Review: Afghan Cab Drivers

I am not a racist. With that clarified, let me make some broad generalizations about an entire group of people based on a total of three personal experiences.

I will not get into a cab driven by a Pasthun. It's not as if I have some longstanding, ingrained prejudice against Afghanistan's largest ethnic group (I've never met one before). It's because a) they don't speak English OR Arabic, b) they don't know where they're going and c) decades of war have left the cabdrivers with a sort of fatalist world view; if their reckless driving kills their passengers, God willed it.

Afghan Cab Driver Experience One: After completing the health check in Abu Dhabi, about fifteen of us cram into a minivan (one member of our group later concluded that this was not, in fact, a taxi, but just some guy who owned a bus). It was 118 degrees outside, but somehow hotter in the "cab". I'm sitting in the front, next to an Indian expat who had gotten in the "Taxi" before us, is late to work, and is banging on the seat, screaming first in English, then in Arabic, and finally in Urdu, none of which the driver understands (I grasp this because he is looking back at the American/Canadian contingent like he's waiting for us to interpret - taking his eyes off the road for a prolonged period). After about an hour of the guy driving us to the wrong hotel, through the wrong side of the city, and past the screaming Indian's workplace several times, M in the front seat spots our hotel. It looks reasonably close. We ask to be let out. The driver blocks traffic as he tries to communicate his phone number to us, in case we ever need his competent services again. We then walk the mile or so back to our accommodations.

Afghan Cab Driver Experience Two: The best of the worst. My only issues with this guy were a) I have lived here two weeks, have a terrible sense of direction, and I had to tell him where to go, and b) Driveways and parking lots confused him, as he stopped several times in the middle of the one lane road and asked if he should keep going to the front of the hotel. He even stopped to ask a white guy walking out of the hotel how to get to the entrance the guy had just walked out of.

Afghan Cab Driver Experience Three: The straw that broke the camel's back (Ha! Camel pun). So we are trying to walk to one of the oases, which looks like a reasonable distance from the hotel. It's only about 100 degrees that morning, and in our already warped perspectives, that seems like reasonable weather in which to take a two-year old for an extended walk (during Ramadan, when we cannot consume any water in public). We also think that our crappy hotel map is a reasonable tool for finding this place we've never been. Of course, none of this is reasonable, and after about twenty minutes, we're looking for a cab to take us to the big oasis on the other side of town.

First warning sign is that the meter is "broken". I'm accustomed to the gypsy cab system in certain parts of New York, and didn't think much of it. We ask to go to Al Ain Oasis - the big oasis, the one on which the entire city was founded, and after which it was named. Ten minutes of high-speed, nearly-causing-several-accidents driving later, Afghanica Patrick pulls up in front of Al Noor Hospital. We inform him that this isn't correct, in fact, a hospital might be the semantic opposite of an oasis (the whole dying-in-a-bed versus life-springing-from-the-desert dichotomy). He kinda smiles and rolls down the window. A.P. calls over the two guys who are standing out front - either Pakistani or Bangladeshi - and coughs up something that resembles a language in their direction. One of the South Asians asks him, "Hal tetekelam al logat al arabeea?" - Do you speak Arabic? - the driver just sort of smiles at them. I ask them for directions in English, and they're not too sure either. We decide to go back to the hotel.

Flev (to driver): "Just take us to the Rotana"

Driver: (smile)

Flev: "Hotel Rotana"

Driver: (smile)

The driver takes us in the general direction of the Rotana Hotel. We enter the Jahli roundabout, directly in front of the hotel, and the driver eventually figures out which road to exit on. He manages to miss the turn into the pretty damned obvious driveway. Instead of turning around at the next roundabout, or, better yet, the next driveway, he decides the best option is to back up into fast moving traffic. For nearly killing us, and failing to take us to our destination, the driver asks for fifteen dirhams. We pay it, one, just to end the experience, and two, 'cause we're just that wealthy.

Another couple starts to get into the cab as it's pulling out. "S" and I warn them "Don't get in that cab", and recount our experience. They ignore us. This may be due to the lack of any effort on my part to socialize/make friends, but I haven't seen them since.

The result of this is a sort of reverse racism. The Pashtuns are whitish. The Pakistanis, Bengladeshis, and Indians are brownish. Therefore, the darker someone is, the more likely I am to get into their taxi. Dr. King, your dream is realized in the cabs of the United Arab Emirates.

Buying Liquor/Beer/Wine in an Islamic country during Ramadan.

Let me state that I have not yet done this. I do, however, have a source whose gossip has proven to be reliable. And while I enjoy the sort of forced sobriety that the UAE offers, it would be nice to know where to get some alcohol every once in awhile. Internet searches have proven useless in trying to locate a bottle shop.

In Al Ain:

Store Name Unknown. This place exists. I know this because it has been confirmed by several people who I barely know, and I have a crudely drawn map. Ask the taxi driver to go to the Hilton - he will not know about the package store. Go past the security office, and there will be a lit storefront without a sign. That's your liquor shack. Ramadan hours are 10 PM to 5 AM.

Spinney's. Supposedly next to the vegetable souk. It DOES exist, contrary to what the first few internet hits will tell you. Again, I know this because people I met two weeks ago have told me it's true. (I'm gonna get me some of that inexpensive produce for use in our gourmet hot plate cooking anyway - at that point, I'll post a map).

Rumor Mill: Employer-Provided Housing.

I'm living in a hotel. A nice hotel, but a hotel (with my wife and child). My employer - who before I start bitching, has been incredibly generous - is supposed to provide me and fellow expats with apartments. Since information is not forthcoming, we rely on an elaborate system of rumors. I've combined everything I've heard, from multiple sources, into one cohesive statement that should resemble the truth:

We will be living in giant, tiny apartments that smell like sewage and rose petals. The marble/dirt and straw floors nicely accent the kitchen, which is big enough for a full stove or small campfire. The drawback is that our accommodations may not be ready until February of last year.

Review: "Five-Star" Hotels.

I've been in the Emirate of Abu Dhabi about two weeks, and am currently living in my second so-called "Five-Star" hotel. I offer the following reviews:

Le Royal Meridien, Abu Dhabi:

At first, I was impressed by the design of the building and the staff whose mission it seemed was to please me. Then I dropped 350 dirhams (about $100 American) on the floor in the lobby. It took the staff a full twenty minutes to find and return it to me. Furthermore, after we finished our complimentary chocolate-covered strawberries and meringue, housekeeping neglected to remove our fancy dessert plates. I had to stare at dirty dishware until the next morning, when they delivered my newspaper and slippers. The fresh fruit guy who came in the afternoon forgot to thank me for the honor of allowing him to deliver me fresh fruit, and, as it turns out, our window was not overlooking the Persian Gulf, but "The Arabian Gulf". To top it all off, at the end of our four day stay, the place was a complete and utter mess. Four Stars.

Hotel Rotana, Al Ain:

Beautiful city, beautiful hotel, but only four stories tall. It's as if the builders were afraid of some "edict" issued by some "national paradigm" stating that no building could be taller than the big mosque. Grow some balls.

While the staff has delivered extra coffee, milk, tea, and non-dairy creamer every day and organized the sink area, they have not once actually made my coffee. They clean the room thoroughly, but they simply fold all our dirty clothes and place them into neat piles instead of doing our laundry.

Three Stars.