That Was The Past Six Months That Was

[Found some old photos on my computer at work so thought I'd post them on here and give you a quick photo diary of the last six months. If I knew how to write captions I would - after all it's my job - but you will have to make do with separated paragraphs.]

FISK (November 11, 2006)

This is a photo of the award-winning author Robert Fisk. A Middle East correspondent for The Independent, Fisk was the first Western journalist to interview Osama bin Laden (bin Laden actually invited him to conduct further interviews and now, supposedly, refers to "Mr Robert" as "one of us".)

Fisk was speaking at a local bookstore in Dubai on the launch day of the paperback edition of his latest book: The Great War for Civilisation. The Conquest of the Middle East. Every journalist with an interest in world affairs seems to have read this book -- or at least attempted to read it, for at 1,334 pages it's a conquest in itself just to finish it. Anyway, he spoke, I bought and now I am reading.

Interesting anecdote: a year ago while studying at Uni, Robert Fisk, on a rare trip to the UK from his "home" in Lebanon, came to speak at Stirling University. Much fuss was made of this award-winning journalist coming to speak at our humble uni, but as far as myself and fellow Journalism Studies student Graham "Twiggy" Robinson were concerned he was just another journalist. I intended going (despite the lecture being held outwith class time!) and had convinced Twig that it would be good. Little did I realise that the Arctic Monkeys gig that I had been looking forward to for weeks was the same night. I had a dilemma: bin-Laden-interviewing, Independent-writing, internationally renowned journalist, or small unknown band who were destined for success?

It was an easy choice for a music lover who cared not for politics and knew nothing about the Middle East. Twiggy however battled; eventually, in a moment of clarity, deciding to stay behind and attend Fisk's lecture.

So, as I jumped and swayed while witnessing Britain's now-biggest band rip it up on stage at Glasgow's ABC, Graham "Twiggerton" Robinson... SLEPT IN for Fisk's 7pm lecture and missed the entire thing.

Fancy Dress Party (November 17, 2006)

Last Halloween. Having finished work at 6pm without a costume, two hours later I had the best outfit at the party - complete with hand-made shield and sword. Guess whose mother is a school teacher?

And I know what you're all saying: "You always go as Braveheart." Wrong. I've only been as Braveheart twice and this is the first time I've worn the facepaint - which incidentally did not come off for three days as Matt forgot to tell me that it was actual paint opposed to face paint. Work on November 1 was interesting as a guy with half a blue face dressed in a suit turned up to edit the paper.

CENTRAL PERK, DECEMBER 27, 2006

Yes, it's true. The only official, licensed Central Perk in the world isn't actually in New York City but rather Dubai. I thought I'd check it out, and I must say... It could not BE any more like the programme.

For the full story click here.


HUMMER (December 28, 2006)

This is me and my new car. It's a Humvee H3. I love it, makes me feel more of a man.

In actual fact, this isn't my car, but it was for a short period. We managed to blag a brand new Hummer through the Motoring pages of the newspaper. This photo was taken across the road from my office.

New Year's Celebration (Pre-Bells, Hogmanay 2006)

How do you prepare for a big night out? Sit and relax with a few beers? Play some games? We opted for the more energetic preparation of dancing like fools in our then-empty living room. The photo of Matt poised for a pirouette is what we in the industry call 'photographic perfection'.

New Year's Celebration (Post-Bells, NYD 2007)

After enthusiastically dancing in our living room, we went to The Irish Village, which was packed full of rowdy expats (including the elegant Ms Greaves and her housemate Christian). Our dancing was showcased to a larger audience -- quite literally as at one point myself and Mr Dogg sneaked up onto the empty stage and wowed the crowds, until we were accosted by a none-too-pleased security guard.

T-Dogg The Toothless Wonder, January 18, 2007



Remember I told you we were drinking bottomless Bollinger at the Burj Al Arab?

Tony 'The T-Dogg' Richardson had a bit of a mishap while climbing my villa's security fence. Not only did he lose his front tooth, he also turned Eugene's bathroom into a scene that would not look out of place in Hollywood gorefest Hostel. And while Tone got himself a shiny new tooth, all the sorry Irish occupant of the bathroom got was a new non-blood-stained toothbrush. Some folks have all the fun.

[More to come just as soon as I find the cable that attaches to my camera...]

Laying Down (and Running) the Gauntlet

[This article was published -- albeit heavily diluted. It was one part Nahan, three parts editorial information. As one of my colleagues later observed: "all the humour was taken out." What can you do?]

Contenders Ready? Gladiators Ready? 3…2…1!

Sitting in the Emirates Today cafeteria, wearing a bland grey shirt and black trousers and talking about his recent fitness programme in terms of “investing” in health, “taking stock” of dieting effects and “merging” pleasure and leisure, Anthony Richardson was born to be a business reporter. Apparently however, it has not always been this way.

Ten years ago, while most 20-year-old students dreamt of graduating from university or saving enough money to afford something other than Super Noodles for dinner, Richardson had far greater – albeit far less realistic – ambitions.

“I actually used to really want to be a contestant on Gladiators,” admits the politely spoken Englishman, who is just one of a small group of Emirates Today staff registered to run the Standard Chartered Dubai 10km tomorrow morning. “I would watch it every Saturday in my halls of residence and I even went as far as to go to the gym to try and build up my upper body,” he says. “Only now can I see how naïve I was being.”

Aged 30, Richardson wears wire-rimmed spectacles, sits slightly slouched in his seat and sips a frothy cappuccino; it is hard to imagine him breaking sweat over anything other than fluctuations in the Dubai Financial Market, let alone battling it out with the cult British game show’s infamous bad guy, Wolf.

“I’m the first person to admit that perhaps I am no longer in peak physical condition,” says Richardson genuinely, “but I am taking this race seriously” – and it is a race. Around the Emirates Today office in Al Quoz, Dubai, competitive streaks are beginning to take charge. While, yes, “it is the taking part that counts” and “none of us expect to win”, the fact remains: nobody wants to be the shameful last journalist to complete the jog. Nobody wants the wooden spoon.

“Before six weeks ago I couldn’t run a bath,” jokes Richardson, “Now I am at the stage where I’ve been doing maybe three outdoor runs a week varying between five and seven kilometres each time. So, I’m getting there.”

Richardson’s outdoor runs may be doing more long-term harm than good however. “When I come to the end of these runs, I suffer real discomfort in my lower legs; I get shin splints and pains in my calf muscles. And that is a bit of a worry because I find I have to push myself through the pain barrier every time I go out for a run,”

Layne Redman, the manager of The Hayya! Springs Gymnasium, says he believes the best way to start getting fit from scratch is in a gym: “First off, don’t start running straight away; build yourself up gradually. While running outside is great, it is best to build up strength in the gym first.”

Redman recommends that people lacking fitness should initially get going by taking to a bike: “A lot of cycling builds up leg muscles and cardiovascular fitness, then start out on the treadmill, but only walking. Build yourself up slowly.”

When I relay this advice to Richardson, he seems resigned to running with the pain and nonchalantly responds: “Oh well, too late now.”

Too late indeed. Tomorrow morning at 7.10am, participants in the Standard Chartered Dubai 10km Challenge will be on their marks and set outside the World Trade Center. Reportedly more than 5,000 runners are registered to run the full 42km marathon, which starts 10 minutes before the 10km Challenge, so it is recommended participants arrive in plenty of time.

Redman does have some advice that may be appreciated by our roving business reporter, however. “The night before the race get plenty of rest and don’t eat any heavy foods,” says the Hayya! manager. “Bananas and lots of other fruits are the best things to eat. Also prepare yourself mentally. Talk to friends and family – if you’ve got support it helps a lot.”

With all of Richardson’s family currently braving the torrential rains back in Plymouth in the south of England, he is instead relying on his friends and colleagues at Emirates Today to support him.

Fellow business reporter Matt Smith and Business Editor Yadullah Itjehadi say they will be cheering on their desk’s sole flag-flyer – in spirit. While Itjehadi says he will, from the comfort of his bedroom, send Richardson a text message before the race, Smith admits, “7am is a little bit too early for me. I’ll probably just wish him good luck the night before and, if he finishes, congratulate him once he crawls into the office in pain the next day.”

Recovering from a long-distance run can certainly be a drawn-out process if you fail to take the right action. As soon as the race is over, a gentle warm down that stretches the muscles is essential and Redman advises plenty liquids: “Make sure you drink lots of fluids, lots of isotonic drinks and lots of water. And certain foods too – lots of fruit, nothing too heavy and nothing too stodgy. Keep it healthy.”

Despite the lower-leg pains and the floundering support team, Richardson remains in good spirits and is looking forward to representing the newspaper. In fact, depending on how he copes tomorrow, he is even considering registering for next year’s marathon – and maybe more.
“It’s the first time I’ve ran anywhere for about 10 years and I’m feeling good about it. As for the marathon, 12 months is plenty time to train but who knows? I certainly didn’t think I would be in Dubai this time last year so I’m not ruling anything out just yet.”

The Gladiators team are allegedly watching with muted anticipation.

From left: Anthony "The Gladiator" Richardson, Aimee Greavsie and Myself

[I also had a gameplan published in which I disclosed how I planned to sprint the first 5km of the 10km. I spoke about how Hunter S Thompson has came up with the plan but never put it into action. Having submitted the story I got the following e-mail from my editor:

"Gary, I don’t want to be a pain – but I need a rewrite on your first-person account. One that doesn’t feature any post-Beat Generation adrenochrome-crazed authors, preferably..."

Old Meenaghan, always pushing those boundaries. Here it is...

Gary Meenaghan's Cunning Plan

In Hunter S Thompson's forgotten classic The Curse of Lono, the Gonzo journalist and his trusty photographer find themselves registered to run the Honolulu Marathon in Hawaii.

In typical Thompson style, he has every intention of winning and concocts a plan: “We will come out the block like human torpedoes and alter the whole nature of the race by sprinting the first three miles in under 10-minutes. A pace like that will crack their nuts… These people are into running, not racing… We will put ourselves so far ahead of the field that they won't even be able to see us… [They] will be so far behind that many will be overcome with blind rage and confusion.”

The problem in the book is that Thompson characteristically ends up too intoxicated to compete and so the reader never finds out if his crazed crusade would work… until now. Having been in training for the past four weeks, tomorrow I plan to make Hunter proud by winning a [quarter] marathon using his theory. I'm going to sprint the first 5km and leave all my fellow Emirates Today colleagues in a state of disbelief as I speed off towards the horizon! I'll see you at the starting line, I'll be the one crouched down ready to sprint like a human torpedo.

[And now of course you want to know if the plan worked? Well, lets just say I was on the back page of the UAE's national papers -- leading the pack way ahead of the lagging Ethiopians and Kenyans. The photos are now pinned up on my bedroom wall.]

Konichiwa Y'all

MarHabn [Hello],

For those who do not yet know, I have gone back to school. I missed the student lifestyle of lying in bed half the day ('Half? More like three-quarters', I hear you all say. Yeah yeah.). I also missed meeting people. I made many of my best friends at uni and it's hard to really meet people in Dubai: a lot of the people you speak to are simply on holiday or already have a core of close friends.

Anyway, I am now enroled at The University of Wollongong, Dubai, also known as UOWD. It's an Australian institution that has opened an international campus in the Middle East. I am studying twice a week in order to attain a Beginners' certificate in Arabic Language, Culture & Customs. I have been going now for four weeks and in my final class next week I have an exam, so I suggest you get those Mabrouk [congratulations] cards at the ready.

Not a great deal happened since last week. I spent my weekend voluntarily sitting in traffic for four hours because I was that bored. Weekends are rubbish when you have nobody to play with. I drove to the Plant Souk on the other side of Dubai and bought some plants to decorate my bedroom - and before you ask, no they do not require a hydroponic light. I actually bought the only two (legal) plants that I know: a cactus and a bonzai.

Getting High In Dubai

[This article was written for publication but because of an editorial mistake I was asked to cut my 1,500-word piece down to 300 words, which I refused to do. This feature has, as yet, never been published... (drum beat)... until now!]

-----------------------

My Name is Bob

“R U ON UR WAY?”
As I read the message illuminated on my phone through a solitary, sleep-filled eye, it takes me a second to focus. Having flinched and physically recoiled as the previous night’s conversation came flooding back to me, I spring out of bed in a panic and quickly text back a reply: “ON MY WAY… NOW”

I had agreed to pick up my friend and fellow Emirates Today journalist Aimee Greaves at 6am. I look at my watch: it’s 6.05am.

I, like most people on this Earth, have my flaws. While some people smoke and others bite their nails, my Achilles heel tends to land me in trouble and create unnecessary hassle for my friends. My problem? I love my bed too much. I’ve missed flights from Glasgow, Paris, London, California and The Bahamas, I’ve been late to interviews, football matches and lunch meetings. And now I’ve slept in for a trip in a hot air balloon.

As I scurry around my bedroom in the dark, I conclude that there is no time for a shower and so climb into some clean clothes, brush my teeth and I am out the door. So just 10 minutes after my rude awakening – and the mandatory trip back into the villa to grab some forgotten items (camera, wallet, screw-on head) – I’m on my way.

With Aimee now in tow I speed down Emirates Road towards Global Village. I decide to phone Reyaz, the man who is organising our flight as part of the Dubai International Balloon Festival.
“Reyaz, I took a wrong turn but will be there in five minutes.” Translation: Reyaz, I hit my snooze button one too many times and will be there in 10-15 minutes.

“Ah, no problem Mr Gary, I am running a little behind schedule myself, I will be there soon though. I will meet you next to the tent in 15 minutes.” Perfect.

As Aimee and I pull into the car park, I can’t help but gawk. Ahead of me, rising from the sands of this barren desert, sit more than 12 hot air balloons, all different colours and all at different stages of preparation for take off. Aimee says she’s always wanted to fly in a hot air balloon, for, like, months. I miss the opportunity to pick her up on the ridiculousness of her remark and instead mumble something unintelligibly. Eyes remain locked straight ahead, on these beacons of wonder.

At the tent Reyaz introduces us to our pilot for the day. Al Muir is a big bearded Texan who wears, amongst other things, a black cap, white T-shirt and black body-warmer. Each item is emblazoned with the motif “Bear Creek Balloons”.

“OK, in a minute I’m going to tell y’all to climb into the basket. We’ll do this one at a time, and only when I tell you,” he says in his southern drawl. The basket he is speaking about is currently lying on its side like a wounded rhinosceros and the balloon that it is adjoined to is being filled up with air by a high-powered, heavy duty fan. A few minutes later, following an extended blast of propane from the gas burner and some forceful tugs on some guy-ropes by Al’s team, the rhino stumbles to its feet and the balloon sits upright. On Al’s word, and with great difficulty and little gracefulness, I clamber in to join him in the wicker basket. Seconds later, Aimee gymnastically squeezes herself in as well and as we prepare to ascend I’m glad I brushed my teeth; it’s going to be a snug flight.

Al’s been flying hot air balloons for more than 30 years but he only bought BOB about two years ago from his friend, Bowie. (hence the acronym Bowie’s Old Balloon). Bob stands at roughly 30 metres tall and weighs 5,000lbs when in the air. He is predominantly blue in colour however has square patches of purple, red, yellow, orange and green to complete an almost rainbow-like effect.

Bear Creek Balloons, the company that Al runs from a little town in Houston, Texas, often sees around 150 flights each year. Remarkable when you consider the weather conditions must be near-perfect in order to hit the highways of the sky. Sunrise and sunset are ideal times to fly as temperatures are more favourable and winds tend to be a lot calmer. Incidentally, weather reports indicated that strong winds were expected by afternoon and so that’s how I landed the sunrise flight and the arduous task of getting out of bed pre-noon.

Balloons work on the simple physics premise that hot air rises. By heating the air in Bob’s belly the balloon tugs at the guy-ropes that keep him grounded. Remove the ropes and Bob floats up into the sky

It’s a strange sensation at first. Because it is a gradual process there is no noticeable change in air pressure and your feet remain firmly on the base of the wicker basket at all times. It is actually less like taking a flight on a plane and more like riding an elevator – only with much better views and no uninspiring muzak.

I had never appreciated just how big Global Village is, nor had I wondered why the car-park is four times as big. Now I have done both. Looking down from 150metres above, it looks like a screenshot from The Sims or an intricate Lego model, complete with big wheel.

As we continue to rise (that old hot air trick is still working its magic) The Arabian Ranches comes into view. As do an entire network of roads that seemingly, as of yet, lead to nowhere. The sun is rising now and it is a spectacularly stunning sight. The sky is lit up in what feels like an instant and we are left to gaze longingly at the sand dunes that have lost all shape and depth and our fellow ballooners who are zig-zagging across the sky; some run parallel with Bob, some fly off towards the horizon and one red rebel floats precariously below.

“Make sure he doesn’t fly under us,” says Al to me, looking down at our nearby friend. I peer over the edge and wonder exactly how I’m going to prevent a 5,000lb balloon from doing anything. Perhaps Al misreads the look of worry on my face: “Don’t worry, you won’t fall out. Remember how hard it was for you to get in?” he says laughing. “You don’t fall out a balloon, you climb out.”

With a new lease of confidence I lean over the edge and observe that the other balloon has changed paths and is heading away from us. I also notice a camel farm on the ground below. “Beautiful aren’t they?” says Al. No comment.

From the very moment we left the ground, Al has been radioing his whereabouts and flight plans to his son-in-law, Justin, who is co-ordinating the flight from a truck on the ground – or in other words, chasing a balloon across the deserts of Dubai.

“This is Bob, Bob chase,” says Al, Al Muir, before relaying his intention to land in a desolate sandpit close by. Justin agrees to meet us there and we slowly descend upon a set of dunes that are becoming increasingly larger the closer we get to them.

“This is what’s called contour flying,” says Al, explaining that he is going to manoeuvre the balloon so that the basket is just inches from the ground and then follow the dunes’ contours. It’s an impressive feat that is made all the more impressive by the fact that there is roughly a 30-scecond delay from when the pilot blasts the gas burner and his balloon actually reacts. Al proves just exactly how much foresight and control he has over Bob when, as we approach the tip of the dune, we rise ever so slightly, so perfectly in fact that we skim an inch or so of sand off the top.

Armed with Al’s advice to “bend your legs at the knee”, our landing is smooth and pain-free. Once Bob is tied down we are able to climb out and help disassemble the balloon from the basket, the former being hiked up onto the back of the truck and the prior being rolled into what could pass as a very large sleeping bag. (Or maybe that’s just my tired brain playing tricks on me.)

As the truck’s engine is switched on, we say our thanks to Al and his team, pose for photos, shake hands with them all and head for our car. Despite having been up for hours, it is still only 10am and I’m not due in the office until 3pm… what harm could four hours in bed have?