The great ‘Middle East’ holiday!

The other day, some friends who have lived in Canada for almost three decades decided they would visit Dubai, following a long pending invitation. Once the preliminary details were taken care of, they asked to talk to us.

The couple and their children had apparently noted down all their queries and doubts about visiting ‘the Middle East’ as they kept referring to it. So we fixed a time and took their call.

For the first few minutes we exchanged pleasantries. Then they kept telling us how much they were ‘looking forward to visiting the Middle East’ until they ran out of words and into an uncomfortable silence. The wife then put her husband in a spot by announcing that he had something to ask. The husband cleared his throat and mumbled something about both of them being in this together.

‘Er ..’ he said, ‘Basically, I just wanted to check about the robes. Should we come wearing them or can we pick them up there?’

‘Pick up what .. sorry?’

‘The er.. robes, y’know, the Arabic robes?’

‘You don’t have to wear them.’

There was a puzzled conference at the other end. ‘The husband came on the line again. ‘What about the women?’ he asked. ‘We were told the police would er .. sort of er … insist ..’

‘No, no’ I said, ‘there’s nothing like that in the UAE.’

‘Are you sure?’

I began to get irritated. ‘I’ve been here over twenty years’ I said. ‘We have never worn anything other than what we have always worn.’

Another hushed conference. ‘Should we try and buy some Indian clothes for the girls?’

‘There is no need at all to buy anything. Your regular clothes will work fine. Just come.’

‘But..’ he hesitated. Then, lowering his voice to a hushed whisper, he added ‘They just wear jeans and shorts and tees most of the time.’ He almost seemed to be worried that someone might be eavesdropping on our conversation and taking notes.

‘It’s okay!’ I stressed. ‘That’s fine! This is a cosmopolitan city, believe me!’

They seemed unconvinced but switched to another subject.

‘What about food?’ the lady asked.

‘What about it?’

‘Should we bring some cheese and crackers and stuff?’

There was an embarrassing silence which was broken by a nervous giggle from the lady. ‘Of course, you probably get these things even in the Middle East ..’ 

I assumed my most pompous tone. ‘In Dubai, we even get quinoa and Canola oil’ I said, remembering something they had told me about earlier. ‘And granola bars and cookies and cereals and every kind of cheese. There is McDonalds and Starbucks and Tim Hortons and Johnny ..’

‘Oh my God!’ one of the girls shrieked. ‘Tim Hortons! Unbelievable! In the Middle East!’

Somehow the introduction of this Canadian coffee shop motif appeared to have helped considerably in relieving them of their apprehension. Nervous twitters turned to excited squeals.

‘Well, that’s fine then’ the husband announced. ‘Now, we just need your address. We have to leave our overseas address with a government department when we travel abroad’.

I brushed this aside. ‘Oh, we just use a P. O. Box’ I said.

Again, I sensed the confidence level plunge. ‘No address?’ he gasped. ‘But ..but, there must be something, surely.’

‘Well, it’s informally called Bushra building, but there’s really no street number and no proper address.’
The call ended shortly after, amidst a sense of definite unease. But ten minutes later, he came on again. He sounded buoyant.

You do have an address!’ he announced triumphantly. ‘I knew it would be there. I found it on google maps!’

P. G. Bhaskar is a private banker and an author. He blogs on www.pgbhaskar.com and his twitter handle is @bhaskarpg