Buffets, Booze and No Bills

[I'm a little slow today because of the after-effects of last night's drinking, so apologies if this is weak in terms of creativity...]

Yesterday was the first day of my weekend, and I must say, it was sheer genius.

Firstly, I have agreed to write a Meet&Eat feature for the paper. It's a regular feature whereby the journalist interviews a person of interest over a meal in a nice restaurant. I interviewed the General Manager of Al Boom Marine at a Thai restaurant in Le Meridien Dubai.

The meal was the best I've had since I got here without doubt. And of course the fact that it was free gave it an extra sweet taste. We both ordered a set menu and the steady flow of dishes (I think I counted seven in all) soon filled us up. Lobster soup, king prawns, duck, beef, noodles, more lobster... Delicious. Anyway, you will be able to read all about that on Tuesday: Page 34.

At night, after officially signing for and taking the keys to my new car, Matt informed me that he had some media gig for me to attend if I so wished. Seeing as it was my Saturday night and he promised there would be alcohol available, I agreed. And despite the hangover, I am glad I did.

You see, this week is Gitex Dubai 2006, one of the world's top three Information Technology exhibitions. It sounds awful but, as just about every technological company you can imagine is involved, there is lots going on and every night there are functions...

Myself, Mr Matthew Smithers, Tony 'The T Dogg' Richardson and Canadian John went to this media gig, which turned out to be a beach party held by Sun Microsystems. On arrival we were given a glass of coconut punch and a Hawaiian shirt (my kind of party!) and informed that everything behind the bar was compliments of Sun Microsystems. FREE BAR!

Hula dancers came and danced on the makeshift stage as we propped the bar up demanding exceedingly more extravagant drinks; waiters walked around ensuring that everyone's drink was full, and providing a top up if you had any less than half a glass; also, an exotic buffet was put on.

After a few beers, gin and tonics and vodka red bulls, we decided to liven up the bland conversation by playing a game (not indoor tennis). Basically, having struck up a chat with a stranger, we each had to tell extravagant lies and try to get one of the other people (ie Matt, Tone, John or me) into the conversation by introducing them as something totally random. This could be as simple as, "Tell [insert stranger's name] about the time when you ended up in court for treason" or something far more elaborate. And the only rule is you have to play along with whatever the other person says. I ended up having a five-second bit-part in Braveheart, including only one line of dialogue -- which I was made to recite spontaneously when questioned by both Matt and T-Dogg: "Tell him your line!" they screamed at me in drunken anticipation.

In response though we managed to convince an unsuspecting victim, who it turned out liked reggae music, that Tony used to live in Jamaica and was once close friends with Shaggy. Shaba!

So, in conclusion, I had a great day, ate exceptional food, had all the drinks my liver probably couldn't handle and didn't spend a penny. Or even a Dirham.

Oh, and it gets better, there is another free bar tonight. This time at the world's only seven star hotel, The Burj Al Arab. It's very exclusive though and you only get in 'if your name is on the list'. Which mine is! I am very excited for this as I have yet to go to the Burj and even on a normal day you can't get in unless you are staying or eating there. My camera will be passing through the gaudy golden gates with me...

It's Rude to Walk

In an adamant quest to ensure I am late for work this week, my phone decided, this morning, to vibrate its way along the window-ledge and perform a death-defying dive onto the hard tiled floor, resulting in a broken, useless Nokia and a broken, helpless Sheikh.

Dirty Rotten Scoundrels

Many of the people who work in Dubai seem to have a real inability to tell the truth. It's not even a matter of honesty but rather a fear of saying "no". It's mainly taxi drivers but real estate agents can't seem to do it either, nor can bankers.

Each day when I am going to work I get in the cab and ask the guy: "Al Quoz, do you know where it is?"

Taxi: "Oh yes sir, of course sir, three bags full sir."

I, comfortable in the fact the driver knows where he is going, get stuck into my book (Craig Clevenger's The Contortionist's Handbook) only to overhear him on the phone 10 minutes later asking a fellow driver for instructions on how to get to Al Quoz. Why don't they just admit they don't know and I can then direct them? The fact that my sense of direction is as bad as my mother's is neither here nor there.

Another example is the real estate folks: "Oh yes sir, you can have that villa, I have the contract in my hand. I will come by your office and you can sign it...yes...I'll just come now." Three hours later still no sign of him and of course it would be rude to call.

Bankers? "Yes, you're buying a car? Of course, yes. You can have the money by tomorrow." Four days later I still don't have my money and the car is gearing up to be sold to someone else.

It's still definitely taxis, however, that do my head in the most. Despite being cheap, the drivers blatantly lie to your face. So this week I decided to lie back to them. When in Rome and all that.

I get a taxi from work and tell him that I just need to run inside to get some lunch. Would he mind sending another taxi to come and get me in half an hour as I have no credit in my phone to call one. "Where are you going?" he asks.

This is where the lie is required. If you say, "I'm going to the beach" he is going to think to himself, "OK, that's about a five minute cab ride. I'm not going to wait half an hour for a five minute cab drive," and he will drive away leaving you stranded in the middle of nowhere with no credit to call a taxi. However, if you cunningly 'forget' for a second that you are really going to sun yourself, and instead tell the driver, "I'm going down to the HSBC bank in Bur Dubai; right next to the creek," the Dirham signs will light up in his eyes as he realises he can get about Dh70 for waiting half an hour. I call this move The Play, but it gets better.

I then go inside and enjoy a microwaveable burritto as he waits outside. I pack up my beach bag, grab my book and head back out to the car. As I get in I set my phone to play its ringtone. I answer the fictitious phone call and proceed to pull off an Oscar-worthy albeit one-sided performance of an irate customer who has just been told by his bank manager that there is no point coming to Bur Dubai as he is going to be on training: "No...NO! I told you I can't come tomorrow. I'm working tomorrow!... So when can I come then?...Four o'clock...fine...I'm not happy about this though...OK...yes, you do that...goodbye." And the phone snaps shut.

"Sorry about this driver but my bank manager has let me down. Can you just take me to Beach Road instead please so I can kill some time." The driver agrees, after all, he heard the conversation and it's not my fault.

Finally, in a stroke of genius that displays my audacity I ask the already-vexed driver: "Why is it you can never trust anybody here in Dubai??" Ho ho. Revenge is sweet.