Our Lady of Reality Television (and her mom, Kris Jenner, not pictured) can be seen here entering the Atlantis hotel on The Palm. Can I point out that I always look this refreshed after 18-hours of red-eye, transatlantic flying.
I wrote an observing life column in The National recently about one of the biggest differences between my life here and back in Canada. Here, much of the time, I stick out like a sore thumb. And most of the time I don't mind:
Abu Dhabi Police started doing this a few months ago, sending out these amazing illustrations to accompany their press releases. The first one I saw accompanied a release about a group of kids involved in some sort of war games activity who were busted by actual cops. I thought that could not be topped, but then came this beauty to accompany Ola Salem's Sheep jumps from five-story building after failed slaughter attempt in The National:
Every time I think it's going to be lovely, and it usually is - for the first hour and 15 minutes. Of course the taxi driver, delighted that I have decided to treat myself to a taxi instead of the bus, always needs to stop for petrol. Either he was just driving around town on fumes for thrills, and must double back into the closest Adnoc, which involves assorted back streets, U-turns and, of course, waiting in queues, or he realises it halfway there and worries openly about his dwindling supply with an ongoing "tsk tsk" sound. Then, blessedly, he spots an Adnoc.
Apparently, though, there is some sort of gas shortage. Why else would there be a line of cars 12 long just to get to a pump? He edges the car forward, hard on the break, hard on the gas, trying to sneak in, rolling down his window, pleading with car owners as they studiously ignore him and I try to hide in the back seat.
It's hard to get your hair cut well in Abu Dhabi. There are some great stylists in town, message me if you want their names, but there are a ton more that are terrible. Terrible. Like if they were chefs they would be poisoning people.
I walked around with a lopsided 'do for about two weeks – seized by a spirit of adventure, I had decided to try the salon at the hotel where I work out – before finally admitting I had enough. There are two women in the office with awesome hair, I asked who they went to and booked an appointment at Toni&Guy in Dubai. Hair problems solved. Hair is now pretty ok.
A colleague who tried her luck at an unrecommended local salon this week is decidely unhappy. Most of the hair (she was growing out) ended up on the floor. It was too much, she didn't like the colour, and to make matters worse, when the stylist seemed to sense her discomfort with the situation near the end of the cut, she said this:
"It's not so bad. Some people don't even have hair."
This ad promoting food safety was running for awhile in The National. I love everything about it: the carrots standing up defensively, the "No Trespassing" sign on the bowl, the headless chicken, ready to launch an uncooked, bacteria-spreading attack while sitting back on its haunches in that funny way toddlers do. Well done Abu Dhabi Food Control Authority. Well done.