almost everywhere we travel) and who drove down to join us for dinner at the Shangri-La’s French Restaurant, Bord Eau. (Sorry about that name, this is NOT the similarly named Michelin Star venue in Amsterdam!) I foolishly indulged in something we rarely experience in Chennai, a huge hunk of beef . . . And I was roundly defeated by it! What we did love, though, were the dark sweet mellowness of a date, the salt fresh tang of an olive, the hot savory of peanuts coated with desert spices, cardamom and cinnamon and nutmeg, a shawarma with chicken and magnificent tomatoes and, yes, purple cabbage, and a morning ful medames for breakfast, fava beans at their best. Oh, and one of us smoked a Cuban cigar one afternoon. But our greatest discovery was those dates, at another shop in The Souk, Bateel Dates, from Saudi Arabia. Perhaps I’ve been naive, but I had zero clue that dates could be so varied and so magically flavorful! Where have I been?

But as usual, I love the time I get to walk the back streets and explore the local shops and stalls and photograph those at work or at leisure. At last, I found a cab driver who guided me one morning beyond the tourist sites to the fish market, to the vegetable and fruit and date market, and through the carpet souks, and who eventually shared with me that he was an architect from Kashmir, from the Pakistan side of the Line of Control, and who fervently believed in the self determination of that beautiful, mountainous state.

Of course, it’s the workers at the fish market who greet me with smiles and hellos and who pose eagerly for photos, who show off their catch, tell me the many fish I’ve never seen, and who, when I show them the images on the camera, clasp me by the shoulder, shake my hand, and call to their friends, and who show me how they gut and clean the catch, remove the scales, and offer them up to their customers; and the Emirati in the traditional white kandura with a baseball cap instead of the usual ghutra; and the tiny, glowing woman in hijab sitting on a chair while her fish is gutted and cleaned and who asks me to take her photo and shares her delight at the image and the constant question from nearly all: how much did you pay for that camera?

And finally, the line of the carpet sellers, mostly from Afghanistan or Iran, who beckon me to their shops, and who pose gracefully even when I tell them I’m only a photographer, not a buyer; and the one whose face and head scarf charm me the most, yet who refuses to be photographed but who allows me to sit on the floor with him instead and to chat and who still refuses even after he learns I’ve lived in India for years and he brightens and tells me he is from Kolkata and I thank him and share a shoulder clasp and handshake and a steady meeting of the eyes. And, in parting, how much did that camera cost?

Ah, and I also discovered a genuine Emirati coffee shop, Finyaal Cafe, where I treasured a new taste of pure Arabian coffee served with a couple . . . You guessed it, Bateel dates. The cafe had no English in either signs or staff but they showed me excellent care and welcome. What a marvelous way to while away an afternoon with a new flavor combination that sang of the Middle East. Ladhidh!

All in all, then, Sarah and I decided we enjoyed Abu Dhabi thoroughly enough to return to explore it further, so that may have to be another story, right? Oh, and that “Father of Gazelles” line? That’s what Abu Dhabi means in Arabic and the name sprang from the vast herds of gazelles that roamed the deserts in times past . . . what an evocative name . . . So remember, we encourage you to chase some gazelles if you ever have a chance!